Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (17 page)

“Honey, will you bring me that?” Thomas said, nodding his head toward the canteen on the other side of her.

She narrowed her eyes but took it to him.

“My wife and I are delighted to share a meal with a stranger,” he said, pulling her against him. “But being newlyweds and all, we like our privacy. I’m sure you understand.”

George shifted his attention to Thomas. “Newlyweds, huh?” he said, taking out his own canteen. “How long have you been married?”

“Only a few days,” Thomas replied vaguely, watching for any reaction from George.

“And you’re heading north, you say?”

“That’s right,” Thomas said.

“Humph.”

Alexandra had relaxed against him. Perhaps she, too, sensed a danger in George. Or perhaps she was merely exhausted, overly taxed from the strenuous journey he had put her through today.

Thomas picked up his pistol and polished the barrel. Alexandra rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you,” George said, with a note of suppressed anger in his voice.

Alexandra opened her eyes. “There’s more coffee if you’d like some.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll just top off what’s left here and be on my way.” George helped himself to more coffee and then gathered up his things. He’d obviously grown tired of whatever charade he had been playing.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” he said, turning to leave.

“Take care, Mr. Monroe,” Alexandra said.

“Miss Champagne,” he said with a nod of his head. Then he was gone.

Alexandra and Thomas watched after him in stunned silence. Thomas considered going after him, but to what avail? What could he do? What harm could come from knowing someone’s name, after all?

****

He crouched over a fire, planning.

Sometimes patience was a most difficult thing to maintain. Nevertheless, it was necessary to wait until the right time. In the end it would be worth it. He would watch, and he would wait. Then he would strike.

Chapter Seventeen

George Monroe didn’t return. Alexandra curled up on a blanket while Thomas tended the horses. As she lay there, too exhausted to move, she heard him whispering to one of the horses. She drifted into sleep with a tear streaming down her cheek, remembering such soft and kind words spoken to her not so long ago.

She woke with sunlight on her face. Thomas sat watching her with a tin cup in his hands. She had no idea where he’d slept or even if he had.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she answered, wondering if his mood had shifted again.

“Did you sleep well?”

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “I suppose I did. I don’t even know where you slept.” She gazed at his shadowed and red eyes.

He didn’t respond to the bait. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” he said instead. “I should have already talked to you.”

She remained silent. She couldn’t begin to fathom his moods. Just when she thought she had a grasp on his temperament, he shifted like a weathervane in a wind gust.

“It wasn’t proper for us to get that close,” he said.

“What do you mean it wasn’t proper? We’re in the middle of a war.” She tucked her feet beneath her and pressed her palm against her forehead.

“I mean that outside the conditions of war, we never would have been thrown together.”

“I see,” she said coolly.

“What I’m trying to say is, we’re different.”

“Of course we’re different. What did you expect?”

“Damn it, you’re not paying attention.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re a wellbred lady, and I’m…”

“You’re what? A lawyer? And that makes us wrong for each other?”

“No, that isn’t it.”

“No. That isn’t it. Why don’t I explain it to you. You don’t think I would fit in with your city people in New Orleans. I’m just a country girl who doesn’t know anything about what it means to be sophisticated and urban.”

“That is not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.” She threw the blanket from her lap, stood up, and marched away from the campsite.

“Don’t go far,” Thomas said.

“You think I can’t take care of myself. Well, I’m a country girl, and this is the country. I don’t need you,” she tossed over her shoulder while walking away.

“Damn it,” Thomas muttered.

She heard his footfalls behind her. He kept his distance.

After relieving herself, she walked aimlessly, her head in the clouds, pain and anger mingling in her heart. She never wanted to see him again.

He wasn’t interested in her. He never had been. She served merely as a diversion while the war raged around them. Now that he intended to go home, he had no further use for her. Elegant women would once again surround him.

“Bah,” she said, kicking at a rotting pinecone. It shattered beneath her foot. City women didn’t know how to do anything.

They couldn’t churn butter or make candles, or even cure a ham. They probably didn’t even know how to stitch up a dress. What good were they?

But they possessed the skills to get a man into their beds. Men. They lost interest if you bedded them or if you didn’t. Where lay the hope in keeping one?

She had no need for a man anyway. She had her home and her grandfather and, after the war, she would have her brother.

Without warning, someone grabbed her arm from behind. She shrieked as her attacker slung her over his shoulder. Her hands clutched at the familiar wool shirt
.
Thomas.
Her heart slowed in relief.

“Put me down,” she said, after regaining her senses.

She pushed against him, but he had a firm hold.

“Put me down, now.”

He stopped and set her on her feet. She adjusted her shirt and shoved the hair from her eyes.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Where is the camp?” he clarified, grabbing her arm.

