Fears and accusations had darted through her mind since she'd spoken to Zeb Clingerman, and she'd wanted to confront Taggart instantly. But the happy gathering at Bear Wallow wasn't the place to air such a scene, and all the way home she'd been so shocked, so hurt, she couldn't trust her voice. Once at the cabin, Taggart had groomed and fed the horses while she'd hidden her tears to go inside and cook an evening meal. A little light chattertalk about the soldiershad passed between them during dinner, but the rapport they usually shared was gone. She knew it, and by the look in his eyes, he knew it, too.
Taggart shoved back his plate and gazed at her with puzzled eyes. "What's wrong? I know something is wrong. Tell me what it is."
Silky had planned to be calm and dignified when she confronted him in the privacy of her cabin, but as it happened, she slammed her tin cup against the table and the words tumbled from her mouth like water gushing from a mountain spring. "Why did you lie to me?" she demanded, still so stunned by his deceit that she could hardly think. From the anguish flickering in his eyes, she knew it wasn't necessary to mention the location of the 43rd Virginiahe knew exactly what she was talking about.
Slowly he rose and walked to the hearth; then, turning his back and bowing his head, he braced his hand on the rough mantelpiece. When he faced her it seemed he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I lied to protect you," he answered quietly, his voice threaded with pain. "I lied because it was necessary."
Silky rose and clenched the back of her chair. This smooth-talking city man had taken advantage of her, then used her for his own selfish purposes. She recalled how beguiling he'd been when she'd brought him food at the smokehouse, and she silently cursed herself for being the biggest fool in Virginia. Why, she'd even stood up for him against Holt, and the sergeant's hot warning about taking in a stranger resounded in her head this very minute.
Trembling with fury, she rushed to him and, bailing her fists, buffeted him on the chest. "Zeb Clingerman said the Forty-third Virginia isn't at the Rappahannock and they never have been." Again she flailed at his chest, but he grabbed her wrists with both hands. "Why did you tell me that pack of lies?" she sobbed, trying to twist away. "You're a Yankee, aren't you?'' she cried, her hair flying about her. "You're nothing but a blue-bellied Yankee!"
Taggart met her hot, glassy eyes, deeply regretting he hadn't ridden on when she took her rifle off him over a month ago. As he'd expected, Amos Evans had spouted off and he'd obtained the number and condition of Johnston's regiments. But at what price?
Anguish rising within him, he scanned Silky's pale, tearstreaked face, holding her still as she tried to pull away. She was quaking all over, and her eyes burned with a consuming fire. A knot of emotion gathered in his chest, and in that split second, he made a decision to do something utterly unbelievable. To ease her pain, he decided he must lie to her yet again.
What would it matter if he twisted the truth once morethis time to protect her innocence? It would be different if he were staying, but he had his information, and in the morning he'd be gone. It had never been his intention to hurt her, and now that he'd come to understand her innate goodness, the thought of crushing her pained him deeply.
"No," he murmured, attempting to hold her close and caress her hair. "You don't know what you're saying." He rained kisses over her stricken face, trying to soothe her as he would a panicked child. "It's true that I have no aunt in the Shenandoah, and my regiment isn't the Forty-third Virginia, but I am from Norfolk, as I told you.'' He thought swiftly, simply turning his life inside out as he had once before, about the Battle of Shiloh, to fashion an acceptable story.
Calmer now, she stared at him with huge eyes, and he held her at arm's length, searching her astonished face as he spoke. "I'm an intelligence officer," he explained in a warm, soft voice. "I'd been on an information-gathering trip to Maryland when you came upon me at the pond."
As his words sank in, he saw the despair and anger fade from her features, and he gave silent thanks, thinking any fabrication was worth the cost to take away the hurt he'd caused.
Thoughtfully, she blinked her eyes, staring at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. "A-Are you telling me that you're a Confederate agent?" she whispered, still trembling beneath his hands.
