Glory Bound (Shades of Gray Serial Civil War Trilogy Book 3)

by Jessica James

  OTHER BOOKS BY JESSICA JAMES

  WOMEN’S FICTION/HISTORICAL

  LACEWOOD

  AWARD-WINNING SUSPENSE

  PRESIDENTIAL ADVANTAGE

  DEADLINE (Book 1 Phantom Force Tactical)

  FINE LINE (Book 2 Phantom Force Tactical)

  FRONT LINE (Book 3 Phantom Force Tactical)

  MEANT TO BE

  AWARD-WINNING HISTORICAL FICTION:

  DUTY BOUND (Vol 1)

  HONOR BOUND (Vol 2)

  GLORY BOUND (Vol 3)

  COMPLETE SHADES OF GRAY TRILOGY (Vols 1-3)

  THE LION OF THE SOUTH

  NOBLE CAUSE (Book 1 Heroes Through History)

  (An alternative ending to Shades of Gray)

  ABOVE AND BEYOND (Book 2 Heroes Through History)

  LIBERTY AND DESTINY (Book 3 Heroes Through History)

  GLORY BOUND

  Jessica James

  GLORY BOUND (Vol. III Shades of Gray Trilogy)

  Copyright 2021 by Jessica James

  jessicajamesbooks.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  The Shades of Gray Trilogy was previously published as Shades of Gray, and later released as Noble Cause with a happily-ever-after ending. It has been revised, expanded and enhanced for this edition.

  Glory Bound (Volume III Shades of Gray)

  Let danger never turn you aside from the pursuit of honor or the service to your country. Know that death is inevitable and the fame of virtue is immortal.

  – Robert E. Lee

  Chapter 1

  Tis my reward for dearest victory won, I did that love undo—to be myself undone!

  – Polyeucte by Pierre Corneille

  Andrea Evans did not even wait to put her feet in the stirrups. After hastily saddling Justus, she urged him into a gallop and ran away from Hawthorne. She barely saw the house as it flew by, a streak of white followed by a splash of green. The bridge appeared as a blur, then all was sun and shadow.

  By the time she reined Justus in and looked back, Hawthorne was not to be seen. How far she had ridden or how long she had been riding she didn’t know. She had been unconscious of everything around her, numb. But now she realized it was useless to push Justus so hard. The memories would pursue her no matter how far she went or how fast she rode.

  Bending down and patting her heaving horse, Andrea tried to console herself. She knew she was well enough to leave—had been for some weeks now. It had only been a matter of time. Yet his words continued to resound in her brain, buzzing and vibrating like angry hornets trapped in her skull, stinging her over and over with venomous force. “The only thing I regret …”

  Andrea inhaled deeply to clear her mind, and gasped at a sudden stabbing pain that struck her like an explosion. Clutching her chest, she looked down, expecting to see blood. Dear Lord, what is happening?

  Her body began to tremble, followed by more tightening in her chest that made breathing difficult. She spread her hand flat upon her bosom and felt her heart laboring against her fingers. Something in there was torn. Broken. Something had ruptured or shattered, and the shards were piercing the very core of her being.

  Dismounting shakily, Andrea put her shoulder against a large tree trunk and sucked in deep breaths. Closing her eyes in agony, she felt again the vicious sting of Hunter’s words, and put her hands on her ears to block the memory. The action did little good, and the resulting pain bent her in two, dropping her to her knees. All of the pain from all her years past resurfaced as one gaping wound, a wound so deep she couldn’t tell where it began or where it ended.

  The memories caused her to cry then, softly at first, just a low moan, like someone who is unfamiliar with the act of weeping. But the moan swelled and grew until it became a gut-wrenching wail that sounded more like a desperately wounded animal than anything of human origin.

  Andrea gulped for air as decades of unshed tears poured forth in a great surge of agony and loss. She cried for her country and her enemies, for Daniel and her past. And then she cried because she was crying and because she was hurt and confused and alone.

  When she was done, she lay quietly, and listened to a world that was intensely, painfully still.

  Opening her swollen lids, Andrea took in the scene around her. Justus stood beside her amid the funereal shadows of a low sun. He nudged her gently with his nose and she laid her cheek against his soft muzzle. “It’s just us again,” she whispered.

  She stood shakily and checked the girth, then mounted and turned to the North. But Andrea halted when she heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Glancing up at the clear sky, she turned back toward the sound. Slowly, almost hesitantly, a smile grew upon her face. The din was not thunder. There was no storm. It was the familiar, rolling, earth-shattering throb of cannon fire.

  Justus pawed the ground, eager to be on his way.

  Andrea’s new decision came like a lightning flash. For once, it was not a decision made of vengeance, nor even from hate. Retaliation and revenge had drained from her along with hope and trust. A sense of acceptance settled into her bones, along with a marked awareness of conviction and purpose that comes with finding a way out of darkness.

  With a look of grim determination on her face, she turned her horse’s head toward the sound of war.

  And rode South to face the music.

