“No!” Vickie cried. “You’re going to lose it because of Northern idiots like yourself who can barely sit a saddle!”
“And the Southerners are so much better, right?” he demanded, very close to her, a fanatic’s sizzle in his eyes.
“You bet!” she promised softly. And the second that he came just a step closer, she nudged her heels hard against Arabesque’s side.
Her mare leapt forward. She leaned low over the mare’s neck, becoming one with the animal. She wasn’t at all sure where she was going, just away. She couldn’t go back to the archway in the trees; she couldn’t even see it anymore, the settling of the powder had obliterated it. She started across the mountain, climbing, praying….
And wondering, too, if there was really anywhere for her to run.
It wasn’t possible….
It was.
They were thundering after her. Arabesque was a fine mare, no matter what frame of comparison was made, against horses of any time. She could run like the wind.
And she was outrunning the nasty blond captain so set on Vickie being a spy. But even as she raced forward, there was a whistle and cry.
She was besting the men behind her.
But a string of ten riders was circling around her now, riding down, having given up on their pursuit of the retreating Rebs.
She reined back. She tried to seek out a route of escape.
There was none. She urged Arabesque to try to break through the ring of riders.
She had paused too long. The angry blond captain, Harper, had caught up with her. He threw himself from his own horse to hers, catching her from the animal, sending her hurtling to the ground with him atop her. A sense of panic seized her. She tried to struggle free from him and she knew that some of her punches caught hold of him good, but though he was slim, he was strong. He was quickly straddled over her, pinning her wrists to the ground. His eyes touched upon hers and chilled her. They were filled with both hatred—and lust.
He was a Union officer! There were now dozens of soldiers around. He couldn’t possible hurt her, not really.
And he couldn’t. Not then. The colonel came trotting up. “Captain Harper, I do believe that our prisoner is subdued. Let her up now, son.”
“She’s dangerous, sir, surely you saw that!”
“Tie her hands. Set her up on her horse and lead her back to camp.”
Vickie stared at the colonel, clamping down on her jaw as her hands were wrenched forward and quickly tied with a red scarf someone supplied.
“I’m not a spy!” she told the colonel. “Call off this creature of yours!”
But despite her words, Captain Harper was lifting her and setting her upon Arabesque. His eyes really sizzled now. “Nice filly,” he said, gazing into hers. “Good flanks. If you decide to look for a Yank this time instead of a Reb, I just might be available.”
She spit at him. He stepped away neatly.
“Yep. Maybe I’ll see you later,” he told her, and then he grinned. “And then maybe I’ll see you hang!”
He meant her, not the horse. She tried to kick him.
“Harper, get on your horse!” the colonel commanded. He reached for the reins to Arabesque. “Call in your company, Captain. I want an orderly formation back to camp!”
Wrists tied together, forced upon Arabesque, Vickie had no choice but to be led along. Chills started to race down her spine. The mountain looked the same! It was covered with grass, with trees, with wildflowers….
It wasn’t the same at all. They broke through a section of forest and down an incline and there, in the valley, she could see the Yankee encampment. It seemed to stretch forever.
So many more tents than there were for a reenactment!
Huge tents, command tents. A-frame tents that stretched on and on forever….
And no hot-dog stands on the sidelines. None at all….
She bit her lip, fighting the chills. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember all the history Gramps had taught her over so many years.
The Yankees hadn’t really hanged any female spies, had they? Rose Greenhow had died, but she had drowned when her ship had gone down, returning from Europe with gold for the Confederate cause.
Belle Boyd had lived a very long life, performing in the theater, lecturing, dying at an old age in the North.
Mrs. Surratt had been convicted of being part of the plot to assassinate Lincoln. She had been the first to be hanged, hadn’t she?
The first that history had recorded.
But things had happened during the war that didn’t make it into the history books. Innocent victims killed by stray fire. Rapes, plundering, robbery.
No…
She was going to be all right, she assured herself. The absolute worst thing that she would face was the lack of a proper bathroom.
Captain Harper was a son of a bitch in any age. But it seemed that the colonel was a decent man, and he was the one really in control. Surely he wouldn’t let them hang her…would he?
She stared at the tents again. Soldiers were riding in—some were starting cooking fires, some carried around the wounded. Some were in full uniform, some in half dress. There were at least several regiments of the Union Army here. Old men, young men. Drummer boys who couldn’t have been more than twelve. Graybeards who made Gramps look like a youngster.
And they all stopped now, stopped whatever they’d been doing. Stopped to stare at her as the colonel led Arabesque on into the camp, heading for one of the large tents in the center of the field canvas.
They were were dead silent at first. Then someone cheered, and someone else waved. Vickie stared back, eyes wide.
Then a young fellow called out, “Pity we haven’t a few like her on our side, eh, Colonel?”
“I’m sure we do, son, I’m sure we do!” the Colonel called back.
But I’m not a spy! Vickie longed to call back. I’m just looking for a man!
Her heart thundered. Jason. What was going to happen now? He didn’t know that she was there, didn’t know that she had followed him. Maybe he had found his brother. Maybe he had already injected him with the life-saving tetanus shot. Maybe he was carrying the wounded man to a field hospital.
