Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 10

  Andrea barely heard him. She stood scanning a piece of paper she’d recovered, which read in part:

  I forward Andrew Sinclair, a young man arrested on suspicion of having communicated with the enemy. I have agreed that he shall be placed over the lines by the first flag of truce, which is in accordance with his wishes. No specific charges have been lodged against him.

  Capt. Alexander H. Hunter

  Andrea’s eyes went back to the date at the top of the order, trying to make sense out of what she was reading.

  “Miss Evans, that is none of your business.” Hunter ripped the paper from her hands. A deep breath escaped him when he saw what she had discovered.

  “I told you before,” he said, in an unemotional voice as he went back to tidying his desk. “I had nothing to do with your imprisonment. This order was changed without my knowledge.”

  “I-I-I thought—” Andrea stared at the paper, and then up at Hunter, blinking in bewilderment. She reached out and grasped the back of the chair she had tripped over, for balance. “I didn’t believe you.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Hunter replied, his eyes masked with apparent indifference. “Now if you are looking for a book, please select one and retire. I have work to do.”

  Andrea stared at the floor now, going over the events in her head. “But it’s not…I didn’t have to sign…”

  “Miss Evans, I only brought up the issue of taking the oath the night of your capture to watch your reaction. And it was even more dramatic than I thought it would be.”

  Andrea looked up at him, through him, her brow drawn in confusion.

  “I understood that sending you to prison would do more harm than good…that your tendency to provoke would only cause immeasurable suffering to you and those around you.” Hunter picked up the last fallen book and dropped it on the desk with a loud bang, causing Andrea to jump. “It appears I was correct in that assumption since you apparently decided, either through lack of judgment or lack of control, not to restrain your tongue—predictably at your own peril.”

  Andrea looked down at her feet. The room grew hush and Hunter turned to the window to pull open the drapes.

  “You are wrong about that, Major,” she replied at length. “My mistreatment occurred when I refused to talk, not because I did.”

  Hunter whirled around. “Colonel Streight? The escape?” His voice grew serious, the lightness of his mood, gone. He seemed to understand that despite her obvious distaste for, and fear of, confinement, she had been offered a deal—and rejected it on someone else’s behalf.

  “The warden wished me to share what I knew of the plan.” Andrea took a deep breath and looked away. “I declined.”

  “I see,” Hunter said. “And you were aware of the consequences?”

  Andrea chewed her cheek, but did not answer. She had a question of her own. “You had the authority to gain my release once you discovered my imprisonment?”

  Hunter rested his hand on one of his pistols. “I carry the authority to do as I please.”

  Andrea’s gaze moved from his face, down to the gun, and then to the sun beginning to shine through the window, trying to picture her liberation…to picture him in that hellhole demanding her release.

  “You may recall,” he said, his voice sounding low and serious, “that I gave my word to my brother to let no harm befall you. It’s a promise I feel bound to abide and intend to keep.” Hunter looked her dead in the eye. “No matter how difficult you make it.”

  Andrea swallowed hard. “But I told you that night…I told you to forget the promise.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  “Miss Evans, I did not agree to do one thing while Daniel lived and expect to do another when he died.”

  Andrea looked down and played with the ring on her finger. “I’m afraid I’m more trouble to you than I—”

  “I don’t want to hear about, or discuss, this topic ever again. Is that clear?”

  Andrea looked up into his eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s very clear.”

  And though she never again mentioned the topic, neither did she ever forget it.

  Chapter 21

  Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well.

  – King John, Shakespeare

  Hunter entered his library a week later, a newspaper in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. At the sound of a loud clap of thunder, he glanced toward the window and observed a silent figure standing with her face pressed close to the glass watching the storm rage without.

  Walking quietly behind her, Hunter observed the trees outside bending and swaying as the storm hit with all its fury. “Amazing, the power of the wind.”

  Andrea jumped. “Oh. I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Along with surprise, Hunter thought he noted a hint of welcome in her eyes, making him glad he had interrupted her musings.

  “I can come back later,” she said. “Your library is so extensive, I enjoy exploring it.”

