by Gina Danna
Inside her own body, she could feel the fire in her lower belly roar, the lava slickening her core, waiting. It built her excitement and her lips locked around his member, her tongue licking him when suddenly he whipped his member out of her touch.
“No, no, I want you.”
He put his blanket stretched near hers. In a moment, he finished stripping his trousers the rest of the way off and threw them and his shirt to the side, giving her full view of his sleek body. The war had refined him, making him leaner and harder. For a man who claimed to be a planter only, she doubted back before the war that his abdomen had been rock hard nor his chest and arms muscular, though his legs might have been that sinewy from riding. The soldier’s color was established, with a slightly sun-kissed face and hands but the rest white. He was a handsome man. How could he still be unmarried?
She never had the chance to ask, because he brought her to the ground with him, kissing her as he shed the rest of her clothes. She was beneath him, with him between her legs, his manhood nudging at her dripping wet slit to her core. As he knelt above her, she licked her lips and begged, “I need you in me!”
That enticing, seductive smile inched back, grabbing her attention until he slid into her. She mewled. That sound seemed to set them off, as if it was a whistle starting a horse race. He plunged in and out of her core, her hips meeting his every thrust. His hardness seemed to go deeper every time until she could swear he was hitting her womb and opened her mouth to say such when he upped the speed, making her race to meet his every more. It didn’t take long, as the pressure built and the need increased ten-fold. Every time his hips came back, his member almost escaped and she panicked, racing to keep him there. Slicker and slicker she became as she hugged him with her core walls. Then, suddenly, the stars exploded as she erupted inside.
Making love to Ada seemed like heaven, Francois decided as he nestled next to her on the blankets, near the dying fire. They were both breathing hard and he enjoyed watching the hardened tips of her breasts rose up and down with each inhale and exhale.
“Marry me.”
She snorted and looked at him, her hair mussed from their wickedness, making her look wild and feral.
“Why do you want to marry me?” She propped herself up on one arm. “And why would I want to marry you?”
He laid back and sighed. “Well, to start, we are in a compromising position.”
“There’s a war on. Besides, who will see us now?”
“Oh, don’t be so blind by the darkness, my love. Down here, there are eyes everywhere.” He chuckled. “Besides, you could be with child.”
That thought made her heart skip. In New York, she had been attractive enough to him that she wondered and had counted when her last menses was, though that was often unreliable a measure. Yet, she had no trace of their intimacy to worry about. “Perhaps, though I wouldn’t waste time on that. Ladies always have their ways of covering that.”
He snarled. Of course, he took that the wrong way. Let him…
“And you’re down here alone, un-properly escorted. A slattern, perhaps?”
She frowned. “How many of those do you know of?”
He shrugged innocently.
“So why would I marry you?”
He smiled. “I’m from a good, old family. I do have money to care for you and children. I am a man of my word and a good soldier.”
“Truly?” she propped herself up on her elbow. “You’re a Southerner, therefore a Confederate. Your money comes from the backbreaking work of people you enslave. Which makes the good somewhat debatable.”
“You have spunk, my dear. I like that. As to our riches, slaves are only part of the equation. We are traders and international merchants. No, I think you won’t find another.”
“No, that is a given.” Somehow now, he sounded different. She didn’t like it. “And nothing for me? I’d be a wife in name, nothing more?”
He flipped to his side, facing her as he nudged her to her back, his eyes again dark and determined, his face carved in fierceness.
“I want to marry you because I love you. I have stated that repeatedly. I’m willing to throw myself, to beg for your mercy just so I can have the right to do this for the rest of my life.” He held her hands above her head and kissed her like a drowning man.
It was intense, the heat rising again. He pulled back and stared into her eyes, the plea for an answer all over his face.
How did she feel? Could she love him? A southerner, a man who stood for everything she fought against? As she stared into his gaze, her heart answered for her.
“Yes.”
Chapter 41
“The campaign is the severest one ever endured by any army in the world.”
