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

by Jessica James

  “It’s late,” he finally said. “You should get some sleep.”

  She nodded against his chest, but didn’t let go. He pulled her back to arm’s length, and looked deep into her eyes. His face revealed a transparent honesty that needed no interpretation. “Are you all right?”

  Andrea nodded again. She wanted to say, “Yes, if you are,” but didn’t trust herself to speak.

  Hunter seemed to understand her feelings without words, perhaps more clearly even than she did herself.

  Taking her by the hand, he led her silently back to the house. They spoke no other words, each knowing they didn’t have to. They had shared a moment of understanding that was rare among friends.

  Unheard of among enemies.

  Chapter 65

  Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks the head, the heart, and the senses.

  – Lao Tzu

  One week later

  Scouting with a half dozen of his men in enemy territory, Colonel Hunter pulled his horse to a stop without signaling, resulting in a general collision behind him as the group bunched up. A number of horses kicked and snorted at the contact as the men tried to rein them in.

  “Colonel, you see something?” Carter knew Hunter’s intuitiveness at finding the enemy, and assumed he’d sniffed something out that no one else could see.

  Hunter stared off into the distance while the entire squad followed his gaze.

  “No. Just admiring the sunrise,” he answered with a vacant, but pleasant, look upon his face.

  Carter studied him to see if he was serious, then followed his gaze to a sky smeared pink and red. “It does that every morning, sir.” Carter rolled his eyes and glanced over at Gus Dorsey who had ridden up beside him.

  The men had all noticed a change in their commander. The differences in his character, though minor, were profound to those who knew him well. When lounging around the men he appeared a bit more relaxed, smiled a little more. Often they would see him staring in deep reverie at the moon, perfectly unconscious of his surroundings, as if picturing or remembering images that no one else could see. One of the men even swore he had heard Hunter whistling when returning from a scouting expedition, though that was not widely accepted as fact.

  * * *

  After returning to friendly territory, Hunter dismissed his men and rode all night to get back to Hawthorne. It was now dawn again, and with his home in sight, he pulled his horse to a stop to soak in the beauty before him.

  Down below, beneath the rising sun, he caught glimpses of the sparkling waters of the stream that cut through Hawthorne. Through the early morning mist rising from the water, he barely made out the peaks of the house, and farther beyond, the hills that stood like silent sentinels guarding the prominent estate. He sat and scanned the scene, contemplating why the sight of Hawthorne caused his heart to rush after so many hours in the saddle.

  Urging his horse forward, he began his descent and the last leg of a long journey home. Why try to analyze a feeling of exhilaration? It was simply a beautiful morning. Ga-lorious as Andrea would say.

  Hunter smiled, and then tried to discount any connection between his eagerness to return to Hawthorne with any thoughts of her. But slowly, just like the sun eating away at the mist, the haziness of his thoughts became clear.

  After galloping across the bridge, he caught sight of Andrea almost instantly, and his eyes remained riveted upon her until she came into sharp focus.

  She stood on the bottom of a paddock fence with her arms draped over the top rail, and seemed to be concentrating on the movements of a horse. When Hunter was nearly upon her, she gave only a half-hearted glance over her shoulder at the sound of his approach. When she saw it was him, she did a double-take. “Oh, howdy, Kuh-nel,” she drawled jokingly as he drew rein behind her.

  Her eyes seemed lit with a luminous welcome before she returned her attention to the horse. The glance created a rush of warmth in Hunter’s heart and caused his blood to race.

  For an instant, a divine dizziness possessed him. He sat motionless, feasting his eyes, his senses, his soul on the woman before him. The vague feeling he had strived to conceal was suddenly no longer vague. The notion that his sentiment was merely a manifestation of gratitude for her defense of Hawthorne so many times could no longer be justified.

  “Spoken like a true Virginian,” he said as he dismounted.

  Andrea’s smile flickered again and so did his heart. “Well ah cain’t help my speech, suh.”

