In Enemy Hands

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Lily remained calm. “No. I’m going to release him, and I want your word that you won’t do him any harm.”

  “I’ll do ’im ’arm, all right. I’ll take ’is bloody ’ead off.” Tommy took a step closer, and Lily stepped between her uncle and Quint.

  Quint smiled, a maddeningly joyful smile as he realized what Lily had done. Chaining herself to him had been her way of protecting him from Tommy. He knew he should be angry that she believed he needed protection from her irascible guardian, but that anger was lost in his relief.

  The shackles fell away from his wrist, then from his ankle. Lily still stood between him and Tommy, and Quint took a step forward to place both hands on her shoulders. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her, but he didn’t. He stood directly behind her, his back as straight as hers, his eyes meeting Tommy’s over her head.

  Tommy couldn’t take them both on, that much was clear. Lily’s uncle turned away from Quint and Lily, from their combined strength. “All right,” he muttered. “But ’e better not give me a reason to shoot ’im, because I will if it comes to that.”

  Lily stepped away from Quint, and his hands fell from her shoulders. When she turned to confront him, he was presented with the same stony countenance Tommy had faced.

  “You’re free to go, Lieutenant Tyler,” she said calmly.

  Quint cocked his head and stared at her. “I’m free to go,” he repeated.

  Lily nodded her head.

  “Like hell I will,” he shouted. “I’m not leaving until I see you on a ship sailing away from this place.”

  Lily’s expression never changed. She folded her hands almost primly at her waist. “You needn’t worry. I give you my word that I’m leaving and I won’t come back.”

  Quint felt as if the ground had dropped out from under him. Life with Lily was like riding out a storm at sea. One minute he was riding the crest of a wave, on top of the world and soaring through the sky, and the next minute the world threatened to swallow him whole.

  “I’ll see you on that ship,” Quint said, his voice deceptively calm. He stared at her for a full minute, a silent minute in which no one spoke. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away from her.

  They traveled toward the coast, taking a southeasterly road. Lily was flanked by Quint and Tommy, her husband on his bay, her uncle on a tired gray mare. Lily’s own mare wasn’t in much better condition, nor were any of the lads’ mounts, though they seemed more than capable of the single day’s travel that was required.

  The wagon had been left behind, hastily covered with limbs cut from the trees that had surrounded their camp. It would be discovered eventually, but by that time Lily and her crew would be long gone.

  In front of her, Roger rode with the flaxen-haired Farmer brothers, and the three of them were constantly engaged in a spirited conversation. Roger emphasized his arguments with a single animated hand, as the other hand held the reins of his own less-than-magnificent steed.

  A glance to the rear showed Lily that Sellers and his two quiet companions were vigilantly watching the road, peering ahead and back the way they’d just come, anxious to return to the sea where they belonged. Sellers held the reins of the packhorse that carried blankets, three tents, and Roger’s guitar.

  Quint was fuming, his silence a controlled and almost tangible entity. When Lily dared to look sidelong at him, she saw a stoic face, but Quint’s jaw twitched as he fought to maintain that apparent apathy. As far as she could tell, Quint hadn’t looked at her since they’d left camp, though he had remained at her side throughout the morning.

  Tommy rode at her right, and tried to be as austere as Quint. But occasionally he broke into a litany of curses just under his breath, as he swore to himself and stared at her with disapproving eyes.

  The morning seemed to last forever, and Lily, whose energy had always been boundless, was exhausted by the time they stopped for a cold noon meal. Sellers and his companions saw to the horses, while Roger and the Farmers unpacked a store of fruit and bread and filled tin cups from the clear spring the horses drank at.

  Lily sat at the base of an oak tree, its trunk wide and weathered and rough. But it provided support for her back as she lowered herself to the ground. It made no sense for her to feel so tired. She had always been active and strong, rising early and staying busy throughout the day. She’d never had much patience with frail women who resorted to afternoon naps to maintain their negligible energy.

  As these thoughts ran through her mind, she closed her eyes and allowed the exhaustion to sweep over her.

