Siege of the Heart (Southern Romance Series, #2)

by Lexy Timms

  Solomon did feel bad about his sister’s broken engagement, but Cyrus wouldn’t speak to him anymore. He showed up at the shop, and Cyrus looked right through him. Solomon did not dare push it, not when he knew his life hung in the balance.

  Then there was Jasper himself, Jasper and Clara, looking at one another like they were so in love they couldn’t see the rest of the world. Clara and Jasper...

  That, Solomon would never have seen coming. No matter how many times he had watched Jasper’s quiet good manners and honor, and wished they had been born in another time and place when he might introduce Clara and Jasper and hope they would court. He had thought Clara would bend, someday, to Cyrus, and he had thought Jasper might love Cecelia. But, now that he saw their love, he was not so much admiring and happy as deeply envious. It was an ungracious emotion, as Millicent would say. Gracious friends did not envy.

  How could Solomon not envy when he had come home to his farmstead and he had nothing he had imagined; not glory, for he could claim nothing when the guilt wormed cold in his gut; not a clear conscience, for he had seen far too much even before he became a traitor. No wife, as he had thought he might have when he came home. He could see none of the women of the town without thinking bitterly that they knew nothing. They rejoiced to see the South brought to heel, and as well they might, when their siblings and sons had died on the battlefields, but they had not seen the suffering those same men inflicted.

  War was not as simple as anyone wanted it to be, and even Solomon would make it simple if he could. He just could not forget.

  “Solomon?” Clara rounded the house, her brows drawn together and a smudge of flour on her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” Solomon felt his anger melt away as he looked at her. Whatever envy he felt in his loneliest hours, whatever awful jealousy and sadness, he could feel none of it while looking at Clara. She was radiant these days, awaiting her marriage to Jasper with joy. All was right in her world once more, and if there was still a delicacy between her and Solomon...

  It would ease in time. He must believe it. More and more, they fell back into their old patterns, little jokes and easy moments. He wished he could confide in her now, but how could he lay this at her doorstep when it troubled her conscience so? She would tell him that it served him right, that he should make amends for what he had done.

  He did not know how.

  “I can’t find Cee,” she said now, frowning. “She was going to help me with the baking, but she’s gone.”

  “She’s been...” Cecelia had been walking on air for a few weeks before this, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, shining with health. Solomon knew it pleased her to have her family happy and whole once more, and he knew she had seen more than Clara ever thought. But her depression, what could be causing it?

  “I’ll check the stables.”

  “I looked in the stables.”

  “Odd.” Solomon peered through the orchard. “Have you seen Jasper?”

  “No.” Her frown deepened. “I thought he was with you.”

  “No, I haven’t seen him all morning.”

  Jasper too had been acting oddly. He often stared into the distance at nights, contributing little to the dinner conversation. Solomon knew it had been difficult for him to acclimate, that sometimes the townsfolk took Cyrus’s side in the marriage scandal. Oh, yes, it was the best gossip the town had had in years, and Millicent was determined that they wait long enough on the marriage to show that Clara had not gotten in the family way, but surely that would cause Jasper frustration and anger, not melancholy.

  “She said she was going out to the fields,” Clara murmured. She dusted her hands off on her skirt and marched towards the corner of the house.

  “Perhaps...” But Solomon’s voice trailed off. He could think of nothing.

  “Naught.” Clara announced, disgusted. She was surveying the fields when Solomon arrived, fields that were conveniently bare. The scent of ripening apples and peaches filled the air, and a crisp wind was blowing up between the trees.

  Suddenly Solomon saw the flash of movement. How many times had he watched, lying in wait for enemy soldiers trying to gain ground by stealth? He knew the look of men as they advanced through the trees, melting into the dappled shadows. He knew them, and...

  A flash of color.

  “God in Heaven.” He was running, running as fast as he could.

  Clara hiked up her skirts and hastened after him. “Solomon! What is it?” But she saw it too, before long, and he heard her scream Cecelia’s name, her voice taken by the wind.

