The Men of Pride County: The Rebel

by West, Rosalyn

  They were the Men of Pride County:

  bold, brazen—ready to fight for what

  they believe is right … their

  homes, their families, and the women they love …

  Juliet Crowley had the most voluptuous lips Noble had ever seen. Full, soft, kissable lips that firmed into an uncompromising line when she noticed his attention lingering there.

  “Major, I’m sorry to say it’s not a pleasure to meet you.”

  “But the pleasure is indeed mine,” he replied smoothly.

  “Are you being honest, Major Banning? I thought Southern men liked their women docile.”

  “I can’t speak for all Southern men, Miss Crowley, but I prefer my women spirited.”

  She lifted one honey-colored brow. “My, my, such a bold claim.”

  “Tell me,” he drawled. “Is it me you dislike, or my former uniform?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder to skewer him with a look. “Oh, it’s you sir.” But she knew she was lying, for it wasn’t dislike she was feeling, but something far more disconcerting …

  THE MEN OF PRIDE COUNTY

  THE

  REBEL

  ROSALYN

  WEST

  Dedication

  In memory of my mother,

  who taught me how to dream

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Other AVON ROMANCES

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  1864

  Almost time …

  A lone rider stared down upon the tracks below. The tip of his cockaded hat provided little protection from the chill sleet lashing weary features. He made a single move, to check his pocket watch, clearing away the fog from the crystal with his sleeve.

  7:58.

  Almost time, if time was something one could count on in these interminable days of war.

  As if in answer, the forlorn wail of the train’s whistle sounded in the distance.

  The mounted man’s attention was drawn away from the stretch of track by movement beside him.

  “Right on time. Must be a sign that things are going our way.”

  Major Noble Banning didn’t answer. Though he wasn’t particularly superstitious, a part of him didn’t want to jinx their mission with words of false confidence.

  “Are the men ready?”

  “Ready and anxious to bite some Yankee butt, sir.”

  “Tell ’em to look sharp and stay alert. We’ll move on my signal.”

  The slicker-shrouded figure faded back into the mist as he continued to watch. To wait.

  He’d planned this attack on the Union rail for weeks, using coded snippets gleaned by their network of telegraph spies to discover where the supplies would be shipped and when. If their information was right, the train appearing in the next few minutes would be loaded with enough food and powder to further the Confederate effort through the long winter months ahead. If it was wrong, it would still give his men a chance to work off some dangerous tension. It was always worse when the holidays grew near. His men wanted to be home with family. Hell, so did he. This would be his third year away.

  He shook off the moment of melancholy to focus on the immediate goal. A success on this miserable morning would go far toward boosting their wavering morale. And it would prolong the costly confrontation perhaps through another Christmas.

  Then it crossed his mind unbidden, a brief, traitorous thought.

  Was he crazy to want to do such a thing?

  Another year of hardship and death with loneliness and fear as a constant companion. If they all were just to lay down their arms and go home now …

  The train appeared at the bend in the track, clearing his mind of all but the immediate objective. He and his men had a job to do. Union flags fluttered boldly on the laboring engine. The incline would slow it just enough to give them the opportunity they’d need to—

  “Ambush!”

  Minié balls chopped through the thicket like an axe through kindling, sending branches flying. For a moment, Noble was disoriented, shocked that the bullets were coming from behind him. Federal troops poured out of the dense woods, ringing his men with deadly gunfire. In the confusion that followed, one thought came with agonizing clarity.

  How had the enemy known to be there?

  Grabbing up his reins, Noble brought his mount around as he reached for his sidearm and sought a target. He never had the chance to fire, for he was already in an infantryman’s sights.

  He heard his brave horse’s scream of pain and at first didn’t realize that the ball had passed through his own leg before plowing into the animal’s lung. The stallion went down, he with it, rolling, toppling down the embankment toward the train, which would continue to its final destination.

  Chapter 1

  “Major Banning, you got a visitor.”

  Clutching the threadbare blanket about his shoulders as if it could keep the penetrating cold of the blustery Maryland winter from rattling through his bones, Noble shuffled to the door of his tent. Until last week, he’d shared the meager quarters with a planter from Alabama. After they’d carried the man’s wasted corpse away, he’d had the place to himself. But with Point Lookout overflowing with his fellow Southerners, he knew the privacy wouldn’t last long. Perhaps this was to be his new tentmate.

  He paused for a moment at the closed flap. Drawing a deep breath that felt as if ice was coating the lining of his lungs, he forced his stiffened form to straighten into a proud military bearing. As a defiant gesture, he tossed the blanket onto the cot behind him and took a moment to align his ragged uniform. Only then did he throw back the canvas flap.

  The Union officer waiting in the cold gave him a quick once-over glance, unable to stop the pity from stealing into his expression. Then his manner became crisp.

