Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Traitor!” She spat into the river. “You brought the Yankees to our door. Shameless hussy! Have you no honor? No loyalty?”

  From the stygian depth no answer came, but through Alaina’s mind there flowed apace a long, marching column of blue and gray figures, each with some horrible disparity, as if the artist had not completed them, some missing arms, others legs, or sometimes an eye or half a face. Unfinished caricatures! Leftovers of the war! Halfmen! Or less! It was a nightmare, the essence of which she could find in any hospital, Union or Confederate.

  Strangely, from the darkness of the river, a shadow took form. Alaina blinked until she recognized it as a large tree drifting toward her down the river. As it came close to the bar, it struck the shallows, then rolled heavily in the current. Suddenly an arm flashed in the moonlight, and Alaina came to her feet, realizing this had nothing to do with imagination. There was sputtering and thrashing as a hapless man struggled for a fresh grip on his tumbling raft.

  Quickly Alaina glanced about her. Very shortly the man would be moving well beyond her reach, and there would, then, be little she could do to save him. The log swirled in an eddy and started to roll, threatening to dump its passenger in the water again. The man flung an arm wide and gave out a weak call before his head went under. The words were lost to her, but the sound of the voice set her to action.

  Snatching off her heavy cotton jacket, she ran along the spit of land to its farthest point and splashed into the water. She swam out, fighting the strong current that sought to drag her under as it swept the log and the man toward her. Taking a deep breath, she dove under the swirling liquid and felt the water thread through her fingers as she plunged deeper. The trunk passed over her, and she shot up, desperately clutching for the man. She broke the surface of the water beside him.

  There was no time for amenities, or breath for them left in her lungs. She caught a handful of his hair and channeled all the strength she could muster into her strokes, pulling him with her, not fighting the current but riding with it. Her feet sank into the oozing mud of the bottom, yet still she supported the man’s head above water while she gasped precious air, then floated him into waist-deep water. Her strength was nearly spent, and it was all she could do to tug him onto the bank. Another log lay on the edge of the river, and with dogged perseverance, she managed to drag him over it until his head hung down the other side.

  A cough followed by a violent retching brought up the brackish water he had swallowed and assured her that life still resided in the limp body. She reached out a hand to lift the lolling head and stared agape. It was Cole Latimer! Her mind stumbled. She had saved a Yankee, blue as a jaybird and wearing nothing more than his long johns. Now a vision assailed her. One of Jason lying twisted and gazing forever sightless under this same dimly lit night sky. Her eyes misted, then sobbing and shivering with anguished frustration and the chill of her wet garments, Alaina collapsed to her knees beside him. She wept and cried and gnashed her teeth, but no easing came, only a dull persistent thought of what must be done. With an effort she regained her composure and wiped at her wet cheeks, brushing away the tears that mixed with the water dribbling from her short hair.

  “You m-muleheaded, gator-bait Y-Yankee,” she croaked tearfully. “You s-sure picked a rotten c-cold night to go swimming.” She rolled him over until he sat braced against the log. He groaned and groggily dropped his head back against the waterlogged wood. A trickle of something dark and sticky to the touch began to course down his brow from his hair, and a quick search with her fingers found a large lump beneath his scalp. “Someone laid a g-good one on you, Yankee. ‘Pears to me you got yerself stinkin’ drunk to boot, and in this neck o’ woods, that’s pure foolishness. I thought ya said you could take care of yerself.”

  The problem now was what to do with him. She had lost the key to his apartment, and it was obvious he was without his. Besides, she could hardly parade a Union officer in his underwear through Jackson Square. No telling what the ramifications would be for them both if she did.

  There appeared to be no alternative other than taking him to the Craighughs’. It was her uncle’s usual custom to remain at the political rally until a late hour, sometimes returning when dawn was almost upon them. If that were the case tonight, she might be successful in smuggling the doctor past Roberta. There would be some tall explaining to do in the morning, and Uncle Angus would be furious, but she would leave the matter of soothing him to Roberta, who was far more effective at it anyway.

