Destiny's Temprtress

by Janelle Taylor

  Blane sensed her indecision. His mouth skillfully worked on hers, then at her breasts. He caressed her, hoping her passion would return. Soon, she was clinging to him and responding again. He moved gingerly until he was assured he wasn’t hurting her. Then he set a seductive pattern, entering and withdrawing as he inflamed the nerves inside her womanhood. “I’ve wanted you since that night you sneaked into my room, Shannon. You’ve been driving me wild with hunger. Surely I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Blane was right. The movements were sheer bliss. She relaxed and allowed him free rein over her body and passions. The flames built until Shannon was positive they would be consumed by them. Never had anything felt so wonderful in her life. She arched her body to meet his thrusts. Her arms held him possessively. Now she understood the yearning that had chewed at her every time she looked at him.

  Shannon’s surrender was straining Blane’s control and his body shuddered from the stress on it. He worked feverishly on her release, fearing his own would come too soon. When she began to writhe and moan beneath him, he knew she was racing up passion’s spiral. He increased his pace, teasing and tantalizing her beyond defeat. His lips went to her ear to entreat hoarsely, “Come to me, Shannon. Yield to me, love.”

  Ecstasy burst within Shannon. Tiny fingers of exquisite pleasure stroked her womanhood. Her head thrashed on his pillow as her body demanded to experience every tingling sensation he was creating.

  Blane dismissed his guard and pounded hungrily into her receptive body. His potent release stunned him. He almost cried aloud as the staggering spasms overwhelmed his body and mind, as if sending shocks through them. He found he was gasping for air and felt sweat beading on his face and frame. He labored lovingly until he had nothing left to give. Then he rolled to his side, carrying Shannon with him. He was exhausted but utterly content. His arms encircled her as he placed kisses over her face. He wanted her near him, touching him, a part of him.

  Neither spoke or moved. They merely felt and savored. Gradually both fell asleep, locked in each other’s arms.

  When Blane awoke, he watched the woman beside him and he was filled with curious emotions. He had never enjoyed lovemaking more than he had last night. He felt as if Shannon belonged to him. He arose, careful not to disturb her. She needed her rest, for they would have an arduous few days ahead of them. He went to the basin and washed quietly. Then he dressed and silently unbolted the door. Placing the lantern on the table, he brightened its glow so she would awaken with plenty of light to chase away any lingering fears. He closed the door behind him, then noiselessly mounted the steps.

  He greeted Mary and Joseph cheerfully. “That’s the best night I’ve had in ages. I think I’ll have a look around. I’ll return shortly.”

  Mary handed him a cup of coffee to drink during his stroll. When Shannon didn’t appear soon, Mary wondered if she had fallen asleep again. She went downstairs and peeked into the room. “Mrs. Stevens? You’d best rise and dress, child. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

  Shannon stirred and sighed, then glanced toward the door at the smiling woman. “Good morning. I’ll be ready in a little while.”

  After the woman closed the door, Shannon tossed aside the cover. The borrowed gown was wrinkled terribly. Shannon removed it and started to bathe. She noticed the dried blood washing off her skin onto the cloth, and knew its meaning. Had she been crazy to make love to a man she hardly knew? What was Blane thinking about her this morning? No doubt he was panicked at the idea of what an entangling situation this could be. Would he be sorry? Would he behave differently?

  She dressed in her pants and shirt, then pulled on her boots. She unbraided her hair, brushed it, and braided it again neatly. As she went to straighten the bed, bloodstains caught her eye. She flushed red and seized the basin, soap, and a cloth. She had to wash away the evidence of their wanton union.

  The door opened and Blane entered. He stared at Shannon in confusion. Walking over to her, he asked, “What are you doing, love?”

  Shannon had been concentrating so hard that she hadn’t heard his boots on the steps. At the sound of his voice, her left hand covered the stain. “Nothing,” she replied modestly.

  Blane looked down at her bowed head and rigid body as she knelt by the bed. Women didn’t pray with soapy cloths in their hands and basins of water at their feet. Noticing the wetness of the sheet beneath her hand, he grasped it and lifted it.