  “Major Banning?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Horvath. Might I have a word with you?”

  Noble stepped back. “Come in, Lieutenant. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of hospitality except to cut the wind a little.”

  His drawling sarcasm drew a wince from the other officer, who entered, then waved for his aide to wait in the cold.

  “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “I’ll get right to it.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I’d like to get back to my Dickens before the pages freeze together.”

  Another grimace quickly concealed. Noble understood the man’s situation. One couldn’t afford to show sympathy for one’s enemy, even when that enemy was humbled in defeat.

  “Major, do you know a Colonel Crowley?”

  His features hardened, but his tone remained coolly civil. “By reputation, sir.” By more than that. Crowley was responsible for his incarceration in the Union prison along with the men who’d managed to survive the ambush.

  “Colonel Crowley speaks highly of you, sir. So highly, in fact, that he asked me to put forward his re
quest.”

  Noble turned and made his way back to the cot, his gait hindered by a slow-healing wound. He lowered himself gingerly. “If the colonel would like an invitation to dinner, he’s welcome as long as he brings the meal and is prepared for delousing afterward. Lice seem to be the only things that thrive in this place.” Lice and despair.

  “The colonel would like to offer you the means to leave these surroundings.”

  Leave? Noble’s interest leaped but his manner remained purposefully indolent. “Really? Is he proposing to surrender to me, then?”

  The lieutenant caught his grin with some difficulty. “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Then what does he have in mind?” Refusing to seem eager, he began to wind a loose thread from his fraying jacket cuff about his forefinger. He glanced up idly for an answer.

  “The colonel is on his way to a frontier post. He was impressed enough with you and your men to ask specifically that you be allowed to accompany him.”

  “Accompany him?” Unable to maintain the pretense of disinterest, Noble’s demand slashed saber-sharp. “Accompany him as what?”

  “As part of his troop.”

  “As part of the Union Army?” The question was posed incredulously.

  “Yes, sir. You are undoubtedly aware of the parole program—”

  “Sir, my men and I were never part of the regular Union army before the war, and we’ve no plans to change our allegiance now.”

  “Major Banning, your men are dying here. I would think that you, as their commander, would be willing to do just about anything to spare them another day in this hellhole.”

  Noble said nothing. His glare emitted frost.

  The lieutenant’s tone softened. “You lost two more of them just this morning.”

  “Who?”

  “Burns and Cable.”

  For a moment, the prideful disdain crumpled. Noble’s head bowed, his eyes closed as he fought for the strength to find some reply, some words to make sense of the senseless loss. “The fortunes of war,” he said at last.

  “It doesn’t have to be yours, sir.”

  The man’s angry claim brought Noble’s attention back to him. “What does the colonel offer?” he asked wearily but with no less wariness.

  “That you and your men serve under him on the western frontier for the duration of this—this damned conflict. Then you will be free to return home with honor.”

  Home … The temptation of it nearly made him tremble.

  “What kind of honor is there in betraying one’s homeland?” he asked quietly.

  “What kind of honor is there in a useless sacrifice to a lost cause?”

  “It’s our cause, sir. One we held highly enough to be brought into your … care.”

  “You wouldn’t be fighting against your fellow Southerners, so how can you see it as betrayal? It’s survival, that’s all. And none of you is going to survive if you stay here. Is that your definition of honor? If it is, it’s a poor one.”

  Noble rose, rubbing absently at his thigh before crossing to the tent flap and flinging it open. He needed air to clear the seditious whispers from his head. Home. Bitter cold rushed in along with the bitter sight of what lay around him.

  Unlike most Northern prisoner of war camps, Point Lookout had no permanent barracks. Prisoners were housed in tents and died daily from sickness on half rations of beef and hardtack. Those who had the questionably good fortune of surviving lacked fuel and clothing and suffered from the brutal cold. He’d heard the death toll was close to thirty percent, though prison officials denied it.

  Burns and Cable. That made eleven brave men who’d sworn to fight an enemy they could see, not one that drained away their vitality day by miserable day.

  Noble sighed. How many of his remaining men would last through spring, some sleeping on the ground without blankets? They were still his responsibility, and he suffered from the knowledge of their hardships even as he suffered beside them.

  He was being offered a chance to save them, because if he went, the others would follow.

  Then his stare narrowed as his mind latched onto another truth. He was being offered a chance to save them—and also something else, something extra that tempted him even more than the thought of freedom.

  Justice.

  “I would like to speak to my men first.”

  “Of course, Major. I’ll have them gathered for you.”

  For a long while after the lieutenant had gone, Noble stood in the opening at the tent, not feeling the cold, not considering what he’d say.

  He was lost in thoughts of retribution. In the unexpected opportunity of discovering who among his own men had betrayed them to their enemy.

  “What you’re asking is treasonous, sir.”

