The Captain’s Challenge
Book 3
The Wolf Deceivers
Elaine Manders
Copyright ©2018, Elaine Manders
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Except for brief references to historical events and persons, any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely coincidental. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, except for review quotes, without the written consent of the author.
Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.
Table of Contents
Message to Readers
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Author’s Note
Books by this Author
About the Author
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Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice.
-Ephesians 4:31
Message to Readers
Dear Reader
Thank you for buying my books, reading them, and supporting Christian fiction—even if you just like a clean romance. Your cards, letters, emails, and reviews lift my spirit and motivates me to write the next book.
If you would like to join the team to support these type books, send me an email at [email protected] to get first-hand information about upcoming releases, have input to new books, get free downloads, and meet new authors.
It’s better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness. I believe the Lord will bless our efforts to improve the culture through literature, even in this small way.
Be sure to check out all of my books.
https://www.amazon.com/Elaine-Manders/e/B0116MKKJG/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1524173840&sr=1-2-ent
Foreword
Conflict didn’t end with the civil war, also known as the War Between the States, or the War of Northern Aggression, depending on which side you were on. Nowhere did bitterness linger longer than in Georgia. With good reason. The civilian population was decimated by Sherman’s March to the Sea. The atrocities would be considered war crimes today.
Having lost the government, some ex-Confederates—but certainly not all—sunk into the background, their hatred festering, then oozing out in different ways. Anywhere hatred grows, corruption flourishes, and it did in the aftermath of the civil war. On both sides.
As painful as this period was in our nation’s history, it accomplished much. Slavery was abolished and the country preserved, though racial tension continues. Was there another way? If people had listened to reason instead of their pride, perhaps.
Fortunately, most of the wounds of the civil war have healed, but hatred will never be conquered until Jesus returns to establish His Kingdom. And only then will we not be divided.
Chapter 1
Savannah, Georgia, 1870
A woman’s scream pierced the sultry Savannah twilight.
Captain Alex Blaine’s hand went to his holstered pistol, and he jerked the reins of his stallion in the direction of the scream—the River Street docks. His gaze darted from one end of the river to the other. Sailing ships, steamships, barges, and dinghies lined the docks. The water reflected a clear, cerulean sky, but thunderheads lay to the west, threatening an evening storm.
The air’s briny scent wafted on a light ocean breeze that did little to relieve the heat. Swiping sweat from his brow, he squinted in search of the woman. The street was deserted except for workmen loading and unloading cargo.
Another scream, closer this time, followed by a gunshot, yanked his attention from the river. Dingy stone warehouses lined the other side of the street, abandoned now, they had once functioned as holding cells for slaves awaiting the auctioneer’s block.
Since he patrolled these streets often, he wasn’t surprised to find vice down here, though it was rather early in the evening for shots to be fired. Savannah didn’t claim any more lawlessness than any other city its size. On the whole, it was a lovely, genteel southern town. The gingerbread architecture and secluded gardens reminded Alex of New Orleans.
Slapping the horse’s flank, he turned toward the commotion and drew his gun, ready for whatever trouble lay ahead. Around the last building a man sprawled on the cobblestones while a woman, her face hidden by a large, white bonnet, hovered over him. Bags and luggage scattered over the ground, while a hulking brute, gun in hand, riffled through them.
Pinned against the building’s wall, another woman fought a gangly, bushy-headed man. All Alex could see of the woman was a riot of golden-red hair, but she fought like a tigress, lunging a lacy, blue parasol at the man and hitting her mark often enough to keep her attacker jumping.
But she could no more keep the villain at bay than a kitten could hold off a hungry wolf. Alex fired into the air. The giant dropped his gun, and the woman’s attacker swung around. Miss Redhead gave him a jab in the back with her parasol before dashing to crouch beside the woman in the white bonnet.
As Alex stooped to take possession of the thief’s pistol, the man lunged for it. Alex aimed for his hand and fired. With a yelp, the thief scrambled off faster than one would think possible, chasing his slender cohort who’d already given up the fight.
Duty reminded him he should go after them. Arrest them. But the fellow on the ground, clutching his blood-soaked shoulder needed assistance. After retrieving the thief’s firearm, he turned his attention to the victims.
He squatted to inspect the injury. “How is it?”
“Mon Dieu, it hurts, but I think I live.” The words dripped out with heavy French accent.
“Can you get your coat off, Jacque?” Miss Redhead pulled a cobweb shawl from her shapely shoulders and pressed it to the man’s wound. Her voice held a melodious tone, and she spoke with an English accent. Her clothes proclaimed her a woman of means, while the ordinary dress of her companions suggested they might be servants.
Foreigners. An English noblewoman with her French servants, perhaps. No wonder they made a perfect target for thieves.
