The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (3 page)

Because theirs wasn’t a freedom without cost. A cost dear to pay.

The mood in the washhouse was strangely subdued. If his men had strong opinions, they kept them in check as baths were filled, then the filthy contents emptied, and razors scraped pallid faces bare.

His own reflection startled him. He didn’t recognize the gaunt features at first, all hollowed by constant hunger, worries, and weariness. Not a vain man, he’d never put much store in looks, so it wasn’t his haggardness that alarmed him. It was the guilt shadowing his stare. He had the look of a man who was haunted.

“You did the right thing, Noble.”

George Allen’s freckled face appeared in the
glass alongside his. Allen was close to twenty and looked all of maybe fourteen. An innate innocence kept his features free of harsh experience, even after the horrors he’d seen. A small-town boy, his only ambitions were to return to the church where he was baptized and to lead its congregation of fewer than four dozen. Allen’s spiritual optimism had pulled the men through more than one dismal night.

And now the young reverend thought to apply that same gentle tolerance in the hope of quieting his commander’s regrets. Noble didn’t envy him the impossible task.

“You’ve your men to think of before military pride,” Allen told him with conviction. “It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the right choice.”

“I wonder.”

“Don’t second-guess your instincts, Noble. They’re all that’s kept us alive.”

“I thought you believed it was divine intervention.”

Used to his teasing mockery, George took no offense. “God works in a variety of ways.”

Noble’s smile took a wry turn. “My reasons aren’t all that divine, George.”

“Saving men at the sacrifice of your own honor?” His tone grew hushed, almost reverent. “I can’t think of a more unselfish motive—or one that will cause more personal pain.”

“That’s only part of it. The rest—the rest is more inspired by darkness than divinity.”

George’s unblemished brow puckered in concern. “I don’t understand.”

Noble stared into those haunted eyes, trying to find the cocky confidence of the man who’d once stared back at him. “No, you wouldn’t, George. You’re a good, decent fellow with his mind on higher goals. I’m afraid mine are a bit more grounded in earthly pursuits.”

“Such as?” He stared at his superior with a look akin to you-could-do-no-wrong worship. Noble hated to destroy that naïveté. But he did so with a single cutting claim.

“Finding out who in our unit betrayed us to Crowley.”

“Betrayed?” George whispered the word. “Noble, are you sure? I can’t believe that—that one of us—” He couldn’t finish, the idea too abhorrent.

Noble cleaned off his razor with quick flicks of his hand, his mood as lethal as that bared blade. “I didn’t want to believe it, either, but there’s no other answer. Only our own men were privy to the details of the raid. There’s no other way Crowley could have been prepared and waiting for us. They sprang that trap before we could fire a shot. Someone told them to be there, George. And I intend to find out who.”

There was a moment’s silence as the younger man absorbed the fierceness of his impassioned claim. He seemed shocked, alarmed—because his god had suddenly shown he had feet of clay? “And then what?”
George asked at last, obviously disturbed. “Take matters into your own hands? Noble, there are higher courts than those of man.”

“You mean leave the traitor’s judgment to God? I’m not that patient, my friend. Justice will be done here, by me.” He glanced at the young reverend’s furrowed brow. “I can see that troubles you, George.” Again the cynical smile. “Have I fallen in your estimation?”

“No. No, of course not. It’s not up to me to determine who falls where and why. My influence is limited in that area.”

“Well, use that influence on my behalf. Even if I’m not acting as the right hand of God, I’m dealing out his laws as only I know how.”

“I’ll do my best, Noble.” He said that with all seriousness, and Noble didn’t chide him for the depth of his belief. It didn’t hurt to have God in his corner. This wasn’t a complex matter, like that which called Him to choose between North and South. It was a simple case of right and wrong, of trust and betrayal. Surely God wouldn’t have any trouble siding with him.

“Major Banning?”

Noble turned to face Crowley’s aide.

“The colonel would like you to join him for drinks at his hotel. I’m to wait and escort you.”

“Is he afraid I’ll try to run off?” Noble shrugged into the fresh uniform shirt, his lip curling at the color. Blue. Annoyance crisped
his question. His word was something he didn’t care to have doubted.