  Quint stood several feet away, ostensibly brushing the layer of road dust from his uniform. He even removed his hat to beat it against his leg, creating a cloud that formed quickly and then fell about his feet. All the while, he had one eye on Lily as she settled herself in the dirt and leaned back against the tree.

  “What the ’ell ’ave you done to ’er, you bleedin’ Yankee bastard?”

  Quint turned his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow to Tommy, as the older man practically growled at him. “Are you speaking to me, or is there another bleedin’ Yankee bastard around here somewhere?”

  “Look at ’er,” Tommy whispered as he studied his niece. She had fallen asleep moments after she’d closed her eyes, and the hand that rested in her lap slid to the ground as they watched.

  “I know.” Quint frowned. “I think being in that prison was harder on her than she’s willing to admit.” For a moment his anger at the old man was forgotten. “Once you get her home, she’ll be all right.” He hoped that was true, that once Lily was in her house, surrounded by the sea air and the gentle breeze that wrapped itself around the island, she would regain the vitality she’d lost.

  It was Roger who woke Lily, kneeling before her and handing her a tin plate and a cup of water. Quint watched as Lily smiled wearily at the young man, and he felt a twinge of jealousy.

  When the horses had been watered and the travelers fed, the lads mounted up, ready to get on the road again. Lily trudged toward her mare, fatigue in her step. If only she could sleep for an hour or two, she was certain she would be all right. Tommy mounted his gray with an ungraceful grunt, and only she and Quint remained unseated.

  Quint stared at her with those damn dark eyes, and his jaw worked impatiently. Why hadn’t he simply returned to Washington where he belonged? She didn’t want him to see her tired and sick, and maybe start to wonder….

  With an impatient step, Quint moved to her mare, grabbed the reins, and tossed them to Tommy. Without a word, he took Lily’s arm and led her to his bay. Before she could protest, he had lifted her into his saddle and vaulted up to sit behind her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” She had only to glance up to see his stern visage, so close. Too close.

  “You’re too tired to ride,” Quint snapped. “I’d rather you didn’t fall out of the saddle.” With his long arm, he held her close to him, though he managed not to look her full in the face. “Just lean your head back and take a nap.” His voice softened slightly, in a kind of resignation.

  “I’m perfectly capable…. ”

  “Not today you’re not.”

  “I can’t possibly sleep…. ”

  “Of course you can.”

  Before Lily could protest further, they were moving forward. She’d expected a protest from Tommy, but none was forthcoming. She couldn’t see her uncle’s face at all, sitting as she was with her back to the man who was her favorite relative and her first mate. But he was silent, and Lily sighed with an uncommon passiveness and laid her head against Quint’s chest.

  She could hear Roger’s lively voice ahead of her, and she could hear Quint breathing just above. That sound alone was oddly soothing. The horses’ hooves beat against the road in a steady cadence that relaxed her as if it were a lullaby, and in a matter of minutes, she was sound asleep.

  It was a sudden change in pace that woke Lily, almost two hours later. Quint had pulled his bay to a standstill, and Lily hea
rd the prancing of nervous hooves instead of the relaxing rhythms she had slept to.

  They had rounded a curve in the road and found themselves face-to-face with a Yankee patrol. Tommy’s hand was on the pistol at his waist. Eddie Farmer snaked a hand behind his back and closed his fist over the knife that was sheathed there. Roger was uncommonly silent.

  At least her crew had the sense not to draw their weapons, though they were certainly prepared to defend themselves, should it come to that. They had been prepared for this, as they had been for most everything else.

  Quint moved forward, forcing Eddie’s and Roger’s mounts to part for him. Lily stirred in his arms, looking ahead to the patrol of twenty or more men.

  “Major,” Quint greeted the officer at the head of the column, an older man covered with road dust and scowling at the inconvenient delay he faced.

  He raked his eyes over Quint, and over Lily as well. “Lieutenant. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” He took off his hat and wiped the dusty brim. His too-long hair was not completely gray, but silver was predominant in the almost shoulder-length curls.

  “I’m escorting my wife and her family home,” Quint said, not bothering to mention that “home” was Nassau.

