Ecstasy's Promise (Historical Romance) (2 page)

She made her way to the enclosure and climbed onto the rail of the fence. "Rebel," she called softly. She was answered by a familiar whinny, and a beautiful black stallion ran to her. His coat was as black as ebony and as soft as silk. He nuzzled her
hand with his nose. "How are you, my beauty? Glad
to see me, are you?" He pranced about as though he
were showing off for her. He tossed his shiny mane
and reared up on his hind legs. "Poor boy, you do not like being penned up, do you?"

Rebel pranced over to her and tossed his head. She laid her face against his satiny coat. Paul O'Brian had given Rebel to her for her sixteenth birthday. Oh, Paul, she thought, where are you now? I pray God that you are safe.

Paul was five years older than Victoria. She had
grown up in his shadow. He had treated her with the
fondness of a younger sister, and she had adored him
for as long as she could remember. He was so handsome with his curly blond hair and his
sparkling blue eyes. He had been the favorite with all
the young girls in the county.

When Victoria was fifteen, and Paul had been home on leave, Victoria had been surprised to find that he no longer thought of her as a sister. She thought of the ball she had attended at Five Hills. When he had come into the room Paul had walked slowly toward her, his eyes on her face. He had
bowed to her gallantly, and taken her hand in his. He
had danced every dance with her, and finally, as they had walked in the garden, he had slipped his arms around her and kissed her softly. Raising his
head, Paul had looked at her tenderly. "When was it
that I fell in love with you, Tory?" he had said in wonder, using the pet name that he had always called her by. Then he had kissed her again.

Victoria remembered the wonder of that kiss. It had been sweet and gentle, and he had held her so
masterfully. "You are still so young, Tory, but I love you. Will you wait for me? I want you to be my wife
when this war is over." From that time on she had been Paul's girl. As she grew older, she had been admired by many of the neighborhood boys, but she had had eyes only for Paul.

We would have been married by now, she thought bitterly, if this war was ended. It was one more thing to hold against the Yankees.

Rebel brought her back to the present. He was nudging her hand. She laughed at him. "I know what you want." She drew a carrot from her pocket and held it while he nibbled on it.

Rebel was outstanding. His sire and dam had been champion thoroughbreds, and when, to the delight of the O'Brians, the dam had produced twins, Paul had insisted on giving one to Victoria for her birthday while he kept the other twin for himself. He had been on leave again, and had presented the colt to her, with a bright red ribbon about his neck.

Victoria had been overjoyed. "I will call him Rebel," she told him.

That night Paul had to return to his unit. They had walked hand in hand, wishing they could have had more time together. Victoria had felt a lump in her throat when Paul had put his arms about her and held her close. "I wish we were married, Tory," he had said; "then it would not be quite so hard to leave you."

"Oh, Paul, I am going to miss you so badly. Please take care of yourself. I will pray for you every night."

"I will take comfort in that thought," he had said, then had kissed her tenderly and rode away.

It was only a week later that Victoria had received
word that her father had been killed in battle. The let
ter had praised John Farraday as a hero, but Victoria
had felt only grief that she would never again see her
father. "I swear vengeance on all Yankees from this day forward." She had cried bitterly against Bodine's shoulder as he had tried to comfort her.

Victoria found some relief from her heartbreak over her father's death by training Rebel for long patient months. When Rebel was not penned up he
would follow her about as faithfully as any lap dog,
and would allow no one to ride him but Victoria. The
few who had tried had been thrown from the stallion's back before they had even seated themselves in the saddle.

Victoria gave Rebel a final pat and made her way
back to the manor house. She was restless and wandered aimlessly from room to room, taking in the beauty of her home. She looked at the stately dining room, which had on many occasions seated more than forty people. She went into the sitting room and admired the rose-colored silk settee and chairs, the crystal chandeliers that glistened like sparkling diamonds. Last of all, she went to her bedroom. A dark-blue carpet covered the floor. A white organdy bedspread and canopy covered the
bed. Victoria looked at it as though she were seeing it
for the first time—or perhaps the last.

She was just about-to go downstairs when she heard the faint sound of riders approaching the
house. Victoria knew it could not be Bodine, for he
would have come from the river. She went hurriedly
to her bedroom window. Her hands were trembling as she drew the curtains aside and looked down on
the driveway below. She held her breath. Then she saw them as they emerged from the trees, three riders wearing the hated blue uniform of the Union Army.

Her first reaction was to run, to flee into the safety of the swamps. Panic had taken over her reasoning. She took a big breath of air and squared her shoulders. No, she would not run from the enemy; she would face them. She said a quick prayer for the courage and strength to meet the ordeal that awaited her.

She ran down the stairs and almost bumped into Bess, who had rushed into the hallway. Bess looked at Victoria for a fleeting second, her eyes blazing and her chin set stubbornly. She carried a broom in her hand, and reminded Victoria of a commanding general about to meet the enemy.

"You run into the swamp, honey. They won't follow you there. I'll keep them busy until you are safe."

"Do not be foolish, Bess. We will face them together." Seeing Bess so unafraid and determined gave Victoria the courage she needed. She ran into her father's study and picked up the pistols she had loaded earlier. She heard the jingle of spurs as the three intruders dismounted. Then Bess's voice came to her from the veranda:

"What you Yankees doing 'round here? Better get on them horses and ride off."

One of the men laughed. "We come to liberate you, haven't you heard?"

"I don't know what that liberate means, but you ain't welcome here!"

