Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (17 page)

Edward’s whistling died out in an instant. He raised both arms high. The stained robe he’d draped over his forearm slid off and landed on the ground by his boots. As the cool, round barrel of the gun jammed into the back of his head, his heart began to pound.

“Take two steps backward. Don’t turn around,” a deep, gravelly, Yankee-accented voice rasped.

Edward did what he was told. A leather gloved hand grabbed his collar, hurled him around and shoved him to the ground. A knee, at least he thought it was a knee, slammed down on him, directly between his shoulder blades. His collar was choking him. But then suddenly it wasn’t. That gloved hand landed on the side of his head and smashed his face into the dirt.

“Please, don’t… don’t hurt me!” Edward cried.

“Shut up!”

The hand on the back of his head miraculously lifted. A second later Edward was stunned. Severe pain ripped through his skull, and for a second he saw nothing but black haze. It took another second for him to realize he was just struck in the head with the gun. Unable to do anything but groan, he remained where he was, even after he was no longer being held down.

His arms were suddenly yanked back, one and then the other, and a rope, rough against his skin, was twisted around his wrists. The tie was so tight he could feel the circulation ebbing from his hands.

“How do you like it? How does it feel?” the menacing Yankee voice said.

Gloved fingers curled in his hair and yanked his head up. Something musty smelling was being tugged over his head. It was a burlap sack of some sort. He could feel the coarse material chafing his ear. Once it was pulled entirely over his face, he couldn’t breathe and this became worse as a fist twisted into the burlap and wrenched his head up. The front side of the sack became molded to his face, while a rope was wound around his exposed neck. He gasped and choked.

“Get up!” the Yankee ordered.

The rope around his neck was brutally yanked. Edward had little choice but to labor to his knees. But just as he straightened, the rope was yanked again, this time jolting him violently back to the dirt. The awful howl of the Yankee’s laughter rang loudly in his ears.

“Get up!”

Edward did as he was told, only to be forcibly knocked back down. He was in so much pain. Everywhere. “Please,” he begged between his gulps for air, “I have a family. I have children.”

“How many orphans have you created? What about them?” the Yankee hissed. “You make me sick. Get up!”

By now, tears had begun to trickle from Edward’s eyes. “But, you’ll just pull me down again,” he wailed.

“Five… four… three… two…” The hammer on the revolver clicked.

Frantically, Edward scrambled to his knees.

“This one is for David.” The Yankee jerked the rope and Edward hit the ground yet again. He was still gagging, trying to find air, when he was kicked in the side, then shoved over onto his back. With the sack over his head, he could see nothing.

A boot was pressed into his stomach. “Tell me the name of your leader—your Imperial Wizard.”

“I don’t know it!” Edward rasped.

The attacker stomped on him, knocking the wind out of him. Moaning and coughing, Edward could do nothing but gasp.

“Who is the Imperial Wizard?”

“There is no Imperial Wizard. The Klan doesn’t exist—”

The boot rammed into his gut. Again he gagged and choked, straining to find the slightest drop of air.

“There is no Klan, hmm? Then who is the leader of the Sovereign Sons of the South?”

“Stone,” Edward gulped. “He’s called Stone. But it’s just a nickname. I don’t know his real name. I swear! I don’t know it!”

The boot slammed hard into his ribs. He rolled from the blow and another came, catching him in the back.

“I don’t believe you,” the Yankee said. “Tell me who he is and I’ll let you go.”

“I swear! I swear to God, I don’t know! I swear—” Something crashed into his jaw and there was a loud crack. All Edward knew was all consuming pain rushing across his face. “Ah oood tell ooo if ah knew. Ah oood tell ooo—” he implored.

The Yankee kicked him again. “Last chance.”

“Ah tole ooo, ah wear! Uust Sone. Da ellers apore ta Sone.” Every word was agony.

