The men guarding the rear entrance stared at Andrea suspiciously so she continued walking, deciding to try her luck at the farm’s main entrance. With both sides of the lane bordered by four-foot stone walls, she would have only two directions to worry about a confrontation. Stump would have to be relied upon to outrun anything in her way.
“Why couldn’t your name be Lightning or Blitz, for heaven sakes,” she mumbled while attaching the thick, hemp lead rope to the horse’s halter to use as reins. She mounted by hopping on him from the bed of an empty hay wagon. “Or Dazzle even, or—”
The moment Andrea touched his back, Stump became a different horse. Perhaps he did not like her comment about pulling hay wagons. Possibly he thought humans should not ride without saddles. Or maybe he was simply taking on the characteristics of an ornery rebel. In any event, he hopped and skipped and pranced, first in one direction and then another, with a sudden rebellious temper. Andrea used every ounce of her strength and skill to move him toward the gate.
“Halt.” A sentinel stepped out in front of her and grabbed the makeshift reins. “Where you think yer going?”
“Egads, man! Captain Hunter is clamoring for this horse, and I’ve got to get it to him!” Andrea tried to sound authoritative, but she was already out of breath.
“No one can pass through this gate without the expressed consent of Cap’n Hunter or Gen’ral Stuart,” the whiskered old man barked, repeating his commander’s order word for word.
“Captain Hunter gave his consent when he ordered me to get this horse,” Andrea yelled. “He’s down that lane right now, sitting on a dead lame horse, probably watching that spy get away while you’re holding me up. Why are you carrying your gun that way anyway? That’s no way for a soldier to stand duty. What’s your name?”
The man, who appeared soaked to the bone and dead tired, readjusted his rifle to a more acceptable position and then stepped aside. “Pass on.”
Andrea sank her spurs into the horse’s sides, urging him out of the encampment and into the lane. But even with the aid of spurs, the ornery animal did not seem to know in what direction to travel. He continued instead to prance and spin within the confines of the stone walls.
Breaking a small branch from a tree as she passed beneath it, Andrea swatted the horse on the rump, and was rewarded with a fast, effortless canter in a reasonably straight path. Though his ears were pinned back in obvious irritation, Stump seemed to have accepted his new rider.
Andrea reached down to pat his neck as a reward, but her sense of relief ended abruptly. The sight of a tall figure silhouetted in the faint starlight in front of her caused all the blood to rush out of her heart and pool into a large coagulated glob in the pit of her stomach. The reflected gleam of a Colt revolver, held low by the rider’s thigh, only increased the sudden sentiment of impending doom.
There was no need to guess the identity of the rider. Though mounted on a dark bay tonight instead of the gray, Captain Hunter’s vengeful stare succeeded in unnerving her more than his gun.
Andrea swallowed hard, contemplating her options. Concealment was impossible at this point, and flight all but hopeless. In an effort to mask the fact that her insides had distilled to jelly, she drew her own revolver. The act of defiance did little good. Attempting to control her mount with one hand was not a realistic proposition.
“Ah-ha, Stuart was right. My fox has finally left the henhouse,” Hunter said coolly, seeming to enjoy her struggle with his horse. “And I see you’ve met Stump. Interesting choice.”
Andrea would have answered had she not been so intent on staying on her mount while he reared, circled, and pranced in sheer rebelliousness. But she was rather glad for his antics. It gave her time to seek a way out.
“You’ve got two commands of cavalry behind you and me in front of you,” Hunter said as if reading her mind. “I’d say you’ve set a pretty good trap for yourself—on a stolen horse no less.”
He smiled with a kind of contented look that brought to Andrea’s mind the image of a vulture preparing to feed on a carcass that is not quite dead.
“Perhaps I have,” she said, pretending a calm she did not feel. “As for the horse, he carries the U.S. brand. Indeed he was stolen by someone.”