—Officer of the 139th Pennsylvania reported
Battle of the Wilderness 1864
“And look! We are here!”
Ada glanced up from the saddle. She’d spent the better half of the day for the last two trying to find a way to feel comfortable. Inwardly, she wasn’t the least unhappy about it. Ever since she’d agreed to marry him, a huge weight that had hunkered over on her, keeping her confined and miserable, was lifted and she found happiness. Perhaps love. That part scared her, especially since she had thought she loved Richard, only to discover what a scoundrel he was.
But Francois had been playful, seductive and made her feel joyful. And the last two nights, he’d made mad passionate love to her, the type that had sent her to the heavens and back. She sighed softly as warmth, more than the heat of the sun, embraced her. As to her seat, though…Not only was she not used to horseback riding this far, her body was sore all over, and, she finally admitted to herself, the worst was her thighs and seat thanks to Francois.
Traveling like this, though, was killing her neck. Sleeping on the grown was not comfortable. Finally, he had wadded up his uniform jacket and let her use it as a pillow while he’d insisted he was used to the ground as a mattress. He’d fallen asleep so easily and she would’ve too, except for the annoying hard thing that jabbed her ear. Finally, she gave up and wheedled her fingers to find the source, discovering a miniature portrait of a beautiful lady. Her stomach fell. Who was she? Her heart lurched. While he’d pounded how awful Richard was, then made love to her, wanting her to marry him and now this? Who was she???? Needless to say, she didn’t sleep well.
“All I see is a river and land,” she grumbled, again adjusting her seat.
He laughed and steered his horse back to her. “Still sore?”
“Of course not.”
“You, my dear, are a miserable liar. I assure you, it will improve,” he claimed, siding his horse up next to hers and leaning over to give her a kiss. “Think of it as a glorious way to become so unsettled.”
She glared at him but the kiss managed to bury her worry about the portrait and to bring her a feeling she was slowly becoming accustomed to—happiness. It made her spine tingle and her nipples ripple, as if he was licking them. Richard had never had this prolonged an effect on her. Of course, Francois could be lying to her too.
“You, my dear secesh, may be correct, but I’ll be happier tending patients than treating myself,” she stated, searching for a neutral ground.
He leaned closer, to the point his breath warmed her neckline. “I’d be more than happy to take care of you.”
She blushed, she was sure, and sat up straight, the pull on the reins grabbing her mount’s attention. “I’m sure you would. Now, tell me, how do we cross this to get to your home?”
“This way.” He motioned his horse and she followed down the slope to a cabin. With a quick dismount, he grabbed his cane and went to the door, battering on the wooden plank. “Charlie! Charlie Bloom! You best be home, boy!”
The door opened and an older black man peeked out. “Mista Francis?”
“Oui!”
Charlie whooped and hollered along with Francois. Ada watched, her mind spinning. The elder man, a former slave she bet, greeted Francois like they were
old friends. It was warm and the smiles appeared genuine, but it was the last thing she expected. Her abolitionist nature had the hairs on her neck bristling.
“You still got that old ferry?” Francois asked, not even paying attention to her.
“Why, now, Mista Francis, you come banging at my door, then not introduce me to the missus?”
Ada blushed, pushing a loose hair back behind her ear. Francois laughed.
“The future missus, old man! Miss Ada, meet Charlie, one of the best ferrymen in the parish!” He gave her a wink. “Charlie, Miss Ada is a doctor, so be mindful.”
Charlie walked up to her, took his hat off his head. “Right nice to meet you, ma’am. Charlie Bloom, at your service.” He bowed.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bloom.”
He stood, smiling wide. “Now, don’t be letting Mista Francis let you think he’s all in charge. He thinks he’s the man, and he is, but don’t let him badger you none.”
“Charlie!” Francois shouted.
“I won’t. Thank you.” She liked the old man.
“I take it, you be heading home, sir?”
“Oui. Can you get us across without raising no ruckus with them Yankees?”
Charlie shoved his hat on his head and started toward the river.
