Surrender the Wind (20 page)

“What is it, General?’ Has Lincoln surrendered?” The men laughed, but the deadly countenance of their commander was not a laughing matter. In seconds, the men dispersed…except MacDougal.

Rourke chuckled nastily, an affront to the silence. According to
Harper’s
she was in Washington on an extended stay. So close. Enjoying balls and teas and—other entertainments? Indeed, he could imagine what other entertainments. How he itched to get his hands on her.

Concealing a growing impotent rage, he wished he were in Old Jube’s boots right now. There would be no doubt John would capture Washington just to get to her.

MacDougal scratched a Lucifer match alight and crouched over its flame. “You look like you got struck by lightning.” His adjutant made a way to open up a conversation. “Your innards are filled with rot-gut whiskey. Wisdom tells me it’s time to open the book or have you ceased to imbibe wisdom?”

John was in no mood for banter. Another dispatch rider thundered in, sending up a spray of dust. He dismounted and saluted.

“General Rourke?”

“The same.”

“I’ve come from General Lee.” The courier announced.

“I gathered.” John drawled and opened the sealed packet. A part of him hoped he didn’t have to move his troops again. They needed rest. Yet another part of him wanted to fight, to slam his fist in somebody’s face.

“It looks like I have to pay my respects to General Lee. Ian, I’ll have you accompany me. Lieutenant Johnson,” John called over to the surgeon’s tent where Johnson had wandered. “You’re next in command. I’m sure you’ll fill the shoes adequately until I return.”

* * *

General Rourke came upon General Lee at his headquarters inside the entrenchments at Petersburg. He looked more tired than usual, menaced by an intestinal disorder but, as always, remained impeccably dressed. Lee did not waste time with pleasantries but moved on to business.

“I need someone I can trust to ride through to General Early with a message. I sent my son, Robert, but have not heard back from him.” Lee paused but never revealed his worry. “This is a matter of grave importance for the Confederacy and cannot wait his return. A combined operation by naval elements and undercover agents is planned for the liberation of seventeen thousand Confederate prisoners at Point Lookout, down Chesapeake Bay at the mouth of the Potomac. After General Early closes in on Washington, I need him to be at or near Point Lookout on the night of July twelfth in time to assist setting free what would amount to a full new corps for the Army of Northern Virginia.”

“Yes, Sir,” said John, concurring the importance of resurrecting more fighting men to sustain their rapidly depleting army.

“If things work out right, if God wills, General Early will be successful in uncaging veterans’ south, armed with weapons taken from the vastly supplied stores of arsenals, ordnance shops, and armories in the Federal Capitol.”

Lee poured over the maps. “We need two days. That is to say, if there is no delay en route. A battle or sizeable skirmish, anything that would oblige a major portion of Jubal’s army to deploy or engage will eat up valuable time.”

“Understood,” John said. “I’ll ride out only with my adjutant.” He paused before he left. “When I meet Robert, I’ll send him this way.”

“Of course.” Lee hesitated, but then dismissed Rourke. As John climbed into his saddle, the general came outside. “God go with you.”

John saluted. He felt like he was leaving his father behind. He was also elated. He was heading north. He’d arrive when Early made his strike into Washington. Maybe he’d have lunch with his brother after all. That is—after he finished business with Catherine Fitzgerald Rourke.

Mallory had cut their attendance at a dinner party short and returned home. The heavy booming of artillery and rifle fire had unnerved him. Washington panicked with rumors of Armageddon. Rebel columns had knocked what little Union resistance there was out of their way and drew closer by the hour. Hysterical citizens wailed.

Descending on their city doorstep, an army of a hundred thousand Confederate firebrands, screamed vengeance for the destruction of their homeland. Influential leaders harassed President Lincoln to bring Grant’s army back north, despondent that he had left them to suffer their fate. Galvanized into action, every available militiaman, War Department clerk, and dismounted cavalry mustered in the outworks. Northward, communications had been cut-off by rail, wire, telegrams and newspapers by the insurgents. Hundreds of refugees swarmed the city with tales of murder and mayhem, adding to the impending doom.