Maybe all that had been done, and Jason had returned to his men, a bone-weary soldier who knew that he had to keep fighting, to do his best—and lose a war.
A deep, searing pain seized her along with a new sense of panic. She had lost Jason. And she had ridden into a nightmare. She had left Gramps behind. Waiting for her.
God, she had to escape….
“Here we are, ma’am.” The silver-haired colonel dismounted from his horse with the slow agility of a man who was accustomed to being in the saddle, and had grown tired of it, too. He reached up and plucked Vickie down from Arabesque. “What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked her.
“Victoria Ahearn,” she said.
“Well, now, Miz Ahearn,” he said softly, “I’m sorry that I have to detain you, but I do. We don’t know where the Rebel forces are around here, but I think that our rash young Captain Harper is right—you do know something. It’s in your eyes. I’ll have to keep you here until we move out. This is my command tent. There will be pickets around it, but you won’t be disturbed. The general will make all the final decisions regarding you, but he’s a good, decent man. When this is all over, I know that he’ll let you go.”
She shook her head slightly. She couldn’t stay here while they battled away.
The passageway in the arbor of trees was growing tighter. She didn’t know how long she had left to return before the passage closed—but it would close, she was certain. Every minute wasted in this camp put her return in graver jeopardy.
“Please, Colonel—” she began.
“Don’t go wheedling me now!” he warned her. He reached for the tie on her wrists. “You better resign yourself to confinement. I truly wish you no harm.”
Her wrists were free. She rubbed them, watching him still. What would he do if she to
ld him that she didn’t belong here at all, that the North was going to win the war, it didn’t matter at all what messages she gave the South. Thousands and thousands more men were doomed to die; Lincoln was going to be assassinated—
God, no! They’d hang her for sure on grounds of treason if she even mentioned such a thing!
“Miz Ahearn, you get on in there now. I’ll see that you’re brought some water and something to eat, and we’ll do our very best to see to your comfort, but make no mistake about it, you are our prisoner.”
He turned away.
“Wait!” she cried out to him.
But the colonel was a busy man. He was already walking away. When Vickie would have followed, she was suddenly accosted by a uniformed man on either side, each catching one of her arms.
“If you will, please, ma’am,” one of them said politely.
Vickie stared into his eyes. He was a young man. Achingly young. Probably not even eighteen.
“Please?” he said politely again. “None of us, none of us wants to hurt you, ma’am.”
“But—” She fell silent, looking at him. Then her lashes lowered quickly. “Fine,” she said, allowing her shoulders to slump.
Let them all think that she was resigned.
It might be her only hope.
She was led into the tent.
It was large, pleasant and spacious. There was a field desk in the center of it, a neatly made cot to the side, and several trunks piled up opposite from that. There were several chairs, obviously set up so that men could meet there and confer upon their strategy.
There was a bar set up next to the desk, too, she noticed.
There were glass flasks and silver tumblers.
All the niceties of home.
Oh, God.
The soldiers left her there, the young one smiling and assuring her they would see to her welfare. Vickie stared around herself, then sank down to the foot of the bed, covering her face with her hands.
She had to get out.
She was surrounded by tents, and those tents were filled with Yankees. Her enemies. No, they weren’t her enemies! The war was over.
No, it was being fought right now.
She groaned aloud. Escape, she had to escape. Trick one of those handsome young boys somehow….
How? She fell against the colonel’s neatly made cot. Her eyes filled with tears. There had to be a way to do it!
But time passed, and she lay there. Then she wiped away the dampness on her cheek. She would get nowhere lying there. She had to watch and listen. She had to be alert for her chance. The major battle should be today. Maybe the majority of the men would ride out. If she could just take advantage of the rise of confusion…
She strode over to the liquor flasks and found the bottle of whiskey. She wanted a shot, just one shot, for courage, to get her moving.
She poured it out into one of the silver cups. She tossed back her head and swallowed the liquor.
Then she heard a noise and she looked to the opening of the canvas tent.
Her heart seemed to shudder within her chest. Captain Harper was back.
Standing there, watching her, his hands rested on his hips and a slow smile curved his mouth. “Well, now,” he said softly. “I wish I could join you. Can’t, though, duty calls. But it’s awful nice to know a shapely little spy like you likes both men and whiskey.”
Vickie set the silver cup down, backing warily away from him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t you be fighting Rebs? Maybe women are easier for you to best than taking on men your own size.”
She saw the flash of anger that touched his eyes, but he kept smiling.
And he came closer. “I don’t give a damn what you have to say, Miz Ahearn. In fact, keep it up and I’ll gag you. I’ll see that you can’t have anything left to say to me at all.”
“You’ll gag me? The colonel—”
“The colonel is with the general now, trying to plot this battle. You see, you’re not really too important around here. Not at all.” He came closer, leaning against the tent post. “The lieutenant couldn’t even come. Seems there are more Reb troops arriving, but then, you knew that, didn’t you? What a shame. I’m all that’s left. So I’ll be moving you.”
