Mischief and Magnolias (24 page)

Watching her pull the pins from her hair had to be the most erotic sight he'd ever seen. Her light auburn curls slowly fell down around her shoulders to glisten in a multitude of shades in the lamplight, a sharp contrast to the virginal white of her nightgown. He thought of nothing more than inhaling the fragrance of her hair as he buried himself deep within her warm, welcoming body. Blood rushed through his veins and the grin he had tried to hide, as well as the words he was about to say, simply disappeared.

Shaelyn ran her fingers through the glossy tresses and then began to brush the long, shimmering locks. Remy watched every move she made and when she hesitated in the midst of sliding the brush through her thick, luxurious mane, he noticed immediately.

“Is something bothering you, Shae?”

She turned on the small stool and raised luminous eyes toward him. He saw the concern shining in their violet-blue depths. “It's just a feeling,” she said as she put down the brush, leaving her hair loose instead of braiding it as she usually did. “I can't explain it, but I don't think the
Sweet Sassy
will come back.”

Her voice held a certainty he couldn't deny, as well as pain and fear. He did the only thing he could do. He moved the blankets aside and then opened his arms wide in invitation. “Come here.”

Shaelyn rose from her seat and crossed the floor in her bare feet, coming to a stop beside the bed. He reached out his hand. She placed hers in his and crawled into bed, snuggling within his embrace, laying her head on his bare chest. Her breath fluttered against his skin as he adjusted the quilt to cover both of them. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I know it's silly, but I can't help it.”

“It isn't silly, love. These are dangerous times and you've already lost so much.” He stroked her back through the flannel of her nightgown and inhaled the fragrance of her hair, the scent uniquely hers, sending a rush of desire hurtling through him once more, but whatever thoughts he had about making love to her faded as he tried to comfort her. “What makes you think this trip will be different than all the others? Captain Williams and Captain Beckett regard the
Sweet Sassy
as their own, as do Captains Peterson and Simpson. They're knowledgeable and skilled and have made the run to New Orleans several times.”

“It has nothing to do with how competent or experienced they are, Remy. Or how many times they've successfully made a run.” She sighed against his chest and snuggled a little closer. “In my heart, I know something will happen. Don't let them go. Postpone the trip for a few days at the very least.”

“I don't think the general would appreciate that.” He continued to caress her back, feeling the tautness of her muscles beneath her flesh. “He's anxious to have his wife and son with him. I can't say I blame him.”

“Would you try? Would you ask him? For me?”

“Yes, I'll speak with him. I don't promise to change his mind, but I'll try.”

“Thank you.” With his promise, she relaxed against him.

Remy held her until her even breathing told him she slept, but he remained awake for quite some time, thinking about what she'd said. Was there merit in her fears? Of course. These were dangerous times as he'd said, and anything, as he well knew, could happen. Anything at all.

• • •

A strange, strangled noise woke Shaelyn from a sound sleep before an arm was flung wide, nearly hitting her in the face. Remy's hand slammed into the headboard instead, the sound of his knuckles hitting wood sharp. Shaelyn quickly scrambled out of bed…and out of reach before Remy kicked out.

Deep in the throes of a nightmare, he kept pushing—at what, she didn't know—and emitting the most pitiful, desperate, and heart-wrenching sounds she'd ever heard. He spoke in his night terror as well, calling out names and orders to take cover.

She raced around to his side of the bed and reached out to shake him, but his arms were flailing about so much, she couldn't get close enough.

“Remy! Wake up!” she commanded. Her words did little good. He remained asleep, trapped in a battle she couldn't see or hear…and didn't want to either.

Shaelyn struck a match, lit the lamp on the bedside table and tried one more time to shake him awake, but again, she couldn't get close enough.

Sweat gleamed on his face and his expression showed fear and pain and made her heart ache.

Dear God, what is he dreaming about?

She spotted his cane and grabbed it, grasping it tightly in her hand. She tried speaking his name one more time and when that didn't work, she poked him with the cane. Hard.

