Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Thomas willed himself to ignore the dead body of their attacker as he gathered Alexandra into his arms and took her upstairs. He laid her in the bed they had shared only minutes before, moistened a cloth from the pitcher of tepid water on her bureau, and wiped it over her pale face.

How had he let this happen to her, he berated himself as the agony tore through him. As she had crumpled to the floor, he growled and lunged into the man, his firearm exploding into the man’s abdomen.

He ran his fingers over her head and winced when he found a lump forming behind her ear. He inhaled deeply, twice, as anger welled in him again. He cherished Alexandra. He loved her. He loved her courageousness and even stubbornness to the vulnerability that wove through the fiber of her being.

From this day forth, he vowed, until the day he died, he would love, cherish, and protect her. She belonged to him.

Now he would take her home. To his home.

****

Alexandra woke with the odd sensation of being comfortable and warm. She snuggled deeper beneath the quilts. The appetizing aroma of coffee, bacon, and biscuits filled the air. Perhaps someone would bring up a tray. On cool mornings, her mother often allowed her to have breakfast in bed. She would spend the morning studying alongside Jeffy, then the afternoon reading, and then they would build a fire in the fireplace. She and Grand-père would spend the evening playing chess and discussing the day’s reading.

The door creaked open, and she pulled the blankets over her head. Just a little longer.

“You’re awake.”

Alexandra lay still and held her breath as her mind whirled. The haze of sleep vanished. She could not place that smooth, soft voice filled with surprise, a female voice. Throwing the quilt off her head, she rolled over and sat up. And stared. Where was she? The drapes and bed coverings all were in soft hues of blue. Fresh flowers provided a burst of color in yellow and pink and white on the bureau.

Who are you?

“How do you feel?” the woman asked. She strode to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Alexandra’s gaze shifted to the open window in a desperate attempt to find something familiar. Instead, she looked past a wrought iron balcony to the side of a building, also decked with balconies. Her eyes darted back to the woman.

She wore a deep blue day dress with a full skirt and high neckline, her rich brown hair pulled to the back of her head. Her kind sapphire eyes matched her dress. The woman, likely in her forties, wore an aura of elegance and moved with the assurance of breeding.

Alexandra lay back; her strength ebbed after the initial surge of adrenaline. A dull throbbing began in her head.

“I don’t know,” Alexandra said, her voice a whisper.

“Here, take a sip of water.” The woman handed her a glass of water as Alexandra sat on the edge of the bed. She placed her wrist against Alexandra’s forehead.

The water slid down her throat, cool and soothing. Her stomach growled.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake. I’ll go down and heat some soup for you.”

“Who are you?” Alexandra asked, as the gentle stranger took the glass away and started for the door.

“My name is Katherine Munroe.” She disappeared from view.

Alexandra stared hard at the doorway where Katherine had just exited. Her awareness filled only with the soft ticking of the little clock on the nightstand. Then the memories shifted and locked into place.

Thomas. He’d never mentioned his mother. She’d never even considered that he might have one. Katherine Munroe’s blue eyes matched her son’s. Thomas’s features were more pronounced; Katherine’s softer. She wondered what his father must be like.

Nevertheless, the question remained. Where was she?

A few minutes later, just after Alexandra had closed her eyes, Katherine returned with a tray of chicken soup. The soup warmed her inside, filling an unexpected hunger.

“More?” Katherine asked as she watched her from the bedside chair.

She shook her head. “No more. Thank you.”

Katherine smiled and set the bowl down on a small table.

“Where is Thomas?” she blurted.

Katherine lowered her gaze. “He couldn’t stay. The war…”

Yes, it was alway
s
the war
.

“He had no right to bring me here.” “Perhaps you are correct. It’s possible he had no right, but he certainly had no choice.”

Alexandra tucked her feet under her and pulled the quilt beneath her chin. “I was home,” she said, brokenheartedly.

“He was only doing what he thought best for you. You were unconscious for days.”

Alexandra glanced at the older woman, and a tinge of shame curled through her. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful. It’s just that I so want to be at home.”

“I know, dear, I’m not offended.” Katherine rummaged through a yarn basket lying at her feet and chose a dark gray color. “Nevertheless, I can’t let you go back without him.”

