by Connie Mason
Opening the chest, he rummaged through his clothes until he located the leather pouch. With great care he drew forth the dispatches, intending to destroy them, something he should have already done. Suddenly his expression hardened and his heart slammed painfully against his chest. Someone had tampered with the dispatches! One of the sheets of paper bore a stain. Holding it to the light, he recognized the clean imprint of a thumb. And he quickly identified the substance that made the stain as peach juice. He wanted to scream, to shout his rage—to cry. With a certainty that tore at his gut, he knew why Aimee had come to his room last night. And it wasn’t because she felt the same driving need he had. The foolish little chit. Did she have no idea what a charge of spying would do to her and her loved ones?
Placing the dispatches in the washbowl, he set a flame to them and watched them burn. He didn’t welcome the dilemma he faced, nor the position in which Aimee placed him. Spying was serious business, and as an officer in the Union army, he had a responsibility to his government and his men. He was fighting for a belief, for the unity of his country, for equality for all men regardless of race or color. He turned away, knowing there would be no rest for him until he came to grips with what his duty demanded and what his heart dictated.
In the end, duty prevailed.
Aimee carefully avoided Nick that day. Which wasn’t difficult considering the fact that he had ridden out with his men very early and hadn’t returned until after supper. She saw him briefly just before she retired, and the strange, hooded look he sent her frightened her. Did he expect her to come to his room tonight? she wondered. If he did, he was certainly going to be disappointed. Tonight was the night she was to meet with Gar and give him the information for which she had sold her soul. And after that, she vowed never to spy again. She had too much to lose. She couldn’t be separated from Brand. And Nick was too astute not to realize what was going on.
Suspecting that Nick might be waiting for her in her room again, Aimee had moved her night-clothes to Brand’s room earlier that day, intending to spend the night in her son’s bed. Nick certainly wouldn’t demand her presence in his bed while Brand looked on, would he? And just to make certain, she locked the door. When the household was asleep, she’d sneak down the stairs, out the door, and into the woods. She’d be back long before anyone stirred.
Nick had come to a decision concerning Aimee before he returned to the house that evening. If she was spying, it stood to reason that she had an accomplice or a contact. There had to be someone nearby to receive the information she gathered. Since the only time she had left the house or yard had been when she went to the woods to pick berries, he assumed it was then that she had met her contact. And since, to his knowledge, she hadn’t left the yard since, he knew she would sneak out very soon in order to pass on the information she had stolen. In order to catch them red-handed, all he need do was play the waiting game. So he didn’t insist she come to him tonight—he had to give her every opportunity to meet her contact.
Sweet Jesus, could he send her to prison?
She was a spy.
Dousing the lamp in his room, Nick waited for Aimee to make her move. If not this night, then the next—or the next. He hesitated telling Lieutenant Dill about his suspicions, but since Dill was second in command, he felt duty-bound to do so. Dill was appropriately shocked; he had held Aimee in high regard. He should have known, once a Reb, always a Reb.
Nick stood at the window. He was to keep watch while Dill listened for footsteps in the hall. The clock in the foyer struck midnight Just as the last chime reverberated through the stillness, Nick saw a vague movement outside in the shadows at the corner of the house. His attention sharpened. He was rewarded when he saw a wraithlike figure detach itself from the shadows and glide toward one of the sturdy oak trees lining the driveway. The figure was clothed in white, and Nick gave a snort of disgust Aimee was obviously so inept at spying, she didn’t realize how easy it was to spot a white object in the dark.
Fearing the sentry would challenge her, she remained concealed behind the huge tree trunk until he passed by. She had no inkling that the sentry had been instructed to ignore her in order that she might lead them to her accomplice. When Nick was satisfied that she was heading toward the woods, he moved swiftly. Fully armed, he sped from his room, stopping only long enough to summon Lieutenant Dill, who had failed to hear Aimee’s light tread when she traversed down the hallway on her secret mission. Together they moved noiselessly through the house and out the door. They followed Aimee’s path, gliding from tree to tree, keeping enough distance between them to prevent discovery. They entered the woods only moments behind her.
