Now. Surely, he was determined on rape or something worse….
But he was not. He lay down beside her again. She felt his warmth again. Heard his breathing in the night.
She stared numbly at the velvet sky. Night had come in earnest. Ironically, it was beautiful. The night heavens were a deep, black velvet color, touched by a thousand tiny stars that seemed to dazzle in a sea of tranquillity. The moon had risen now and sat high above her, casting a gentle, golden light down upon them.
Then suddenly, a cloud came creeping slowly over the moon. Inch by inch, it stole away the gentle light. From somewhere, she heard the high, mournful cry of a wolf.
It couldn’t be a wolf, it couldn’t be. They hadn’t had wolves in this area in years and years….
There it went again. Distant, dim. The night seemed to have grown very cold. Tremors seemed to dance down her spine. She shivered, feeling as if someone had walked over her grave.
What was she doing to herself? She knew this mountain, loved it…
And she was suddenly terrified of it! Shivering, watching a dark cloud, listening to the howl of the wind or…
Something.
He lay closer to her. She blinked back sudden tears, amazed to be grateful that he was near her. Yes, he was her kidnapper, but he was strong and solid against the dark clouds in the night….
It was his fault that she was here!
But it didn’t matter. She inched closer to him. And oddly, he was the protection against the fear she couldn’t grasp or see.
She should fear him! she warned herself.
And she stared up at the dark sky, teeth clenched tightly together as she wondered whether to pray for the break of day…
Or pray instead that the night might last forever.
CHAPTER TWO
She was shivering. Somewhere deep in the night, she had been dreaming about being kidnapped, about being tied up, and now she was cold and shivering. Her nightmare, however, was very deep, and she couldn’t seem to wake from it. She kept shivering.
Then suddenly, she was warm. Something was around her shoulders, comforting her against the cold. She was held close, tenderly, and felt the sun-sweet warmth entering into her body, into the length of her. The dreams faded, then disappeared. She was wrapped in a curious fog of security and she slept very well.
Then she awoke. Slowly. She heard birds chirping. Light seemed to beat against her eyelids. She felt the tickle of dew-damp grass against her nose.
She opened her eyes. Slowly.
And she saw the mountain, saw the grass. And the sky. Very beautiful today. Blue, with just a few wisps of soft white clouds. Extraordinary. They seemed to sweep by at a very swift speed, gentle, intangible.
Her nose itched. She wanted to scratch it. She couldn’t move her arms. They were cramped and stiff.
But she was still warm. Despite the mountain, despite the chill of night that the sun had yet to burn away.
And she realized with a strangled little gasp of fear that her nightmares had been the truth, and any sense of comfort had been the greatest lie. She had been kidnapped. She was still being held. No one had come to rescue her in the night.
And her false sense of security had come from the very man who had caused this horror. His wool cavalry jacket was over her shoulders, and since she had probably shivered through that anyway, he had used the length and curve of his own body against hers to give her warmth. And his arm had come around her, and he held her still.
She almost cried out loud, but choked back the sound. What could she do? Could she possibly escape him in any way now? Ease from his hold, work upon the bonds that he had created from her own skirt hem?
First, she had to rid herself of him! She clenched her teeth together hard, trying to shift out of the draping cover of his arm. She shimmied and inched until she was free from his weight and his touch, and a great sense of relief came sweeping over her. She could manage this.
She tried to lie still and work studiously with her wrists, desperate to ease them from the fabric, equally desperate to keep still. She managed to undo the strip of fabric that tied her to her abductor. But her wrists were still bound up tight. Determined, she kept up the effort, feeling the tiny little beads of sweat break out on her brow, even though it was still very early morning, and the sun had yet to make the day warm at all.
Ease it, ease it…
She worked forever, feeling the sun, listening to the birds. She was almost free, could almost taste the sweetness of freedom. And then she heard him, heard his slow deep drawl, his words laced with a certain amusement.
