No Greater Glory Page 11

  “Give me something to write with, Christopher.”

  The courier complied and pulled out a dispatch book and pencil from his satchel and handed over the items. Reece scrawled his response as he spoke. “Tell Colonel Adams to move the brigade back across the river and set up camp. I’ve been summoned to Falmouth for a meeting and I’ll be back as soon as possible. Here are the orders I want you to give him.” Reece ripped away the correspondence from the leather binder and then shoved both items back to the waiting hands of his courier.

  The man nodded, pushed aside the canvas flap, and then disappeared from view. Disheartened that the infantry could not break the Fredericksburg defenses, and even more frustrated that so many of his men had now died in vain, Reece needed a target to vent his anger.

  He turned to face Emaline and found one. “You’re finished here,” he snapped.

  “I can’t leave, now. Doc needs me—”

  “We’ve been ordered to pull back.”

  She crossed to him and rested her hand on his arm. “But, these men can’t be moved.”

  “They’ll all be moving, and quick.” Reece knocked aside the canvas flap and stepped from the tent, pulling her with him until they reached the huge campfire in the center of the encampment.

  He stopped a passing soldier. “Saddle my horse and one other and bring them back to me.” The private nodded and rushed off to fulfill the command. Reece shifted his weight and turned back to face her. “Take a good look around. This is war, and neither side is spared.”

  Her chin lifted. “I’m not afraid to face this.”

  “I’m afraid for you.” He pulled on his gauntlets. “You’re through with involvement.”

  “You’re a bit too late, Colonel. I’ve been involved ever since you rode into my life.” Firelight illuminated the moisture glistening in her eyes. “How can you act so calloused? Don’t these deaths bother you?”

  “Does death bother me?” A wicked laugh ground from his lips. “Good God, woman, death nearly destroyed me!” In a valiant effort, Reece searched his memory for his wife but could only recall a hazy, obscure image. In her place stood this hellion, an unprimed rifle pointing at him. This angel bandaging his soldiers and crying oceans of tears for the dead. This bewitching, bewildering woman wrapped in his arms, her intoxicating taste forevermore burned into memory. The muscles in his throat tightened and he issued a guttural curse.

  He didn’t want to care about her.

  The wrangler rushed into view leading two horses. Beside him, the colonel’s aide-de-camp followed.

  “Sir, I understand we’ve been called to Falmouth to meet with the general, is this correct?”

  Reece stalked over, retrieved the reins from the soldier, and then turned to face his young aide. “Yes, the infantry’s assault on Fredericksburg failed. The general has called for a strategy meeting with his brigade commanders to decide their next move.” Putting his boot into the stirrup, Reece pulled up onto Saguaro’s back. The leather creaking, he settled himself into the saddle. Once mounted, he continued, “I’ve placed Colonel Adams in temporary command. I want you to take a detail of men and head to Falmouth. Get started on the resupplies for our brigade. In the meantime, I’m escorting Mrs. McDaniels back to her plantation, but I’ll meet up with you later tonight in town.” Turning back to the wrangler, he ordered, “Help her mount up.”

  Emaline didn’t budge from her position on the opposite side of the campfire even though the soldier waited beside the Morgan to assist her.

  Reece fixed her with a sharp glare and pointed to the animal. “Get on. You’re ridin’ with me.”

  Her hands curled into fists and then rose to her hips. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying here to help Doc.”

  Reece glowered down at her across the flickering flames. “Get on the horse, Emaline.”

  “No.” The campfire’s light reflected the determination in her eyes.

  Reece straightened, his breath sliding out in a slow exhale.

  He noticed the bodies of a dozen soldiers lying near the medical tent. Arranged in two respectful lines, they looked as if they were napping. His gaze tracked back to hers and he stared at the barely perceptible clench in her jaw.

  “I’m finished playing games with you. Climb up on that damn horse right now or you’ll be straddling mine.”

  Without another word, she spun on her heel and stomped to the other Morgan.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brennen slipped from behind the stable.