  Alaina ran back toward the spit of land where Tar waited, tied the laces of her boots and threw them across his bony back, then led the animal back to the captain. By now, he was shaking uncontrollably from the chill of his wet underwear. The only dry article she had was the large cotton jacket, and she labored for some moments putting it on him, though her own teeth chattered apace with his.

  Taking his arm across her shoulders, she got him to his feet, then staggered precariously beneath his weight. It took a tremendous struggle on her part to steady his tall, broad-shouldered frame. It was a further labor of patience to get him mounted on the back of Ol’ Tar, who snorted in high disgust at this abuse. Any grace Cole might have achieved once astraddle, quickly disappeared as he slumped forward over the beast’s neck. Alaina groaned in angry exasperation as Tar bolted away, nearly losing his rider. Catching the nag’s bridle, she led him once more to the log, which provided a step for her to mount.

  “Come on, Yankee. Sit up!”

  Her command finally penetrated his deep torpor, and sluggishly Cole raised himself to a sitting position on the horse’s back. Alaina settled herself with deliberation before the Yankee captain, then glared over her shoulder as he leaned heavily against her back. His hand slipped with angering familiarity around her hips, but she refrained from prodding him upright with her elbow. In his condition, if she knocked him off the horse, she might never get him mounted again.

  They traveled the back alleys and unused roads until they reached the Craighugh house. No lights shone from the mansion itself, and only a dim lantern glowed from the stable. Alaina could well surmise that Roberta had gone to bed, having no one except the servants to keep her company. Urging Tar onto the lawn to deaden the sound of his hooves, Alaina rode him directly into the stable. She slid off his back and, with unswerving tenacity, dragged the captain from the horse’s rump. Fearfully she clamped her hand over Cole’s mouth as he mumbled a recognition, peering at her with reddened eyes, and testily shoved him against the wall near the door.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yerself. Gettin’ yerself drunk, then letting someone hit you over the head and take yer clothes. That beats all, Yankee.”

  She left him braced against the wall and led Ol’ Tar into his stall, giving the steed an extra measure of precious grain for his unusual efforts this night. Angus’s carriage was still out, and for that bit of good fortune, Alaina was extremely grateful.

  She rounded the end stall, then stopped in bewilderment for the captain was not where she had left him or anywhere to be seen. Her mind flew in a thousand different directions. Where the devil had he gone? She called softly, passing the water trough, and suddenly she felt him stagger against her back. Her slight weight was not enough to stop them both from sprawling headlong into the trough. She went under first and thought she would be drowned before Cole rolled off her. Finally free, she choked and wheezed in air, almost strangling on the water she had swallowed.

  “Bluebelly!” she railed and swung her arm around, knocking him off balance. Her anger was not so easily vented, and she pushed his head under the water for a thorough dousing and sobering. When she pulled him up again, coughing for breath, she leaned down into his face, her small jaw thrust out obstinately, and warned, “Next time you try to give me a bath, Yankee, you’d jes’ better head out running. The only reason I don’t drown ya now is ’cause you’re too drunk to be scared.”

  “C-cold,” he strangled, and his violent shivering attested to his claim. Ala
ina relented and, with her own teeth chattering, climbed out of the trough. She dragged at him until she got him seated on the edge, then lifted one of his legs out and turned him about as she lifted the other. Worriedly, she glanced up toward Roberta’s windows, hoping her cousin had not been awakened by the commotion. The windows were closed against the crisp night air, and Dulcie’s quarters above the carriage house were still dark.

  When she got him to the house, Alaina carefully opened the back door, cringing as it squeaked slightly. Drawing Cole’s arm about her shoulders again, she staggered into the house with him. Halfway across the kitchen, she realized they were leaving wet trails behind them. That would never do!

  “Wait here,” she whispered to Cole and settled him in a chair. “I’ll get a couple of quilts.” She ran into the pantry where that morning she had noticed a freshly aired stack and came back with two. As she passed the hearth, she swung the huge kettle over the coals and laid several sticks of wood beneath it. If she ever got the captain to bed, she had every intention of returning to the pantry for a hot bath.