Once inside the protection of the trees, Aimee paused only long enough to catch her breath. She had made it! She uttered a quick prayer that Gar would be waiting for her so she could return to the house before her absence was noticed. Since she no longer felt the need to conceal herself, she hurried through the trees and underbrush toward the meeting place. Her slippers moved softly across the spongy earth, the brilliant moonlight lighting her way. The hoot of a night owl startled her, but she gathered her wits and continued onward. She had been in these woods many times during the years she had lived at Tall Oaks, and had never found anything to frighten her.
She approached the gnarled old oak cautiously, her eyes darting about, on the lookout for Gar. She saw nothing, heard no one. The crash through the underbrush of a nocturnal animal sent her heart racing, but it quickly subsided when nothing menacing appeared from out of the darkness. The sturdy oak was directly in front of her now, and she stood fearfully beside it, waiting, listening. Her fingers clenched the scrap of paper bearing the information she had copied from the dispatches Nick had received, and she grew more desperate by the minute.
Suddenly a twig snapped and she started violently. Spinning on her heel, she saw a dark, specterlike figure emerge from behind a huge tree trunk. Her hand fluttered upward to still her wildly racing heart.
“Gar! You frightened me. I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’ve been here all along, Aimee. I didn’t want to show myself until I was certain you weren’t being followed.”
Aimee peered behind her. “No one followed me; I’m certain of it But I must get back before my absence is noticed.”
Gar nodded. “Were you able to get the information for me?”
“I got what you requested,” Aimee said with such bitterness, Gar’s interest sharpened immediately.
“Was there a problem?”
No problem, she wanted to scream. Unless you call sleeping with the enemy a problem. “I managed,” she bit out. “Here.” She thrust the scrap of paper into his hand. “I copied the information down just like you asked. I think you’ll find it of vital importance to the Confederacy.”
Gar palmed the paper, slipping it inside his jacket pocket. “The Confederacy is grateful, I’m grateful. And if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how much.” The meaning of his words failed to register until he reached out and dragged her into his arms. She gasped in outrage. “You’re a beautiful woman, Aimee Trevor. Beau’s been dead a long time; I reckon you must be real lonely by now. I can remedy that before I leave.”
His lips came down on hers; his audacity shocked her. Aimee struggled free of his kiss, her eyes fiery with anger and disgust. “Gar, stop that! How dare you assume I’d welcome your attentions.”
Gar slid her a sly glance, his arms tightening around her. “Maybe you’re not as lonely as I thought. Just how far did you go to get to those dispatches?”
Nick stood behind the gnarled oak, having just stepped a bit closer so that he could hear the two talk. He managed to understand Garson Pinder’s last sentence. Intense anger seethed through him when he realized just how far Aimee had gone to spy for her beloved South. She displayed no remorse over making him believe she came to his bed because she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. It hurt, dammit, hurt bad. And he was the biggest fool God ever created.
�
�She went too far—much too far,” Nick said bitterly as he stepped into full view.
Gar’s hands fell away from Aimee and went for his pistol. His effort proved futile as Lieutenant Dill materialized from the thicket of trees. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Reb.” When he realized he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping, Gar’s hands fell limply to his side. He gave Aimee a withering glance.
“Did you bring the blue-bellies with you?” asked Gar.
Stunned, Aimee couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only drag one shuddering breath after another until the need to faint had passed. Nick! How did he know? When did she give herself away? How? Questions without answers tumbled one upon another as she stared from Nick to Gar. Nick took it upon himself to answer Gar’s question.
“Your little Reb whore didn’t bring us, not intentionally anyway. She’s good, very good. She used great imagination in order to bring you the contents of the dispatches,” he said crudely. “I thought—I hoped—never mind what I thought, it’s not important. You’re both spies, and I’m placing you under arrest.”
