No Greater Glory Page 12

  When the warmth of his mouth left hers, her disappointed gasp speared Reece to the core.

  His words twisted raw with torment. “We must stop, Emmy. Now.” He nipped the kiss-swollen lushness of her lips, salving his sorrow with the weight of his righteous words. But inside, he was dying all over again.

  She stared up at him, her eyes aglow with need. “But…I want you,” she brokenly whispered, her breath caressing his face.

  “And I you. But not here. Not like this.” He watched her tears slip in a silvery path down her face. Reece reached out and captured a precious drop with his fingertip. Bringing the sweetness to his mouth, he tasted the measure of her despair.

  She’s already suffered enough.

  He cupped her face between his palms. “What you’re offering is a priceless, precious gift. I won’t tarnish its value like this.” Her lashes fluttered shut and he cradled her against him, inhaling the fragrance of her hair.

  Her breathing slowed into a soft exchange of air and his heart twisted. Reece was loath to separate them, but finally did, drawing her to her feet. She swayed and then buried her head against his chest once more.

  I’m nobody’s damn hero… And certainly not hers.

  Chapter Twelve

  Euley emptied the basin of scarlet-stained water into the bucket. Behind her, a fire roared into life, dry tinder popping and crackling as the flames brought much-needed warmth to the room.

  Israel dumped his last armload of split logs into the copper bin beside the hearth and then brushed off the lingering bits of debris and wood shavings from his woolen jacket and forearms. He moved to the foot of the bed and slipped his fingers around the wood. Carved from the finest mahogany, the headboard and massive four-poster had been shipped all the way from South America to become Master Benjamin’s wedding bed. The rich wood grain now glowed under the splash of firelight. And at the center of the great berth, the feather-filled mattress cupped the sounds of ragged breathing.

  Emaline’s only sibling fought for his life.

  “I done all I can for him but I don’t know if he’ll make it,” Euley whispered. She offered a fragile smile to her husband.

  Concern etched the angular planes of the old man’s weather-beaten face. “He don’ look good, dat’s for sure.”

  “Well dat’s how a dyin’ man looks,” she complained, frustrated at the inability to do more for Miz Emaline’s brother. He’d been a gambler, a dandified rover, before the war, but Euley had always liked him. He possessed grit and determination and whenever he came for a visit, he never failed to compliment her on her cooking—his favorite dessert, cobbler made from the best apples picked from the Macintosh grove behind the stables.

  Euley tossed a bloodstained rag into the nearby basin. “Bullet went clean through. But it took a chunk of his shoulder with it.” Blotches of blood smeared the front of her blue-and-white bibbed apron. Her hands buried into the soiled folds as she wiped them dry on the cotton. She looked down the length of patchwork that covered Masta’ Brennen’s form until her gaze came to rest upon her husband.

  Large black hands, gnarled from a lifetime of working tobacco, gripped the post of the bed. Cream-colored knuckles seemed to glow in the subdued light of the fire. A faded gray shirt and pants had seen a dozen years worth of washings, and leather suspenders held woolen britches in place over narrow hips. He resembled a fence post, battered and lean, and yet, still standing strong against years of adversity. Love filled every chamber of her heart. She moved to the end of the bedpost, and slipped her hand over his. Her head rested against his chest. He smelled of tobacco and the brisk bite of winter. “He’s restin’ in da Lord’s hands now.”

  Israel pulled her closer, placing his chin on top of her turbaned head. “You done good, suga’pea.” A long silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional pop of the firewood and the ragged breathing that emanated from the bed. “Dem Yankees be fightin’ for us, you know,” he whispered.

  Euley nodded and then pulled back to look at him. “Won’t change nothin’. They’d be fighting over somethin’ else, if’n it wasn’t us.”

  “Maybe we oughta leave too.”

  “And go where? Dey’d just snag you up in da war. You want to dig latrines?”

  He sighed and shook his head, then said, “Moses told me he’s goin’ north after da winter. He says Miz Emaline can’t keep him here if’n he wants to go.”