  Shannon stiffened her arm in an attempt to prevent his action as she shrieked, “No! Don’t, Blane. I’ll be there soon. Wait for me upstairs.”

  Blane’s bewildered gaze went from the bloodstains to Shannon’s head. Although he was still holding her wrist captive, she didn’t look up at him or yank it free. All of the clues settled in and alerted Blane to the severity of the situation and to her embarrassment. He should have guessed last night she was a virgin! The difficulty hadn’t come from his size or the length of time since she had made love to a man. A flurry of questions and emotions filled him. What about Hawke? What about Thornton’s charges and insults? He was baffled, pleased, and dismayed all at the same time, and exceedingly thankful that Clifford had failed! He would have to reassess his thoughts, feelings, and actions now.

  Shannon murmured softly, “I was trying to wash the sheet. You know what they’ll think when they see this. They’ll know we lied.”

  Recalling his jest to the Thomases earlier, he chuckled. “They’ll think we spent our first night together in this room. Don’t worry about the sheet,” he coaxed, pulling her to her feet. “It isn’t important. Except to prove you belong to me now.” He kissed her feverishly.

  “You aren’t upset about this?” she asked uncertainly.

  “No, love. Unless it’s for not waking you up and making love to you again this morning. I’ve never known a woman like you.”

  “Is that good or bad?” she inquired, relaxing slightly.

  “So far, a little of both,” he replied honestly. “If you’re of a mind to, you can make it all good for me from now on.”

  “Me? You’re the one who’s always waxing good and bad, hot and cold. I never know what mood or behavior to expect from you.”

  “I can be mulish at times, can’t I?” he said beguilingly, extricating himself from her entrapping question. “But sometimes you’re to blame.”

  “Sometimes you’re absolutely right. Aren’t they waiting for us to join them for breakfast?” she hinted, becoming too warm in his arms.

  He laughed. “I think I’m being slyly rejected or dismissed.”

  “I think you’re absolutely right again,” she teased.

  Their eyes met and spoke. Blane’s palm moved over her hair, exploring its silkiness. When she tried to lower her head, he caught her braid and pulled on it, lifting her chin. He was grinning when their gazes fused. “You can’t get away from me, Shannon.”

  Just before his mouth closed over hers, she whispered, “I’m not sure I want to.” Her arms rose and went around his neck.

  Blane’s arms overlapped her back. He lifted her light body from the floor and locked her snugly against him as he kissed her urgently. He refused to release her until Mary called down the steps to ask if they were ready to eat. Blane smiled into Shannon’s face as he replied, “Ready. Be there momentarily.” To Shannon, he whispered, “But I wish the food were different to match my appetite. Yep, I was crazy to let you sleep late, Mrs. Stevens.”

  Shannon boldly inquired, “Why did you?”

  “Fear. I was afraid you’d be too…uncomfortable this soon after…last night. Did I hurt you? I wanted you so much I had trouble restraining myself.”

  “You were absolutely wonderful, Mister Stevens. I’m glad it was you here with me last night. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  After breakfast, Shannon and Blane expressed their thanks and said their good-byes. Mary Thomas prepared them a light snack for midday, then gave Blane a bundle that held two cans of mixed vegetables for soup. She told him the soup could
be warmed right in the can over a campfire. Adding a few more items, the woman smiled and wished them success.

  Once on the trail, Blane told Shannon, “Mary gave me the names of two safe houses along the way. The password is Armageddon. If you can sing or play the piano, she said there’s a music hall in Wilmington where you can rest and work while I check out the ports for blockade runners. She said rumor has it that Rose Greenhow, the famous Rebel spy, will be returning soon from London with money for the Confederacy. I surely would love to prevent any new flow of money and supplies from filtering in. Joseph told me the runner boats come in around Cape Fear River. Would it be all right for me to leave you there for a week or so?” he asked surprisingly.