  Hunter laughed. “Miss Evans, your comrades will accuse me of trying to convert you.” Hunter eased himself up to the fence beside her and stood in silence while the gold light of September bathed them both in its warmth.

  “That for Victoria?” Andrea nodded toward his hand.

  “Oh, ah-h-h, no…here.” He thrust the wildflower he had picked on the hill overlooking Hawthorne toward her awkwardly, then stood and stared at her in an uncomfortable sort of way, knowing he should say something else but having absolutely no idea what it was. “It reminded me of…I mean, I thought you might like it.”

  Up flashed her radiant smile and dazzled him again. “For me? For me?” Andrea took the flower and stuck it in her hair, making no effort to hide her delight. The outburst reflected a girlish exuberance that defied all she had passed through.

  Hunter responded by shrugging, pretending that picking flowers was nothing out of the ordinary for him. Yet it did not require much knowledge of his character to know he would have had no more thought of picking a wildflower than plucking a pinecone but a few months earlier. Clumsily and nervously trying to find something to do with his hands, Hunter took off his hat and slapped it against his leg.

  “It appears you are returning from a forced march,” Andrea said, watching the dust rise.

  Hunter nodded, not wishing to admit that she was the forcing power.

  Andrea turned, and, hanging on the fence with one hand, used the other to pat his shoulder, sending another cloud of powdery dust into the air. “Turn around.” She tried to remove the worst of the grime from his shoulders and back by brushing and patting with her hand. “Looks like you’re carrying around half the sacred soil of Virginia.”

  “And you no doubt enjoy beating that out of me, don’t you?” Hunter said good-naturedly.

  That rippling laugh returned at his words. It was a laugh that was hers alone, a laugh that made the desolate silence that used to reign over Hawthorne echo with happiness. And it was a laugh that brought with it a woozy, wobbly feeling that made Hunter place his hand on the fence to steady himself.

  “I’m sure I could never remove it all, Commander,” Andrea replied, making an attempt at seriousness, “because I believe you have it running through your veins.”

  Hunter looked into her smiling, glowing eyes and felt a raw ache of happiness in his heart—so acute as to be almost painful. She appeared so radiant on this beautiful, sunny day that he had to look away for fear his eyes would betray what he was thinking. Good heavens, I am losing my mind.

  Standing quietly for a few moments as she turned back to the paddock, Hunter tried to calm his rushing pulse. Speech had become dangerous, but that did not stop him from gazing at her while she concentrated on the horses.

  “You know,” he said, studying the side of her honey-tanned face, “if you are determined to spend so much time outdoors, you really should wear a hat.”

  Andrea shrugged, her gaze locked on the horse. “But I don’t have one.”

  Hunter removed his and placed it on her head. “If you’re not averse to wearing this one, it’s yours.”

  The hat sank low on her head, and she pushed it up off her brow. “I suppose I should be honored to wear the hat of the gallant Hunter.”

  “But you are not sure?” He smiled at her uneasiness, knowing she wrestled with the idea of wearing a rebel hat and did not wish to offend him. “Think of it as legally captured property of war. To the victor go the spoil
s.”

  She chuckled at that. “But I’m afraid I did not legally capture it.”

  “My dear, just because there was no blood shed does not mean you did not legally capture it. It is yours. And your smile is ample reward.”

  Andrea looked at him quizzically as if trying to see if he intended some deeper meaning from his words. Hunter quickly leaned over the fence with his arms crossed on the top rail, and tried to change the subject. “I see you have your eye on the roan.”

  His elbow now touched hers in relaxed abandon. Although she seemed not to notice the contact, he could barely control his thoughts. He wondered what it would feel like to stand there with his arm resting possessively over her shoulders on this brilliantly sunny day while they watched horses in the paddock side by side—as if there were no, and never had been, a war.

  Hunter took a deep breath at the disheartening chance of such an event occurring, and her reaction to it, then cleared his throat. “Nice looking piece of Yankee horseflesh,” he said, trying to make conversation. “Not that he’s comparable in speed or endurance to a Virginia-bred.”