Her voice did not falter. Yet Andrea could not suppress the urge to glance at the sky with the hope that God would furnish a lightning bolt to strike Hunter down, or perhaps a squadron of angels to carry her away. And then she worried, just a little, that these were the only two possibilities for escape that appeared reasonable to her at the moment.
“All the angels in heaven cannot save you now.” Hunter again seemed to divine her thoughts. He continued watching her struggle with his horse, his expression a mixture of vague surprise and anger. “I lost a good man yesterday,” he said then as if to remind her of it. “And woe to the hand that shed that costly blood.”
Andrea shuddered—not so much at his words, but at the odious tone in which he said them. Numbness began to set in now, numbness and fear. And the glob in her stomach started to congeal in her veins.
“It was not my intention,” she responded bravely. “Nor was it my bullet that took his life.”
“It was not your intention or your gun, yet still he is gone. A costly sacrifice of a man who would have served his country well had his life been spared.”
Hunter’s voice seemed raw with emotion. Andrea thought she heard it crack, and the compassion in it panicked her.
“If not for the magnitude of the conflict, I would never have taken up arms,” she said, trying to defend herself.
“Speaking of arms,” Hunter said, his voice calm and cool again, “it is high time you surrendered yours.”
Andrea’s arm trembled from the strain of the weight of the gun, yet her mind battled with her stubborn pride. J.J. had given her this gun. She could not just toss it away. Then again it was of no use to her right now, not with the trouble she was having controlling the beast beneath her.
“If you surrender, you’ll be treated kindly as a prisoner of war despite the blood you’ve cost me.” The Confederate captain rode toward her now, his tone louder than it needed to be since he was so close.
“And if I do not?” Andrea was proud that her voice did not tremble like the rest of her. She already knew his edict—surrender or die—and neither alternative appealed to her at the moment.
“There’ll be no quarter,” was the unemotional, merciless reply.
Andrea could tell from the intensity of his words and the challenge in his eyes that he preferred she put up a fight. He obviously wanted to be justified in extracting the worth of his dead lieutenant in her blood.
The sound of pounding hoofbeats suddenly echoed from behind her, removing all thoughts and hopes of escape. The men at the barn had probably grown suspicious about the lending out of Hunter’s mount.
“For your own safety, I must ask you again to drop your weapon.” Hunter’s voice sounded almost jovial now. “The fellows coming behind you get quite offended when the enemy is pointing a gun in my direction.”
Andrea wondered if his words were an attempt at humor, though she could find no glimmer of it in his cold, gray eyes. She yielded to the inevitable and allowed the gun to drop to the ground with a gentle thud.
“I’m glad to see you are a reasonable young man.” Hunter sat his horse with easy arrogance, watching her try to regain control of Stump. “That horse is accustomed to being ridden with a strong bit and a heavy hand—not a mere rope. I’m surprised you made it this far.”
“He should be hooked to a blasted plow,” Andrea said miserably. Hunter sat only a few paces away now. He would soon be close enough to grab the horse’s halter, and her fate would be sealed. “What do you use him for anyway? Pulling artillery?”
“No.” Hunter displayed a lazy, confident smile, apparently finding her comment amusing. “He’s certainly not a blooded horse, or the easiest to ride, but he’ll jump a house if asked.”
The hoof
beats behind Andrea grew steadily louder as Hunter drew gradually closer. “That’s how he got his name. He’d actually rather jump a tree stump than go around it.”
Andrea supposed Hunter made the remark thinking she had surrendered or had no means of escape. He was, after all, just a few strides away. But in a flash she assessed her options and appraised the possibilities. Was there really any choice?
Nerved with the courage that God gives the desperate, she buried her spurs deep into the most sensitive part of her unruly mount’s flanks, causing him to bolt forward in confusion and protest. The resulting collision between the two horses made Hunter briefly lose his balance and his aim.