  They skidded to a stop at the edge of the field. Cecelia’s shawl, a heavy knit thing she’d taken to wearing in the last week or so, was lying trampled in the dirt, and as they looked up the hill, they heard the pound of hooves and the last of the men disappearing over the hill.

  “I’ll saddle Beauty.” Solomon grabbed Clara’s hand and ran for the house.

  “Who are they?” her voice came out too high, hysterical. “Solomon, we have to go after them!”

  “I’ll go after them. You get some supplies from the kitchen. Bread, cheese, apples. Anything. I’ll get the horse.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “You’ll slow me down,” he said brutally. ”We have one horse, and one rifle. Get supplies. I’ll go. Call on Cyrus.”

  “Cyrus?”

  “He may help.”

  “He won’t,” she gasped. She was holding her side, but she did not stop running, even though she could hardly speak.

  “Anyone you can think of.”

  “Who would...who would...?” She was losing her breath, swaying. “Why would they take her?”

  “It wasn’t her,” Solomon said. He swung around to a stop, taking her by the shoulders. “If it was her, they...” He had seen what men did in times of war. They wouldn’t bother carrying Cecelia away. “They came for Jasper,” he said finally, thinking it best not to worry Clara with those particular facts.

  “Who would come for Jasper? Men from the town?” She looked down the road. “But they came from the forest.”

  “No one from town would take Cecelia,” Solomon said, thinking fast. An idea was forming in his head and he did not like it. “There’s only one person it could have been. It’s...oh crap! It was the Confederate army.”

  “What?” Her voice came out in a little cry.

  Solomon gave her a tiny shake. “Listen to me. You need to go get supplies. I’ll go after them. Two of their horses must be double-loaded, they’ll go slower than I will. Clara. Clara.”

  “What?” She was trying to tear away from him, her face already wet with tears. She fairly snarled the word at him.

  “I’ll get them back,” Solomon told her. And then, in a rush, because it fit together: “I told mother I would atone for this. Jasper’s a good man. He brought me home. If my life is what it takes to get him and Cecelia back to you...”

  She stared at him, her lip trembling, and she could not seem to find the words to argue with him. He pulled her into a rough hug and felt her fingers dig into his back. She was desperately afraid.

  “I’ll meet you out front in a moment,” he told her, and he gave her a little push towards the kitchen.

  She went, wiping her face and breaking into a run, and Solomon hurled himself into the stable. He hauled the saddle and bridle down from the wall, cursing their weight, cursing that he hadn’t kept himself in the habit of being in the saddle. His musket was out here as well, kept polished by...well, Jasper, Solomon supposed. He could hardly bring himself to look at it.

  He led Beauty around the front of the house to find Clara waiting, white-faced. The bundle of food, she slid into one of Beauty’s saddlebags, and she gave the horse a little pat on the nose; Beauty snorted and stomped.

  “Come back safely,” she said softly, and Solomon knew that was the only kindness she could give him now. He was the reason Jasper was gone, and she knew it. Jasper, and Cecelia.

  “Is mother...?”

&nbs
p; “I’ll tell her when you’re gone.” It was a sound decision. Clara knew they both hated goodbyes, Solomon and Millicent. “I’ll tell her—”

  “That I love her, and I’m trying to make this right.”

  Clara hesitated, then gave a tiny laugh. “You know she’d tell you not to do anything stupid just for the sake of penance.”

  It was a blessing, of a sort. Solomon nodded his head at her, touched, and mounted up in one fluid motion, turning Beauty and thundering into the woods. He did not look back, and he knew Clara would go into the house so she did not have to see him go.

  Neither of them, as it happened, saw the lone figure make its way out of the trees by the road and mount up to follow him at a discreet distance, the brown cloak melding almost perfectly with the shadows of the forest.

