The Men of Pride County: The Rebel

by West, Rosalyn

  Noble spoke up then with a formal civility. “Sir, if your daughter’s honor has been compromised by my actions, be assured that I will do the right thing.”

  Juliet sat bolt upright, too shocked to react to what was coming.

  Crowley glared through him. “If you’d done the right thing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Then he unbent slightly. “So you are willing to repair the damage done by wedding my daughter.”

  “If that’s what it takes, sir.”

  Juliet’s disbelieving gaze flew between the two of them. It was a joke, of course, a test on her father’s part to gauge the depth of Noble’s sincerity. Surely no more than that. Surely her father would accept the gesture for what it was, a token offer, and dismiss the whole affair.

  But that wasn’t her father’s intention.

  “I suppose that would be a satisfactory solution to this unfortunate matter.”

  That’s when Juliet lost all patience and surged from her chair.

  “Satisfactory? To whom?”

  “Hush, girl. This does not concern you.”

  “Doesn’t concern me? I beg your pardon—who then does it concern?”

  “This is a matter of honor between men.”

  Her stare focused on Noble in amazement. He stood at stiff attention, willing to shoulder this unnecessary punishment without complaint or betraying emotion. Without any emotion at all.

  And that’s what stabbed to the heart. After what they’d endured, after all they’d shared, how could he let her father push them into an arrangement so bereft of feeling? Or think that she’d be a party to it?

  She’d always dreamed of receiving a proposal of marriage. And this was not how she’d pictured the moment. Distress quivered through her response.

  “Oh? Then if this does not concern me, it’s the two of you who’ll share the marriage bed?”

  Her bold reply took her father aback. “Juliet, your behavior is unacceptable.”

  She turned on him, fighting back angry tears. “What is unacceptable is your belief that I would willingly wed a man who considers having me for a wife preferable only to a firing squad.” She drew a fractured breath and faced Noble in all her shredded dignity. “Thank you, Major Banning, but that sacrifice will not be necessary.”

  “Jules—”

  “Nothing happened between the major and me that requires hasty nuptials. I will not crawl into wedlock as if I’ve done something sinful.”

  “No one is saying—”

  “Isn’t that exactly what you’re saying, Papa?”

  He met her challenging stare for as long as he could, then shamefacedly turned away. “Of course not, my dear.”

  Stepping between them, she demanded, “Then dismiss Major Banning. I’m exhausted and need to sleep. I’m eager to put this whole event behind me.”

  “Major Banning, you may go. I thank you for bringing my daughter back safely.”

  “Just doing my duty, sir.”

  That crisp rejoinder slashed Juliet almost as sharply as his icy stare. She made her tone cool to deflect the hurt. “I appreciate your rescuing me, Major Banning, but my virtue does not require your heroic efforts.”

  His gaze narrowed. In a soft aside for their hearing alone, he asked, “Is it the situation you found so intolerable, or was it my offer?”

  She never missed a beat. “Both, sir.”

  “Then forgive me for attempting to rescue that which was never in jeopardy.” He turned from her to give his commanding officer a brisk salute. “Good night, sir.”

  “Good morning, Major.”

  When he was gone, Crowley sighed and shook his head at his daughter. “You’ve ruined things this time, Jules.”

  “What? What do you mean, ruined things?”

  “He would have married you, you know.”

  She swallowed down the massive lump of missed opportunity to mutter, “Yes, I know. But I couldn’t let you railroad him for something he’s not guilty of.”

  “I never thought him guilty.”

  “You—you knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing? Then why were you going to accept his offer?”

  “Because he would have made you an excellent husband, Jules. He has no plans to remain in the army, and I was hoping that when he went, you would go with him.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “But Papa, why?” Tears of confusion glimmered in her eyes.

  “I lost my wife because she insisted upon following the drum. I just yesterday realized I could lose you as well. And I couldn’t bear to lose you, Jules.” His voice broke, and he started to turn away. That’s when Juliet caught him about the neck in a fierce embrace.

  “Oh, Papa, you’re not going to lose me. Not to the Apache. Not to Noble Banning. I promised Mama I’d look after you and I’ve no plans to break that promise. Ever.”

  John Crowley held his daughter to him, loving her so much that he was furious with her for foiling his attempt to see her happy. A young woman didn’t find happiness keeping house for her father. She found it with a husband. And he’d found that man for Juliet, whether she was ready to accept the choice or not.

  And he hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to the threat of a firing squad to get them to the altar.

  How dare she throw his proposal back in his face as if it were an insult!

  Noble headed for his quarters, too angry to limp. The pain in his feet was nothing compared to the raw state of his pride. It was pride. What else could it be? Why else would he react to her rebuff with such surprise and indignation?

  With such a sense of loss.

  He’d only meant to do what was proper. The gentlemanly thing. That’s how he’d been raised. These crazy Northern women didn’t have the social acumen to realize that. What kind of man would he have been if he hadn’t volunteered to shield her honor from loose talk?

  Well, if Miss Juliet Crowley considered herself above the stain of gossip, who was he to try to save her name?

  She’d made it very clear, hadn’t she, that she had no interest in anything serious.