“It’s more for your protection, sir. Your accent, sir. It might cause—difficulties were I not with you.”

“Ah. A Samaritan effort, eh, George?” He looked back at the mirror and rubbed his gaunt cheeks. “I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for an escapee from the prison camp. I suppose next he’ll be ordering me not to speak in public. I’ve already traded away my allegiance, why not my birthright?”

“Noble—”

Noble brushed off Allen’s concern by adopting a tight smile.

“I’ll be ready in a moment, Corporal. And don’t look so alarmed. I may be bitter but I’m not suicidal.”

Strange how one took for granted the simple freedom of moving through a crowded room. With his Union escort trailing behind him, Noble crossed the busy hotel lobby, aware of the admiring looks he drew in his crisply pressed Northern uniform. He tried not to let it matter that the stamp on his buckle was USA instead of CSA or that the fabric was blue instead of butternut—tried, but wasn’t very successful, especially when approached by a gray-haired matron who seized his hand, forcing him to pause.

“God bless you, young man,” she cried in a fragile tone. “Are you off to fight those damn
Rebels? My husband and sons are in the middle of it. McNamara. Maybe you know them.”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, I don’t.” He spoke quietly, slowly, to de-emphasize his accent, not so much to protect himself but to spare the poor woman clutching at his hand. “I’m on my way to the western frontier.”

She sighed in aggravation. “Why are we wasting fine officers out there when they are so desperately needed on our own home front? Let the Indians have their deserts. I want my family home for Christmas.”

“I sympathize with you, ma’am.”

When the woman began to frown at the sound of his drawn-out is, Crowley’s aide cut in with a prompting. “Sir, the colonel is waiting.”

Noble nodded then smiled at the woman even as she jerked her hand free, as if his touch was suddenly repellent. “I shall hold your family in my thoughts, ma’am.”

He reared back as her spittle stung his cheek.

“At least you won’t be shooting at them, you damned Sesesh. You dishonor the uniform, sir.”

Noble wiped off the dampness of her scorn as she swept away through the crowd. A wife, a mother, not an enemy to be despised, as she obviously despised him. That made her attack all the more personal. He was unable to move until the corporal prodded impassively, “This way, Major Banning.”

Crowley had an elegant suite on the hotel’s second floor. Noble was directed into the posh sitting room that joined the two bedchambers. There he was greeted by the scent of a good cigar and a hearty handshake from the man who until hours ago had been his greatest nemesis.

“Major, you’re looking much better than when last I saw you. It must be the uniform.”

“It’s probably the bath.”

Crowley laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound of genuine delight. “Have a drink, Major. I should like to toast our new alliance.”

“No, thank you, sir. I prefer a clear head about me when I’m discussing business, military or otherwise.”

Crowley wasn’t stupid. He read between the lines of Noble’s refusal. There was nothing the Southerner cared to drink to—not with the man responsible for having him imprisoned for the last three months.

“Very well. Shall we get right to that business then?”

“I wouldn’t refuse a cigar if it was offered.”

Crowley smiled and gestured to a box on one of the side tables. “Help yourself.”

While Noble trimmed and lit the aromatic cigar, he used the time to study the other man. He knew his reputation, but he’d never seen the colonel until just that day at the prison. He knew Crowley as a shrewd tactician in the field. In person, Crowley conveyed the kind of directness and confidence that led others to
follow without question. But Noble had plenty of questions and he began them without delay.

“Why my unit, Colonel? Surely if you needed a troop of galvanized Yankees, you could have requested one that held you in less personal animosity.”

“So true. Have a seat, Major, and don’t be so modest. I’ve seen your men in action. I don’t mind their hostility just as long as they can direct some of it to the enemy we’ll be facing together.”

Noble settled into one of the plush chairs and drew deeply on his smoke before continuing bluntly, “They’re not going to like taking orders from the man who’s responsible for the deaths of a good number of their friends, both in the field and in that prison.”

“You’re not going to like it, is that what you’re saying, Major?”

Noble’s icy stare was his answer.

Crowley’s demeanor toughened. “I don’t give a damn if you like it or not just as long as you follow the orders you’re issued. You’ve given your oath that you would.”

