Catey's Capture

by Ainsley Abbott

  Despite their lovemaking, Jess knew he’d damaged their relationship by telling her Emery must be turned in. Catey lay on her side, sleeping fitfully, crying out occasionally as though having vivid nightmares.

  What could he do? How could he make her see he was doing this for her—for Emery’s own good? The Confederate army was in tatters. It was only a matter of time before surrender. At least under Jess’ protection, Emery would be held as a prisoner of war—much better than being an open target for Yankee troops.

  But he knew Catey didn’t understand, and it was his own fault. He could kick himself for not explaining properly. He reached out a hand to wake her but seeing her in the moonlight, her soft, pink lips half open, her thick, unbound hair curling softly against her damp porcelain skin, stayed his impulse. She needed to sleep. He’d explain his intentions and reasoning more thoroughly in the morning. With Jess’ father’s name for clout, Emery would have no fear of abuse or mishandling and would undoubtedly be set free as soon the war was over.

  Jess leaned over, gently moved a tress of hair away from Catey’s ear and placed the breath of a kiss where it had been. Despite her rage and sense of betrayal, tonight she’d shown him compassion and kindness in the face of all odds. He realized with a sense of amazement he was hopelessly caught by her. Somehow this didn’t worry him in the least. Instead it gave him a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t understand it but he didn’t need to. Everything would be all right in the morning.

  Sighing, he lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep came swiftly.

  * * * * *

  Emery was shackled, being led to the scaffold. Blood oozed from the bullet wound in his shoulder but no one seemed to care. Catey tried to force her way through a thick crowd of onlookers but made little progress. The executioner placed the noose around Emery’s neck and tightened it. Catey looked at the man’s face and realized the executioner was Jess. He was smiling at her as he reached for the lever that would open the trapdoor and send her brother plummeting to his death. She cried out for him to stop but no one seemed to hear her. Jess yanked the lever hard.

  Catey woke up. She was drenched in a cold sweat, her head spinning, her heart pounding.

  She looked around the darkened room, gradually realizing where she was, then remembering what had happened. She turned and looked at Jess. He slept peacefully, one arm carelessly draped over her waist, his long brown lashes soft against his dark skin. He looked so innocent in sleep. She felt tears flood her eyes as she realized what she must do.

  But there wasn’t time for regrets. She’d trusted Jess and he intended to betray her. Her mama would be rolling over in her grave.

  Carefully she shifted Jess’ arm and rose, taking the pillowcase and tiptoeing around the bed. She took the sheath and knife. She considered taking one of the pistols and some bullets, but Jess slept with them within easy reach and she didn’t want to risk waking him. She grabbed the herbs Sally’d provided—some for Emery, some for herself. Sally’d given her some to prevent an unwanted child.

  She put the things into the pillowcase, then moved to the door. She froze when Jess let out a loud snore but relaxed when he merely rolled over and resumed even his deep sleep.

  She held her breath as she opened the door, exhaling when there was no creak. Starkly aware of her nakedness, she made her way down the hall to Emery’s old room. Once inside, she found a pair of trousers and an old shirt he’d worn in his younger days. They were very loose and she had to roll up the sleeves and legs but they’d do. There were sturdy boots and woolen socks. These she placed in the bag so as not to make a sound as she made her escape.

  Thankfully she was aware of every step that creaked and was able to avoid them on her way down. The men were sleeping in the main hall, rolled in their blankets and snoring loudly. She could barely make out the empty whiskey jug tipped on its side on the floor. Where had they found it? she wondered. Then realized they’d undoubtedly come upon one of Josiah Drummond’s whiskey stills while combing the woods. Vaguely she wondered what might have happened to poor old Josiah and his wife.

  With an alacrity born of determination, she made her way past the sleeping men to the front door, careful to open it only far enough to slip through, then pulling it silently shut behind her.

  Once on the front veranda she took a deep breath of night air. There would be sentries but by now she was pretty familiar with their movements. Her first priority was reaching the stables undetected.