Before he had time to recover, Andrea turned the horse at a right angle toward the wall, clutched handfuls of mane in tight fists, and dug her spurs once again into his sides. Airborne for what seemed like minutes, she landed so hard on the other side that her teeth rattled in her jaw and she had to gasp to catch the breath knocked from her lungs. But through it all she clung to the beast with leg and hand, somewhat stunned at the horse’s ability, and completely astonished she was still alive.
From behind her, Andrea heard the sound of Hunter emptying his revolver into the wall. But the action did him no good—and her no harm.
“You’ve made your choice,” he yelled loud enough for her to hear. “There’ll be no quarter next time!”
“There’ll be no next time,” Andrea said to herself as she rode away in an uncontrolled gallop, recalling the words Daedalus said to his son Icarus on their escape from the labyrinth.
“Escape may be checked by water or land, but the air and the sky are free-ee!”
Chapter 31
There is a strength of quiet endurance as significant of courage as in the most daring feats of prowess.
– Henry Theodore Tuckerman
“Rider coming in!”
Through the haze roiling before her eyes, Andrea saw Colonels Jordan and Delaney standing at the picket post watching her approach. She tried not to sway too much, concentrating instead on the two figures who impatiently watched her advance.
When at last she reached them, Andrea could barely find the strength to pull the horse down to a halt. Although she had passed water during her journey, she did not dismount for fear she would not be able to climb back on. She’d ridden ten miles out of her way to avoid any Confederate patrols, and in the process had been forced to push her way through a tangle of woods of seemingly unending denseness and depth.
The last few miles had caused her arms to shake from exhaustion and her legs to tremble from the bone-jarring ride. She was dizzy with hunger, faint with fatigue, and cold to the very marrow of her bones.
J.J. grabbed the muddy-hocked horse and held it firmly, while Andrea tried to uncurl her fingers from the coarse hemp rope.
“You rode bareback all the way from Middleburg?” Daniel asked incredulously.
Andrea nodded, but she could not quite focus her eyes on them. The fictitious strength that danger and desperation had afforded her was giving way.
“Sinclair, are you all right?”
Again Andrea nodded, yet she made no effort to dismount. Instead, she continued to stare at her shaking fingers, willing them to release the rope in her bloody, ragged hands.
Looking down at Daniel for reassurance, Andrea noticed he appeared strangely distorted, undulating and waving like the horizon does on a scorching hot day. She thought she’d better dismount, because the sight of him, along with the strange whooshing sound in her ears, was making her dizzy.
But first she needed a drink. She made a feeble effort to lick her lips. “Might… I…” she took a deep, shaky breath, “get…some water?”
Both colonels turned simultaneously around and yelled for a canteen. By the time they looked back, the rider was lying face down at their feet, as lifeless as a sack of corn.
Andrea slept. Slept for ten long hours and slept so deeply it was doubtful an amputation would have awakened her. But when her eyes finally fluttered open, the first thing she saw was a soldier pacing on the other side of a large table.
As if sensing she was wake, Daniel turned and rushed to her side.
“My goodness, Andrea. You gave me a scare. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”
“I wasn’t unconscious.” Andrea forced a smile as she sat up stiffly and rubbed her eyes. “I just needed some sleep. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?” His voice grew distinctly more hostile. “You were more dead than alive a few hours ago.”
Andrea barely heard him. She eyed the table of food and stood shakily. “Is this for me?”
Despite the fact that both hands were wrapped in gauze for the rope burns caused by her makeshift reins, she fell upon the table of food like a ravenous wolf.
“Andrea.” Daniel stopped and bit his lip before continuing. “Andrea, I’m afraid I must agree with Colonel Jordan that you must stop. This is getting far too dangerous. You—”
“For me?” She raised her head and stopped chewing. “But it’s not too dangerous for you?”
“That’s different.” He brow creased with concern. “I know this means a lot to you, but—”
“I’ve come out all right so far, haven’t I?” Andrea took a big bite from a piece of bread.
“Of course you have.”
“But you can replace me without a second thought?”
