The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (29 page)

She went into the other room. The flames were low and would be nothing but embers by morning. When sharing Jack’s warmth, Emma could sleep. Quietly, she removed her dress and corset to slide in behind him. A sob escaped her before she could stop it.

He turned toward her. “Emma,” he whispered, caressing her cheek with his hand.

She couldn’t move. He must have been dreaming. Had to be. He was using his left hand.

Jack’s emerald eyes stared at her. They grew darker as the moments passed. He brushed her lips with his, then pressed harder. She closed her eyes. If it was a dream, she was the one dreaming.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, pushing at them for access. How could she deny what she so badly wanted? Her lips parted and he invaded her mouth, searching, exploring, his tongue dancing with hers. He hummed in her mouth and she relaxed.

Jack held her in his bare arms, and, under the cover, his skin rubbed against her petticoat. His hand skimmed down her neck to her chest. He cradled her breast in the palm, pinching the nipple with his fingers. She groaned in his mouth, arching her back toward him and felt his smile against her lips.

He grasped her petticoat and pulled it up. She shrugged, and he freed her of it. “Oh, Emma,” he sighed as his lips traced down her neck to her breast. His tongue swirled around her pearled nub. Lips engulfing it, he suckled, his teeth grazing the nub before he nipped it. She inhaled sharply as her excitement grew. He laved the tender nub with his tongue and nipped it again.

Desire pooled between Emma’s legs as his hardened arousal pressed against her stomach. Her split pantalets became damp.

Jack laid her on her back and lifted himself above her, his hips between her thighs.

“Your arm…”

“Is fine,” he murmured against her stomach before kissing it. His tongue dipped into her navel and then went to the waist of her undergarment. Jack glanced up at her, a wicked gleam in his eye as his hands reached around to her back, releasing the button. Rocking back on his knees, he pulled the pantalets off and tossed them onto the floor. Her stockings went next.

Jack looked at Emma with a lazy smile, his gaze roving over her nude body.

She bit her lip, embarrassed, but it didn’t last long. On his knees before her, he was like a Greek statue, muscles defined and sculpted. And his member was thick, hardened with arousal.

Lowering himself between Emma’s legs, Jack kissed the inside of her thigh, and she nearly leapt off the bed. He chuckled as his left hand splayed over her stomach, holding her down. He kissed her other thigh on the inside. The apex of her thighs turned to liquid, her lower lips heavy. Jack kissed them and she shivered at the feel. When his tongue slipped between them, her hips lowered instinctively. Slowly, he licked, up to the nub at the top and back again. Then he suckled her mound until her hips swayed. Finally his tongue delved deep inside her core.

It was the most intense feeling she had experienced since he had been inside her. Her excitement grew as Jack inserted a finger, then two. They slid in and out as he suckled again. Emma gasped for breath. Her mouth went dry. Her hips rose and spread. When he fingered her again, she felt the sky explode into a million pieces. Wave after wave washed through her, intensifying as his mouth replaced his fingers and he lapped at her. Slowly Jack brought Emma back down, but she still panted uncontrollably beneath him.

He rose up, smiling deviously.

“You are wicked,” she managed to gasp.

He grinned as he kissed her lips and slid his hardness into her soaking sheath.

She gasped again as he lifted his head to look at her. Eyes locked on hers, he withdrew and plunged back in. She clung to him, her hips meeting his thrusts. She reached to kiss him but he shook his head.

“I want to see your eyes when you climax,” he whispered.

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Every time he entered her, she felt him nudging at her womb. She wanted him to go even deeper. She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting and withdrawing in rhythm with him. Her body hummed, the pressure building again. She saw Jack clench his jaw, his eyes narrow and darken, his lips thin as he plunged faster and faster.

Emma writhed beneath him as the stars exploded again. She groaned and felt Jack thrust harder, lifting her hips as a strangled moan escaped him and his seed filled her. Then he collapsed onto her. Sated, Emma felt a wave of happiness settle over her, the heat of their lovemaking and his body protecting her from the cool air.

The click of a gun’s hammer jerked them back to the real world.

“Get off her, you son of a bitch.” 

We have been grossly cheated by the North and I would rather that every soul of us would be exterminated than we should be allied to her again.

—South Carolina Secessionist T.H. Spann, Letter to Annie Spann, January 27, 1861

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jack tensed. Still inside Emma, he shielded her nudity after hearing the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. He shut his eyes. It was John Henry, and he had the Le Mat. How had he gotten hold of it after all they’d done to keep him away from the firearms? One day, maybe today, the man would kill him.

Jack’s wound ached. Slowly he turned and got off the bed, pulling up the blanket to cover Emma.

“John Henry…”

“How dare you? You’re married! To her sister!” Enraged, the man sputtered like lava from an erupting volcano. His eyes bore holes into Jack as he raised the revolver level with Jack’s chest.

Emma leapt up, holding the blanket in front of her. “Daddy, stop!”

“Get dressed,” her father ordered her, never taking his eyes from Jack. “You Yankee-loving scalawag. She’s not even done mourning, but you couldn’t keep your filthy hands off her. I oughta send you straight to the Devil.”

