by Alyssa Cole
“How are you feeling?” she asked Bill.
“Ornery,” he replied. “I hate not being able to go with the men. Henry is a fine leader, but I feel the same as when my kids first started heading off to the schoolhouse on their own.” He chuckled. “Don’t tell him I said so though. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Ewan said. Marlie glanced at him. His expression was neutral, carefully so. He did not look in her direction.
“I suppose you know what it’s like, Ewan. I heard that when they came upon you, you almost took off old Larry’s head when you thought they meant to harm your woman,” Bill said. “Seeing you two makes me miss my wife something awful,” he added quietly.
“Is she in Randolph?” Marlie asked, avoiding Bill’s implication.
“No, she went to stay with some folks in Guilford. Other free blacks. We was the only ones round our way, and once I joined up with the Heroes she had no one to look out for her. I send her letters sometimes, but my writing ain’t so great.”
He looked askance and Marlie recognized the shame in him, one she had seen often in the slaves making their way North when they’d showed up in tatters and been received by Marlie in her fancy dress. It was the shame of knowing that being enslaved had denied him something vital. Marlie’s heart ached for that misplaced emotion, but she couldn’t tell him how to feel. She had never been in his place, and had been privileged enough to be able to run when threatened with such a fate.
“I’m sure she’s just happy to hear from you,” Marlie said.
“Well, I’ll be happy when the Confederacy is sent to tarnation and we can be together again. That’s the worst part of this skulking. Sometimes I wake up and expect her next to me, and there’s nothing but Carl’s hairy behind.” He nodded toward a man a few feet away. Crinkles formed around his eyes as he laughed. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, either.”
Marlie understood Bill’s words all too well; she’d felt a moment of panic when she’d awoken to find the light fading outside of the cave and Ewan gone instead of beside her, where she expected him to be. Just a few nights and it now seemed strange—wrong—to awaken without his warm, wiry figure beside her. That, and the tenderness at her apex, had been a much-needed reminder of how painful their parting of ways would be. She’d cauterized a few wounds for the skulkers as she assisted them, and she could cauterize her own heart if that meant surviving.
Is that what Maman did?
Her beautiful mother, who had rebuffed every man who’d shown her interest during Marlie’s youth. Marlie had always thought it was because she had no need for a man, but perhaps the truth was more awful: She’d only ever loved one. And he’d taken advantage of her and deserted her.
Ewan rose from beside Bill, his expression tight.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said.
Bill and Marlie nodded and he stalked off.
“He’s got a small bladder,” Marlie said, when Bill turned a curious gaze at her.
“And a heart he wears on his sleeve,” Bill replied. After that there was silence between them. Bill poked at the small fire with a stick, and the crackle and pop of wood mixed in with the murmurs of the injured men around them.
Marlie told herself it was the silence that made the time stretch on, that she was being silly, but then suddenly she was up on her feet and looking down at Bill. She didn’t know where the urge came from, or why the words Vas-toi! echoed in her head, but she knew she had to go.
Bill picked up his rifle. Reached the long end of it out to poke Carl. He made a signal and soon all the remaining men who were capable were reaching for their arms.
“Did you hear something?” she asked.
“No, but when someone with eyes like yours jumps up like a haint whispered something in her ear, best to be ready for whatever’s coming.”
Carl crawled over. “The sentry should have been back ten minutes ago. I thought maybe he stopped to take a leak, but . . .”
“Ewan,” Marlie said, and whirled to run but something gripped her skirt. She looked down and found Bill holding the fabric bunched in his hand.
“Running out and getting yourself killed ain’t exactly what that man of yours would want.”
Fear constricted her throat at the word killed, and her desire to get to Ewan pushed toward panic. But Bill was right. If this was something more than a hunch, she couldn’t rush out blindly into the night.
Ancestors, help me.
Bill released her skirt and turned to confer with Carl, and Marlie slipped away. There was a valley of difference between running wildly into the night and doing nothing, and the latter wasn’t an option.