  “I’ve heard of Rose. She published a book last year about her experiences. To hear her tell it, she’s single-handedly supplying the South with all the information they need to win this war. They’ve imprisoned her on several occasions. She implicated some powerful men. Is it true that Queen Victoria received her when she docked in England?”

  “From what I’ve heard, yes. Of course, a woman of such daring and courage would impress another woman in power. She also met Napolean the Third. They’ve been treating her like a heroine over there. No wonder she finds spying so stimulating and believes her own reputation.”

  “Why would the British and French behave so badly? Don’t they realize the North is the strongest power over here?”

  “They need cotton and tobacco, and they’re Southern crops. They’ve loaned the South money against future crops, and that’ll hurt the South once this war ends. Did you know Rose lived only a few blocks from the White House on Sixteenth Street? Too bad she wasn’t around for you to worm you way into her confidence. We could use knowledge of her operation and agents.”

  “Was she really as powerful and devious as the papers said?”

  “President Buchanan used to call on her frequently, as did many cabinet members, judges, and congressmen. She’s always been very political. Rose has a knack for enticing information.”

  “Is she beautiful?” Shannon inquired curiously.

  “She has a look of elegance and refinement. She’s dark eyed and dark haired like a Spaniard. She’s friendly and charming. I believe she’s nearly forty-five now. She’s learned how to wrap men around her finger with those smiles and airs of hers. And Rose is smart. She makes certain she doesn’t get caught with anything damaging on her. The man who became her nemesis is Allan Pinkerton, the famous detective. He was determined not to give her a moment’s peace. But even in prison, she ruled the drab setting like a banished queen.”

  Shannon listened to Blane’s voice and laughter. Other than the talk by the river about his family, this was the most conversing he had done with her since they had been thrown together. She liked this genial facet of his personality. “Have you ever met Colonel John Mosby?” she asked.

  “That so-called raider. He and his band are nothing but renegades. The Rebels see him as a hero, but he’s cold and cruel and calculating. I’d like to put him and his unit out of business.”

  “Did you ever meet him?” she pressed again.

  “Once. I’ll never forget him. He’s a lanky man with thin lips and piercing eyes. He terrorizes the countryside and nibbles at Union flanks. He’s one of those people who believes it’s all right to win the war any way possible or necessary. I’ll give him his due; he does command loyalty and seems fearless. Lincoln got word Mosby’s Rangers were terrorizing the Union captives at Andersonville Prison. Captain Wirz, that blood-thirsty Swiss, finally let some of the inmates capture and slay several of the raiders. That broke their power hold. Sometimes it’s bad inside those camps. Men fight or kill over food or a blanket. It’s the animal instinct for survival. They say Wirz is in constant pain from an old wound and that’s why he’s so savage and unfeeling.”

  Seeing Shannon’s pained look, Blane comprehended his mistake. He wished he hadn’t mentioned prisons, especially Andersonville. “I suppose Lincoln’s working hard right now just to get re-elected. Sherman’s victories should help him.” Instantly Blane knew he had introduced another bad topic. “You didn’t answer me earlier. Can you sing and play music?”

  Shannon was aware of his sudden changes in subjects. She let him have his way. “Yes, I can do both. I’ll be fine in Wilmington.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” he teased, reaching back to tickle her. She wriggled away but didn’t laugh. He grimaced.

  “I can’t find my brother and help him escape.”

  “Don’t worry, Shannon. I promise you I’ll find Corry Greenleaf.”

  Shannon didn’t notice his frosty tone of voice as she hugged him. “Have you ever met the mysterious spy called the Blade?”

  “No one who meets the Blade ever knows it. He’s smart. How do you know about him?” Blane asked, placing his hand over hers.

  “I read about him in the papers, and people talked about him at most gatherings. I wonder who he is and why he remains so secretive.”

  “Obviously to save his life and to get information more easily. I could do more if my face and name weren’t so well known. Same goes for you, Flame,” he asserted, then chuckled strangely.

  “What do you mean?”

  “By now, every area we’ve passed through has heard of the beautiful and daring Union spy called the Flame. If we don’t keep moving, that reputation will catch up to and entangle us.”