  * * *

  Hunter stepped out into the bright sunlight, squinting and grabbing his head at the horrific thudding the endeavor produced. The liquor he’d consumed the previous night had done little to deaden the ache in his heart, and much to cause the pain and misery he now endured.

  Opening his eyes, he watched a speck in the distance turn into a rider cantering up the drive with a large gray horse in tow at his side. He blinked in disbelief when he recognized John Paul and Excaliber.

  “Here you go, ol’ chap!” John Paul tried to bring the powerful stallion under control, though it practically wrenched him from the saddle.

  Hunter remained speechless.

  “Didn’t Miss Andrea tell you? She convinced me to sell you this beast, though I don’t know quite how or why.” John Paul stared at Hunter curiously. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of telling her it was your birthday. Today is the day, isn’t it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, John Paul reached into his coat pocket with great difficulty and pulled out some papers. “Got the bill of sale right here. Quite a little negotiator she is. Wouldn’t go a penny higher than what you last offered me, though I insisted his value has increased substantially since then.”

  Hunter continued to stand silently, blinking like an owl in sunlight. The fact it was his birthday had completely slipped his mind. What he had said to Andrea after she returned from being with John Paul had not. He remembered distinctly the moment of callousness that had started the chain of events that left his world crumbling.

 
; John Paul’s gaze flicked over Hunter’s unshaven face and puffy red eyes. “It appears you started celebrating the big day a little early.”

  “She bought him?” Hunter murmured, his mind beginning to catch up to what had been said moments previous.

  “Well, she signed the bill of sale on your behalf,” John Paul responded. “Insisted her word and your honor were sufficient to close the deal.” He paused a moment. “She’s a bit of a funny female if you ask me. A little standoffish…though she seems to have warmed up to you quite nicely, judging from the way I had to listen to her constantly singing your praises.”

  He looked Hunter up and down in such a way that indicated he could not fathom a woman choosing the Colonel over himself. “Here, take him, he’s all yours.”

  Hunter descended the last two steps and grabbed the skittish horse.

  “Will you announce me to Miss Evans?” John Paul dismounted and brushed the dust from his suit. “Perhaps now that she’s had time to reflect, she realizes who is the better man.”

  He grinned at Hunter’s blank stare and patted him on the shoulder. “You can’t blame a man for trying, Alex. As you have made no claim on her, it’s my duty to make her realize she’s much too charming to spend her life being unnoticed by you.”

  Before Hunter could answer, Victoria walked out the door. “John Paul, how nice to see you!”

  “Victoria, I was just asking about you.” John Paul gave Hunter a sly smile and a wink, before greeting her with a hug and disappearing into the house.

  Hunter stood in the middle of the drive, holding the horse he had only dreamed of owning, the lineage of which he knew would transform Hawthorne into the legendary breeding establishment his grandfather had envisioned. There was no elation as he gazed at the prancing animal. He saw only a world falling apart around him, and felt a crushing weight of loss and loneliness that threatened to overcome him.

  Dazed, he walked to the barn and handed the horse over to Zach. Anxious to ride away from this place and the memories it held, he began saddling Dixie in the paddock himself. The sound of a wagon racing down to the barn at breakneck speed caused him to turn.

  “What have you done to Miss Andrea?”

  Hunter winced at the sight of Mrs. Fox looking like a ruffled hen. “Andrea and I were to meet for tea today. Mattie told me she is no longer here. What have you done to her?”

  Hunter turned to his horse and continued to tighten the girth. “As you know, Mrs. Fox, Miss Evans was here to recover from an injury. She has recovered—and she has thus departed.”

  “You did not make her leave, I hope.” Her tone was not questioning, but the statement seemed to demand an answer nonetheless.

  “It was a…mutual decision.” Hunter talked into his saddle, pretending to adjust the stirrups on a saddle he’d been using for years. I guess the decision was mutual. She hadn’t really argued. Hadn’t protested.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know her intentions.” He let the stirrup fall with a loud slap. “She had a habit of confiding only in herself.”

  The widow shook her head. “She would not just leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Apparently she would.” Hunter gathered his reins and prepared to mount.

  “I hope it wasn’t because of you, Alexander Hunter.” Emma picked up her own reins. “That girl respected you, admired you. And unlike most of the others, it wasn’t for your money or your charm, I assure you.”

  Hunter spun around. “She said that?”

  “She didn’t need to say it. I saw it every time she looked at you. Why, she well-nigh worshiped you.”

  “I think perhaps you saw what you wanted to see, not what was really there.” Hunter mounted stiffly, though he tried to appear calm. “Miss Evans did her best to endure her time at Hawthorne, nothing more. She made it quite clear to me she would rather be anywhere but in my company.”

  The widow leaned forward and pointed her finger. “You may be well respected within military circles,” she said, staring so deeply into Hunter’s eyes that he almost flinched. “But you, sir, are a darned fool!”

  Slapping the reins, she left him without a backward glance.

  * * *

  Hunter was sitting on Dixie, staring into space a few days later when a courier arrived.