CHAPTER 26
The smile on Ewan’s face was unnatural, unwanted, and yet he couldn’t seem to form any other expression. Not in the instant when he first realized he was surrounded by Home Guardsmen as he fastened his trousers. Not when he was presented to Cahill, who held a lantern up to his face and stared coldly before saying, “So it was you.”
Ewan had thought he’d feel rage or fear when he met Cahill face-to-face again, but he felt nothing. His mind logged the particulars of the situation: where the men with guns were, the angles of the shadows thrown by the lanterns, the fact that Cahill’s moustache had been trimmed sloppily, one side higher than the other.
“Fan out and search for others,” Cahill had ordered.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Roberts asked.
“Tie him to this tree.”
Ah, so that’s how it’s going to be.
Ewan had considered fighting the men off, but given the number of men and weapons pointed at him that would have been asking for a quick death over a slow one; the slow one wouldn’t be more pleasant, by any means, but he had a high tolerance for pain, and it meant there was a chance that he could escape and get to Marlie. He was no use to her dead, so slow it was.
He’d had to leave the cave, her blithe conversation with Bill driving him mad when all he wanted to do was demand she give him a chance to prove her wrong. But life didn’t work that way. He could compel her no more than the North could the South or the Rebs could the skulkers. And so he’d walked away, leaving her safety to chance.
Now, with the Home Guardsmen dispatched to do his bidding, Cahill simply stood in front of Ewan. His back was to him; first he’d watched his men fan out to search for any skulkers in the woods, and now that they were all out of sight he stood as if waiting for something to emerge from the dark forest.
Ewan’s arms had been tied back behind an old walnut tree, bound tightly at the wrists. He was still fully dressed, but his ventral side was completely exposed, like an animal prepped for vivisection. It was a morbid, but not inaccurate, comparison.
Ewan heard a shot in the distance and the shouts of men, and finally he felt something. He tugged at his restraints as rage and fear converted into energy. Marlie was out there, with only a group of injured and ill men to defend against the Home Guard attack. There didn’t seem to be many of them; it was likely a detachment had broken off from the main squad with the intention of an ambush after the skulkers had headed toward Lynchwood. The Home Guard either had a man on the inside or Cahill had been prescient, but Ewan wasn’t about to be the one to break the silence to ask which was correct.
Instead he inverted his hand and ran his fingertips over the rope knotted at his wrist. He could just graze the edges of it and tried to dig his fingernails in to pull it down closer.
His gaze was trained on Cahill as he worked, the hideous smile on his face a cover for his frustration as the tightly tied rope resisted the grip of his short nails.
Cahill’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh, then he turned and walked over toward Ewan. Five limping strides and then he raised his uninjured leg and kicked out at Ewan, his foot crushing Ewan’s leg into the tree. Blinding pain rocketed through his leg and Ewan cried out—he wasn’t superhuman and some pain could not be tolerated silently. Birds rose up from the t
ree branches, the sound of their startled departure merging with the echo of his bellow. Any illusions he had about his tolerance to pain were shattered, along with his shinbone. He tried to control himself but spittle flew through gritted teeth as he tried to put weight on his leg, and a pain unlike anything he’d ever known exploded where just a moment before there had been none.
“Isn’t as fun when you’re on the receiving end,” Cahill said. “You taught me that.”
“It’s never fun,” Ewan said, his voice strangled by the effort to keep his composure. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to breathe through the pain, slumping against the tree for support. He’d had a broken limb as a child—had broken his arm and didn’t tell his family for days. He hadn’t wanted to be a bother and the pain had faded to a dull ache that only flared up if he was careless. The doctor rebreaking the bone to set it when his mother had finally realized something was amiss had hurt far more, but that had also been manageable. This would be manageable, too, if he survived.
“That’s because you were doing it wrong,” Cahill said. “I remember you, all red-faced and worked up. I thought you were gonna cry, boy.”