She met his eyes and then looked away and glanced around. She hadn’t paid attention to her direction.

She pointed at random, knowing he knew she didn’t know. “Over there.”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t followed you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I would have been lost. Thank you.”

“What if I’d been George?”

“Then I suppose I would be lying over there, murdered.”

The next thought seemed to occur to them at the same time.

“Was i
t
hi
m
?
” Alexandra asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes, I think so. The beard threw me off. It hid his scar. And the name. I wasn’t thinking of Jake Slidell.”

Oh God. The man who nearly raped her had tracked her down. Her knees grew weak as she considered how foolish she had been to wander off unprotected.

Thomas caught her, this time picking her up gently, one hand beneath her knees, holding her against him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, against his neck.

“No, love, I’m sorry. I should have told you I suspected something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I should have gone after him. I swear he’ll never hurt you again. If he so much as thinks about coming near you again, I’ll kill him.”

He turned and carried her three yards back to their camp. She had, it seemed, instinctively circled the camp.

He stoked the fire and put coffee on to heat. Then after pouring a cup, he placed it in her hands. “Drink this,” he said. “It’ll warm you.”

She took a sip of the bitter coffee and tried not to frown. “How did he find me?” she asked.

“I can’t imagine.”

“He must really care to go to all that much trouble,” she said, putting words to her worst thoughts.

“I never once thought he was alive. I guess that’s why I didn’t think of him last night. His cronies could be with him. We need to get you home as quickly as possible.”

She looked up into his eyes, fear making her heart pound.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, going to her and pulling her into his arms.

It felt so right to be there. Like coming home. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. He took the forgotten cup from her hands and set it aside. As he held her close, her trembling no longer came from fear but something else entirely.

“Oh, Thomas,” she said.

“I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Don’t ever let me go.”

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. Groaning, he put his lips against hers. “Never again,” he murmured against her mouth. “I was wrong,” Thomas said.

“Wrong?” she echoed, her brain unable to wrap around his words.

He caressed her cheek. “I thought I could keep my hands off you, but I can’t.”

“Why would you want to?”

He laughed. “I asked myself that a thousand times. But it’s more than that. I care for you.”

“I care for you, too.”

“You’re too good for me. You have breeding. You’re a lady, for goodness sake. What right do I have being with you?”

“Why, Thomas, you act as though you were raised in a barn. Did you ever think to ask me if I thought you were good enough for me? As a matter of fact, I’m the one who wouldn’t make it in your world. As a plantation mistress, I may know the right things to say and do, but in the city, I would be at a loss.”

“I find that hard to believe. You would catch on in no time at all, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps. However, I wouldn’t be happy. Since my parents died, I’ve been running a plantation. It’s what I’m trained to do. Without it, I would be lost.”

“That’s why you have me. When you’re lost, I will find you and bring you back.”

Alexandra sighed. How was it possible to love him more than she already did? She loved him in spite of—even because of—his unpredictability. She longed to tell him how she felt. Instead, she curled her fingers around the edge of her shirt and bit the inside of her lip
.
I won’t tell him. I can’t tell him that I’m madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with him.

****

He longed to tell her that he was in love with her. No other woman would ever interest him after knowing her. He wouldn’t let her go. That meant marriage. The thought always caused his throat to close, but not with Alexandra. He couldn’t wait to begin growing old with her. They would be married, and soon, but first he must woo her and lead her to fall in love with him

She,
a
modern
an
d
independent
woman, would deny it. She wore her trousers and cut her hair. But beneath that layer of rebellion lie a deep, impenetrable core of tradition. Once she loved a man, she would always love him.

But first he had to get her home to safety, away from the risk of the open road. His eyes drooped from lack of sleep from keeping watch over her. He should never have left without making sure he’d killed Jack Slidell. Now he would have to kill the man all over again.

“We need to get going,” he said, kicking dirt over the fire.

Alexandra nodded. They broke camp then mounted up and headed south, riding hard for the next two days and partway into the night.

Chapter Eighteen

Stars glittered above when they turned down the road to Chene Ruelle. The wind picked up, bringing with it moist air and dark clouds of an impending thunderstorm. Anxious, Alexandra fought the urge to spur her horse into a gallop and race ahead. Knowledge that the animal had rested only mere moments in two days prevented her from doing so. What would she find when they finally reached home? Would Grand-père be there, or would he still be a prisoner someplace? Would the house still be standing? They had passed many houses in the previous two days that were now no more than fallen timbers on the scorched earth. Images of her own home possibly also destroyed left her heart heavy and her nerves on edge.

Thomas drew up beside her and placed a hand over hers in support. His glance conveyed his understanding of her fears. She forced her quivering lips up at the corners, but she could not bring the smile to her eyes. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes. Shadows from the moonlight shifted beneath the canopy of trees.