  Evidence of a recent Federal occupation marred Shapinsay’s rutted grounds. An upturned wagon lay in a broken heap near the hen houses, and off to his far right, hundreds of small piles of hay littered the ground, outlining the remains of company streets. Nothing stirred inside the mansion, as near as he could tell. A grimace creased his face and he staggered toward the back of the house.

  Are all the slaves gone too?

  Furrowed ruts gouged the ground and Brennen fixated on placing one foot in front of the other. A bracing wind whipped the area and sent a shiver through him. Did he catch a flicker of candlelight spilling from one of the empty shanties? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

  A fever held him fast in its grip and he wasn’t sure of anything now.

  Brennen tripped up the back steps and slumped against the square column. Blood-slickened hands wrapped the post for support. He gulped in air. Soaked in perspiration, his shirt clung to him as lovers in his past used to do. Another bone-jarring shudder ripped through him. He squeezed his eyes against the pain and shoved from the post.

  The back door loomed into view.

  Under the darkened overhang of the porch, the oppressive shadows stole his bearing. He didn’t see the bucket that stood in the way of his immediate goal until his foot slammed into the upturned pail, rupturing the silence and sending an ear-shattering clatter into the night.

  Brennen propelled forward in frantic, shuffling footsteps. His hands flailed outward in desperation seeking any handhold. Seconds later, he slammed into the brick wall beside the door. The impact forced breath from his lungs in a pain-filled whoosh of air. Each frantic heartbeat that pummeled his chest brought the blackness ever closer. Death’s embrace waited, taunting Brennen with a wretched, metallic scent of blood.

  He lowered a shaking hand to the doorknob and the metal’s icy bite met his fingertips. Sweat coursed down his face, the salty moisture leaching into the corners of his parched mouth. A deep inhalation supplied him just enough stamina to shove open the door.

  With the last of his strength, Brennen fell through the opening…and straight into someone’s waiting arms.

  The horses methodically plodded through the night.

  Overhead, dappled moonlight shimmered in streaks through the canopy of branches. A brisk wind rattled bare limbs. Emaline tried to ignore the exhaustion that permeated her bones. She pulled the collar of her cape closer around her ears and stared at the hulking silhouette of the man who led the way to the river.

  Heavy silence rode between them.

  His wordless animosity wrapped around her like an invisible tether. Emaline’s frustrations rose until she could no longer contain her words.

  “Why are you so angry with me?” Only the monotonous thudding of hooves against the mossy ground answered back. Emaline sighed, and then added, “I’ve done nothing wrong, Reece.”

  “I thought I left you back at the plantation.” Harsh and heavy, his words were a blow against her ears.

  “Doc asked for my help.”

  “He should’ve checked with me first. I’ll make certain he does in the future.”

  “But I wanted to help. I mean, since you got me the money and all.” She didn’t know how to thank him and felt overwhelmed for even feeling the need to do so.

  He straightened in the saddle, but refused to turn around. “That’s irrelevant.”

  Irritation coursed through Emaline. Her cheeks burned. “Irrelevant? Did it occur to you, even once, that I might’v
e wanted to see you before you rode away forever?” The truth flopped from her mouth and lay between them like so many fish on a riverbank. She refused to reel back her words. “Why didn’t you bring the money to me, yourself? You denied me the opportunity to…thank you.”

  He reined his horse to a stop. Her mount stopped, as well.

  Reece turned in his saddle and finally looked at her.

  “That’s right,” she continued, her voice rising above the gusting wind. “You just rode away, Reece. After all that’s happened between us, how could you just—”

  An ominous crack resonated above her head and stopped her flow of words. Simultaneously, they both glanced up.

  “Come here,” he ordered, still looking upward into the trees.

  Emaline nudged her horse forward, and then reined to a stop beside him. “What is it?” she whispered, scanning the ancient canopy of oaks and hickories.

