No Greater Glory Page 16

  Brennen stiffened.

  Good God, what now?

  The crowd parted to allow him room to stagger forward.

  “You Benedict?” the sergeant growled.

  Brennen nodded, fighting back another spasm that gripped his chest and threatened to spill out in another gut-wrenching cough. He swayed where he stood. Bile surged upward to burn in his throat.

  The sergeant turned to face a tall, dark-haired officer looming just outside the door. “Here’s your man, Doc.”

  “Thank you.” The medical officer offered a thin smile.

  Brennen’s gaze swept the big Yank.

  He’d seen this man before…he never forgot a face.

  Medical, my ass.

  He’d remain silent for now though and see what the hell unfolded with the impressive colonel he remembered from the Rappahannock River crossing.

  The sergeant’s voice penetrated Brennen’s thoughts. “Oh yes, I remember you. The one who’s got no sense of who’s in charge. Let’s see, boy, how many times did you try to escape on the march over from Falmouth? Two times? Three? Hell, you nearly bled to death in the process.” A wave to the dried blood that stained Brennen’s shirt testified the fact. The bastard turned back to face the big Yank. “You might want to remember this’n here don’t got no sense, Doc. He’ll bolt at the first opportunity regardless of whether it kills him or not.” He gave a quick shove and laughed when Brennen staggered two steps before recovering his balance. “Good luck. He’s all yours.”

  “I appreciate the warning, Sergeant. Where he’s going, though, he’s not likely to run.”

  Brennen shuffled from the warehouse and into the freezing night, heading toward a waiting ambulance wagon. A quick glance to the front of the vehicle revealed two figures cloaked in darkness sitting in the driver’s seat. Brennen couldn’t distinguish their faces.

  Hell, he could barely stand.

  He clambered into the wagon bed and waited while the wiry sergeant attached iron shackles around his wrists and ankles before handing the key to the officer. Brennen slumped against the wooden side of the ambulance, thankful at least to be out in the fresh air.

  His gaze never left the big Yank as the man pulled up into the saddle.

  The driver snapped the reins and the crisp flick of leather echoed across the backs of the sturdy mules. The wagon lurched forward, pitching Brennen sideways.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brennen rolled over and braced his back against the side of the wagon. Three to one, the odds of a successful escape weren’t in his favor. The warehouses grew smaller and smaller. The wagon left the wharf and rumbled over the railroad tracks crisscrossing the Union stronghold. The Potomac reached out to taunt him with its briny smell.

  Freedom.

  Even shackled, if he could make it to the waterway, he could disappear under the water and somehow swim to freedom.

  The wagon slowed and then turned southward toward Falmouth. The stones crunching under the wheels kept perfect pace with the crushing thump of his heart. His chest ached and he stifled another cough. The mist off the river swirled around him and added to the shivers that crawled up his spine.

  The entire time, the big Yank rode alongside the wagon, a well-oiled Remington pointed straight at Brennen. Another jolt from a deep depression in the dirt road sent a fresh wave of pain coursing over him.

  His head lolled back to rest on the edge of the wagon.

  Shimmering just above the horizon, an opaque moon skipped along with them; a luminous stone tossed across the glassy surface of night. The light that spilled forth would be enough to guide Brennen as he put one foot in front of the other. He smirked. Though wounded, he could still escape, and would do so at the first opportunity. The jagged outline of treetops eerily skimmed along the bottom half of the iridescent moon. Clumps of melting snow flanked both sides of the rutted road and resembled cotton boles left in the fields to rot. He returned his thoughts to the man holding the Remington.

  What’s going on here, you oversized sonofabitch?

  Brennen remembered centering his field glasses on the colonel just before the bullet’s impact. As if reading his thoughts, the man holstered his revolver and offered a smile.

  “We’re clear,” he said.

  The branches from a dense copse of pines swallowed the silver light. The wagon lurched to a stop. Immediately, the caped figures up front swiveled to face him. The smaller one pushed back the hood of a cape to reveal a bright, familiar smile.

  Brennen’s mouth dropped open. “Emaline!” he gasped, struggling to sit straighter.