He swallowed hard, hoping all that was holy would forgive him for what he was about to say. His heart pounded evenly as he considered the next words out of his mouth. "Yes," he answered softly, a convincing story falling into place in his mind, "Soon after I crossed the Virginia line I met my contact and gave him the information. I was told to take some time off, then report to Charlottesville for my next assignment."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "But you lingered here in the hollow, shingling my roof. Surely"
"I can explain that," he interrupted with a laugh, caressing her tense shoulders as he spoke. "A majorI cannot mention his nameis to meet me in Charlottesville a few days from now and give me my next assignment. Since the major wasn't able to be there himself until the prearranged date, I had some time on my hands before the rendezvous." He gave her a big smile, hoping his words had soothed her troubled emotions. "I realized I could spend the time here in Sweet Gum Hollow just as easily as waiting for him in Charlottesville."
He knew she was quite intelligent and he could see she was evaluating every word he said. Would she believe him? he wondered, hoping against hope that she would, so her heart wouldn't be broken. Something inside of him violently recoiled from telling her more falsehoods, yet at the same time, another side realized he'd try to convince her that black was white, if he could leave her as innocent and full of life as the day they'd met.
"But I" She broke off, confusion shadowing her glassy eyes.
He ran his hand down her back, trying to console her. "Forgive me for the pretense I was forced to offer you," he whispered, the falsehood burning his lips, "but I was instructed to tell no one my true mission." He clasped her shoulders. ''I do it now only because I can't hold the facts back from you any longer."
He studied her softening expression and saw she was beginning to believe what he'd said. Thank God, she'd remember him as a Confederate lieutenant who'd helped her, rather than as a Yankee who'd deceived her. He would gladly bear the guilt of the lies to preserve her illusions, he decided with a growing sense of relief.
Taggart's words left Silky in a confused daze, but at the same time a sense of ease rose within her, dimming her anger. His story was rather dramatic and certainly farfetched, but unheard-of things often happened during wars. And, sheltered in the remote Blue Ridge, how could she know all that was happening in the flatlands? Yes, the storm inside of her was quieting now, she thought, staring into a pair of sapphire eyes that willed her to believe him. And, God help her, she wanted to believe him so badly!
From deep within her, a nagging voice challenged his words one last time, but it was so much easier to believe himto believe that someone who could set her mind and body aglow was one of her own kind. The thought that he could be a Yankee was so incomprehensible, so repulsive, that she simply pushed it aside, not ready to entertain it when another alternative, even a weak one, was available.
Of course, now that he'd explained things, she could see why he'd been forced to give her a falsehood. Everyone knew that scouts and spies were forbidden to speak of their missions, even to their families or sweethearts. Gradually her mind accepted what he'd told her, accepted all of it because she simply wanted to accept it. It was so much easier this way. To believe something else meant unbearable pain, while the bridge of faith required no effort and was supported with her cherished hopes and dreams.
The thought that he was a Confederate agent, possibly working for Robert E. Lee himself, left her shaken. "I ... I didn't know," she said softly, surveying his concerned face. "I would have never guessed."
His eyes twinkled with warmth. "Well, I should hope not. A fine agent I'd be if I couldn't convince you of what I said."
She met his sympathetic ga
ze. "Why did you spend so much time talking to Amos Evans today?" she suddenly asked, still bothered by the incident.
"Why, I'm just interested in Johnston's troops like everyone else in the South. Old Amos has been with the general since the war began and seems to know everything about his regiments." He laughed lightly. "And he's a real colorful storyteller, too."
Still not completely satisfied, Silky knew she had to pose one more question. "That paperthe one I found you burning when I came in from gathering eggsit wasn't really a letter, was it?"
Taggart caressed her hair, "No," he whispered. "The paper concerned some observations about my mission in Maryland, and since it was no longer needed I wanted to destroy it."
For some strange reason his confession served as a final confirmation that he was now telling the truth about being a Confederate agent. Perhaps it was because she'd harbored a strong feeling that the paper wasn't a letter all along, and he'd just proved her suspicions right. Serenity now overtook her as fears about him being a Yankee abated, and she enjoyed a renewed sense of hope and well-being.
