“Dadburn you, Pete! You dun shot tha hoss too!”
“Hellfire, Horace! Me gunsight is off agin. Let’s see whut he’s a’carryin’. Leastwise some vittles er weapons.”
After hearing three gunshots, Blane halted his pursuit and listened intently, knowing that if he rashly charged into a blind situation, he might get both of them killed or captured. He told himself to be quick yet careful and silent. Fear and panic shot through him as forcefully and swiftly as currents of lightning.
As the two men headed for the fallen body to rob it, Blane dismounted and left Dan, his horse, a safe distance away. He gingerly crept toward the sounds of the gunshots and voices, his movements hampered by the false splint. He dared not rush blindly to Shannon’s aid, but his nerves were taut with dread. When he peered through the bushes to see two shabbily clad ruffians approaching Shannon’s motionless figure, his rage nearly cost him his rigid control. His disguise would be of no use to him now. He jerked his knife from its sheath and sliced through the carefully wrapped bandage; then, tossing aside the splints, he quickly surveyed the situation.
When Pete snatched off Shannon’s hat and rolled her over, he gasped in shock. “We dun shot a gal, Horace. Look, a purty’un.”
Horace dropped to his knees by Shannon’s waist. His gaze raced over her face and figure. “Hell, Pete! We’s in big trouble. Is she dead?”
Pete placed his ear to her chest, then flashed his friend a smile that revealed the absence of several teeth. He shoved stringy, grimy hair from his face. “Nope. What’cha think we oughtta do with her?”
“Look at this hair, red as a sunset. Skin white as milk.”
Horace and Pete laid aside their guns to examine their victim closely, and as they did, the Texan sprang from his hiding place. His pistol butt came down heavily on Pete’s head. As Horace turned his body, Blane’s foot kicked upward, sending a forceful blow to the man’s chin. When Horace struck the ground, Blane lunged over him and began punching his face. Blane didn’t halt until the man’s head was bloody and his own knuckles throbbed. He looked at Pete, dissatisfied with his one blow. With his booted toe, he kicked the downed man twice.
Blane grabbed Pete’s arm and flung him away from Shannon. He seized Horace’s limp body and did the same. He picked up the two rifles and tossed them into the woods, sorry he had not broken them first. Moving to Shannon’s side, he checked her condition. The bullet had grazed her temple, but the wound wasn’t serious. He examined her from head to toe for other injuries and, finding none, he exhaled loudly in relief and joy. His temper had almost cost her her life. He would have to learn to control it during those moments when the past seized him.
Blane ripped the bandage from his head and cast it away. He found the clean fillet in her medical bag, then tended her gently. He was distressed. How could he explain his obligations? To her they wouldn’t sound just, or even true. Why had he kept silent this long? Because he had wanted to spend time with her! Because he wanted her! The moment she discovered the truth, she would leave him, with bitterness and hatred and mistrust in her heart. It was too late and too dangerous to reveal his intentions. And he wasn’t even certain any longer just what those intentions were. He had to decide how the past and future would affect Shannon and Eleanor. Damnation, he had to kill Corbett Greenleaf; he had promised revenge for Corry’s violation of Ellie. Lord, his indecisiveness was tormenting both of them.
With only one horse, they would have to ride double and pray they weren’t sighted and chased. He walked his mount to where Shannon was lying. He wanted this woman, and by damn, he would try to keep her if there were any way possible! He went through her belongings to see what could be left behind to lessen the weight on his horse. He was grateful Shannon weighed so little. He stuffed her brush, slippers, and a set of undergarments into his saddlebags. Spreading out his sleeping roll, he placed one dress, a clean shirt, and a pair of pants on it; then he rolled the clothing inside to prevent stains and wrinkles.
Everything else would have to be discarded. He noticed that Shannon hadn’t worn or brought along any jewelry. But he did feel two metal plates that she had attempted to conceal in a slit in the lining of her carpet bag. He wiggled his fingers until he captured the thin plates between them and was able to withdraw the pictures. The first one revealed the four-member Greenleaf family. Shannon appeared around sixteen in it. Lord, even then she had been an unforgettable vision!
He stared at the two younger men, who were attired in Federal uniforms, and decided Corbett was the one with the laughing eyes and disarming smile. Both were good looking and muscular, as was their father, Andrew. Since the plates were in black and white, there was no way Blane could determine coloring. The expressions of all three exuded confidence and excitement; their bearings, wealth and breeding. Shannon’s look was guarded, with a hint of worry and sadness. The date of the photograph was apparent; it had been taken at the beginning of the war, just before the younger Greenleafs had left home. Two of the men were dead now, and he was the appointed executioner of the last one.
Blane expected the next plate to be a photograph of Shannon’s mother. Instead, it was a picture of Shannon and a handsome man with very dark hair and eyes. The photograph had been taken in a garden, in the summer from the looks of the scenery and her clothing. The rugged male was standing almost behind her, with the top of her flaming head teasing just above his strong chin. That would make him a shade over six feet. As she posed within an encircling embrace, their arms and hands were overlapped. Their skin tones contrasted visibly. The man’s right cheek was nestled against her left temple. The couple on the metal plate looked so happy that day long ago, so perfect together. There was a glow in her eyes and a serenity in her expression that couldn’t be ignored; this was true of the man’s features as well. Their expressions and position riled Blane, for he knew this had to be the mysterious Hawke.
Hazel eyes drilled into the striking features of Shannon’s companion, features that were strong and appealing, features that would be hard for most men to match or best. No wonder Thornton had lost out to this earthy male he had called a “rogue,” whatever his lineage. He held himself like a man on constant alert. Blane could perceive strength of will and body from the image. This was a man who feared nothing and no one. This was a man with keen instincts and considerable prowess. This was a man who knew how to survive, who was no coward or weakling. This was an awesome rival for any suitor!