  His sister scrambled over the seat and dropped into the wagon bed next to him, her boots loudly thumping when they hit the wood. She settled close, her garments sweeping his legs. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now.” She reached out, touching his face. Her fingers glided past the stubble of his beard. “Reece. Quick. Let’s unlock him.”

  The iron latchkey sailed through the night and landed at the hem of her cloak.

  The driver looped the reins around the wagon’s brake lever and leaned over to offer his assistance.

  When the metal fell away, Brennen rubbed his wrists and stared at his sister in stunned disbelief. “Good God, what’s happened to your face?”

  “A parting gift from the Yankees who captured you. I’m all right now. It’s fading.”

  His gaze shifted to the big Yank still astride the buckskin. Brennen canted sideways to whisper in her ear. “What’s happening here, Em?”

  “You’re being rescued, silly.” Her lilting giggle filled the space between them. “And these men are helping me.”

  Brennen’s eyebrows rose in startled surprise, and then shifted into a sharp line across his forehead. He leaned closer. “Why would these bastards help me?”

  “These are the same officers who commandeered Shapinsay several months ago.”

  His gaze bounced from Emaline to one Yankee and then the other, before reconnecting with hers. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, you dolt. Colonel Cutteridge promised me you’d be safe while you recuperated at the mansion.” She smiled and glanced to the outrider. Her expression softened even as her voice rose. “And I’m holding him to that promise. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

  Brennen read volumes in her look. He might never know the details behind her outlandish statement, but he sure as hell knew part of the answer, and his baby sister had much more to tell him than the mere fact that this man had commandeered Shapinsay.

  He stared hard at the colonel.

  “She’s right, Benedict.” The Yank matter-of-factly offered his hand. Brennen accepted the handshake. “Reece Cutteridge. Colonel. Sixth Ohio. And up front there we’ve got Major Neale, my second-in-command.”

  The major extended his hand toward Brennen, his teeth flashing white with his grin. “I’m also a Yankee bastard,” he quipped. Emaline sent him a pouting look and he shrugged. “Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear you two.”

  Brennen sighed and finally relaxed, accepting the man’s handshake. Then the second-in-command tossed the shackles under the front seat of the wagon. When he straightened again, Brennen asked, “I suppose you promised my sister too?”

  A mischievous glint appeared in the major’s eyes. “Nope, I just came along for the ride. This is quite risky, you know, breaking into our own stronghold to steal away a Reb prisoner. Hell, I wouldn’t have missed this adventure for anything.” He shot a quick glance toward the colonel, and then grasped Emaline under the arm to help her climb over the wagon’s seat.

  The colonel spurred away from the group and cantered toward a cluster of trees.

  A moment later, he emerged leading a saddled horse. “This might be more comfortable than the back of that wagon, Benedict. You able to ride?”

  Brennen’s bemused expression shifted into a furtive grin. “Hell yes.” He shuffled across the wagon bed, lifted a wobbly leg, and slid onto the back of the Morgan. Seconds later, he settled into the saddle, c
utting a smile to the Yank. “Ah…back home again. Thanks.”

  The colonel chuckled and tossed him the reins. “We best be ridin’. I promised Doc if he wouldn’t ask questions, I’d have his damn wagon back by sunup.” He looked at Emaline once more. She gazed up at him with a sweet expression on her face. Brennen threaded the leather traces through his fingers, watching the unspoken interaction between his sister and this intrepid man. “Well, Colonel. I owe you one, that’s for damn sure.”

  The officer anchored his interest on Emaline and even in the subdued light, Brennen saw the glint of desire flickering in the Yankee’s eyes.

  He wants her. Brennen chanced a quick look to Emaline and saw the same reflection dancing in her eyes too.

  Sonofabitch.

  A multitude of questions bounced around inside his brain, but the colonel’s voice displaced all of them.

  “We’ve got a twenty-mile ride tonight. Let’s move.” The big Yank nudged his horse and the buckskin sprang into action. Brennen tapped his heels to the Morgan’s side. The beast lunged forward into a steady canter behind the colonel. With a rattle of harness chains, the mules lurched into motion behind them.

  An hour later, the group stopped near a small bridge.