Jack carefully reached for his trousers and put them on. His arm stiffened with pain. The old man would have been justified in killing him. “Sir, I know this doesn’t look good…”

“Damn right it don’t!”

“Daddy, please,” Emma interjected again.

“If she carries your bastard…”

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through Jack’s mind. Emma. His son. He had to protect them, get them out of the war zone. If John Henry finally fulfilled his threat and shot Jack dead, they’d be even worse off than before. Jack said the only thing he could think of to save them–even if it meant losing Emma.
Damn!

“Then it would be Billy’s son,” he said flatly.

#

Emma’s heart sank. Jack had just made love to her. Surely, he didn’t mean what he’d just said.

“You’re damn right, I won’t have no stinkin’ Fed in our family, no sir,” John Henry spat. “Bad enough you seduced my darling Caroline, who was easily persuaded. But my Emma’s too smart for that. I’m figuring you must have promised her something…”

“No sir, I didn’t.”

Emma’s eyes blurred, and she clenched the blanket tight to stop from trembling. Caroline easily persuaded? She’d laugh out loud if her father hadn’t just stated that she, Emma, was too smart to fall for such a thing. Too smart or too plain to be seduced–was that what he really meant? Once again, even from the grave, Caroline had come out ahead.

No matter now. The pain in Emma’s heart was because Jack had denied promising her anything. And the truth was, he hadn’t. Not marriage, not love, nothing. But many men would have married again to help raise a child, and Nathan was motherless. In Jack’s absence, Emma had replaced Caroline as Nathan’s mother–a responsibility she had accepted without hesitation because she loved the boy. She also loved his father. Yet Jack still had no intention of marrying her apparently.

She wanted to retch, but anger and pride kept her from doing so.

“No, daddy, he’s right,” she said, tamping down her emotions. “He’s promised me nothing. A Yankee, through and through. Nothing but to get us safely to his folks, remember?” She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and padded barefoot to her father, holding out her hand to him. “Caroline’s no longer with us, daddy. She’s gone to heaven. But there’s the baby, little Nathan,” she lowered her voice, focusing on John Henry and refusing to look at Jack.

“Baby?” Her father asked.

She smiled weakly at him, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. He looked lost and scared. It was exactly how Emma felt. She bit hard on the swollen flesh of her bottom lip, the lip that was swollen from Jack’s kisses.

“We have to leave, to get to Jack’s father’s before the Yankees find us.”

Her father scowled. “Yes, but he’s one of them.”

Her lips trembled, losing the battle to keep smiling. “But he’s the only one who can get us there. Then he’ll leave.”

John Henry looked beyond her. She had no idea what Jack was doing, and she swore to herself that she didn’t care. Her father finally gave her the gun.

Tilly was at the doorway, and, at Emma’s nod, the slave went to her father. She took his arm. “Massa, you be needin’ to come wit me.” Turning, they left the room.

Silence prevailed. She heard Jack dressing behind her as she hugged the weapon to her breasts. Despite her desperate attempt to steel herself against this Union deserter, her heart wept.

“I’ll go,” he said softly, leaving her in the room. Alone.

Bereft, she sank to the floor and stared at nothing.

#

Nature’s hint of an early spring had disappeared quickly by morning. Icy air and clouds had moved in and frost covered the ground. The cold seeped through the clapboards, matching the cold in Emma’s heart. She’d remained on the floor, tears streaming down her face, for what seemed like hours. She had only the blanket wrapped around her naked body and could feel her own dampness mixed with Jack’s as she rocked on the floor, her world in shambles.

Emma had repeatedly given Jack her heart only to have him throw it away time and again. She was glad she had never said she loved him, although he must have known how she felt. Why else would she have risked everything to save him from the battlefield? Or to brazenly tell him that night in the field that she wanted him? She had given herself to him, but now her skin crawled where he had touched her. He had betrayed her again.

Jack hadn’t returned to the cabin that night, but she doubted he’d left them. After all, he had his son to consider. Her loving nephew needed a mother. That would be Emma’s job until Jack remarried.

Emma vaguely realized Tilly was there. The slave had said nothing but helped her to her feet. She gently wiped Emma’s body with a wet cloth, as though she knew Emma wanted to be cleansed of Jack. Without a word, she helped Emma dress and brushed out her tangled hair as she huddled before the fireplace.

A cry from Nathan interrupted the peace that had finally settled on Emma under Tilly’s aid. Her own little world might have stopped, but life went on and the baby was hungry. Tilly left to take care of him. Emma swallowed her wounded pride and stood, shoulders back. She had family to care for and chores to tend. She erased Jack from her mind and, she hoped, from her heart as well.

#

Jack cursed again when his boot slipped on the slick frost. He was cold and his shoulder hurt to high heaven, but he deserved it. After leaving Emma the previous night, he had joined the horses under the eaves of the shanty. Wearing his wool pants and jacket and covered with saddle blankets, he had sat there sleepless, damning himself for hurting Emma again.

