He smiled at the thought. Would she agree? Of course she would. She loved him. He had no doubt. If she didn’t, he wouldn’t want to marry her.
Yes, tomorrow they would sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
A smile on his lips, he drifted off to sleep.
Within what seemed like mere moments, he woke with a start. All was quiet.
But the sound of a noise echoed in his mind.
He strained to hear, his eyes wide and unseeing in the blackness of the cloudy night. A slamming door? Thunder?
There. Yes, a rumble of thunder rent the air. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and allowed his mind to drift. To drift back to its new place. Claire.
At the sound of what definitely was not thunder, he jerked to a sitting position.
And to the unmistakable point of steel in the small of his back.
Claire woke to an empty bed. She noticed this only after a night of dreaming of sleeping in Jeffrey’s arms. Her face was a little flushed just thinking about the boldness of those dreams.
Sitting up, she blinked at the diffusion of sunlight that filtered through the smudged glass of the little window. Jeffrey had left his haversack on the table next to the bed. She ran a hand along it, wondering what he carried.
Her thoughts full of Jeffrey, she looked up expectantly as someone knocked lightly on the door and it began to creak open. Her heart skipped at anticipation of seeing Jeffrey.
Instead, Jeffrey’s friend from the night before, was his name Melvin?, stood in the door. Melvin was a large man—taller than she remembered from last night. He dwarfed the doorway. He was clean-shaven, even now in the early morning.
She gasped and inched back on the bed. Grabbing hold of Jeffrey’s pistol, she held it firmly in her lap.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
“What do you want?”
“You need to know about Jeffrey Couvion,” he said, leaning against the door. “The truth.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“He’s not who he says he is.”
“Just say what you need to say,” she said, her finger moving toward the gun’s trigger.
“He’s a traitor.”
Her gut clenched at the word, but she kept her face blank. “That’s a harsh accusation,” she said.
He nodded once. “It’s an ugly business he’s in.”
“How do you know this?” she asked, biting her tongue to keep from asking him to leave.
“I grew up with him. He’s as southern as you are.”
“I never doubted that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then, explain to me them Yankee pants he’s wearing.”
She shrugged. “They’re borrowed.”
He nodded slowly. “Whatever you want to believe, sweetheart. I happen to know that he fought for the other side.
“Even if he did,” she said evenly, “and I’m not saying he did, he isn’t fighting for them now.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn ‘ya. In my book, if a man’s willing to fight for the other side, he can’t be trusted.”
“You can leave now.”
“I’ll leave,” he agreed. “And leave you with this thought. Next time he promises you something, you need to wonder if he’ll betray you.”
“I’d like to you to leave,” she said, no longer keeping the irritation from her voice. “now.”
“At your wish,” he said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Good day.” He turned and strode from the room.
Melvin hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know. Except he had called Jeffrey a traitor—a harsh accusation that was uncalled for. She had taken Jeffrey’s word that he had been born in the south and thought about fighting for the north. Perhaps he’d done more than think about it. He’d shown up at her house wearing a Yankee uniform.
If he hadn’t been wearing the blue uniform, he likely wouldn’t have landed at my house.
Serendipity.
That’s what it was.
And now she was in love with him.
She squeezed her eyes tightly together and remembered the feel of his lips on hers. Gentle. Insistent.
She didn’t care who he fought for.
No…
That was not true.
She didn’t want him to fight for either side.
She wanted him with her. Safe.
She wouldn’t tell him that, of course.
Men never understood those kinds of things.
They found fighting to be noble. To not fight was to be a coward.
She opened her eyes and studied her dress.
She needed new clothes. Badly. Or he would never want to touch her.
She also needed a bath.
It seemed, however, that would not be happening for some time.
She took a deep breath and stood up.
This was the way of things.
Until she could change it, she would have to manage to deal with it.
Sometimes a man had to be allowed to make his own mistakes. And all anybody else could do was to sit back and watch.
Gramps pulled the blanket up under his chin and sighed. His bones ached.
And his heart ached with watching the love that grew beneath his very nose.
He’d watched Jeffrey and Claire fall for each other from the very beginning. And watched them fight it. Deny it. Ignore it.
Well, maybe not completely. Jeffrey had never wavered. Claire was the fighter.
But still…
What was it about young people that kept them from acknowledging it when the right person stood right in front of them?
Well, today was another day and they needed to be on their way. Groaning, he got up, folded the blanket Earl had been kind enough to lend him, and stretched his aching bones. It was time to go see what Earl had for breakfast.
Claire climbed out of bed and straightened her soiled skirts. It was time for them to be on their way. Glancing about the room, she wavered. Then threw Jeffrey’s haversack across her shoulder. What did he have in there? It weighed a ton. Having gathered all their belongings, she left the little room and made her way to the main area.
With the exception of Earl at the counter—did the man never sleep, and Grandpa sitting at one of the tables, the room was empty.