  Well, that suited him just fine. Just fine. The last thing he needed was to return to Pride County dragging an opinionated free spirit like Juliet as his bride. The very last thing …

  Damn her, she could have at least said thank-you.

  It was then that Miles Dougherty had the bad timing to step into his path to grab his shirtfront and sneer, “How dare you put your hands on her, you—”

  Noble filled in the rest of his nasty supposition with the row of his knuckles.

  He stood over Dougherty, too angry to seek self-control. “How dare you, sir, suggest that the lady would allow me that kind of liberty or that I would take it. And if I find that you are treating her as any less than the lady she is by repeating your filthy innuendos, I will do the honorable thing and carve your heart out.”

  At least here was a man who understood honor. Miles paled, and though still plainly furious, stammered, “I never meant to suggest that Juliet was anything less than a lady.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Noble stepped over him and continued to his quarters. Once inside, he leaned back against the door and wondered who’d angered him more—Miles for insinuating what hadn’t happened or himself for wishing it had.

  Chapter 12

  Juliet!

  Noble sat up, breathing hard, his gaze darting about for signs of danger.

  But it was the impatient blare of the bugle that jerked him from slumber, not the Apache war cries that undulated through his dream.

  He exhaled slowly and eased back onto his bed. It seemed like only minutes ago that he’d laid his head down and closed his eyes. The temptation to pull his pillow over his head was mighty, but he resisted. He couldn’t hide from the day forever.

  Or from Juliet.

  Movements as slow as those of an ancient, he eased from bed and dressed for duty, indulging in a full chorus of moans and groans because there was no one to hear him. Tugging on his boots gave him a long mom
ent’s pause as leather met the throbbing soles of his feet. But the thought of coffee, harsh and black, was enough to coax him into taking the first few baby steps that eventually became a gingerly wobble.

  If Juliet could see him now, she’d find nothing to impress her.

  That thought stiffened his spine. Heaven forbid that the perfect Miss Crowley find him lacking as a man. She’d made no bones about how she felt he’d fare as a husband.

  The morning air was already hot enough to steam the crease from his trousers. He’d joined in the grumbling exodus leading to the mess hall when he heard his name called.

  “Banning.”

  The lack of rank or civility in that address brought him about with a frown to see Miles Dougherty. The sight of the major’s swollen upper lip almost made him smile.

  “The colonel wants to see you and your senior officers. Right now.”

  Something in the hard edge of that command alerted Noble. Whatever was on the colonel’s mind that would take precedence over coffee wasn’t something he was going to like. He grabbed onto a private, bidding him locate Bartholomew and Allen, then started for the colonel’s quarters at a less than enthusiastic amble.

  Miles held the door open for him. The man’s grim demeanor again warned of trouble to come. Crowley was pacing in front of the wood stove, his hands working fiercely at his sides.

  “Where are your officers, Major?”

  “On their way, sir. Might I ask what this is about?” Had he decided on a firing squad after all?

  “You’ve no idea?” He studied Noble with a penetrating glare.

  “None, sir.”

  “We’ll wait until the others arrive. At ease, Major. Jules, some coffee, please.”

  Noble wasn’t prepared for the odd lurch in his emotions when Juliet entered the room. It was almost as if he’d been anticipating her appearance, and now that she’d arrived, he was inexplicably content, an unsettling notion he dismissed as fatigue.

  “Coffee, Major?”

  “Yes. Black, thank you.”

  He took the cup from her, noticing that she purposely avoided eye contact, not only with him but with Miles as well. He’d expected her awkwardness but sensed that this was something bigger. Her tension increased his anxiety one hundredfold. Juliet often mirrored her father’s moods, and if she was this tightly wound, something terrible must have occurred while he slept. He could do nothing but wait and wonder as he sipped her strong brew appreciatively.

  His captain and lieutenant arrived, and Crowley wasted no time cutting right to it.

  “Four of your enlisted men disappeared between lights out and reveille with fresh mounts and all they could carry. What do you know about this?”

  Noble received the news like a rifle blast to the gut. Deserted! After they’d given him their word that they would stand fast and serve well!

  “Who are these men, Colonel?”

  “Bright, Colvin, Worth, and Rogers.”

  He knew them, each one of them. Family men, honorable men, not the types to sneak out in the night.

  Noble looked to his two seconds and demanded, “Do you know anything about this?”

  Both answered with negatives, but Bartholomew was a bit slower in his reply. Noble looked from them to his impatient commander.

  “What are your orders, sir?”

  “I want them found and returned.”

  “To what end, sir?”

  “Whatever I decide. They left this post with three hundred dollars of army provisions apiece. They are costing me the time and manpower to hunt them down. Right now, I’d say they’ll be dragging around twenty-five-pound balls for the remainder of their service. That should slow them down some in future.”

  Noble said nothing. Desertion couldn’t be excused under any circumstances, and the penalty for such an act was always severe. He guessed he should be thankful the price wasn’t execution.

  “I’ll mount a detail, sir, and have them back by nightfall.”

  “I’d expect nothing less, Major.”