  Wrapping a warm quilt about Cole and the other about herself, she took his arm again and hauled him up from the chair. They progressed clumsily through the house and began to climb the stairs. After ascending several steps, Alaina stumbled over the tail of the blanket she had flung about herself, banged her shin, and lost her grip on Cole. Fearfully she clutched at the balustrade, missed, and descended belly-down several steps, bumping painfully along the edges. It was a moment of complete havoc as Cole followed after her. Tears of pain stung her eyes, and she clenched her teeth against moaning aloud as she found herself beneath him near the bottom of the stairs. She twisted out from under him and desperately clutched her hand over his mouth again as he muttered unintelligible words.

  “Be quiet!” she hissed. “If I leave ya in the stables, Uncle Angus might jes’ shoot you for an intruder. The safest place for ya is upstairs in the guest room. But we can’t wake up Roberta. Do you understand?” She had great doubts that her words penetrated, and as she dragged the quilt about his shoulders again, she fussed in an angry whisper. “I never woulda thought you’d get yerself so stinkin’ drunk.”

  Alaina tried the stairs again, this time managing them very well, considering she half carried a man who outweighed her twice over. She led him to the guest room near her own. It was just down the hall from Roberta’s bedroom but far from the one belonging to the elder Craighughs. Moonlight brightened the room, and Alaina had no need of the bedside lamp to show her the placement of furniture. Jerking down the covers of the tester bed, she let Cole fall back upon it. With a wry word of thanks for the shadows deepened by the moonlight, she pulled the sodden underwear from his body, lifted his legs onto the bed, and drew the covers over him.

  “For once, Yankee,” she said, smiling ruefully, “ya ain’t a-fussing at me.”

  She left him and closed the door quietly behind her. In a matter of moments she was in the tub. The steaming bath took her weariness and transformed it into a languid half stupor. Deliberately she took the scented soap she had avoided and began to lather her hair and body. Her disguise was the last thing she wanted to contend with this night, and at the moment she was numb to all the dangers of discovery. With a ragged sigh, she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub and watched the candle’s flame make fluid shadows on the ceiling. She was like an empty shell, drained of strength, senseless to grief. What the morrow held for her she could neither fathom nor rouse a care for. It seemed an eternity away.

  Her thoughts meandered through fantasy. A beautiful gown! Her hair long and shining! A man holding her as they danced! Suddenly she remembered Cole’s strong, muscular arms about her as they rode together, and it became his face above her own, his eyes gleaming with warmth into hers, his embrace that she welcomed.

  Alaina shook her head furiously. This was madness! Cole Latimer was a Yankee!

  Angrily she rose, dried herself roughly, and snatched on her nightgown. She spread the boy’s clothes before the kitchen hearth to dry and sat before the warmth of the fire to comb and fluff her hair. It was some time before she calmed her thoughts and made her way through the quiet house to her bedroom. The mansion was like a tomb of silence as she eased her aching body between the sheets. She guessed the time might be close to eleven or twelve; she couldn’t say for sure, but the moon steadily arched its way across the night sky as her bruised mind settled into the haven of sleep.

  The clock had marched away at least two hours when a muffled thump and a rolling noise startled her into full awareness. Muted sounds of movement came from the room next to her own, then a man’s voice sounded in a low curse.

  That fool will wake Roberta yet! Alaina thought frantically as she leapt from her bed. She snatched up a robe to throw over her thin, threadbare gown, then carefully eased open her bedroom door. Seeing no one, she ran on bare feet down the hall and slipped quickly into the guest room.

  Even as Alaina closed the door behind her, she gave a mental curse at her own stupidity for blundering in wearing feminine garb. Cole Latimer was not in a heavy stupor as she had supposed, but was standing near the bed, fumbling with the lamp. The glass chimney lay on the rug near her feet where it had rolled, and it was obvious he was trying to light it.