  “Moses is a fool. Dere’s a roof over his head here an’ food in his belly…what little dat’s left. You and me, Israel, we’s stayin’. We’s earned our keep. And, Miz Emaline, she’s been good to us ever since Masta’ Benjamin died. She even took da time to school us when no one else even cared. I love her, an’ we’s not gonna desert her.” She patted his back and then slipped from his embrace. “Come on, hold da light fo’ me while I mop up da blood we trailed luggin’ him up here.”

  Israel lifted the oil lamp from the side table near the bed and held it high while he followed Euley into the hallway. “When do you think Miz Emaline be back?”

  Euley kneeled on the floor of the upper landing. “When she’s good ‘n ready, dat’s when.” She pulled a damp cloth off her shoulder and wiped up the crimson splatters. “Our job is to keep her brother alive an’ hidden ’til she returns.”

  The front door opened, and Euley paused.

  Israel leaned over the banister and held the lamp higher to look down into the shadowy entryway. Tacker stepped inside, dusting snow off the arm of his jacket.

  “Any more soldiers?” Israel asked.

  Tacker shook his head. “Dey’s all gone now, even dose along da river. And it’s startin’ to snow. Really pilin’ up too.” He draped his coat over a nail rammed into the wall beside the front door, then stomped his boots, before climbing halfway up the stairs. He then slumped against the wall to watch Euley finish her task.

  “Wherever Miz Emaline went with the doctor, she didn’t take her horse. I fed da mare but dere ain’t much grain left.”

  Euley rested on Israel’s arm and he helped her stand. Her knees cracked when she straightened. “Well, one thing’s for sure, ain’t nothin’ gettin’ done while you’s all stand around here gabbing.” She headed toward the master’s suite, throwing her words over her shoulder. “Bring me up two more buckets o’ water, Israel. And Tacker, you git down to da linen press an’ bring me up some more cloth so’s I can make more bandages.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reece allowed Saguaro to set the pace along the path through the forest toward Shapinsay. Emaline sat before him sharing the saddle. With her back pressed against his chest, the gentle motion of the horse had lulled her to sleep a half-hour earlier.

  His arm tightened around her.

  Overhead, clouds lumbered across the sky, sluggish and opaque, blocking the moonlight and stars. Snow waited. Reece could smell it in the air, and when the flakes began, he tucked the cape closer around Emaline. A shiver of cold raced through him, the iciness having more to do with his thoughts than the inclement weather.

  As warm and healing as their interlude had been, he knew there could be only heartbreak for Emaline. “You’re a hero.” Her words taunted him. Had there been no war, no pull on his time or his conscience, he wouldn’t have been so damn heroic. He would’ve taken her right then and there. The beast inside him wore no colors and bore no loyalty to the flag.

  To love means to lose.

  All too well, Reece knew this to be true. If the past five years had taught him anything, they’d taught him how to survive inside his emptiness. He couldn’t remain at Shapinsay, and he would never take Emaline to the battlefield.

  The manor house loomed into view at the end of the long lane. Dammit, he needed to get back to his responsibilities—back to living without hope. They were expecting him in Falmouth for commander’s call by midnight.

  Reece roused her. “Emmy, you’re home,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Umm,” she murmured, stirring against him. A snowflake drifted
to her cheek. Her eyes opened. “It’s snowing,” she said.

  She turned to look over her shoulder. In the several weeks since knowing this man, she’d learned far more about herself than she’d garnered from all the years that went before. Indeed, in the past few hours she’d uncovered emotions she’d never known existed between a man and woman. Before the war, her life had been lazy and gloatingly arrogant. Her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips, still tender from the incredible warmth and pressure of his kisses.

  “It’s been snowing for the past hour,” he replied. “You’ve slept soundly.”

  She leaned back against him again, her eyes slipping closed. How could she climb off his horse now and amble up the front steps as if his presence in her life didn’t matter?

  How can I let you go?

  “I wish time would stand still,” she whispered. He rested his chin on her head, his hold tightening around her.

  “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned that tonight.”

