Shaelyn flattened herself against the wall and tried to draw air into lungs that seemed unable to expand.
James Brooks, the man she’d promised to wait for, was the Gray Ghost. The scourge of the Union Army.
What happened? How had he become the man behind the taking of her steamers, the destruction of train rails and telegraph wires? She didn’t remember him as being particularly sympathetic to the Southern cause. Actually, he’d enlisted in the Union Army as a lark. He said the blue of the uniform emphasized his good looks. She thought he’d been teasing her. At the time, he’d said with his money and education, he’d be an officer for certain.
At least that part was true. He was an officer. The insignia on his uniform declared him so. Yet, she couldn’t believe he had the blessings of the Confederate Army. Then again, perhaps he did. She’d heard of other men, guerilla fighters, they were called, who ambushed Union patrols and supply convoys and delighted in creating havoc and fear wherever they went. The Confederates were not the only ones to employ such methods. The Union army had guerilla fighters too.
If James was here, then where was her brother, Ian? Had he traded in his blue uniform for gray as well? Was this why she hadn’t heard from either of them in so long?
And Remy? Where was Remy?
She peeked in through the window one more time, gathering her courage, though fear made her tremble. This time, her gaze moved beyond the man so comfortably ensconced in a chair. Davenport, the traitor, looking much too smug for his own good, refilled James’s glass from a bottle of whiskey on the little side table. Amazingly enough, the whiskey was Harte’s Private Reserve. She recognized the silver and black label from Remy’s family.
James grabbed the glass and drank deeply, finishing all of the liquor in one swallow. “At least he makes a damn fine whiskey.” He put down the glass and rose to his feet, directing his comment to Davenport as he turned and faced the man huddled against the wall.
Tears instantly filled her eyes as she followed Davenport’s progress across the room.
Remy!
Her heart sank at the same time anger coursed through her veins. He looked horrid, his face swollen, his arms behind his back at an unnatural angle, his legs twisted, but she didn’t think broken.
“Take him in the other room. I’m tired of looking at his face.” James strolled to the door as if he hadn’t a care in the world, then stopped with his hand on the knob. “When you’re done with him, take care of my horse.” He stood still for a moment, his gaze traveling over Remy before he smiled, a slick smile filled with contempt that made Shaelyn’s fear intensify. “Tomorrow, as an example to the other men, he’ll be hanged.”
“Yes, sir!” Davenport snapped to attention, then quickly obeyed orders as James left the room. “On your feet, soldier!”
“Go to hell!” Remy snapped, his voice strong despite his obvious pain. He received a kick to his injured leg for his efforts.
Shaelyn squelched the cry of anger that rose in her throat. Beneath the rainbow of bruises on his face, he blanched, and even from her position at the window, she could see sweat bead on his forehead, but he uttered not a sound. He seemed to draw strength from the pain.
“Get up!” Davenport grabbed him by the arm and pulled upward. Remy didn’t buckle, but she saw his agony, felt it as if it were her own as the captain half-dragged him into the other room.
“Kill me now.” The words were barely audible, but she heard them.
Oh, Remy. Don’t provoke him. She wanted to scream the words at him.
“Don’t tempt me, Harte,” Davenport said, then smiled, the same nasty smile she’d grown to hate. “The general wants you to hang in the morning so that’s what’ll happen.”
Shaelyn sank to her hands and knees and crawled, once more, along the porch, pressing herself against the side of the house, and followed their progress. She came upon another window. This one wasn’t merely open. The glass had been shattered, the lacy draperies partially hung outside and billowed with the breeze. She didn’t dare take a peek though. She heard Remy’s grunt as he was thrown to the floor and Davenport’s laughter, the sound making her shudder with revulsion and fear.
“Don’t even think about trying to leave. The guards are armed and won’t hesitate to shoot you. I, personally, prefer to see you hang in the morning, so don’t disappoint me.” He chuckled before he took his leave, slamming the door behind him. She heard the twisting of the key in the lock then nothing but receding footsteps and blessed silence. Why did he bother to lock the door when the window had no glass? Did Davenport want Remy to try to escape? And get killed by one of the guards? Or did he think, even given the chance, Remy couldn’t escape due to the fact he’d been hurt?
She shook her head. Davenport’s reasons didn’t matter in the least. The glassless window was to her advantage and she wasn’t about to question her luck. All she had to do was get Remy out of there.
Rising to her feet, Shaelyn peered in through the window and studied the layout of what was once a formal dining room. Candles flickered in the wall sconces on either side of a fireplace. An empty china hutch hugged the wall on the opposite side of the room and matched the table in the middle. Other than those items, the room was empty…except for Remy, who had slowly gained his footing, but he only stood for a moment before he collapsed to the floor with a surprised grunt.
Shaelyn glanced down to the end of the porch, looking for the guard she had seen before. Satisfied he wasn’t around, she made sure no one else was in the room with Remy, then climbed over the windowsill into the plantation house.
“Remy,” she whispered, drawing his attention.
He looked up through swollen eyes and her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
“Shae?” He slurred her name. His lip had been split and was now distended to twice its normal size.
“Yes.” She tiptoed closer.
