The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (23 page)

“You’ll have the whole federal army here, Jack. What will we do then?” She threw the accusation at him and stormed off. Had to get out of his reach when all she truly wanted was to be held safely in his arms.

“Emma,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “Please.”

She was so tired, the fight had been drained from her. She fell into his arms and leaned into him. The smell of horse, leather and wool mingled with Jack’s deep masculine essence. It invaded her nose and she welcomed it. If she could ever just have the time to be with him, she’d happily drown herself in him.

The doctor was in front of them, handing the child to Tilly. “Fevers like this will come and go as he grows. You two being new parents are bound to fear quickly and sometimes, that fear is good, but he’ll break it soon. Here,” he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a miniature brown glass bottle. “Willow bark. It can be bitter. Put it in some water and give it to him. It’ll help. Just a pinch, though.” He looked at Emma. “You, my dear, need to rest. You tell this husband of yours that your health is just as important as your child’s or it’ll be up to him to care for the changing and whatnot.” He winked.

Emma felt the warmth of a blush rush up her cheeks as she nodded. The man thought Nathan hers and Jack was her husband. A dream that she wished but felt uncomfortable hearing. Apparently so did Jack as he released her immediately. Her knees nearly buckled as relief swept through her, knowing Nathan’d be all right.

The doctor turned sternly to Jack. “I can see why you left, Captain. I don’t normally help deserters, but I see your reason. You planning on returning?”

“But of course,” Jack promptly replied.

He answered a little too quickly for Emma’s taste. He’d take her and his son to his parents and leave her again. But of course, why would he not? Everyone else had abandoned her. She thought she’d scream but refused to give in to the urge because she wanted to take care of Nathan.

The doctor leaned in. “There’s a house just across the border into Tennessee. Less than two days’ ride under normal conditions. The Parkers live there. Large house. They’ve got a brood of young’uns. Go there. Tell them I sent you. Get your son well and your wife rested before you go further.”

“Yessir,” Jack answered. “And thank you, sir.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma joined in.

The doctor chuckled. “I’ll find my way back. But don’t stay here. I’ll have a report to do for General Morgan.” He got on his horse and rode away.

They watched him go. She wanted to say something to Jack. Hoped he’d say something to her about the doctor’s assumptions but instead, he turned away from her.

“You heard the doctor,” he said to her quietly, over his shoulder. “We need to pack up and leave.”

Her heart missed a beat. Nothing. He’d already left her.

#

Crossing the border wouldn’t be easy. Jack looked down the slope. Below them was the town of Stickleyville and it was swarming with bluecoats. It was early December, and cold winds whipped through the hills, freezing his breath and stifling his curses. He’d hoped to take the Virginia and East Tennessee Railroad line into Tennessee. Train passage would cut their travel time, allow Nathan and Emma to rest and give him an opportunity to settle down and think. He had come close to being arrested. Repayment of his debt to Dr. Spencer, though, had to wait until after his family was safe.

Safe. Safe from what? Yankees? His father? Himself?

But the scene below him made it clear that boarding a train would be impossible. Hell!

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper with the Parker’s address on it. With a last rueful glance, he reined Goliath to the left and returned to the wagon.

John Henry wasn’t allowed to drive the buckboard now. They were too close to the federals, and his violent behavior, along with his mood changes and memory lapses, made him untrustworthy. Emma held the reins. She was so brave. His gaze drank her in. She smiled faintly at him as he approached, making his heart skip a beat.

He reproached himself for his wayward thoughts, the better to keep from saying or doing something foolish. The War was a demanding mistress, one he couldn’t escape or ignore. He had no doubt he’d be pulled back into her wicked embrace, and he, like the rest of the soldiers, had a good chance of not surviving. He didn’t want to take Emma as his wife, only to make her a widow again. He resigned himself to the fact that he needed to get his son–and her–to the safety of his family’s home and then leave. There was no other choice. Besides, she said she hated him. He was a killer, after all.

“We can’t take the train,” he told her. “Too many federals down there. We’ll have to ride around them.”

Emma nodded. With a glance back at her father and Tilly, she said, “We’d better get going. Nathan’s asleep. The roll of the wagon wheels calmed him to slumber. No doubt we’ll regret it tonight, but…” she shrugged as she bit her bottom lip.

Lust slammed into him. Oh, how wanted to soothe that lip. To roll his tongue over it, caressing her pain away. He hardened and shifted in his saddle, trying to alleviate his desire. His mouth went dry.

