by Alyssa Cole
“Nothing,” he answered when she didn’t respond. “I guess I felt the satisfaction of a job well done, but I didn’t feel sad or happy. I’d been given a task and I’d completed it. So if you can derive a sense of peace or fulfillment from your aid to the Cause, I won’t judge that.”
Marlie felt a press of tears at her eyes, the questions she’d been repressing since he’d told her finally bursting forth.
“Why did you do it?” she asked. “How did you even find yourself in such a position?”
Ewan seemed prepared; knowing him, he’d spent the time since he’d told her deciding what to say should she ask.
“A few months after I enlisted, I was sent reconnoitering by my commander and another soldier,” he said. “He’d received word of a detachment of Confederates trying to relay messages across the Georgia border, to pass sensitive information into Virginia. Well, we came across a Rebel soldier, in the midst of an act that I’ll only say was immoral in the extreme. And in that moment I reasoned that since he seemed to have no qualms about the use of pain, perhaps I wouldn’t, either.”
He picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it from hand to hand.
“I thought I’d be reprimanded, that I had failed in the one thing I had sought for myself from military service: self-discipline. But my commander wasn’t angry—he was enthused. The soldier I had beaten had revealed all the information we could have wanted. And when this was relayed to those up the chain of command . . . well, it seemed that what I considered the worst of me was to be an asset for the Federal Army.”
“Do you still feel nothing?” she asked
“In regard to my missions, I feel nothing. I joined to help the Union and I did. For the first time in my life, everything that had been wrong about me was useful in doing something right. The only time I really felt something was with Cahill.” He tossed the pebble across the cave. “He was the last man I tortured.”
His gaze met hers, and she realized it wasn’t cold; it was wary. It was the look of a boy who had been told he was strange and wrong his entire life, until some army officer had decided to use that strangeness as a tool.
The import of his last words sank in after a moment.
“You were captured for the first time after you lost your composure with Cahill?”
He nodded.
“How is it that someone so sensible kept finding himself in Confederate prisons?” she asked. She sat up, as something that had long struck her as uncharacteristic finally began to make sense. “So skilled at moving silently, at getting out of places that should have kept you confined. Yet you kept getting yourself captured.”
“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” he said, making a jerky movement with his shoulders before regaining his composure. “I just had a streak of bad luck.”
Something in Marlie ached for him as he sat before her, unable to admit the truth of the matter to himself.
“You allowed yourself to be captured. Because you didn’t want to keep hurting people,” she said slowly.
“No.” He gave his head a sharp shake. “I was given orders and I executed them. I wouldn’t shirk my duties. That would be cowardly. Treasonous, even.”
“That would be human, Ewan,” Marlie said softly. “It’s all right to admit you didn’t like such work, even if you excelled at it.”
“My brother is a detective,” Ewan said, his voice thick with emotion. “He marches into Confederate lion dens on a regular basis to ensure that when the dust settles, the Union will be victorious. What kind of man would I be if I got squeamish over a few injured Rebs? What kind of man would I be if I hid from the simple duties assigned to me while other men fought and died on battlefields?”
“You tell me,” Marlie said. “The Ewan McCall I know is attentive and kind. He assists me with my work and listens to everything I say as if it matters. He cleans houses destroyed by Rebs and rocks sick babies in slave quarters, and shows deserters how to repair their guns.”
“I am the kind of man who left others weeping and slept fine afterward. I wish I could say I was something other than that.”
Marlie knew that he was no longer discussing the war. That was fine, because neither was she.
“It is against your rules to wish for things that cannot be,” she reminded him. “And perhaps you are exactly the kind of man you’re supposed to be.”
“The kind of man who breaks a man’s finger to get what he wants?”
“What did you want?” she asked.
“The location of an arsenal of weapons being smuggled in by Northern secessionists, and their names.”
“And by getting that information you saved lives and helped protect the Union.”
“Don’t,” he ground out. He moved nearer to her, his angry expression visible in the weak light that filtered into their hiding spot. “Don’t try to reimagine me, Marlie. I’m not some poisonous berry or plant that you can transmute into something better than it once was. I am not good.”
“Isn’t there something in your Enchiridion to the effect that if a man does something unjust because he believes it his duty, then he is the one hurt?”
He sucked in a breath, then his hand cupped her face, thumb passing over her cheek. She could smell the comforting scents of blackberry and pine and dogwood. “Would you say the same of a Rebel?” he asked. “A slave owner?”
“No! I don’t give a damn about a Rebel or a slave owner!” She raised her hand to cup his face in kind. “Even you have admitted that there are limits to the application of logic, just as I can admit there are with science. I care about you for reasons I cannot explain and cannot seem to escape. I know that once we get to Tennessee, we’ll part ways—maybe before then—but that doesn’t stop me from wanting . . .”
She paused, shaken by the immensity of the feeling that welled up in her. “I don’t have to transmute you into something good because you already are. I know it. I feel it the same way I can tell when a tonic is so well blended that it will have the utmost potency. You can call it silly superstition, or call me sheltered, but that won’t change what I know.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his icy gaze searching her face.
