Mischief and Magnolias (33 page)

The heartbreak in his voice was nearly her undoing, and yet she couldn't give in to the devastation staking claim to her. She had to get him out of here.

“Don't think about that now, Remy.” A frustrated sigh escaped her. “I can't get this blasted knot untied!” Her voice trembled just as much as her fingers, and exasperation made it worse. “I'm just making it tighter.”

“Take a deep breath, Shae,” he suggested, and did so himself, drawing air deep into his lungs. “I didn't have a hope in hell of escaping before I saw you, but everything is different now. Try to stay calm. We'll do this together.”

Shaelyn, taking his advice, took a deep breath and then another. Despite the circumstances, his voice soothed her and his belief in her compounded the feeling.

“About the Gray Ghost—”

“He's James,” she finished for him. “I know. I saw him. I just don't understand why he's doing this. He's not the same man I knew.”

“War changes people,” Remy said. “It can bring out the best in some people, like bravery and courage. For others, it brings out the worst. Davenport is a great example.” Remy grunted as she pulled on the ropes around his wrists, the action tugging on his shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and concentrated on breathing and working the knot. Finally, she could feel it loosening just a bit.

“Well, isn't this sweet?”

The voice came from just inside the doorway.

James.

Shaelyn stiffened and then jumped to her feet to confront the man she'd once thought she loved. They had shared some wonderful times, but now her heart hurt to look at him and her palm itched to connect with the side of his face. She said nothing though. The words in her brain tumbled too quickly, and truthfully, she didn't know where to begin or how to tell him what she thought of him.

“So lovely to see you, Shae. Or should I call you Mrs. Harte?” He came further into the room, his smile as wide and charming as it had always been, but beneath the calm veneer, she sensed triumph and arrogance, anger and hatred.

He tilted his head as he gazed at her and fondled the key in his hand. She could see the lights dancing in his eyes. The sight filled her with panic. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“You seem surprised. Did you think I wouldn't find out you married the major here?” He shook his head, his smile never leaving his face. “Tsk, tsk. You should have waited for me, Shae. We could have done so much together.”

James grinned at her as if neither of them had a care in the world, and the desire to hit him grew, overwhelming her. She'd like nothing better than to bring him to his knees somehow and make him feel the pain Remy felt—she felt—but she couldn't seem to move or make her arms and legs obey the silent commands of her mind, not even to retrieve the derringer from her boot.

He held out his hand and came closer still. “Come, my dear. We have many things to discuss.”

“Leave her alone, Brooks!” Remy struggled against the bonds that held him, his voice rising with fear and rage. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“On the contrary, Major, she is here. She broke into my home—”

Surprised, Shaelyn couldn't stop herself from gasping. They were here? At Brookshire
,
the plantation where James grew up? What had happened to the lovely home she'd visited?

“—with the intention of freeing my prisoner. She deserves to be, at the very least, reprimanded.” He grinned again. Shaelyn's stomach clenched and bile rose to her throat, threatening to choke her with its acidic bite.

“It's me you want, Brooks. Not her.”

“Oh, you are so very wrong about that, Major.” James's voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I do want her. I've always wanted her.” One dark eyebrow rose, giving him a sinister appearance as he focused on her. “If you want him to live, you'll come with me.”

“No, Shae! Don't go with him.”

Shaelyn had no other option. James would keep his promise to have Remy hanged in the morning if she didn't go with him, but perhaps, if she did as he asked, Remy could be saved. She'd take that chance, however slim.

She slipped her hand into his and allowed him to escort her from the room. The last thing she heard was Remy struggling against the ropes around his wrists and the anguished cry escaping from his swollen lips.

“Don't touch me!” Shaelyn snatched her hand from his as soon as they entered what had once been the formal parlor at Brookshire. The urge to slap the smug expression from his face still made her palm itch, but she couldn't follow through on the impulse. She had to remain calm and think of the consequences of her actions
before
she acted. To do less would be more than foolish. Remy's life—and her own—hung in the balance. Fortunately, he didn't seem to take offense. He stepped away from her without a word; his smile, once so charming, now made her ill.