A cry came from the back. She broke her gaze from him to turn, and he was thankful she had looked away. If he had stared into her eyes any longer, he’d forget about the child and simply take her away.

“He’s teething,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” He pushed his lustful thoughts aside. Babies. He groaned inwardly.

“Your son’s teeth are cutting. It’s painful.”

“What about giving him more of that medicine?”

She scowled. “He’s not sick. Teething is normal. Wish I had a teething ring for him, though. Didn’t think to bring the one from home.” He heard her voice quiver. Home. The home she grew up in. The one her husband died in to give them the chance to live.

Jack’s mind raced. He had to get her mind off home. He so wanted to erase the pained look in her eyes. Then a thought struck him. He couldn’t eliminate her pain yet–he’d work on that–but he had something else in mind. Reaching into his saddlebag, he felt the contents and then pulled out one of the items.

“Here, try this,” he said, handing her a baked square of flour that felt like a stone.

“What is this?” She turned it, testing its hardness in her fingers, her brows knitting together.

“Army-issued hardtack,” he replied. “All soldiers receive a ration of it. It’s hard as nails and not easy eating, but it may be good for the boy to gnaw on.”

Somewhat reluctantly, she turned and gave the hardtack to Tilly. They watched her rub it along the baby’s lips, and he stopped wailing as his mouth clamped onto a corner. They laughed.

Jack’s gaze slid back to Emma. She nodded her gratitude. Hardtack. He snorted. He wanted to give her so much more.

#

“Come on,” Jack whispered softly in Emma’s ear in the morning. “If we get moving, we should be at the Parker’s by afternoon.”

Throughout the day, the cold air nipped at her ears, but she was almost numb to it. Her father’s mind had been drifting for days. He remained mostly silent but periodically rambled about Rose Hill and the field hands or her brother, who he sometimes called Jack Charles. At times, she was Caroline to him.

On the other hand, offering hardtack to Nathan had been a brilliant way to reduce his discomfort and give all of them some peace. Although he gnawed on it for hours at a time, it barely showed any signs of wear.

Around them, fields and homes had been destroyed for as far as the eye could see. Jack shoved his hat further down on his head. At first, Emma thought it was to block the wind until she realized he was trying to conceal his face better. The land was crawling with federals. Their small party didn’t linger or stop, and he didn’t talk except to urge them forward.

The skies finally opened, raining sleet on the weary travelers. The ice pellets felt like pinpricks on her face and she shuddered. Behind her, Tilly set Nathan down and hauled out the canvas flap to raise it above their heads, though because the sleet fell at a slant, the flap didn’t shield them much.

“There,” Jack yelled above the wind, pointing down a muddied lane.

She turned. A large two-storied house sat perched on a hill. Smoke came from the chimney. She smiled at him.

As they drew closer, Jack glanced at her and then darted to the house. She watched him knock on the door. It had to be the Parker residence. Heavens, she was freezing, the chill reaching inside her bones. No one behind her had uttered a sound. The last time she had looked, Tilly was sitting on her father’s lap, with Nathan in her arms and a big wool blanket wrapped around them.

Standing on the porch, Jack talked to the man who had answered his knock.

She snapped the reins on Petey’s back and the older stallion picked up his hooves, moving at a faster pace.

When Emma reached the house, Jack helped her from the seat just as the sleet began changing to snow.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her cheek. “Come meet the Parkers.”

His greeting startled her. The endearment and kiss were unexpected, but the look in his eyes silently bid her to play along. After she took Nathan from Tilly, Jack slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the porch.

“Mrs. Fontaine, so glad you are here. Dr. Spencer is an old family friend. We’re more than happy to have you stay here and rest.” The older woman who greeted her, Mrs. Parker, led Emma by the arm. “I’m Patricia Parker. Do come inside.”

Emma could have melted when she walked into the house. Warmth from the fireplace permeated the home. She smelled the burning wood and the stew cooking over the flames, and her stomach growled.                                     

Patricia chuckled. “I bet you’re hungry. And the little one?”

Nathan gurgled as Patricia took him from Emma. “I daresay, he does look like you. What pretty green eyes. Just like your husband’s.” Emma swallowed the knot in her throat and pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, just like Jack’s.” Oh dear, he must have told them they were married. It was the only logical assumption but a lie nonetheless. And what would her father say about that? Would he play along? She strongly doubted it. These people needed to know the truth before they were deceived any further. Just as she opened her mouth, a male voice sounded over her shoulder.