A shot of anger replaced her guilt. “You can’t stop me.”

The rhythmic clacking of Katherine’s needles filled the quiet room. “Perhaps not, but I certainly won’t help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I don’t expect you’ll get very far on foot in your condition.”

Alexandra jerked her head up and stubbornly ignored the resulting dizzy sensation. “I’m in perfect condition.”

Katherine did not respond.

“Even if I’m not, I certainly won’t wait for Thomas to come back and take me home,” she said.

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” Katherine said, her voice tight.

“I don’t even care if I ever see him again.”

Katherine paused in her knitting, her eyes wide, and stared at Alexandra.

Alexandra wiped a tear from her cheek and hoped the older woman didn’t notice. How could he have left her here, not even knowing if she would live? How could he care so little after all they had been through together?

****

Thomas wadded up the paper he’d been writing on for the past thirty minutes and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed against a stack of a dozen or so other paper balls. With a sigh, he picked up his pen and began to write on a fresh sheet
,
My dearest Alexandr
a
. No. He groaned.

Frustrated, he balled up that paper as well, and allowed it to join the others on the floor. How did one apologize for abandoning the one you love? It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his idea to dump her off with his mother and rejoin a war he had grown to loathe.

Looking down at the blank paper, he ran his hand through his hair. What could he say to her? So much. What if he died in this war? She would never know how he felt.

He dipped the tip of his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

Alexandra,

There is only one way to say this. I love you. Wait for me. Thomas

Chapter Twenty

Thomas, his lieutenant, and five soldiers arrived too late to the battlefield. They rode day and night, for how long, Thomas no longer knew.

He guided his horse over the remains of a man with a bloodied chest. He held his breath against the heavy air full of death and blood.

Thomas nestled the locket deeper into his pocket. He wasn’t quite sure how he warranted this reprieve from Major Jerome Davis. The man glared at him at every meeting, yet he handed over the locket to Thomas with hardly a twinge.

The assignment really wasn’t all that bad, Thomas thought, coming out of his reverie. He loved the scouting, the peacefulness of it; always had. Ironically the thing that kept him from Alexandra also kept him sane about being away from her.

“Captain?”

Thomas jerked his head up at the sound of his first-in-command’s voice.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Something tells me we should turn back.”

Thomas smiled. Brian Cunningham had always been a fanciful sort. A smiled curved Thomas’s lips. He thought of Brian’s talent with the violin under the stars at each camp. Drawing that bow across the instrument’s strings, mournful music regaled him and the accompanying battalion. Even when the other soldiers pleaded with him to play something more lighthearted, he continued with the morose tunes he enjoyed.

“On what do you base that recommendation?” Thomas asked.

“The men and I thought we saw someone following.”

“You thought?”

“Yes, sir. We checked it out but saw nothing obvious. Still, I have a feeling.”

“Your recommendation is noted,” Thomas said. For a second, he almost heeded his lieutenant. But they neared the assignment’s end, and Thomas wanted to get back to New Orleans. “We’ll push forward,” he said.

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant said with a salute and turned to join the five soldiers riding behind them.

Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat and nudged his horse into a gallop.

****

He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at home. With Alexandra. She consumed his every thought. For what must have been the hundredth time, his gaze shifted to the south, down the worn path canopied by trees and the way home. His body tensed as he fought the urge to spur his horse in that direction and never stop until he reached her. If he ever doubted that his destiny lay with Alexandra Champagne, that doubt had long since been banished. Nothing—no man, no space, nor any time would be strong enough to keep them apart.

In the stillness of the war-ravaged woods, he realized he had wandered away from his regiment. He could see John and Zeke beyond the ravine he had just crossed. Turning his horse, he picked his way back down the slope of the ravine, losing sight of his men in the process.

The blow against his back caught him off guard. Just as he resumed his balance, a sharp pain struck his side, followed by a familiar burning. As he clutched the bullet wound, someone caught his arm and dragged him from his horse. His vision blurred as he hit the ground on his back. He looked up into a leering and familiar face.

****

Alexandra settled into a peaceful, even tranquil, routine with Thomas’s mother. Somehow Mrs. Munroe obtained things known to be otherwise scarce in the south. After discovering Alexandra’s penchant for painting, Katherine procured a set of canvases, paints, and brushes for her.