  Andrea remained silent, cocking her head and examining the horse. Then she gazed confidingly up at him, almost as if a deep and comfortable affection existed between them. “Maybe not. But I know a horse that is.”

  Hunter put his head back and laughed, knowing she baited him. “You think Justus is faster than Dixie? Or Dash? Funny, but usually I find a woman’s vivid imagination a bit tedious.”

  Andrea looked curiously at him, as if surprised at the sound of the warm gentle voice. Never before had she appeared more appealing than with the glow of autumn sunlight upon her face. Her eyes appeared lustrous and a shy smile illuminated her already-radiant face. “Imagination? Tedious? And in my case?”

  “I find it enchanting,” he said with a relaxed, boyish grin. “And someday, Miss Evans, I’d be honored to take you up on the challenge of finding out whose horse is faster.

  “I look forward to that day.” Andrea grabbed his arm for support when she stepped off the bottom rail of the fence. “What shall the stakes be?” She had a laughing challenge in her eyes as she kept her arm linked in his. Hunter felt the warmth of her touch, yet her weight, as she leaned on him, was hardly discernible.

  “Leave that to me,” he said, trying to keep any emotion from his voice. “I’ll think of something.” He pretended to be completely unaffected by her loveliness, though it was only with great effort that he drew his eyes away from her.

  “Oh no. I believe it is I who should come up with the purse for the victor.” She glanced up at him with a daring, and he thought, seductive look, as she allowed her hand to slide down his arm and into the grasp of his fingers.

  Hunter’s heart missed a beat as he continued walking in a delicious trance. The simple, casual contact of holding her hand had every nerve and muscle in his body quivering in a way that had never occurred even with the most passionate touch of a woman prior.

  Chapter 66

  I love you and that’s the beginning and end of everything.

  – F. Scott Fitzgerald

  With warm sunlight splashing on his shoulders and Andrea’s hand resting in his, Hunter wondered if he was dreaming—or perhaps had died and somehow made it to Heaven.

  “If such is your pleasure.” He smiled down at her with unmasked emotion in response to her offer. “I only hope you will make the stakes high enough.”

  “Colonel, you doubt me?” She pulled him to a sudden stop with her fingers still laced with his. A wide grin brightened her face and an audacious sparkle lit her eyes.

  This was the sort of thing that shook him. Hunter laughed, not so much at her words, but at the beautiful way her smile made him feel. She looked perfectly enchanting with his battle hat upon her head, a flower peeking from beneath its brim—a characteristic contradiction of refinement and roughness, grit and grace.

  “The pleasure will be all mine—win or lose.” He gazed down at her and quickly looked away. Her captivating green eyes were never devoid of power, yet today they overwhelmed him.

  “I don’t think you take me seriously.” Andrea slid her hand up to cling to his arm again. “When I win, I wish it to be fairly.”

  “I did not mean to infer I will allow you to win, Miss Evans.” Hunter stopped again and tried to calm his pulsing heart. “I only meant that, should I lose, it could not be to a more deserving victor.”

  They were almost to the porch now, and Hunter had the sudden urge to go back—back to when he had first rode up and she was standing at the fence. Don’t let this moment, this morning, this feeling end. He remained silent, but his mind raced. Tell her. Tell her. Then, do not hold the reins too tightly. Relax, or she will pull and run away. He tried again to think of the right words to explain his emotions—and to find the nerve to say them out loud.

  Pausing on the middle step, he looked back over his shoulder at a disturbance some horses created in the field. Andrea continued to the top step, but turned around questioningly when he did not follow.

  With their eyes almost even since he now stood two steps below her, she turned all the way around and placed her hands on his shoulders playfully. “I like this. For once, I do not have to look up to you, Colonel.”

  “I believe I prefer it when you do.”