Mallory’s voice held a rasp of acidity. “The situation is very grave. Rumor has it, Mr. Lincoln has boarded a naval ship and abandoned the city. Only a few fools are left to guard Washington. How stupid to keep the Union Army fortified around Richmond. Why Lee’s whole army is left to torch Washington. Lincoln is a fool. Grant is a fool.”

“Perhaps you should consider volunteering,” Catherine said.

“And leave my darling fiancée unprotected. I would not think of it.”

“Of course,” Catherine acceded. “Perhaps General Rourke and his army will call on us tomorrow morning. We could invite them for breakfast,” she said matter of fact, rewarded with a momentary flash of horror across Mallory’s face.

“I recall he’d be more interested in having his revenge on you.” Mallory let it hang.

One of his men entered the parlor. Catherine used the opportunity to flee to her room. A smile came to her lips with a letter from Lucas that had magically appeared in her reticule. Lucas had put a halt to the Rebel soldiers taken from Capitol Prison for Mallory’s abuse, making sure they had the medical attention they needed and swift retribution for the guards who had profited from the scheme. Through his frustration and admiration, Lucas had detailed his introduction to the thirteen-year old hooligan, Jimmy O’Hara. Lucas’s wallet had been stolen. To his chagrin, the wallet lay on his desk an hour later in a heavily guarded office. Jimmy O’Hara, just barely out of his nappies, had provided Lucas with a different ambit—a view of the Irish underworld with its underpinnings centered in New York City and spreading its tentacles throughout the growing nation. Mallory had been crafty, moving Catherine’s uncle about Washington. Where Lucas had failed at the turn of a coin, Jimmy O’Hara had succeeded through his network. Lucas hoped to visit a nondescript hotel on the west side this very night. Once he had her uncle, then he would help her escape Mallory.

Catherine would hire an army of Pinkerton agents and bodyguards. She would use her connections in Washington to find out what had happened to Shawn and then block Mallory. No more would she be under his thumb. Jimmy had informed her that the new Fitzgerald foundry in New Jersey was near completion, so the Rifle Works wouldn’t need to depend on Mallory Foundries. Since she was married, lawyers in Washington and New York would be secured to arrest control of her family’s wealth. Then she’d toss Agatha out. So much depended on this night.

For Catherine, getting away from Mallory’s oppressive presence did not make her any more secure. The rumors abuzz in Washington had raised the hairs on the back of her neck. John was miles away, defending Richmond. Wasn’t he? She rounded the balustrade. Tremors spiraled up her spine. To fall into his hands? She clutched her throat.

A strong wind blew against a huge darkened stain-glass window and it rattled in the sashes. A terrible foreboding touched every fiber of her being. Ridiculous. Giving herself a little shake, she entered her room and pressed her forehead against the closed door. Mallory was downstairs. Good.
Safe. Lucas would find her uncle. He’d help her escape…

No sound in her room. Odd? Not even the wind—an unnatural quiet. Catherine shivered.

The room was obsidian black, the only light that of the moon through the branches of the oak outside casting gloomy shadows across the wall. A tranquil room. Nothing to fear. She struck a match and lit her lamp. Light exploded to the far reaches of the room.

A man’s dark form loomed large…a form she recognized instantly. “J-John.” She blinked. No. It can’t be…

Had she summoned up an image of him? Sitting on a gold brocade chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, he tipped his hat back. “Yours truly, my love.”

A cigar poked from between his teeth and a Colt revolver lay across his lap. His right hand rested on the handle of his pistol, the easy grace of long habit. He grinned around his cigar, a slow…dangerous smile. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to pay a visit.”

She drank in the sight of his face—a face that aroused deep and profound memories. There was no helpless or injured man about him now. With his Rebel uniform open at the throat and exposing his sun-burnished skin, and his tight-fitting gray pants, he looked a mix of raw predatory instinct, and undeniable power. The expressive sweep of his dark brows and the sensuous bow of his lips—lips she remembered only too well—even now, she could remember their smoothness, taste and feel.

She put her hand up. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your pardon, but at the present moment I am devoid of all strenuous emotions, so any of your remarks are of no consequence.”

