In Enemy Hands

by Linda Winstead Jones

  And now she had only enough strength to snuggle contentedly against him, one arm flung across his chest.

  “It’s strange to imagine,” Lily whispered hoarsely, “that if it were not for the war, we never would have met. I hate this war, and now it’s pulling us apart, but I wonder…. ”

  “I would have found you, Lily.” Quint held her firmly nestled in his arms, his fingers trailing lazily down her back and up again.

  His certain statement intrigued her, and she lifted herself up on one elbow so she could see his face. The fire in the main room had died down, and only a hint of moonlight lit his face.

  “How?”

  He gave her a smile and brushed the hair away from her face. “I would have gone to Virginia to buy a horse. Something would have drawn me there. Of course, someone would have told me that your father’s horse farm was the best, and I would have been directed there.”

  “But you wouldn’t have liked me,” Lily said certainly. “None of the boys my father and Elliot brought home liked me.”

  “I’m not a boy, Lily. I’m a man. And I damn well would have liked you.” He seemed adamant. “You might not have liked me, of course.”

  “Probably not,” she teased, smiling down at his face.

  “I would have won you anyway.”

  “I actually had a suitor tell me once that I was more of a man than he was. Of course, I had just beaten him in a horse race, and he was a petulant sissy.” Lily traced a finger along Quint’s chest. “He meant it as an insult, but I smiled and thanked him. It hurt though. I can’t help the way I am.”

  “I like you just the way you are,” Quint said brusquely. “Who said that to you?”

  Lily smiled. He was angry at the insult, not at her. “It doesn’t matter. How would you have won me?” She wanted to imagine what it would have been like to fall in love with Quint without the war between them. Would he have tried to court her as her unsuccessful suitors had?

  “First I would have challenged you to a game of chess,” Quint declared.

  “I would have beaten you.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Quint said dreamily. “Then I would have grabbed you and kissed you.”

  “How unchivalrous.” Lily tried to sound shocked, but she laughed. “Just like that?”

  “Just like this.” Quint pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly, until she melted in his arms. With a sigh, he pulled away slightly. His lips were close to hers, almost touching, but not quite. “And then I would have said, ‘damn, I’ll never find another woman like this one. I guess I better marry her.’ ”

  How could he break her heart so easily, with a smile, with a word? How could she walk away from this?

  “Come with me, Quint,” Lily begged. She forgot about her stubborn pride and pleaded with him. “I’ll worry about you, and your leg —”

  “My leg is fine. I’ve just got a little limp, that’s all.” Quint kissed her again to quiet her protests, but Lily pulled away.

  “Please.” There was a ragged pain in her voice.

  “I can’t,” Quint whispered as he laid his palm against her cheek.

  “Why not?” Lily pushed against him angrily.

  Quint ignored her anger and gathered her in his arms, pulling her head against his shoulder and burying his face in her hair. She felt his warm breath against the top of her head, his insistent hands at her back.

  “Because I believe that what I’m doing is right. Important.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not right for one man to own another. Because it’s not right for a man to be beaten because he dares to look at another man without fear in his eyes. Because… because it’s not right for a thirteen-year-old boy to be sold away from his family because he was playing with the master’s son when the clumsy boy fell out of a tree and broke his nose.” There was such raw pain in Quint’s voice when he spoke that Lily lifted her head to look into his eyes. That was the truth. She kissed the bump on his nose.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He was… your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I heard that he died a few years later, whipped to death because he tried to run away.”

  Lily laid her head there in the crook of his shoulder where it fit so perfectly.

  “I was always glad that the break healed badly. I wanted my parents to feel guilty every time they looked at me. I wanted them to be reminded of the cruel thing they’d done.”

  “Were they?”

  Quint managed a hoarse laugh. “No,” he answered with pain in his voice. “That was the worst of all. They never gave Jonah another thought.”

  Jonah. Lily closed her eyes and tried to comfort Quint with a kiss to his shoulder, her fingers twined through his. Jonah. The name Quint had cried out in his sleep as they lay shackled together. His demon.

  “I still wish you would come with me,” Lily said, already certain of what his answer would be.

  “I can’t,” Quint whispered.

  Lily accepted his answer. How could she ask him to abandon his honor when she had been so damned inflexible about her own? But she would miss him, and she would worry about him, and she would love him, deep in her heart, for the rest of her life.

  It was still dark when Quint roused Lily from a fitful sleep. It was time to go. He helped her dress in the rose calico, buttoning the tiny buttons for her, tying the ribbon at her throat. He even brushed her hair, and she allowed him to do all these small things for her.

  She was silent, too silent for Lily. Quint found that he couldn’t find his voice either. It hurt too much. And he knew there were no words of comfort that would change what was about to happen, no words to ease the pain.

  He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. She was as smooth as silk and as hard as steel. Strong and soft, vulnerable and intractable. And she was his.

  His, and not his.

  He wanted so much to tell her that he loved her, but he was afraid. So much had happened. He had betrayed her, but that didn’t mean he loved her less. She wouldn’t believe him. Not now. Not after all she’d learned about him. Their night together had been an enchanted slice of time, suspended and separate from the other trials they’d been through. But that couldn’t last forever. Only for a few short hours.

