by Lexy Timms
Ambrose dived forward at once, knocking the barrel of the rifle out of the way as it fired, and landing a well-placed punch on the man’s face at the same time.
“Go! Get them out!” He directed only the quickest glance in Solomon’s direction before directing an uppercut into Danielson’s sternum. Three more right hooks landed in close succession on Danielson’s jaw, and the Confederate soldier went down like a ton of bricks.
Solomon, his eyebrows raised at the sight, forced himself back into action. He snatched up his rifle and was over the hill in a moment, swinging the rifle like a club and taking advantage of every startled look, every pause.
“Jasper! Cecelia!”
“Here!” he heard Cecelia’s cry, and she gave a shriek after that, one that made Solomon’s breath come short.
“Cecelia?”
Her screaming was wordless, wild, and Solomon fought like a man possessed, driving knives into flesh and ducking under flailing arms. Where Ambrose was, he had not the faintest idea, but the occasional yells of pain from behind him seemed to indicate that the man was holding his own. Solomon, meanwhile, tried to forge the tide of armed men to reach—
No. Oh, no.
The horses weren’t saddled, but they didn’t need to be. Cecelia was struggling wildly, kicking and screaming, but she was slung over the horse’s back like a sack of grain, and the man holding her down as he urged the horse out of the camp was none other than Robert Knox.
Of all the men he had fought with, Knox was the one Solomon had least hoped to meet here, and from the look in Knox’s eyes, pure fury would spur him to understanding soon enough. How long until he recognized the resemblance between Cecelia and Solomon? Not long enough, Solomon would wager.
Jasper too was fighting—but towards Cecelia, as if he might knock her from the horse.
Don’t do anything stupid, Perry. But Solomon understood, with a lump growing in his throat, exactly what was happening here. Jasper did not believe there was any way out of this for him, and he was salvaging all he could.
The idea of rescue had seemed simpler before Solomon realized his brother-to-be also had a death wish. If he’d been smarter, he would have seen it in the way Jasper had been wandering out into the fields recently when he thought no one was looking.
Solomon ran, breath bursting in his lungs, and he only vaguely registered a man raising a gun in the corner of his vision. When a figure slammed into him from the side, Solomon swung a punch, almost too tired to do anything else, but the figure covering his was Ambrose’s, the pistol firing once, twice, three times, and leaving the camp empty as the men fled, following Knox.
Solomon, his cry of anguish dying in his throat, only then realized something odd. For the form on top of him was not so much lanky as lithe, not so much fragile as...oddly rounded. Solomon felt his fingers drift, hardly understanding what he did, feeling the narrowness of a waist, obscured by the loose-cut vest, and the slight curve of hips. His hands drifted up then, and he could make out the faintest hint of softness, tiny breasts nonetheless welcoming against his hands.
In Ambrose’s face, so close to his, Solomon finally understood the delicacy he had seen from the start. How had he ever mistaken such a pointed chin for a man’s? The fingers were slim, the nose pert, the lips...
...eminently kissable. And those eyes. Solomon could have drowned in them, and he found himself enjoyed, if a bit too much, the heaving of Ambrose’s breathe.
“Who are you?” he whispered, and he could tell that his breath was liquid, low. Did he feel Ambrose shiver against him, or was that only his own desire?
Tiny white teeth nipped against a lip, and finally the name came with a sweet exhale that was almost too much to resist:
“I’m Violet.”
Chapter 9
“Jasper! Cecelia!”
It was him. It was Solomon. Jasper’s heart leapt and he was screaming Solomon’s name when Robert hauled him toward one of the horses. Cecelia was screaming bloody murder, having realized that none of the men were quite ready to hurt her, and they had not the slightest idea what to do with a tiny beauty shrieking to high heaven and bludgeoning them with her bound fists.
However, not wanting to harm her did not preclude them continuing to keep her hidden. Knox saw to it that she was thrown over the back of a horse, and he mounted up himself, spurring the horses into the night even as Jasper kicked desperately, trying to push Cecelia free.