  The major scowled. His suspicions were clear on his lined face, in the narrowing of his eyes and the flaring of his nostrils, as if he smelled a traitor. Sharp eyes took in all the members of her party, her crew too young and healthy not to be soldiers. And then his eyes landed on her. She met his gaze and finally gave him a faint smile.

  Quint reached inside his coat and withdrew a neatly folded sheet of paper. He wasn’t blind to the major’s suspicions, any more than Lily was.

  “I have a letter from Captain Brighton,” Quint said calmly, passing the paper to the major.

  The officer snapped the missive open and read the brief note. His fine eyebrows lifted slightly as he read, and the mistrust cleared from his eyes. He refolded the note and passed it back to Quint. “I see.” Then he gave Lily a smile. “So you’re a friend of Peter Brighton? Good man.”

  Lily simply nodded.

  “Shame about his wife, though. She was so young.” The major’s smile faded. “You favor her a little. Were you related to her, Mrs. Tyler?”

  Lily perked up. They were going to have to bluff their way past these soldiers, and that was something she was very good at. “No, Major. This is my family.” She waved her hand to indicate the men around her. “My father, Thomas Gibbon.” She smiled at Tommy and nodded in his direction. “And these are my brothers. “Eddie and Roger and Gilbert.” They each nodded when their name was called, and Lily looked to the lads at the rear. “Phillip and Johnny and Timothy.”

  The major replaced his hat and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the “family” before him. Except for Eddie and Gilbert with their fair hair, there was little resemblance among the boys.

  “Where’s home, Lieutenant?”

  Quint hesitated before replying. “On the coast.”

  The major nodded slightly. “You going home to stay?”

  Quint shook his head. “No, sir. I report to General Sheridan in three days’ time.”

  Lily looked up at him, wide-eyed and dizzy. It was true. She could tell by the tone of his voice. He was going back to fight again.

  “Your leg,” she said softly. “You can’t possibly…. ” Lily glanced back to the major. She had forgotten for a moment that he was there.

  “I’m transferring to the cavalry,” Quint directed his comment to the major. “I was wounded last year and have just recently been declared fit for duty.”

  “Fit for duty,” Lily repeated, squirming in her seat. “I think…. ” She squirmed until she started to slip from Quint’s grasp, and for a second she thought she might actually fall. Quint caught her and pulled her closer to him, but not before they all heard Roger’s excited cry.

  “Cap’n!”

  All heads turned to the young man.

  Lily grimaced at him and turned to the major. “You’ll have to forgive my brother,” she said in a loud whisper. “Roger’s a bit daft.”

  Roger guided his horse forward until he was close to Quint and Lily. The expression on his face was dignified and disdainful, eyebrows arched and mouth puckered.

  “I ’eard that,” he said calmly. He turned to the major, chin high. “I’ll ’ave you know, General, that I am not daft.”

  “Major,” the Yankee corrected Roger.

  “O’ course, General,” Roger said reasonably. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, ’ave a few sweetcakes in your saddlebags?” He moved close to the major, leaning to the side so as to be close to the saddlebags.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” The major’s attention was diverted from Quint and Lily and centered on a fidgeting Roger who sidled closer to him.

  “Oh,” Roger sighed deeply. “I do so like sweetcakes, and it’s been ever so long.” His face transformed into one of longing and sadness. “Are you most certain you don’t ’ave no sweetcakes?”

  The major backed away, his horse retreating two steps. “I might have a bit of hardtack…. ”

  “Gor, no!” Roger shouted. “I ’ad some ’ardtack once. Tasted almost as tough as one o’ me sister Lily’s biscuits.” His body slid slowly to the side, until he was almost parallel to the ground. Only his strong thighs were keeping him from dropping to the ground as he reached for the major’s saddlebags.

  With flailing arms and a surprised yelp. Roger fell to the ground and landed flat on his back. “Would you look at that,” he said dryly. “Fell out o’ me saddle again.”

