Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (6 page)

Why? Why do we fight? Kill? How much longer can we stand this?
She brought her hands to her face.

Thomas pulled her against him and held her as her knees grew weak. His strength poured into her. He smelled manly, like fresh clean soap and pipe tobacco, and a tingling started in her stomach, warming her. His heart thumped behind his firm chest. She lowered her hands, allowing one to find refuge on his arm.

Placing a hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face up to meet his.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Don’t let your soldiers hear you say that,” she said.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he brushed a wisp of hair back from her face and left his fingers there, tangled in the locks floating around her neck. She closed her eyes and tightened her hold on his arm. He dusted an eyelid with a kiss—first one then the other.

“You’d best be getting inside,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

She didn’t move.

And he didn’t release her.

“Sweetheart, go on back inside. I’ll be right behind you,” he said, pulling back. Alexandra opened her eyes and allowed him to set her aside. “Go on now,” he said, nodding in the direction of the house.

****

With a lump in her throat, Alexandra sat on the edge of the four-poster bed and lit a tapered beeswax candle resting on the nightstand
.
A stranger’s hands should never have done this…

With her back to the door, she removed the vial from around her neck, opened it, and withdrew the little piece of paper she found inside. Leaning closer to the candle, she attempted to make out the writing.

“French…no, random letters,” she muttered, squinting to make out the cryptic symbols.

“A coded message…” she trailed off.

With a little groan, she rolled up the paper and shoved it back into the vial. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the realities of war. How could such logical, rational, modernthinking Americans have gotten themselves into such a mess?

Alexandra put the vial around her neck. “Later.”

She pushed off a shoe with one foot then did the other, yawning. She stretched out and fell upon the feather bed, fully clothed. Who knew if one of the soldiers might push open her door during the night or in the morning before she woke.

What a long, long day.
She sighed.

Every muscle throbbed from carrying large buckets of hot water and from sitting astride a horse all day. Aimless thoughts washed across her mind.

How could she have thrown herself at Thomas so wantonly? Her cheeks burned. He’d had to all but bodily push her away from him. How could he be interested in a shorthaired girl parading around in boy’s trousers?

And then he might be married or engaged. She gasped. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Or even worse…he could be a Yankee, she thought as she remembered his blue uniform. Her breath caught.

Please, don’t let it be so. But even if he were, I’d still want him…from a distance.

Soon her heavy muscles won the battle against her whirling mind and heart and pulled her into sleep. Vivid dreams came to her that night. Thomas held her close, so close she could breathe the masculine scent of him beneath the clean smell of soap. In her dream he held her snuggled up in front of him, his lips against her hair.

She was safe.

****

Thomas scanned the room. Alexandra lay beneath the blankets on the bed, her eyes closed and a peaceful glow on her face.

Thomas’s lips curved into a smile.

She would take the only bed in the house
.

With the memory of her fragile body against his, he undressed with shaky hands and glanced around, locating his bedroll.

She’s so innocent, and unaware of her effects on a man.

His hands paused over a button, his eyes drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest. In one swift motion, he locked the door and slid into bed beside her.

Chapter Six

Thomas placed a hand on Alexandra’s shoulder. She opened her eyes and blinked to focus.

Thomas…you’re in my bedroom.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” she muttered and sat up, tossing a glance around.

The day promised to be indistinguishable from the last. He stepped away and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him. She dressed and joined him for breakfast.

Thomas ordered the men to clean and organize the camp and be ready to roll out before the dew melted from the grass.

Time rolled into the noon hour, and she and Thomas hadn’t muttered two words to each other. Nonetheless, each time he glanced in her direction, her face flushed from the dreams she enjoyed.

Where had he slept?

A shot of cannon fire several wagons back interrupted her thoughts and demanded attention. Pulling back on the horse’s reins, she twisted around in the saddle but couldn’t see the action from her place down the line of horses.

Suddenly, men shouted and shifted out of their positions. The first volley of gunfire sent the horses into a frenzy, running wild in all directions. She grabbed at the reins of her horse, but the mare didn’t move. A large black steed bumped into her. Neighing, her animal took her cue at last. Alexandra guided her out of the path of danger.

“Take cover!” The command rang in Alexandra’s ears above the shouts and gunfire.

Yankees appeared from the cover of eastern trees in a swarm of blue rushing the land.

Alexandra’s horse froze. Alexandra tugged the reins, but the mare stood still as granite. A gentle animal, gently raised, she was no warhorse.

Staying close to the horse’s body, Alexandra dismounted, pulling her saddlebags with her, and crawled behind a tree.

Where are you, Thomas?
Her hands twisted the leather strap of the saddlebags.