“Why yes, they’re as green as mine,” Jack replied.

They laughed, which eased the tension, but it sounded hollow to Emma’s ears.

“Well, we’re glad to have you,” Franklin Parker stated, carrying in a small trunk. “Here, follow me.”

Franklin took them to the first room on the right upstairs. Setting down the trunk, he stated, “This is your room. Your father will have the one next door. I’ll put your slave with ours. After everyone gets settled, we’ll all eat.” He left them.

Emma glanced around the room. It was small, with only a double bed, a single table, and one set of drawers, but even that small amount of furniture made the room seem crowded. The bed loomed big before her.

“I had to tell them we’re married,” Jack stated blandly. “They don’t have room to spread us out, nor did they think they’d have to, travelling as we are.”

Her eyes fixated on the bed. “We, we can’t.” To sleep against him while outside, fighting the cold, fully dressed and around everyone else had been safe. There, the two of them would be alone in a bed, and that was not safe. Her stomach flipped. “I’m in mourning. I can’t do this.”

She watched his eyes, those beautiful green eyes, turn cold. Colder than the ice outside. “There is no choice. I’d rather sleep with the horses but can’t; therefore, you’ll have to put up with me.” He threw on his jacket again, saying “In fact, I need to take care of them so we can leave tomorrow. Or you could tell them I’m a deserter and your widowed brother-in-law, not your husband, in which case, we’d have to leave tonight.”

He stood there, glaring at her. She shook her head and with a snort, he left the room.

She collapsed on the floor, fighting tears of frustration and anger. Why had he said that? Had he lied to the Parkers just so he could bed her? Billy’s words echoed in her head—that Jack could get her with child. Was that why Jack was escorting them to his parents’ home? Only to bed her and leave her? She wanted more than that from him, had always wanted more until Caroline had stolen Jack from her.

Now she could have what she had always dreamed of, to be with Jack. But would she be happy after all? She raised her head and silently screamed in frustration.

Eventual victory must be yours, as far as man can judge. But at how terrible a cost?
Look this well in the face! That of extermination…Let the South go.”

—Archer Gurney, Paris, France, in a May 24, 1861, letter to the editor,
New York
Times

Chapter Twenty-Two

East Tennessee, December 1862

Dinner at the Parker residence, consisting of beef stew and bread, was more than she’d eaten in a long time. And there was ample laughter, a simple delight that had been in short supply as well.

Her father actually acted like the gentleman she’d always known. Conversation flowed with no mishaps and no mistaken names. It helped that many of the subjects were about years long before the bloodshed, before lives were lost and homes destroyed.

Emma enjoyed herself for the first time in ages. They had baths prepared for her and Nathan and she assumed for her father and Jack, given their appearance at the table. A bath…it was a luxury she would never take for granted again.

Another sip of wine, though, and she’d be asleep at the table.
What scandal!
She giggled at the thought. Travelling the countryside with an unrelated man, a slave and her senile father was enough to raise eyebrows in itself. But their hosts were unaware of the impropriety because Jack had told them a tale about his marriage to Emma and about their son. She was seized by the thought that what he said was the way it should have been, before Caroline changed everything.

Yet, she should not forget Billy, who had made the ultimate sacrifice to save her. She put down the wine glass as her thoughts strayed, causing her to miss the last part of the ongoing conversation.

Jack stared at her with his emerald eyes. Had they deepened in color because of the wine or because of his desire for her? She prayed it was the first reason, but because she didn’t have a friendly relationship with God, she feared it was the latter.

“My lovely wife and I thank you for your hospitality,” Jack said, rising from his chair and coming around to her. Easing her chair back, he cupped her elbow. “We’ve had a long trip, with much more ahead of us, so we bid you good night.”

She blinked, feeling slightly lightheaded and was glad for his support. With a smile, she added, “Lovely meal. Thank you.”

“But of course, my dear,” Patricia replied warmly. “You look tired. Go get some rest.”

“We will.” Jack directed her to the stairs. “John Henry?”

Her father chuckled. She thought he sounded better, more like his old self, and she was thankful for that.

“I do think I’ll be up shortly, my boy.”