“Did you read to the end of The Enchiridion?” he asked. Marlie nodded. A thrill went through her as his fingers grazed her neck.
“ ‘Whoever yields properly to fate is wise among men.’ I consider myself wiser than most.”
Ewan kissed her then. His lips moved over hers hard, but not ungently. His mouth clung to hers and his hands pulled her close until there was no space between them, as if the Fates had woven them together, binding them intractably.
Her whole body was warm with need, ready for more than the pull of his right hand against her bodice and the slide of his left hand into her hair. He eased her down to the ground, his body a delicious weight atop her.
Marlie ran her hands over his back, feeling the play of muscles as he dipped his hips, working them in a motion that mimicked what she knew could come to pass between them. What she wanted to come to pass between them.
Her hands left his back, dropping to her sides to pull up her skirts. The fabric was too much of a barrier between them. He pushed his weight up onto his arms to assist her, and then he settled himself on his knees between her thighs.
She held her skirt up at her waist, the bunched fabric blocking his hands from view, but oh how she felt them. Each grasped an inner thigh, sliding slowly up the sensitive skin. Marlie made a low moan and bit her lip against the next—Ewan held down a thigh with one hand while the other notched against her sex, thumb pressing hard between the folds and rubbing her. Marlie trembled, her body unprepared for how quickly his touch brought her to the precipice of passion. And not just his touch; Ewan was staring down at her, that icy gaze gone heavy-lidded and hot. She sucked in a breath and his thumb rubbed more insistently, his gaze pinned her harder.
“So beautiful,” he said. “I want to see you take your pleasure at my hand.”
Marlie clenched aga
inst the unfamiliar pressure as he slid a finger inside of her, thrusting up while still rubbing her, then she was clenching around him as the friction sent shocks of sensation from her womb to her toes. Ewan was still watching, focused on nothing but giving her pleasure. Her back arched up as she pressed wantonly against his hand, her body demanding release.
“Yes. Like that.”
She’d once miscalibrated her still and the steam had built up, too hot too fast, shattering an alembic to pieces. Marlie was fairly certain that the same thing was about to happen to her. She squeezed her eyes against the intense pleasure that concussed through her body, no longer moaning or gasping but held stock still in passion’s invisible grip.
Ewan pulled his hand away and Marlie tried to absorb what had just happened. When she relaxed back to the ground and opened her eyes, she could see that Ewan’s jaw was tense with strain, his trousers tented. A sense of certainty descended on her, but one that did not dissipate the shyness that came with asking what she was about to.
“I want . . . do you want . . .” She took a shuddering breath. “Make love to me, Ewan.”
His eyes went wide and his nostrils flared.
“I want nothing more than that, but—”
“I know that I don’t have much experience, but I choose to share this experience with you.”
“It’s just that—”
“I know you think I’ve been sheltered and I don’t know what I want, but I do,” Marlie said testily.
“I’ve never made love before,” Ewan blurted out, and the shock of it knocked away Marlie’s indignation.
“What?”
“I told you, I don’t get along with others very well. I do have experience with women, but not that particular experience.”
Marlie had been so sure that he’d use her virginity against her that she wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Oh. I understand. I suppose you’re saving that for someone special.” She turned her head aside, shame buffeting her from all sides.
“Marlie,” he said. “Have you still not figured it out? I only have one criterion.”
“Cognitive superiority,” she said.
“Yes. Cognitive superiority, though I have added compassionate, spirited, and beautiful to that list, so I suppose I now have four criteria. Wait, no, just the one.” His fingertips grazed her chin, turning her head so that their gazes met. “You. Marlie Lynch.”
“That’s very specific.” Her heart beat wildly in her chest.
“I don’t believe in superstition, but perhaps I was saving myself for someone. For you.” He dropped forward onto his hands then, and this time his kiss was exceedingly soft, gentle brushes of his lips against her bruised ones. His hips rocked against her as they kissed, and she felt his member lengthen where his groin was nestled against her apex. Her hands went to his waist to undo his trousers and he stilled, except for the slight tremor that went through him at her touch. He was shaking . . . because of her.
When his pants were undone and his member warm and heavy in her hand, he nipped at her lips, drawing her attention. His gaze met hers as he pressed her down once more.
“If it hurts—”
“It can’t hurt more than this root poking into my back,” she said, drawing laughter from him. She laughed, too, and the tension between them eased a bit. He was still shaking as he positioned himself between her legs, and even as the thick head of his cock pressed into her slickness.
Marlie gasped and clutched at his back at the shocking sensation of fullness chased with incompleteness. His face nestled into her neck as he pushed into her, so slowly. His breath was a warm caress against her skin, and the small sounds of restraint he made paired with the hot friction of him moving within her was almost too much for her to take.
“Are you all right?” He stopped and raised his head to examine her face, concerned as he always was.
She ran a hand through his auburn locks and cupped him by the back of the head. “I’m always all right when I’m with you.”
He thrust up more urgently, the thick length of him filling her, and she cried out at the unexpected pain.