“Ma’am, just what do you think you’re doing?”
She flung over on her back, staring at him, longing to strike him with all her strength. He was up on an elbow, completely relaxed, watching her efforts with grave humor. He had been awake all along, she was certain. He had been watching her all the while she had been struggling to free her wrists. There was a subtle curve to his lips, a striking light to his silver-gray eyes. For a moment, despite her renewed fury and fear, she was taken aback again by his appearance. Morning’s light did all manner of good things for him. Despite the shadowed hint of stubble on his cheeks, the lines and planes of his face were even more arresting, clean, almost noble! The curve of his mouth was hauntingly sensual, the flash of his eyes and the tousled length of his hair were startlingly appealing.
This was the man who had kidnapped her.
Her wrists weren’t quite free. Her feet were. She lashed out with them strongly, furiously, catching his shins with a vengeance. “You sly, mealymouthed—”
“Eh!” His interruption was swift and frightening. Her feet had landed hard against his legs, and now he was landing hard against her. With swift agility he pounced, straddling over her waist, her bound wrists caught in either of his hands. She gritted her teeth, wildly trying to roll and free herself again, and managing to go nowhere. “Stop it!” he commanded.
She went still, staring up at him. “This has gone too far!” she cried out, trying very hard to remain calm. “It has gone too far! Let me go!”
He shook his head slowly, and seemed unhappy, weary suddenly. So weary, and so very worn, that for a startling moment, she wanted to reach out and touch his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I cannot.”
“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded, losing her breath in the effort.
“Well, you know,” he said very softly, “I’ve been trying to assure you that I don’t intend you any harm. But I’ve got to find a doctor. And I’ve got to get back to John. And I can’t be taken right now. I can’t be. You’ve got to understand. It’s a matter of life and death.”
She shook her head, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyelids. “It’s not real!”
One tawny brow flew up. He sat back on his haunches, still straddling over her but keeping his weight on his own legs, rubbing his stubbled chin as he looked down at her. “Not real?” he repeated. “Well, hel—” he began, but broke off abruptly. “Not real, hmm? None of us ever thought it was going to be real. Not like this. Not the Yanks, not the Rebs. We each thought we could beat the other in a matter of weeks. Fooled ourselves, all of us. But it’s real. And it’s John who is dying somewhere, and I’ve got to go back. And you’re going to help me. You’re obviously in deep with the Yanks around here. I need to know their positions, and you’re going to give them to me.”
She inhaled sharply. He wanted to know their positions? Well, they were posted all over town!
“That’s it? You want to know where the Yanks are,” she asked carefully, “and then you’ll let me go?”
She saw his jaw twist slightly. “I may need you with me for a while.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, feeling a fresh wave of fury sweep through her. “Damn you, you’ve got to let me up! My grandfather is going to be worried sick. People are going to be looking for me. They’ll string you up like smoked bacon if you don’t let me go and let me go now!”
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“I’m sure that lots of people are looking for me,” he replied wearily. “They always are. But I’m not going to rot in any Yankee prison camp. Not now. So pay attention to me, and pay attention good. I do not want to hurt you! But the more you cross me, well, the more you’re going to suffer, I’m afraid.”
“You’re insane!” she cried out. “The Yanks aren’t going to arrest you and put you in any prison camp! They’ve already won the damned war! They’ve—”
“What?”
Incredulous, he was leaning down, staring at her. She felt the tension and the fevered heat in his body and she was both suddenly very afraid and, at the same time, remarkably aware of him as a man.
Dear God. He was insane. She had to be insane, too. No, she had just been alone way too long. It had been so long since Brad had been killed, and he had been too wonderful when he had lived. She’d simply missed him too much, and so she was finding this lunatic sensual and oddly arresting.
“The Yanks have won the war!” she spat out.
“They haven’t!” he cried out furiously, silver eyes flashing now. “I’d have known if it had been that bad! Stonewall would have never just turned all in, surrendered. I know damned well that the Yanks haven’t won yet!”