The barrel of the revolver was shoved into the sack, pushing the burlap deep into Edward’s open mouth. The gun knocked against his two front teeth and broke them off at the roots. His scream was drowned out by his retching, and in his attempts to breathe, he swallowed back vomit and blood.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth? I will kill you if you don’t.”

Edward tried to speak, but he could not, not with the barrel of a revolver and the burlap stuffed in his mouth. The only sound that came out of his throat sounded like, “Ooouuummmhooo.”

The Yankee laughed at him. But then mercifully the revolver was gone. Between his whimpers, Edward sucked in air in huge gulps. When he could, he cried out, “Leathe! Leathe! Ah bay ooo! Leathe don kill eee!”

The butt of the gun smacked into his nose. As the pain exploded through his head, he writhed. He could feel blood running, being smeared by the sack covering him. All he could do was blubber and drool. His bladder emptied on its own.

“How many elders are there?” the Yankee demanded.

“Twell…ah finn twell.”

“Name them.”

“Ah don know dem ahh! Ah thwear! Ith kept thecret.”

“Who do you know?”

“Huuuth… Emathon…”

“Who else?”

“Ah don know… Whitherrr… ah don know! Ah thwear!”

“When do you plan to go after Carl Robbins?”

“Ah don know. Ah’m tellin’ da truuu! Oh, leathe!”

No matter how much he bawled, the torture didn’t end. He answered question after question, forgetting them as soon as he replied. Most of them he didn’t know the answer to anyway.

Finally, mercifully, after what felt like hours, the Yankee let him go. Edward could hear him walking away. For a second he thought it was over. But then, the Yankee’s footsteps returned, and he was leading a horse.

The next thing Edward knew, he was being yanked to his feet and the slack in the rope around his throat was abruptly pulled taut. The horse was ahead of him, dragging him. Blind inside the sack, and choking against the leash tugging on his neck, but given no choice, Edward stumbled on.

He didn’t know where the Yankee was taking him, but wherever it was, was a distance away. The horse moved too fast for him to keep up. He tripped, staggered and choked with every faltering step. It didn’t help that he was sobbing, too, but he couldn’t help it. The pain in his head and his body was unbearable. His trousers were soaked with urine and there was no feeling whatsoever in his bound hands.

There was a distinct plop ahead of him. A second later he shuffled into something that squashed beneath his foot, causing him to slide. He almost fell, and somehow managed to hobble onward. But the sponginess stayed with him, clinging not just to one, but both of his boots, and he became overwhelmed by the foul smell of horse dung.

Just when he didn’t think he could go another step, when he felt himself falling, the horse stopped. Gasping in the horrid odor that somehow seemed trapped inside the burlap sack, Edward was finally able to draw in the air his lungs craved.

The sound he heard next, he knew well—a rope being dragged over the limb of a tree. In an instant, the rope around his neck constricted. This time, instead of being yanked forward, he was being lifted. The weight of his body was distending him. Up and up and up that rope pulled him, until the only part of him touching the ground was the toe tip of one boot. Hanging there, he was able to suck in one wheezy, manure-infested half-breath at a time.

“For your crimes you will die. May God have mercy on your soul,” the Yankee growled.

The rope stretched. Edward’s feet left the ground.

Struggling, he kicked his legs, but that only worsened the strangulation. Inside the sack, his mouth was open, his tongue extended, but there was no air. Not even the stench-filled kind. He could feel his pulse pounding in his head. The pain was excruciating, but his tears had stopped. It wasn’t possible to cry when one couldn’t breathe.

How long would it take, he wondered? How long until the suffering ended? He pictured his wife, his children, his home. He saw his friends, men from the Klan. By answering the Yankee’s questions he’d betrayed them, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Silently he tried to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but he couldn’t remember the words.

“As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise,” that malicious Yankee voice buzzed through his head. “Remember this, Edward Murphy. Remember what
you’ve
done to many others!”

A second later Edward’s body crumpled to a heap on the hard, root covered ground. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of a horse rapidly galloping away.

