So long lost, and loved at last, too late.
– The Three Scouts, J.T. Trowbridge
Andrea stood in the shadows on the balcony and watched the men riding in as her stomach churned with anxiety. She had never really thought of the prospect of meeting them as the wife of their leader. And now she was not really sure she wanted to.
Even after all had gathered and Alex had been helped downstairs to greet them, she remained in her place of refuge.
“You lost, young lady?” Carter came up behind her. “The Colonel’s beginning to think he’s been stood up by his bride.”
Andrea stared at her feet. “I-I do not know how to face them,” she stuttered, “you know—those I stood against.”
Carter put his hand on her shoulder. “You need not fear them.”
“But they know, don’t they?” Andrea whispered the words. “Who I am? Who I was?”
“I believe it is common knowledge among them. But you have fairly won their regard and their esteem. That, and the knowledge that their commander admires you is enough for them.”
Andrea looked into his eyes to see if he told the truth. “Come,” he said, holding out his arm. “You’ve been out of your husband’s sight for too long. He will soon grow impatient enough to come looking for you.”
Andrea nodded and allowed herself to be escorted down the stairs. When they entered the dining room doorway, there was a sudden hush, and then three-dozen chairs scooted across the floor as everyone stood.
Andrea’s eyes swept the room. When they at last fell upon the bold gaze of her husband, she found herself blushing like a schoolgirl rather than feeling any apprehension about his men. Dressed in his military finest, he appeared every inch the stalwart, valiant officer he was reputed to be. He nodded with evident deference and respect at her entrance, and she returned the action with a look of fervent devotion.
Carter escorted Andrea to his side, while Alex continued to devour her with his eyes. After bending down and placing a reverential kiss upon her brow, he put his hand gently on the small of her back and turned toward his men. “Gentlemen,” he said, “and you, too, Murdoch—”
The men began to laugh as if at some secret joke between them. “Gentlemen, we are gathered here to celebrate my newest promotion, to a place and title of honor of which I feel I am unworthy—husband. Allow me to introduce my wife, Mrs. Andrea Hunter.”
The men clapped and raised their glasses in toast to their leader who, for the first time in a long time, wore a wide and contented smile. “And this, gentlemen,” he said, pulling Andrea closer to his side and looking at her for a long moment. “This I would not trade for a thousand victories.”
“To love,” said one, causing glasses to tinkle up and down the long, glittering candlelit table.
Andrea’s heart began to beat at a normal pace while she half-listened to the conversations going on around her. All of the tales related to some heroic deed that had been performed by, or had involved in one way or another, her husband.
Her gaze dropped to the table as she silently studied the strong hand that rested upon hers possessively. In time of battle this hand wielded the terrible power of death, but it now wore a band of gold that pledged his life to her.
Alex must have noticed the contemplative look upon her face. He leaned over and whispered as he gave her hand a squeeze, “Dear wife, my heart and soul are wrapped around that finger.”
Andrea looked up at him, eyes suffused with a mist she quickly blinked away. It seemed to her incredible, and frankly unbelievable, that a man so strong and powerful as the one who sat beside her should wish to call her by that title.
When everyone had finished eating and the drinks began to flow, Andrea struck up a conversation with the red-headed boy they called Murdoch, who she sensed had caused his commander more than a little consternation.
“So, Mr. Murdoch, were you on the mission at the hospital in Winchester?” Andrea asked innocently, referring to Alex’s expedition into the enemy camp to retrieve her. She vaguely recognized his face as being one of the men on the back of the wagon.
“You mean the ‘wildcat’ raid. Why almost all of us was involved in that one in some way or another.”
“Murdoch!” Alex said sternly, overhearing the conversation.
“The wildcat raid?” Andrea gave Alex a sideways glance. “Why do you call it that?”
The man, or rather boy, continued. “The Kulnel said we was gonna go catch a wildcat. Said he needed more than the average number of men, because—”
“Murdoch!” Alex tried again to put a stop to the story as hearty laughter rolled through the room.
“’Cause this wildcat was smarter than most men, more cunning than a fox, and meaner than a—”
“Murdoch!”
The men broke out into convulsive laughter.
Andrea pretended to be offended. “Never mind. I don’t need to know anymore.”
“And,” the boy continued, obviously enjoying the spotlight, “the Kulnel said he was going to capture this wildcat, even if he had to lose every man and horse in the Command in the process.”
The room grew silent. Andrea stared, unblinking, straight ahead, then looked up into her husband’s eyes. She had known the risk he had taken that day. She had never realized how very much he had been ready to sacrifice.
“I should have known you men would start trouble with my bride.” Alex shook his head, while trying to make light of the situation.
“It wasn’t us,” one yelled. “It was Murdoch!” Again the group roared.
When next Andrea looked over at Alex, she noticed he held his side, though he still wore a strained smile upon his face.
“It’s been a long evening,” she said standing, “perhaps it’s time for us to call it a day.”
“Yes, my dear, I think you may be right.” Leaning heavily upon her, they walked to the door and bid each guest goodbye one by one. Hunter watched with apparent contentment as Andrea grasped each hand, looked each man in the eye, and repeated each name.
“Your husband knows the roll so well he can call it in his head,” one of the men said. “Perhaps, in time, you can do the same.”
Andrea laughed. “I will never try to best my husband in the war department.”
“I appreciate the compliment Mrs. Hunter,” Alex said kissing her hand. “But it can’t be disputed that you outrank me everywhere but on the battlefield.”
When Andrea got to the last man, Carter, she threw her arms around his neck, and felt him nod in a signal to Alex behind her. When she released him and looked at her husband, she could read nothing on his face. Yet she knew the communication had meant something of significance.
Taking Alex’s hand, she turned toward the stairs, dismissing the scene. It was too late to begin trying to decipher the secret language between Alex and his second-in-command, and she was too tired to try.
“One more minute,” Alex said. “I’ve…ah, asked the men to wait outside. There’s something I need to tell them. I’ll be right up.”
“Are you sure? You look so tired. Do you wish me to wait?”
“No. No.” He waved his hand. “Carter will help me up the stairs. Go on.”
Andrea obeyed, but sensed that something was wrong. When she heard the front door close a half hour later and walked out on the balcony to watch the men ride off, her suspicions were confirmed.
Gone was the festive attitude of just an hour before. There was no joking, not even any talking. Although she waved cheerfully at those passing beneath her, they seemed intent on avoiding her gaze. Some nodded sadly in her direction, while others stared straight ahead as they rode silently toward the bridge and into the night. Every countenance reflected a calamity of which she thus far had no knowledge.
Andrea pushed away any thoughts of foreboding. The night had been too magical, her life too wonderful, her future too incredible to worry about such mysteries now.