“Fine!” she shrieked. “And it’s just fine, too! They will put you in jail when they get their hands on you! They’ll stuff you in a cell, and they’ll throw away the key. It will be a nicely padded cell, and—”
She broke off suddenly because he had pulled away, instantly alert and aware, listening.
Someone was coming! she thought suddenly.
“Help!” she cried out. “Hel—”
His hand fell flat over her mouth, so firmly that she couldn’t muffle out another sound. She stared at him with daggers in her eyes; she tried to bite. He ignored her, staring toward a clump of bushes.
A jackrabbit suddenly bounded out. It stared at them for a moment, its nose moving a million miles a minute in terror, then it leapt on by.
Great. She was screaming for help—from a rabbit.
His hand fell away. He sat back with a sigh of relief, but eyed her with a deep weariness and warning in his gaze. “For your sake, for my sake, behave.”
“Behave! You’ve taken me as a prisoner! Prisoners do not behave! You must be—”
“Thirsty. Very thirsty. And the first thing that you’re going to do for me is find a stream. I know we were camped on one for a while, but I seem to have lost my bearings.”
She studied him, wishing suddenly and desperately that he wasn’t a madman.
“I’ll get you to a stream,” she told him.
“A stream without Yanks!” he warned.
She lifted her hands toward him, silently imploring that he untie her.
He hesitated. She felt as if fingers closed around her heart. Dear God, it seemed real. It seemed so very, very real to him. He didn’t want to hurt her. He was just a desperate man….
The war had been over now for more than a hundred and twenty-five years. It couldn’t be real. He had to be a madman. Or a paid actor, and that would even be worse.
Yet, to her surprise, he untied her wrists, staring into her eyes all the while. “Don’t make me hurt you. Please. Don’t try to escape me. My situation is desperate, and I need your help. And if you try to cross me again…”
His voice trailed away. She felt a curious trembling, deep within.
“Then what?” she demanded.
“I’ll have to remember that you’re the enemy.”
“What makes you think that I’m the enemy? I was born here, on this mountain,” she said quickly.
He smiled again. A slow, wry smile. “Well, ma’am, you were mighty tight with the Yanks down there. And that usually only happens if you’re on their side. Or making real good money from them.”
To her amazement, that one took a moment to sink in to her. And the moment it hit was the moment that her hands were freed. She struck out at him wildly, heedless at that moment that he might be a madman. “How dare you, how dare you! How dare you make any such implication about me! You—”
“Whoa!” He had caught her wrists again. But she was really furious and twisting and wriggling with a burst of pent-up tension and they did go rolling, picking up speed as they flipped over and over one another in a rapid descent down the mountain. She cried out, suddenly frightened by the force that had seized them. She felt his hand cupping her head then, and his arm encircling her. His body was taking the brunt of their long fall, and he was doing his damnedest to protect her from danger and damage.
They rolled to a halt at last. For a moment they were both dead still. Vickie could hear his heavy breathing, and feel the length of him, his hand still cradling her skull, the bulk of his tightly muscled body very hard and vital against hers. She felt herself trembling, and close to tears. And there was a curious voice whispering in the back of her mind…. Why did he have to be crazy? Why couldn’t he be someone sane, whom she’d met in the usual, sane way?
“Are you all right?”
She nodded jerkily, desperate for him to free her, to not touch her so…closely.
“I’ll get you to the stream—” she began, but then she slammed her hands against his shoulders, pushing him from her, her own eyes flashing. “But no more! I don’t know if you’re a mental case, or if someone is paying you to do this to me, but if you make one more insinuation about me, I’ll rot and die with you before I’ll make a move, do you understand?”
He didn’t answer right away. He stood up, and reached down, offering her his hand. She didn’t take it. Her eyes narrowed. “Do you understand?”