Taggart experienced a surge of relief that he'd been able to conceal his identity, more for her sake than his own. For the moment the crisis was over, but now that he'd managed to calm Silky, he considered her statement about Zeb Clingerman and realized that another problem was brewing. If the lad spread the word that he'd deceived Silky about his company, a pack of angry men would arrive at the cabin, no doubt led by Sergeant Holt and Amos Evans.
He had no choice now. He had to move as soon as possible, not only to protect himself, but Silky as well. She'd told him that because of heavy drifts, the train stopped running to Wilson's Gap after the first big snowfall, so he was left with one optionto ride out at daybreak. Tonight he must say good-bye to the most charming female he'd ever met, knowing he'd never see her again.
Full of deep emotion, he surveyed her shiny unbound hair and noticed the outline of her full breasts under her buckskins. The little Reb prompted a wild flash of desire in his loins, and as the warmth of the fire and the music of the snapping flames surrounded them, he temporarily surrendered to an age-old law that paid no heed to political loyalties.
In the course of his life, he'd known many sophisticated women, but none so arousing as Silky Shanaban, country girl that she was. Just holding her in his arms refreshed his spirit and whetted his zest for life. Here in this quiet, isolated cabin, he didn't want to be Silky's enemy. He wanted to cherish her and love her, and protect her from war's harsh realities.
A nagging bit of conscience reminded him of his promise not to touch her, but his reckless nature finally won out over his better judgment. For several moments he regarded her silently; then as the wind wailed, blowing driving snow against the window, he pulled her close and tightened his arms about her. The clean scent of her hair fired his senses, and as he pressed her luscious curves against him, he knew her delicate beauty would tempt any man. "You're so lovely," he murmured huskily, desire exploding within him.
Silky looked into Taggart's hungry eyes, and the resonance of his deep voice sent her heart racing wildly. She sensed the almost palpable tension between them and her heart leaped with excitement. He lowered his head and, ever so gently, his lips leathered over hers, prompting her to melt against his hard chest, overwhelmed by the sensation of the moment.
Soft as a whisper, his lips skimmed over her cheeks, her eyelids, and the pulse in her throatthen they claimed her mouth, darting pleasure through her veins. His tangy scent assailed her nostrils, and when he traced her lips with his tongue, a sense of fierce expectation surged through her and she shivered with delight. Instinctively she reached up to encircle his wide shoulders, and as the kiss continued, her nipples hardened and tingled with a pleasant tenderness. Held so close to him, she felt the hard proof of his desire pressing against her, and she trembled with excitement.
When he ran his palm over her breast, she moaned in anticipation. At his skilled touch, her nipple ached with pleasure, and, light-headed with passion, she tightened her arms about his shoulders. He urged her lips apart with his questing tongue, and as the kiss grew deeper, a wild sensation quickened in her soul. Then just as she slipped into a rosy world of erotic desire, he gradually raised his head and ever so gently eased her away.
So stunned she could scarcely speak, she stared at him, noting his look of troubled resolve. She clasped his arms, wondering if she'd done something to displease him. Why had he kissed her so passionately one moment, then stopped suddenly without an explanation? "What's wrong?" she whispered. "Lordamercy, you look like your mind's a thousand miles away."
The color of his eyes changed subtly. "I'm leaving in the morning," he announced, his face set in firm lines. "At first light. It's best this way."
The words hit her full force, each one a bruising blow to her heart, for she'd supposed he'd stay until the snow cleared. "But the weather is getting worse," she gasped in a tumble of words, looking for any excuse to delay his departure. "You can't go nownot in all this snow. Stay until it stops."
His hands moved over her shoulders. "No," he replied gently. "I must get to Charlottesville in time to meet my contact. I need to leave in the morning."
Silky stared at his tense face, worry and concern pressing on her bosom like an aching weight. Tears suddenly filled her eyes and she realized that what she'd been secretly dreading for so long was coming to pass at last.