  He moved away from her, and when he glanced down and caught her staring at him, she smiled sadly, poignantly, and Quint tried to smile back.

  He couldn’t.

  His face was like stone, and he couldn’t pretend for her anymore.

  Lily wanted to tell Quint that she loved him, but she remained silent. She didn’t want him to go into battle burdened with her love. That was certainly how he would see it. A burden. If he was determined to be a soldier, then he had to give all of himself to that task if he was to survive.

  He was so distant, Lily thought as she watched him dress in his dark uniform. She sat on the edge of the bed and drank him in with her eyes, memorizing his face, the way he held his hands, the stern lift to his shoulders. It was over, whatever had brought them together for that final night. She was glad of it, though. Glad to have more memories of Quint to carry in her heart.

  The beach was a short walk from the house, over a weed-covered hill and again over jagged rocks. Quint held her hand, and they followed Tommy and the crew as they made their way toward the beach. The sky before them was gray as morning approached, and Tommy and the lads were silent silhouettes against the sky.

  Lily dragged her feet, clasping Quint’s hand as a gust of wind caught her unaware. The chill of the wind couldn’t match the frost that was building in her heart as he led her toward a ship that would take her away. Their fingers intertwined as they slipped silently through the early-morning mist.

  She steeled herself, pushing back the tears that threatened. Her spine was stiff and unyielding, her face untouched by emotion.

  Quint continued to hold her hand even when the jagged rocks were behind t
hem and they walked across the sand. The ship waited in the distance, and already the full skiff carried all her companions but one to the waiting ship. Tommy stood near the water, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Not a word was spoken on the beach as Tommy stared away from them and Quint and Lily stood apart, their hands still clasped. The sky lightened slowly, the gray turning to a soft lavender shot with pink.

  It was worth it all. The pain, the heartache, the tears. All for love, for the chance to be—perhaps just for a short time—a part of something more than any one person could ever be.

  The skiff was coming for her, rowing toward the shore quickly. Lily was surprised to see Captain Dennison step from the skiff, leaving two of his men behind.

  Tommy stepped through the waves and into the skiff without a backward glance, as Dennison advanced.

  “Tyler,” he said in soft voice. There was surprise in his voice as he studied Quint and his uniform from head to toe. “Miss Lily.” He bowed to her briefly, “I’m here to take you home.”

  “That’s right,” Quint snapped. “You get her back to Nassau, and then you make certain that she stays there.”

  Dennison looked bemused. “And Captain Sherwood?”

  “There is no Captain Sherwood,” Lily said, a touch of melancholy in her voice.

  Quint squeezed her hand. “Actually, she’s Captain Sherwood.”

  “The devil you say.” Dennison’s eyebrows shot up, and he stared at Lily without even attempting to hide his shock.

  Quint escorted Lily to the skiff, lifting her easily when they neared the water to keep her feet and skirt dry. If any other man had attempted to do that, she would have been insulted. But she wasn’t. This was Quint.

  She didn’t protest until he moved away from her, taking Captain Dennison’s arm and pulling the captain out of her range of hearing. Once or twice Dennison turned to look at her, and Quint was stating his case heatedly, arguing with Dennison. Whatever it was, he didn’t want her to hear.

  Lily didn’t move from her seat. The chill of the air penetrated her thin dress and nipped at her nose. He was really sending her away.

  Before Tommy or the two sailors knew what was happening, Lily jumped from the skiff and splashed through the surf. She didn’t feel the chill of the water or the dampness of her skirts as the gentle waves soaked her calico. She paid no mind to the sting of tears in her eyes and the bite of the cold air that tossed her hair about her head.

  She ran to Quint and threw herself into his arms. “I love you, Quint,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I can’t leave without saying it. I love you. Please don’t let me go.”

  Quint gathered her into his arms. God, why did she have to do this? It would have been much simpler to watch her sail away without knowing how she felt.

  “Our timing is bad, Lily.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “Our bloody timing is bad? Is that all you can say to me?”

  Quint kissed her one last time. He didn’t allow her to argue or chastise him or say again that she loved him. He kissed her so hard and so deep that she couldn’t breathe, and when he released her, he pushed her into Dennison’s arms. Then he turned his back on her.

  He heard her muffled protests as Dennison carried her away. Her voice faded, and he heard the oars slapping against the water. Lily called his name, one last time, and then she was silent.

  He turned to watch the skiff carry his wife away, standing stock still with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted far apart. The wind whipped his hair away from his face.

  It was the wind that put the tears there, he decided, that caused that unfamiliar stinging in his eyes. A grain of sand that troubled his eyes the way Lily troubled his heart. He hadn’t shed a tear since he was twelve years old and had broken his nose. He’d cried when he’d fallen, and again when he’d watched Jonah carried away from his family. He still had nightmares about Jonah’s tears, the chains that had bound a thirteen-year-old child, and Jonah’s mother’s screams.

  Just as he would have nightmares about watching Lily sail away from him. It was for the best, he tried to convince himself. She would be safe in Nassau.