Alex helped remove Jacque’s coat.
“You’ve ruined your shawl, Mademoiselle Gillian.” The older woman in the white bonnet turned watery gray eyes to Alex. “Please help us find a doctor.”
“It can be replaced, Suzette.” Gillian tugged the shawl around Jacque’s wound. “That should help reduce the bleeding.” She looked up at Alex, and he found himself staring into arresting blue eyes.
She had too many flaws to be truly beautiful—a mouth too wide for her heart shaped face, and a fair amount of freckles marred her creamy complexion—but those expressive eyes held him spell-bound. He’d met many beautiful women down here while assigned with the occupying forces, even some blue-eyed redheads, but this one was different.
His extensi
ve experience with the female gender warned him she’d be trouble.
Gillian sprang to her feet. “Why did you let those thugs get away, Mister...Officer?” Her gaze swept over his uniform like it disgusted her.
If Alex expected her thanks for saving her from ruin, if not death, he’d have been disappointed. Her tone left no doubt she had little respect for the military, not that he expected any from a foreign noblewoman.
He offered a smile. “They won’t get away, Miss. I’ll send a patrol to apprehend them as soon as I get this man to a doctor.”
For a long moment they gazed into each other’s eyes. He’d been gut punched a few times in hand-to-hand combat, but never by a woman’s look.
Her bonnet, hanging down her back by its ribbons did nothing to hide her lustrous hair. Alex couldn’t recall ever seeing hair that color. Its red-gold hues brought to mind the sunset at the end of a perfect summer day.
Those large, wide eyes reminded him of the columbine running along the back of his mother’s flower garden. In spite of her haughty attitude, warmth and womanly tenderness lay in their blue depths. Long, dark lashes drooped slightly at the edges, giving her a winsome look.
He’d stared too long. Her tawny brows lifted. “Soldier, could you perhaps find us a conveyance? Surely you don’t expect Jacque to walk to a doctor?”
She’d caught him gawking like a moon-struck schoolboy. Her manservant needed medical attention, though Alex had seen enough battle wounds to tell he wasn’t seriously injured. “I’ll get one of the freighter’s wagons. First, could I have your names and why you’re in Savannah?”
Her lips pouted a moment before she spoke. “I’m Gillian Carey. My traveling companions are Suzette and Jacque Rouget. Mousier Rouget is a chef. They are visiting relatives in Savannah before moving to Atlanta to take over the management of a new restaurant.”
Alex nodded. Atlanta was growing into a sizeable town. He wasn’t surprised a French chef was being imported. The name Carey snagged his memory, but he couldn’t place it. “And you, Miss? What is your destination?”
Her chin jutted out. “I’m going to Macon. My father was to meet me here, but must not have received my letter telling him when we’d arrive.”
She drew in a breath and crossed her arms. “I hope that explains our business, sir, and you are?”
“Captain Alex Blaine.”
“You are with the United States Army, I presume.”
“I am.” Alex gave his revolver to Gillian. “If anyone accosts you while I’m gone, use this. You’ll find it much more effective than your parasol.”
She rewarded him with a grin. “Thank you, captain.”
***
This wasn’t the homecoming Gillian hoped for and dreamed about for eight years. But now that she’d landed in Georgia, nothing would keep her from going home to Lynwood. After they got the Rougets settled, she’d be on her way to Macon, by train she hoped. By mule wagon if that was the only thing available.
Captain Blaine might help—if he would. She had a feeling he was arrogant, as all Yankees were arrogant. Most authoritarian types followed rules set down before them and had no notion of how to handle something unexpected. Like a child staying inside the lines when coloring a picture.
Nothing child-like about Captain Blaine, though. He was all man and a good looking one at that, not that she cared about things like that. She was through with men for a good long while.
Captain Blaine returned shortly, and after a jolting ride down cobblestone streets, they piled into the doctor’s office. Gillian and Suzette followed the captain as he helped Jacque into the examination room.
The captain took Gillian firmly by the elbow. “We should leave the Rougets with the doctor.”
Arrogant indeed. Treating her like a child as if she wasn’t aware it was improper for her to watch Jacque being examined. Nevertheless, she allowed him to direct her to the waiting room.
She sat in the middle of a dusty horsehair sofa and spread out the folds of her skirt on either side lest Captain Blaine try to sit beside her. He lowered his tall frame into the chair opposite.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she tilted her head and sent him an apprizing glance. Autocratic all right. She could tell by the way he squared his broad shoulders and regarded her through narrowed hazel eyes. He was no different than Lord Brimington. Every man with a title seemed to think he knew better than anyone else.
“How long will you be visiting Macon, Miss Carey?”
“For the rest of my life. It’s my home. Or Lynwood Plantation is. It’s only a few miles out of town.”
