Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II)

by Jessica James

“You underestimate me, Major,” Andrea said, regaining her composure. “I promise you that those men will believe me every bit as cultured as one of your Virginia damsels in distress.”

  He eyed her skeptically. “Does that mean you’ll suppress your usual temperament and try to gain some measure of control over your unguarded tongue?”

  “That means I’ll advance no opinion unless I feel it is required or expected.”

  Hunter sighed and placed his fingers on his temples, as he so often did in her presence. “If you’ve been dining on gunpowder again, Miss Evans, I sincerely hope you’ll keep the ammunition of your thoughts to yourself, and that you’ll refrain from discharging words of war at my table. Do I make myself clear?”

  Andrea brushed a piece of lint from her skirt. “Are you saying you wish me to remain voiceless in the presence of my enemies?”

  Hunter laughed. “Since when have you been voiceless under such conditions? Or under any conditions for that matter?” He held up his hand to stop her from answering. “I am here to tell you that your obstinate behavior will in no way be tolerated tonight. Do you understand?”

  Andrea planted her cane in front of her and stood her ground. “And so you simply expect me to submit to your demands?”

  Hunter put his hat back on, and spoke with the authority of one who is not to be ignored or refused. “I’ve said all I came to say. I’ll appreciate your forbearance on all issues relating to the war. Pray do not take it lightly.”

  When he turned to leave, Andrea turned her back on him. But a moment after the door closed, she heard it reopen. “Miss Evans, this is somewhat of a formal affair. You will kindly wear shoes?”

  Andrea whipped her head around and glared, but the door had already closed. She stuck her tongue out in his direction anyway before throwing herself face down onto the bed. As far as she was concerned, he had thrown down a challenge.

  And she was not one to refuse it.

  Chapter 19

  You prepare a table for me in the presence of mine enemies.

  – Psalm 23:5

  “Your guest will not be joining us?” Colonel Wellington picked up a glass of wine and drank thirstily before turning his attention to his host.

  Hunter glanced at the clock and almost hoped she would not. It took no power of prophecy to know she would either come to the table miserable and moping like a sulking child, or temperamental and explosive like a wounded lion.

  But before Hunter could make up an excuse or answer, the sound of a cane tapping down the hall fell upon his ears. The leisurely and methodical pace of the advancing turbulence caused him to tilt his head in confusion. Usually when Andrea approached, the movements were fast and furious, and doors blew open when she entered a room like a storm moving through.

  Hunter waited breathlessly and expectantly for the gale to come rushing in, both fearing and anticipating her reaction when she found there were not four, but seven rebels to contend with. But to his surprise the door opened slowly, allowing the light from the hall to enter first, then surround, the vision of beauty that lingered there. The tempest he had expected was nowhere to be seen or heard. The only sound was the soft, pleasant rustle of feminine attire as it gracefully sashayed into the room.

  “Gentlemen,” Andrea said, her eyes roaming the room.

  If she noticed—or cared—that the table was filled to capacity with her enemy, she did not show it. On the contrary, she smiled demurely at those gathered as if honored and humbled to be in their presence.

  It appeared to Hunter that somehow, somewhere in his home, a bewitching transformation had taken place. The beast of a few hours earlier had been exchanged for one of alluring majesty. The creature that had the delicacy and sensitivity of an angry bull had apparently departed. In its place was one whose deportment was ladylike, whose appearance was refined.

  Smiling entrancingly, Andrea looked every man in the eye, save Hunter, who she notably failed to pay the courtesy of a glance. “Ah’m so very sorry for keeping y’all waitin’. Ah hope you gentlemen will forgive me.”

  She did not look sorry at all to Hunter. Rather, she seemed to be enjoying the spotlight. She acted with such sophistication, Hunter almost forgot this was the same barefooted she-devil that caused him so much distress; the same Union-loving patriot that, if she had a gun in her hand, would have every man in this room begging for his life.