He awoke with a stifled scream, his eyes wide and unfocused. And glistening with tears.

“Remy! Look at me!”

He faced her and his expression turned from one of confusion to one of horror. “My God, Shae! Did I hurt you?” He reached out and grabbed her, skimming his hands along her arms as if seeing for himself he hadn't.

“You didn't hurt me, Remy.” She kept her voice even in tone though concern rushed through her.

Shaelyn placed the cane back where it belonged and climbed into bed beside him, enfolding him in her arms, offering comfort as he had done for her earlier. His entire body trembled. She laid her hand over his heart on his bare chest and felt the thundering beat beneath her fingers. “What were you dreaming about? You were shouting names, telling them to take cover, to get down.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I haven't had one that bad in a long time.”

“Tell me,” she whispered as she blew out the lamp, casting the room into semidarkness once more, then held him tight, her fingers stroking through his soft, thick hair.

“We were ambushed, as you know.” Slowly, hesitantly, he began to speak, his voice low and hoarse. “We were scouting ahead along a path surrounded by old growth trees and bushes. The path, if you could call it a path, was a ribbon of mud that sucked at our horses' hooves.” He stopped and drew in his breath. Shaelyn squeezed him a bit tighter and kept stroking his hair until he continued. “Sunlight dappled the ground through the canopy of leaves over our heads, but cast shadows everywhere else. Mist rose from the earth from recent rains. Everything looked…otherworldly, if you know what I mean. Eerie. Strange.”

“Is that when you were hurt?”

He nodded against her and shifted slightly so he could get closer, his arms wrapping around her as if she were an anchor, holding him steady. “There were six of us—myself, the general, Beau Ryland, Landry Hopkins, Richie Streuble, and Big Jim Piper. You would have liked Big Jim, Shae. He could make us laugh about anything.” He sucked in his breath and let it out slowly.

“He wasn't making us laugh that day though. We were all on edge and cautious as the path seemed to sink lower. It was like being in a tunnel.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was so odd…there were no sounds except for the steady thud of our own horses' hooves—no birds chirping from the branches of the trees around us. No animals moving through the dense underbrush.”

He shivered, his entire body shaking as if he were cold despite the warmth of the blankets over him and her arms around him. “I didn't like being there. I remember thinking, if I were planning an ambush, this is where I'd do it and as soon as I had that thought, I heard the crack of a rifle being fired. The sound came from my left, I think, but I couldn't be sure because after that first shot, there were hundreds more. I didn't know if there were ten sharpshooters or fifty or a thousand. Bullets came flying from all around us, from all sides.”

His voice tightened, as if saying the words had become too painful. “Big Jim got hit first. I saw him fall from the saddle into the mud. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. Then Beau got hit. I heard him scream as the bullet—I shouldn't be telling you this. It isn't for ears as lovely as yours.”

“It's all right, Remy,” she whispered, “Just tell me. You don't have to be afraid of hurting my delicate sensibilities. I think you've kept this locked up for far too long. It needs to come out, whether you tell me or someone else.”

“My men, those I'd sworn to protect, were dying all around me. They hadn't had time to draw their weapons. And I…I hadn't been touched. Neither had the general, and I thought, for a moment, we would be captured by whomever shot at us.”

He began to shake again, but he didn't stop talking, as if the trunk where he kept these memories had become unlocked and all the things he'd hidden within would no longer obey the command to stay concealed. “I'd just drawn my rifle when I heard this laughter I'll never forget. I swear, Shae, time seemed to stand still. I didn't see the bullet leave the rifle, but I sure as hell heard it, and then I
could
see it, heading straight for the general. I didn't think. I just reacted. I had to get Sumner out of there, at least protect
him
as I hadn't been able to protect the rest of my men. I'm still not sure how I did it, but I managed to take the bullet meant for him at the same time the bastards shot my horse.”

