Mischief and Magnolias (32 page)

“Ah, good evening, Major Harte. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard a great deal about you.” He removed his saber, placing it on the table next to his gloves as he spoke. “My name is James Brooks,
General
James Brooks, though some call me the Gray Ghost.” He held out his hands to encompass the room. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Remy studied the man who had once been the fiancé of his wife, his heart thundering in his chest with the knowledge he'd never see Shae again. Having made the acquaintance of the Gray Ghost, he doubted he would be permitted to live.

Shaelyn stood at the back of the stable, just inside the space where the planks had been, and watched Jock return with another guard. She recognized the young man as the one who had so cruelly kicked at Captain Ames. A small smile of satisfaction twitched at the corner of her mouth as Jock dragged the younger man across the dirt by his shirt collar.

The boy certainly didn't notice. He was unconscious. By the time he awoke, he'd be no threat to anyone.

There had been so many more guards than Beckett had realized. Aside from the eight who frequently came into the stable, there were ten more. All were now under the watchful eye of Captain Beckett, who proved to be most restrained and actually quite polite in his treatment of the men who had abused all of them.

After they had captured and bound the guards, Daniel and Cory, armed with the rifles and revolvers confiscated from those men, led the soldiers out of the back of the building and into the woods. Shaelyn could no longer see them.

She prayed they'd make it to the steamers before anyone realized what was happening. The wounded, the ill, and those too weak to make the journey to the river, waited until it was their turn.

She turned around and watched her mother comforting those boys, her soft words bringing solace and hope. Shaelyn's gaze drifted to Jock, tying the hands of the guard he'd just dragged into the stable, then to Randall Beckett, who sidled up to the space where the doors didn't quite meet.

She couldn't wait any longer. Neither man paid attention to her. Seeing her opportunity, she took it. With a deep breath and a prayer, Shaelyn slipped through the opening and disappeared into the moonlit night.

She darted behind a tree. They may have rounded up eighteen guards, but that didn't mean there weren't more patrolling the grounds. Reasonably assured she was alone, she ran toward the house, her footsteps light despite the heavy boots on her feet.

Something tripped her. One moment she was running, pulling air into her lungs, the next, she landed on her hands and knees, hard. Remarkably, there was no pain. Something soft had cushioned her fall. It only took a moment before she realized she'd hadn't fallen on a pile of compost, but on a person. Her nose nearly touched his as she stared into his face.

Captain Williams. He'd been shot. Moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated the perfectly round hole in his forehead. His eyes were wide open and stared, unseeing, at the canopy of limbs above him.

She squelched the scream rising from the depths of her being as she scrambled to her feet. Bile rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She took a deep breath, but her mouth watered and filled with the taste of metal.

She wouldn't vomit. She wouldn't.

She concentrated on just breathing, said a silent prayer, for there was nothing more she could do for Captain Williams, and forced herself to move on.

Several lights now glowed from the windows of the plantation house as Shaelyn crawled onto the porch. The scent of wood smoke filled the air. She held her breath, afraid to make a sound, as an armed guard came into view. To her relief, he paid her no mind. All his attention was directed toward the cigar he tried to light. She ducked under a small table between two chairs on the veranda until he succeeded. Smoke billowed around his head before he moved on, blending into the shadows at the opposite end of the house.

Shaelyn let her breath escape and then closed her eyes for a moment and tried to still the frantic beat of her heart.

What am I doing? This is insane
!

The thoughts screamed through her mind as she crawled along the porch on her hands and knees, yet it was too late to turn back, too late to consider another plan. She came closer to a window, which was open just a bit. She clearly heard the voices drifting into the night. Two of them. One was Davenport. She'd recognize his superior tone anywhere, though the clipped New England accent had been replaced by the silky drawl of the South.

The other man in the room replied to Davenport's comment.

Her stomach clenched.

That voice! She knew it as well as she knew her own.

James.