Cahill chuckled.
“The difference between us is that you cared,” Cahill said. “You cared about those darkies getting what was coming to them, like you ain’t never seen an animal put down before. You cared that you never got any information from me because you thought you had to break me, to teach me a lesson.”
Cahill pulled a knife that looked designed to cut a man clean in half from a sheath at his side. Ewan shifted and bit his lip as pain flared up his entire leg.
“If you don’t care, why are you here?” Ewan asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, now. I believe in what I’m doing.” Cahill pulled down an overhanging branch and sliced the knife clean through it, easy as if he were cutting through lard, and walked closer to Ewan. “I believe the North is full of cowardly men who deserve to die in their own filth. I believe these darkies are shit on the bottom of my shoe and that when the Confederacy wins they’ll rue the day they fell for that abolitionist garbage. But I don’t care. I’m here because I like doing this.”
He was close to Ewan now, the knife’s point pressing into the fabric at the thigh of the leg Ewan was using to support himself. His face was blank as he slowly pressed it through the material, sliding it into Ewan’s flesh torturously slowly.
Ewan’s eyes watered and his stomach turned, but Cahill was looking him in the eye and he refused to show how truly nausea-inducing the pain was. Instead he gritted against the pain, drew his head back until it hit the bark of the tree, then slammed his head forward, executing a technically perfect head-butt. He was going to die, but with the knowledge that he had mastered at least a few things in this life.
And that you stormed away from Marlie without telling her you love her.
That was a regret he couldn’t think on. He focused on the small flash of pleasure he received when Cahill dropped the knife and grabbed his face, stumbling back. It was more of a reaction than he’d gotten from the man when he’d interrogated him.
Cahill looked up from between bloody fingers, then knelt and picked up the knife.
He walked slowly—he wanted Ewan to have time to think about what was going to happen when he arrived, that was clear. Ewan sighed and leaned his head back against the tree. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction. His fingers still scrambled against the knots at his wrist, the task slightly easier since he’d freed up the barest bit more space by loosening the rope. It wasn’t enough though.
He thought of Marlie’s smile in the dreary prison yard, of the curve of her bare shoulder when she’d walked into the shed with Tobias. Of her mouth against his as she took him inside of her, the sweetest pleasure he’d ever known. He opened his eyes, ready to face his death, and the nausea hit him again because there was Marlie, exactly where she shouldn’t have been.
She was running up at Cahill from behind, a rock hefted over her head with two hands, her expression tied between fury and fear.
Ewan opened his mouth to bait Cahill, to distract him, but there was no time. Marlie moved fast, but not fast enough. Cahill noticed her just as she lunged, ducking out of the way so that the rock hit him, but only a glancing blow. Marlie stumbled but didn’t fall, whirling and backing up as he advanced on her.
“Fancy,” he said, and the relish in his voice sent a chill down Ewan’s spine. It was the first time Ewan had heard him emote, and the enjoyment in his tone was that of a cat that had stumbled upon a hapless rodent. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, but God must be smiling down on me tonight.”
Marlie didn’t answer, just stared at him with chattering teeth. She moved from foot to foot, as if debating whether to run or attack.
“Run, Marlie,” Ewan said. He regretted it instantly; when he saw the smirk that turned up Cahill’s mouth he understood he’d just delivered Cahill his trump card.
The man lunged forward, a feint that worked perfectly. Marlie started and threw the rock in the direction he had lunged toward, but Cahill was already pivoting out of the way. The rock landed with a thud, leaving Marlie defenseless and Cahill straightened from his crouch, his wicked knife catching the scant moonlight.
He began his approach and Marlie turned to run, her panicked gaze skittering over Ewan as she did. The fear in her eyes sent a spike into his chest.
No.
