No Greater Glory Read online

“Try,” she snapped. Her lips pursed and three steps took her to the closest chair. With an impatient rustle she lowered into the wingback. “Let’s stop mincing words here, Major. You either know or you don’t.”

  Another smile played near the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward and placed his elbows across splayed knees. A black slouch hat dangled from his hands in the space between. “So let me get all this straight. You want to discuss the length of time I shall retain temporary command of the regiment and know the return date of the colonel so you might further discuss the status of your vouchers?”

  In that instant, Emaline realized he was toying with her. Her fingers fluttered to the blood-red ruby the size of a Liberty half-dime resting against her throat. Matching earrings brushed the sides of her neck. “Yes, Major. That’s exactly what I want to know.”

  “I’ve already told you, I have no answer regarding your vouchers. And about Colonel Cutteridge? Well…” He paused, his smile disappearing. “Why don’t you instead tell me the real reason for our meeting tonight?”

  Emaline’s indignation waned. Silence lengthened as weariness seeped from her body. Her words spiraled into a broken whisper. “Please. I must know if he’s…returning.”

  Something flickered inside his eyes and a shiver passed through her.

  “I see,” he finally replied, working his hands around the hat’s brim.

  Her breath caught. “Wh—what do you see?”

  “What I see has absolutely nothing to do with vouchers.”

  Raw awareness welled inside Emaline. Pent-up breath rushed out in a sharp gust. She’d been wrong. This man was no imbecile, and that only deepened her remorse. Humiliation blistered her cheeks. “I’ve asked everyone if they know his return date, but no one provides me an answer.”

  He rose to his feet.

  She followed him up, her heart squeezing so tight she feared it would stop beating.

  “And I would tell you if I knew, Mrs. McDaniels, but since this is the military, plans can change at a moment’s notice.” He stepped closer, his words direct. “Allow me the liberty of saying, however, regardless of what unfolds between you two, you must understand this: At all times, the responsibility of his command controls Reece. That will never change for him. I am his friend, and I tell you this to save you from heartbreak.” Turning on his heel, he headed to the door, his boots leaving a trace of mud on the rug. When he glanced back, the metal scabbard of his sword caught the fire’s glow—glinting a final reminder of her foolishness.

  In numbed silence, she watched as his hand tunneled through long brown hair. Resettling his slouch hat, he offered her a faint smile. Although her spine was ramrod straight, Emaline desired nothing more than to sink to the floor.

  As the door clicked shut, her eyes drifted closed. The yoke of irrational behavior draped heavy. I’ve completely lost my mind. An entire horde of Yankees wrought chaos across her property, destroying the very foundation of her world. Abject disorder ruled. Yet here she sat pining for the enemy. She released a ragged breath and opened her eyes. The smudges on her expensive Aubusson rug shimmered into view. When had her common sense perished.

  Under the penetrating warmth of his mouth.

  A chill seeped into Emaline’s bones as a single tear spilled down her cheek. Far more than her carpet needed tending, yet she knew no way to bank the coals of desire that now burned inside her heart for Reece.

  Chapter Seven

  A week later, the Yankee encampment awakened to the resonance of thousands of galloping horses. Campfires sparked to life as soldiers stumbled from wedge tents to toss logs onto dying embers. Temporarily assigned the entire brigade, Reece led the incoming cavalrymen down the lane, the reinforcements swelling the number of soldiers under his command to two-thousand, nine-hundred strong.

  He reined to a stop in front of officer’s row and dismounted, tossing Saguaro’s reins to the waiting soldier. “Water him good. It’s been a long ride.”

  “I’ll take excellent care of him for you, sir.” The young wrangler faded off into the darkness with the buckskin just as Lieutenant Glave sauntered into view.

  “Notify the junior officers and their adjutants, Lucas. Have them report to my command tent in one hour.”

  “Yes, sir.” The aide-de-camp sprinted away.

  Reece scanned the mansion. A single light flickered from an upstairs window. He knew Emaline watched. Three weeks had passed since he’d held her in his arms and kissed away her tears. And those twenty-one days, every damn one of them, had been the longest of his life.