She peeked in through the window, through the dirty lace curtain covering the glass, which made everything hazy, and saw him. He sat in a chair beside the fireplace, his long gray-clad legs stretched out before him. Her eyes drifted upward to his face. A nicely trimmed dark beard now covered his chin and rose up on the sides of his face to meet his sideburns. Her gaze rose and she inhaled. There was no mistaking the distinctive green of his eyes, but why had she never noticed the cruelty in them before? Or his stern countenance? Her heart banged against her ribcage and her palms grew damp as the truth hit her with all the subtlety of an explosion.

Shaelyn flattened herself against the wall and tried to draw air into lungs that seemed unable to expand.

James Brooks, the man she'd promised to wait for, was the Gray Ghost. The scourge of the Union Army.

What happened? How had he become the man behind the taking of her steamers, the destruction of train rails and telegraph wires? She didn't remember him as being particularly sympathetic to the Southern cause. Actually, he'd enlisted in the Union Army as a lark. He said the blue of the uniform emphasized his good looks. She thought he'd been teasing her. At the time, he'd said with his money and education, he'd be an officer for certain.

At least that part was true. He was an officer. The insignia on his uniform declared him so. Yet, she couldn't believe he had the blessings of the Confederate Army. Then again, perhaps he did. She'd heard of other men, guerilla fighters, they were called, who ambushed Union patrols and supply convoys and delighted in creating havoc and fear wherever they went. The Confederates were not the only ones to employ such methods. The Union army had guerilla fighters too.

If James was here, then where was her brother, Ian? Had he traded in his blue uniform for gray as well? Was this why she hadn't heard from either of them in so long?

And Remy? Where was Remy?

She peeked in through the window one more time, gathering her courage, though fear made her tremble. This time, her gaze moved beyond the man so comfortably ensconced in a chair. Davenport, the traitor, looking much too smug for his own good, refilled James's glass from a bottle of whiskey on the little side table. Amazingly enough, the whiskey was Harte's Private Reserve. She recognized the silver and black label from Remy's family.

James grabbed the glass and drank deeply, finishing all of the liquor in one swallow. “At least he makes a damn fine whiskey.” He put down the glass and rose to his feet, directing his comment to Davenport as he turned and faced the man huddled against the wall.

Tears instantly filled her eyes as she followed Davenport's progress across the room.

Remy!

Her heart sank at the same time anger coursed through her veins. He looked horrid, his face swollen, his arms behind his back at an unnatural angle, his legs twisted, but she didn't think broken.

“Take him in the other room. I'm tired of looking at his face.” James strolled to the door as if he hadn't a care in the world, then stopped with his hand on the knob. “When you're done with him, take care of my horse.” He stood still for a moment, his gaze traveling over Remy before he smiled, a slick smile filled with contempt that made Shaelyn's fear intensify. “Tomorrow, as an example to the other men, he'll be hanged.”

“Yes, sir!” Davenport snapped to attention, then quickly obeyed orders as James left the room. “On your feet, soldier!”

“Go to hell!” Remy snapped, his voice strong despite his obvious pain. He received a kick to his injured leg for his efforts.

Shaelyn squelched the cry of anger that rose in her throat. Beneath the rainbow of bruises on his face, he blanched, and even from her position at the window, she could see sweat bead on his forehead, but he uttered not a sound. He seemed to draw strength from the pain.

“Get up!” Davenport grabbed him by the arm and pulled upward. Remy didn't buckle, but she saw his agony, felt it as if it were her own as the captain half-dragged him into the other room.

“Kill me now.” The words were barely audible, but she heard them.

Oh, Remy. Don't provoke him.
She wanted to scream the words at him.

“Don't tempt me, Harte,” Davenport said, then smiled, the same nasty smile she'd grown to hate. “The general wants you to hang in the morning so that's what'll happen.”

Shaelyn sank to her hands and knees and crawled, once more, along the porch, pressing herself against the side of the house, and followed their progress. She came upon another window. This one wasn't merely open. The glass had been shattered, the lacy draperies partially hung outside and billowed with the breeze. She didn't dare take a peek though. She heard Remy's grunt as he was thrown to the floor and Davenport's laughter, the sound making her shudder with revulsion and fear.