  “Colonel?” It took a moment for Hunter to realize someone was talking to him.

  “A dispatch for you sir.” Hunter took the envelope, dismissing the courier with a nod, then stared at the envelope a moment as his heart fell into his boots. He could tell it was her handwriting, because it matched the feminine script on Excaliber’s bill of sale.

  He broke the wax seal and found a short formal note, wrapped around a wad of money.

  Col. Hunter: I did not intend to escape my just obligations. $850 payment for Gabriella, as promised. – Sinclair

  Hunter’s hands started shaking as he stared at the bills. He knew the most probable way she could have procured such an amount this soon was through a card game—whether it was with fellow soldiers or within the ranks of the enemy he could only guess.

  His gaze fell to the missive again as he re-read the short note. He found no trace of remorse or regret in her words, and no hint that she felt the pain of her departure as much as did he. There was no mention of the pass he had failed to give her, or whether she was safe, or where she was. Staring at the words as promised, he tried to decide if she intended some deeper meaning.

  “Anything important sir?” Carter rode up beside him, his head cocked inquisitively.

  “No.” Hunter successfully concealed his feelings his feelings of remorse as he stuffed the contents into his pocket. “Who was that courier? Did you recognize him?”

  “One of Fitz Lee’s men, I think,” Carter grunted without removing the cigar from his mouth.

  Hunter nodded and gazed at the horizon. So this is what she’d decided was her best course, he thought to himself as he struck spurs to his mount. She hadn’t gone north as he had dared hope. She was probably behind his lines, so firmly entrenched in this war she could use a courier to find him.

  She had been right about one thing, though. She needed no pass. Her charm, her cleverness and her cunning gave her authorization everywhere. He could only imagine her now, galloping unimpeded through the Virginia countryside, a wild spirit who knows no fear.

  Instinctively Hunter knew this was the last time he would hear from her. He had to accept it was over now. She had ridden out of Hawthorne, out of his life—just as he had ordered her to do. It was time he faced the fact that his damnable pride and her damnable spirit had finally succeeded in tearing them apart forever.

  But why the blazes did she have to send the note? And when would the infernal memories stop?

  Hunter drew his horse to a stop and put his hand to his ears as if to stop the haunting voice that to this day had not stopped echoing through his mind. “You dishonor me, sir…”

  Chapter 2

  Wisdom is nothing more than healed pain.

  – Robert E. Lee

  A cold front had moved in overnight, sending Andrea deeper under the single blanket she had managed to scavenge from the trail. The action was futile, as she knew it would be. Yet shivering kept her from sleeping and not sleeping kept her from dreaming.

  Andrea stared glassy-eyed with fatigue at the darkness above her. Although the first shards of light had not yet illuminated the eastern sky, an over-anxious bird had started its morning ritual overhead. She took a deep breath and listened to the music she had been anticipating for hours. Its chorus was blissful to her ears. She had made it through another night.

  Soon the sun would spread its glorious rays over the land, and she would no longer have to fear the heart-wrenching scenes that caused her to wake in a feverish sweat. The same nightmare had replayed before her eyes every night since her departure from Hawthorne.

  She’d tried vainly to extinguish it, going to far as
to pass herself off as a wayward farm boy at a house full of Confederate officers. She’d been glad for the bottle that was passed around—and for the high-stakes card game—where she’d won enough money to take care of the one deed she thought would ease her conscience and set her free.

  Yet still the dream continued.

  Although she tried to push it from her mind, the nightmare unfolded, even now before her open eyes. She saw herself walking side by side with Alex through the meadow by the stream. At a steep incline that appeared out of nowhere, the landscape changed from colorful and distinct, to foggy and gray. Still, as happens in dreams, Andrea saw herself smiling and pulling her way up the rocky hill, even as the ground at her feet began to crumble.

  Andrea squeezed her eyes closed in an effort to stop the vision, but it continued in vivid detail. She watched herself reach up through the fog in an attempt to grab Hunter’s strong hand, but what she found in her grasp was never his hand at all. It was always the cold, steel barrel of his gun, its muzzle staring her in the face.

  What came next tore her heart apart in both sleep and waking hours.

  “Let go, Andrea.” His voice was always pitiless in its tone.

  “You deceived me. Let go.” He cocked the gun. “Or I will make you.”

  As if watching the scene from a distance, Andrea saw herself look into the barrel of the gun, then at her hand wrapped around its steel shaft, then straight up into Hunter’s savage eyes.

  And then she let go.

  In her dream, she always fell endlessly through time and space, yet never hit bottom or die. She simply awoke, sweating and crying and gasping for breath—and praying fervently, and as never before, that today God would take mercy upon her and make it her last on earth.

  Andrea shivered a final time, more from the memory of her dream than the chill, and rose when the faintest promise of a new day broke through the darkness. The frosty nights had been hard on her, the cold air finding little resistance in blasting its way through her empty heart. Having grown accustomed to a warm bed, she now found the hard ground acutely painful.