“Of course I can’t.” He began to pace again, then stopped and faced her. “If they catch you, they’ll show no mercy.”
His voice was both somber and serious, but Andrea merely shrugged in response. Something in Daniel’s eyes told her he did not expect an answer anyway.
“I admire your courage, but darn your judgment, Andrea.” His voice grew stern again. “You came within an inch of losing your life yesterday!”
“No, not an inch,” Andrea replied, keeping her tone and expression serious. “More like four feet.” She burst out laughing at the thought of jumping the wall and slapped the table repeatedly with the palm of her bandaged hand.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Daniel threw up his hands. “How dare you ride into an enemy camp, Stuart’s no less, with no orders to do so!”
You gave me permission to reconnoiter.” Andrea leaned forward, defending herself.
“I did not give you permission to fall in with the ranks!”
“You did not explicitly tell me not to,” she replied, deeming her argument was no weaker than his.
“Tell me this. Why do you have no fear of death?” Daniel stopped in front of her and leaned down with his palms on the table, his face even with hers. “Perhaps I should rephrase. Why are you so foolish with your life?”
“Why do you believe I’m foolish with my life?” She batted her eyelashes. “Why do you and Colonel Jordan always think capture and death are not far away?”
“Perhaps it’s because you go more than halfway to meet them,” he thundered. “Life is sufficiently short without shaking the sand that measures it!”
Andrea stood and tried to sound serious. “Colonel Delaney, I promise you this. I won’t die until my time comes.”
“I don’t find you the least bit amusing,” Daniel answered dejectedly, turning his back.
“I’m sorry.” Andrea walked around to face him. “I know you’re in earnest, but I—” When he looked down at her with his brilliant blue eyes, Andrea lost her train of thought.
“You’ve nothing to gain by giving your life.” He gazed at her steadily. “Andrea, I couldn’t bear it if you—”
She grabbed his hands with her bandaged ones. “Nothing will happen to me. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that,” he said sullenly.
“Neither can you.”
“You worry about me?” He put his hands on her shoulders and searched her eyes as she searched his.
“Of course I do. I feel—”
A knock on the door interrupted them, quickly followed by Daniel’s aide walking i
n without waiting for an invitation. His eyes shifted from one to the other as they each took a hurried step back. “S-sorry, sir, an urgent dispatch for you.”
Andrea felt the heat rising in her cheeks as the adjutant shot one more questioning glance in her direction before turning toward the door. “I’ll wait for your orders outside.”
Chapter 32
Courage—a perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it.
– Union General William Tecumseh Sherman
One week later
Captain Hunter pulled on a clean shirt and sighed with exasperation. “A ball for bloody sakes,” he said to no one but himself.
Inwardly, he cursed the events that had brought him to Richmond. “You need to relax, Captain Hunter,” General Stuart had told him, “and spend an evening off horseback.” Then with a twinkle in his eyes and a knowing nudge Stuart had told him about his plan. “It’s time you reap the rewards from a social engagement rather than a military one.”
Stuart’s remarks would have been well received by any of Hunter’s men, but to Hunter, they were maddening. He rarely allowed himself time to rest, let alone actually relax. To be away from his men and out of the saddle for more than a day would be torture—not a reward.
That’s why Stuart had made it an official mission. “It’s business, Captain. I need your eyes. We have reason to believe that spies have infiltrated the city.”
A sense of duty overtook Hunter’s reluctance at attending, but he still envisioned the evening with disdain. Spending time with the social elite of Richmond, who knew little of the war and even less about fighting it, seemed a miserable and constrained affair at best.
But by the time his carriage rolled to a stop in front of the estate, Hunter had talked himself into making the best of it. After making his entrance, he slowly surveyed the crowd. From across the room he saw a familiar face frantically waving to him in a striking, and quite revealing, red gown. Nodding his acknowledgment to his old friend Victoria Hamilton, Hunter began to relax. Perhaps this will not be such a bad evening after all.
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 14