Victoria stepped out the door and stood beside
Bess. She kept her hands behind her back to conceal
the weapons. She observed the three men. Their uniforms were tattered and dusty. One of them, a young man, looked very ill at ease. The other two seemed much older, and more self-assured. One of them had a red scar that ran from his temple to his chin, giving his face a sinister look.

"Well, well," the man with the scar said. "What
have we here?" His eyes raked her body. The other,
older man, grinned at his scar-faced companion.

"That is what is known as a Southern belle," he said.

The younger man pushed them aside and looked up at Victoria. "Ma'am, I am Corporal Fish. My companions and I are advance scouts for General Sherman. We have orders to search the premises."
His eyes looked at her pleadingly, as though asking
her to forgive the intrusion. "This is Private Mace,"
he said, nodding to the scar-faced man, "and Private
Stouffer," he said, indicating the third man.

Victoria said nothing. She stood coolly before them, giving them her most contemptuous look. Private Stouffer leered at her, his eyes burning into hers. "You two just run along and search the barns," he said. "I will tend to little Miss High and
Mighty. How about it, honey? Let's you and me have
a chat."

Never in all her life had Victoria been spoken to so
shamefully. Her face grew hot. Corporal Fish intervened, "Damn it, Stouffer, it is not going to be like the last time, now that I am in charge."

Private Stouffer shoved him aside with a force
that caused the corporal to lose his balance and fall to the ground. "Run along, sonny. This is man's work. Come back when you are old enough to shave."

Private Stouffer's eyes never left Victoria's. The other man, Private Mace, threw back his head and laughed. "That's a-telling him. We don't need no green corporal telling us how to handle our job."

Private Stouffer started up the steps toward Victoria.

Bess swung into action. She wielded her broom as though it were a saber. She hit the man a stunning blow that landed him at the foot of the steps. "Get gone!" Bess said hotly. "You ain't coming up them steps unless you comes through me."

Stouffer regained his balance and glared at her. He rushed up the stairs and before Bess or Victoria could react, he grabbed Bess by the shoulder and threw her forcefully down the steps.

Victoria saw Bess's head come down sharply on the stone walkway. She heard a loud crack, and Bess moaned, her body twitched, and then she lay still, her black eyes open, staring at nothing, seeing nothing. It had all happened so swiftly, but Victoria knew in a split second that her beloved Bess was dead. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she faced her enemies.

Private Stouffer smiled at her. "Now, then, pretty little girl, let's you and I get acquainted."

Corporal Fish intervened in a shaky voice. "Private Stouffer, I will not allow this. Our orders are not to harm women and children."

"Mace, will you shut him up?" Private Stouffer said hotly.

With a feeling of dread, Victoria realized that there would be no help coming from Corporal Fish. Mace picked him up by the shirt front and plopped him into the saddle. Then he drew back his hand and slapped the horse on the rump. Victoria watched as her only hope rode off, leaving her to face the two men alone. She drew one of the pistols from behind her back and aimed it at Private Stouffer. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her uneasily; then he smiled.

"Ain't no pretty little gal like you gonna shoot me. Look how your hand shakes. Give me that pistol." He took a step toward her.

Victoria remembered Bodine telling her when he had taught her to shoot, "If you ever shoot at a man, aim at his heart, for you will only get one shot, and if a man is only wounded, he is very dangerous." They had joked about it, never dreaming she would one day face a man over the barrel of a pistol.

Victoria aimed the gun at the Yankee's heart, cocked it, and squeezed the trigger. She saw the look of surprise on his face as the bullet entered his body. The force of the bullet knocked Private Stouffer backward. He tumbled down the steps, and landed beside the still form of Bess. Bess had been avenged; her murderer was dead.

Victoria stood staring at the dead body, unable to tear her eyes away. She could feel her stomach churn and felt that she was going to be sick.

"You have killed him," a voice said angrily.

Victoria turned her eyes to the man, Mace, who stood looking up at her. His eyes were deadly. The
red scar on his face stood out menacingly.

"You will pay for this," he said, stepping over the body of his friend, and walking up the steps toward her. She threw down the spent pistol and drew the mate from behind her back. She aimed it at his broad chest. Her hand trembled so violently, she placed her other hand on the gun, trying to steady it.

"You have seen that I can shoot with deadly accuracy," she warned him. "If you do not want to join your friend, I suggest you mount your horse and ride away." She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

Mace paused in his tracks. "You just killed a man," he said softly. "It was not a pretty sight, was it? I do not think that you can kill a second time." He licked his lips and took another step toward her.

"Don't underestimate me, Yankee. That was your friend's mistake."

"Come on, honey, you don't want to shoot old Mace, do you?" He took another step toward her. She cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. It had misfired. She saw the twisted smile on Mace's face as he took the remaining stairs with a single bound and grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her back. He drew her to him with a force that knocked the breath from her body. "Now, little lady, let's just see how you like what old Mace has in mind for you." She could smell his foul breath as he forced her face up to his own. "I ain't going to hurt you none. In fact, you may even enjoy it," he said caressingly. Victoria shuddered in disgust.

"Take your hands from me," she said, some of her old courage returning.

He threw back his head and laughed. "That's what I like, a woman with spirit." He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house. He kicked open the door to her father's study. She struggled with all her might, but knew that she was no match for him. She wished that she had turned the gun on herself.

"You sure are a looker," he said, running his hands over her breasts and down her body. She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, but to no avail. He threw her onto her father's leather couch and lowered his body to hers. She could smell the scent of his unwashed body, and prayed for death to release her. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at his ugly face.