  Hunter’s eyes swept over the yellow silk of her gown, which in the flames of the flickering candlelight appeared more like shimmering gold. Indeed, the flowing of a great concourse of ruffles made her radiate with something akin to the warm rays of the sun. She stood by her chair with all the presence of royalty, her head held high as if there should be a crown upon it. Hunter could see no flaw in her poise. A stranger, seeing her for the first time, would swear she had the blue blood of a Virginian ancestry running through her veins.

  “It was well worth the wait,” Wellington said, taking her extended hand from across the table and kissing it.

  Hunter watched carefully and noticed that Andrea seemed well practiced in having her hand kissed by someone she would rather shoot than touch. “You are too kind, suh,” she replied, batting her lashes. “It’s such an honah for you to permit me to dine with you.”

  “Ah, but my dear, it’s your presence that makes the food taste better and the company so much more enjoyable,” Wellington said, still holding her hand.

  Andrea smiled with her fingers locked in his mushy grasp. “Oh la, suh. Now you are paying me a compliment and ah was only stating the truth.”

  Hunter stood dumbfounded during the exchange. Even her accent was deceptive, sounding musical in manner, soft and alluring in tone. Just like she had warned him, every motion radiated the attitude and presence of the well-bred Southern lady. Clearing his throat, he found his voice. “Gentlemen, may I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Evans. Miss Andrea Evans.”

  Andrea curtsied at the sound of her name and hid the wince of pain the movement caused from all but Hunter. “It’s such a pleasure to meet such honorable membahs of the Confederate ahmy. Please do be seated, gentlemen.”

  Hunter pulled out her chair, and took advantage of the moment to lean forward and whisper in her ear a line from Hamlet. “The devil hath the power to assume a pleasing shape.”

  Andrea turned her head away with offended majesty, her countenance revealing a moment of surprise, and then a hint of anger, before returning to stone-faced indifference as she lowered herself into her chair like a queen.

  “Miss Evans, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to my second–in-command, Captain Carter.”

  Andrea glanced at Hunter at his choice of words, then nodded demurely toward Carter. The officer did not bother to smile, but took the time to nod in her direction. Hunter could tell by Carter’s alert expression that he’d already made a correct assessment of the young beauty. Anyone who mistook those brilliant green eyes and seductive smile for anything but a sharp mind and quick wit was making a big mistake.

  “And one of my scouts, Gus Dorsey.”

  Andrea smiled at the handsome young scout, and the wink he gave her in return did not go unnoticed by Hunter. He wondered how well the two had become acquainted during his convalescence, and then wondered why he cared.

  “And my personal aide, Johnny,” he continued. “And I believe you’ve met Corporal Kroger and Private Tate.”

  Hunter felt like he was watching an actress on the stage as Andrea smiled and nodded at each introduction. She exuded nothing but wisdom, grace, and charm tonight, yet this was the same woman who possessed the added skill of being able to rattle curses with the ease and fluency of Vesuvius casting lava.

  “How long might we have the privilege of your company, Colonel?”

  “Only one night, I’m afraid.” Wellington leaned forward across the table. “I’m on very important business for General Stuart. I thought it advantageous to make Major Hunter’s acquaintance in
the event we find ourselves working together in the future.”

  Hunter saw Andrea’s lips twitch with amusement, but she successfully suppressed any outright laughter.

  “So you and Major Hunter are old friends?” Wellington asked as he dug into his food with zeal. “I’ve not heard General Stuart speak of you.”

  “I do not enjoy the honah or distinction. We met—”

  “She’s here to recover from an injury,” Hunter interrupted. “A fall from a horse.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, might you be related to an Olivia Evans of Virginia?” Wellington continued. “She married a fellow, a horse breeder I believe, from South Carolina.”

  Hunter watched the smile vanish from Andrea’s flushed face as a haunted, hunted look replaced it. “No, suh, I don’t believe ah’ve heard the name.” Her voice did not waver, but she swallowed hard and stared intently at her plate.

  “I see. Well, she’s dead now, but she had a daughter about your age.”

  “Is that so?” Hunter leaned forward.

