Kary, Elizabeth (46 page)

Predictably,
he chose to tell the truth. "I've been with Sterling Price," he
answered, "since the first days of the war."

The
leader limped closer and held out his hand. "My men and I were with Price
at Pea Ridge. Did you lose that leg there?"

"No,
later," Bran told him, "in a skirmish not even deserving of a name.
I'm Lieutenant Brandon Hale, Confederate States of America, at your
service."

"Captain
William Quantrill," the other man replied.

At
the name a shiver of fear and revulsion shot through Leigh. This man's vile
deeds were legend to the refugees who had made their way to St. Louis in fear
of their lives. He and his band of cutthroats had left a wide swath of
destruction across western Missouri: of men killed, women raped, livestock
slaughtered, goods confiscated, and houses burned. If the rumors about the man
were true, he was the devil incarnate, vicious, wicked, and cruel, and his men
were no better. But standing over Bran, conversing about the war, he seemed no
different from any other man Leigh had ever known.

"We'd
be pleased to camp here by the stream tonight, if you folks wouldn't
mind," Quantrill was saying. "And it would be a real treat to take
advantage of a woman's cooking, if you ladies would agree."

They
all knew they had no choice but to accede to Quantrill's wishes, and while the
rest of the men dismounted and set up a camp of their own, Leigh and Delia
began to prepare a meal from the things that were brought to their fire. The
guerrillas had a surprising array of stores, from game shot during the day to
whole hams and slabs of beef that had been liberated from someone's smokehouse.
There were vegetables too, potatoes and yams and ears of corn already soaked
and ready to be roasted.

While
the women worked, half a dozen fires blossomed in the growing dark, and when
pickets were set up to encircle the encampment, Leigh could not help but wonder
if they were more secure for the guerrillas' vigilance or in even graver
danger. It seemed a point useless to ponder, and she diligently went on about
her chores.

"I
was wondering, ma'am," Quantrill began, approaching her again, "if
you would mind taking a look at my leg. Lieutenant Hale says you're a fine
nurse, and there are several of us in need of care."

"I
would be more than happy to see to your needs, Captain Quantrill," she
replied. "Just let me get my kit of medicines."

Quantrill's
leg wound was healing well, but clearly benefited from a good cleansing and a
fresh bandage. Once she was done with him, other men wandered over for sympathy
and care. From their conversation Leigh gathered they had been wounded in
battles that had taken place several weeks before at Independence and Lone
Jack. The fighting had been fierce, and Leigh listened to their accounts of the
incidents, horrified by their tactics. These men seemed to fight without any
regard for the gentlemanly rules of war, fiercely, with only survival in mind.
They fought "under the black flag" they said, without giving quarter
or expecting any. The stories of their exploits sickened Leigh, and she tried
to concentrate on tending their wounds and not on their boastful words.

While
Leigh had been caring for the men in need, Delia had been working to prepare
the meal to feed close to fifty people. It was no larger a group than they
cooked for at the field hospitals, and when Leigh returned to help, they made
remarkable progress.

Just
as they were slicing ham to be fried, in addition to the beans and potatoes
that were already cooking over the fire, gunshots erupted from beyond the
eastern perimeter of the camp. Instantly, men were on their feet ready for
action, with rifles and pistols clutched in their hands. But the disturbance
was short-lived, and the guerrillas had settled down again when one of the sentries
came into the camp prodding two prisoners with his gun.

Leigh
glanced up as the picket approached where Quantrill was sitting with Bran, and
she suddenly went tingly and light-headed with shock. Beside her she heard
Delia's gasp of alarm and reached across to still the girl's instinctive
movement. There, beneath the cold, steely bore of the sentry's repeating rifle,
stood her husband and Nathan Travis.

They
had been disarmed and stood totally vulnerable before the guerrilla leader.
What Hayes and Nathan were doing here, Leigh did not know, but from her vantage
point near the fire she could see the difference in the two men's demeanor.
Travis was coiled tight but at ease, with his features carefully masked. Hayes
stood tensed and waiting too, but there was a simmering belligerence in his
pose, a reckless challenge about him that Leigh had never seen in her husband
before.

Don't
do anything foolish, Hayes, Leigh willed him, wishing she could shout the
warning across the clearing.

Slowly
Quantrill came to his feet to face the two prisoners and their guard. "Who
are these fellows, Kit?" he demanded. "Are they scouts for the Union
patrols?"

"I
don't rightly know," came the answer, "but they were surely sneaking
around the camp as if they were a couple of Yankee spies."

"What
were you doing?" Quantrill addressed the men before him. "What is it
you want here?"

Neither
of the prisoners answered, unwilling to endanger Leigh and her party.

"I
said," the guerrilla leader repeated in a threatening tone, "what is
it you are doing here if you are not Union spies?"

Again
there was no reply.

Quantrill
came a few steps closer to where Banister and Travis stood. "What is your
purpose for prowling around our camp in the dark?" he demanded again.
Then, without warning, he struck Hayes a backhand blow that sent him
staggering.

Incandescent
fury lit in his eyes, and only Travis's rough, restraining hand spared
Quantrill from Hayes's retaliation.

Quantrill
took in both Banister's movement and the tightening at the corners of Travis's
mouth, and knew instinctively that they would get no information from these men
by normal means.

"Kill
him!" Quantrill ordered coldly, indicating the tall, brown-haired man who
seethed with silent rage. One of the men raised a gun to obey his leader's
command, pointing it at Hayes.

Quantrill's
transformation from rational man to coldblooded killer momentarily stunned
Leigh, and then she was across the clearing, throwing herself protectively
between her husband and the guerrilla with the rifle. "No! No! Don't hurt
him! Please!"