The love and rapport between this Hawke and Shannon was obvious. He eyed the beautiful woman, trying to guess her age and date the photograph. It could have been taken a few years past, or a few months past. He wished Hawke’s hand hadn’t been covering her left one. Yet Thornton hadn’t sounded as if he had been referring to a husband. Where was Hawke? Why had he left her? Was he alive?
Blane cocked his arm to fling the rankling photographs into the woods, but he hesitated, then changed his mind. He might have use of these pictures, especially the one of Corry. He stood and went to his horse, concealing the thin plates in a special pocket beneath his saddle. To prevent her attackers from obtaining anything valuable, he sliced the bag and remaining items beyond use. He even cut through the stirrups and bridles to ruin the saddle.
Blane tied the sleeping roll to his saddle and replaced his saddlebags. When all was ready, he gathered Shannon in his arms. Seizing the horn and placing his foot in the stirrup, he mounted. He laid her across his thighs and held her securely with his right arm. “Let’s go, Dan,” he murmured to his well-trained animal.
Within an hour, Shannon was stirring. Blane continued their steady pace, his gaze defensively locked on the view ahead. It took a while for her to fully regain her senses. At first, she was confused.
“Blane? Why am I riding with you? What happened to my head?”
Without looking down at her, he stated crisply, “It’s obstinacy and impulsiveness that got you attacked and nearly killed. That was a stupid move. You were lucky those varmits couldn’t shoot straight.”
Shannon tried to remember what had happened, but her mind was fuzzy. “How bad is the injury?” she inquired, aware of his irritation with her.
“You’ll live. Too bad I can’t say the same for your horse.”
“My horse?” Shannon peered around his arm. “Where is he?”
“Dead,” he answered tersely. To prevent a lengthy discussion, he went on to relate the details of the frightful event. His mood and tone silenced her.
Shannon rested her aching head against his brawny shoulder. She wished she hadn’t behaved so childishly. From his point of view, she was probably nothing more than a nuisance. He was used to traveling and working alone. No doubt she cramped his style and movements. She was always needing help or a rescue. She recalled how little sleep or rest he had gotten lately, especially last night. Reluctantly and ruefully, she murmured, “I’m sorry about the horse and all the trouble. Sometimes you just antagonize me beyond thinking or acting clearly.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he retorted harshly. “If you don’t learn to follow orders by Wilmington, I’m leaving you there. Understand?”
“What happened to your splint?” she inquired curiously.
“I had to cut it off to save your miserablehide. When I find a safe place, I’ll let you make me a new one.”
Shannon stiffened in his arms. “You don’t have to be so hateful. I apologized. At least I have a real wound to display now!” she snapped.
“If we’re chased, you’ll wish you had a horse instead.”
Shannon crossed her arms and sank into silence. She secretly wished he would make a mistake in judgment so she could rescue him. Then they would be even. No, it would require several on his part! she realized. Why did he have to be so smart and fearless—so right all the time?
Blane halted their journey in midafternoon to rest and water his horse. He had avoided farmhouses, small settlements, and people. The woods were thick along the riverbank, offering them coverage. He unsaddled Dan and rubbed him with a dripping cloth for a short time. As Dan drank, grazed, and moved around, Blane joined Shannon.
“Here,” he offered, holding out jerky and a cold biscuit.
Shannon looked at the brown roll of dried beef. “No thanks.”
“How can you maintain strength if you don’t eat?”
“Give me something decent and I will,” she replied tensely. “That stuff stinks and it makes my teeth sore. Hand me the biscuit.”
Blane watched her nibble daintily on the bread and stare across the water. If she would be honest with him, he wouldn’t be so tough on her. Why was Hawke such a big secret? What if he were more of a barrier between them than Corry? “Shannon, where do you get your size and coloring? They’re unusual. I’m curious.”
She turned her head and looked at him quizzically. From a bloody quarrel to a serene chat? “My mother was Irish. She had red hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. I take after her and her family, the O’Shannons of Kerry County, Ireland. They supplied my name and looks.”
“Your mother must have been very beautiful,” he remarked.
Shannon glanced his way again. “She was,” she admitted without sounding vain. “It was her family tradition to select names to flaunt the family’s roots and ties. She was named Kerry, and I got the Shannon. It’s also a major river there. She died when I was nine. That’s how I became such a tomboy, being raised by two brothers. My father traveled a lot with his business. I did tell you he was a cotton factor as well as a grower?” she asked, then watched him nod and smile.
“For a few years I spent most of my time tagging after Temple and Corry. Sometimes I wonder how those days passed so quickly. But Temple and Corry discovered girls, so I was left to study all those girlish things. Then…” Shannon placed her fingers to her forehead and lowered her head. She massaged the spot as if her head pained her.
Shannon remembered how most people had viewed and treated Hawke because of his half-blooded Indian birth. Of course it had been worse in his lands than in the South. Despite his bloodline to chiefs, he had been forced to earn his honor and position among his people. When he moved to Georgia, Hawke’s relationship with the family had been kept a secret. It seemed easier to explain the startling and somewhat suspicious adoption of a “half-savage woodscolt” than to expose Hawke as Andrew Greenleaf’s bastard son. She didn’t want to justify Hawke or her father’s rash actions to this mercurial stranger who had revealed a fierce hatred and contempt for Comanches. Too, such an explanation would uncover so many painful, complex, and intensely personal experiences and emotions, and might inspire many questions and doubts. Her father’s wanton behavior and his cruel rejection of Hawke could give Blane a terrible opinion of her and her family. After that incident with Clifford, she felt Blane might think her guilty of some wrong—like father like daughter. “What about your home and family?” she asked.