  “Most likely the wind.” Concern darkened his features and the scowl across his face deepened. “I want you to ride up here with—”

  Another splintering crack preceded a portentous, swishing sound. Slivers of bark rained down upon them. A moment later, a massive limb crashed through the canopy and plummeted to the ground nearby with a heavy thud. Both horses reared in fright.

  Reece struggled to calm Saguaro, while helplessly watching as Emaline tried her best to contain her own mount. The wild-eyed beast beneath her reared again sitting back on its haunches. Emaline frantically sawed on the reins.

  Another branch fell through the canopy, this time striking across the rump of her Morgan. The horse shrieked in terror, nostrils snorting great, heaving spurts of air. Strong leg muscles bunched and brown eyes rolled back into its skull, exposing white. Then the beast’s forelegs hit the ground in a heavy thump.

  “Emaline!” Reece bellowed, lunging for the horse’s headstall in an attempt to contain the animal. He slapped a grip around the throatlatch, but the motion nearly wrenched him from the saddle. A nervous Saguaro sidestepped and Reece lost his hold on the strap. The Morgan surged past him, its hooves drumming over the mossy earth until the black morass of forest finally swallowed the sounds.

  The fall from the horse stole Emaline’s breath.

  Stunned from the impact, she lay gasping for air. Her shoulder throbbed where a low-hanging limb had swept her from the saddle moments before. The horse hadn’t bothered to stick around.

  Emaline rolled onto her stomach. Other than a few scratches, and the bruised place where she’d fallen, she didn’t think anything was broken. At least I landed on soft ground. She patted the bed of pine needles, and the crispness of balsam puffed upward.

  She lowered her forehead to her outstretched arms. How far into the forest had she come? Could Reece find her? Would he even try? His anger forced tears to well behind her lashes and she rolled onto her back again to stare up at the swaying pines. Caught by the wind, they whirled their ruffled limbs with a ballerina’s grace.

  A cloud skittered behind them, a puff of pulled cotton across the blackness of night.

  She blinked back the tears and packed her lungs with air.

  “Reece!” Her shout filled the forest, the echo of his name carried deep into the shadows. Exhaustion from her emotionally draining day compounded an irrational fear. Surely, he would look for her.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Twice more, she called for him, then strained to listen. She heard nothing. Her head lowered back to her arms.

  “Reece, where are you?” she whispered, fighting back a sob. Just as she started to push upward with her elbows, she heard the unmistakable chink of a bridle from a horse moving through the undergrowth.

  Aided by moonlight, Reece tracked through the forest, searching the bushes for any signs left by the runaway horse—a broken twig here, depressions in the mossy ground there. Reece missed nothing in his search for Emaline.

  And then, he heard his name. Frantic and frightened, the cry seized him, and an agonizing eternity later, he finally spotted her. Flat on her back on the forest floor, she resembled an offering to some woodland spirit.

  He reined Saguaro to a hard stop. In one fluid movement, he leapt from the saddle. His spurs chinked when he hit the ground. A quick tug on the leather ties behind the saddle’s cantle released a rolled-up blanket. Emaline pushed up to rest on her elbows when he dropped to a knee beside her. The gray wool drifted over her body.

  “I’m surprised you actually came for me,” she whispered.

  “Of course I would.” Reece tugged off his leather gauntlets and dropped them to the ground. “Did you think I’d just leave you out here?” She shrugged and he glanced down the length of blanket and back. “Is anything broken?”

  “Only my pride.”

  He worked to calm the staccato beat of his heart. “You’re lucky. You could’ve broken your neck.” He peered off into the darkness. “Looks like your horse kept running, damn fool beast.” Her sigh brought his gaze back and he saw the unshed tears that spiked her lashes.

  “I’m more than a handful, aren’t I?” she muttered, her mouth thinning.

  “A handful?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “No. You’re more like a damn bucketful of trouble.”