Francois mounted his horse, sliding his cane into the straps off the pummel as she rode up.
“Former slave of yours?”
He wouldn’t look at her right away but she saw him purse his lips, as if trying to find the right words.
“Ada, we’re heading into lands of my family. Southerners. Yes, there’s an illness plaguing the land, and a sickness brought by war and famine. What I’m asking is for you to leave your abolitionist’s views here, tucked away until this is all done. No point making the people you’ve come to help refuse because you want to damn them for their lives as they know it.” He finally looked at her. “If you would, please.”
They hadn’t talked about this, as if the subject was like walking on eggshells for their upcoming marriage. She had agreed to come to help, medically speaking. Could she keep her tongue quiet on the depravity of slavery? With a deep breath, she nodded.
“Merci,” he whispered. Then he gave her his handsome smile. “Now, let’s go, before Charlie heads out without us!”
He tried really hard not to smirk when they landed on the Louisiana side of the Mississippi River safe and sound and with the horses. He paid the old man with a Confederate bill he had, with a silver coin underneath, the coin worth far more than the paper the currency was written on, then turned to his horse. Ada gave him a slanted gaze.
“I thought Louisiana and Mississippi were occupied, and the Union controlled the river,” she said. “So how did a wayward Confederate and a doctor, with two horses, manage to cross without issue?”
He eased into the saddle, happy to relieve the pressure off his foot. “That’s why I went to ole Charlie Bloom. That man can make magic happen!”
“Uh, huh, I see. Back to that magic again.” She inhaled and looked around. He couldn’t help but watch her. She was so beautiful, even in a dirty and frayed dress with her hair straying from the few pins she still had, something else that made him want to laugh. He’d sown into her so much, removed all those clothes and pins to get to her, he was sure she was missing some due to him. He was a lucky man. Of course, she hadn’t said she loved him, but she liked him enough to agree to marry him. He’d get her love later.
“Francois, how close are we to your home?”
He frowned, trying to collect his thoughts from his current desire for her back to the overall plan. “We’ll pass the town if we head down this path,” he said, pointing to the trail that swung right. “Bellefountaine is straight ahead, about an hour, give or take.”
“A town you say? Perhaps there might be an apothecary still functioning there. Supplies might be good, if there are as many sick as you’ve claimed,” she stated bluntly.
He shifted in the saddle. At this point, he couldn’t tell how many that might be. Their bustling plantation no doubt lacked a good number, thanks to his brother Jack, but he swallowed that bitter pill. A quick look at his beloved made his decision, because she’d be meeting his mother and he doubted his future wife would want to look like the ragamuffin she did, thanks to the hard traveling. “Yes, ma’am. Your wish is my command. Though, we have a stop to make first.”
He veered them to the right side of the town and out, looking for the outcroppings he knew were there. Ada, riding next to him, scanned the area and sighed.
“So this is the rich South?”
He grimaced. “The soil is where the money is. It’s rich and fertile. But this area, its not farmed but settled by yeoman farmers and craftsmen.” He swallowed hard, memories of the 9th flittering through his mind. “Many a man from the Tigers lived in this area, if not right from New Orleans itself.”
“And there are sick here?”
He shrugged. “Probably, though my mission isn’t to find the ill.” He glanced at her. “One of my good friends died while we were fighting in that wilderness area, he was too wounded to move. Died before my eyes. Made me promise to give his belongings to his missus.” He fought the shudder that built up inside him as his mind replayed that day in his head, with Wiggins begging him to check on his wife. A deed he didn’t want, but was obligated to perform. After all, the man put up with him trying to adjust to soldier life from that of planter.
Up ahead, a small group of women dressed in black, stood conversing, or mourning, Francois decided, as the priest wearing memorial vestments stood with two young boys carrying the holy pieces for a funeral mass, stood in front. There was no coffin, no sign of burial and that twisted Francois stomach.
“They look as if in mourning. Did they just return from the cemetery?” Ada asked softly.