“What happened to you, James? Why have you done this? And where is Ian?”

James shrugged as he took his seat next to the fireplace. His eyes followed her as she paced the room. Despite the flames dancing behind the grate, the room felt cold, but perhaps the chill had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man sitting so regally in his wingback chair. “Do sit, Shae. You're making me dizzy watching you pace back and forth.”

He poured himself a drink, then poured one for her and held it out for her. Shaelyn refused to take the glass. Instead, she asked again, “Where is Ian?”

“I don't know.” He placed her glass on the table beside him, without anger, in complete control of himself, then took a sip from his own. “Honestly, my dear, we may have marched off together, but we were separated shortly after. The last I saw of Ian, he was joining a troop heading toward Washington. Beyond that, I know nothing.”

Relief surged through her, but it was short-lived. Did she dare believe him? Or was Ian dead like Captain Williams? She tried to keep her anger and her fear at bay—the task seemed next to impossible. She wanted to know why Remy had been singled out, sentenced to be hanged, but was afraid to know the answer. Was it because of her? Was James taking revenge on Remy because she'd married a Union officer? She didn't dare ask those questions either. “What of you? How did you come to be the Gray Ghost?” Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn't help it…this was the young man she had once thought she loved.

“Because I could,” he said simply.

Shaelyn drew in her breath and glared at him, her entire body shaking. “Because you could,” she repeated slowly, as if she hadn't a brain in her head and needed him to explain it to her one more time, or two more times, or however many times it took before she understood.

“Look around you, my dear.” He swept his hands to encompass the room and laughed, the bitterness undeniable. “What do you see?”

She did as he asked, and her heart hurt. She remembered what a magnificent place Brookshire had been once upon a time, and the long, slow summers filled with barbecues and grand balls where friends and neighbors came from as far away as St. Louis or New Orleans to attend. To see what it had become devastated her, as it must devastate him—every time he looked around.

“I marched south with my Union brothers, taking my orders, burning crops and plantation homes—until I came to my own home…” Sadness tinged his voice now, the bitterness gone, and he shook himself free of his recollections. “And saw what had been done to it. The only reason Brookshire wasn't burned to the ground is because the Yankees thought they could make use of it, which they did.”

He stopped speaking for a moment and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. When he resumed, his voice had turned hard, the bitterness back. “They burned the furniture, I would imagine to keep warm. Why they broke the windows, I haven't a clue. That just defeated the purpose of burning the furniture. They set my horses, cows, and chickens free or took them, I'm not sure which.”

His gaze rose to hers and Shaelyn sucked in her breath. His eyes held a faraway quality then, as quickly as she saw emotion, the wistful expression vanished, replaced with an iron-hard determination. “I was so young and foolish, Shae, and stupid, thinking…never mind what I thought. I am a Southern man, born and bred, and yet I joined the Union Army. Why? Why would I do that? So I could wear the uniform of an infantryman? So I could burn the homes of my friends and see the betrayal in their eyes?” He shook his head. Sadness reflected on his face and for a moment, he seemed so weary and disillusioned, so
hurt
by all of it.

“It didn't take me long, actually took me no time at all, to realize I could no longer blindly follow the orders of men who knew nothing of the Southern way of life—my life. Do you realize there are men in positions of power who delighted in the destruction of the hard work of others? Men, like my commander, who took utter joy in causing pain.” A grim smile curved his lips. “He'll never know joy again. I saw to that.” He glanced around the room. “I found others who thought as I did, gathered them all together. I became the Gray Ghost and this…this is my legacy. A house falling down upon itself and land that no one will work.”

“Where are your parents?” Shaelyn asked as she moved slowly toward the door they'd come through, her back against the smooth wood, her hand reaching for the knob.