“Spies?” Gar said, managing a nervous laugh. “You’ve got me wrong, Yankee, I’m no spy. Since when is it a crime for a man to meet his lover in the woods?”
Aimee gasped in dismay. Events were taking a turn she hadn’t counted on. “No—it’s not—”
“Bind their hands, Lieutenant,” Nick ordered crisply. “I’m sure we’ll find incriminating evidence somewhere on the spy.” He thanked God it was dark. He’d hate like hell for Aimee to see how deeply she’d hurt him. In the few weeks he’d been at Tall Oaks, Aimee had come to mean more to him than he cared to admit. “You’re in civilian clothes, carrying secret information. Need I continue? Your name, Reb!”
Dill used the rope he had brought along to tie both Aimee’s and Gar’s hands behind them. Gar glared at him insolently while Aimee began to weep softly. The sound tore at Nick’s heart.
“How long have you been in the area spying?” Silence. “How long has Mrs. Trevor been supplying you with information?”
More silence.
“Very well, have it your way; we’ll get the information out of you one way or another.” He shoved his pistol in Gar’s back to start him moving while Dill prodded Aimee forward, careful not to hurt her. He didn’t trust Nick with Aimee. His captain was too damn angry right now to think straight. He had been watching Nick’s feelings for Aimee grow during the past weeks and knew how badly this betrayal had affected him.
Aimee’s weeping continued unabated as she stumbled toward the house. Nick said nothing to her, not a word, his expression unreadable. How he must despise her. Truth to tell, she despised herself at this moment. The sentry met them at the perimeter of the property.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Everything went just as planned, Simpson. Lieutenant Dill has a prisoner to see to. Lock him in the tool shed until I decide what’s to be done with him. Then awaken one of the men to stand guard outside the shed.”
“And Mrs. Trevor?” Dill asked. “Is she to be locked in the shed also?”
“The Union army doesn’t mistreat women,” Nick bit out. His tone indicated that he had every intention of disregarding the way the Union army treated women as far as Aimee was concerned. He looked as if he wanted to wring Aimee’s neck and to hell with gentlemanly behavior. “Mrs. Trevor will be confined to her room until I decide otherwise.”
Dill saluted and shoved Gar rudely forward. Then Nick grasped Aimee’s arm roughly and dragged her toward the house.
“Nick, please, let me explain.”
“What’s to explain?”
“Garson Pinder isn’t my lover. He’s merely a family friend who has visited our plantation frequently.”
“You could have fooled me. Actually, I don’t give a damn what he is to you. You made a fool out of me, Aimee Trevor, and for that I can’t forgive you.”
“You can’t send me to prison, Nick. Brand needs me. What will happen to him if I’m not around to provide for him?”
His face was cold, remorseless, as if her problems were of little concern to him.
“You should have thought of that before you turned to spying, Aimee.” His words were fraught with quiet menace.
Chapter 6
Kicking the door open with his foot, Nick placed a hand in the middle of Aimee’s back and shoved her inside. She stumbled into the room, bruising her hip against the bureau before her balance returned. Tears sprang to her eyes and she stifled the cry of pain that trembled on her lips, refusing to act a coward before Nick Drummond. She spun around to face him.
“You Yankee bastard! Untie me.”
His lips thinned, but he said nothing, turning her roughly to tug at the ropes binding her wrists. She saw the fury of betrayal in his eyes, and hot accusation. When her hands were free, he whirled on his heel and strode angrily toward the door.
“Nick—Captain Drummond, wait!”
He paused, fighting the urge to turn and look at her. “I’m in no mood for conversation.” She could tell by his tone of voice that he was teetering on the edge of his control.
“What will happen to me?”
“That’s for those higher than me to decide.”