  “I love you, too, Lily.” He whispered into the wind the words he didn’t dare say to her face.

  Lily boarded Dennison’s ship, the Sally-Anne, and refused to go below as instructed. She stood at the bow of the ship and looked toward the beach. He was still there. From what she could see, he hadn’t moved at all.

  “It’s cold, Miss Lily,” Dennison said kindly. “You really should go below.”

  “No,” she said shortly. “Not yet.” She wouldn’t take her eyes from the figure on the beach until she could no longer see him. “What did he say to you?”

  Dennison shrugged, reluctant. “That the two of you are married. Is that true?”

  “Aye, it is.” If he was confused by the loss of her Southern accent, he didn’t show it.

  Dennison shook his head. “I should be surprised, but I’m not. He was taken with you the first time he saw you.”

  “Did he say anything else… just now?” Why did she insist on torturing herself?

  Dennison hesitated, humming under his breath for a moment. “He said I was to protect you while you were on board my ship. And he said if I touched you, or if any of my crew touched you, he would cut out my heart and have it for breakfast.”

  Lily smiled sadly. Maybe he did love her a little. Maybe he was just possessive, like a small boy who was afraid to let anyone else touch his favorite toy.

  Dennison left her there, unable to convince her to go below. She stood at the bow of the ship, and when Dennison was gone she stepped onto the lower rail and grasped the top rail with her cold hands. The wind lashed her hair back and pressed the calico to her body, whirling the damp skirt around her legs.

  “I love you, Quint,” she swore confidently. “I’ll always love you.” The wind snatched the words from her mouth and whisked them away to be lost in the frigid surf and howling gusts.

  Lily moved around the deck as the ship turned, always watching the beach. Quint never moved, even as the Sally-Anne sailed away. She watched until he was nothing more than a dark speck on the beach that was finally bathed in a golden morning light, and still she couldn’t tear herself away.

  Twenty-Five

  With the seizure of Fort Fisher in January and Fort Sumter in February, the business of blockade running died. As the activity which had fueled the prosperity of Nassau ended, the island town underwent a speedy and inevitable change.

  The hotel that had once housed the captains of the fast steamers and their crews was quiet. A few residents remained there, but the ballroom was silent and the dining room no longer reverberated into the night with the shouts of drunken sailors and gamblers.

  Tommy kept Lily informed of the changes, and it seemed that every day he had news of a new departure. The new serenity of the island seemed to agree with him.

  He took up fishing, an activity he had disdained for years, and he provided the household with fresh fish every day. Uncle Tommy, a fisherman.

  Shops closed; the merchants who had come to Nassau to make a quick profit were gone with the blockade runners. Those who remained had been there for years and would be there for years to come. Their profits were not so great any longer, but they earned enough to get by. That was all they had been looking for when they’d settled on the island of New Providence, in the town of Nassau.

  Lily stayed in her white house, as reclusive as Captain Sherwood had been. She had Cora and Tommy with her and the ocean outside her window, and she told herself again and again that she needed nothing else.

  The climate in Nassau was always mild, but Lily knew that March meant a promise of spring for Quint. She had followed the progress of the war closely through newspapers that were weeks old before she saw them, and she couldn’t stop herself from wondering, as she read of battle after battle, if Quint had been there.

  She’d had
no word from him, not a single letter in the five months they’d been apart. Neither had she attempted to send a message to him. The temptation to tell him that she carried his child would have been too great, had she put pen to paper.

  She sat in the parlor, where she and Quint had played chess. She rested on the serpentine-backed loveseat where he had held her hand and kissed her and asked her to run away with him, and she laid her hands over her swollen belly as she remembered.

  Life since her return to Nassau had been so quiet that when she heard someone knocking at the front door, she started, and her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was that it might be Quint, though she knew he wouldn’t knock so timidly. Besides, the war wasn’t over, and she didn’t expect to hear from him until all his battles had been fought and all his ghosts put to rest.

  If she heard from him even then. If he still wanted her.

  Cora led the visitor into the parlor, and Lily rose awkwardly. She couldn’t have been more surprised, even if it had been Quint.

  “Mrs. Slocum.” Lily remained standing in front of the loveseat, her hands resting on her belly, her head cocked to one side as Cora backed out of the room.

  Eleanor Slocum was dressed in a silver-gray gown; it was the first time Lily had seen the widow in anything but black. Her mourning was over, then, Lily decided, though Mrs. Slocum looked anything but cheerful with her high-necked gown and that dark hair pulled back into a severe bun.

  “Mrs. Tyler,” Eleanor Slocum returned the greeting solemnly. She tried to hide it, but there was surprise in her eyes as she stared at Lily’s distended midsection that was covered with draping green calico.

  Lily felt the blood drain from her face. “How did you know?” She had told no one but Cora and Tommy that she and Quint had been married. No one else on the island knew. Captain Dennison had left the island for good in January, taking Roger and the rest of Lily’s crew with him. They had sworn not to tell.

  “I received a letter from Quintin several months ago, through a mutual friend.” Mrs. Slocum regained her composure and moved with slow, graceful steps to stand near Lily.