He had dismissed her on purpose and taken no responsibility for his actions. He had convinced himself she still mourned the man she had married and maybe even loved. But he had never been able to fight his attraction to her. And after she’d saved him from certain death at the hands of the field surgeons…Ensuring her safety, telling her he loved her and marrying her were what he should have done instead of taking her in the same small cabin where her unpredictable and sometimes violent father stayed.

Damn
. Once more, it hit him hard–he was no good for her.

The smell of coffee and pork fat frying, a rare treat, wafted his way, making his stomach grumble and interrupting his self-loathing. If he could smell those things, anyone else nearby could, too, but he simply sat there, savoring it instead. Not that he’d get any of it anyway. He hadn’t the strength to face Emma. God knew he deserved her wrath, and he’d leave her if it wasn’t for Nathan.

The cabin door opened and Tilly came out with his tin Army plate, covered with a rag, and a cup of steaming coffee. Surprised, he stood and went to meet her.

“Massa Jack.” She handed him the plate.

He took it but asked, “How’s she doing?”
Damn
, his voice sounded shaky.

The slave shrugged. “She be doin’.” She turned away but came back. Her voice dropped though no one else was close enough to hear her. “Massa, I’s can make her some tonic ta make sure there ain’t no babe, if’n you want.”

He stood there, breathless, barely aware of the heat from the tin plate in his hand. He wasn’t especially surprised by what Tilly had said. The slave community on his father’s land had many recipes, probably including one for aborting a child.

A wife and children were things he hadn’t wanted until he’d met Emma. But then he spoiled his chance with her as he fell into Caroline’s trap. Nathan’s birth had resulted in a responsibility he could not ignore.

With a war raging, however, it would be foolish to marry again and to have more children. But Emma wanted a child. Billy had asked him to give her one. He strongly doubted she’d want to bear his child now, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept Tilly’s offer. He just stared at her.

#

Emma watched through the window as Tilly took food to Jack. She wanted to wipe the smile from his face as he took the plate. The slave said something to him, and she watched him bend his head to hear her better. When they finished talking, Tilly nodded and turned with a spring in her step.

What had she said? Did he want Tilly too? The thought of Jack caressing another woman, holding her, kissing her, sliding into her, made Emma cringe. In fact, she thought she would be ill.

“Emma, honey, are you all right?”

She blinked rapidly, willing her mind to rid it of thoughts of Jack as she pasted a smile on her face. “Of course, daddy.”

John Henry sat at the small table and frowned, assessing her.

Nathan. That sweet happy boy played on the floor with his blocks, chirping quietly.

“Well, get yourself something to eat.”

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the mention of food. “Later.” Her voice was on the verge of cracking. John Henry nodded.

Later never came.

#

Emma woke with a start the next day. Despite the dirt on the window, weak morning sun poured into the room, but something else had awakened her. She sat up and yawned. As her eyes focused, she saw there was a strong fire thanks to a sturdy stack of wood. It should have dwindled during the night. Her brows knitted. Jack. He must have been there.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she straightened up. With her heart still in tatters, somehow she had to rise and see about Nathan. She heard the child’s giggle through the door, and anxiety gripped her. What if Jack was still there? How should she act?

As she went into the other room, she found Jack on the floor, playing with his son.

He looked up and gave her a lopsided grin. “Good morning.”

Her gaze devoured him like a starving dog devoured its dinner. His emerald eyes sparkled, reflecting the flames in the fireplace. Dressed in his navy wool pants and white shirtsleeves, his long legs were stretched out before him. He balanced Nathan’s feet on his thighs as he held the child upright. The babe gurgled, a drooling smile stretched across his face.

“Oh, my, let me take him,” she said, grabbing the linen piece off the table and scooping up the boy to blot his mouth.

Jack studied her as he stood. The grin was gone, leaving him looking pensive, as though he was unsure of himself. But it disappeared so quickly, Emma wasn’t sure she’d really seen it. He grabbed his sack coat off the chair, his eyes never leaving her.

Tilly stopped stirring the pot that hung above the flames and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Here, missy,” she said softly, holding out her arms.

Emma felt her face heating. The boy was her defense against Jack and she hated to give him to Tilly, but the child began to fidget in her arms. He was hungry. She handed him to the slave. Tilly took Nathan, cooing at him as she unbuttoned her bodice. Emma heard her talking to the babe, but she kept her eyes on Jack.

“I’ll go get more wood and something more substantial for breakfast,” he said, picking up the rifle and shoving the revolver into his waistband. “John Henry, I could use some help.”

Her father glanced up at hearing his name. For the most part, he had remained quiet, lost in his own little world, except for the momentary breaks in his melancholy. Moments when he remembered everything that had happened more than five years ago, even though he couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for breakfast only hours earlier. Unfortunately, sometimes when the melancholy left him, anger took its place. No cause or reason could be determined. But now, he was more congenial and picked up his jacket to follow Jack.

Absently, Emma watched them walk into the woods and disappear among the trees. She shuddered as a chill swept through her. Something felt wrong but what it was, she didn’t know.

#