Cahill tackled her from behind, buckling her at the knees and holding her legs tight as he pulled himself up the length of her body. Ewan growled in frustration, and leaned all his weight forward, ignoring the shooting pain in his legs. His gaze was pinned to Marlie and his mind was focused on his hands, slick with sweat and pulling slowly through the space he’d eked out in the knotted rope. He pulled and the rope caught at the meat of his palms. Ewan surged forward, using his leg as leverage so that he was nearly standing against the tree parallel to the ground, pushing himself forward and pulling his hands through the rope.
In front of him, Cahill had turned Marlie on her back and had one hand at her throat. “Told ya you wouldn’t last five minutes,” he said.
Marlie grasped at his hand, her feet kicking, mouth opening and closing as she fought for air.
No!
Ewan gave one last heave, felt the blood spurting at his thigh at the same time he felt his hands slip through the rope. For a moment he was in freefall, then he landed facedown, his injured legs slamming into the ground and shooting a pain through him that made him retch. But Marlie needed him. He pulled himself to a crouch and dragged himself toward them. The abandoned rock lay a few feet away from Marlie’s kicking legs and he hoisted it up and drew his arm back.
“Cahill.” The man looked up at him, his face a mask of excitement, and Ewan swung his fist forward with all his might, the rock facing outward. The blow caught Cahill in the temple with a horrifying smack and he flew off Marlie’s prone form.
Ewan’s arm shook from the force of the impact but he tightened his hold on the rock and advanced, ready to finish the job he had started so long ago. Ewan kneeled beside the bloody Cahill and held the rock up high over his head. Cahill’s eyes fluttered open and their gazes locked, but then his eyes went unfocused and closed again. Behind him Ewan could hear Marlie coughing and by the time he glanced her way she had rolled to her side and was looking at him. She didn’t say anything, likely couldn’t, but she didn’t give him any indication of what she wanted, either.
He would have to decide for himself.
“Perhaps you are exactly the kind of man you’re supposed to be.”
He held the rock high, breathing heavily, then let it drop. It landed beside Cahill’s head and Ewan released a ragged breath. Even that movement he could feel in his leg.
Marlie appeared beside him, breathing heavily, too. In one hand she held the long knife and in the other the length of rope that had bound him to the tree. Together, they hog-tied Cahill as best they could.
“Wha
t happened to Bill and the others?”
“I slipped out of the cave and into the trees, and then gunfire broke out behind me.”
Ewan tried to stand and she came beside him, leaning down so he could hook his arm over her shoulder.
“Let’s get away from this place, although Home Guard could be anywhere.” Ewan tried to think but his legs pained him and his head was spinning.
“Come. You’re losing blood and I have to tend to you,” she said.
“You should leave me and go,” Ewan said. The words were as painful to him as his wounds.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. Was that anger in her tone?
“Marlie, be logical. You’ve already insisted that we must go our separate ways when we reach Tennessee. I don’t agree with this, but I’ll respect it. I’m injured; why wait for an arbitrary geographical line? Be reasonable.”
She didn’t say anything, just kept holding up his weight as they moved into the forest. She was dragging him more than carrying him, and Ewan knew they wouldn’t get far.
“How is your leg?” she asked after they had made some progress.
“Manageable.”
“I take it that means you need to rest now.” She stopped and eased him back against a tree. “I can’t see. Do you know what your injuries are?”
“One leg is broken, one is stabbed and bleeding heavily.”
“Jesus, Ewan, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been bleeding all this time?”
He heard the sound of ripping fabric and then her hand found his in the darkness. “Guide me to the wound,” she said. He placed her hands over his thighs, but his arms felt heavy. He was feeling lethargic all around, in fact.
“I think I may have lost more blood than I realized,” he said. “I feel like I need to sleep though I’m aware that I’m not tired.”
“No, Ewan.” Her hand was over the wound in his thigh and she pressed down on it, the sharp pain reviving him a bit. She worked as quickly as she could without much assistance from him, passing a strip of fabric round his thigh to stop the bleeding.