“Like I said, I’m from Texas, from a large family. There were seven of us kids, five boys and two girls. My family had a ranch near Fort Worth until October of’60, called the Rocking S. We raised cattle and horses, and sometimes a lot of mischief. My parents and two of my brothers, Kirby and Daniel, were slain during a Comanche raid in ’51. I was eighteen, trapped in the middle of the pack, and burning for adventure and revenge. Besides, a ranch doesn’t need three brothers all trying to be boss. I suppose I always was a restless youth who didn’t care for raising cattle or busting my rear breaking mustangs. I didn’t want to give orders or follow ’em. Becoming an Indian scout got me off the ranch and taught me plenty about life and people. You could say it made a man of me, or tried its damnedest,” he jested, then sent her a winning smile. “I’ve probably killed more Comanches than you’ve got red hairs. I made those devils sorry they attacked the Stevens’s ranch. This was a gift from them,” he remarked dryly, pointing to the scar on his jawline.
“Clayton and Jory worked the ranch while I tried to clear Texas of renegades. Then the Cavalry got involved and convinced me to roam half the West, taking on any devil with red skin. That kind of existence gets stale, Shannon. When the talk got hot about war, I figured I’d try my hand at battling a different kind of enemy. I joined the Union forces the day war was declared. Jory stayed behind with his wife, Martha, and Clayton’s got Sue Anne. They’re taking care of a pack of kids and the new ranch near Houston. My older sister, Lucille, is married to a cavalryman named Edward Connor; they’re living at a fort in the Dakota Territory with two sons.”
Shannon was glad he was finally relating facts about himself. Thank goodness she had not mentioned Hawke or Comanches! Blane had not revealed a woman in his life, present or past. Whose ring was she wearing? Why had it been in his pocket? She dared not be nosy. Too many questions, especially about the ring, might silence him. Let him open up at his own speed. Be polite and charming. Don’t panic him, she told herself. “What about Major Blane Stevens, now that he’s a man?”
He joined her laughter, then answered jokingly, “As for Major Blane Stevens, he plans to return home as soon as Lincoln finishes with him. Funny how a war changes a person. Ranching doesn’t look so bad to him anymore. How’s the head?” he probed.
She noted how he had changed the subject. Her fingertips gingerly felt the sensitive area. “Fine. Probably just a flesh wound.”
“We’re both lucky,” he replied, his voice chilly. “Let’s ride.”
As she swatted a fly on her bloody sleeve, she crinkled her nose and asked, “Can I wash up and change shirts?”
“No. You’re safer dressed like that. But drop your braid into sight. I don’t want any more varmints mistaking you for a man. I’ll get two branches and you can wrap my leg again.” In his turbulent state of mind, he had forgotten about his disguise.
Shannon glanced toward his saddle on the ground. Her eyes widened. “Where are my things?” she shrieked in alarm.
“I had to leave most of them behind. Two people and a few supplies are more than enough for Dan to carry.”
“You threw away my clothes and…” Shannon went pale and quiet. Anguish filled her eyes as they darted about in thought.
Blane knew she was more upset about the loss of the photographs than her garments. He told her what he had spared, except for the pictures. “I figured you might need a dress and slippers along the way.”
Shannon stood and paced. “We have to go back, Blane. I had something valuable hidden in my bag.”
“Money? Jewels?” he inquired with feigned innocence.
“No,” she finally responded. “Family pictures.”
“I’m sorry, Shannon, but we can’t turn back. It’s too dangerous.”
“Please,” she beseeched him, her eyes teary and her voice strained.
Blane was relieved she hadn’t lied to him. He sensed her pain, but he couldn’t lessen it. He needed the photograph of Corry more than she did. And he couldn’t return the one without the other. Later he would, but for now he told her, “No.”
“Damn you! You had no right to throw away my belongings! I’m going back,” she stated defiantly.
“We’ve been riding for hours, Shannon. You wouldn’t know where to look, and I’m not going to tell you. A picture isn’t worth risking our lives. I said I was sorry.” Blane quelled his guilt. “Listen to me, Flame. By now, we could have Rebels on our heels. What if soldiers found those two men? How would they know who attacked whom? I won’t let you charge into danger. You’re injured, woman. We can’t make good time sharing a horse, so stop acting like a baby. You’ve only yourself to blame for riding off like that.”
Shannon whirled away from him. “Damn you for always being right! I’ll admit the incident was my fault. Everything that happens seems to be my fault, or you think it is. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t discard all of my things.” She lowered her head and inhaled raggedly. “Those photographs were so precious to me, Blane. They were my only link to family and home—sometimes my only link to sanity. As long as I had the photographs, I didn’t have to face the truth. If I could look at their faces, I could believe they were alive and real. It gave me hope. I hate this war, and sometimes I hate you. I want to go home. I want my family. I want…”
Blane had been walking toward her, touched by her anguish. He had been about to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Shannon’s half-finished statement halted him, for he assumed it was Hawke she wanted. Blane was mistaken. Shannon had almost said, “I want you.”
Blane seized her shoulders and roughly pulled her around to face him. He shook her, commanding, “Get hold of yourself, Flame.”
Shannon burst into tears. She dropped her face to his chest and clung to his waist. Blane didn’t know what to do or say. He couldn’t push her away. His arms closed around her shoulders. He decided he was being too rough on her. Maybe she had a good reason for lying to him. She couldn’t help who or what she was. Under these circumstances, her mistakes were understandable. Yes, he was blaming her unjustly and treating her unfairly. Actually, she was doing extremely well. She had shown courage, daring, cunning, and stamina.
What did it matter if she were reaching out to him to soothe or to replace another loss? And what if she were using him for her own purposes? Wasn’t he doing the same with her, using her as a cover, using her to obtain information, using her to get to Corry? Why did it trouble him that she loved or had loved another man? Maybe Hawke was dead. Maybe Corry was dead. Maybe her home was lost. Maybe she had no one and nothing left. In view of recent happenings, he couldn’t fault her for being afraid, for crying. After all, she was a woman.
“Don’t cry, Shannon. I know I’m being a selfish, hard-nosed brute. I’m just trying to keep us alive and safe. I’m used to traveling and working alone. I don’t take delays or defeats well. You scared me this morning. When I saw you lying in that grass, bloody and out cold, I went wild. I nearly beat those Rebs to death. I get impatient and angry when people do reckless things. No matter what you think, I don’t want you harmed, and. I don’t blame you for our misfortunes. You’ve been a good partner, and I hate seeing you this miserable. I’m sorry about your things, but we have to keep moving ahead.”