  The moon was hidden by clouds but she pulled the collar of the dark shirt up to hide as much of her white face as possible. The pillowcase was heavy but she was careful, hoisting it over her shoulder as she made her way through the deeper shadows to the stables.

  She entered through the back door. It was pitch dark inside but she knew her way around and felt along the walls and beams toward the ladder. The horses sensed her presence, shifting and blowing.

  “Shhh, there,” she whispered soothingly. They settled a bit, apparently satisfied she was no threat.

  She made her way up the wooden ladder one-handed, the pillowcase biting into her shoulder. Gently she pushed it ahead of her into the loft, then climbed up herself. She was just bending down to pick up the bag when she felt a presence very close. She turned in the darkness and saw two eyes, shining, right behind her. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to scream.

  “Doan’ holler, Miss Catherine,” the man hissed urgently. “It’s me—John.”

  Catey let her breath out in a sigh of relief, then nodded her recognition. He awkwardly patted her shoulder.

  “I’se sorry t’ scare you, miss. I thoughts you was one of them.”

  By now Catey’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness within the stables so she could just make out the bulk of John, his eyes shining above her. Moonlight filtered through chinks in the wood walls of the barn but it was still too dark to make her way noiselessly to the hidden room.

  As if by mutual consent, John’s hand found hers and he led her faultlessly across the loft, opened the door and allowed her to go in before him. Inside a lantern glowed dimly, muted even further by the crate it was placed within.

  “Where did you find it?” Catey whispered, indicating the lantern.

  John smiled and for once she could see him almost clearly, his face shadowed but familiar. “One of them Yankees left it in the stall. Must’ve been kicked by the horse ‘cause it was lyin’ there broken. Lucky it weren’t lit at the time. I brought it up here and cleaned up the glass. I managed to get it workin’ agin.”

  Catey nodded, her eyes immediately searching for her brother. “And Em—how is he?” She made her way to the pile beneath the horse blankets she knew must be Emery without waiting for an answer.

  “Catey?”

  She nearly dissolved with joy at the sound of his whisper, then reached out, found his face and kissed him gently on the forehead. It tasted of sweat but it was cool. “Em! God, I’ve been so worried. How are you? Is the fever…”

  His hand found hers and it too felt cool—and calloused. He squeezed. “Gone,” he said. “The wound seems okay—itching like mad but John says that’s a good sign—means it’s healing. I’m still weak…feel like a newborn foal…but John’s a miracle at finding food, so I’m getting my strength back slowly.” He paused, his eyes searching his sister’s face. “But what are you doing here so late? And what’s all that?” He waved a hand at the bulging pillowcase.

  Catey frowned. She’d never realized how hard it would be to explain things to her brother…or anyone, for that matter. “We have to leave, Em,” she said, finally. “I’ve managed to grab a few necessities and sneak out. We have to get out right away. I think someone may suspect you’re here.”

  “Who?” His eyes were wide, innocent—unaware she’d just that day lain in exquisite passion more than once with a man he’d deem his enemy.

  Catey flushed at the thought but answered as calmly as possible. “It’s a long story, Em. We don’t have time. Trust me. We h
ave to get out of here.” She turned to John who squatted behind her. “Can he walk?”

  John shrugged. “I ain’t sure, missy. He ain’t tried yet. But if he cain’t, I kin carry him.”

  Catey nodded. “Then let’s get moving. Oh…and John, by the way, Sally’s run off. She said to tell you she’s gone to Mahmusa Janga.”

  John’s look of surprise and concern, turned instantly to one of understanding. He nodded. “Is that where we goin’?”

  Catey frowned. “I don’t know.” Suddenly she turned to John. “What do you think? I don’t know where to go. All I know is we have to get out of here—and as quickly as possible.”

  “Mahmusa Janga—she knows things ain’t none of us do. She kin help Master Emery too.”

  “Do you know how to find her?”

  John nodded. “I thinks so. But it be hard goin’. We needs a boat.”

  Catey’s heart sank. Where would they get a boat?