“Where is Jeffrey?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“I haven’t seen him,” Gramps said, between bites of egg. “I thought he was still abed.”
Claire bit her lip. Felt the flush creep up her cheeks. “I haven’t seen him.” She set the haversack carefully on the table. “Where is he?”
“I can’t say,” Gramps said, setting down his fork and focusing on her now.
Claire paced back and forth, the agitation enveloping her. “You haven’t seen him this morning?”
“Not since last night.”
Claire froze in her tracks and focused on her grandfather. “You haven’t seen him since last night?”
“No.”
Lock the door. I won’t be long, he had said. She had locked the door. But…Melvin had walked right in. Had Jeffrey come back? It would be unlike him to leave the door open while she slept. Something isn’t right.
She ran to the tavern door, opened it, and stood looking up and down the street. The sun had scarcely begun its morning glow, yet the streets filled with people hurrying here and there. A farmer carrying supplies into town. A soldier hurrying to his post. Children rushing to beat the school bell.
Where had Jeffrey gone last night? To the inn across the street? To the boarding house next door? Biting her lip, she moved aside for an older gentleman to enter the tavern.
Gramps stood behind her. “Why are you so worried?” he asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why was she worried? The tension pulsed through her veins. She had never been prone to flights of fancy. Never considered herself to be particularly prophetic.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
/>
“I’ll ask the innkeeper where he spent the night.”
She nodded, inhaling deeply in a feeble attempt to quiet her nerves. She fought the urge to dash into the street, to call his name. She shook her head at herself. Silly.
Had she dreamed him being in her bed? If her door hadn’t been locked, she would have entertained the thought. Earl has a key. She quickly dismissed the thought. Her dreams had been of Jeffrey. There was no doubt about that.
Gramps returned to her side.
“Maybe he just took a walk,” Gramps said.
She shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice breathy, even to her own ears. She forced her eyes open to meet his. “Something’s happened to him. Maybe someone took him.”
“Took him?” Gramps echoed. “You mean someone kidnapped him? Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the war.”
“It makes no sense.” Gramps looked up the street, as though expecting Jeffrey to walk up any minute.
“We have to find him.”
“If someone kidnapped him,” Gramps pulled his eyes back to hers, “that’s going to be a little hard to do. Where do you suggest we start?”
Biting her lip, she surveyed the barn, the road, watched a wagon roll by, an older farmer and a young boy perched atop the buckboard. People going about their daily business, in this time of war, mostly just surviving.
A soldier in blue rounded the corner. Claire’s nerves tingled on the back of her neck.
“Good morning,” he said, pausing in mid-stride at the sight of them standing there.
Claire nodded once in his direction. “Good mornin’,” Gramps mumbled, and looked back at her.
She almost smiled. Gramps, too, it seemed, did not care for the sight of a Yankee.
“Can I help you all with something?” the Yankee offered.
Claire and Gramps both shook their heads. The man’s forehead creased. “You seem to be looking for someone.”
Claire faced the man now. At first glance, she’d thought he was an older man, but now as she looked past his beard and fatigue, he was no older than Jeffrey, perhaps even a bit younger. He had a kindness to his face, one that didn’t seem to match his Yankee uniform.
“If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, what’s your name?”
Claire glanced at Gramps. He shook his head unperceptively.
“Would it be Claire, miss?” the man asked.
Claire gasped. “How could you possibly know my name?”
“There was a man,” he said. “A man being, um, escorted from the tavern. As he was leaving, he looked right at me and said, tell Claire I’ve been arrested. I’ve been arrested, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Tell her to wait for me.”
Claire’s knees felt weak. She put a hand on Grandpa for support. Swayed a little, then stood up straight. Jeffrey needed her to be strong. “Who took him? Where did they take him?”
The man shifted from one foot to the other.
“Wait,” Gramps said. “Let’s go inside and sort this out.” Gramps led them back inside the tavern where they sat away from the door. Away from earshot. “I’ll get us some coffee.”
Claire sat, biting her lip, waiting while Grandpa asked Earl to bring them coffee.
“I’m Willie Whitman,” Grandpa said, sitting next to Claire. “And this is my granddaughter, Claire.”
“My name’s Allen,” the Yankee soldier said.
The men shook hands.
“Start from the beginning, Allen. Tell us what you know about Jeffrey.”
Allen’s Adam apple bobbed. “Well, I was coming into the tavern for some breakfast and I saw two men sitting right over there.” He nodded toward a table near the bar.
Claire dug her nails into her palms. Time is wasting. We should be looking for him.
“I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but Jeffrey kept shaking his head. Looked like he didn’t want to talk to the man.”
“What did the man look like?” Claire asked.
Allen focused on Claire. “Like a regular guy. Clean-shaven.”
“Did they argue?” Grandpa asked.
Allen shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jeffrey went up to the bartender and said something to him, then the two of them left together.