Shannon lifted her head and looked into his eyes. They were soft and yellowy green. His expression was serious, compassionate. A breeze was ruffling his tawny hair and teasing wisps of it against his forehead. His face was dirty. Her heart increased its pace and her skin tingled. She swallowed and snuffled. “I know taking off like that was a stupid thing. I deserved getting shot. I don’t mean to be so impetuous and pigheaded. Get the things and I’ll bandage your leg.”
Blane smiled at her as he wiped away her tears. “You can also be very brave and smart, Shannon Greenleaf.” He kissed the tip of her nose. Then, after fetching the necessary items, he sat down.
Shannon pushed up his torn pants leg and placed a splint on either side. “Hold this,” she instructed, then began to wind the cloth around his leg. She noticed how brown and muscular his calf was and felt slightly wicked touching him. He handed her several bloody strips, which he had saved from this morning. She tied those around the clean cloth. Then she removed her arm bandage and placed it on his left arm. She eyed him and smiled. “Two head wounds might look suspicious. And with an injured leg and arm, you couldn’t be expected to fight.”
Shannon packed up while Blane saddled Dan. He lifted himself into place, then extended his hand to her. Shannon grasped it, but to her surprise, Blane sat her before him and proceeded to kiss her passionately and urgently. Then, without a word, he lifted her again and swung her around behind him. Drawing her arms about his waist, he kneed Dan into a steady gallop.
Shannon pondered his strange action. What an unpredictable man! She.could feel his muscles working beneath his shirt. It felt wonderful to be riding so close to Blane, she reflected as she rested her face against him.
They encountered two groups of soldiers, both heading north. Neither questioned, nor appeared to doubt, their story or wounds. They learned that Davis and Lee had requested that all available men head their way to help defeat the ever-advancing Yankees. The dejection and disillusionment could be read in the soldiers’ faces and their postures. It seemed that everyone was ready for this war to end, but no one knew how to accomplish that feat with pride and without enormous losses.
Blane wearily told the first group, “It’s bad east and south of Richmond. It’s looking bad for us everywhere. Hood’s being run ragged in Tennessee. If we don’t get more supplies and money from somewhere, them Yanks are gonna lick us. President Davis told me to get my sister away from Fredericksburg. He’s expecting another attack there. How’s it look down home way near Charleston?”
The gray-clad officer replied, “As far as I know, son, we’re still holding both Carolina coasts. I been hearing rumors them Yanks are gonna strike out at South Carolina and Georgia; they’re Confederate strongholds. You and your sister be mighty careful riding that way.”
Just before they met the next group of Rebels, Shannon asked, “Why did you say Charleston? You changed our story. I could have made a mistake.”
“We’ve lost time, Flame. If anybody’s trailing us, I hope they take my bait and head away from Wilmington. You did just fine.”
During their second encounter with Rebel troops, the colonel in charge asked Blane sternly, “Why ain’t you with your unit, Greenleaf?”
“A man can’t fight with a cracked leg and sliced arm, sir. I have orders from President Davis to take Shannon home. She’s been nursing our men for two years, and she’s been wounded twice. The President said I could mend while getting her away from the battleground.” Blane showed the vexed officer Shannon’s letter. He claimed his orders had been stolen along with most of their possessions when they were attacked by Rebel deserters. “They shot her horse right from under her.”
The balding colonel studied the pale, dirty woman. He reached over and yanked the bandage from her head, startling her and Blane. The man stared at the wound as if surprised it was there.
Blane snatched the bloody cloth from the colonel’s hand. “Sir, if I were not injured and this were not war, I would be forced to challenge you in defense of my family honor. Rest assured, our President will learn of this outrageous offense. Touch my sister again, and I shall forget you are a high-ranking officer of the Confederacy.”
Blane shifted her from behind him to before him. He tenderly replaced the bandage and inquired about her condition. Shannon told him she was fine. She focused fiery blue eyes on the colonel. “You are a dishonor to your rank and country, sir, a dishonor to your name and family. I can promise you this matter will be reported the moment we reach Charleston. I shall request that President Davis strip you of your rank. If the distance between us did not prevent it, I would slap your miserable face. Were my father alive, you would pay dearly for this insult. My family has fought valiantly and unselfishly during this war. How dare you question a Greenleaf’s word or honor!”
Shannon called out to his men, “Hear me, proud Confederate soldiers. Beware of a leader of such low stature, a man who attacks injured women, who doubts the word of our noble President. Beware of a leader who wastes time assailing wounded Southerners when our side is swiftly losing this wretched conflict. A man without honor is a dangerous man. You, sir, make me feel ill. Let’s go home, Corry, and waste no more time and strength on this beast.”
The flustered colonel watched the two ride away, berating himself for his foolish behavior. Shannon’s wound had convinced him of their honesty. He glanced at the soldiers nearby, who were looking at him with contempt and disrespect in their eyes. He shouted at them, “I suspected them to be Yankee spies. You men forget this silly affair.”
Miles down the road, Shannon exhaled loudly. “That was close. Maybe my recklessness this morning saved our lives.”
Blane chuckled, then concurred, “Perhaps destiny compelled you to take off like that. You were great back there, sister.”
Shannon leaned away from his chest and smiled at him. “I’m glad I can finally do something right, brother. Have I earned a pardon?”
“You’ve also earned this.” Blane bent forward and kissed her.
When their lips parted, Shannon laughed. “What if we had met another band of Rebels? How would you have explained such behavior?”
He nuzzled her cheek and sighed dreamily. Tapping her ring finger, he said, “I quickly would have used our husband/wife story.”
“Always a crafty answer for everything,” she teased. “Your intelligence and alertness astound me. I couldn’t have a better partner.”
Blane smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate me, Mrs. James.”