  “And lest you be tempted to join them,” Miles interjected coolly, “I’ll pick the men you’ll be leading.”

  Noble looked to the colonel in protest, but what trust Crowley might have felt before was strained by the events of the past few days. Noble, and now his men, had failed to carry out their sworn duties. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for his lack of faith.

  Noble snapped off a salute. He risked a glance at Juliet, but from her remote expression he could read no clues of what she was thinking.

  The minute he and his junior officers left the building, Noble turned on them in a cold fury.

  “What do you know?”

  George Allen was clearly in the dark, but Bartholomew’s gaze dropped away.

  “Don? Did they come to you first? Did you know what they meant to do? Tell me!”

  His gaze darted up, filled with fiery righteousness. “Yes, I knew and I applauded them for it. If it hadn’t been for Maisy, I’d probably have joined them.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you? And what would you have done? Trotted right in there to your little toy-soldier colonel and informed on them, that’s what.” His fierceness took Noble aback. “You’ve lost sight of who we are and who they are. We’re not like them, Noble. They’re still our enemies. They’re still killing our friends and family back home.”

  “I gave my word—”

  “Good for you. And I’m sure you’ll keep it come hell or high water. Well, some of us just aren’t as honor-bent as you are. Some of us just want to get home. Some of us are wondering what the hell we’re doing out here letting these Yankees push us around.” He took a breath and glared at his superior. “So what are you going to do? Bring me up on charges?”

  Noble swallowed back his first answer, then said stiffly, “I’m going to go find those fools before the Indians do. And God help you if I’m too late.”

  The small detail left the fort with little fanfare, its purpose a grim one. Noble led the way with Tom Folley at his right hand. Pauline stood tall and dry-eyed next to Juliet on the porch, waving her handkerchief gaily until her husband was out of sight. Then she sagged against Juliet, shaking with sobs. Putting a fortifying arm about her, Juliet shooed away the children, sending them to scatter feed to the chickens, a job they coveted.

  To Pauline she said gently, “Come inside with me awhile. I’ve been wanting to get that recipe for those sourdough biscuits my father raves over. Do you think you could help me beat up a batch?” At the other’s teary nod, Juliet gave her a hug. “Wonderful. I’ll put on some tea.”

  But as they crossed the threshold, Juliet’s gaze went to the dust cloud growing ever smaller, her own heart twisting anxiously.

  Don’t you dare get yourself killed, Noble Banning.

  Then a more somber thought occurred to her.

  Keep your word and come back.

  They moved hard and fast. The heat soared, but the lack of air movement had preserved the trail they now followed—a trail left by men Noble had a difficult time calling traitors.

  How could they have been so stupid? Why hadn’t they come to him instead of Bartholomew? He would have given sound counsel, not the fervid rhetoric the captain had most likely filled them with, fiery words that could well be sending them all to their death.

  By midday, they had picked up more tracks, these crossing and recrossing those made by the fleeing Confederates, tracks of unshod horses moving in single file to disguise their number.

  Apaches.

  Even though he urged the patrol to a greater pace, Noble knew with a sick certainty that they’d never make it to the men in time.

  But nothing could have prepared them for what they found. Not the ravages of war. Not seeing men blown to pieces by mortar shells. Nothing was as indescribably brutal as the sight of four poor souls who’d been staked spread-eagled in the broiling sun to be leisurely skinned alive.

  Several men fled the ranks to heave up their sc
ant noon meal. Noble sat unflinching, a cold weight of horror and guilt settling low in his gut.

  “Cut them free and wrap them for transport.”

  His men hesitated to obey the emotionless order, unwilling to approach what was left of their friends, now unrecognizable as human beings.

  Wordlessly, Noble dismounted and drew his own knife. He hobbled to the first of the four and bent to cut the rawhide bindings. He didn’t try to avert his eyes but instead studied the carnage with a dispassionate care.

  This was Indian fighting.

  He’d killed these men by bringing them west, and this was a memory he’d carry with him for the rest of his life.

  The patrol made good time returning to the fort. They saw no sign of the enemy, though several nervous enlisted men swore they’d noticed flanking shadows skimming the horizon. None of them drew an easy breath until within the compound. They were too haunted by what they’d seen to ever feel safe again.

  “Take them to the infirmary and have Lieutenant Allen meet me there,” Noble called as he dismounted outside the Crowleys’ home. By the time he’d forced his game leg to support him, he turned to see the colonel and his daughter waiting in the deep shade to hear his report, a report that tore the heart from him to deliver.

  “They must have been ambushed sometime early this morning.” He didn’t elaborate on their condition. What words could adequately convey it? “I know they are considered deserters, but they served me well in the war. I hope you’ll allow them to be buried with dignity, because they sure as hell didn’t die with any.”

  “As you wish, Major. See to it.”

  Noble gave a half-hearted salute and led his horse across the parade ground. Both man and mount were slowed by exhaustion.

  And in the shadows of the porch, Juliet blinked her tears away.

  George Allen stood in the midst of the covered bodies praying for their souls. Noble waited in the doorway, listening to the words that should have given some comfort but didn’t. All he could think of was how much these men must have suffered before going to that better place George spoke of.