She lay on her stomach and slipped her hand into one of the bags. Shuffling around, her fingers made contact with cold steel—her pistol. She withdrew it with trembling hands and checked the barrel
.
Loaded.
Then she turned her attention to the horror unfolding in front of her.

The Yankees kept up a steady volley of gunfire, circling them, engaging the Rebels in handtohand combat. An ocean of blue, they swept over the random spots of gray, destroying them in their wake.

The precious supply wagons became a train of ashes as one by one they exploded into flames. Her eyes stung from the smoke. She couldn’t tell who did it, whether the Yankees or the Rebs to keep the supplies out of enemy hands. No matter. The result was the same. So much for weeks of knitting socks and sacrificing salt pork. How many hours had she spent collecting and hiding supplies from the Yankees? Her heart sank at the loss of supplies for the boys in gray.

Alexandra wiggled further back into the underbrush as a Yankee soldier broke from the melee and headed in her direction. He stopped inches away. Her heart pounded. From the side, she could make out mud on his horse’s hooves. She lifted her gaze seeing patches of blue between the green pine branches she hid behind. The man scowled at the scene of fighting before him.

Where is Thomas?
She put her hand over her mouth sure her hard breathing would give her away.

Eli Cooper crept from the cover of the brush.

“Are you all right, Sammy?” he whispered.

She nodded, afraid of being overhead. Then swallowing her fear she whispered, “Where is Thomas?”

“I don’t know.”

Please God, let him be safe.

Eli yelled out. He rolled, stopping inches from her and lay still. Alexandra held her breath. The Yankee with the muddy horse lowered his gun to his side and turned, moving away as if to search for further prey.

Alexandra exhaled, relieved at not being discovered, yet warily watching the enemy.

“Help…” Eli managed.

She stole toward him.

“Where were you shot?” she asked.

He moved his hand from his left shoulder to reveal a soaked area of bloody flesh. Alexandra bit her lower lip as images of Jackson lying unseeing invaded her thoughts.

“You’re going to be all right,” she offered, hoping she spoke true.

Eli looked up into her face, his eyes hazy.

“Sammy?”

“Yes, I’m here. Don’t try to move,” she said, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d gone insane.”

Alexandra glanced around them. The Yankees, one by one, retreated into the trees, leaving smoldering wagons and slain soldiers in gray in their wake. Only sporadic gunfire continued.

“Why is that, Mr. Cooper?”

“Because I’m seeing the most beautiful angel in the face of a boy.”

Alexandra jerked her head around. She had forgotten to alter her voice. From the looks of things, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Eli closed his eyes. He didn’t move. Alexandra shivered.

Thomas appeared, still mounted on his horse, his coat tattered and covered in gunpowder. Relief washed over her at the sight of him. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but the sound stuck in her throat. Instead, a gunshot rang out. Thomas swore and fought to keep his horse from going wild and tossing him off its back.

A Yankee lay sprawled on the ground so close she could see streaks of blood across his cheeks. He pointed his rifle at Thomas.

Until now, she had forgotten the pistol in her hand. With calm and deliberate determination, Alexandra raised her weapon with a deep breath, aimed and fired. The Yankee fell, and a dark spot of blood spread over his heart before he even knew she was there.

Thomas slid from his horse, stumbled toward her, and using his arms to balance himself, stopped in front of her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank God you’re all right,” she said, fighting back tears.

“We have to get out of here.” He grabbed her hand and led her back the few feet to the horse, which stood where he’d left him.

“Wait!”

“What is it?” he asked, scanning their surroundings.

They moved toward the rear of the wagon train.

“We have to help Eli.”

Thomas turned to look at the unmoving soldier lying on the ground, covered in blood and dark streaks of gunpowder smeared across his face, neck, and down his jacket. The young man’s chest rose and fell—he lived, but for how long? If they tried to carry him, he would only lose more blood. No doctor lurked about to help.

“We can’t help him, now, chérie,” he uttered.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She hadn’t liked Eli at first, but they couldn’t just leave him here to die.

“Please…” She looked at him, her heart pleading. “I can help him,” she continued, “at least let me try.”

****

Thomas sighed. He was going to regret this. “Fine, but it will slow us down.”

Her grateful smile thanked him well enough. He looked around for some way to fashion a travois, and for any sign of the enemy. He didn’t see any Yanks lingering, but he wouldn’t let down his guard.

Between the two of them, he and Alexandra managed to locate two sturdy saplings, recently fallen. Thomas secured his tattered blanket to the limbs and tied the whole contraption to the saddle of his horse. It wouldn’t last long. The blanket would rip before they covered any real distance.

He mounted and pulled Alexandra up in front of him. Sporadic gunfire rang out in the distance—a sign the fighting drew to a close. She held on in silence, clutching her saddlebags to her chest as they left the battle behind them.