  “We’ll part here,” Reece said. “Falmouth lies about eight miles over that ridgeline.”

  Brennen nodded. “I’m familiar with this area.”

  “Your troops control the southern bank of the Rappahannock around Fredericksburg.”

  “Then I’ll cut across the fields and loop around down near Falmouth Station.”

  Moonlight glinted off the metal saber scabbard that rested against the colonel’s leg. He slipped his boot from the brass stirrup, stretched his leg muscle, then reset his foot back in. “Now, if it were me, Benedict, I’d want to know the Federal Army is spread all along the Rappahannock toward Mansfield going east and Richardsford west. It’s no secret. Lee’s been paralleling his troops with ours for miles in both directions.” He paused for a long moment and then glanced to Brennen. “Who do you scout for?”

  “The 8th Virginia.”

  Reece nodded. “Last I heard the 8th was still assigned to General Jackson’s corps. We believe he’s shifting his cavalry southwest in an attempt to flank us somewhere over near Chancelorsville. But, again, no secret there.” Reece smiled before adding, “And again, if it were me, I’d want to know that I need to circle around and cross the river up near United States Ford. Then I’d need to light out fast for Hazel Grove. I’d cross tracks with Stuart somewhere near there.”

  Brennen chuckled. “Hell’s fire, Colonel, the Yanks should let you lead their damn army. This thing would be finished in a fortnight.” He leaned over and offered his hand. “Thanks, I’ll keep all that in mind.”

  Their hands connected in a firm shake before separating. “And, Benedict, if none of this works out for you, we’ve never met.”

  Brennen laughed, gathering the traces tighter in his hands. “Nope, I ain’t never heard of any Yankee bastard with a crazy name like Cutteridge.” Brennen turned slowly in his saddle and faced his sister. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. “You all right, Em?”

  Emaline nodded. “Please be careful. And have a doctor look at your shoulder as soon as you can.”

  “What, this ol’ thing?” He shrugged his shoulder in a small circle and grinned at her. “It still moves and that’s all that matters. You know me, I’m always careful!” He leaned toward her and touched her cheek, his fingers sliding over her cool skin near the bruise. “You take care of yourself, too. And…Em, don’t allow yourself to get hurt.” He hoped she would take his meaning. Brennen had no more time to explain the rules of love during wartime…these few would have to suffice. She nodded, turning her head to place a kiss in the palm of his hand. A moment later, the soft thud of horse hooves meeting the snow-soggy ground whispered through the night. Her Gray Ghost had returned to war.

  Chapter Twenty

  Emaline sat on the chair, her foot impatiently tapping.

  Where is he?

  An hour earlier, Reece had deposited her in this cramped hotel room and then left. He gave no explanations, no hint of when he might return, no reasons why he must go. He’d simply told her to stay put.

  Stay put my eye!

  Emaline stood, crossed to the small window, and peered past the dirty panes into the early evening below. Falmouth swarmed with blue-coated soldiers. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere and doing something.

  And she was not.

  Where did Reece go? But more importantly, why was she still sitting here waiting for him? Thoughts scattered through her mind. By now, her brother surely had reunited with his soldiers. Just exactly how long did it take for Reece to drop off Doc’s wagon? Maybe they’d all been caught after all. Overwhelmed by the turn of events in the past thirty-nine hours, exhaustion crept through her impatience.

  Emaline dropped the limp curtain into place.

  A commotion from beyond the closed door interrupted her thoughts. No sooner had a knock sounded than a key turned in the lock and the wood swung wide.

  Emaline headed across the braided rug, expecting to encounter Reece and give him her views about being abandoned in this cramped hotel room for so long. She stopped in her tracks when the form of a woman back-ended her way into the room. Beneath the layers of blue and yellow plaid, the servant’s ponderous girth jiggled.

  “I…I’m sorry but this room is occupied.” Emaline worried her words weren’t heard above the scratching resonance of metal against wood.