“Good God! I thought you were home, safe at Magnolia House. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?” He licked his lips and winced. “Don’t you realize the danger you’re in? You have to go. You have to go now!”
His left eye was completely closed, the skin puffy and bearing the colors of red and purple. His right eye wasn’t much better. Could he see at all?
“I can’t go. What’s more, I won’t. I’m going to save your miserable hide whether you like it or not.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “Turn a little so I can untie you.”
“Why, Shae? Why would you do that? I thought you hated me.”
“Shh. Keep your voice low. We don’t need Davenport coming back in here, nor do we want to draw the attention of the guards.” She tried to work the knot, but her fingers were clumsy and the twisted rope tight, unlike any knot she’d ever seen. She wished she had taken one of the knives they had confiscated from the guards, but wishes were useless right now. She did have the little derringer, but that wouldn’t do much good for his bonds. “For the record, I don’t hate you. How could you think such a thing?”
How could he still think she hated him? They shared a bed…and passion. Hadn’t her actions spoken louder than words?
Despite the obvious pain it caused him, he turned his head. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You told me so, Sassy. You stood right in front of me on the day we wed and told me you’d hate me until you drew your last breath.”
Shaelyn shrugged as she picked at the twisted loops of the rope. “I lied. I was angry. You were angry. I knew you didn’t want to marry me and only did so because you were forced.”
“Yes, I was angry at the time, but Shae, don’t you realize that I never do anything I don’t want to do? If I hadn’t wanted to marry you, I wouldn’t have.”
His statement confused her. “What are you saying? You would have married me anyway?” She stared at him, trying to see truth in his eyes, but they were too swollen, and they really didn’t have time for this discussion right now. Davenport could come back at any moment. So could James. Or a guard they
hadn’t found. “Wait. Don’t answer that. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Beneath the blood and bruises on his face, his pallor bordered on a sickly greenish-white and he huddled within himself. The pain in his thigh must have been intense. She glanced at his trouser leg when he winced and noticed the blood staining the fabric. “Can you walk if I help you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Davenport kept kicking me on our short journey here.” The sadness of the ultimate betrayal reflected in his voice. “It was him, Shae. The whole time. Right under my nose. It was Davenport who almost cost me my life, who staged the ambush that killed so many men.” His voice grew hoarse as he swallowed several times. “He nearly convinced me you were a spy when all the time, he was supplying the Gray Ghost with information. I should have known. I should have stopped him. How could I let him fool me so completely?”
The heartbreak in his voice was nearly her undoing, and yet she couldn’t give in to the devastation staking claim to her. She had to get him out of here.
“Don’t think about that now, Remy.” A frustrated sigh escaped her. “I can’t get this blasted knot untied!” Her voice trembled just as much as her fingers, and exasperation made it worse. “I’m just making it tighter.”
“Take a deep breath, Shae,” he suggested, and did so himself, drawing air deep into his lungs. “I didn’t have a hope in hell of escaping before I saw you, but everything is different now. Try to stay calm. We’ll do this together.”
Shaelyn, taking his advice, took a deep breath and then another. Despite the circumstances, his voice soothed her and his belief in her compounded the feeling.
“About the Gray Ghost—”
“He’s James,” she finished for him. “I know. I saw him. I just don’t understand why he’s doing this. He’s not the same man I knew.”
“War changes people,” Remy said. “It can bring out the best in some people, like bravery and courage. For others, it brings out the worst. Davenport is a great example.” Remy grunted as she pulled on the ropes around his wrists, the action tugging on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and concentrated on breathing and working the knot. Finally, she could feel it loosening just a bit.
“Well, isn’t this sweet?”
The voice came from just inside the doorway.
James.
Shaelyn stiffened and then jumped to her feet to confront the man she’d once thought she loved. They had shared some wonderful times, but now her heart hurt to look at him and her palm itched to connect with the side of his face. She said nothing though. The words in her brain tumbled too quickly, and truthfully, she didn’t know where to begin or how to tell him what she thought of him.
“So lovely to see you, Shae. Or should I call you Mrs. Harte?” He came further into the room, his smile as wide and charming as it had always been, but beneath the calm veneer, she sensed triumph and arrogance, anger and hatred.
He tilted his head as he gazed at her and fondled the key in his hand. She could see the lights dancing in his eyes. The sight filled her with panic. Her hands clenched at her sides.
“You seem surprised. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you married the major here?” He shook his head, his smile never leaving his face. “Tsk, tsk. You should have waited for me, Shae. We could have done so much together.”
James grinned at her as if neither of them had a care in the world, and the desire to hit him grew, overwhelming her. She’d like nothing better than to bring him to his knees somehow and make him feel the pain Remy felt—she felt—but she couldn’t seem to move or make her arms and legs obey the silent commands of her mind, not even to retrieve the derringer from her boot.
He held out his hand and came closer still. “Come, my dear. We have many things to discuss.”
“Leave her alone, Brooks!” Remy struggled against the bonds that held him, his voice rising with fear and rage. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“On the contrary, Major, she is here. She broke into my home—”
Surprised, Shaelyn couldn’t stop herself from gasping. They were here? At Brookshire, the plantation where James grew up? What had happened to the lovely home she’d visited?