“Gone.” He shrugged. “Away from the fighting and the memories. Colorado, I heard. I can't say I blame them. I have nothing left, not even you.” Something in his voice changed, grew deeper, harder. His attitude changed as well, and he became more arrogant and self-important. “But, as the Gray Ghost, I have power, I have authority. The Union Army fears me. Civilians fear me too.” He swirled the remains of the whiskey in his glass before he stood suddenly and tossed the glass into the fireplace. The crystal shattered with a brilliant flare of light, the alcohol feeding the flames along the logs. “I can even have you, my dear, if I so choose.”

His grin became frightening…and merciless. “I think I will.” In three strides, he was at her side, the fingers of one hand cruelly digging into the soft skin of her cheek as he brought his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss meant to hurt and humiliate. He curled the fingers of his other hand around her throat as he pushed his body against hers, slamming her back into the hard wooden planes of the door.

The scream lodged in Shaelyn's throat died before she could utter a sound. She turned her head, tearing her mouth away from his. A moment later, James's fist clipped her chin. Her last thought before darkness descended was that she'd never told Remy she loved him.

Shae!

Anger surged within Remy's veins as he violently sawed his hands against the ropes binding him. Despite the chill of the room, sweat rolled down his face, stinging his already swollen eyes. The rough cord cut into his flesh. Pain flashed in his shoulders and through his numb hands, but paled in comparison to the pain in his heart.

A muffled thump drew his attention and he stilled. What was that? A moment ago, he'd heard the murmuring hum of conversation and the shattering of glass. Now? Nothing. Not even footsteps. Only frightening silence and the sound of his own heart pounding.

Fear for Shaelyn's safety gripped him with iron talons and refused to let go, but he persevered, using that fear to his advantage. He resumed his struggle to free himself and felt the ropes, slick with his own blood, loosen a bit. He struggled harder, biting his lip to keep from groaning aloud as the blood flowed back into his numb hands. He gave one final tug. The pain that surged through his shoulders as the rope slipped to the floor stole his breath.

Freedom!

Shae. He had to find her and get her away from the Gray Ghost.

Remy climbed to his hands and knees and slowly gained his footing, but immediately collapsed to the bare wood panels beneath him, unable to put any weight on his leg. After sitting hunched on the floor for so long, his body had stiffened, his muscles cramped and aching.

The abuse he had suffered at Davenport's hands hadn't helped. He was almost sure he'd heard the cracking of bone at one point, courtesy of Davenport's boots.

He gathered what little strength he had and tried again, crawling to his hands and knees then rising upward, using the wall to steady himself. He tasted metal before he fell to the floor.

Dragging in a ragged breath, fighting the helpless feelings of hopelessness careening through him, Remy forced every other thought from his mind except Shaelyn. Despite the physical and emotional agony, he began to crawl, pulling himself forward on his arms by sheer force of will until he reached the table in the middle of the room.

He pulled himself up, pain exploding in his thigh, forcing him to suck in his breath. His stomach churned, but he took a tentative step, then another, using the table to help him. Determination kept him on his feet. Fear kept him moving, slowly, toward the door. He needed to get out of this room and find Shae.

How am I going to save Shae when I can't even save myself?

The thought weaved through his weary mind, shaking his conviction. He fought his uncertainty and took another cautious step, still resting his palm on the tabletop.

A slight noise drew his attention toward the window Shaelyn had crawled through earlier. He stopped as a wave of panic rushed through him.

Was it Brooks outside? Davenport? Another guard? Would he be shot dead before he found Shaelyn?

He didn't have very many choices. He couldn't run, that was most certain. He could throw himself to the floor and attempt to hide beneath the table, but if he did so, would he be able to stand again? Getting this far had taken almost more strength than he had. He could defend himself, but doubted he could overtake whoever came into the room. The knowledge wouldn't stop him from trying…he'd fight to the death if need be.