  A ragged curse fell from his lips and he turned, nearly bumping into Jackson.

  “About time you showed up,” Jackson said, pulling a blue sack coat over his rumpled shirt and pants. “I was gettin’ tired of carrying your load.”

  “Is that right?” Reece chuckled. “Well, I brought you company this time.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’ve been assigned command of the brigade while Colonel Thomas recuperates, the bumbling ol’ fool.”

  “We heard. He sure picked a bad week to be thrown from his horse.” The smell of sulfur radiated between them as Jackson lit a cheroot. “Got a dispatch from Headquarters this morning,” he said, tossing aside the burnt lucifer. “Said we’re to move out upon your return. So we’re ready, then?”

  Reece nodded. “We’ll leave at dawn.” They walked to the campfire and the pot of coffee suspended over the low flames. The brew would be thick and strong and just the way he liked it. Reece poured a generous cupful and brought the metal rim to his mouth. The long swig burned his throat and cut through the bitter cold swirling around him. “They finally laid the pontoon bridges across the river at Falmouth, yesterday,” he said, raising the mug again. He swallowed, scanning the area. A multitude of junior officers organized the new arrivals into an impressive appearance of order. “You’ll retain command of the regiment, Jackson. I’ll need you on my left flank.”

  “Where’re we crossing?”

  “At the United States Ford.”

  “The U.S.? Why not Banks Ford? It’s closer.”

  “All indications show Banks is too fortified. My orders are to keep the U.S. clear and curtail the Reb sharpshooters that’ll surely surface once we begin our crossing. Burnside wants us to hit the river road hard.”

  “This should’ve been done weeks ago. I’m sure those Johnnies are dug in deeper than ticks by now. Their damn scouts are just itchin’ to pick us off.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, my friend.” Reece took another swig. Raucous laughter erupted across the encampment. Eager soldiers anticipated the eminent battle. He watched the moon slip behind a thick bank of clouds, then surrendered to his heart’s demand. “How were things while I was gone?”

  “Militarily or otherwise?” Jackson asked, a smile lifting his lips.

  Reece released his breath with a vaporous sigh. “Otherwise, right now.”

  Jackson braced a boot upon one of the stones that ringed the campfire and leaned forward. “Well, she’s been asking about you for days. First the doctor and his staff and then when no one had answers to your whereabouts, she scheduled an appointment with me. I was forced to tell her you’re a damn slacker and we didn’t know when your philandering ass would turn back up.”

  Reece chuckled and reached inside his greatcoat. A large leather pouch appeared in his glove-covered hand. “Here. Make sure she gets this, will you?” He passed the bundle over to Jackson, who weighed the package in his palm.

  “Let me guess. The voucher money?” Reece nodded and his friend’s voice lowered another degree. “I’ll take care of this, but I don’t mind telling you I’m damn glad we’re moving out.” His empty cup dropped to the ground and he turned, fading from sight.

  Reece stared into the flames, listening to the crunch of Jackson’s departing footsteps. He poured the remainder of his coffee into the fire. The flames sputtered and sent up a pungent coil of smoke.

  Damn cowardly, sending his
friend to do the dirty work. Reece flattened his lips into a hard line. The world had a wicked way of taunting him. He spun on his boot heel and with as much force as he could muster he threw the empty cup into the darkness. From the shadows, between him and the lighted window, a tin chink resounded against stone. Dammit, he didn’t want to be this close to loving again.

  Not ever again.

  Not after the unbearable price he’d already paid.

  Chapter Eight

  December 13, 1862

  Saturday, just after sunrise

  Brennen lowered his field glasses and muttered a scathing oath. A field of advancing Federal cavalry emerged from behind the tree line. Two regiments, at least. Possibly a full brigade. The soldiers floated through the early-morning fog in wave after wave of blue, a steadfast enemy in a determined push to the river.

  A biting wind lifted the shaggy hair off his neck and he tugged his slouch hat lower to ward off the chill. Artillery explosions resounded downriver near Fredericksburg; the Federal infantry assault in town had already begun.