On the first step, Emma lost her balance. Jack caught her, scooping her up, and her head fell against his chest. She heard a low rumble and knew he was laughing at her. She wanted to protest but didn’t have the strength. How much wine had she drunk? Wrapped in his warm arms, she dismissed the question and allowed herself to relax.

Closing the door behind them, Jack walked to the bed and set her down near it. She stumbled and giggled as he caught her again. She gazed at him from hooded eyes. He was so handsome. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek.

He gave her a low chuckle and drew her hand down. “Let’s get you into bed.”

She tilted her head. “What if...”

“Shhh,” he whispered.

With a frown, she was going to try asking again but then felt his nimble fingers undoing the buttons on her bodice. She felt the pull of the placket as he skimmed down to her waist and reached to undo her cuffs.

At the ties to her crinoline, he paused. “Why did you bring this contraption?”

“A proper lady wouldn’t leave home without it,” she murmured as he plucked the tie free, as well as the ties for the over and under petticoats.

With the ease of a practiced rake, he pushed her bodice off her shoulders and arms to let the dress and undergarments fall to the floor. “Well, it should be left here.”

She bent her head to look down at herself. Standing before him in only her chemise, corset, pantalets and stockings, instead of being chilled, she felt warmth spread through her. Her blood raced as the thudding of her heart grew faster. Desire pooled inside her, coiling in her lower stomach.

He reached for the tie on her corset lacings and yanked them free. Placing his hands on her waist, he pushed in and the busk hooks unsnapped. With a grin of accomplishment, he peeled the garment away from her.

Feet frozen to the floor, she felt fully exposed even though she still wore her chemise and pantalets. When his hands reached under her pantalets, releasing the garters and rolling down her stockings, she plopped back onto the mattress.

The fire of his fingers on her bare calves had given her chills. Her toes curled. As he stood up from kneeling before her, she bit her bottom lip, embarrassed. He watched her mouth. She wished she could stop biting her lip, but it took a long time for the commands from her wine-sodden brain to register.

He gently placed her bare feet on top of the mattress. It was soft and warm from the fire, but she was bereft without him. She whimpered when he went to put her clothes across the tabletop.

“Jack,” she called.

His brows furrowed as he shook his head and pointed to the dresser drawer sitting on the floor. It was Nathan’s makeshift bed. She blinked, trying hard to focus through the wine haze. The babe was deep asleep on the soft sheeting. It must have felt so much better than the wool he’d slept on for the past month or so.

“Be quiet, sweetling,” he whispered. “Let the babe sleep.”

He returned to her side but remained standing.

“And you? Will you sleep?”

A faint smile crossed his face.

“Sleep, Emma,” he murmured softly, close to her ear, and he kissed her forehead. Tucking the comforter around her, he turned away.

“Jack.” She reached for him. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded. She wanted him next to her, to hold her.

He looked at her, not moving, deep in thought. He’d held her every night for the past week after it had turned cold. And he’d told the Parkers they were married, so they now shared a room. Surely, he wouldn’t reject her now.

Fear and embarrassment collided within her, the heaviness of his denial growing with each second that passed. The room wobbled before her as she tried to remain awake.

Suddenly, she heard his reply. It was a heavy sigh, resignation or regret, she didn’t know which. She struggled to focus as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his trousers after removing his boots and stockings. The only thing remaining was his drawers. He padded to the opposite side of the bed. It dipped as he slid beneath the covers. He drew her close and spooned against her back as they’d done when sleeping outside.

“Now it’s time to sleep, Emma,” he murmured into her ear, his voice vibrating against her bare neck. Relaxing completely, she slipped into oblivion.

#

It had been a bad idea, a very bad idea. When Emma nestled next to him, Jack thought his body would explode. Clad only in her chemise and pantalets, she molded her body to his. He could feel her softness and the growing heat inside himself. She snuggled within his embrace, her buttocks against his hardened shaft, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. With his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer still, brushing her breast with his hand.

He would have sworn she moaned in her sleep as he touched her. He was a damned jackass for doing it, but he wanted her badly. It had been way too long since he’d been with a woman. But he desired Emma alone. Only she could quench the fire that burned inside him. It’d be so easy to just lift her chemise and hips, to enter her through the split in her pantalets.

That thought made him release her from his tight embrace. It was utter madness. He wouldn’t take her, not like that. What was he thinking, what had he become? When she sighed and shivered, it sent another bolt of desire through him. Memories of her in the stream, wearing little more than what she was now wearing, returned full force. The taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft skin. He wanted it again and more. Fire raged through him, coiling down his chest to his belly and tightening hard below. Damn!

