Victoria let out a quiet gasp. “Is that your stomach?”
Quincy nodded. “Yes. I’m apparently hungry.”
“When did you last eat?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Seriously? You’re kind of taking this act a bit too far, don’t you think?” Opening her bag, she said, “I have snacks.”
“What are snacks?”
* * *
She glanced at him and then back down at her bag. “You know. Snacks.”
“Snacks?”
“Yes. Food. Nibbles and such.” She rummaged through her bag, muttering, “They’re in here somewhere. This dark certainly doesn’t help.” Angling her bag to try and get light from the moon, she pulled out a power bar and handed it to him.
“What is this?” he asked as he turned the package over several times.
“It’s a power bar.” Noticing his confusion with the power bar, she opened the package for him and handed it back. Victoria watched him closely.
He peeled the packaging and brought it to his lips. “Power bar?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you can get them in any supermarket.”
“What’s a super market?”
“Well, Gus,” she explained as if speaking to a child, “it’s a place to purchase groceries. Fruits, vegetables, meats and such.”
“You don’t grow your own?”
Gasping in mock surprise at his question, she placed her fingers to her mouth and answered in her best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation, “No, suh! I have my slaves do it for me on the plantation, and then I make them pretend to sell them to me in a giant building equipped with large refrigeration units.”
“You have an unusual way with words, ma’am.” He took a small bite and grimaced.
“I know they’re not the tastiest. It’s the soy. But it’ll help with the hunger,” she assured him. “Or so the advertisements say.”
He took another bite. “I suppose it’s staving off the hunger.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Would you perhaps explain to me why you are dressed like a man?”
“Excuse me?”
“You have denim breeches on and—”
“Oh, right. I need to play along,” she interrupted. “Well, kind sir, I am an international spy and I found that the hoops tended to get in the way of a quick escape.”
“Who sent you?” he asked in suspicion.
“Why, General Lee is my daddy’s very best friend in the whole wide world, and he said that he needed me to find a tall, green-eyed Union soldier and poison him with a power bar.”
Quincy dropped the food, spitting out the bite he nearly swallowed, and Victoria began to giggle uncontrollably at the look on his face. She wasn’t sure her reaction wasn’t also because she was starting to feel a little unstable. He narrowed his eyes.
“If you like, I’ll take a bite and then you can finish,” she offered, still giggling under her breath.
Quincy snorted. “Who are you really spying for?”
“I just told you. Boy, Gus, you have a really bad memory. Now, eat.” She watched Quincy stare at her again as he took another bite. His gaze raised her discomfort, and she licked her lips as she felt heat creep up her neck. She decided to take the focus off her and change the subject. “Who do you spy for?”
“I am a Sergeant First Class in the Union Army. If you consider that spying, then I suppose it would be for Lincoln.”
Victoria giggled nervously. “I’m assuming you’re referring to Abraham Lincoln?”
“Is there another?”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, you know, this is really silly. Could we please speak like we’re normal? Admit that Lincoln was assassinated over a hundred years ago and you’re doing some form of reenactment and then let’s figure a way out of here and I’ll go back to my ever-changing life.”
Quincy grabbed her. “You’re speaking treason!”
“Treason?” Victoria pried his fingers from her wrist, knowing he could snap her bones with one squeeze.
“Yes, the President is alive.”
She stood and started to pace. “Stop this. Stop it right now. Abraham Lincoln was assassinated April something, 1865. Shot by John Wilkes Booth.”
“Who?”
“Booth! He’s an actor.”
“He is shot by an actor?” Quincy asked again and then chuckled.
“Yes, Einstein, an actor,” she snapped. “Why the laugh? Have you never taken a history class?”
A shot rang out.
“Get down.” He grabbed for her hand.
She deflected him, pulling her arm behind her back. “Not until you answer my question.”
“Miss Carrington? What year do you think it is?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, call me Victoria.”
“All right. Victoria, what year do you think it is?”
She crossed her arms. “It’s 2018. What year do you think it is?”
Quincy took a deep breath and then said, slowly, “It’s 1864, Victoria.”
She gasped. “No, it’s not!”
He shook his head. “This is a ridiculous conversation to be having in the middle of a skirmish.”
“I agree.” Victoria sat down again and opened her bag. Pulling out her iPhone, she asked, “If it was 1864, would I have this?”
Quincy took it and turned it over in his hand. “What is this?”
“Um, duh. It’s an iPhone,” she said, and then responded to his look of confusion. “Oh, come on! Have you never seen an iPhone before? It’s like an iPod and cell phone all in one.”
He stared at her blankly.
“Seriously?” Pulling her headphones out, she placed them on his head, picked a song, and pressed play, somewhat vindicated, and frightened, when he jumped and tore the headphones off his head. She grabbed the phone out of his hand, her hands shaking as she stuffed it back in her bag. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Victoria.”
“Oh,” she said quietly and then looked up in surprise as Quincy reached out to quiet her still-quivering hands. He took one in his and squeezed gently. She was comforted by the kindness she saw in his eyes.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “No, I don’t think I am.”