Jessica stretched languidly in her luxurious bed. It was late, darkness had fallen long before, but she wasn’t tired. Tomorrow was a special day, because tomorrow she would be married for one full week, and what a week it had been! As her mind wandered back in time she giggled aloud. Oh, how audacious she’d been on her wedding night! It was the champagne, of course. But how Jon’s moans of pleasure shook her! How his climax shook him! She could still remember distinctly the way his entire body, heavy over hers, shuddered and shuddered again. She remembered how her name tumbled out of him so reverently, “Jess,
oooh God
…
oooh
Jess
…!”

Afterwards, he was worried about her. He pushed himself up, though their bodies were still intimately joined, and asked, “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” As if he didn’t believe the slight negative shake of her head, he said, “But, did I? Am I… hurting you… down there?”

Jessica giggled again as she remembered what she said to him next. She’d been so naïve! She asked him, “Will you do that again? Will you move in and out of me like that some more?” And then, because he didn’t answer her, she prompted, “Can you?”

For a long moment, Jon closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “Yes… yes… I can…”

He did so much more, too. Soon enough she found out what he meant when he said he wanted to taste her.

Jon’s next surprise that night was that he had no intention of going to his own room to sleep. Jessica didn’t think she would ever doze off, it being the first time she ever shared a bed with a man, but she was so comfortable, in the jelly-limbed aftermath, lying in Jon’s arms. Not long before, he got up to douse the lamps. They were shrouded in darkness, and drowsiness took hold. His soft murmur startled her back to wakefulness.

“Will you excuse me for a minute, Sweetheart?”

“Is something wrong?”

“God, no. I want to hold you close to me all night long. I just… I’ll be right back,” he said.

In the darkness, she watched him limp across the room and disappear through the connecting door. She hadn’t noticed him limping when he doused the lamps, although at that point, while the room was still lit, she’d seen the nasty scar that went from his kneecap all the way around to the back of his leg. She’d seen, and touched other scars on his body, too. While he was dousing lamps, however, she was too shocked to think about his scars. All she could do was stare at him. He didn’t bother to cover himself. As if he hadn’t a care in the world, he was walking around the lit room completely naked!

This time when he rose and didn’t cover himself, she wasn’t left stupidly gawking. Of course, this time it was too dark to see more of him than a silhouette. When his shadowy figure re-appeared in the connecting doorway, he was carrying something tucked under his arm. Jessica didn’t know what it was until he got into bed. He didn’t put the small pillow he brought at the headboard with the other pillows. He tucked it in under the blankets and slid it beneath his scarred knee.

“Is your leg hurting you?” Jessica asked.

“A little. It will be stiff tomorrow if I don’t prop it up. I have to sleep with a pillow like this. I hope it won’t bother you.”

“No, of course not.” Jessica folded herself into his open arms and rested her hand on his chest. She liked the way the hair there tickled her palm, and she liked the way she could feel the regular thumping of his heart. “May I ask how it happened?” she asked.

“At Gettysburg. The second day of battle. I guess you could say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

As he spoke, though his tone was nonchalant, she could feel his muscles constricting beneath her. The sudden tension in him was impossible not to notice. “It must have been awful,” she murmured.

“I am lucky I didn’t lose my leg,” he said.

“I remember when Trent lost his arm,” she told him. “I used to pretend I didn’t have an arm so I could try to understand what he was going through. There were so many things I couldn’t do that I took for granted. I’m proud of how well Trent has adjusted. There isn’t much he can’t do on his own anymore.”

“Your brother is a remarkable man. I respect him a great deal.” Jon tenderly kissed her forehead and added, “And you’re a remarkable woman.”

Jon and his endless compliments…!
“Trent doesn’t like to talk about the war. He has terrible memories. Sometimes he has nightmares.”

Quietly, Jon replied, “Most men probably do. It was a horrible time. I hated every minute of it.”

