They reined, he stopping his men effortlessly with a lift of his hand. They stood silent upon the crest, watching the activity in the camp.
A cry suddenly rose on the air, loud enough to carry across the distance.
Jason bit into his lower lip. There was a Yankee hospital tent down there. The surgeons were busy seeing to their wounded, doing what they could to patch up their injured before transporting them to hospitals in Washington.
There was movement down there. Men cleaning their weapons, tending horses, trying to relax, still ready. They all knew the troops would be meeting again.
The camps weren’t so different. Not at all. Boys were writing to their mothers. Men were writing to their wives. None of them knew if it would be his last communication home.
He couldn’t think about the Yanks now; he couldn’t even think about the war now.
They had Vickie.
“What do you think?” Jack Johnson asked him, gnawing slowly on a blade of grass as they stared down at the activity together.
Jason looked to Gramps. His face looked very old and haggard now. He had gotten them there, all right. But now he was staring down at the Yankee camp with dismay.
He just hadn’t realized how many of them there would be.
Jason pointed across the field to another clump of trees. “They’ve got to have a sentry there.”
Jack Johnson nodded, hazel eyes grave. “You and me?” he said to Jason.
“I can go it alone.”
“Better two.”
“Maybe,” Jason agreed with a rueful grin.
He turned around, addressing the others. “Jack and I are going to take the left field over there.”
His troops nodded with understanding. They would remain where they were, just like a pack of sentinels.
“What are you doing?” Gramps asked him anxiously.
“We’re going to try to get our hands on one of their pickets.”
“But they won’t give her back because we’ve got one of their men—”
“The plan, sir, is to have the picket tell us where Vickie is,” he said softly. “If they’ve brought in a woman, I can guarantee you every fellow in that camp knows it now.”
“But—” Gramps began.
Jason raised a brow to him. Gramps fell silent, then said quietly, “It’s your war, boy. You know what you’re doing.”
His war, his enemy.
And they had his woman.
“Jack,” Jason said, indicating it was time they moved. He nudged Max, and headed off, Jack Johnson coming along behind him.
They were good horsemen. And they were Virginians, accustomed to the terrain here. They circled around the summits, keeping a careful eye to the valley and watching their distance. They had come to the group of trees surrounding the east side of the camp. Jason signaled to Jack to dismount, and they both did so, leaving their horses then to circle around into the foliage from separate directions, treading silently upon the soft ground.
Jason saw the Yankee picket first. The man had probably been there a long time; it might have been the end of his duty. He looked very tired, and very bored. Jason was glad. It made him an easy mark.
Jason waited a moment anyway, watching him cautiously. The man took a twenty-yard walk, his rifle over his shoulder. He stretched, looked about and yawned.
Then Jason was glad he had waited because he watched the Yank pull a mirror from his jacket and signal back to someone down in the camp below. The flashes of light were returned to him.
An all-clear sign had been given.
Jason saw that Jack had come around, too, and was hunkered down across the small clearing from him. He nodded to him, motioning that he would move in first.
They waited, both tensed.
Then the picket turned his back on Jason, and Jason leapt out of the bushes. He sprang at the man’s back, catching him in a throathold from behind before he even knew something was about to hit him.
Jack sprang forward, smiling to the picket, placing a knife warningly at his throat.
“We need some help, Yank,” Jason warned from behind. He eased up a bit on his hold.
The Yank spit, but he was young and scared.
“I ain’t no traitor. I ain’t helping no Rebs.”
“Then you’re going die,” Jason assured him. “Say a prayer, if you would, son.”
He nodded. Jack came at the man more menacingly with his knife.
“Now wait a minute!” the Yank said quickly. “What is it you want, Reb?”
Jason smiled behind his back. Jack eased up with the knife. “Want to hand your rifle over, boy?”
The Yank did so quickly, with Jason’s arm still locked around his throat.
“We’re looking for a woman,” Jason said softly.
The Yank hesitated a minute. Jason tightened his hold again and Jack set the blade against his throat.
“You’re too late.”
“Too late!” Jason exclaimed.
The Yank really thought that he was going to die. “She’s gone—she’s gone!” he yelped quickly. “Captain Harper is taking her on down to the main camp. He rode out about an hour ago. He—hey!”
Jason had him lifted off his feet, whirling him around to face the clump of brush where they had left the horses.
“Sorry, boy, you’re coming with us,” Jason said.
“I sure as bejesus am not—”
“You can come with us alive, or we can leave you here with your throat slit.”
“A ride sounds fine,” the Yank said quickly. “A ride sounds mighty fine!”
With his arm around her throat, Harper lifted Vickie cleanly off the ground. She tried to kick and struggled but he was dragging her quickly through the trees and the brush. There was a stream just below them. She could hear the gentle rippling of the water, the soft cry of the birds. As Harper dragged her through the foliage, though, she could see little except a blur of green.
And then he suddenly stopped, throwing her down.
She landed hard, but she landed on soft earth. They were right by the water, and the bank here was sponging and covered with soft mosses. The trees were closing in all around them, but as she tried to rise, she saw that the sun was breaking through upon the water.