Claire started to get up. Grandpa put a hand on her arm. “Let me,” he said. Grandpa went over to Earl and they spoke for a few minutes.
“Besides clean-shaven, what else did the man look like?” Claire asked.
“He was fairly tall. About a head taller than Jeffrey.”
Claire gasped. “It was Melvin!” she said.
Grandpa came back and sat next to them. Lifted his coffee mug to his lips.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Jeffrey threatened his life if he so much as looked at you.”
“It was Melvin,” Claire said.
“Who’s Melvin?”
“Jeffrey’s friend from last night. He came to my room this morning and told me that Jeffrey… couldn’t be trusted.”
“According to Earl, Jeffrey was guarding the door. There’s no way Melvin could have gotten to you.”
“Unless Jeffrey was already gone by then.”
“There was another man that came in,” Allen interjected.
“You didn’t tell us that,” Claire said.
“I was getting to it,” Allen said.
“Let him tell us,” Gramps said.
“The other man came up and Melvin told him to take Jeffrey down to the docks.”
“Did he say what for?” Claire asked.
“I couldn’t really hear. I think he said something about Alexandra or Alexandria, but I can’t be certain.”
“So Jeffrey left with the man?”
“Yes.”
“That must be when Melvin came to my room,” Claire said.
Claire’s heart pounded in her throat.
It mattered not to her what Jeffrey’s loyalties were.
He was in trouble.
And she had to help him.
Chapter Twelve
The inn was next to the river—only a few yards away. However, the inn was on a bluff, high above the river. Hence, it was about a mile down to the docks.
Jeffrey walked side by side with Melvin, a man he had thought to be his friend until today. A man he had ridden next to on hunts and attended balls with.
At one point, Melvin had been enamored with Alexandra, but Jeffrey suspected her rejection had squelched any loyalty there.
Perhaps this was behind the current situation.
“Are you married,” Jeffrey asked.
Melvin glared at him and Jeffrey decided he wasn’t going to answer.
“I married Mary Belle,” Melvin said.
If he’d gotten over Alexandra enough to marry another, this must be about something else. “Why are you doing this?” Jeffry asked.
“I don’t like spies.”
“I’m not a spy,” Jeffrey must have told the man fifty times already. “What can I say to convince you of that?”
Melvin shook his head, ran a hand along his scabbard. “I saw you wearing the blue uniform—back at Mansfield. In the camp,”
“You were spying,” Jeffrey pointed out.
Melvin scoffed. “I was spying for my own side. You’re a Yankee.”
“I’m southern,” Jeffrey said. How, indeed, did he manage to get himself into this fix?
But, more importantly, how was he going to get himself out?
“Southerners don’t have new boots,” Melvin pointed out.
Jeffrey glanced down at his own boots, did a quick comparison of his with Melvin’s threadbare ones. “Still doesn’t make me a spy.”
A Yankee raced by on a horse, forcing the two men to move aside to avoid being trampled.
“Hey, Blue Belly, watch where you’re going,” Melvin called out, but the soldier was too far away to hear. Melvin added a few choice curse words, but before he could fi
nish his tirade, two other Yankees on horses fled by headed the same direction.
“What the?”
The sound of breaking glass and someone yelling had Jeffrey turning to look in the direction the soldiers had gone.
Then there were flames coming out of the nearest building.
Jeffrey took a step toward the building. Melvin grabbed his arm to pull him back. “Not our business.”
Seconds later, the entire building was in flames, sending billows of smoke into the sky.
Jeffrey stood, his feet glued to the ground. There was nothing he could do anyway.
“Come on, let’s go,” Melvin insisted.
The sky toward town, the way they had just come, was suddenly filled with smoke. And the air was filled with the cries of people yelling. More soldiers raced down the road.
“Now it’s our business!” Jeffrey said, jerking free of Melvin’s grasp and rushing back toward the town. He wasn’t sure if Melvin followed or not as he ran toward town. He didn’t care. The little community was in chaos.
Women and children ran out of buildings, away from the sudden flames. Yankee soldiers on horses went from house to house, throwing torches onto roofs.
Jeffrey had never seen such an inferno, nor had he ever expected to witness the callous destruction of property and life that was being inflicted by these soldiers.
Fighting on the battlefield was one thing, but harming innocents was another thing entirely.
Since he could hardly take on a whole Yankee regiment by himself, he went with his instinct and raced toward the inn where he had left Claire.
He had to get her out of there.
By the time he reached the inn, he could barely see where he was going, much less breathe from the smoke. He covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief and kept going.
Reaching out, he placed a hand on the door knob. And immediately jerked his hand back as flames engulfed the door.
Instinctively, throwing his arm over his face, he stumbled back, unable to fight the heat wave.
Someone, unknown, unseen, took him by the arm.
“Hey. You can’t go in there. The building’s gone,” the unseen man said.
“Claire. Gramps. I have to get them out of there.”
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