One of Trent’s complaints about Jon was that he boasted too much over his exploits during the war. Up until that moment, Jessica had tended to agree. That night, feeling Jon’s physical reaction and hearing the stress he tried to cover in his tone, she realized Trent and she were both mistaken. “Do you have nightmares?” she asked softly.

“Not so much anymore,” he said.

“I’m glad you didn’t lose your leg.”

“Me, too, Sweetheart. Me, too.”

Jessica felt him relax again and she concentrated on listening to his heartbeat. “I’m not afraid of the dark with you here,” she said.

Lightly he rubbed up and down her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were afraid of the dark.”

“Only a little,” she said. “I like listening to your heart.”

He angled his head and kissed her forehead, and then brought his other arm around to gather her more tightly to him. “You feel so good, so very good here,” he whispered. “Holding you like this brings me peace.”

At some point during the night, she turned to her side. In the morning, the length of his body was spooned behind hers. The blankets had either fallen askew, or he pulled them down—she didn’t know which—to expose her breasts. Jon’s gentle, tickling caresses awakened her. Just that simple touch stirred her deeply. She shivered contently and wiggled against him, only to discover he was equally aroused.

“Do you know what my favorite part of you is?” he whispered. With his free hand he brushed her hair away from the sensitive nape of her neck, and lowered his mouth to her there. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he kissed her, “I have wanted so badly to do this for so long. With your hair up… every time I look at you… at the opera, oh, God… so beautiful… right here… so sexy…”

As his lips brushed her skin, as he whispered to her, the tingling in her loins became so acute, Jessica’s back arched. She was pressing against him, hoping he would understand she was ready for more. His roving hand moved lower, over her stomach, and lower, until his fingers slid tenderly between her legs.

“Are you sore here, Sweetheart?” he murmured. “Was last night too much?”

“No, I liked it,” she said shyly. But then she realized how inconsiderate she was being and she asked, “Are you… are you sore?”

Jon didn’t tease her. Not right then anyway. He whispered simply, “No.”

They didn’t make it to church that day. But they did spend every moment of it in each other’s company. Morning necessities came first. Together they washed and brushed their teeth. Jessica was still grinning and giggling watching Jon shave. While tying the laces of her corset he commented that he didn’t understand why she bothered to wear one. His most diligent chore was brushing and pinning her hair, and they both laughed at his clumsiness with the tiny pins. The last thing to be done before they finally headed downstairs for breakfast was helping Jon with his buttons, cufflinks and boots.

After indulging on the scrumptious muffins Ruth left out for them, they took a walk to the stables, and then along the pasture fence to see the horses. It amazed Jessica that Jon knew every one of them by name. There were so many, she would never be able to keep them straight in her head. It was fascinating, too, seeing the affinity the horses had for him. All it took for them to come running was his voice. The best part, however, was when he began to share tales of his youth. He’d spent much of his childhood on a neighbor’s horse farm, which was where he learned to appreciate the graceful, giant animals. In sharing his stories, repeatedly he provoked Jessica’s laughter. She was still grinning as they strolled on.

With no particular destination in mind, hand in hand, they meandered slowly around the immense lawn. They were near the kitchen when they ran into some of the children. Jessica stopped to say hello, and again she noticed how afraid of Jon they seemed to be. It was just as troubling that he did nothing to dispel their fears. Without saying a word, he stood aside and waited for her. But then, once the children ran off, he said, “You are very good with them.”

All of Jessica’s worrisome thoughts disappeared.

For a while they sat together on the front porch, talking and enjoying the breeze. In the afternoon, she played the piano for him. To his questions about how she became so proficient, she explained that her mother had taught her. When her mother died, Jessica pushed herself to learn more difficult music because she wanted to play as well as her mother. She supposed it was her way of keeping her mother alive. Jon’s evident curiosity, his empathy for her loss and his quiet commentary touched her in ways she couldn’t describe. It felt good to share those memories with him.