  One of the major’s men jumped from his horse to check on the civilian in the dirt. Roger glared up at him serenely. “Do you ’ave any sweetcakes, Cap’n?”

  “No.” The private backed away, assured that the man on the ground wasn’t hurt.

  Roger leapt to his feet and vaulted into the saddle, as agile as a cat. “Well, if you’re absolutely certain that you ’ave no…. ”

  “Roger!” Tommy’s bellow made Roger straighten his back and glance over his shoulder.

  “Yes, Admiral?”

  Tommy simply crooked his finger, and Roger hung his head and plodded away from the major. Once he was beside Tommy, the older man punched Roger lightly on the arm, and the former con artist fell to the ground as smoothly as silk on silk.

  The major turned to Quint with sympathy in his eyes.

  “Good luck to you. Lieutenant Tyler.” The major tipped his hat, and the sun glinted off of his silver hair once again. “And to you, Mrs. Tyler.”

  Quint and Lily moved to the side of the road, and Lily’s crew followed suit. They allowed the Union patrol to pass, then returned to the road silently. That could have been a disaster, if the major had asked too many questions, or if Quint had not had that letter from Captain Brighton.

  Lily found herself wondering about Captain Brighton, the man she had hated for so very long. What had happened to his wife? What was his tragedy?

  They were miles down the road before Roger fell back and gave her a dazzling grin.

  “Daft, am I?”

  Twenty-Three

  The sun was setting at their backs. Lily could smell the sea, though she could see no sign of the ocean, could hear no lapping surf. The land they rode across was sparsely green, and they passed what remained of a huge summer garden, a plot in the ground now overrun by weeds and scraggly plants that would continue to reach for the sun until the first frost wilted their tough leaves. That wouldn’t be long, Lily thought as a cold wind nipped at her nose.

  Quint had grudgingly returned her to her own horse not long after the run-in with the Yankee patrol. Her nap had energized her greatly, and that combined with the excitement of their encounter kept her wide awake.

  She’d felt Quint’s probing eyes on her all afternoon, but rather than stare back, as she’d been prone to do in the past, she kept her eyes on the road or on Roger’s back.

  The cottage they stopped at had once been
white, but more raw wood showed than whitewash. Still, the neglected home showed some signs of care. The weeds that grew with wild abandon elsewhere had been pulled from along the path that led to the front door. There were curtains and drying herbs in the windows, and two sturdy-looking rocking chairs on the front porch.

  Sellers and his mates took the horses to the barn, and the rest of the crew entered the cottage.

  The house was cold, and there was no sign of occupancy—no fire in the fireplace or welcoming pot on the stove. The chill went through Lily’s calico to her skin. Without the sun to warm the air, the damp chill was icy and penetrating.

  “The folks who own this place won’t be back until late tomorrow.” Tommy spoke to Lily, ignoring Quint, as they stepped into the large room. There was a huge fireplace at one end, and a kitchen built into the other. An opened door led to the single bedroom.

  “Are you certain?” Lily walked around the room, stretching her legs and working out the kinks that had settled in after several hours in the saddle.

  “Aye. They’ve been well paid. They looked as though the bit o’ gold I ’anded them was the first ’ard money they’d seen in years.”

  Roger and the Farmer brothers built a blaze in the massive stone fireplace and started another fire in the stove. Quint paced the room, his boots clicking against the wood floor, his hands clenched behind his back. Tommy’s eyes followed his movement, hard and unyielding. Lily knew that in those eyes Quint was responsible for every hardship that had befallen her—her capture, her imprisonment, her apparent illness.

  Quint muttered something almost unintelligible about a breath of fresh air and stormed through the front door. A rush of cold air blew in before he could close it, and Lily shivered as the chill reached her. Her eyes were on the door he had disappeared through.

  Tommy decided to check on the lads who were tending to the horses. Sellers and the other boys had learned quickly, but they weren’t horsemen. They were sailors.

  After a few silent moments, Roger sent both Farmer brothers in search of more firewood, as he gathered together the ingredients for the evening meal. More stew. He’d said it was the only thing he knew how to make, and none of the others would own up to knowing how to cook.