  Chapter 3

  Jasper awoke with a start. His head hurt like crazy and he was sure for a moment he’d gone blind. When he shook his head, opening and closing his eyes, he felt the brush of fabric. His head was hazy, and every part of him hurt now. His mouth was dryer than he could remember.

  His heart sank as he realized where he must be. The memories he had were of jolting and jostling, of hearing Cecelia’s muffled sobs as they rode. He heard nothing now. Was she unconscious? Terrified into silence? Was it too much to hope that they had taken pity and left her behind?

  His teeth rattled as the horse trotted roughly over the uneven ground. Memories were coming back: sliding as the horses traversed their way up mountains and down again, jostling and shaking, passing out and waking again in a haze of misery.

  Things came back in pieces.

  Clara. The thought came to him suddenly. How long had they been gone? His heart squeezed. By now, she would know he was missing, surely she would, and if Cecelia was back, she would know why.

  If not...

  Surely none of them would think that he and Cecelia had run away together. But that was, Jasper knew, exactly what Cyrus would tell then. Only, Solomon would know better. Wouldn’t he?

  He groaned in frustration. He could only hope Cecelia made it back. What if Clara, too, had noticed his reticence lately? What if she thought he had left of his own accord? No, she would never think that. Surely not. She would realize he had been kidnapped.

  Taken by force by militia. Marked for death.

  He was terrified, and a sudden stop brought to mind vivid images. He was hauled down from the horse, immediately falling to the ground as his tired legs gave out below him, and he heard the snickers of the men watching him. Sudden anger suffused him, gave him life. He stood tall for a moment, having struggled to his feet, and he looked in their direction, jaw clenched.

  “Who are you?” he asked them, and there was laughing again. He knew he must look a mess, disheveled and exhausted. He was trembling where he stood, but he still had dignity, dammit.

  It was the crying that broke him. He knew those cries. He had heard them enough in the past. How long? Days? Hours? He had lost track of time, and yet it must only have been hours. They had not stopped for food and water, he was sure of that. How far had they gotten?

  “Don’t cry, little miss,” one of the men said roughly, and Cecelia, bless her, paid them not a moment’s thought. Jasper felt their discomfort as she sobbed onwards, and the muted anger, the feeling that perhaps they had done something wrong. He looked towards Cecelia, anguished.

  “That’s right,” one of them told him angrily. “Your wife is here too.”

  “My...?” For a moment, Jasper felt his throat constrict. They thought Cecelia was his wife. Oh, no. No. If they thought....

  “Let her go,” he said quietly. “Whatever there is between me and you, leave her out of it. She is not a soldier. She’s a civilian. A casualty of war.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. You see, she’s here to ensure your good behavior.”

  “If you hurt her...” But he could do nothing about it, and they all knew it. It was on the tip of Jasper’s tongue to tell them she was not his wife, but if she was not, then she would still be a woman who had seen Confederate soldiers creeping around in the forests of Virginia. She would be a liability. Would they let her live? He closed his mouth on the words.

  “What do you think of us?” one of them asked him, voice low and angry. “That we’d hurt a woman?”

  This was a rather disingenuous statement after they’d kidnapped her, but Jasper knew better than to argue about it. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from answering.

  “No, she’s here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” the stranger said.

  Jasper closed his eyes on a rush of relief. “And you’ll release her?”

  “When we’re done with you?” A Confederate soldier scoffed. “Maybe.”

  Cecelia started crying again, and a new voice broke in.

  “That’s enough.”

  Jasper froze. He knew the voice.

  Robert Knox had served in his regiment.

  Jasper turned his head sharply, noting that the men had gone silent. The stupid cloth on his head would not come off and he could see nothing but blurriness through it.

  “Don’t scare the lady.” Robert paused, perhaps turning to Cecelia. “Miss, would you like something to eat?”

  Cecelia’s sobs abated somewhat, but there was no answer.

  “Miss, please. You have to eat something. It’s been hours.”

  “I don’t want to eat,” Cecelia whispered, and Jasper’s heart broke. She was so frightened, and trying to be brave, trying to be defiant. Clara had no knowledge, truly, of how self-possessed her sister had become.