“No,” he answered, his tone sharp. “I’m afraid this is the scene for most of the South. Bodies not found and if so, not able to get back to loved ones to bury.”
He saw her shudder and a layer of his own uneasiness eased. She might be familiar with death from the hospital, but for a family to not be able to do a full burial, the pain was tenfold. He slid off his horse, taking his time to land and protect his foot. With a yank, he had cane in hand, maneuvering it to help her off as well. It was improper to ride up to the party, though to hobble could be worse, except his mind was set and therefore, he managed to make it to one of the boys, whispering, “Who is this memorial for?”
The boy looked up, his vision glazed, as if he was vacant. Francois inwardly groaned, believing he’d had to help the priest to several of these lately. “Its for several, sir.”
Francois grinded his teeth, then bent lower. “Is there a Mrs. Wiggins here?”
The boy nodded and pointed. “She is the lady in the middle, with that purple ribbon on.”
Francois turned and saw the lady with the purple cockade that showed well against her died black dress. He waited while the priest finished his prayers and blessed them all before he limped over to her.
“Mrs. Wiggins?”
The short woman looked up, her deep brown eyes liquid in tears and a sea of red. Her skin was pale, traces of the black stain of the gown stained her neckline as the high humidity made her glisten. Wiggin’s wife was a short petite lady, with black hair and rosy cheeks. The strains of the war were evident in her lean face and tight stance. How he wished he wasn’t here with this frightful task.
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Ronald Wiggins.”
He took his hat off. “Mrs. Wiggins, I have bad news. I’m Francois Fontaine, a member of the Tigers and friend of your husband.” He saw her shiver. Damn, how he hated this! He pulled a small, brown paper-wrapped parcel out of his frock coat and handed it to her. “I was with Ronnie, when he was killed in Virginia. It was a tremendous battle and he gave his all for the country he loved. He asked me to give you this.”
Ada was at their side and as his friend’s wife broke into tears, Ada touch
ed her arm with a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wiggins.”
The woman’s wailing stopped and she looked at Ada with accusatory eyes. “Your accent. You’re a Northerner!”
Ada’s eyes widened, not prepared for the attack, just like Francois wasn’t.
“Yes ma’am. I’m a doctor. I’m from Pennsylvania.”
“Murderer!” she screamed.
“Mrs. Wiggins, please,” Francois started but she cut him cold.
“Ronnie wrote to me about you two. How you were wounded and captured but she saved you.” She glared at Ada. “And while you might heal, you also are one of them ‘free the slaves’ folk! One of the reasons my husband died! Died! All for you wanting to set the darkies free! How dare you!”
Francois scooped his free arm around Ada’s side, trying to take her out before she said something that’d make this worse. “Mrs. Wiggins, she is to be my wife. I understand you’re upset, but I must ask you to refrain.”
“I’m a doctor first!” Ada declared, in a chance to defend herself.
“Liar!” Then Mrs. Wiggins started to laugh. “Fontaine is the family? Well, Miss High’n Mighty, enjoy that little fun you’re marrying into!” Her laughter escalated as did the tears.
He could feel Ada tremble. She’d never thought she’d be attacked like this. Still trying to walk out of here, having completed his task of delivering Ronnie’s last request, he tried to bow and added, “We are sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“Get out! Get out!”
Ada sniffled as they rode away, trying to blame the flowering trees for making her nose itch, instead of the confrontation she’d just had. With a wipe of her handkerchief, she grimaced. The embroidered linen square looked dirty, wrinkly and so unappealing that under normal circumstances, she’d toss it into a fire pit, only to realize she probably appeared no better. They were going to his family’s home, and even as just a doctor alone, she hated to look so bad. As his fiancée, it was worse. Not only would her credentials be questioned, as always, but so would her loyalty, her sanity, perhaps her social status as she no doubt looked no better than white trash, one they’d figure he’d bedded and now, she with child, so he needed to wed her. It all made her angry. Because, outside the frumpiness, all those appraisals were wrong!