Although at first he seemed reluctant, Jon spoke of his own mother, too. His parents, she learned, met in France while his father was there continuing his education. They married abroad and moved to America shortly before Jon was born. He described his mother as an artist and an avid reader, and he said she could set him down with just one look. Jessica was tickled by how he referred to her as
Maman
, the French word for momma. He said what he missed the most about her was the way she supported and encouraged him, especially when it came to his career.
Maman’s
letters during the war were sometimes the only thing that kept him going. He said he wished Jessica could have met her, because
Maman
would have adored her. Sadly, both of his parents died shortly before the end of the war, his mother within a month of his father.

As Jessica rose from the piano bench, Jon pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. He said, “I love this day with you. It’s a perfect day.”

Timidly, Jessica murmured, “I feel like going back to bed.”

Jon tucked a fallen tendril of hair behind her ear. “I did a terrible job on your hair. It’s all coming down.” That was true enough. She giggled and he grinned. “Are you sleepy, Sweetheart?”

Jessica shook her head.

Lightly he teased, “You want to go back to bed, but not to sleep?”

“Is that wrong?” she asked uncertainly.

Slowly Jon shook his head. There was a sudden, but very evident gleam in his eye as he whispered, “Oh no. Never.”

The next day, for their honeymoon, they traveled to Nashville. Instead of having Herlin drive them, they took the smaller buggy and Jon drove it himself. Seated beside him, Jessica spent the hours talking and laughing with him. Much of the time she was leaning on him, too. The ride itself was wonderful, but it was nothing compared to the next five days in the city.

With no time limits and no constraints, they went sightseeing, they shopped, they ate in the finest restaurants, and every day, at Jon’s insistence, they sampled ice cream. Once they took a ride on a gondola, and on two of the evenings they had tickets to the theatre. Their nights were spent in the same plush hotel, except this time they shared only one room. Jessica couldn’t begin to explain what was happening to her, but day by day, moment by moment, her shyness was disappearing, at least with regard to their intimacy. And, much to her great pleasure, so did Jon’s unnecessary concerns for her feminine wellbeing. Quite a lot of love making took place in that big red bed, and not just during the night.

Jessica stretched recalling that very morning, their last morning in Nashville. Although part of her wanted to come home and begin her new life as the mistress of Bent Oak Manor, another part of her didn’t want to ever leave Nashville. At least she didn’t want to leave the big red bed right then and apparently neither did her husband. The sun streamed through the window panes and created lines of shadows on their naked bodies. Jon was lazily tracing hers with his fingertip.

“Does this feeling ever go away?” Jessica murmured blissfully.

“What feeling is that, Sweetheart?” Jon teased. Those fingertips of his were no longer just tracing. He was toying with her in a most delicious way. When a breathless sigh escaped her, he laughed. As he leaned closer, so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin, he whispered, “I hope not. I surely hope not. This has been the best week of my life.” It was the preamble to his tantalizing lips, to the titillating flecks of his tongue, to his hand moving to her other breast to tend to it, too. He was entirely too good at what he was doing!

“Are they too small?” Jessica asked breathlessly.

“Not at all…,” he whispered between nibbles, “…they’re just right… perfect… so perfect…” His mouth and his tongue traveled upward from there, up the column of her throat, under her jaw, around to her ear, over her temple, her eyes, and all the while he whispered to her, “You’re whole body is perfect. Every inch of you is perfect.” As his mouth came to hers, as he leaned up to look into her eyes, his hand took over the trailing. Even more slowly and reverently he went on, “…every hill… every valley… every bone… every muscle… your skin… your hair… your scent… your hands… your legs… right here…” His fingers skimmed slowly up her inner thigh to delve into her most intimate place. “…your instinct… your imagination… our bodies together… are perfect… when I’m inside of you… I fit perfectly… you enrapture me… you devour me… I can’t stop thinking about you… about talking to you… about holding you… about kissing you… about touching you—”