Harper stared down at her, his hands on his hips. She had never seen such hatred in any man’s eyes.
“You’re making a mistake. I’m not what you think!” she cried suddenly, fiercely.
Those eyes narrowed. “I know what you are. Your kind have killed more men than bullets!” he swore.
She tried to rise, desperate to get away from him. She had nearly found her footing when his hand crashed savagely against her face, sending her reeling back down again. He pounced, straddling over her. He leaned low, trying to capture her lips.
She bit him and kicked him with all her strength at the same time. He bellowed out in pain, easing back, clutching his mouth and crotch.
But his weight upon her legs still pinned her down.
She tried to twist to escape from beneath him, a wealth of tears springing to her eyes while terror ravaged her heart.
Gramps…
He would think that she had just left him.
And Jason…
He would never know. Never know that she had tried to touch him, just one more time.
She would just die here, up on this mountain. Almost a hundred years before she had been destined to be born upon it.
“Bitch!” Harper shrieked. He caught her arm, wrenched her back. He rose up on his knees, his fingers knotting into a fist, his arm pulled back, ready to strike. If he hit her with such violence, she would lose consciousness.
And nothing else would matter….
“Captain!”
A warning shriek gave him pause. He stared upward through the foliage, toward the spot where they had left his men and the horses.
His man, the heavyset Rieger, burst through the greenness and stared down at them.
“Rebels comin
g, Captain! Coming fast.”
Harper was up instantly. “Rebs! How many?”
“Fifteen, eighteen, I’m not sure. But they’re riding on us fast.”
Suddenly they all heard a cry. It was wild, a sound that seemed to tear up the air and the day. It was a cry of wild, reckless courage and danger. A Rebel cry, high, tearing through the air.
“Get up!” Harper cried, dragging her to her feet suddenly. He wrenched her against him. “And when I do get a hold of you, ma’am, you will rue the day you and your Rebel lover were born, you hear? Jesu, lady, you will pay!”
“No!” Vickie promised. “You will pay!”
He caught her arm, wrenching her around, dragging her up the rugged terrain he had just dragged her down.
They reached the Yanks and the restless horses. Harper threw her up upon her mount with a violence. Then he leapt atop his own, and they heard the cry again, wild, violent…closer.
And then Vickie saw them herself. Perhaps twenty men on wonderful, powerful mounts. Men in gray and butternut, in ragged apparel, elegant nonetheless. They rode hard, one with their horses, handsome in their fluid movement.
Jason was at the forefront. Jason, his sword held high even as he rode, the silver catching the glint of the sun, shining with vengeance.
Behind them, there were others. Gramps! Gramps in a gray uniform. Gramps, with a sword waving, too.
It was incredible. Absolutely incredible. But, perhaps, no more incredible than anything else that had happened.
The cavalry was coming.
Coming to her rescue.
Gramps!
And Jason.
Dear God, Jason…!
CHAPTER TEN
“Get her moving!” Captain Harper cried furiously. Mounted, he brought his horse, Arabesque, around behind Vickie’s, his eye on the surging force of Confederates.
“You plan to outrun them?” Sergeant Rieger demanded incredulously.
“They’ve come for the woman!” Harper called quickly to his men. “She’s going to give them all our positions, she’s going to see that they know their own reinforcements are coming. We’ve got to get her away. Or kill her!”
“Jesu, Captain Harper!” one of the men gasped.
“Let’s run her out, then!” another man cried.
“Make for those rocks, yonder!” Harper ordered. “We’ll shoot them down as they come, damn now, courage men!”
He smacked Vickie’s horse on the rump and even then, the old boy barely moved. Vickie tugged on the reins quickly, trying to get the horse to hightail it toward the raging Confederates.
But Harper was too quick, and too determined. He had Arabesque turned around and cutting her off before she could move more than ten feet.
“You’ll die first, I swear it!” Harper promised her heatedly. “It’s a pity I didn’t get to taste what this damned fool Reb is ready to die for!”
“You’re the fool!” she promised him. “You—” But she was cut off. Harper wasn’t going to be caught out in the open. She tried to strike at him, tried to fight him. But in a matter of seconds, he had lifted her from the tired old horse and over Arabesque’s saddle, throwing her facedown over the horse’s neck. Then he slammed the reins against Arabesque’s haunches and the mare took flight, racing ahead of the Yankee troops.
Vickie thought that she would die before they reached the rocks, that she would go flying from the horse’s neck to the ground, and be pummeled to death beneath the pounding hooves. It seemed forever that she was slammed about there, tasting the mare’s salty coat. Then Arabesque was reined in hard, and Harper was dragging her off the horse again.
“Take cover!” Harper commanded his men. “Take cover!”
They all fell back behind the rocks. Vickie shook off Harper for a moment and ran. In seconds, he was pelting down upon her, slamming her hard against the earth. His evil leer rose above her. “You’ll never escape me, you little witch, I swear it!” She was wrenched up again and over his shoulder. She kicked and beat against him and he swore furiously.
But he didn’t release his hold.