Absently, he rubbed his thigh and she wondered if the scar pained him now. Perhaps it was what was beneath the scar, and he massaged the puckered skin to find some relief. Or perhaps just talking about these horrible memories made him ache. “I remember screaming for the general to go as I fell into the blood-soaked mud, the pain so intense I saw flashes of white, and Soldier Boy fell on top of my legs. I passed out at that point, I think, but I knew I had saved the general and that was what mattered. I could see him ride off between the trees.”

Tears flooded Shaelyn's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her breath seized in her lungs. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd gone through, what he'd seen and suffered, and it hurt, more than she dared to admit. Yet she didn't have the heart to stop him. She had asked him to tell her before she realized how utterly devastating his story could be.

“General Sumner came back…with help, even though he had been hurt. A bullet had found its mark despite my efforts, but the wound wasn't life threatening. By that time, it was full dark. I don't know how long I lay beneath Soldier Boy. Trapped. Unable to move my legs. Pain so horrific, it made my stomach twist and brought tears to my eyes every time I tried.”

He sucked in his breath and held her tighter, as if drawing strength from her. “Memories are a little hazy, but I remember trying to push against Soldier Boy's body despite the pain, I remember tasting mud and blood. And I remember bargaining with God. I thought I was going to die, Shae. I prayed for it. The next thing I knew, I woke in the hospital. A surgeon stood next to me, holding a saw, and he was telling me he was going to take my leg, the damage had been too great and I would never be able to walk again.”

A shudder wracked his body and his voice deepened and grew ragged. “I begged. I bargained. And I was lucky, Shae. The surgeon listened and I kept my leg, but for a long time, none of us were certain it had been the right decision. I came close to dying so many times…sometimes I begged God for it.”

Shaelyn was grateful for the darkness so he couldn't see the tears on her face.
“And you relive all that in your dreams?”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter, but there was no humor in it. “That and more, but I don't need to be asleep to see it or hear it or remember it all. With my eyes wide open, I see the muddy path, I see my men, I hear the shots being fired…hell, I can smell the mist rising from the ground. The pain reminds me to be grateful I am alive, and I am grateful. The pain also reminds me of the promises I made and what the experience taught me.”

She continued to run her fingers through his soft, thick hair as he grew quiet. They hadn't moved since she'd taken him in her arms, but she had no desire to let him go. The silence between them deepened, but it wasn't oppressive or awkward. Rather, after such heartbreak, such tragedy, the stillness was much needed, at least for Shaelyn. She needed the time to absorb everything he'd said. She supposed he needed it as well—not only the calm after his torrent of words, but the sharing of those memories.

“I bet you're sorry you asked.” He broke the sense of tranquility that had expanded between them.

Shaelyn shook her head. “No, I'm not sorry I asked. I'm just sorry you had to go through that. This war is…” She couldn't finish the sentence as her throat constricted, not only because of Remy but for the thousands of other boys who hadn't been quite as lucky as he. She swallowed hard and asked, “Do you know who ambushed you? Was it Confederate soldiers?”

She felt his shoulders shrug against her. “It could have been anyone, Shae, anyone who didn't like the color of my uniform, not necessarily Confederate sharpshooters.”

“But you want to know, don't you?”

“Oh, yes. One of the promises I made to myself as I lay in the mud beneath Soldier Boy was to find the men responsible for killing my boys. It's a promise I intend to keep.”

The conviction in his voice told her he would keep that promise, no matter what it cost him. She wanted to caution him against vengeance and bitterness, neither of which had worked for her, because here she was comforting—and yes, loving—a man she swore would be her enemy forever, but she didn't detect either in his words. Just a simple promise. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

He nodded against her and admitted, “Only if you hold me.”

“I won't let go,” she whispered, and held him in her arms as he fell asleep. But she didn't sleep. Her brother's face floated before her. Had he met the same circumstances at Remy? Had someone saved him? Or was he in a shallow, unmarked grave?

Where was he? And why hadn't he let her and her mother know he was safe?

Hours later, her body stiff from holding Remy for so long, Shaelyn fell into an exhausted sleep, though none of her questions had been answered.