  “No, sir. We can get along just fine on these bastards’ hospitality.”

  “I say we stick it out here. Why should we do them any favors?”

  “I ain’t serving under no Yankee, even if it means freezing for another winter.”

  “Even if it means none of us seeing another winter?” Noble put in softly.

  His men muttered, but agitation and fear trickled under their resentment, a cold sweat, as they huddled together in scarecrow tatters. All of them were afraid what he said was true. That they’d never leave Point Lookout alive. That they’d never see their families, their homes again.

  “I’d rather die here for what we believe in than die out there for them.”

  Captain Donald Bartholomew’s sentiments were echoed by the others. Noble focused his argument on his second in command, knowing that in swaying him, he’d turn the others.

  “Donald, I don’t like this, either, but I don’t want to die here. That’s not going to do a damn thing for the Confederate cause. They’re going to need men to rebuild after this thing is over. If we all die here, who’s going to do that back home? Who’s going to take care of our families? Our vanity? Our nobility?” He shook his head. “What difference does it make if we sit out the war here in this deathtrap or as free men out in the West? Neither is going to make a bit of difference to the outcome of this war. We’re not going to see battle again. The only thing we can hope for now is to see a future once this is over.”

  “He’s right.”

  Red-headed George Allen was the unit’s chaplain. His words cut through the mumbling, through the grumbles.

  “Staying here proves nothing. But by surviving out in the western territories, we can bring honor to ourselves and return home free men. Men with nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “As cowards, you mean,” Bartholomew snarled.

  “Cowards would choose to sit out the war shivering in tents, being fed like dogs,” Noble told them. “Brave men would seize their own future, standing with pride.”

  No one said anything for a long moment, considering both sides, until a lowly private spoke what they all were thinking.

  “I don’t want to die here and be buried on Northern soil without ever seeing my mama again. I guess that means I’ll follow you, Major Banning. I mean, we already done followed you into hell, why not back out again?”

  A couple of men laughed halfheartedly.

  Noble looked to Donald Bartholomew. “Don? Are you with me, too? I want your word as a gentleman that you’ll serve and serve honorably.”

  Bartholomew scowled. Finally he muttered, “Ah, hell, Noble. I’d rather be straddling a horse than one of these frozen latrines for another year. I’m with you.”

  Even as he shook each man’s hand, Noble could sense their confusion and divided loyalties. But he knew his men and knew that once they’d given their word, they’d stand by it. They’d follow him even if it went against everything they held sacred. Because none of them believed dying helplessly of cold and scurvy could earn them any glory.

  He’d asked for their allegiance to an enemy they loathed. He got it, and he hated himself for having to do it. But one thing convinced him that what he was doing was right in selling out their loya
lty to save their lives.

  In serving under Crowley, he would find out who among his men had betrayed them all.

  He’d find out. And if that man still lived, justice would be done, sure and swift, for the eighteen who’d fallen in the field, for the eleven who lay interred in frozen Northern graves. For the sake of his own tormented soul, a soul that cried out nightly for those twenty-nine men who’d trusted him and put their lives in his hands.

  “You’re going to lead Southern troops? Papa, are you mad?”

  “I’ve been accused of being crazy as a fox. Is that the same thing?”

  Juliet Crowley ignored her father’s teasing, unwilling to be sidetracked from what she considered his sudden lunacy. “You’re taking enemy soldiers with you to Fort Blair.”

  “Not enemies, Jules. Just soldiers. Some of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen. Wait until you see them on horseback. Why, half our men sit a saddle like clothespins, falling off at every unplanned turn. We need men—riders—who can match the hostiles on their own terms. Men like these. Then maybe we’ll have a chance.”

  “But who’s the more dangerous? The Indians or the men who’ll be in your own command? I prefer to trust an enemy I can see, not one that poses as my friend.”

  “Jules—”

  “Et tu Brute?”

  John Crowley shook his head. “‘Tis my own fault for providing you with an education—now you can best me in an argument.”

  Juliet brightened. “Does that mean you see my point?”

  “Of course, I do, my dear. But that doesn’t mean I’ll surrender to it.”

  “Oh, Papa, you are so vexing!”

  Then her father flanked her with an attack against which she had no defense. “If you are so against it, perhaps it would be better if you stayed here in the East.”

  Juliet shut her mouth with a snap. Her glare decried an unfair advantage taken, but when she spoke, her tone was demure.

  “My place is with you, Papa. Whether I think you are foolish or not does not matter.”

  Crowley smiled. “So like your mama. Even in your concessions, you act the victor. What am I to do with you, child?”

  “Take me with you.”

  “I would not have it otherwise, Jules. If I’ve never said so before, I depend upon you for your strength and counsel. I’ve missed you sorely while in the field of this civil war. I look forward to returning to the West, where we know, even if we don’t understand, our enemies.”