He dragged her down beside him behind one of the rocks for a moment, and she watched with him as the Rebels advanced. She managed to forget Harper for a single moment as she saw the two men she loved most in life, tearing up grass and earth, riding like God’s vengeance upon these men. Her heart swelled with pride for Gramps, and with a certain awe for Jason—he was magnificent; a horseman, a soldier, in his element now, calling his commands to his troops.
“Ready!” Harper called, and she realized that his men were loading their rifles, ripping open catridges, ramming balls down their barrels. They weren’t repeaters, she thought fleetingly. These men, at least, weren’t armed with repeaters. Not yet.
“Aim!” Harper cried.
“No!” she shrieked out, terrified of the volley of death that would follow.
“Fire!” Harper commanded.
The volley sounded, tearing apart the air. Vickie screamed again, her head ringing, certain that the world itself had exploded.
But the men were still coming. They hadn’t missed a beat. In beautiful, elegant formation, they were coming. Then, even as she flattened against the rock, they were there, the Rebs, their horses’ hooves sailing over the rocks, engaging in hard hand-to-hand combat with the Yanks.
For a moment, there were men everywhere, swords flying, fists swinging.
She saw Jason, just ten feet from her. He had dismounted from Max, and he was fighting a Yankee, their swords flashing. The tip of Jason’s sword gleamed red with blood.
“Jason!” she shrieked.
He paused for a heartbeat. His eyes met hers.
“Watch out!” she cried, and in just seconds, he parried the man who had sprung at him. Vickie gasped with relief, then screamed as fingers suddenly and violently wrenched into her hair.
“Move!” Harper commanded her.
She braced herself against the pain and whirled, nails ripping down his cheek. He swore, howling out with pain.
But he was a determined man. He didn’t lose his grasp. With his free hand he wrenched a knife from the sheath at his ankle and set it against her throat.
“Move!” he repeated.
And then she had no choice.
In minutes they were crashing through trees and bushes. She was blinded by dirt and branches and leaves. She gasped, coughing, struggling for breath. She tried to halt. Harper dragged her down.
Then, finally, they came to the water again. Harper paused, looked around. He gasped himself, pushing her away from him, doubling over to draw in air.
He turned his head toward her, smiling. “We’ve done it, lady. We’ve done it.”
She shook her head. “You’ve done nothing!” she gasped out at him.
He stood slowly, smiling. “They’re fairly evenly matched. Only a few men will survive to come for you. And they’ll be searching this forest from now until eternity.”
Vickie took a step away from him. “You know,” she told him, “eventually, your own kind are going to hang you.”
“It won’t be until long after I’m done with you,” he assured her. Then his blond brow arched and his smile deepened. “You must be something, for a troop of men to come after you. Even gallant Southern men. Cavaliers. You could live, you know. You could show me what you’ve got that’s so special, lady. Maybe I’d be in such bliss, I’d be willing to die for you, too.”
Vickie shook her head slowly. “I’d rather die.”
His smile faded, his lean features went hard. “Fine. I’ll help myself to what I want. And leave the rest for vultures!”
He lunged at her.
“No!” Vickie grated out, sidestepping to escape him. She did so and he teetered precariously on a rock for a moment. She turned to flee, praying that she had the breath to outrun him. He was on her again before she could move. She fought furiously but found herself borne down to the ground. He rose above her, eyes searing their triumph, lips curled in
an evil smile. He leaned down toward her and Vickie felt her stomach rise in fear and repulsion.
Then suddenly, a shout stilled him.
“Get off her this instant, you bastard—or I’ll pluck your eyes out while you’re still living.”
Harper’s smile faded.
He leapt up because he had to, straddling the earth just above Vickie’s head. She tried to struggle up and managed to do so.
There was Jason on Max, staring furiously at Harper from the center of the stream.
He dismounted, striding through the water toward Harper.
Harper drew his sword suddenly from its sheath. Before Vickie could leap away, he had the point aimed against her throat. She stared at Jason with dismay, biting her lip.
“You want to see her ripped from throat to gullet, Reb?”
Jason paused for a moment. He was at least ten feet away. His eyes met hers, glistening silver.
“Take him, Jason!” she cried.
“She’ll die!” Harper swore.
Jason eased back. “All right, then, let’s negotiate,” he told Harper. “You can kill both of us, but my men have surrounded this part of the mountain. Most of yours are dead, or turned tail and ran. Let her go, and I’ll give the order to let you pass.”
In that instant, Harper eased back just a shade.
Vickie took the opportunity to thrust the blade aside and leap to her feet. Harper swore, and swung his sword.
But too late.
Jason had leapt forward, his sword swinging. Vickie heard the awful clang of steel as their weapons first clashed. Harper fell back. Jason raised his sword again, and his blade crashed down, driving Harper to his knees.
One more crack of Jason’s blade, and Harper’s blade had flown from his grasp.
“Jesu, mercy!” Harper screamed out suddenly.
Jason looked as if he hadn’t heard him. As if his sword would fall upon Harper’s head.
“Jason!” she cried his name softly. He held still for a moment, and then turned to her very slowly. He paused just a fraction of a second, and then he smiled and turned toward her.
“Look out! He’s got a knife!” another voice from somewhere back in the woods thundered out.
The Last Cavalier Page 17