  “Some water, then. Come now, miss, you know you’ll be in trouble if you don’t take some water at least.”

  “It’s not poisoned?”

  “I promise,” Robert said gently, but the edge in his tone made Jasper think he was staring down the other men angrily, daring them to comment. No one did.

  Jasper waited while he heard Cecelia drink something.

  “That’s good,” Robert said encouragingly. “You should try to eat something if you can. We have dried meat, see—”

  “No!” Her voice was soft, but emphatic. Some of the men laughed, and the sound was hastily bitten off; Jasper could just imagine, though, the thought of a woman who had just seen army rations for the first time. He could not blame her for looking askance at them.

  “Well, we’ll see how you feel in the morning.” Robert’s voice was dubious, but he let it be.

  “Knox.” Jasper’s voice was low, and he heard the camp still.

  “Perry,” Robert said after a moment.

  “Suppose you tell me what this is about.”

  “You know what it’s about,” Robert said in a low voice.

  Jasper heard Cecelia catch her breath.

  That was all Robert would say on the matter.

  It was only later, as Jasper sat alone in the darkness, the choked up water they’d tipped too fast into his mouth still drying on his shirt, that he heard the crunch of footsteps. “Knox?” He could only hope. Knox had been a volatile man at times, but he’d commanded the respect of the others, as he did now, Jasper could tell.

  “Yes,” the man said after a moment’s pause. He sat at Jasper’s side.

  Jasper, the stupid burlap blindfold still covering his head, could at least tell it had gone dark outside now. “Why am I here?” he said quietly, hoping it was just the two of them alone.

  There was a pause that chilled him.

  “I think you know,” Robert told him quietly.

  Jasper let his head fall. “Say it.”

  “You’re here,” Robert said softly, “to be brought back and stand trial for defecting when the Confederacy needed you. You’re to hang, Perry.”

  “You must let me free,” Jasper begged. He knew at once that he had miscalculated.

  “I don’t think we do,” Knox told him. There was muted anger in his voice.

  “Do you want to know why I left?” Jasper knew he sounded desperate, but he
had no other choice.

  “Save it for the court,” Robert told him contemptuously.

  “It wasn’t because I wanted to betray the Confederacy! I... Hell, Robert, you know what it’s like on the battlefield! You remember. You have to have seen it after, when the blood and the dying are all around you, and the smoke, and you wonder what in God’s name is worth that. You have to understand, don’t you?”

  “You left because you didn’t like battlefields?”

  “I left because...” He couldn’t mention Horace. Or could he? He could not blow Solomon’s cover, but...

  “You remember Horace.”

  “Aye, and if you’d tell me where he is, we’d appreciate that. Maybe you’ll get a kinder death.” Knox’s voice was wheedling, and Jasper almost laughed. They were looking for Horace, were they? Well, he’d not give away that they were looking for the wrong man.

  “He’s dead,” he lied shortly, and Knox fell silent. “Died outside. I found him on the battlefield and tried to pull him to safety. Ask the others; someone must have seen it.”

  “...I’ll ask,” Robert said finally. “Why didn’t you move him to the hospital, then?”

  “He died too quickly,” Jasper said softly, remembering others who had. “I buried him in a shallow grave.”

  “And then you ran?”

  “You don’t understand,” Jasper said passionately. “Horace saved my life, Knox. He was the one who found me injured, and he made sure I survived. When it came time for me to repay him, I failed. He died in my arms. You know he ran away from home, didn’t you? Early? He was just sixteen.” A difficult lie, with Solomon’s tall frame, but the man had an idealistic streak a mile wide. It might be possible to believe him so young. “Eighteen when I met him, but he still wouldn’t say where he was from. I couldn’t even get him back to his family, and I stared down at that grave and knew no one was ever going to know what happened to him. His family would never have the opportunity to see him come home.” He hung his head again, trying to play the part.