“Victoria, please don’t cry. I’ll help you. I’ll take you to my sister. My mother will also help. We’ll get you medical help.”
Pulling her hand away from him, she snapped, “I am not crazy, you freaking caveman.”
“Shhh, Victoria, listen.”
She glared at him. “Why?”
“The gunfire has stopped.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“We can get to shelter and then organize a way to get you to safety.”
Nodding, Victoria watched him stand and then reach his hand out to her. She let him pull her to her feet, but as she leaned down to pick up her bag, two shots rang out. She quickly sat down and looked in Quincy’s direction. He was no longer standing.
GROANING, THE FIRE in his thigh and shoulder excruciating, Quincy couldn’t believe he’d made such an amateur miscalculation. His head pounded from the hard smack to the ground and his vision blurred. When he heard Victoria’s feminine gasp, he turned toward the sound.
“Quincy?” He watched as Victoria crawled toward him, flattening her body to the ground when she reached him. “Your shoulder’s bleeding. And your leg!”
“I think I’ve been shot.”
“Apparently,” she said, and then added so quietly, Quincy barely heard her, “These are real bullets from real guns in the middle of a very real battle, aren’t they?”
Quincy knew she must be afraid, but he was in too much pain to soothe her.
Victoria pressed on his shoulder. “I need to get you somewhere safe. Can you move?”
He shook his head. “You need to get away from me.”
Victoria’s han
d pressed harder. “No, we need to get away from here. Now, can you move?”
Quincy squeezed his eyes shut. “Get out of here!”
“Quincy, please let me take you to cover.”
Another shell. His heart broke as he watched her burst into tears.
“Quincy! Listen to me. I will shove my elbow into your shoulder if you don’t let me move you somewhere safe.”
She sounded angry, which was better than the tears in his opinion. “You must be safe.”
Victoria huffed. “Now you’re being nice to me?”
Catching her slight smile as he pushed himself up, bile flooded his throat, and he groaned as he tried to swallow it back down.
“Take it slow, Gus,” she said gently.
Victoria helped him stand and pulled his uninjured arm around her shoulders as she wrapped her arm around his waist. He grunted in protest.
“Okay, big man, let’s get you to safety.” She looked around them. “Where?”
“Over to that grove of trees. It’ll give us some cover.”
They limped over to the covering and he was certain the exertion of carrying him would cause her to pass out.
* * *
Victoria couldn’t help but notice, from her hand around Quincy’s waist, nothing but muscle. He felt slim, which could be from hunger, but still extremely muscular. Reaching the trees without further incident, she set him down so his back was against one of the trunks and hidden from the open valley. She took a moment to catch her breath before she knelt down beside him. Pulling her backpack from her shoulders, she opened it and almost laughed out loud when she came across the alcohol and bandages.
She sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Her hair was in her eyes, so she scooped the lot of it up and secured it at the base of her neck with the scrunchy still around her wrist from earlier that day. “Quincy? I’m going to open your jacket and have a look at your injuries. Is that all right?”
“Yes.”
His breathing, slightly labored, concerned her as she unbuttoned his jacket. She pushed the rough, woolen fabric aside and then did the same with his shirt. She was surprised by the thinness of his shirt, inadequate for winter weather, and yet, his jacket seemed too heavy for the summer. Uncovering the muscular shoulder, she gently probed the skin to find the damage.
The sun, climbing its way toward the clouds, produced just enough light shadowing through the trees to see the wound. A new day was dawning, and Victoria was concerned the fighting would begin again. She hoped they were secluded enough.
Because of her surgeon father, she had a little more than basic first aid training and for the first time, appreciated that fact. Pulling the gauze out of her bag, she soaked it with rubbing alcohol and glanced up at her patient. “This is going to sting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“It’s rubbing alcohol—it’ll help to clean the wound.”
Quincy groaned as she quickly pressed the gauze over his wound.
“Sorry. Let’s get you bandaged up so I can get out of here.” She began to bandage his shoulder and as she got close to him, she heard his quick intake of breath. “What’s wrong? Is the pain that bad?”
“You smell wonderful.”
“You’re crazy.” She shook her head in disbelief at his strange thoughts and watched his face as she tied off the injury. He grimaced, and Victoria squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry. Let’s look at your leg.”
Quincy managed to unbutton his pants and push them part way over his hips. Victoria realized with a gasp that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Oh, stars! Are you commando?” she screeched.
“What’s amiss?” he asked.
“At ease, soldier.”
Quincy chuckled at her jest.
“Um, just a second.” She reached in her bag and grabbed her hoodie. “We’ll use this for covering.”
He grinned as he pushed his pants farther down, but she noticed he had some difficulty with only one usable arm.
“Here, let me help.” Victoria pulled the pants down but kept her head turned and felt her face flush red.
“I’m covered,” he said. “Your sensibilities are safe.”