  The woman slowly straightened, her hands pressing against the small of her back. “Yes, Mum,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “The colonel paid me good money to bring this tub up here for ye.” She bent once more and finished pulling the large copper kettle through the doorway. Once it cleared the doorjamb, three children filed in, each one carrying steaming buckets of water in their grubby hands. They sloshed their responsibilities into the tub and then scurried back out, the last little urchin grinning at Emaline as she closed the door behind her.

  Emaline stepped closer to the chambermaid. “I…I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask for this.”

  “Yes, Mum, I know’d that, but the colonel paid for six buckets o’ hot water and a half tub full of cold for ye bath.”

  Emaline’s eyes opened wider than the Rappahannock.

  The maid leaned over and swirled the water around in the tub to blend the temperatures. “If’n my man paid good money for me to have a bath, I’d say God love him, that’s what I’d say.” She dried her chubby forearm in the folds of her rush-colored apron. “Now hurry lass, afore ye water chills. I’ll be back in, say…” she rolled her eyes heavenward before reconnecting with Emaline’s and adding, “…an hour. That should give ye enough time for a good soaking too.” She straightened the dust cap holding her faded red curls in tow and then winked. “You sure is fortunate to have a handsome man spend this kind o’ money on ye. ’Tis a real treatin’ these hard times.” Two items appeared from under her ample arm. “And here’s ye towels too. I’ll just be puttin’ them over here, dearie. The colonel paid for two. So use both!” She draped the off-white, worsted terry cotton huckaback’s over the spindled chair, and then turned to face Emaline. Her hands clapped together. “Now, just settle in and relax. I’ll be back later.” She lumbered to the door and opened it, offering one last smile before slipping from the room.

  The door closed with a soft click and Emaline shifted her thoughts to the copper tub. Enormous barely described its size. The steaming metal container occupied the space on the hearth and reflected the flickering flames inside the fireplace, orange and yellow tongues dancing around a glittering whisper of blue. Emaline couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a full bath. Not the pitcher and bowl wash downs that had been her choice during winter, but an honest-to-goodness bath.

  Unbidden, a small giggle escaped her lips.

  The audacity of Reece Cutteridge! Look how bold a
man becomes after a woman offers him her lips.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks as a wicked smile winged her mouth.

  She leaned over the tub and inhaled. Tendrils of steam curled around her face and the aroma of sweet lavender settled deep into her lungs. Heavenly and inviting, the fragrance laved the wounds still lingering in her heart. Emaline spotted the bar of soap lying on the bottom knowing the maid had purposely placed it in the warm water to soften.

  She glanced to the door. Since Reece had already paid for everything, what harm would there be? It would be such a shame to let the water cool without enjoying its benefits.

  Decision made, Emaline unpinned the jet-and-ivory brooch at her throat and placed it on the side table along with her crocheted collar. The cameo was Benjamin’s last gift to her before he died. She caressed the scalloped edge of her collar, the embroidered organdy so demure and proper.

  Another sigh filled the room.

  Demure and proper?

  In the past four months, she’d been anything but. Her thoughts drifted to a pine-shrouded clearing. Irritation vanished along with the traveling dress from her body. The warm underslip, celadon-green and quilted, followed the garment, pushed straight to the ground to lie in a heap on top of her dress. The polished cotton that lined the slip caught the fire’s glow and shimmered back at her in tones of caramel and coffee.

  Somewhere deep inside the old building, someone was frying bacon. The luscious, smoky aroma curled around her hesitation. One leather-walking boot thumped to the floor, followed by the next. Balancing on one leg and then the other, Emaline rolled her white jacquard stockings downward, tucking them inside each boot. Blue ribbon garters dropped on top.

  She straightened and wiggled her toes.

  A soft tug on the ecru ribbon of her camisole loosened the Rosepoint lace that draped her shoulders. A second later, the delicate piece floated to join the heap of clothing.

  Honed from a lifetime of practice, nimble fingers made short work of the busk closures riding the front of her corset. As each hook unfastened, a sigh of relief followed, until the steel-ribbed necessity landed with a heavy thud behind her. A knee-length chemise finally joined the sodden pile of clothes beside the tub. Emaline stared at the passementerie bodice and cap sleeves, remembering when she’d spent a month embroidering the piece while sadly watching Benjamin die.