Kneeling by a man who lay just within a tree line, Andrea stared at the bloody path he had made by dragging himself there. She ripped open his pants leg and tried to stem the bleeding of the fearfully torn flesh. She knew it was somewhat futile. From what she knew of such injuries he would not have the limb for long—if he lived at all. Still, she was determined to do her best. Concentrating on the wound, she felt a hand grasp her wrist.
“Andrea?”
She blinked at the barely recognizable face staring up at her. The only identifiable features were the eyes—and they portrayed mortal agony. “Alex,” she whispered.
He stared at her unbelieving, blinking through sweat and blood, apparently trying to decide if she was an illusion or real.
Andrea put water on a cloth and wiped his brow, resisting the urge to lay her head upon his chest and weep. She had cried many tears since leaving Hawthorne, more than she thought a human being had within them. Now she wondered what kind of God it was that wished to torture her afresh. Why could He not let her go on with her life and forget?
“I must…” Hunter swallowed and licked his lips. “I mus…talk…to you.” He struggled to hold his eyes open, to stay conscious.
“Be still,” Andrea commanded, sweeping her eyes across the field. Although she could see none of his men, she knew they must be watching, waiting for the opportunity to extract their leader from this precarious place.
“I made…terrible mistake.” His eyes were eyes glazed with pain. His fevered, bloodshot gaze searched her face.
“I’m sure your men will forgive you.” Andrea poured water on his wound.
“No!” He grabbed her again violently. “Nothing to do…with…men!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea saw a Union officer riding in her direction. It seemed only moments before the mounted officer was upon her.
“What are you doing here?” he bellowed. “Can’t you see that it’s dangerous?”
“I’m here to aid the wounded,” is all Andrea said.
“Madam, with the exception of the front line, you could not have found a more dangerous place to be.” He looked down at Hunter. “And it’s your duty to save our men before you start helping those on the other side!”
Andrea leaned forward to conceal Hunter from the man’s view as best she could. “I’m not here to treat men based on the color of their uniform.”
The officer looked like he was going to argue the point, but taking another glance at Hunter, and apparently seeing the poor condition of his leg, he simply shook his head. “At your own risk, ma’am. At your own risk.” Then he dug his spurs into his mount and rode away.
In those few short moments, Hunter seemed to turn somewhat delirious. Although he appeared to be trying to talk, he succeeded in doing little more than muttering incoherently. Still, his voice, his presence, affected Andrea, making her heart throb frantically as she wiped the clammy dew from his brow.
“Andrea…where are you?”
“I’m right here.” She tried to sound calm, while turning her attention back to his mangled leg.
“N-o-o!” His voice sounded agonized. He reached out to her again, grabbing frantically for her wrist, which he held with a strength she could not believe he possessed. “Where are you? Take me…there!”
Andrea looked at his wild, glassy eyes. Sweat ran in torrents down his face. His shirt was soaked.
“I’m working from a field hospital near Winchester,” she said, grasping his meaning. “I cannot take you there. They would make you a prisoner.”
“No matter. Take me there,” he said weakly. Do not…leave me, Andrea! Please!” It seemed to her he was almost sobbing. “I cannot…find you.”
Andrea removed his hand and looked down at him. His face was contorted in a blend of physical agony and emotional anguish. “Your men will get you out,” she assured him. “You are better off here than in a Union prison.”
Hunter whimpered and began talking in a hurried, rambling tone that was frantic and confused. Something was wrong, and it was far more tormenting to him than his injury.
Andrea looked again at his leg, an unrecognizable wreck of flesh, and then at his dead horse that lay some rods distant. She sat awestruck at the valor of the man who had faced such obvious superior firepower—no doubt in accordance with orders.
A drink of cool water revived Hunter somewhat, though he was still unable to articulate what he so desperately wanted her to understand. He seemed so distraught, rambling on to her about snow and bloody moons, that Andrea feared the injury affected his senses.
Dressing his leg as best she could on the field, she watched him open his eyes and search for her once more. “Don’t,” he commanded her with his tone and his look, “don’t. . .leave. . .me.”
Andrea looked away. She had to refuse him. She had no means to move him, and even if she did, she could not bring herself to convey him to a place of certain death. He was safer here.
A movement from the corner of her eye drew Andrea’s attention to within the canopy of trees. Shifting her gaze, she saw a single rider on horseback appear from behind a boulder within the dappled depths of the woods.
Soon she made out the ghostly figure of another on foot, and then another, crouching in the shadow of the trees. Their eyes and attention were focused solely on the man before her, making it clear she was delaying his rescue.
Leaning over him, she wiped again the moisture from his face. “Alex, your men are here. You are safe.”
“No.” He grabbed her arm. “Don’t leave! Take me!”
“It is better this way,” she whispered, wiping his brow one last time.
Then, disregarding her heavy heart and ignoring his anguished cries and pathetic appeals, she turned her back on him and walked away—though heaven knows it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Chapter 12
I may be compelled to face danger, but never fear it, and while our soldiers can stand and fight, I can stand & feed and nurse them.