  “Yes,” Wellington continued between mouthfuls of food. “However, she ran away at a young age. There was some sort of trouble over escaped slaves, if my memory serves.”

  Andrea had no response, but picked up her glass and appeared to be forcing herself to drink slowly.

  Wellington barely paused before launching into a new conversation. “So you are recovering from an accident on a horse?”

  Hunter saw Andrea sigh, relieved at the change of course. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”

  “Ain’t nothing to riding but keeping a horse between yourself and the ground,” Carter mumbled under his breath.

  “Ah’m still a little fearful of the beasts, ah’m afraid,” Andrea said, shivering in such a believable way, Hunter was almost convinced she was telling the truth.

  The table fell silent for a moment, but then the chatter began anew. Hunter saw Andrea pretending to listen with only remote interest as Gus and Carter discussed a recent foray into enemy territory. Her manner conveyed she did not understand the military topics discussed and that she had no interest in learning more about them. Yet he knew she could probably repeat the conversation verbatim if she was ever asked to do so.

  “How was that now?” Wellington asked. “You caught seventy prisoners without firing a shot?”

  Hunter demanded with his eyes that Gus desist in the telling of the story. Unfortunately for him, Gus was not looking his way.

  “Well, it was pouring down rain and dark as could be. Major Hunter went galloping into a Union outpost, yellin’ at the top of his lungs for the men to mount up and follow him—he’d found Hunter’s hideout in the pines.” Gus paused for a moment to take a bite of food. “Course, he didn’t lie. We were in the pines.” He looked over at Andrea and winked. “Waiting with open arms ya might say.”

  Wellington looked from Hunter to Gus and back again in utter amazement, then put his head back and laughed, his jowls flapping together like two large pancakes.

  The rest of the room also exploded in laughter, all except Andrea, who stared into space, her gaze fixed and intent like she was replaying the scene in her head. Hunter almost interpreted it as a deferential gaze, one that appreciated the daring and boldness the feat required, even though attributed to one of her most loathed enemies.

  “I only wish I have the same opportunity someday.” Wellington rose unsteadily to his feet with a wine glass in his hand. “I’d like to propose a toast to Majah Hunter and all he’s done for the Confederate cause. Here’s to honah.”

  Andrea’s hesitation at being forced to link her host’s name with the word did not go unnoticed. “Do you have something against honah, my dear?” Wellington asked.

  “Not at all,” she said with a forced smile. “I believe there is nothing worse than dishonah. However, I would prefer a toast to—” She looked at Hunter defiantly. “Freedom.”

  The table grew silent until Hunter cleared his throat. “She means, I believe, freedom of the Southern states from the oppressive powers of the North. If I may—” Hunter stood and gazed at Andrea, whose brows had narrowed, as they always did when forced to listen to views that were at variance with her own. “Here’s to the Confederacy. May she always maintain her honor, her rights, and most of all, her freedom.”

  Hunter made an extra effort to wink and toast his proud houseguest, who sat with a straight back, looking acutely annoyed but nonetheless regal as she gazed hypnotically at a flickering candle flame.

  He couldn’t help but smile, because he could tell she was cursing violently enough to educate all the sailors at sea—even if, for once, the words were not spoken aloud. She had apparently taken his warning before dinner to heart, a surprising turn of events considering she generally didn’t listen to him…let alone obey.

  Chapter 20

  What a plague to thee is this mistrust!

  – Polyeucte by Pierre Corneille

  Time glided on mechanically, if not tranquilly, under the hand of Providence, and Andrea’s life began falling into a routine. Just as she had as a little girl, it became her custom to visit the kitchen at dawn as the servants were beginning their chores. Mattie’s plump figure reminded her of Mammy, and the warmth and contentment she felt within the walls of the structure rekindled memories of some of her happier childhood days.

  But this morning Andrea had risen too early. The kitchen still lay wrapped in silence and darkness, and there was not a stirring of activity in the house. Lighting a candle, Andrea rekindled the large fire and began boiling water for morning coffee as she hummed softly to herself.