  “Well, I do.” The heat of his body penetrated the layers of clothing, radiating life into her dying heart. She turned to face him. Her lips trembled as she held back her tears, her fingers lifting to trace a path across the dark bristles of his beard. His lips pursed, and he captured a fingertip as it passed over his mouth.

  “What should I say instead?” she asked. It was so hard to face this.

  He released her finger and her hand slipped down the front of his coat.

  “You say good bye.”

  The words fell like a blow against her ear and she swallowed, feeling a sharp rush of panic. “Come inside first. At least warm up a bit.”

  His head shook no and the incredible ache inside her swelled.

  The front door creaked open, and they both glanced toward the house. Light from a hand-held lantern punctured through the whirling snow. “Who’s out dere?” Euley’s stern voice cleaved the darkness.

  “It’s me, Euley,” she shouted. “It’s Emaline.”

  The servant’s quick intake of breath precluded the wider opening of the door. “You all right, Miz Emaline?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  Euley stepped onto the veranda, grasping her shawl around her shoulders. “Get out of this mess. Who you got dere wif you?”

  “The colonel. He brought me back.”

  “Well get inside, both o’ you. Snow’s startin’ to pile up.”

  Emaline shifted sideways, but Reece tightened his hold around her waist. He leaned forward and buried his face in her hair. “I wish things could be different too,” he said, his voice nearly an inaudible murmur. “A different time and place.”

  He shifted, his muscles tensing.

  A second later, Emaline felt herself lifted from the saddle. Slowly, Reece lowered her to the ground.

  Snow accumulated around her feet. She stepped back from his horse, her gaze lancing upward to lock with his. A new and equally horrific fear, worry about his safety, began to gnaw at her, a repellant, snaking sensation that coiled around and around into a raw knot in her stomach.

  “Please come inside, Reece.” Her hands wrapped his leg. She felt his muscles flex beneath his woolen pants. “If only for a moment.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  Her fear escalated, the bubble of despair hitting the back of her throat. “You can’t?” she whispered. “Or you won’t?”

  A dark, knowing chuckle reached her ears. “Both.” He gathered the reins in his hands. “Take care of yourself. And thank you. For everything.”

  Emaline turned away, her footsteps flying over the ground. Soft pillows of snow bunched beneath her boots. Her cape caught the wind and whipped around her body. Her stomach churned as the fear expanded.

  She would never see him again. It was as simple as that.

  When she reached the front steps, Emaline staggered up them and bumped into a column. Her breasts still smoldered where he’d cupped them in the forest. Blood drained from her face in an icy rush.

  The imminent blow of loneliness waited—hovering at the edges of her mind. Puffs of white air blended with the flakes as her choppy breath melded with snow. A slight shudder shook her shoulders and she turned back to face Reece.

  He remained astride his horse, watching her.

  He more resembled a statue now, solid and staunch and chiseled from stone, the image haunting against the milieu of snow. Emaline turned from his impressive form and moved toward the front door.

  Don’t look back! She followed Euley inside. Now close the door.

  Close it!

  The slamming of the heavy wood echoed through the darkened interior of the house.

  “Ain’t he comin’ in?” Euley asked, setting the lamp on the second step of the staircase.

  How could her heart keep beating under such incredible pain? By some miracle, she managed to answer, “No, the colonel has accomplished what he set out to do.” Then Emaline swayed. Her knees buckled. Euley sidled up next to her and wrapped an arm about her waist to steady her.

  “You all right, Miz Emaline?”

  Emaline nodded.

  “Don’t he know dis weather’s gonna get worse afore it gets better?”

  She managed another wobbly nod. “Yes. He knows.”

  Together, they shuffled to the stairs and Euley motioned to the second landing. “Well, go on up there. Someone’s waitin’ in Masta’ Benjamin’s room.”

  Emaline slipped her hand over the wooden railing for support. “W-What?”

  “Go on, you’ll see.”

  When Emaline stepped into her late husband’s spacious quarters, a soft glow greeted her. In the past five years, she’d rarely entered the room. Her vision swept over the low-burning candles lined up across the mantel. A small fire flickered in the grate, yet the warmth produced by the flames could not penetrate her broken heart.