  A rider beside him whispered, “Looks like they’re gettin’ ready to cross, Cap’n. Just where you said they would.”

  Brennen lifted the field glasses again and sighted in on the four long columns. “The U.S. Ford is the logical crossing for this many.” Bluecoats poured forth from the sheltering row of hickories and white pine, moving along the water’s edge as the early morning mist swirled around them in miasmic layers. Beneath the stabbing hooves of thousands of horses, the embankment churned into a muddy quagmire, but he knew the rock-encrusted ground would support them all. “Ride back to headquarters and let them know the advance has started.”

  “Ain’t ya comin’, Cap’n?”

  “No. I’m going closer for a better look.”

  “Don’t get cut off from our lines, sir,” a soldier on his left said above the faint report of gunfire.

  Brennen nodded and spurred his mount deeper into the underbrush. He reined to a stop just as another round of artillery shells exploded from the direction of Fredericksburg. Darting a look upriver, he tightened his jaw. Em’s plantation sat less than two miles from this natural crossing.

  He raised the field glasses once again, searching for any uncased flags to get an idea of the strength in numbers they were facing. A moment later, he spotted the U.S. colors fluttering in all its glory. Directly beside the Stars and Stripes danced a blue, swallow-tailed flag emblazoned with the number three. A Brigade silk. He focused upon a cluster of soldiers, a dozen or more, mounted on horseback beneath the standards. His lips twisted into a smirk. The command knot. He spied the highest-ranking officer—a colonel.

  What the hell are you doing here?

  The dark-haired, dark-bearded man shouted orders, prominently involved in the crossing. Rare to see such high brass in the middle of the fray. Ordinarily, they liked to stay well out of danger and let the rank and file minions do the dirty work. But not this one. No, this sonofabitch kept a tight rein on his men, controlling order as he brought each company into position. He allowed no chaotic crossing, nothing that resembled a lack of discipline.

  Brennen lowered the field glasses and a niggle of fear mingled with an odd respect.

  This big Yank knew exactly how to lead an army.

  “Form the line away from the river on the opposite side, Captain,” Reece shouted. “And, make certain scouts are posted well in front of the formation. I don’t like surprises.”

  The young officer reined back hard. “Straightaway, Colonel.” He galloped back into the melee. Snorting horses and clanking metal resounded through the clearing as sabers, canteens and bridle rings reverberated together. The air thickened with the cursing of cavalrymen struggling to keep their horses in line.

  “Get that animal moving!” Reece bellowed, pointing to the Morgan bogged in the mud near the rock-strewn pathway. A frantic private atop the hulking beast fought for control of his horse. “Sergeant! Get over there and help him.”

  A burly soldier responded, water splashing in all directions as he turned his horse toward the snag. He leaned and swept up a dangling rein bobbing in the water, then tossed it back to the obviously relieved private. Within seconds, the column flowed with precision once again.

  Lieutenant Glave drew alongside Reece and yelled above the din. “Colonel, sir. Doc wants to know when you want the ambulance wagons to cross.”

  “An hour after the main formation, right behind my supply teams.”

  With a hasty salute, the soldier spurred his horse around and galloped away. Reece turned back to the column, and shouted another order. The ordeal of moving a large brigade through such a narrow passage grated on him. “Keep them moving, dammit! Pull that column together, Corporal!”

  Of course, riding away from Emaline did little to ease Reece’s roiling discontent. He shoved aside his remorse. His heart mattered little in this equation. He would need all his skills to see him through the upcoming campaign.

  Two miles upriver Emaline wrung her hands together as she paced before Shapinsay’s open front door. “But why must you go too?”

  Worry creased her forehead as she watched Doc push a boxful of medical supplies into the wagon bed. He turned and climbed the steps, and she moved several paces backward to allow him room.

  “The colonel’s ordered us across the river,” he said, patting her on the shoulder as he passed. “We’re to establish the hospital behind the main lines.”