“Ride!” Knox’s roar spurred the few men onward, and they pounded into the woods.
Solomon! But the name was frozen on his tongue. He could not shape his mouth to the words, or he could easily destroy what chance Solomon had of escape. Had anyone noticed him? Jasper’s heart was pounding. He should not look, he should not let Knox’s memory fix on the sound of the voice screaming for Cecelia.
It was all confusion and terror, men battling in the darkness and the flashes of gunfire. They did not know how many they were beset by; they were back in the field, transfixed in the face of Union troops, wondering if their death had come with blue coats. What could one do against such overwhelming force? There was only one with the presence of mind to do what must be done—and what Jasper could not allow. The man leveled his rifle, point blank, at Solomon.
“No!” The scream was ripped from Jasper’s throat, and then the horses went over a rise and he could see nothing. He was struggling like a madman, trying to throw himself from the horse. He must get back, he must know—
The blow to the back of his head was harsh enough that his teeth slammed together and the horse whinnied in distress. Blinding pain seized him, and he felt the hot trickle of blood in its wake. Don’t stop said a distant voice, and the jostling of the horse continued, but more distantly now. A woman was crying. Was it Clara? Jasper did not know. He arched his back, trying to escape the hell of jostling and bruised ribs, and the strike came again.
This time, the world went dark.
When he woke, he was vomiting onto the forest floor, and Cecelia’s bound hands were trying to keep his hair back from his brow. Jasper, please. Her voice echoed in his head like a roll of thunder, bringing another round of vomiting, and she cried out when she saw him convulse. Please, please be all right. Please be all right. Please.
His little sister. His heart warmed to the thought, twinned with grief. She was going to watch him die. Solomon had failed, and they would be brought to the trial. Cecelia would see it, she would see the accusations and they would make her watch as they brought Jasper to the gallows. What would happen to her then?
“I’m all right,” he gasped out, a reassurance that would have worked better if he did not need to spit bile onto the ground. He was shaking, shivering with sweat drying on his skin, and he half fell as she pulled him over, resting his head in her lap. Her eyes swam into view. Solomon’s eyes, but brown. Worried.
“Did they poison you?”
“It’s the head wound,” he managed. He had seen enough men taken like this, to know what it was. It was a miracle he had awoken at all. “Cecelia. Listen to me. Robert Knox, you know which one he is?” He waited for her to nod. “He’s promised me he’ll get you home when this is over.”
“You’ll get me home,” she said at once, and Jasper squeezed his eyes shut.
Solomon failed.
“That’s not going to happen, Cee. We both know it.”
“It is,” she said softly, urgently. “There are only six of them now. The others are still making their way to the camp. They’re hurt, and they’re trying to make a new plan. Knox is even writing a letter, and one of them will take it. Then there will only be five.”
“Cecelia—”
“We can do this,” she whispered, low and passionate. “We can get out. You just have to be able to get on a horse, and we can go. I can ride without a saddle; Clara taught me how.”
He stared at her, feeling his heart breaking. She was more of a woman than any of them had noticed, even him. The quiet storm of her grief before they left
had surrounded her, wrapped her up in white, and when it broke there was no longer the helpless little girl they knew. She had bravery in her, and she was willing to tempt death for a chance at freedom.
She just did not understand how these men would tempt death also to keep her from her goal.
“I’m not getting away,” he told her. He meant to have pretty words for it, but they were flat, blunt, enough to make her look like he’d slapped her across the face.
“You can’t just give up,” she told him fiercely.
“You’re very like your sister.”
“Would you be telling her the same if she were here?”
“Yes! I would tell her to run, and leave me here, and she would do it.”
“She wouldn’t,” Cecelia said contemptuously. “You don’t know her at all. She’d fight to her last breath for you.”
“And I for her, and she would understand that there was no way to save me. She would go home.”
“If she did, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.”