He wanted to get up but didn’t. Where would he go? Nowhere. Desperately he tried to distract himself by thinking about the war, the men he’d left behind. He even tried to conjure images of the blood and hell of the battlefield.

It was going to be a long night.

He shut his eyes, and sleep finally came.

Drifting through the haze of slumber, he found himself on a battlefield. Where it was, he didn’t know. Did it really matter?

Amid the smoke of gunpowder, he heard the orders. Advance. He sent the command down the line and heard the clanking of metal and leather as weapons were hoisted and positioned, ready to fire as the enemy came forward. The air filled with the streaking sound of cannonballs and grapeshot. Bullets whizzed between men, a few hitting their mark in flesh, unleashing howls of pain from the victims. The screeching and the reek of sulfur, burnt wood, fouled bodies and death was terrible to hear and smell.

He focused on the line before him, not knowing or caring whose it was. Across the field were other men, following their commanders to their deaths, like him and his troops. For what reasons, it didn’t matter. Just move forward, aim, shoot, reload, go forward again. Half the men before his command dropped like flies at the next onslaught, and as his troops stepped over their bleeding bodies, he noted they all looked like Rathborne. Odd, really…

“Ready. Aim. Fire!” he yelled. They all followed his command, and as he turned to see the results, Charles Silvers stood there, his gun pointed at Jack just as a Union bullet hit between his eyes…blood, blood everywhere…

“Jack!”

He was shaking. Shaking hard. No, he was being shaken. The scene in his head dissipated. Charles’ bloody body scattered with the smoke.

“Jack!”

A woman’s voice. On the battlefield?

Someone was hitting his arm. He could hear her voice. Emma. Emma? His eyes flew open.

“Emma? What? What’s wrong?” He blinked, trying to clear the haze. Around him was a room, dimly lit by the weak flames in the fireplace. He was not on the battlefield. This wasn’t a hospital. Relief washed through him. The Parker’s.

“You were yelling, Jack,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice low. She ran her hands over his forehead and cheeks. “You’re perspiring.”

“Sweat, Emma, it’s sweat,” he muttered. “Only women would refer to it as perspiring. I dreamt I was on the battlefield, all the blood…” A shudder passed through him.

“There’s no war here,” she said soothingly, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “No blood.” She kissed the corner of his mouth.

Lust returned to him as her lips touched his skin and her breasts smashed against his shoulder and arm. With a savage moan, he turned to her, pressing his lips against hers, his tongue tracing the seam between her lips. She parted them and he invaded her mouth, seeking, taking possession. Her tongue danced with his and sought to enter his mouth, exploring.

He eased her back down, caressing her neck with his lips, then cupping her breast. Squeezing lightly, he scraped his thumbnail across her hardened nipple. She moaned into his mouth, almost unraveling him. He needed to touch her skin, not the fabric covering it. He fisted the chemise up and slipped his fingers beneath and fondled her again.

“Emma,” he groaned, nibbling her neck.

Her hand threaded through his hair, not tightly, but she didn’t let go either as his mouth travelled to the nipple he had flicked. His lips surrounded it, devouring the nub and he suckled, tugging on the tip till she arched her shoulders, pushing herself to him. He released her and his tongue blazed a trail to her other breast. She quivered beneath him and he smiled as his tongue swirled around the hard pearl before he pulled it in, his teeth scraping it. At her mewl, he laved the sting away.

“Jack,” she whispered, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

His hand wandered over her flat stomach and he vaguely noticed the gap at the waistband to the pantalets. She was too thin. His fingers traced between the split in her leggings, over her curls to her nether lips. He heard her gulp for air as he fingered between the folds of her wet and swollen flesh. He suckled harder as he slipped a finger inside her. She was soaking, ready for him. His manhood throbbed when he put a second finger in and withdrew it, only to slide it back in again.

She groaned, her back arched and her thighs parted more. He released her breast and kissed the valley between them as he positioned himself between her legs. With a glance up, he saw her eyes darken as her lips parted and she licked her bottom lip before tugging at it with her teeth. He watched her eyes as his fingers entered her slickness again, and her lids lowered as a moan escaped her.

He wanted her. She wanted him. It would be so easy. His shaft was at her weeping lower lips, and his body thrummed. He raised his hips to descend and enter her when everything stopped as the baby wailed.