Alex rubbed his neck, and his brows shot up like he didn’t believe her. “What’s grown on Lynwood?”
“Cotton. What else?”
He leaned in closer. “You grew up on this plantation?”
Why was the arrogant captain questioning her? Irritation hardened her voice. “Until I was twelve. When the war started, Papa sent me to London to visit Grandmother and study music. Then as the war continued, it was too dangerous to come home. When it ended, Grandmother wanted to present me to society, and that meant more schooling.”
“That’s how you acquired your English accent.”
He’d touched a raw nerve in her. “No, I was forced to learn elocution.”
“Ma’am?”
“Grandmother insisted I study elocution two hours every day. Now I can’t even speak like a proper Southerner. When Aunt Mandy came to visit in London last year she could barely understand me.”
The captain chuckled. “I’m sure she could understand you. I’ve had no trouble.”
She wasn’t sure that was a compliment or he made fun of her. Forcing her gaze from his handsome face, she glanced around the bare sitting room.
The silence grew awkward, and she got up to pace about and fidget with the ribbons of her bonnet, very much aware his gaze followed her.
She halted in front of him. “I fear I’ve been remiss in failing to thank you for coming to our assistance, Captain Blaine.”
He smiled, a broad smile that reached his eyes. She ought not like that smile as much as she did. “I was just doing my duty to insure law and order.”
Her glance dropped to his blue uniform. “Of course. That’s the burden of the occupying force, is it not?” She turned and added over her shoulder. “I expected to find my homeland suffering the consequences of war, but you must realize the winner has consequences as well.”
He got up with a creak of the chair. When she turned to face him, she found his smile gone. “You’re right, Miss. It’s time I was on my way to take care of my duties.”
She had to stop him. “Are you going to just leave us here?”
He swung around, his features drawn into a perplexed scowl. “Ma’am?”
“I’m one of your subjects now, captain. You’re responsible for my safety.”
He lifted his hat to run his fingers through those heavy chestnut locks. She had a crazy impulse to do the same. “You’re in no danger now, Miss.”
“But there must be all sorts of dangers between here and Macon, and I want to go home immediately.”
“I suggest you stay with the Rougets until your father comes to fetch you.”
She allowed him to take one more long stride before racing to him and grabbing his arm in both her hands. “I could do that, but I don’t want to. Don’t you understand, captain? It’s been eight long years. I want to go home now. Is there a train to Macon?”
His glance fell to where she kept a stranglehold on his arm. “There’s a train leaving in the morning. I know because I’m supposed to be on it. I’ve been reassigned to Macon.” His mouth tugged into a lazy grin. “But you can’t travel alone, Miss Carey. It’s too dangerous for a lady like—for any woman—to travel alone.”
She wasn’t about to let go of him. “Since you’re going, you could be my escort.” Seemed perfectly logical to her. He’d be on the same train.
His chest rose as he drew in a breath, and that charming
smile morphed into a grimace. “I’ll be on duty. I can’t escort a civilian. It’s against regulations.”
“Surely even the army’s silly rules can be bent if necessary, especially if I go as your cousin.”
“Your cousin?” His jaw slacked. Obviously, he didn’t see as much sense in it as she did.
“It would be better to travel as brother and sister, but we don’t look enough alike.”
“You expect me to pretend to be related to you?” The incredulous look he gave her suggested he suspected she might be another Belle Boyd, the notorious Confederate spy. A pretense did sound better than a falsehood. “I’m aware lying is a sin, captain.” She smoothed out the wrinkles she’d put in his coat sleeve. “But didn’t those spies of Israel have to bend the truth a bit to carry out the Lord’s work?”
In a flash, he took hold of her shoulders and forced her back to arm’s length. “Miss Carey, I can’t be your escort, but as soon as I arrive in Macon, I’ll get the message to your father that you’re waiting here in Savannah. Now, how’s that?” He offered an indulgent smile as he might to a petulant child.
Emotions she’d held at bay flooded her, tears burning the backs of her eyes. “That’s not acceptable at all. I’ve been away for eight years. Every chance I got to come home has been thwarted, and I’m tired of waiting. Can’t you understand that?”
Those tears loosened their hold and gushed down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. “My mother died while I was away.” She hiccupped. “She’d been buried six months before I even knew it.”
She found her handkerchief hidden in her sleeve and pulled it out. The delicate little square was soon soaked.
“Miss Carey, I do understand.” The captain produced a more substantial handkerchief. She pressed her cheeks with it and sent him a hardened gaze from under wet lashes. “No, you don’t understand, but you may make sure of one thing. I am going to be on that train tomorrow, and if you have any starch in your spine, you’ll see I reach my destination safely. I want to see Maudie and Jim and Aunt Mandy, and I want…I want…my papa.”
The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Page 1