“I appreciate you, and you appreciate me, and we both appreciate the Union. Does that make us even for awhile?” She laughed, suddenly feeling cheerful and serene.
Blane observed her sunny mood. “I suppose it does.”
Shannon didn’t ask to ride behind him. And when she nestled against his chest, he didn’t suggest it. Instead, he dropped a kiss atop her head, briefly tightening his embrace. Lord, she fit nicely in his arms, he reflected, admiring the way the sun on her head brought her hair to fiery life. He was inordinately pleased that she seemed so totally relaxed.
Just before dusk, Blane left the road and entered the trees to their right. He guided Dan along until he found a spot that appealed to him. “I want you to hide in those bushes over there. I need to scout around to make sure we won’t be camping near any Rebels.”
As Shannon slid to the ground, she coaxed, “Be careful.”
Once she was hidden, he rode into the trees. In less than an hour he returned, smiling and reporting that the area around them was clear.
Blane handed her two apples, then grinned at her surprise. “I found a tree on an old farm. Everything else had been burned or stolen. You might like this better,” he hinted, offering her salted ham that had been fried and stuffed inside a cold biscuit.
Shannon laughed. “You were hiding this,” she softly accused.
“Yep. I thought it would be better for supper. I considered hunting for a rabbit or deer, but the smell of roasting would carry too far. This’ll have to do for now, Flame. When we reach Fayetteville, I’ll get you a proper meal if I have to steal it.”
Shannon laughed again. “Your honesty astounds me, sir. You had best take this, brother,” she suggested, handing him the ring.
They consumed the meager meal slowly. Then Blane spread the blanket and told her to get some sleep. Shannon stretched out and flexed her body as she gazed at the stars and the clear sky overhead. She felt calm and safe with Blane, and strangely closer to him. Her eyelids began to droop, and soon she was asleep.
Blane joined her, feeling it was safe to do so. His actions were almost an imitation of hers. After watching her for a time, he turned his back, knowing it was the only way he would ever get to sleep.
When morning came, they breakfasted on more apples and biscuits washed down with water. Shannon didn’t complain, and soon they were on their way again. They rode for hours, passing stragglers every so often. So many people had lost so much that they didn’t know where to go; they just seemed to have a need to move on in search of peace and safety.
In what seemed a stroke of good luck, they met a generous Rebel colonel who provided Blane and Shannon with a hot meal. The officer was eager for information from any area of fighting. He found Shannon’s beauty and conversation pleasurable, and delayed his journey to enjoy them.
When Shannon and Blane were asked to spend the night in his camp, Blane accepted for Shannon’s benefit. He knew she could use some rest and good food. To repay the officer’s kindness, Shannon talked and visited in his tent until she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Blane finally put his arm around her and said, “It’s time for you to turn in, Shanny. Thank you for your hospitality, sir. My sister and I deeply appreciate it. This trip home has been hard on her. And I ain’t much use all busted up like this.”
In the tent to which they were assigned, Shannon slept on her bedroll and Blane slept on his. The end flap had to be left open for fresh air, for the early October nights were still warm.
Afraid of being overheard, they talked little, though at one point Shannon whispered across the short distance between them, “Are you ever scared? I mean, really scared? Scared you won’t survive this war, at least uninjured? Scared you might lose everyone and everything you love?”
“Give me your hand, Shannon,” he ordered softly, reaching out for it. When she extended her arm toward him, he gently grasped her hand and squeezed it. He rested their clasped hands on the ground, then coaxed, “You have me to protect you. You won’t ever be alone; and you can have me as long as you need me. But don’t stop being afraid, Shannon; it makes a person more careful and alert. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, just with being a coward—with being too scared or too hurt to pick up the pieces and start over again. Don’t ever let that happen to you. Go to sleep. I’ll be right here guarding you.”
Shannon was troubled and bewildered by his words. She had perceived the anguish that surrounded his statements, and his pain touched her deeply. She wanted to roll into his arms and comfort him. Yet, she instinctively knew not to press him tonight. She briefly tightened her fingers over his hand. As if deciding his hand might be heavy, he shifted his grasp to place his on the bottom against the dirt. His thumb rhythmically stroked the back of her hand. It was amazing how wonderful and stirring that simple contact felt. Shannon confessed quietly, “Sometimes I’m afraid of you, but I’m never afraid with you.”
Blane lifted his head and looked over at her, noting that her respiration pattern had altered. She didn’t turn his way, but continued to stare above her as he whispered, “Then we’re almost even. Sometimes I’m afraid for you…and of you. Go to sleep. It’s dangerous to talk here.”
When noises awakened her, she sat up to find Blane missing. As she moved to stand beside the tent and look around for him, she spoke politely and genially with soldiers passing by. The commanding officer walked over, smiled, and offered her a morning meal.
“Where is my brother, sir?” she asked, trying not to show fear.
“He went hunting with several of my men. Insisted on paying for your food and care somehow. Said he didn’t need a healthy leg to shoot. You got yourself a good brother, Miss Greenleaf. Makes me proud and happy to see a fellow take such good care of his family.”
When Shannon told him about the offensive incident on the road yesterday, the man puffed up with anger. She continued, “If you have a doctor or medical officer, I would like him to look at the wound. I’m sure it isn’t anything serious, but one never knows about infection.”
When their meal was over, the Confederate colonel sent for a private who knew a great deal about doctoring. The young man was only too pleased to check her injury. His smile faded when he heard how she had received it, as did the commanding officer’s.
“Keep it clean and covered, miss. Try to change the bandage every five or six days. It should heal nicely, but you might have a tiny scar there. You think I should look at your brother’s leg?”
“He was checked recently. The doctor told him to leave it be for another three or four weeks.” When the private left, she turned to the officer in charge and said, “Thank you for your help and concern, Colonel Smith.” She sent him one of her most radiant and innocent smiles.