Alexandra played the piano and contemplated what she would paint that afternoon. Her eyes strayed to yesterday’s creative endeavor lying on top of the piano
:
Thomas, in his uniform, tall and trim, and yet sturdy.
She sighed and brought her fingertips to her lips, longing to feel his kiss.

“Such sad music,” Mrs. Munroe said, jarring Alexandra from her reverie. “How about a tea break?” She swept into the room, placing a tray of tea and cookies on the coffee table.

“Of course,” Alexandra said, letting the sad musical strains fade away. Only then did she realize her fingers had followed the sadness of her mood. She sighed and tried to shake the gloomy feeling, but her heart weighed a ton.

“It’s a beautiful day. Perhaps we can take a walk later,” Mrs. Munroe said as she placed napkins on the table in front of them.

She poured the tea into Alexandra’s cup. A knock sounded on the front door. Alexandra froze, her nerves frayed. Could it be Thomas…safe and finally home? Katherine went to answer the door.

She came back moments later with an envelope in her hand. Alexandra took a deep breath and picked up her teacup, letting its warmth seep into her hands. Katherine broke the wax seal and opened the letter with steady hands. Alexandra wondered how she could be so calm and envied her that. She sat there, her eyes fixed on the older woman’s face, bracing for bad news.

“Why, it’s an invitation to the governor’s ball. For the two of us. We have only one week to prepare. I don’t know why they waited so long to send out the invitation. Well, the war disrupts everything, now, doesn’t it?” she said, with a shake of her head.

Alexandra stared at Katherine. Her trepidation now replaced a new anxiety. She had no interest in attending a governor’s ball. Her breeding, however, assured her that she would be attending. As Katherine continued to chatter about the upcoming event, Alexandra allowed her mind to wander back to Thomas. He should send a message by now. She squeezed her mug and fought the urge to go search for him.

****

Thomas groaned and cracked open his eyes. His head throbbed to the point of bursting at any second. He opened his eyes a little more and peeked through his lashes into a room filled with smoke. His eyes burned with tears. He closed them again and strained to hear something— anything.

Nothing
.
The silence dragged on, smothering him. Then the heavy footfalls of a man approached, stopping several feet away.

Jake Slidell.

Jake began to sing a lumbering, monotone, nonsensical tune. As Thomas listened, Jake stoked the fire, making even more smoke. Next he heard the clattering sounds of Jake preparing something with tin pots, followed by the scent of fresh coffee.

Thomas fidgeted with the knot that bound his hands behind his back, but to no avail. The dull throb in his head continued.

Where was he? How could he escape? He didn’t move. Jake came over and kicked Thomas in the ribs.

“I know you’re awake,” he said.

Thomas groaned. He considered opening his eyes but couldn’t bring himself to go through the torture again.

“Ah, well,” Jake said, giving him a halfhearted kick in the ribs before walking away. “You’ll come around in time. Not worth burning my supper over.”

Jake returned to his smoky fire and clattered about again. The rich smell of bacon frying filled the room. Thomas took a deep steadying breath against the cramping in his stomach. How long had it been since he had eaten? He could have been unconscious for an hour or days. What use could Jake, in his obvious insanity, possibly have for him? Insane, thus dangerous. He would use caution.

Jake noisily devoured his meal; then he belched before he stirred up more smoke. Thomas smothered a cough, but Jake no longer paid him any heed.

After realizing Jake had been quiet for too long, Thomas eased his head to the side and slit his eyes open just enough to see Jake through the haze. A shiver ran up his spine. Jake held a pencil and paper in hand and had a sinister smile upon his face as he penned a letter.

****

Alexandra sipped her wine and forced a smile upon her face. Elegantly dressed people filled the ballroom. The sparkling light of the chandeliers shimmered down on the silken and satin gowns and jackets of the Creole ladies and their dark and handsome men. They swirled around her. If she squinted just a little, the room became a kaleidoscope of brilliant color.

Alexandra wore the latest finery. A deep rose ball gown set off her pale skin and the stillshort raven hair she dressed in loose curls. They tumbled above her shoulders. She managed to keep the dance card around her wrist devoid of names. She didn’t want to dance or even be here. She took a relaxing breath. A man with a friendly smile and dimples approached her.