“I hope she wouldn’t,” Jasper said softly. The thought that it might be true hurt enough that tears came to his eyes. “I hope she would find someone else to love. Anyone but Cyrus.”
The joke fell flat. Cecelia stared down at him, her face cold, as if she was considering pushing him from her lap.
“You’re talking like you’re already dead. You’ve given up any hope of going home, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have! There are a dozen or more still alive, and we’re in Confederate territory now. We aren’t getting free until I’m dead.”
“How can you have no hope?”
“How can you be so naïve as to think there’s a chance?”
“Solomon came for us!” Her voice rose. “He did, and he’ll keep coming for us. You just have to keep fighting.” Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “If we leave now, we can meet him in the woods.”
“Here, now, what’s this?” Robert Knox’s voice stopped her cold, and she looked up at him white-faced.
“He’s hurt,” she said defiantly.
“Aye, and so are most of my men. All of which we can lay at your doorstep, I think, missy.”
“Leave it at your own doorstep,” Cecelia said rudely. “You didn’t have to kidnap us.”
“Careful, girl.”
“Or what?” There was no room for fear around her fury.
“I said—”
“Enough!” Jasper pushed himself up off the ground with alacrity, his eyes narrowed. “Cee, quiet. Knox, you should know better than to expect her to like you.”
Their eyes met, betrayal and anger and violence right there, but after a moment, Knox sighed. “Aye.”
“You would have done better to leave her,” Jasper said roughly, and he saw Knox pale. It had only just occurred to him. With Cecelia left behind, would Solomon still be pursuing them?
Jasper’s heart wanted the answer to be yes, and his head wanted it to be no. Solomon should not risk himself any longer to stand between Jasper and the judgment of the Confederacy... And yet, Jasper would be lying if he said he did not hope for exactly that. Escape for both of them. A return to Clara.
His heart leapt at the thought of her and he pressed his eyes closed, clenching his hands and wanting to yell his fury. Only now did he realize that he wanted her more than almost anything. More than his home. More than the trust of his comrades. It had taken his near escape, and his continued captivity to teach him that. Cruelty at its finest.
“Well, she’s still here,” Knox muttered finally. “And I can’t say I’m unhappy. Keeps you from—”
“What do you think I’m going to do, slit your throats while you sleep? I’m more liable to do that while she’s here. I...” Jasper took a deep breath.
Goodbye, Clara. I hope you’ll understand.
“If you go back with her, right now, tonight, you can let your men hang me from that tree. Do it now. We both know what’s going to happen in the trial, don’t we, Knox? If we do it now, you’ll know there’s no more trouble I can make for you. Sneak away while they’re doing it.”
Knox stared, truly conflicted. At his side, Cecelia was a shade of white Jasper had never seen in a living human. She was either terrified or furious, and he was uncomfortably sure which it was.
However, Knox was drawn aside before he could speak. Five more men thundered into the camp, covered in blood and yelling, and one of them dragged Knox away. They bent, heads together, Knox clearly disbelieving the man, and the man insisting, his arms waving. At last, Knox sent him on his way, and when he turned back to the captives, his smile was truly chilling.
“So, Perry, is there anything you might want to tell me?”
“I’m a traitor,” Jasper said desperately. All he could hope for now was to distract the man. He knew he didn’t like where this was going. “I went north, and stayed there, and developed sympathies for the Union. I’ve worked alongside freedmen as their equal. I’ve—”
The blow sent him sprawling, and Cecelia screamed. Jasper tried to push himself up, and a kick sent a blast of heat and pain across his ribs.
“Not that, you lying whoreson. Tell me about Horace.”
Even Cecelia went quiet at that, and Jasper’s head dropped to his chest. It was over then. Solomon had been seen.
“Tell me about Horace Delancy, or I swear I’ll bash her head in right now. You told us he was dead, but he’s awful lively for a ghost, isn’t he? I said, isn’t he?”