“Can we save any of the supplies?” she asked.

“We were outnumbered and caught by surprise. There’s nothing.”

In silence, she twisted from her waist and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. She yanked away. “My God. You’re bleeding!”

“It’s nothing.”

“You were shot.”

“It’s nothing,” he repeated.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

“Do it while we ride, then. We can’t risk stopping.”

Alexandra frowned as she stared into his eyes. “You are a most difficult man. This is no scratch. You could faint at any moment.”

“I won’t faint,” he said.

Alexandra nodded.

“You’ve never tended a man sitting upon a horse, much less a moving horse, have you?” he asked.

“No, and not being astride myself as well. I hope I never again have the misfortune.” She applied pressure to the wound. “The bullet passed cleanly through your shoulder. If infection doesn’t set in,” she added, examining the wound, “your recovery will be complete.”

“There’s whiskey in my saddlebag,” he said.

She placed her own saddlebags behind him.

In order to reach his bags, she pressed against him. The horse’s movements turned the pressure into more of a caress of her breast against his chest. A jumble of excitement and hope that this accidental caress could lead to something more swamped his emotions. However, uncertainty washed over him. He glanced down at her full lips and lowered eyes. With a mere shift of his face, he could kiss her.

He held his breath. She tossed her hands about inside his bag.

“Here it is.” She withdrew her hand, her fingers wrapped around the small, almost full bottle of whiskey. He sighed with disappointment as the moment passed.

Her face flushed, and she stiffened her spine.

You’re embarrassed, my dear.
He smiled.

She didn’t meet his gaze but poured whiskey into the wound.

He flinched. She saturated a cloth from her saddlebag and squeezed it deeper into the wound. Reaching behind him, she did the same to the exit wound. She pulled back and smiled.

“What?” he asked.

“You deserve credit for not fainting. Most men would have.”

This warmed him inside. Using a fresh strip of cloth she took from his bag, she asked him to lift his arms. He accommodated her, and she twirled the bandage around his chest.

“You’re good at that,” Thomas said, his voice gruff from the pain.

“My mother taught me to tend basic wounds. It’s expected of women on the plantations.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “The life of plantation leisure is merely a myth for the southern belle.”

Frowning, she tied the ends of the cloth together.

“Not really,” she said. “We have slaves to help us.”

“Yes, but you have to watch their every movement.”

“You have an unusual perspective, Captain Munroe. One can only wonder which uniform you wear with your heart.”

“Even if I told you, what reason would you have to believe me?”

She sighed. “Are we circling back around toward Vicksburg?” she asked as if to distract him.

“No.”

She studied him. He clenched his teeth. His shoulder throbbed.

“Then what do you have planned?” she asked, more gently.

“I’m taking you home.”

“No!” she cried, too quickly.

Thomas glanced at her, skeptical. With the supplies gone, what need could she possibly have to go on to Vicksburg?

“I um…I have a letter I must deliver to my aunt,” she said with a quivering voice.

“An aunt? Where? In Vicksburg?”

“Yes. My Aunt Maggie, my father’s sister, lives there,” she said.

You’re lying.

“My grandfather handed me the letter just before I left.” She reached up and placed her hand over her blouse, and her eyes misted over.

What saddens you?
He frowned, not voicing his concerns.

****

A prisoner in his own home, Ernest Dumon’s beaten down spirit left him defeated. What kind of man was he to allow his granddaughter to traipse across the country with a company of soldiers? His own hands had shoved her into that company. He handed her the message and told her his life depended on it. Of course she would go. She trusted him. He placed her life in danger.

Wrought with guilt, Ernest wrenched himself from the settee, returned to his bedroom window, and looked at the two soldiers lounging on the steps of his home. He knew that two more had taken up vigil at the back door. Even now, their bawdy laughter drifted up the stairs.

After they had questioned him for seven hours straight and even resorted to threats of torture, the soldiers gave up and locked him in the house. Ernest was surprised that they followed the orders not to harm him. That Captain Thomas must carry quite a bit of weight with his men. Any other soldiers would have succumbed to the temptation to at least poke him a little with a knife.

The cook fed him well on the meager supplies left. Most everything disappeared on those wagons to Vicksburg. Since the soldiers took his weapons, he wasn’t able to indulge in cleaning them as he liked to do to pass the time. He did, however, have his books. Even if for only a few minutes at a time, he could lose himself in the world of Camelot.

It wasn’t so bad really, he decided. They could have thrown him in the smokehouse or even in the privy hole. He shuddered. Even worse, they could have marched him off to Rock Island. No, he determined, if he had to be in prison, his home was by far the best place.

Perhaps he could slip past the guards with the dark of night as a cover…