  “I know where there’s a raft.” Emery had pulled himself to a sitting position, rubbing a hand over the dark, unkempt whiskers on his chin. His cheeks were gaunt and there were still dark circles beneath his eyes, making him look much older to Catey. But his eyes were clear.

  At her surprised look, he smiled ruefully. “When we were kids, Jake and I put together a raft of sorts. Daddy would’ve tanned our hides if he knew we were out on the bayou on our own. That raft should be where we hid it—if it still floats, that is.”

  John nodded. “Let’s find out,” he said.

  But Catey paused. “Where is Jake, Em?” she asked, picturing her eldest brother’s dear face.

  Emery frowned. “I don’t know. We were separated shortly after joining up. We kept in contact as much as we could but I haven’t heard anything for some months.”

  They were all silent for a moment, a shadow filling them all with morbid dread of what may have happened to prevent Jake from corresponding.

  Finally, Catey shook herself back to the urgency at hand. “Let’s go.”

  Without further discussion, they gathered what things they could carry, then helped Emery to his feet.

  Catey stayed behind a moment to change into the socks and boots she’d brought—much easier for trekking through forest and swamp. She strapped on the knife, and shoved the wrapped herbs in her pockets. The pillowcase empty, she’d leave it behind.

  Finally ready to go, Catey set off, the two men following. They turned once to look back at the now-concealed room, saying a last farewell before descending the ladder to the stables below.

  Chapter Twelve

  With Catey’s knowledgeable guidance, the three fugitives made their way safely past the sentries and into the protective confines of the forest. Emery, despite his determination, found the going difficult. His legs were weak from lack of use and Catey could tell he was still in some pain, though he wouldn’t admit it. He looked no better than a scarecrow. His tattered clothing flapped loosely about his bony frame.

  John supported Emery as they made their way between the dense, moss-draped trees. It was difficult traveling in the dark. They had to go slowly to avoid tripping on undergrowth or running into low-hanging branches. But there were paths in these woods only known to a few. Apparently Emery was one of them, as he indicated the way with a surety born of years of youthful exploration.

  By the time they reached the edge of the water, Emery was as pale as a ghost and Catey insisted they stop.

  “It’s okay, Sis,” he whispered. “We’re here. The raft should be there.” He pointed to a huge cottonwood that grew out from the bank’s edge like an “L”, its lower trunk parallel to the water, swaths of Spanish moss falling like a curtain on either side.

  Catey looked but could see nothing. John helped Emery to sit on a felled log, then moved to where Emery had pointed, pulling aside the moss to expose a small, perfectly protected grotto. Here, just as indicated, was a rough-hewn raft made from logs, held together by wooden crosspieces. It didn’t look at all safe.

  Catey raised a doubtful brow at Emery. “You’ve actually used this?”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am! That little raft took Jake and me miles on this bayou.” He turned to John. “Is the pole still there?”

  “Yessir,” John replied, reaching in and holding up the weathered staff used for propelling the craft.

  “Will it still float?” Catey was more than skeptical.

  Emery adjusted his arm in its makeshift sling, grimacing slightly. “Should do. Old Josiah Drummond helped us make it, and he’s and expert on getting around these bayous.”

  “Josiah Drummond? Since when were you and he such good friends?”

  Emery had the decency to blush slightly. “We… Well, let’s just say Jake and I helped him by giving him some of Daddy’s grain for his stills. This was his way of repaying us.”

  “You mean to tell me you helped Mr. Drummond make moonshine? You stole Daddy’s seed grain?”

  Emery shrugged. “It was old seed. Daddy was going to get rid of it. Besides, Josiah wasn’t doing any harm—and he sometimes let us taste the finished product.” He winked.

  Catey pursed her lips. While she was learning embroidery and études on the pianoforte, Emery was out poling around the bayous, unconcerned about the gators and snakes, drinking raw whiskey and…

  “Well, I’m glad Mama never found out,” she said tersely.

  But at the thought of her mother, she cringed inwardly. If Emery’s childish escapades would have incurred her mother’s wrath, how would her mother feel about Catey’s own recent behavior?