– Clara Barton
For weeks Andrea tended the wounded of that horrible battle. Hour after hour in those days immediately following, she hastened to the side of the dying, listening to soldiers plead for mercy while they waited for attention from a surgeon.
Her tasks seemed hopeless—and endless—so she no longer took it personally when she arrived too late to staunch the flow of lifeblood that dripped out while they waited. Yet she could not help but wonder, when she gazed out at the rows of lifeless bodies, if Alexander Hunter, too, had been sacrificed to the insatiable war-god that ruled the land.
Although her mind still reeled at the shock of seeing him, her duties and responsibilities distracted her from her grief. It had been days since she had slept more than a few hours and weeks since she had slept a full night.
Yet she had no desire for rest. Lying down and closing her eyes would only cause her to dream of heaping piles of entrails steaming in the morning chill or of some mother’s young son holding his own leg in bloody arms. The constant cries of “please help me, nurse,” kept her body busy and her mind void of any other thoughts.
“Miss Evans. Wake up.” She heard the voice, but struggled to clear her weary mind. Had she actually fallen asleep?
Andrea opened her eyes and stared at the patient to whom she had been reading, while another voice spoke harshly from behind her. “Miss Evans, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”
Knowing that no one knew where she was, Andrea dismissed the nurse’s announcement. “They must be mistaken,” she said over her shoulder. She leaned forward to wipe the young lad’s brow, apologizing to him for falling asleep.
“There’s been no mistake.”
Andrea straightened slowly in her chair at the sound of the voice and turned around hesitantly, afraid she was somehow still dreaming. Her gaze fell upon Hunter leaning on a single crutch, his left arm hanging lifeless in a sling. Although his face was bearded and gaunt, the pierc
ing gray eyes remained unmistakable. Neither war nor wound could diminish his manly strength or vigorous power.
He was still striking.
* * *
“I’ve been looking for you.” Hunter spoke as if their separation had been one of but a few hours. His eyes did not falter or leave her face. They scrutinized, waiting to see her reaction.
Andrea stood and took a hurried breath, but otherwise successfully concealed any emotion. “Then it appears you’ve met with success in your endeavor.” Her gaze wandered down to his leg, and he could tell she was wondering how he was standing so soon after such a serious injury.
“I was afraid you would not receive me.” Hunter’s heart banged so wildly in its cage, he could barely speak. He could not recall ever having been this frightened, never dreamed she would still have this effect on him. Those beautiful green eyes, though sunken and exhausted, had not lost their magic.
Her expression abruptly changed from a look of relief to one of wariness and heartbreaking suspicion once she recovered from the shock of his appearance.
“This is a hospital, sir,” she finally answered. “We do not turn away the injured, even if…”
Her voice trailed off. She did not finish, but stared straight into his eyes with a gaze so penetrating, Hunter knew she would detect any deception if he showed it. She was obviously questioning in her mind the reason for his visit.
“I-I was afraid they would have to amputate.” She looked at his leg again with, what appeared to be, grave concern.
“It was recommended.” He watched Andrea move her gaze to somewhere over his shoulder with a sorrowful expression that made the limb ache anew.
“May I ask what are you doing here?” She returned her gaze and her attention to him.
“I…need to speak with you.” Hunter focused his thoughts back to the task at hand. “Is there some place we can go that’s a little more private?”
“I have duties, sir. I cannot just cast them off.”
“Please oblige me,” he countered. “I will be leaving in only a few minutes.”
Andrea stared at him intently for a moment as if testing his resolve. “Follow me then. I believe I know a place.”
Hunter complied, maintaining an outward calm under the deliberate scrutiny of her keen green eyes. But when they stepped outside and she turned to her left, Hunter put his hand out to stop her. “I prefer we go this way.” The hand in the sling grasped her arm firmly and ushered her toward a wagon holding three injured Confederate soldiers.
Andrea shrugged him off when she saw his intent. “What are you doing?”
Hunter’s voice became low and lethal. “You must understand,” he said, leaning his crutch against the wagon and preparing to help her in. “I’ve come to talk to you, by force, if necessary.”
Andrea took a step back, jerking her arm again from his grasp. “No, you must understand. You are in the middle of an enemy camp.”
“This camp is surrounded,” Hunter replied in an unemotional voice. “My men know their business. If you make a scene, a lot of people could be injured. I hope you will not allow your stubbornness to jeopardize innocent lives.”
He watched Andrea’s gaze jerk over to the three men in the back of the wagon and observed her jaw tighten as the significance of their presence sank in. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the tree line behind them, then to the hill that rose beyond the row of tents. He knew she imagined, even if she did not see, the silent, vigilant horsemen gazing down from within its shadows.
“But there are injured men here,” she said broodingly, still staring at the tree line. “Surely you would not—”
“My men will do what they must.” His voice was low and grave, though his pulse raced with violent force through his veins. “They will follow my orders.”
“By thunder, you mean to kidnap me?” She turned back to him with a stamp of her foot. “In broad bloody daylight?”