“—with the intention of freeing my prisoner. She deserves to be, at the very least, reprimanded.” He grinned again. Shaelyn’s stomach clenched and bile rose to her throat, threatening to choke her with its acidic bite.
“It’s me you want, Brooks. Not her.”
“Oh, you are so very wrong about that, Major.” James’s voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I do want her. I’ve always wanted her.” One dark eyebrow rose, giving him a sinister appearance as he focused on her. “If you want him to live, you’ll come with me.”
“No, Shae! Don’t go with him.”
Shaelyn had no other option. James would keep his promise to have Remy hanged in the morning if she didn’t go with him, but perhaps, if she did as he asked, Remy could be saved. She’d take that chance, however slim.
She slipped her hand into his and allowed him to escort her from the room. The last thing she heard was Remy struggling against the ropes around his wrists and the anguished cry escaping from his swollen lips.
“Don’t touch me!” Shaelyn snatched her hand from his as soon as they entered what had once been the formal parlor at Brookshire. The urge to slap the smug expression from his face still made her palm itch, but she couldn’t follow through on the impulse. She had to remain calm and think of the consequences of her actions before she acted. To do less would be more than foolish. Remy’s life—and her own—hung in the balance. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to take offense. He stepped away from her without a word; his smile, once so charming, now made her ill.
“What happened to you, James? Why have you done this? And where is Ian?”
James shrugged as he took his seat next to the fireplace. His eyes followed her as she paced the room. Despite the flames dancing behind the grate, the room felt cold, but perhaps the chill had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man sitting so regally in his wingback chair. “Do sit, Shae. You’re making me dizzy watching you pace back and forth.”
He poured himself a drink, then poured one for her and held it out for her. Shaelyn refused to take the glass. Instead, she asked again, “Where is Ian?”
“I don’t know.” He placed her glass on the table beside him, without anger, in complete control of himself, then took a sip from his own. “Honestly, my dear, we may have marched off together, but we were separated shortly after. The last I saw of Ian, he was joining a troop heading toward Washington. Beyond that, I know nothing.”
Relief surged through her, but it was short-lived. Did she dare believe him? Or was Ian dead like Captain Williams? She tried to keep her anger and her fear at bay—the task seemed next to impossible. She wanted to know why Remy had been singled out, sentenced to be hanged, but was afraid to know the answer. Was it because of her? Was James taking revenge on Remy because she’d married a Union officer? She didn’t dare ask those questions either. “What of you? How did you come to be the Gray Ghost?” Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t help it…this was the young man she had once thought she loved.
“Because I could,” he said simply.
Shaelyn drew in her breath and glared at him, her entire body shaking. “Because you could,” she repeated slowly, as if she hadn’t a brain in her head and needed him to explain it to her one more time, or two more times, or however many times it took before she understood.
“Look around you, my dear.” He swept his hands to encompass the room and laughed, the bitterness undeniable. “What do you see?”
She did as he asked, and her heart hurt. She remembered what a magnificent place Brookshire had been once upon a time, and the long, slow summers filled with barbecues and grand balls where friends and neighbors came from as far away as St. Louis or New Orleans to attend. To see what it had become devastated her, as it must devastate him—
every time he looked around.
“I marched south with my Union brothers, taking my orders, burning crops and plantation homes—until I came to my own home…” Sadness tinged his voice now, the bitterness gone, and he shook himself free of his recollections. “And saw what had been done to it. The only reason Brookshire wasn’t burned to the ground is because the Yankees thought they could make use of it, which they did.”
He stopped speaking for a moment and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. When he resumed, his voice had turned hard, the bitterness back. “They burned the furniture, I would imagine to keep warm. Why they broke the windows, I haven’t a clue. That just defeated the purpose of burning the furniture. They set my horses, cows, and chickens free or took them, I’m not sure which.”
His gaze rose to hers and Shaelyn sucked in her breath. His eyes held a faraway quality then, as quickly as she saw emotion, the wistful expression vanished, replaced with an iron-hard determination. “I was so young and foolish, Shae, and stupid, thinking…never mind what I thought. I am a Southern man, born and bred, and yet I joined the Union Army. Why? Why would I do that? So I could wear the uniform of an infantryman? So I could burn the homes of my friends and see the betrayal in their eyes?” He shook his head. Sadness reflected on his face and for a moment, he seemed so weary and disillusioned, so hurt by all of it.
“It didn’t take me long, actually took me no time at all, to realize I could no longer blindly follow the orders of men who knew nothing of the Southern way of life—my life. Do you realize there are men in positions of power who delighted in the destruction of the hard work of others? Men, like my commander, who took utter joy in causing pain.” A grim smile curved his lips. “He’ll never know joy again. I saw to that.” He glanced around the room. “I found others who thought as I did, gathered them all together. I became the Gray Ghost and this…this is my legacy. A house falling down upon itself and land that no one will work.”
“Where are your parents?” Shaelyn asked as she moved slowly toward the door they’d come through, her back against the smooth wood, her hand reaching for the knob.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 25