“I hope we make it there before the storm,” Thomas said.

“I’m sure we will. It isn’t much farther,” she said, then as though speaking aloud had penetrated her reserve, she added, “Oh, Thomas, I’m so afraid.”

“I know, ma chérie. As much as women hate being left behind, men fear what they will return to. You’re getting to experience the other side of

the coin.”

“I don’t know which is worse.”

“I’m sure they are equally undesirable.”

“Coming home is more intense all at once, whereas waiting is a constant watching, never knowing when you’ll hear something.”

They rounded a bend, and Alexandra’s breath hitched. They should have a clear view of the house now, but the darkness impaired their view.

“It’s not there,” she said, reaching for him in a panic.

A raindrop splashed against her hand. The wind lifted a veil of Spanish moss from the lane in front of them.

“Yes, it is,” Thomas, said, squeezing her hand and gesturing with a nod. “Look, it’s there. It’s all right.”

The house stood majestically bathed in moonlight, its thick columns lined along the front. At that moment, the storm swept over them, and Alexandra closed her eyes against the downpour, leaving her with no more than a fleeting image. Blinded, she gripped her reins as her horse walked into the gray haziness. Lightning slashed across the sky casting silver streaks over their faces.

Did they come this far only to be struck down?

When the horses stopped at the front steps of Chene Ruelle, Thomas jumped down and tied the reins to the hitching post. Then he helped Alexandra down and together they managed to climb the steps and reach the shelter of the porch. Alexandra turned and surveyed the windows then stared at the door. She detected no signs of life—no lights, no sounds. Thomas opened the door and called out.

“No one is here,” Alexandra muttered, following him inside.

Thomas called out again. Alexandra shivered. Lightning flashed. A candle stub and a vase holding dried wildflowers stood on a table in the foyer. A matchbook rested at its side. Thomas removed the candle and lit it. While Thomas explored the house, Alexandra sat at the foot of the stairs with her knees pulled up and her head against them.

Thomas came downstairs with a fresh candle. “There is no one here.”

Alexandra looked up and gave him a sardonic glance.

“I’ll take care of the horse and bring in our bags,” he said, handing her the candle. “You’ll want to get out of those wet clothes.”

She trudged upstairs and went to her room. It looked just as she left it. Only she had changed. She stared at the painting on her wall and sighed. Where was the life? That girl? Thomas found her standing there.

“Alexandra,” he snapped.

She jumped and turned her eyes to him.

“Find something dry to put on,” he said, his voice gentle now. “I won’t have you catching your death.”

When she didn’t move, he went to her armoire and rummaged through it. He withdrew a nightgown and a cloth. He led her to a chair and pressed her into it. A bead of perspiration trickled down her neck. Thunder rattled the windows. He set the candle on a small table next to the chair and dabbed at her hair. She closed her eyes. Chills ran along her skin.

Then he knelt, and his fingers reached for the front of her shirt. He pushed a button through its hole. Their gazes locked, and he slipped the shirt from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She shuddered. Her breath trembled from her parted lips as he lowered his head to press his lips against the exposed flesh.

His hands came up to her sides, skimming them, then moved to circle her breasts. His fingers moved up to sweep across her hardened nipples. She groaned and pressed against his hands. His lips found hers as his palms covered her breasts, gently stroking, kneading. Her arms tangled in the shirt. Her fingers dug into the chair.

His lips slid from her lips across her cheek, and he murmured words of endearment against her ear. Shivers shuddered along her spine. She thought she would go mad with wanting, though what, she knew not.

As thunder erupted around them, his lips blazed a trail along her jaw and down her neck. His hands slid down her stomach as his mouth captured her nipple, his hot tongue stroking. He unfastened her trousers and slipped them off her raised hips, baring her body. As he slid them past her ankles, she shrugged out of her shirt. Then he picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her on it.

She watched as he shrugged out of his clothes, aching to have his hands back on her. Alexandra wanted him, but the wanting was more than just physical. She wanted to belong to him— body and heart. He lay down beside her, kissed her, and his hands roamed. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

She watched him through halfclosed eyes.

He drew back and studied her. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, Thomas.”

He smiled. “You understand what this means?”

She frowned at him. Why was he talking?

“You know that you’ll belong to me. Forever.”

“I know what I’m doing. This is what I want,” she whispered, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

He kissed her, the gentleness turning to passion as his tongue entwined with hers. As his hands explored virgin territory, she opened for him, wanting more.

His fingertips feathered over her knowingly. She arched against him, writhing. He increased the pressure and the rhythm, pulling her higher until she reached the peak and whimpered.