  Long shadows stretched across repeated patterns of ring-necked pheasants draped in the mouths of liver-colored hunting hounds. She’d always hated the wallpaper’s somber tones and grotesque cruelty. Her gaze shifted sideways and she spotted the large body occupying the center of the enormous bed.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Euley moved up behind her. “It’s yo’ brother,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “M-my brother?” Emaline’s heartbreak withered and she rushed across the room. “Dear God, what happened?” She stared down at Brennen’s gaunt face. A sickly pallor blanched his once-striking features. Her hands rose to her mouth to stifle a cry. She silently begged for his chest to move. The bandage plastered across it glowed rusty red. “Is…he dead?”

  “Not yet. He stumbled into da house near late dis morning an’ I fixed him up as best I could.”

  Brennen’s chest rose with his erratic breathing. Emaline rested her hand on his shoulder, then fluttered shaking fingers up to his face. “W—will he live?”

  “Don’t know. Da bullet went clean through, though. So dat’s good.” Euley pointed to the bandage across the top of his shoulder. “But he’s lost a lot of blood an’ a fever’s taken hold. Dat ain’t so good.”

  Emaline leaned forward, burrowing her fingers through the sweat-soaked, cinnamon-brown hair spread across the pillow. She completed a frantic sweep of the room, but saw no supplies. “He needs medicine. Bring some from the cupboard.”

  “Dere’s no medicines, honey.”

  Emaline speared Euley with a pointed glare. “Why not?”

  “Yankees took everythin’.”

  “Well, I’ll send Tacker to fetch Doctor Bishop. Surely he has some.”

  “Da doctor’s gone, Miz Emaline. As soon as Masta Brennen stumbled into da house, I sent Tacker to da Bishop’s, but the neighbor said da whole family done moved to Richmond.

  Emaline’s eyes widened. “What about Doctor Harmon over near Berea? W-we could get him.”

  “Dat ol’ man’s been dead a year now according to his widow. Ain’t no other doctor left near here.”

  Fear bloomed inside Emalin
e’s chest. Her brother would die without medicine and proper care. She paced beside the bed. She had to do something.

  Think. What doctor is left?

  She stopped in midstride and swung toward Euley. “I’ll send for Doc Evans.” Heat seared Emaline’s face. “Surely he’ll help me. I mean, I’ve spent the entire day assisting him, I can’t imagine him saying no.”

  “But, yo’ brother’s on da wrong side. Why would da Yankees want to keep him alive?”

  Emaline issued a sharp gust of air. “Well, we won’t tell anyone besides Doc. If the Yankees find Brennen, they’ll take him. And with a wound this severe, he’d die in their prison.” The tears held at bay since Reece’s departure swelled in her eyes. “But he’ll surely die if we don’t do something. I’ll send Tacker. Doc was just across the ford when we left earlier.”

  “Snow’s piled up thicker than a cotton bale out dere, Miz Emaline. Tacker’s too old to go out in dis mess. I’m afraid he’d not make it dere and back.”

  “Then I’ll go.” Emaline spun toward the opening and then gasped. Reece filled the doorway.

  A helpless, hope-filled sigh spilled from her mouth. The joy of seeing him again briefly flashed only to disappear under the enormous weight of the moment. “Thank God you haven’t left yet.” She rushed forward and grabbed his hand, tugging him into the room. “I need your help. Please.” She bent over Brennen, panic flooding her voice. “He’s hurt and burning with fever. H-He needs medicines. And there’s no available doctor.” In great streaks of sorrow, tears fell from her eyes, plopping in dark splotches onto the quilt that covered her brother. “Please help me…I’ve nobody else to turn to.”

  Reece stared at the man, searing the face into memory.

  Near thirty-five years old, he guessed. A strange jealousy engulfed him. His gaze settled upon the bandage across the man’s shoulder. The amount of blood staining the cloth testified to a serious, possibly mortal wound. He looked at Euley, who stood at the foot of the four-poster, before settling his gaze once more upon Emaline.

  “I’ve no medicines with me,” he said.