  Bright moonlight streamed in through the parted curtains, lightening the room until all was visible. Though the lingering essence of intoxicants still clouded his brain, Cole became aware of the woman who leaned against the door. His mind felt slow and listless, and he could find no reason for what he saw, nor could he explain his presence in a strange bedroom, nor that of the woman. His situation struck him as extremely precarious. For all he knew he might momentarily find himself confronted by an outraged husband or an irate father bent on restoring his daughter’s honor. As to that, she did appear to be a young thing.

  “Ma’m,” he began, sorely chafed at the thickness of his tongue. “I fear I have intruded.”

  Alaina realized escape was impossible and knew she would have to brazen it out. Yet it was fortunate that she had come. The Craighughs could return anytime now, and if they encountered a naked Yankee roaming through their house, the ensuing furor would be disastrous for all concerned.

  Cole’s confusion was apparent, and Alaina played upon it, her quick wit shaping a plan. Through the rough talk of the soldiers at the hospital, she had learned things that had set her ears to burning.

  Her soft laughter broke the silence of the room. “Surely you haven’t decided to leave us after you vowed to stay the night, Captain. Can it be that you have forgotten so soon?” She mimicked the relaxed familiarity of the most successful courtesan and her voice was as honey, smooth and cultured. The deception seemed simple enough; she could play this part as successfully as that of ragged urchin. Yet she was thankful for the shadow that shrouded Cole’s nakedness, for the game might have dissolved in her own embarrassment and flight.

  Though he could not fathom how he came to be in such a place, Cole’s benumbed mind accepted the obvious situation. If he had chosen to avoid the brothels for his own continued health, this was such a comely companion he could easily be induced to stay the night. After all, it had been some time since he had felt the pleasures of intimate companionship. Surely no great mental prowess on his part was required to satisfy his sudden hunger. His wit, though numb, was quite pragmatic and, having found an explanation, settled on it with relish.

  Alaina remembered her uncle had kept a crystal decanter of brandy hidden away in the guest room, and she went to search the bureau for it. This was no time for the captain to sober up. If he would just drink enough and go back to bed, she was sure he would sleep the night through.

  As she passed before the window, a shaft of silvery moonlight penetrated her garments. The slim but well-curved figure whet Cole’s appetite and imagination no small amount. The lust flared through his starved senses, and he felt a familiar tightening in his loins.

  “Here, Captain,” the
silky voice urged as the woman came back. “Have another drink.” Alaina pressed a water glass, liberally filled with brandy, into his hand, then slipped quickly away as he reached for her. Her soft laughter teased him. “Drink first, Captain.”

  Cole lifted the glass and tasted deeply of its contents. He was rather pleased at its quality but accepted that too as logical. In the captive city, brothels were the only establishments that continued to operate affluently, and it was evident that this one was a step above the others he had seen.

  “Now really, Captain.” She rested a hand on his furred chest and pushed him back lightly. “You should return to bed. There’s a chill in the air, and you’ll surely catch your death.” Cole tried to focus on her face, but it was only a vague blur. “I’ve an errand to do downstairs, but it won’t take long, then I’ll be back.”

  Alaina mentally grinned at her own cleverness. There was no errand, of course, but in his drunken state, he’d be happily dozing soon after she left him.

  The idea was not to Cole’s liking. It had been a long time since he had been closeted with one so fair, and though he could not see her face distinctly, her fragrance and those silken syllables stirred his ardor until he burned with eagerness. He finished the brandy in an impatient gulp, hardly feeling its warmth with the heat that already throbbed through his veins, and set the glass aside.

  “You rest yourself a moment, Captain,” Alaina coaxed softly, moving away. “I really must be about my errand.”

  Cole cursed his stumbling gait but caught her arm as she reached the door. Alaina looked up at him in surprise, not daring to speak. Her heart pounded turbulently within her bosom. He seemed so tall and immense as he loomed over her like a threatening dark avenger.

  “A kiss I would have,” he murmured thickly, “lest I grow weary of the wait. Come.” He pulled her hard against his chest. “Give me a sampling of your wares that I might better anticipate your return.”