Blane and the others returned from a successful hunt to find Shannon laughing and chatting privately with Smith. They had acquired enough meat to provide strength and to fill bellies. Blane accepted a bundle of food for their next meal, along with the name of a family who would give them shelter during their stop in Fayetteville. The officer also gave Shannon a blanket to ward off the chilly nights, which he said were approaching fast. For the first time she felt guilty, for she knew many soldiers were in need of such items.
They were also given a letter of protection from Colonel William Smith, which they soon had to use when they met a doubting Southern officer. The man read both letters, eyed the young couple, then allowed them to pass. Blane could feel the man’s sharp eyes piercing their backs. He scolded himself for not questioning or suspecting a curious mark that he had noticed at the top of the page. Was it a code? he wondered. Prepared to be chased, he didn’t relax for ten miles.
In Fayetteville, Blane didn’t go to the house suggested by Smith. Instead, he made his way east of the town to a small plantation, then dismounted near a gradually collapsing shed. As he cut off the false splint to facilitate his movement, Blane told Shannon, “Stay here with Dan and wait for my return. I need to look around before we approach the house. If you hear any gunshots or shouts, you mount up and ride like hell out of here. Understand?”
Yes, she understood clearly. It seemed to her she was always telling him to be careful, but she did so again. She feared that one day soon he would be cautious, but that it wouldn’t matter. At present, they were in the heart of the Confederacy, and she didn’t feel at home. She despised what was happening to her beloved country and people. As usual, she watched and waited in dread. She tried not to think about other dangers, such as nocturnal wild animals or snakes. Darkness surrounded her, for only a thin slice of moon hung in the sky.
Blane eventually made his way around the area that enclosed the house and barns. Sighting or hearing no indication of another’s presence, he walked to the house, knocked, and was invited inside.
He came back for her over an hour later. Blane was amused and warmed when Shannon hugged him fiercely. “By the way,” he told her, “at this stop you’re my new wife. Just play along with whatever I say.” He caught her left hand and pushed the gold wedding band in place.
Shannon followed Blane and Dan to the back porch, where an older man and woman were standing with a candle. The amber-haired Texan passed Dan’s reins to the man and smiled at the woman. He captured Shannon’s hand in his and drew her close. She pondered his mellow gaze and gentle behavior and questioned his impending deceit. Every time he slipped that ring on her finger, she wondered if some jealous ghost were going to strike her dead. How long would it be before he liked and trusted her enough to explain it? If she were lucky, maybe he hadn’t used it yet. And if she could manage it, she wanted it to belong to her one day! She carefully observed all three people in the flickering candlelight.
Blane’s smooth voice asserted calmly, “Mrs. Thomas, Joseph, this is my wife, Shannon. I just captured her. Believe me, it was long and hard work winning this beauty away from countless admirers. Things are so bad all over. Too many soldiers and dangers. I couldn’t leave the new Mrs. Blane Stevens behind. I guess you can see why,” he remarked proudly, clasping Shannon to his chest and kissing her forehead to conceal her look of astonishment at the name he had used.
“Shannon, this is Mary and Joseph Thomas, my good friends. They make sure the Rebs don’t find me when I’m working this area. They’ll feed us and hide us for the night. You have them to thank for keeping me alive plenty of times,” Blane informed her.
Shannon smiled and greeted the two people cordially. “I hope you don’t mind our sudden arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. I know this work is dangerous for you.”
“Joseph, you get Blane’s horse tended while I take these tired folks inside and feed ’em proper,” the woman said, taking command. “You look like you both could use a warm bath, hot food, and lots of sleep,” the woman who appeared to be in her fifties surmised.
“They all sound marvelous,” Shannon replied. “Thank you.”
“We best get crackin’. Those Rebels have a way of showing up unexpectedly. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve searched the house and barns. Knowing you, Blane, you’ve already scouted the area.”
He grinned and nodded. “It’s clear for now.”
“What if they come around during the night?” Shannon asked. “How will you explain us? What if they try to confiscate Dan and enlist Blane?”
The woman laughed merrily. “Not to fear, child. No evil can harm you under our roof. God protects us and our cause.”
Shannon watched the woman closely. She was short and plump and seemed filled with energy and excitement. Her dark, wrinkled skin indicated that she spent hours outdoors. Her light blue eyes sparkled with vitality and expectancy. She drew Shannon closer to say, “We have this secret room beneath the house. Joseph built it all by himself from our root cellar. You two will be safe there. Come along before any gray pants see us.”
Blane unsaddled Dan and Joseph led the loyal beast away. Hoisting the saddle over his left shoulder, Blane followed Mary inside and dropped it near a cupboard in the kitchen.
“Don’t you have any workers, Mrs. Thomas? Who helps you and your husband manage and protect your property?” she inquired.
“None left, child. They all went off to fight the war. We didn’t have slaves, just hired laborers. We don’t believe in buying human flesh and forcing their labor. It don’t matter. Joseph says our good earth can use the rest. We have a small garden to keep us busy and to prevent suspicion about our food supply.”
Shannon lowered her thick lashes, feeling guilty again. This time, she worried over taking food from these old people and placing them in peril. “I wish there were some way we could pay you.”
“Don’t be silly, child. We knew this war would be long and hard. We stored up canned foods and cured meats. All over the house there are hidden spaces filled with tin cans and jars. We have fruits, vegetables, stews, soups, salmon, boiled beef, sardines, and even oysters. There’s cured hams and bacon slabs. We have tea and spices and flour hidden. Me and Joseph have plenty to share with our friends. Them Union officers aren’t the only ones who can afford canned foods. My Joseph used to ship them back and forth between here and Europe—mainly England and France. I’ll give you and Blane a few to carry along. Can’t risk getting caught with too many on you.”
The woman showed Blane to a bathing closet on the side porch. “You fill this tub for your little woman while I show her around.”
Mary walked to a staircase to the second floor. She reached under the bottom step and wiggled her fingers. The three lower steps rose as a unit, displaying another set of stairs going down into a dark space. Mary took a lantern and told the younger woman to follow her. At the bottom, Mary turned and smiled to Shannon. “See?”