  When Mattie and Izzie still had not appeared, she dumped what was left of a bag of coffee beans into a pan and set them over the fire to dry. The aroma soon filled the air, bringing with it a feeling of peace and comfort.

  “Ah-ha, I see I’ve caught the fox in the henhouse.”

  Andrea jumped at the sound of the voice behind her and whirled around to face it.

  “Sorry, did I startle you?” Hunter’s tone made it obvious he was not sorry in the least.

  “Major, you’re…back.” Andrea tried to keep her voice from shaking. She felt uncomfortable beside his looming form, her mind flashing back to their last unpleasant encounter. The urge to run seized her, but when she looked into his laughing, gray eyes, she had a strange desire to stay.

  “Just returned.” He held up a large sack as he spoke. “Mattie said we are getting low on certain supplies—like coffee—and now I understand why.”

  Hunter’s voice was rich and deep, making it difficult for Andrea to keep her hands, and her voice, from trembling. Usually he treated her with cold politeness when he noticed her, ignoring her altogether when opportunity allowed. His behavior today was unexpected and confusing.

  “Well, it’s just that I couldn’t sleep.” Andrea tried to avoid his eyes as she glanced over her shoulder at the preparations she’d made. “But yes, I have an affection for coffee.”

  “And you have no problem drinking this coffee?” He held up the sack marked: U.S. PROPERTY.

  Andrea realized it was captured coffee, spoils of war—plunder taken by his men on a raid. She lowered her gaze, knowing he had intentionally trapped her.

  Hunter grinned. “Since you admitted you enjoy it, I will be sure and tell my men to keep the Union provisions coming.”

  Andrea frowned at the way he twisted everything to suit him. She began making her way to the door, hoping to make a hasty retreat. “Major, you’ll no doubt continue to do as you please, but don’t place blame on me for your thievery and propensity for plunder.”

  Although she was close to making her escape, Hunter took a step backward, barring her path. “Thievery? My dear, this is war, and I’m regrettably forced to share the same quartermaster and supplies as the U.S. army.”

  Finding his nearness and his relaxed attitude both disturbing and exciting, Andrea decided to play along. “Well, I hope you used your manners and asked for
it nicely.”

  “Armed men do not ask permission.” Hunter crossed his arms and stared at her intently with a subdued twinkle in his eye. “But if you must know, it was furnished gratis.”

  “I see.” Andrea tried to breathe normally and speak calmly, though his closeness made that well-nigh impossible. “And did you compel the quartermaster to offer it gratis while you were stealing horses with the U.S. brand?”

  Hunter cocked his head to one side. “Yes. But those horses all had riders. And those riders all had guns. This, my dear, is legally acquired spoils of war, by right of discovery and capture.” He paused for a moment and smiled. “And by the fact that when the Yanks saw my men, they did not care to fight for it.”

  Andrea was at a loss for something to say—a strange state of affairs that did not go unnoticed by Hunter. He laughed loudly, a deep, rolling laugh that almost made her smile. Instead, she shook her head in exasperation, sidestepped him, and departed the room, just as a breathless Mattie and Izzie began to enter.

  “Good mornin’, Miz Andrea.” Mattie looked at Andrea quizzically, apparently having heard the sound of laughter. Then her gaze went to Hunter. “Good mornin’, Massa.”

  With Hunter for a moment occupied with talking to Mattie, Andrea hurried from the room and headed toward the library. She wanted to find a book before he settled in there, as was his habit upon returning from the field.

  Relying on the few rays of early morning light shining through the windows, Andrea did not bother to light a candle. Giving only a hurried glance and little thought to the layout of the room, she failed to notice a chair out of place until it was too late. Tripping over the obstacle, she tumbled onto the desk, knocking papers, documents, and books to the floor.

  “Miss Evans, what are you doing?” The room filled with light when Hunter entered carrying a lamp.

  Andrea regained her balance and bent down to pick up the articles she’d disturbed. “I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t see in the dark—”

  “That’s what the lamps are for,” he said, not unkindly, as he bent down to help pick up some of the scattered items.