  “You’re teasing me,” she accused merrily.

  “Not much. Be careful and don’t expose yourself to the wrong people. We know Clifford and Travers are dogging you. I would guess that Cathy’s let your new identity slip to someone. News travels fast on spy lines. Within a month or two, you’ll be as legendary as the Blade.”

  “Don’t be silly. I haven’t done anything to earn fame or infamy.”

  “You’re wrong, love. When questions start being asked, every man who’s met you will add more color and detail to those encounters. Since they couldn’t capture you, they’ll have to make up some wild story about your clever deception and escape. Don’t you see, love? In times like these, people need heroines and heroes; others need someone to blame for their errors and weaknesses. They enjoy creating legends, polishing them, making them special, unconquerable, infallible. Who better than a beautiful, unselfish angel who courts death and danger to help them? Myths like Flame and Blade inspire hope and courage.”

  “Doesn’t that place our lives in more danger? Isn’t it hard to carry off secret missions when people know who and what you are?” she fretted aloud. “No wonder the Blade keeps himself unknown.”

  Blane smiled. “Myths provide a feeling of excitement and romance, a stimulating aura of mystery, a distraction from bloody reality. That’s why the Blade appeals to so many people. He’s said to be clever, mysterious, powerful, fearless. They think he’s someone to respect, to admire, to envy, to hate.”

  “Do you envy him, Blane?”

  Blane was quiet for a moment before replying, “No, I don’t. He has to remain a loner. Being a legend is an awesome responsibility.”

  “Do you respect and admire him?” she continued, intrigued.

  “Sometimes I don’t and sometimes I do. Sometimes he’s forced to do things for the Union that hurt innocent people. Sometimes he does or says anything necessary for the success of his mission. Sometimes he gets blame or credit that he doesn’t earn. On the whole, he’s an honorable man. But sometimes his personal honor gets all tangled up with love and loyalty for his country.”

  “Has he hurt you or used you?” she probed at his odd tone.

  “Yes, he’s made me do something that might be wrong.”

  “Might be wrong? How could he make you do anything against your will? You’re the most fearless and powerful man I know. From your remarks, I thought you hadn’t met him.”

  “He’s a complicated man; I really don’t know him at all, not anymore. Maybe the war’s changed him. All I know is I promised Lincoln I would do whatev
er needed to be done to help end this war.”

  “I don’t think I would like this Blade. I’m not sure I agree that to use any means necessary to obtain victory is just. An honorable man has to know where to draw the line between right and wrong, even in war.”

  “That’s the trouble during war, Shannon. How does one truly know the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil? Take our loyalties and assignments. We do some things that are bad and wrong, in the name of helping good and right. What if we’re forced to kill a Rebel officer to steal information or to save our lives? Would that theft or murder be justified? If a town or home is attacked and destroyed because of the information we provide, is that wrong or our way of fighting evil? In war, the lines are fuzzy and distorted, and justice isn’t black and white. Where do we draw our line, Flame?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose each incident has to be judged when it arises. Before the war, I would have sworn I couldn’t slay a man for any reason. I would never have stolen or deceived decent folk. There are many things I wouldn’t have done if this war hadn’t started. It’s so hard to know what’s right and wrong these days.”

  They had talked through their noon meal and during most of their ride. By keeping off the road and away from settlements and homes, they had encountered very few people. On occasion and at a distance, they had seen camps where homeless families or wounded soldiers were awaiting their fates. Shortly before sundown, Blane found a promising spot for them to camp for the night.

  Dan was left to graze and drink near a creek. “You stay here while I take a look around,” Blane ordered as usual.

  When he returned, he teased, “Why isn’t my supper ready?”

  “You didn’t give me permission to build a fire, sir.”

  “Good girl,” he complimented her intelligence. “We’ll have to eat cold food tonight. I could make out a large camp not too far away.”

  “Which side?” she questioned anxiously.

  “Rebs. Don’t worry. We’ll eat and nap, then sneak around them before daylight. We’re beyond their sentries’ range.”