  She couldn’t think of it. Instead, she turned her attention to the raft. John had pulled it out of the grotto to the edge of the bank in front of them. He tested the craft carefully, placing first one foot, then the other aboard. It swayed slightly but seemed surprisingly stable. He smiled broadly. “It be fit as a fiddle. Y’all come on. We gets to Mahmusa Janga quicker this way.”

  Catey looked at her brother. “Come on, Em,” she said. “The sooner we get you out of here, the better. It looks as though that wound is bleeding again.”

  Emery glanced at the slight stain coming through the shoulder of his shirt but shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. But he didn’t refuse Catey’s help as he struggled to his feet and moved slowly to the raft. John reached over and helped him aboard, settling him near the center of the craft.

  “Come on now, Miss Catey,” John said and held his hand out to her.

  But Catey hesitated. Something inside her rebelled. Memories of soft butterfly kisses and intense hazel eyes made her stop. What was wrong with her? Why was the man who’d betrayed her filling her mind—calling her back?

  * * * * *

  It was still dark when Jess sat up straight in bed, his eyes wide, his hand reaching for the knife he kept next to the bed. He didn’t know what woke him but sweat beaded his brow. Gently he reached out a hand to feel for Catey’s warm form next to him, to reassure himself she was all right. His hand met only cold rumpled sheet. Panic hit him like a fist to the gut. He turned and threw the covers back, smoothing his hands over the place where she’d been, as though a more careful search might make her magically reappear.

  Then he heard it again, footsteps, stealthy—in the hall. Silent as a panther on the prowl, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his trousers, grabbed boots and pistols and made his way out of the room.

  * * * * *

  John gazed at Catey intently.

  Emery frowned. “Hurry up, Sis. You said yourself we had no time to lose. If you’re worried about the raft…”

  She shook her head slowly. “No,” she said. “No, it’s not the raft. It’s…” She looked at her brother sadly. “Em, I can’t go with you.”

  “What?” He struggled to his knees. “What? Why? What are you talking about? Catey, get on the raft now!”

  “I can’t. Em… I… There’s something I have to do.”

  He stared at her in confusion. “Catey…I can’t leave you here! The Yankees…” Suddenly his ey
es narrowed. “Sis, have they hurt you? What have they done to you?” His voice was rising—on the verge of hysteria.

  John reached out a hand and placed it firmly on Emery’s shoulder. He could see Catey’s dilemma clearly in her eyes. This was not about fear, this was about love. And if anyone knew about the need to be with the one you love, it was him.

  “Leave her be, Master Emery,” he said in his deep baritone. “She’ll be okay.”

  “What?” Emery turned his pale face up to look at John. “How can she be okay? We can’t—”

  “She’ll be with me.” The voice came from behind Catey, from the darkness of the forest.

  Catey whirled just as Jess stepped into the clearing. Her heart beat faster despite herself as she looked at him. Dressed only in trousers and boots, his dark hair tousled, the well-defined muscles of his upper body were accentuated by the soft glow of night.

  Emery struggled to rise but John leapt from the raft, his hand on the pistol in his belt. It was then Catey heard the cock of a gun and Jess’ voice, low, imperative.

  “Stay where you are.”

  John froze, his hands clenched in fists of impotency.

  Catey stared at Jess, his gun pointed unfalteringly at John’s broad chest. “Please, no!” she breathed.

  Jess glanced at her, his eyes hard. “Do you think so little of me?”

  She colored, ashamed. Aware suddenly she really knew nothing of this man she loved. God, I love him! she thought. How can I? After everything… He’s my enemy!

  Jess lowered the gun, glancing between John and Emery. “You’ve made your choice. You’d best get going before the sun comes up and my men come looking for me.”

  John hesitated, then moved back, reboarding the raft. Emery looked at Catey, his eyes filled with confusion.

  Her own eyes were filled with tears. She moved to the raft and reached out, taking her brother’s hand in both of hers. “I’ll be all right, Em. We’ll be together…when this is all over. You have to go. You have to be safe. You have to find Sarah.”