“Not of my own free will, sir. Your case of blackmail was quite convincing.”

Crowley didn’t look particularly pleased, but he didn’t try to refute Noble’s claim. He couldn’t. “I’m not ashamed of the means I employed. The government has given me every right to demand your service, coerced or no. What I need to know is will you obey those
orders once given? Are you a man of your word, Major Banning?”

“My men and I are yours to command for the duration of this war, Colonel,” Noble stated through gritted teeth. “I will personally guarantee the behavior of my men, but I would have something from you in return.”

Intrigued, Crowley leaned forward. “And what is that?”

“I want the name of the informer who turned his own comrades over to you.”

Crowley sat back, his mood growing granite-hard. “No. That I can’t give you.”

“I will not take my men into the field with a traitor in our midst. Give me the name and let us take care of our own dealings.”

“You will not. You are under my command now, and such matters of quasi-justice are no longer yours to claim.”

“The name, Colonel, or I promise I will do my best to make your western tour a living hell.”

“Threats, Major?”

“No, sir.”

“Let me set you straight right now. I will not be manipulated and I will not betray a confidence.”

“You only encourage others to betray theirs, is that it?” Noble sneered. “And that leaves you blameless. Is that what you think, Colonel?”

Narrowing his gaze at the insubordinate tone, Crowley said, “I will not apologize for
things done under the dictates of war. That war no longer applies to us, Major. Put it behind you, for if you cannot, I will have you and your men back at the Point before sunrise. Is that clear?”

Before Noble could answer, a low, whiskey-throated voice intruded.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Am I interrupting?”

Both men rose as the woman Noble remembered seeing at the prison entered from one of the suite’s bedchambers.

“Major Banning, my daughter, Juliet.”

Except for a voice that made a man’s skin tighten in anticipation of equally dusky pleasures, Juliet Crowley wasn’t a woman to excite a man into an immediate passion. She was no conventional beauty. Nothing about her was conventional. Tall enough to meet most men eye to eye and beyond the bud of youth by several years, she possessed the same steely gaze her father used to put inferiors in their place.

Against deeply and unfashionably bronzed skin, her hair was a pale blush of gold, swept back and tied with a simple ribbon at her nape. Her gown was of modestly cut calico, the lack of hoops adding to the illusion of intimidating height. Combined with her no-nonsense stare were strongly cut features that spoke of intelligence and stubbornness. She might have been dismissed as handsome yet unremarkable if not for a pair of the most voluptuous
lips Noble had ever seen. Full, soft, kissable lips that firmed into an uncompromising line when she noticed his attention lingering there.

“Major, I’m sorry to say it’s not a pleasure to meet you.”

“Forgive her, Major Banning,” Crowley said quickly to cover his daughter’s lack of manners. “I fear I’m to blame for Juliet thinking honesty takes precedence over politeness. I’ve led her to believe that men admire openness in a woman.”

“You are not mistaken, Colonel.” Then to the unapologetic Juliet, Noble said, “Let me assure you that the pleasure is indeed mine.”

“Are you being honest, Major Banning?” she chided. “I thought Southern men liked their women as docile as their slaves.”

“I can’t speak for all Southern men, Miz Crowley, only for myself. And I, for one, have never owned a slave and prefer both my horses and my women spirited.”

With the lift of one honey-colored brow, she drawled, “My, my, such bold claims.”

“Tell me, Miz Crowley,” Noble asked as she swept by him with a haughty indifference, “is it me you dislike or my former uniform?”

She glanced back over her shoulder to skewer him with a look. “Oh, it’s you, sir.”

He blinked, momentarily unsettled. “And why is that, ma’am?”

“Aside from your smug Southern platitudes, sir, I’ve grown sick of hearing your
name in my father’s every letter. That wily major, that clever Reb, that cunning Confederate.” She made an uncharitable noise. “I feel as though we’ve been living together for the past three years and it’s a familiarity that’s bred contempt.”

“Strange. Others who’ve lived with me for far longer have had many fewer complaints.”

In the brief pause during which she scanned his left hand for sign of a wedding band, her father jumped in to head off another volley.

“Juliet, sheathe your sword. The major can hardly be blamed for my canonizing him for his brilliance in the field.”