Shannon’s gaze roamed the shelves of glass jars and tin cans. It flickered over sacks of flour, corn meal, and sugar. Tins of coffee, tea, and spices were also on display. Above her hung cured hams, salted flanks of venison, and slabs of bacon. Shannon was stunned by the abundance and variety of food, especially when so many people within a few miles of them were literally starving. To be fair, Shannon rationalized that the supplies were being used for a vital cause.
“Me and Joseph prepared well for this war. God told us it was coming. During those first two years, we sneaked more supplies into Wilmington, then here. But the Rebs started watching and searching every ship and wagon. You have to watch them devils; they’re greedy and sly and wicked. That’s why we can’t pass out food to poorfolk. Them devils would hear about it and they’d come here and take everything.”
Mary pointed to the corner. “We got weapons only for hunting and protection. ’Least those guns won’t kill none of God’s children.”
The woman had spoken accurately. Their collection appeared to be a small arsenal. Nearby, Shannon also noticed extra blankets, several canteens, leather pouches, and assorted pieces of clothing.
Seeing Shannon’s interest, Mary beamed proudly as she informed her, “Whenever I can get clothes or supplies for my friends, I keep ’em here until someone needs them. Those Rebs steal everything loose when they search the house. Satan has them blinded; they follow him like dumb sheep. One week, they came nearly every morning, trying to catch us off guard. Well, we’d best get you fed, bathed, and tucked in. No telling when them fools will show up again.”
When they returned to the kitchen, Joseph had their meal ready. He had set out slices of ham, peas, carrots, corn muffins, peaches, and tea. While water heated, Shannon and Blane feasted on the delicious meal. Weary and hungry and aware of possible danger, they ate quickly and quietly.
“I know this will be difficult, Shannon, but hurry with your bath,” Blane instructed.
As Shannon scrubbed in the bathing closet, Mary cleared away their dishes and food remains. She placed the empty tin cans in the hidden pantry beneath the stairs, then prepared the room where Blane and Shannon would hide and sleep tonight.
As Blane scrubbed in the darkness near the well, the sixty-year-old Joseph strolled around the yards to make certain no one was approaching. He felt tense tonight. He wanted this couple to rush and conceal themselves. An agent like Major Blane Stevens was agreat risk to aid, and he feared becoming a Union martyr. Sometimes he wondered if he and Mary were doing the right thing. His wife was a stubborn, determined woman. Maybe he feared her disapproval more than God’s or the Confederacy’s! He scratched his head of thinning hair as his brown eyes darted from one shadowy area to another. He was beginning to doubt that either side was totally right or wrong. His large nose itched, then his bushy brows. He kenw it was from anxiety. He sighed with relief when Blane whistled completion of his chore.
“Need any help, child?” the woman inquired as she entered.
Shannon had dried off but was standing with the bath sheet wrapped around her. “Could you ask Blane to send me a clean shirt and pants,” she asked modestly, mutely chiding her oversight.
Mary smiled warmly. “You don’t need to stay dressed and ready to leave. No one can find you in our secret room.”
“Blane and I were attacked and robbed on the road. Besides one dress and a pair of slippers, pants and a shirt were all we could save.”
“You wait right here, child.” The woman left hurriedly to return soon with a cotton nightgown. “This will be a mite roomy, but cooler and more comfy. Please use it, child.”
Shannon knew she couldn’t refuse the woman’s kindness without inspiring doubt, and she wished Blane hadn’t lied about their being married. Shannon accepted the gown and thanked her. She slipped into it.
Mary gathered her dirty clothes. “I’ll wash these and Blane’s. By morning they should be dry. There, now, don’t you feel better?”
“Much better. You’re very kind and generous. Thank you.”
Mary looked into the kitchen to make sure the men weren’t there. She led Shannon to the cupboard, which had been shoved away to expose another staircase. Mary laughed and commented, “They always search attics and closets or look under rugs and furniture for secret doors. You’ll be perfectly safe down there, child.”
Shannon looked down the steps in surprise, for she had expected to be sheltered in the hidden pantry. A lantern was hanging from a long peg at the base. She could make out a door, which led beneath the house. The woman bid her good night and told her to go along and get settled. Shannon moved slowly down the stairs and entered the room. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She found herself in a small bedroom without windows.
Shannon moved into the room and looked around her. The walls were planked and painted. A double bed that looked enormously soft and inviting was situated in one corner. She saw a table nearby that held a pitcher of water and a basin. Beneath it on a shelf, there were cloths and several cups. Above it was a small, round mirror with candle holders attached to the wall on either side of the shiny surface. She noticed one chair beside a smaller table that held an oil lantern with flowers painted on it. A Bible had been placed beside the lantern. The right wall near the door revealed pegs for hanging garments, if the guest was fortunate enough to have any. The left wall beside the door exposed a curtained-off-area. When she peeked inside, she blushed, for the small area contained only a chamber pot, white trimmed in red.
Shannon smiled and relaxed. While descending those steps, she had feared she would find herself in a dim room with walls of moist dirt and corners that enticed those crawly things she hated. Though she did notice the floors were hard-packed earth, there was a small rug by the bed, a wash stand, and a chair. Crocheted and embroidered pieces decorated the tables and a floral coverlet brightened the bed with the same fabric that had been used for the curtain to the private area.
She heard Blane’s boots on the stairs. Carrying his saddle, he entered the secluded room, then lowered his leather burden to the ground right of the door. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked.
Blane grinned. “They’re something, aren’t they? Now do you see why I told them we’re married?” He turned and put out the lantern behind him, then closed and locked the door.
Shannon’s gaze slipped over his damp hair and clean garments. He had even shaved! “No, I don’t,” she replied. “They sounded and behaved like good friends, people you could trust. Why mislead them?”