She turned back toward him and gulped. The area around the wound was raised and red, and when she touched it gently, he pulled his leg away.
“Holy shit, you must be in agony,” she said with concern. “I’ll clean it first and then we’ll bandage you, okay?” She went to work, once again in a clinical frame of mind. “I wish I could get those bullets out, but I suppose it would be better to wait for a surgeon.”
Once he was bandaged, she turned her head while he hiked up his pants and then she buttoned them for him. When she turned around, she saw his head fall back against the tree. Concerned by his sudden lethargy, Victoria squeezed his hand. “We should really get you to a hospital.”
He shook his head. “No hospitals.”
“What? Why not?”
“They are diseased.”
Victoria’s eyes widened. “They are?”
Glancing at him when he didn’t respond, she rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. Quincy had passed out and Victoria was left to talk to the birds.
* * *
Quincy awoke slowly; his eyes focusing on the beautiful woman he thought might be a dream.
“Hi,” she said as she gently felt his forehead, the touch of her cool hand soothing.
“Violet,” Quincy said in surprise.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your eyes. They are so blue, they’re almost violet.” He cocked his head and stared. “You are stunning.”
She gave a tight smile. “How do you feel?”
Quincy licked dry, chapped lips. “Thirsty.”
Victoria helped him sit up further and gave him a drink of her water.
He frowned. “What manner of container is that?”
“It’s a plastic bottle.”
Knowing in that moment that she wasn’t delusional and wasn’t lying, Quincy squeezed her hand.
“You believe me now, don’t you?” she whispered.
He nodded slowly. “I do believe you, but how is this possible?”
Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know, but let’s worry about that later, okay? We need to get you to safety and a doctor.”
From their relative cover, Quincy watched the Confederates begin to retreat. Finally, he saw a few of his men, led by Marcus and Harry, breach the brush concealing the scattered bodies.
“Marcus!” he shouted.
“What are you doing?” Victoria whispered.
“Acquiring assistance.”
Quincy flagged the men over, but rather than aiding him immediately, they were transfixed by Victoria. Quincy knew they hadn’t seen a woman in a very long time. As he felt her move closer to him, he smiled. He liked that she felt safe with him, even in his wounded state.
“Victoria, Marcus is my second in command, and Harry is next to him,” he whispered.
Marcus cleared his throat and relaxed his grip on his gun.
Quincy stood as straight as he could, despite the pain, and addressed his men. “This is Miss Carrington. She came to my aid on the field and is under my protection. Clear?”
Marcus moved to face Harry and both he and Quincy sent him a pointed stare.
“Yes, sir,” Harry said.
Quincy waited for each man to nod his agreement.
“We’ll take you both to General Warren,” Marcus said, and handed his gun to a young soldier.
* * *
The group moved out into the open field and Victoria stayed close to Quincy, concerned as he limped back to the fort. Marcus and one of the other soldiers flanked him, creating a human set of crutches, and Victoria let out a sigh of relief as Quincy’s body slumped against his men.
When they arrived where the rest of the men were, Quincy introduced the General to Victoria. She almost laughed at the formality of it all. Quincy acted as though they were at a ball, rather than on a
battlefield with holes in his shoulder and leg.
She watched in admiration as Quinn debriefed Warren on the situation while she stood next to him and said nothing. If she moved away from him, even slightly, she found his hand on her arm and her body pulled back behind him again.
She couldn’t really be in 1864, could she?
“You need medical attention, Sergeant,” Major General Warren said.
“I’m aware of that, sir, but the lady needs to be taken to safety.”
Victoria hated being talked about as though she weren’t there but held her tongue.
Warren nodded toward Victoria. “She doesn’t need medical attention.”
“No, but she is in need of protection. I will get medical attention as soon as she is safe.”
The Major General stood in silence for a few minutes in thought. Victoria held her breath in anticipation and stared at Quincy’s back.
“Very well, Sergeant. I’ll leave your health to your own discretion.” Warren jotted something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Quincy.
Quincy took it from him with a nod. “Thank you, sir.”
Three of their cavalry had been shot and killed, so the Colonel allowed him two of the three horses left without riders on the promise they’d be returned.
“Can you ride, Victoria?” Quinn asked.
“Yes, I can ride.”
“Can you ride astride?”
“Of course,” she said, thinking it was an absurd question.
Quincy looked as though he didn’t really believe her, and she waited for him to argue, but instead he said, “Let’s get on the road. It’ll be a long ride to my brother’s home.”
Victoria was thrilled by his look of surprise when she jumped on the horse. She grinned at him as he mounted his own horse, enjoying the fact that one of the men had to help him.
They moved slowly at first, Victoria setting the pace, concerned about Quincy. “I noticed you didn’t take any supplies from your men.”
“No,” he said. “They will need them more than we will. We will be home in two days and will receive plenty of food and blankets—”
“But your men could be out in the field for weeks still,” she finished.
The Rebel Bride (Civil War Brides Series, #5) Page 3