  “Well, you’re a hero—whether you want to be or not.” The nervous laugh that followed surprised Reece. He stared at the smile that touched her lips. Her gaze darted away, then slowly returned to his. “Riding after me like that, I mean that’s what heroes do.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  Her words taunted Reece, though, reaching deep inside until they wrenched apart the shell that covered his heart. The relief of finding her safe became lost under the mesmerizing truth—they were alone for the first time. Truly alone. No one and nothing could barge in on them. Not the war, nor his responsibilities. Not one dammed thing stood in the way of… He flexed his stomach muscles in a futile effort to refuse the intoxicating summons.

  “It’s idiotic, all of this,” he stated. “First you endanger yourself at the field hospital and now you barge through the forest in the dead of night. Good God, you’re just beggin’ to get hurt.” He scanned the area again, but saw no signs of the enemy, no dangers lurked. Nothing moved around them except the moon-drenched canopy of pines above their heads.

  And the escalating thumping in his chest.

  The aroma of evergreens melted his anger and burrowed into his lungs.

  All around him, unseen spirits seemed to whisper of new beginnings. His ribs ached from the forceful beat, each pound bringing him closer and closer to the unbelievable truth that he could actually care for someone again.

  Reece struggled against accepting what seemed to be the inevitable. “Do you think you can stand?”

  Only silence answered.

  He looked down. A moonbeam laid gossamer softness across Emaline’s head, illuminating her pale, oval face. In the depth of her eyes, the flicker of desire had returned.

  His breath caught in the back of his throat.

  “I will if you want me to,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his arm—just above the wound she’d so tenderly cared for back at the tent. “But I want to thank you first for giving me the voucher money. I never expected to see any of it.”

  His head tipped back and Reece inhaled, her soft, sweet words pushing into his soul. He stared at the arch of stars overhead. In one long exhale, he closed his eyes and finally surrendered to the all-consuming desire for this woman. The need poured into every cell in his parched soul as he welcomed back the passion.

  The feeling thickened and grew.

  And he allowed it.

  Reece lowered his head, and stared at her dark braid. Bits of weathered pine embedded the silken plait draped across her shoulder. He leaned close enough to smell her skin. Close enough to see the fluttering pulse in her throat where his thumb had caressed an hour before. Close enough to feel hope swelling beneath his band of loneliness.

  He pulled a pine needle from her hair and let it float from his fingers in
a swirl of silver to the ground. Beneath winged brows, her eyes widened, shimmering up at him.

  Before he could call them back, the god-awful truth fell from his lips. “I’d give you the world, if I could.”

  “Reece,” she said—his name a desperate plea that washed over him with all the warmth of summer. His hand wrapped her braid and he pulled hard enough to draw her into his arms.

  And then…she was there. “You should’ve stayed home,” he rasped against her lips, his breath ragged. And in the next moment, he covered her mouth with his. Heat blazed up his spine when she responded, wrapping her arms around him. Her fingers dug into the tautness that strained across his back. Like a madman driven by some unstoppable force, Reece swept her closer and deepened the kiss. Demanding from her, he won, and sent his tongue into her mouth in an insistent taste. A wildfire burned through him, unrestrained and forceful, pushing him to take what she offered, to lose himself inside her, to forget the horrors of war and the responsibilities of command that had so long controlled him. Where his hands stroked, she responded. Arching against him, she cried out for his touch. Their moans filled the forest, the taste of her skin igniting him. She pressed closer, her body demanding from him what he desired more than life…and knew he dared not give.

  The years of experience in divining truth amid lies, good against bad, reared its noble head, declaring even above his passion that taking Emaline McDaniels in this manner would be a tragic mistake.

  And if he didn’t stop this, he would end up making love to her. He knew this truth as clearly as he knew he wanted her. But how could he be so damned selfish? How could he use such a special woman and then simply walk away? And he would. He must. He had no right to bury himself inside her, to brand her his. She deserved so much more than this frantic coupling on the cold, hard ground.

  The control must come from him.

  Goddamnit…let her go.