“They are good people, God-fearing folk who wouldn’t hold to our sharing this room—not with you age and looks,” he added roguishly. “They think the Lord’s going to reach out soon and strike down these Rebels. They consider what they do their God-ordered duty. I’m selfish, woman. I didn’t want to sleep with Dan, or risk being caught here. If they found me, the Thomases and Shannon Greenleaf would be in danger. Besides, it’s exhausting to stay alert twenty-four hours a day for days on end. I need to have complete rest for a change.”
“I understand, Blane. I’m glad you’re staying here with me. I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I had to worry about you and our safety.”
Blane captured the material of her gown between his fingers and asked, “What’s this? You been losing weight?” He chuckled.
“Seems you discarded my only nightgown, Mister Stevens. When Mary insisted on loaning Mrs. Stevens one of hers, I couldn’t think of a logical reason to refuse. It is ‘a mite roomy, but cooler and more comfy,’” she stated, quoting Mary, then clasped her hand over her giggling mouth. “May I have my brush before this hair tangles beyond fixing?”
Blane chuckled as he went to his saddlebag and retrieved it for her. “Do I need to use my sleeping roll, Miss Greenleaf, or can I trust you to keep on your side of the bed and behave yourself?”
“As I recall, we’ve spent many nights together, and I haven’t ravished you yet. I suppose I can control myself another night or two. If I can’t, you’ve only yourself to blame for being too irresistible.” Shannon pulled aside the covers and sat on the bed. “You don’t see any spiders, do you?” she asked worriedly as she worked her tangles free.
Blane could tell she was serious, so he didn’t laugh or joke. “Mary keeps it too clean down here. No spider would dare build its web in this room. But I sleep with one eye and ear open, remember?”
“You don’t plan to do so tonight,” she reminded him. “Will you leaven the lantern on?” she entreated softly. “It would be so dark and scary in here without some light.”
“Can’t, Flame. I don’t have a nightshirt, and these clothes will be too hot and confining to sleep in. Sorry, love.”
Shannon halted her movements to stare at him. “You can’t sleep without any clothes,” she informed him nervously.
“The light will be out and I’ll stay on my side with my back to you. I promise not to ravish you, Flame, no matter how tempting you are. Haven’t I been good so far? Just think of me as brother Blane.” His twinkling hazel eyes drifted over her pink cheeks.
“What about Dan? Will he be safe in the barn?”
“They have an old shed with vines growing over the cracks. Joseph hid Dan there with plenty of hay and water. It looks so awful, the Rebs don’t even search it anymore. They don’t know about the one clean stall at the rear. Even if they found Dan, they couldn’t find us down here. Calm yourself, Flame. I warned you in Washington and along the trail that the spy business isn’t an exciting game.”
“I’m beginning to discover that fact.” She braided her hair and placed the brush on the wash stand, then she slipped into bed.
Blane put out the two candles beside the mirror and started to lower the lantern. “Are you sure all the lights have to be put out?” she asked again, eyeing their shadowy surroundings.
Blane hesitated as he glanced over at her pale face. He lowered the light as much as possible, then placed the lantern on the floor. Only a dim glow flickered in the room. “How’s that?”
“Thanks, Blane,” she murmured in gratitude.
“Turn over and settle yourself,” he advised. When she followed his order, he stripped and joined her.
Shannon felt the bed sway beneath his weight. She stiffened her body to keep from rolling against his and watched the eerie movements of light as they danced on the wall before her. Without it, she mused silently, this room would feel like a pit. Shannon realized she was shaking.
Blane listened to her erratic breathing for a time; it revealed her tension and fear. “If this arrangement makes you too uncomfortable, Shannon, I can sleep on the floor,” he offered, propping himself up on his side toward her.
“I guess I’m overly tired and scared tonight. I feel like we’re trapped in here. What if the Rebels came and found us? There’s no way we could escape. What if they burned the house over us?”
“Both doors to this room bolt from the inside, Shannon. If anyone tried to move aside the cupboard, it wouldn’t budge. The Thomases claim it’s nailed to the wall to keep it from falling over and breaking their dishes. We’re sealed in safely, love. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m sorry, Blane. I’m not accustomed to living in fear, or to being attacked by men like Major Clifford or those two ruffians on the road, or running and hiding in chimneys and holes in the ground, or staying filthy for days. I’ve never been hungry before. I’ve never seen such misery, so much destruction and hatred and killing, so much lying and deceiving. I never imagined this journey would be so terrifying or difficult. I’m embarrassed to be such a weakling and a coward.” She shuddered. “I just want to go home. I want my father and brothers. I want to feel safe and happy again. Will this war ever end?”
Blane rolled to his stomach, then pulled Shannon to her back. He gazed into her face and caressed her cheek. “I know it’s been hard on you, Flame. If I could change things, I would. All I can promise is to protect you with my life.”
“Would you hold me? I feel so safe in your arms.”
Blane knew the danger of their contact, yet he complied, embracing her tightly and possessively. He wished she hadn’t become involved in this hazardous conflict, but he was glad she was snuggled against him at this moment. He brushed kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and her chin. His face caressed hers, his hands stroked her back and arms, and as he inhaled her sweet smell, his body grew warm.
As if she had been a kitten, Shannon nestled against him and silently encouraged more stroking with her reactions. Her fingertips teased over his shoulders and back and she sighed peacefully. His skin felt so cool and silky above its hard interior. He smelled as fresh as a spring breeze. She closed her eyes and let her senses absorb the stirring sensations within her. As her head rolled to his pillow, their lips touched lightly.
Blane nibbled at her mouth, dropping a brief kiss on it every so often. One of his hands moved around her body to move lightly and sensuously over her throat and shoulder. Savoring the feel of her flesh, he moved his fingers over her face and down her neck to journey over her arm. His hand found hers and brought it to his lips. He kissed each finger, then her palm, then worked his way over her wrist and up her arm. When his mouth claimed hers with its first searing kiss, she moaned softly, arched her body against his, and clung to him.
Their surroundings were forgotten. The war was forgotten. All reasons not to make passionate love were forgotten…