  Andrea tilted her head back and laughed. Gazing straight into her enchanting eyes, he knew he would remember the expression she wore on this day, no matter what else ever came to happen in the world.

  “I’m sure you do, Colonel.” Andrea pushed gently on his shoulders, forcing him to take another step backward and down, his spurs clanking when they hit the slate behind him. “There,” she said, her eyes shining from under the brim of his hat. “This is even better. Now you are looking up to me.”

  The look—and the words—made him reckless. The smile faded from his face. “My dear,” he said, his strong voice low and husky, “trust, I always do that.”

  Andrea’s brows drew together as she tried to read the look in his eyes, but he did not give her time. Bounding up the remaining stairs, he took her hand once again and turned her toward the pastures with boyish enthusiasm. “Have you ever seen anything more splendid?” In the field before them a dozen horses raced their shadows along the paddock fence.

  “I believe I’ve told you before, Colonel, you reside in a place no less perfect than paradise.”

  Hunter felt a surge of warmth from the small bit of pressure she placed on his hand as she spoke. “And so Virginia is heaven in your eyes, after all?”

  Andrea turned to him, her eyes swimming with mirth. “Oh, Colonel, you do have a way of putting words in my mouth. I’ll give you that Hawthorne is heaven—but I must still reserve my opinion on all of Virginia.”

  Hunter laughed at her stubbornness, and she laughed at his laughter. They stood like two children in the sunshine, thoughts of war and enemies and fighting as far from either mind as the thought of any friendship between them had once been.

  Tell her, Hunter thought again. Tell her now.

  Why his lips remained silent he could not fathom. The sparkle of acceptance in her eyes seemed to be a signal, but secretly he feared her heart would not go so far as to accept the affections of a rebel.

  “You are smiling as if you have a secret you wish to share.” Andrea interrupted his thoughts with imploring eyes.

  Hunter could not speak. He was trying to catch the breath she took away. Biting his cheek, as he had so often seen her doing, he thought about confessing what he felt. He took a deep breath as if to try, then exhaled slowly when he could not make his tongue give utterance to the words.

  Of all the women he had been with in his lifetime—and there had been many—not one had the power to interrupt sensible thoughts like this one. He swallowed all the things he wanted to say and said something else.

  “You’ve been content here the last few weeks?” He lifted the hat a little to reveal her eyes.r />
  “Content?” Andrea drew her brows together and cocked her head.

  “I beg your pardon.” Hunter leaned one shoulder against a pillar, his face turning rigid. “I realize you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  He tried to appear calm, but inside his heart plummeted. He knew with certainty now that her impatience to leave had only been subdued, not extinguished. She still thought of Hawthorne as a prison, one she would break away from when circumstances allowed. The time would come for her to go. And that time, he feared, was not far remote.

  “Oh, I understand the word, Colonel. But how could I be content when the one with whom I have enjoyed so many battles of wit is forever absent?”

  Hunter sucked his breath in and strained to let it out slowly. Her words and her tone indicated an attempt to make light of the situation in a polite and courteous fashion. Yet he felt sure her eyes indicated something much more complex.

  “My absence is not of my own desire,” he said in a low, serious tone. “There are many times I wish for nothing more than to be home. Here.”

  “Then it would appear your wishes have been very much in accord with mine.” Andrea looked straight up into his eyes, and then out over his shoulder as if she too had trouble putting words to her thoughts. “I once believed it an unkind fate that placed me here…but it’s a kind one that permits me the occasional privilege of your company.”

  Had a hidden battery suddenly opened fire at close range, Hunter could not have been more stunned. He reached instantly for her hand and drew it instinctively to his heart.

  Miss Evans … Andrea. I feel that I must tell you that I…that I—”

  The door opened and Victoria burst out, driving his speech back into the depths of his soul.

  “Alex, I didn’t know you were home!” She dove into him with her usual rapture, knocking Andrea out of the way. Hunter watched Andrea’s eyes flicker with a hint of disappointment before becoming consumed with resentment and anger.