So menacing, so threatening, far more than she could have imagined. She was damned. Her shoulders dropped. “Let me explain.”

“You are mistaken my dear wife if you think I would listen.” He threw the New York Tribune at her feet, her engagement announcement to Mallory. “Bigamy even in the
amoral
Union States is illegal.”

“I did everything in my power to protect you and Uncle Charlie—”

He cut her off. “No more lies. You are a harlot, plying your wares for excitement. Spying must be glamorous business to attract a wealthy woman. You are good. Damn good.”

Catherine drew in a sharp breath as if he had slapped her. She had been surprised and even happy to see him again, but his slur upon her character was too much. “How dare you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That was just an interchange of compliments. What intrigue are you involved in now? I should expect you are using that lush body of yours for further procurement of information.”

“Mallory promised if I did everything he wanted, he’d release you. He has my uncle, and I’m going crazy with worry that he will kill him.”

“Delightful story. I’m charmed.”

“Charm is beyond your reach. Of course, you would never believe the truth.” Memories swirled, her stomach clenched, his promise of revenge. “Nor will you be satisfied until you’ve had your revenge.”

“Madam, I have traveled far, plagued by the memory of the generous way you received and entertained me during my…convalescence. There were many fascinating moments. How endowed you were with…certain assets…that would cause a man to forget…to forget his men, his country. Too bad you didn’t receive one bit of information that wasn’t already available. No doubt, you paid the price, your patriotism, admirable. One satisfaction I own is that I was the first. How many have you seduced since?” He laughed when she flinched.

Let him think what he wanted. Oh, to put him in his place. “The consequence of such disadvantaged fame fashions you a symbol of the destructions of the Confederacy that the North desires to eradicate. I could scream and bring the house down.”

With lightning speed, John was upon her. “I think not.” He put a hand over her mouth, his other hand clamped on the small of her back, holding her against him. At full strength, he was lean and powerful as a wolf. She pushed against his chest. He gave her a rough shake that threatened to snap her head off. Her pins fell to the floor and her hair tumbled down her back. Catherine stilled.

“That’s better. You are not so proud when you fear.”

She lifted her chin, summoning what little courage she could assemble. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

Silence loomed between them. His rapier glance passed over her.
Lucifer in butternut
.

“Yes, my loving wife,” he smiled, his even white teeth showing. “You should have cause. The hand of your betrayal preys on my mind. I have fought the devil’s own and risked all to have retribution.

She tossed her head. “Be informed that nothing will come to pass, for I am going nowhere with you.”

“But you will—”

Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her emerald eyes shone with unshed tears, dark and luminous—and pleading. Her bosom barely covered by the satin she wore heaved against the taut rich red fabric. He remembered the soft silkiness of her breasts and he ran his callused fingers across them.

“I cannot go with you even if I wanted too. I have too much at stake. I beg you, John, if you have any shred of decency or chivalry left in you, take your leave.”

“None of these attributes belong to me,” he murmured. Would she weep? In her pride, she steeled herself away from him, determined not to break down, at least in his presence. His mission for Lee in delivering the personal message to General Early had been fulfilled, but freeing the seventeen thousand Confederate prisoners from Point Lookout had been unrealistic. With Early’s attack on Washington, John with his adjutant had used the distraction to slip into the city under cover of darkness. Wasn’t his
dear
wife surprised with his visit?

“What do you propose doing with me?” Her tone was light, in spite of her trembling.

“Take you south. We have methods for spies in the Confederacy. I have entertained several.”

“You forget yourself, General Rourke. Need I remind you of basic geography? You are in the heart of Yankee territory. The Capitol no less. I refuse—”

“You will be sorry to test my patience further,” he drawled, pressing her flat against the wall with his body. “Ever since our rude parting, I could not put behind even the minutest detail and I vowed that neither starvation, disease, death, nor pestilence would keep me from you.”

“And when Mallory comes? No? Is it fear?”

Did she dare to test him? “I do not fear, not in the least, I shall be delighted to welcome your paramour and allow him to digest eight inches of my steel.”