“Don't even think about trying to leave. The guards are armed and won't hesitate to shoot you. I, personally, prefer to see you hang in the morning, so don't disappoint me.” He chuckled before he took his leave, slamming the door behind him. She heard the twisting of the key in the lock then nothing but receding footsteps and blessed silence. Why did he bother to lock the door when the window had no glass? Did Davenport want Remy to try to escape? And get killed by one of the guards? Or did he think, even given the chance, Remy couldn't escape due to the fact he'd been hurt?

She shook her head. Davenport's reasons didn't matter in the least. The glassless window was to her advantage and she wasn't about to question her luck. All she had to do was get Remy out of there.

Rising to her feet, Shaelyn peered in through the window and studied the layout of what was once a formal dining room. Candles flickered in the wall sconces on either side of a fireplace. An empty china hutch hugged the wall on the opposite side of the room and matched the table in the middle. Other than those items, the room was empty…except for Remy, who had slowly gained his footing, but he only stood for a moment before he collapsed to the floor with a surprised grunt.

Shaelyn glanced down to the end of the porch, looking for the guard she had seen before. Satisfied he wasn't around, she made sure no one else was in the room with Remy, then climbed over the windowsill into the plantation house.

“Remy,” she whispered, drawing his attention.

He looked up through swollen eyes and her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

“Shae?” He slurred her name. His lip had been split and was now distended to twice its normal size.

“Yes.” She tiptoed closer.

“Good God! I thought you were home, safe at Magnolia House. What in the name of all that's holy are you doing here?” He licked his lips and winced. “Don't you realize the danger you're in? You have to go. You have to go now!”

His left eye was completely closed, the skin puffy and bearing the colors of red and purple. His right eye wasn't much better. Could he see at all?

“I can't go. What's more, I won't. I'm going to save your miserable hide whether you like it or not.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “Turn a little so I can untie you.”

“Why, Shae? Why would you do that? I thought you hated me.”

“Shh. Keep your voice low. We don't need Davenport coming back in here, nor do we want to draw the attention of the guards.” She tried to work the knot, but her fingers were clumsy and the twisted rope tight, unlike any knot she'd ever seen. She wished she had taken one of the knives they had confiscated from the guards, but wishes were useless right now. She did have the little derringer, but that wouldn't do much good for his bonds. “For the record, I don't hate you. How could you think such a thing?”

How could he still think she hated him? They shared a bed…and passion. Hadn't her actions spoken louder than words?

Despite the obvious pain it caused him, he turned his head. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You told me so, Sassy. You stood right in front of me on the day we wed and told me you'd hate me until you drew your last breath.”

Shaelyn shrugged as she picked at the twisted loops of the rope. “I lied. I was angry. You were angry. I knew you didn't want to marry me and only did so because you were forced.”

“Yes, I was angry at the time, but Shae, don't you realize that I never do anything I don't want to do? If I hadn't wanted to marry you, I wouldn't have.”

His statement confused her. “What are you saying? You would have married me anyway?” She stared at him, trying to see truth in his eyes, but they were too swollen, and they really didn't have time for this discussion right now. Davenport could come back at any moment. So could James. Or a guard they hadn't found. “Wait. Don't answer that. We've got to get out of here.”

Beneath the blood and bruises on his face, his pallor bordered on a sickly greenish-white and he huddled within himself. The pain in his thigh must have been intense. She glanced at his trouser leg when he winced and noticed the blood staining the fabric. “Can you walk if I help you?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Davenport kept kicking me on our short journey here.” The sadness of the ultimate betrayal reflected in his voice. “It was him, Shae. The whole time. Right under my nose. It was Davenport who almost cost me my life, who staged the ambush that killed so many men.” His voice grew hoarse as he swallowed several times. “He nearly convinced me you were a spy when all the time, he was supplying the Gray Ghost with information. I should have known. I should have stopped him. How could I let him fool me so completely?”