“Where?”
“Back to the main body of the army, down the eastern side of the mountains. Seems we can’t quite let you go. We may even have to take you all the way to Washington with us.”
“You can’t do this to me—”
“Ah, but we can. This is war—ma’am,” he said mockingly.
God, no! He couldn’t take her away! She’d never get back.
“Wait, please—” she murmured, backing away still farther. “Wait—”
But he had caught her. His hands were on her wrists. “You can come with me riding on your own or tied over a mule. Which is it to be?”
She forced herself to remain dead still. “I’ll come along on my own,” she informed him icily. “You don’t have to tie me up.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to, either,” he told her. He flipped open the tent’s closure flap and she saw why. She was to have an escort of at least ten men. And it seemed that she was to be given one of the army’s bay geldings. Arabesque was out there, but she was now wearing a United States Cavalry saddle.
“Can I help you up on old Billie over there? He’s a fine horse. He has two gaits—slow and stop. You won’t be running away this time, Miz Ahearn.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said, walking by him.
But he caught her by the arm and she nearly cried out when he pulled her back to him. “Just remember, ma’am, I’m the man in charge here. And I think that little tarts like you don’t much deserve to be treated like ladies. Do you understand yet? You’re at my mercy. And I’m not a bountiful man!”
She jerked free of him, feeling panic race up and down her spine again.
Surely he still wouldn’t dare hurt her. There were other men around!
Yes, but…
They were his men. And this was a war.
The bay was a big one. She hoped she could leap up without difficulty, especially the way that she was shaking now….
She managed to do so.
Captain Harper walked on out with a very pleased smile curved into his lips.
There was no hope for her. No hope, no hope.
Gramps came through shaking. He had forced his horse all the way, and he had forced himself, as well.
The feeling of fear was so intense coming into the arbor! Like nothing he had ever known before. Like being…touched. Grabbed. Like hands winding around him, taking hold of him, trying to…
Trying to hold on to him, maybe. Hold him back in a strange, dark, whirling funnel—damp, dank, green, chilling to the bone. Not here, and not there, not anywhere, really, nowhere at all.
He’d felt a strange tightening all the while, too. And he sensed that the door was closing. Not quickly. But inexorably. Bit by bit. Closing in, the winds twisting tighter and tighter. His horse had felt it. He had felt it. Whatever unknown power had opened this strange passageway had now decided to close it once more.
Some force—perhaps something in the stars, in the moon, in time, in magic—had caused the tunnel to open. Maybe the alignment of the planets and the sun. Maybe it was everything that had been so exact—the reenactments on the exact same days, the battles being fought in the exact places, even the temperature being just about exact—maybe all those things had caused it.
And now, all the planets and stars were shifting again. The battles and their mirror-image reruns were almost over. And so the gap in time would soon be closed.
He could quickly return the way he’d come—except that Vickie was here.
He couldn’t leave her. Not when he didn’t even know if she’d managed to find her Colonel Jason Tarkenton or not. There were just too many dangers here.
His heart was slamming. She was everything to him. He had t
o know she was safe. Then Gramps forgot about his granddaughter for a minute for he stepped out into the nineteenth century.
He reined in quickly, swallowing down hard at the horror of everything before him.
He’d fought in a war himself, the Great War, and so he knew a lot about it. He’d seen carnage before. But this was horrible. Men lay all about. Groaning.
Dying.
“Hurry up, there, eh!” someone shouted suddenly. Gramps quickly backed old Dundee against a tree so that he couldn’t be seen. A Yankee orderly with a bloodstained apron was urging his helpers to rush some bleeding, broken bodies onto a wagon. “The Rebs will be coming back for their own.”
A second orderly threw a body onto the wagon, wiped his hands down his front and nodded to the others. “Did you see the spy they picked up?” he asked, then whistled sharply. “We don’t get many that pretty, eh, Willie?”
Willie snorted and laughed. “Sure don’t. Fiery little thing she were, too, riding circles around that Cap’n Harper the way that she were. Too bad there were so many of them. She might have given him the slip.”
“Yep, but if she had, we might be a-wailing in our own blood right now, my man. She’s a spy, and a spy is a spy, no matter how good-looking!”
“What they gonna do with her?”
“Colonel wanted to give her to the general. But then all the bigwigs got caught up in their maps and calculations for the battle. She’s been turned back to the cap’n to guard.” The man sniggered. “They’re supposed to get her down to the main army. But I’ll bet you a gold dollar that pretty filly will never make it! The cap’n sure had his eye on her!”
Gramps realized that he was holding his breath and felt as if he’d probably explode in about another ten seconds. He exhaled, and looked down at his shaking old gnarled hands.
So this was what it had come to! How darned ironic. All his life he’d loved history, he’d longed to go back, to see it firsthand….
And now he was seeing it. And Vickie was at the mercy of some sadistic soldier.
He backed farther against a tree as another rider came rushing through, barely pausing.
“The Rebs are coming back. In force. We’ve got to clear out of here now!”
The Last Cavalier Page 15