“Brand! What about Brand? My, God, I—”
“I suggest you get some sleep, Mrs. Trevor. Right now I can’t think beyond the fact that you used sex to manipulate me. Whose idea was it to sleep with me?” He hurled the words at her like stones. He didn’t wait for an answer as he opened the door, removed the key from the inside, and closed it noiselessly behind him. Aimee’s bravado crumbled when she heard the rasp of the key in the lock.
She rushed to the door. “Nick, please, you can’t keep me from my son. He’s all I have.”
Nick leaned against the door, desperately trying to blot out Aimee’s pleas and curses. When they dissolved into heartrending sobs, he pocketed the key and slowly walked away. He felt old and tired. Tired of war, sick of killing, disgusted with subterfuges and betrayals. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up fresh and clean, finished with the terrible business of war.
He didn’t sleep at all.
He imagined he could still hear Aimee sobbing. He wanted to go to her, hold her in his arms, tell her everything was going to be all right, promise her he’d let no one hurt her or Brand.
He couldn’t.
Could he?
He drifted to sleep toward dawn and awoke later to the certain knowledge that someone was staring at him. Instantly alert, he reached beneath his pillow for his gun. He drew in a ragged sigh when he saw Brand standing beside the bed. The boy’s hazel eyes were large and troubled. Nick could tell that the child was trying his best to fight back tears, and failing miserably. He rose on his elbow, reaching out to draw Brand down beside him. The lad resisted.
“Mama can’t get out of her room.”
Nick cursed beneath his breath, calling Aimee every vile name he could think of. Why would she deliberately put her child through such anguish?
“I know, son.”
“Did someone lock her in, sir? I can’t find the key.”
Nick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I locked your mama in her room, Brand. It was necessary.”
“Why? Was she bad?”
“Yes, she was very bad.”
“Are you going to punish her?”
Nick flushed. “She deserves to be punished,” he hedged, not wanting to frighten the child.
“I could hear her crying. I think she wants out.”
“That’s impossible. I can no longer trust her. I know you don’t understand any of this, Brand, and I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world, but some things can’t be ignored.”
Brand’s bottom lip trembled and Nick cursed, dragging the boy close and hugging him tight. Stiffening his shoulders, Brand pulled away. “I want to see Mama.”
Nick sighed. How could he separate mother and son? Aimee might be a spy and whore, she might be rash and reckless, b
ut he couldn’t accuse her of not loving her son. Instinct told him she was a true southern zealot who, in a moment of weakness, had allowed her lover to talk her into spying.
“Run along, Brand; I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I can arrange it so you’ll see your mama for a specific period of time each day.” It was the least he could do for the fatherless little boy who stood in danger of losing his beloved mother.
Aimee’s tears gave way to impotent rage when she found her door still locked the next morning, preventing Brand from entering. What harm could a small boy do? She called Nick every vile name she could think of, wishing him straight to hell. She rushed to the window, hoping to attract him in order to alert him to her plight. What she saw brought a shudder of terror to her slender form. Garson Pinder, his hands bound behind his back, was being led to one of the outbuildings. Nick entered the building a few minutes later, looking grim and determined. She preferred not to think about what would probably take place in that shed.
Just then the door to her room opened and Brand rushed into her outstretched arms. Sergeant Jones, a grizzled soldier, followed, carrying a tray containing Aimee’s breakfast.
“The captain said it’s all right for the lad to visit for a spell,” Jones said, his gaze sliding away from hers. He never would have suspected her of spying, such a sweet, pretty lady. But the captain had caught her red-handed.
“Thank you,” Aimee said with quiet dignity. “How long may he stay?”
“An hour, and he’s allowed to visit again before bedtime. I brought your breakfast.” He set the tray down on the small nightstand.
“Where’s Savannah? Am I allowed to visit with her?”
“Sorry,” Jones muttered, making a hasty exit. He couldn’t bear the wounded look in Aimee’s eyes. “The captain thought it best to keep the two of you apart, if you get my meaning.”
“Perfectly,” Aimee said tightly. Her control was slipping, and all she wanted now was to be alone with Brand for her allotted hour.