For
an instant Quantrill studied the man and woman before him. "Who is this
man to you?" he demanded of Leigh. "Why are you begging for his
life?"

"He—he's
my husband."

There
was a parchment-brittle silence around the fire as the Confederate raider
considered Leigh's words. If what the woman said was true, there was no need to
fear Yankee patrols, and that in itself was a relief. And, he supposed, a man
could be forgiven for coming to take home a wayward wife. But there might well
be an advantage to this turn of events that he had not foreseen.

One
hand came up to rub his stubbly jaw as his eyes drifted over the woman who
stood before him, coming to rest at last on the curve of her lips. From the
moment they had ridden into the camp, he had been attracted by her beauty, but
because she was under the protection of a defender of the cause, he had been
reluctant to approach her. But now, as the wife of a man who had been spying on
the camp, she was fair game. And in this hunt he was the man with an advantage.

"I
would like to spare him for you, ma'am," Quantrill drawled, his eyes
sliding over Leigh once more, "since you've been nice enough to tend our
wounded and cook our dinner. But to tell you the truth, there's not much reason
unless you are willing to give me some incentive to make me change my
mind."

It
was plain to everyone within earshot what it was that Quantrill wanted, and a
few men drifted closer to see the matter resolved. Leigh could feel Hayes's
eyes boring into her back, sense Bran's frustration and Delia's horror at what
she was being asked to do. But she tried not to think about anything more than
what it would take to save her husband's life.

A
slow, feral smile lit Quantrill's face as he went on. "I think I might be
in need of the tender ministrations of a pretty woman," he suggested.
"It's been a long time since I've been treated by a woman with such a soft
and supple body or with hair that shines in the firelight like a thousand tiny
sparks."

The
tension spun out like a skein of fraying rope, as both the guerrilla and Hayes
waited for Leigh's answer.

"You've
named your price for sparing my husband, Captain Quantrill," she said
finally, standing steady and unbowed. "And for his safety I will pay you
what you ask."

"No,
Leigh—" Hayes protested, reaching out to catch her arm. But before he
could do more, one of the guards brought the butt of his rifle down against his
skull. Hayes gave a single moan as his knees gave way, crumpled to the ground,
and lay still.

Leigh
was instantly beside him, assessing his condition with discerning hands. When
she was certain Hayes would recover from the blow, she turned fiercely to
address Quantrill. "He will be unharmed,
unharmed,"
she
insisted, "or there will be no bargain between us."

Something
approaching respect shone in the guerrilla leader's eyes, and he nodded slowly.
"As you wish, madam. My men will not hurt him further."

"Have
I your word, sir, your word as a Southern officer?"

"Yes,
my word," Quantrill hesitantly agreed.

Leigh
nodded in turn, acknowledging the bond between them. "Very well. Are your
needs pressing, or can you wait until after dinner?"

"I
think after dinner is time enough, my dear. Until then I shall await your
pleasure."

Without
another word Quantrill made his way toward one of the distant campfires,
leaving his men to bind and bring the prisoners.

When
Leigh once again joined Delia by the fire the younger woman's voice was raw
with fear. "Do you think Nathan and Hayes will really be safe? Will
Quantrill let them leave with us in the morning?"

They
were questions Leigh did not care to ponder, and she shrugged away Delia's
concern. "They'll be fine, I promise you," she assured her friend.
"Just leave their future to me."

Then
came words of understanding to express a conflict only another woman could
feel. "Oh, Leigh," Delia whispered softly, "how will you give
yourself to such a man?"

Leigh
drew a long, steady breath, watching as their two husbands were bound and led
away, considering the circumstances she had been forced to accept. She
understood why the two men had felt compelled to come after them, but in the
end their arrival had made matters worse instead of better. Quantrill's
ruthlessness was known far and wide, but she felt certain they would have
weathered it without disaster if there had been no opposition. And though she
did not voice her concern to Delia, she was not sure any of them were safe
after what had happened. The guerrilla was unpredictable and dangerous, and
somehow the tenuous balance had been upset by their husbands' arrival and what
had followed. All their futures hinged on what she did, and Leigh knew only
that she had to act to insure everyone's safety.

Wearily
she came to her feet. "I don't know how I will face what's to come, Delia.
But somehow I must, somehow I will." Squaring her shoulders, Leigh moved
to get more supplies from the wagon.

For
the next hour, they cooked for the men, boiling yams with a little bourbon,
frying thick slices of smoked ham. They baked biscuits over the fire, and from
a cache Leigh had guarded she brought a pound of rich, dark coffee and made a
pot for the raiders to enjoy.

"Good
grub, ma'am."

"Best
meal I've et in weeks."

"This
is as good as my ma's cooking."

The
comments greeted Leigh as she made her way to where Hayes and Nathan were being
held.

"You
don't mind if I've brought a little something for the prisoners, do you?"
she asked the guard as she approached. "I imagine they have been on the
trail all day too and must be as hungry as you and your men are."

The
man shrugged. "As long as you don't ask me to untie them, they can have
their victuals."

"With
their hands bound the way they are, I think they can both manage a spoon."

"I
tell you what, ma'am," the guard offered. "I'll let you sit right
here and help them, if'n you give me one of them cups of coffee."

Leigh
smiled at the man and extended one of the plates, offering the cup that sat at
the edge. "That's kind of you, sir, and when I go back, I'll get you a
refill if you'd like."

Leigh
set the dishes before her husband and Nathan Travis and helped each one to
grasp a piece of silverware. It was not the easiest way to eat, but they fell
upon the food with relish.

"You
needn't be so pleasant to them," Hayes muttered between bites of ham.
"You treat these men as if they were something more than outlaws."