Hunter’s face crinkled into a smile at her predictable reaction. “You could put it that way, I suppose.”
Andrea’s face bloomed red with rage. She looked at him with wariness, and defiance, and inflexible determination. “I know no military secrets,” she hissed. “Nor possess anything that would be of interest or value to you.”
Hunter smiled blankly now, giving her no hint as to what he was thinking. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be the judge of that.” He did not allow his voice to betray the offense he took that she would think military information was his purpose.
“But you have no business—”
“I conceive it to be my business, my duty, and, hopefully, my pleasure,” he said coolly.
“But you said it would take only a few minutes!”
“I believe you misunderstood. I said I would be leaving in a few minutes, and indeed I shall. I beg your pardon if I neglected to mention that you will be with me.”
She gasped at his ruse, distrust chilling her eyes with iciness.
Hunter grabbed her arm again. “I regret that there is neither time nor opportunity to talk here any longer. Please get in.”
Knowing she would put up an obstinate defense unless he gave her no other choice, Hunter conveyed by his tone that his statement was an order and that it was seriously uttered. Yet he was practically shivering at her proximity. Never upon any battlefield was his self-control threatened more than on this trying occasion. Raw emotions raged within him and gnawed at his confidence.
Andrea climbed into the wagon, shaking off his attempts to help her. “How dare you,” she muttered under her breath, though she did not cause a scene. She knew what he, and his men, were capable of.
“You need not be under any alarm.” Hunter picked up the reins and moved the horses forward, wondering why he had said the words. The look in her eyes was wild and unearthly, but it was not fright. He was sitting beside a powder keg. And it was giving off sparks.
“What is it you want?”
Hunter did not answer. He remained vigilant now, his eyes intent on the road before them. Only when they met the camp’s sentinels did his demeanor change. He smiled casually at the guard and waved, but one of them stepped out in front of them while another grabbed the reins and brought the horses to a stop.
“Miss Evans,” one said, looking at Hunter suspiciously, “where might you be off to?”
Hunter slid his hand into his coat pocket when Andrea did not answer. It was a few seconds that lasted an eternity.
“Where you heading?” the sentry questioned again.
Andrea’s green eyes flicked up to Hunter, expressing once more her displeasure, then she turned to the sentry with a smile. “No need to be alarmed, Corporal,” she said with more gaiety than gloom.
Hunter did not see her hand move as she talked, but he felt its pressure. With her fingers wrapped around his, she kept the gun in his pocket pressed firmly against his thigh.
“There are some injured men at a farmhouse near here that need moved,” she continued without pause. “These men have generously offered to help bring them back.”
“They have a pass I presume,” the sentinel said, glancing at the men in the back doubtfully.
Hunter dared not look at Andrea and she gave him no time to answer. “I would trust my explanation is sufficient, Corporal,” she said, sounding offended that he would ask for further documentation. “I asked for volunteers, and these men kindly came forward. Surely you can overlook the color of their uniforms—as I have done—and not humiliate me among men of such generosity.”
“It’s for your own safety that I ask,” the corporal said, trying to defend himself.
“Corporal Jennings.” Andrea’s tone grew stern and intimidating. “I believe the intentions of these men are honorable and there is no occasion for protection. Are you insinuating I am not a good judge of character?”
“N-o-o, Miss Evans. B-but, you have no escort,” he stuttered, quailing visibly before the look of defiance in her eyes.
“I have just told you these men are my escort!”
The corporal’s face turned instantly red, and his hand dropped to his side as he released the reins. “Pass on!”
Hunter hit the reins against the back of the horses and smiled to himself. Never had he met anyone who could more readily adapt to circumstances beyond her control than the being sitting next to him.
Even after they were safely beyond the hospital’s picket lines, Hunter did not bother to initiate conversation. Already she had flung her head indignantly in the opposite direction, letting him know she would not give him the benefit of a reply. The unwelcome tension stretched ever tighter between them as the rolling wheels created a trail of dust that cloaked any view of the fortified camp behind them.
A few miles down the road, Hunter pulled the horses to a stop causing Andrea to look over at him with surprise and confusion. In a blink of the eyes, the three men in the back had disembarked and torn away their bandages, while eight riders with three extra horses appeared out of nowhere on either side of the road. Without a word, the men went about their business with the precision of a drill team and then disappeared like magic, the shadows of the trees engulfing them instantly and completely.
Hunter ripped the sling off his arm, while Andrea watched the proceedings with lips tightly pressed. Her bearing was stiff and proud, but he could tell her spirit was in chaos.
“See what a skillful nurse you are? Good as new.”
Andrea threw him a look of scorn. “You feigned your injuries?”
“That one I did. Wish I could say the same for this one.” He ran his hand down his leg and grimaced at the pain. “Still hurts damnably…begging your pardon.”
“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard,” Andrea said, touching his arm before withdrawing it quickly.
Glory Bound (Shades of Gray Serial Civil War Trilogy Book 3) Page 6