“Thomas!” She fell limp against the mattress.

He stroked her hair, kissed her eyelids, and held her close. His lips pressed against hers, and he positioned himself over her. Their eyes met, and their souls connected.

He eased inside her. She wrapped her legs around him and jerked her hips, shoving him deeper. She inhaled sharply.

Her insides ripped in two as she lost her innocence. He stroked her cheek, her hair, and his lips caressed the edges of her mouth. Then took her into a deep kiss, sending her senses reeling.

As the pain faded, Thomas rocked his hips, and the throbbing shifted to pleasure. He kissed her temple and stroked the hair from her face.

A crash shattered through the house somewhere below them.

Thomas disentangled himself from her and grasped for his trousers. She knew his gun was downstairs with the rest of their belongings, but he had his knife.

“Stay here,” he demanded, as he buttoned his pants and hurried to the door.

Alexandra lay there stunned. Thunder split the air around her while glass shattered downstairs. Blood dripped onto the sheets. She was no longer a virgin. Or was she?

Her eyes blinded with tears, not at having lost her innocence, but at having their lovemaking so carelessly interrupted. She located her clothes and struggled into them.

****

Thomas located his trousers, pulled them on, and started toward the stairs. The timing could not have been worse. He bristled with anger at having his lovemaking so rudely interrupted. His entire body rebelled, stiffening his muscles. He stepped into library. Wind blew back his hair, and he turned to the window. Shards of glass lay across the hardwood floor in puddles of rainwater.

The hairs stood up at the back of his neck.

“Get out,” a man’s voice commanded.

Thomas whirled around to face the intruder with his gun lifted.

He lowered it in the face of a musket aimed inches from his forehead. A blueclad soldier, that is if one chose to call a barefaced boy a soldier, held the weapon.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his eyes darting toward a window and the commotion outside. “The damned Rebs attacked us in the middle of the storm.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Thomas said, deciding the boy was more terrified than dangerous. “I just have to get my things from upstairs.”

“There’s no time. If anyone else finds you, they’ll kill you.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I said, there’s no time.” The boy shifted from foot to foot. His hands trembled on the gun.

Thomas took a deep breath. “My wife is upstairs,” he said. Alexandra would be his wife as soon as he could make it so.

The soldier glared at him for a few seconds until gunfire from outside jarred his attention elsewhere. “They’ve found the house by now. The men will fend off the Rebs from here. I’d say you’ve got about three minutes before you’re trapped. And not everyone is as generous as I am.”

“No, I’m sure they aren’t,” he said, and meant it. Perhaps some goodness could be found in this war, after all.

The soldier collapsed onto the floor, and ripples of shock tore through Thomas. Alexandra stood behind the boy, her hair disheveled. As she looked up at Thomas, her eyes portrayed tumultuous wildness, and the brass candlestick she held in her hands clattered to the floor.

Thomas didn’t know whether to scream at her or embrace her. At any rate, he didn’t expect the blueclad soldier to be unconscious for long. The commotion outside increased. They had to escape.

“We have to get out of here,” Thomas said.

Alexandra stared at him blankly.

“The house is being surrounded by Yankees.”

“I don’t care. I won’t leave. We have to defend it.”

“How are the two of us with nothing but a knife and now a musket between us going to defend ourselves from a band of heavily armed Yankee soldiers?”

“We have weapons,” she said, and darted past him down the hall.

Thomas followed, giving up on getting her out of there without a struggle. He stopped at the door of a book-lined room and watched as she stood staring at the empty gun cabinet. “I guess they’ve already been here,” she muttered.

Thomas stood beside her before the words hardly left her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck when he picked her up and strode back down the hallway with her.

The back door crashed open against the wall as they approached it. The wind blew a spray of water over them, making the wooden floor slick. Alexandra burrowed her face against Thomas’s shoulder.

A stonewall of a man in shabby clothes and a sodden gray overcoat stepped through the door. Thomas stopped a foot in front of him. Who was he? His eyes bore into Thomas, his lips snarled.

Protecting Alexandra, he turned and started back the way they had come. He slipped a few times in his struggle to keep his footing while dodging puddles. The man started toward them, his boots heavy as they splashed through the water. He struck Thomas hard across the shoulders with something. Thomas fell, managing to twist his body in midfall so that he cushioned Alexandra. Then he was on his feet before the man could strike a second time, grabbing Alexandra’s hand and pulling her with him, the man close behind.

Alexandra looked back over her shoulder just as the man lifted the butt of his rifle and swung toward Thomas’s head. She threw her weight against him. The end of the rifle grazed his shoulder and bounced, striking Alexandra against the side of her head.

She crashed to the wooden floor and landed on her cheek. Thomas growled horrifically.