“I’m sorry, love.” He kissed her, caressed her face, for a long moment. Marlie suspected he was regaining his own bearings as well. Eventually, he began to move slowly, and she followed his lead. The pain didn’t go away entirely, but it was crowded out by the alien pleasure of Ewan thrusting into her. Each stroke was a little more pleasure and a little less pain, until they had settled into a galloping pace, with him driving down and her rising to meet him. Their joining was ungainly, and they occasionally lost their tempo or banged teeth or foreheads, but that didn’t detract from the fact that they were both drawing near to their release. He was moving faster now, his breath heaving in her ear, and she tightened around him as pinpricks of bliss ran through her.
“Marlie,” he warned. He thrust hard a few times, then paused. “I imagine that stamina is something that comes with practice, but alas . . .”
Marlie undulated her hips, pushing him deeper into her. He resumed his thrusting, then a moment later cursed and withdrew, shuddering beneath her hands. A warm wetness splashed onto her thighs and then he collapsed beside her.
They lay still for a long moment, Ewan pulling Marlie onto his chest and running his hand over her back. They were both too tired to arrange their clothes, and she was content to rest just like that. She was sore, and was sure her hair was hopelessly tangled, but she felt a sense of calm happiness. Even war and injustice couldn’t stop moments of joy in this world, she realized. It was moments like this they were fighting for.
“Back at Hattie’s house, you told her about something that could stop a pregnancy.”
Despair dried up Marlie’s brief oasis of calm. Was that what he had been silently pondering? How to get rid of any possible evidence of their joining? Tears scalded her eyes and she wished she weren’t so weak. Why did that one question hurt her more than anything had?
She sat up, feeling truly soiled. “Do not worry. I know how to prevent pregnancy. You won’t have to worry about an unwanted child.”
Ewan’s hand brushed over her hair and pulled her back down beside him. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. Well, I did think ‘What if I got Marlie with child?’ What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” She regarded him warily, although she didn’t move away from the soothing caress of his hand over her hair. “Then I remembered what I heard you say to Hattie, about the cotton root. And I thought about all of Vivienne’s herbal mixtures. And I thought of you imagining your mother never wanted you.”
He looked at her, as if some great understanding should have dawned on her.
“Marlie, your mother knew how to prevent pregnancy and how to terminate one. She did neither. Instead, she gave you everything she knew, and when that wasn’t enough, she entrusted you to someone who could give you more.”
Everything fell into place then, and the understanding of it hit Marlie like a blow. Not every woman in Vivienne’s situation had a choice, but she had, and she had always chosen Marlie and what was best for her.
Marlie wiped at tears and Ewan assisted, brushing away the warm droplets with his knuckles. “Do not ever think that you are easy to walk away from.” His voice was pitched low and his expression was shrouded.
“We should rest,” she said, forcing a smile. Just as in her rooms, the cave was a brief respite from reality. Thinking otherwise would only lead to pain. She would take what she could before they reached Tennessee, but she wouldn’t allow herself a false security that could only lead to pain.
CHAPTER 24
He hadn’t ever thought of his virginity as something sacred, despite holding on to it for longer than most of his compatriots. Men spoke of sexual relations in terms of conquering, claiming, owning, as if they were pillagers instead of lovers. Perhaps Ewan had done something wrong because he was the one who’d felt vulnerable, who had been left vanquished. At first he’d been focusing on their joining as if it
were a problem to be solved, but Marlie’s cries, her face, the squeeze of her around his penis—all of those had stripped his control away until he was a grunting, panting, sweating bundle of nerves. Marlie had been sated though, so perhaps he hadn’t been so wrong after all. The problem was, without other reference points, he wasn’t sure if the tenderness and calm he felt as he watched her sleep was normal or not. Or wanting to kiss her awake and slide into her again.
He wasn’t entirely calm though; Marlie kept speaking of separating once they’d reached Tennessee. He had avoided thinking of the eventuality in depth before, when he’d decided there was no chance of anything further between them because of who he was and what he had done. She hadn’t changed any idea Ewan had of himself—but if he maintained the belief that Marlie was intelligent and kind, but not foolhardy, he had to take her words into account. She thought him deserving of forgiveness. She thought it was all right that he had been hurt by what he’d had to do, instead of thinking him weak. Thus, any plans for them to go their separate ways was a problem, and like any problem Ewan was presented with, he needed to solve it.
He got up and ate a handful of blackberries and some of the sweet corn Henry had given them, letting Marlie sleep. It was a short walk to the larger cave, but he moved carefully in the waning sunlight, unsure if the Home Guard or wandering soldiers watched for signs of movement.
He paused when a shadow caught his eye, but it was only a group of the skulkers coming up the pass. More were stationed in front of the cave, some sitting and cleaning their weapons, others doing drills. Upon their first arrival, Ewan had thought the deserter camp like Randolph Prison in miniature, but now he could see it was more like his time spent with his battalion. This was not just some sad, starving group of men, but a trained militia.
He walked into the cave in a manner that showed deference, but not cowardice; that skill was learned in the army and prison both, and at home before that.
The scent of corn and pork and grains, most assuredly stolen from some of the local secessionists, emanated from several cook fires, and men queued up to gather their portions. Some men cleaned the mess that had accumulated overnight, and others were busy packing gunnysacks for a march.