He caught her hand, pulled her to her feet without her consent. She stood very close to him and he did not release her. “Then what were you doing with the Yanks?” he demanded softly. “You’ve got to be a whore or a spy,” he said huskily.
He caught her wrist when she would have slapped him. “All right, I’m sorry!” he said, and she found herself drawn against him, as he held tightly to the hand with which she had tried to slap him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I went to see friends!” she cried out passionately.
Something in the truth of her words seemed to touch him. He was still for a long moment, then said softly, “Well, I can understand that. Seems like I meet a lot of my old friends at the end of a sword.”
She lowered her eyes quickly. When he spoke, it was just the same. It was with such ardor, such emotion. He was mad, she thought. He had to be.
“I’ll take you to the stream,” she told him.
“And not to the Yanks?”
“And not to anyone, not now,” she said. She turned, and started back up the way that they had come. The most beautiful little spring meandered alongside the little valley just on the other side of the slope. She had always loved to ride alongside it.
Her heart started to pound. Maybe someone would be there. Someone who knew that she was missing.
And then again, she thought woefully, maybe nobody even knew she was missing as yet! Maybe Gramps would think that she had stayed at the encampment. He would keep shaking his head—just like this madman—wondering how she could spend the night with the enemy. But he might not be worried. Unless Arabesque had returned home without her. But Arabesque might not have made it home. She might have been waylaid by one of the cavalrymen on either side, and the reenactors might be running around, trying to find out who the horse belonged to. And they wouldn’t be worried about her at the encampment, because they would be certain that she, who knew the area like the back of her hand, would have made it home, safe and sound.
She swallowed hard, aware that he was following behind her.
Just over the crest of the mountain, she saw the deep valley below. She saw the silver trickle of the stream, and the deep lush field of forest and trees that sloped away on either side.
The Yanks were encamped far down to her left.
T
he Rebels were encamped way down to her right. Neither of the encampments was visible because of the dense forest of trees. In fact, no one was visible at all from here. No houses, no barns. Just forests and trees and cornfields.
She didn’t look back. She kept walking, hurrying for the water. She was all right, she told herself. She was convinced that he didn’t intend to hurt her. So what did that mean? He was insane, obviously insane. But he wasn’t dangerous. So she just had to humor him. Humor him, and keep him at his distance….
He had stopped behind her, she realized. She paused herself and looked back. He was staring over the mountaintop, seeing the view. She felt a little tremor in her heart again. He was enjoying it. Tremendously. His eyes touched hers, deeply silver.
“It’s very beautiful,” he said softly. “And peaceful. Like Eden.” His eyes left hers, running over the exquisite scenery once again. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? From here, you might think that we were alone in all the world. And even in summer, the colors are so radiant. Purple and green and blue, and all touched by the yellow of those wild daisies over there. You’d never know that there was war,” he said, and voice was very husky, barely a breath. “Never. In a thousand years. It’s like the most beautiful place on earth.”
“It is the most beautiful place on earth,” she heard herself reply softly. Then she was oddly embarrassed, and she turned and hurried downward now, anxious to reach the little stream that was fed from the fresh springs deep within the earth.
He followed her again, staying close. He had given her a certain freedom now. But she realized that if she were to make the slightest move, he could pounce on her in a second. He didn’t trust her.
They were certainly even on that score.
She paused at the streambed, kneeling down. She was amazingly thirsty. It had been a long night. Heedless of him for a moment, she cupped her hands in the cool water and brought them to her lips and drank deeply.
He had gone a step farther, striding right into it, burying his face in it. He soaked his throat and his sleeves and half his shirt. Vickie sat back, watching him. Then she ripped off more of her hem, wet it and dripped the cool water around her throat and neck, lifting her hair, relishing the sweet feel of it. She closed her eyes, listening to the movement of the water and feeling the sun. Then she opened her eyes, and discovered him staring at her, and the expression in his silver eyes was a startling one, a hungry one.
The Last Cavalier Page 4