  “But why can’t you just stay established here?” She looked at the desolation across her front lawn. Established seemed such a forgiving word for the damage that sprawled before her. Fire rings gouged the terrain and hundreds of piles of pine needles and plank boards dotted the landscape, ghosts rising from the remains of the enemy camp. Garbage pits and latrines, while out of sight and thankfully covered, also disfigured her land. “Send someone else, Doc.” She pulled her gaze back and stared at his retreating form. “You might get hurt.”

  The old surgeon shuffled to a stop, then lifted the last box of medicines near the entryway. “My dear, it doesn’t work that way. We follow the regiment to be closer to the casualties.”

  Oh God, more casualties. More deaths.

  Emaline’s thoughts tumbled to the previous night. From her bedroom window, she’d spotted Reece among the thousands of new arrivals. Her heart lurched from the sheer joy of seeing him again. She waited, but he never came to tell her good-bye.

  A biting wind ripped around the corner of the manor and lifted her cape into an ominous swell of black wool. Emaline pointed inside. “Who’s going to care for those men in there after you’ve gone?”

  “Captain Crowe’s company will be right behind us to gather up the wounded and put them into supply wagons.” He slid the boxful of amber bottles into the wagon, and then rested his ample hip against the closest wheel hub. “You know,” he sighed, exhaustion carving lines across his face. “I could sure use your help where I’m going.”

  Emaline stared at him for several seconds before issuing a sharp laugh. “Are you mad? I can’t just ride off. I’ve got servants who depend upon me.”

  “No, no. Of course you’d return once we advance further south. I only need your help for a little while with the immediate casualties. Most of my assistants don’t have your unique abilities.” His smile tipped upward. “And you know I would never put you in harm’s way.”

  “I know that, Doc,” she said, stifling the quiver in her lips. He was much too old to be out in these elements day after day. “I just wish things would return to normal.”

  “There’s no normal life, my dear,” he said, his shoulders sagging into a weary droop as he reached out and smoothed a hand down her arm. “There’s only life.”

  Emaline scrutinized the devastation around her. Helping Doc with invalid soldiers inside her commandeered home was one thing. But willingly following him, even if only across the river, was an entirely different matter. How could she go with this man, however kind he might be, into the
devil’s lair? Then everything shifted as her thoughts moved backward four hours.

  “It’s your voucher exchange, Mrs. McDaniels,” Major Neale said.

  Emaline stared at the bundle of money he’d just placed in her hands.

  “This is much more than what I thought I’d be getting.” She stared at the bills, her forehead creasing in disbelief. “Who—”

  “Who do you think?”

  She met his eyes again and he offered a smile. “He also sends you his deepest gratitude for assisting the doctor.”

  Emaline’s thoughts returned to the present and her eyelids slipped closed. The issue was not one of country against country any longer. In the beginning, even a month ago perhaps, she could have argued that point. But not now. Things were changing, the statement Reece had thrown at her that night in the library so true. The only war that existed in her life right now was the one raging out of control inside her heart. Everything boiled down to an inner battle involving just one man.

  Her eyelids flew open. Doc had already stepped up into the mule-drawn wagon. And in that instant, she made her decision.

  Turning on her boot heel, Emaline dashed inside the manor house in search of Euley. She found the woman bent over a patient near the back of the parlor. The ordered efficiency inside her home belied the chaos unfolding beyond its walls.

  “I’m going with Doc,” Emaline hollered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

  The old woman straightened and stared at her, but before she could reply Emaline turned and raced down the entryway, then out through the front door. As traitorous to Benjamin’s memory as she knew this to be, she shouted, “Wait, Doc! Wait for me!”

  Chapter Nine

  The bullet caught Brennen in the shoulder. Agony exploded through him. A ragged sigh escaped as he slumped sideways and slid from the saddle. Impact with the ground crumpled him into a heap. His Morgan bolted into the forest.

  Beneath his ear, the strong rumble of approaching horses replaced the fading strides of his own mount. His breath hissed out in short, static gasps. From where he lay, he watched thin beams of sunlight spill over the rim of the horizon, the distant hills brightening. The fog dispersed into wispy, serpentine streaks against the blue sky. With each labored breath, Brennen battled the repellent emptiness until he could fight no more.