“Why didn’t we find him, Perry? If he’s coming after you, he must have been nearby.”
He couldn’t say a word. Jasper felt his head snap back with the force of Knox’s blow, and the world began to go dark. Pain rained down on him from all sides, and all he could think was that he would not speak, would not, would never betray Solomon. They could not know the Dalton farm harbored him.
It was over in what felt like a moment, or an eternity. Jasper had forgotten everything except pain, each blow unleashing something new, yet frighteningly similar. He coughed and spat blood onto the ground, waiting for a kick that never came. His hands were bound, and he could not bring himself to stumble to his feet like a drunkard.
“Fine.” Knox crouched at his side. Jasper’s face must have been a mess, for even the big man looked unnerved by his handiwork. Still, his jaw was gritted. “He’ll come for you again. That’s Horace’s way, isn’t it? And this time, Perry, we’ll be waiting for him.”
He left Jasper where he lay, striding into the camp with his words echoing back around him. Horace was here. They were going to get Horace too. Horace, who’d turned traitor just like Jasper, and who’d killed them when they tried to get justice. A ragged cheer went up, and Jasper closed his eyes and wanted to die.
“We should have run,” a voice said nearby. It was high and sweet, a girl’s voice, and yet cold as winter. “And if we ever get out of this alive, Jasper, I swear I’m going to tell Clara the truth about you. I’ll tell her how you would have done anything to keep from going back. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure she knows who you really were.”
I did this for Clara. But his voice was gone, his throat aching where Knox’s boot had caught him, and worse—he knew that Cecelia knew the words, and did not care.
“You couldn’t have picked a crueler way to destroy her,” she said, and she turned away and hid her face as Jasper felt unconsciousness take him.
Chapter 10
It took them all through cleaning the camp for Solomon to think of something to say. Anything at all.
So how did you... No.
So when you talked about a younger sister, was that... No.
Really, no one noticed you were a... No.
He settled, at long last—while examining a knife—on the very neutral, So how did you decide to become a spy? Which was wonderful, except for the fact that when he opened his mouth, all that came out was:
“You’re a woman?”
Ambrose—no, Violet—stopped and
turned, one eyebrow raised. Her expression said clearly that she had expected better from him. Solomon nodded glumly, and tried to compose himself.
“You’re a woman?” No, that wasn’t any better.
“Yes,” Violet said patiently, as if instructing the very stupid.
“Does anyone else know?”
She hesitated, and he could see the idea of lying cross her mind—making light of the secret, or claiming the complicity of her superiors. Then her shoulders slumped. “No,” she said quietly.
“Was Ambrose your older brother?”
“No.” Her chin lifted at that, and tears trembled in her eyes. “His name was Thomas. I could never take his name. He was...” She looked away and swallowed hard, then continued at her work. “We should move out,” she said over her shoulder. “They’ll be waiting for us now. It will be more difficult, but if they’re desperate, they may make a mistake.”
“We can’t just...” Solomon stared at her, at a loss.
“What can’t we do, and why not?” Her voice was a warning, but he would not hear it.
“I can’t let you walk into another battle.”
“Now that you know I’m a woman, you mean.” Her voice was flat. Disappointment, weariness, anger—all were fleeting, if they had been there at all.
“Well, yes.” Solomon began to pick his way towards her, and she moved to tighten her horse’s saddle, putting the beast between them as a shield.
“I promised to help you, and I knew I was a woman the whole time.”
“I didn’t! I would never have allowed it otherwise.”
“Allowed it?” Her voice rose now. “The war touches me just as much as it touches you, Solomon Dalton. I watched men die on the battlefield. I lost family. That is the fate of men and women everywhere. So who are you to tell us that we may not join the cause, when it touches our lives so deeply?”
He had no answer to that.
“I thought so.” She snorted softly. “Mr. Dalton, you saw me fight. You know I can. My life is mine to gamble how I choose.” She mounted up. “Are you coming with me to save your sister?”