Taggart was leaving Sweet Gum Hollow, never to return.
At dawn Taggart stood just inside the cabin door, ready to leave, while his saddled mount waited outside in the whirling snow. With a heavy sigh, he eyed Silky, who stood before the glowing hearth, her back to him, as she removed a skillet from the grate and placed it aside. She was dressed in a flannel shirt and her fringed buckskin britches, and her long reddish hair fell in loose curls down her back.
When he'd returned from the barn a few minutes ago, a bittersweet sense of expectation had rushed over him that he knew had nothing to do with the crackling flames or the scent of coffee and freshly baked biscuits permeating the air. The feeling was connected with Silky Shanahan, whom he'd soon be leaving.
When she turned about, moisture glistened in her green eyes and her ever-present smile had faded, to be replaced with a sad, wistful expression. "Your chances of getting to Charlottesville in this snowstorm are slim and none," she suddenly announced, her troubled gaze shimmering over him. "Why in God's name don't you wait until the weather clears?"
Taggart had no desire to ride into the howling storm, but he knew he must go. His superiors were depending on him. The fact that Holt and the homeguard might be soon visiting the cabin only added to the growing pressure he already felt. But not being able to tell Silky all this, he simply answered, "I need to meet my contact in Charlottesville. Don't you understand it's vitally important that I be there?"
"I understand you probably won't get there at all," she replied, her face tensing with worry.
In an effort to reassure her, he cleared a place on the table, then pulled a map of Virginia from his jacket and tossed it on the ring-marked boards. He ran his finger over a wavy line that worked its way from the mountains to Charlottesville. "I'll follow this road. It looks like I can make it in two or three days by this route."
Silky bent over the table and tapped her finger on the map. "I went to Charlottesville once with Daniel to sell furs. Don't expect this road to be anything but a logging trail, and to get through, you'll have to ford Nacachee Creek. Sometimes the water runs high, but if you ride up this way about a fourth of a mile"she swerved her finger"it shallows out to almost nothing."
Taggart noticed her pain-filled eyes and realized she was giving him the warning as one would to save a stubborn child from his own folly.
"And here," she said, jabbing at the map, "the trail is so steep and narrow you may have to lead your horse." Advice continued to flow from her lips after he'd folded up the map. "There's a little wide space in the road where two trails mee
tBiglow's Crossing. Veer right there. If you press hard, you might be able to spend your second night at Snyder's Tavern.''
She stared at him as he rolled the last of his clothing in an oilskin and lashed leather thongs about the bundle. "I think the only one who could make it to Charlottesville in a storm like this would be an Indianand a crazy Indian at that."
Taggart scanned her face, searching his mind for words of comfort. Last night after he'd told her he was leaving, she'd retreated into herself, and from the smudges under her eyes this morning he guessed she'd hardly slept. For breakfast she'd brewed the last of her precious coffeecoffee she'd saved for Christmas Dayand she'd made gravy to go along with the bacon and biscuits in an effort to fortify him for the journey. They'd spoken hardly a word, but her eyes had communicated volumes.
"I expect you're right," he finally answered.
Thankfully, her mountain pride had sustained her, and they'd both been spared her tears. What had started out as a falsehood to protect Union lives had turned into a tale of personal sacrifice, and in his heart, he knew they'd both remember the encounter the rest of their lives. He sighed inwardly, hardening his courage. At least he'd left her with pride and hope, he told himself. At least he'd done that.
He watched her snatch a cloth from her cabinet and wrap biscuits and bacon for him to take with him. His interlude with her was now ending, to become only a memory. He tried to etch her image in his brain, never wanting to forget a single thing about her. This is the last picture I'll have of her, he thought, watching her purposeful movements and treasuring them in his heart. "That isn't necessary," he offered, noticing that her hands trembled ever so slightly while she worked.
In answer, she turned, a fiery glint in her eyes. "Here," she said roughly, offering him the bundle of food. "You'll need it."
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