“Good evening,” he said.

She nodded and lowered her eyes. Like Thomas, he towered above her. Geez. Must her every thought be consumed by him?

“I have to say, I find it virtually impossible to believe that a lovely lady like you doesn’t have every dance on her card filled,” he said.

“I’ve managed to keep every dance free,” Alexandra said dryly.

The man’s eyes widened. “You’re the first female I’ve ever known to have that aspiration.” Then he added, “Unless you’ve kept them all free for me.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.

Alexandra laughed in spite of herself. “I suppose it does sound a little strange. But you see, I didn’t really want to come, so I suppose it’s my way of rebelling.”

“Can you be tempted to make an exception?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a mock smile.

“Well, then, if I can’t get you onto the dance floor, perhaps you will sit on the veranda with me.” He gestured toward the back. “For conversation.”

Alexandra sipped her wine as she considered the possibility, gazing into his bright hazel eyes.

“Perhaps if I knew your name, I would consider it.”

“Alas, you’ll have to excuse my lack of manners, for your beauty wipes every thought from my mind.” He bowed and held out his hand in a silent request for hers.

She placed her hand in his.

He brought it to his lips and applied a kiss. “Eli Jarreau, at your service.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Jarreau.”

“Please, you must call me Eli.”

“Eli, then. I’m Miss Champagne.”

She detected a shadow of a frown cross his expression, but before she could be certain, it disappeared.

“Alexandra Champagne,” he repeated. “I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

Alexandra lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed? Where could you possibly have heard my name? I’m not from New Orleans.”

“Ah, but ma chérie,” he said, and Alexandra’s heart lurched. The endearment reminded her of Thomas. “It is a small world we live in, and there are few who could rival your beauty.”

“Are you implying that you’ve heard gossip about me?” she said with a half-smile, unalarmed.

“No, indeed. As I mentioned, I’ve heard your name, but I can’t recall at the moment where. When I remember, however, I will immediately inform you.”

“That’s very kind of you, though I’m sure it’s not necessary.”

“Well, now that we’re acquainted, can persuade you to continue this conversation outside?”

An attractive redhaired woman breezed up to Eli and took his arm. “Eli, my dear, you promised me a dance,” she said before she placed a kiss on his cheek.

“And soon you will have it,” he replied, making no move to join her, his face impassive.

The woman’s lips formed a pretty pout. “But I saved this one just for you.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem filling it,” Eli said.

“You’re welcome to go ahead and dance with her,” Alexandra said. “We can continue our conversation another time.”

The woman smiled at Alexandra. “You finally found a sensible female to play with, Sugar Dumpling.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. Sugar Dumpling? What kind of man was this Eli Jarreau? A man to so unsubtly discount his wife while courting another?

“I said,” Eli growled softly, “I’ll be with you shortly.”

The woman huffed but turned away and lavished her attention on the next man who walked past her.

“Really, Eli, you should dance with your wife.”

“My wife,” Eli frowned. Then he turned up his face and laughed. “She isn’t my wife. She’s my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, you’ve just experienced the whirlwind that is Gabrielle Ann Jarreau.”

Alexandra looked back at Gabrielle, who batted her eyelashes to lure another gentleman onto the dance floor.

“She’s only upset,” Eli explained, “because she just heard that her fiancé has been declared missing and presumed dead.”

“Oh, dear,” Alexandra said. “That must be awful for her. She must be in shock.”

“No,” Eli said, shaking his head. “Gabrielle always acts this way. Her fiancé never got jealous about her. In fact…” Eli paused and considered, “…whenever they attended a soirée, they would hardly see each other.”

“That sounds typical for a married couple or even those in a betrothal of convenience, but it hardly sounds like two people who are in love.”

“And have you ever been in love, Miss Champagne?”

She cringed. “Are you always this blunt and forward, Mr. Jarreau?”

“Only when I need an answer. It seemed like a relevant question.”

Alexandra glanced at Eli’s sister swirling around the ballroom in the arms of one handsome man before being passed on to another. Gabrielle laughed with abandon.

“I know it seems as though it hasn’t affected her,” Eli said, “but this is just her way of coping.”