  A face that usually displayed open hostility, today, appeared soft and reticent. Hunter hoped it was a sign that her irritable behavior was a result of the pain she had endured, not her true character.

  “No need.” Hunter nodded his head toward the wall of books. “Help yourself.”

  “It’s very kind of you to allow me this indulgence.” Andrea turned to the shelves. “I’ll find something quickly.”

  Hunter smiled to himself. The servants must have forewarned her that this room was his refuge, and that he tolerated no interruptions when present within its walls.

  Watching her silently as she browsed, he studied the changes in her. She appeared to be in tolerably good spirits today—more shy and reserved than angry and rebellious. And she spoke with an air of well-bred elegance, making it difficult to conceive this was the same person equally capable of spewing insults when riled.

  Andrea continued to run her hand along the volumes as she read the titles, not seeming to notice his scrutiny. She had color in her cheeks again, Hunter noted, and a little more meat on her bones. Tall for a girl of her age, yet not overly so, she had the type of figure that gave the appearance of delicacy. And though dressed in a plain cotton gown of a rather drab hue, she looked somehow elegant and stylish.

  Hunter turned to walk back to his desk, but failed to conceal a heavy limp.

  “You are injured?” Andrea turned around at the sound of his unsteady tread.

  Hunter eased himself down onto his desk. “I … had a horse fall on my leg,” he said, making it clear it was nothing he cared to discuss. “Just a little sore.”

  Andrea swallowed hard, obviously understanding he had a horse shot out from under him. “Dixie?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “No,” Hunter cocked his head, surprised she knew the names of his mounts. “Fleet.”

  Andrea nodded in recognition. “Nice horse.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  Andrea gazed into his eyes for just a moment with a melting look of sympathetic understanding. Then she turned back to the bookshelf.

  “You’re finding our Southern hospitality a little more agreeable now, I hope,” Hunter said, making an obvious effort to change the subject.

  “I’ve been quite comfortable, thank you.”

  “And your leg?” Hunter cocked his head as he gazed at her.

  “It’s getting stronger each day.”

  The statement was vague, but the way she leaned on the cane made it obvious she was placing very little weight on the limb. She was gaining steadily, but by no means rapidly.

  “Well, I hope you’re making yourself at home. Don’t be bashful about asking for anything.”

  She turned and cocked her head. “You think me timid?”

  Hunter’s lips turned upward. “Miss Evans, I believe you to be about as timid as a cornered grizzly bear protecting a week-old cub.”

  She smiled reflectively but did not respond.
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br />   Hunter picked up some papers on his desk, rustled through them, and then cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t find it overly difficult…adjusting to our Southern traditions and culture here—”

  Andrea turned her head slowly and gazed at him. “I am familiar with the customs of Southern aristocracy, I assure you.”

  “Oh yes, I remember.” Hunter paused while pretending the papers he held contained something of interest. “You mentioned once you were born in…South Carolina, I believe it was?”

  He pretended to be unsure, though the fact stuck in his mind as soundly as a boot lodges in Virginia mud during the month of March. When Andrea remained silent, he raised his eyes from the paper to make sure she had heard.

  “Your memory serves you correctly,” she said in an unemotional voice.

  “And…six hundred slaves, I believe you mentioned.” He put the papers down and walked toward her with one hand on his chin. “Must have been quite an estate. Hawthorne must pale in comparison to that which you are accustomed.”

  Andrea sighed, her breath sounding like it was being forced out by a great weight placed upon her shoulders. “Indeed, Hawthorne has none of the characteristics to which I am accustomed, Major Hunter,” she said, solemnly, looking into his eyes. “I hope you take great satisfaction in that fact.”

  She returned her attention to the bookshelf, and Hunter could see the conversation had come to an end. Remembering the paper he held in his hand, he decided to change of subject.

  “You may be relieved to know that I received word about your friend Colonel Jordan this morning.”

  Andrea jolted and faced him. In her eyes he saw deep concern bordering on panic. He recalled the day she had approached him with the newspaper article listing Colonel Jonathan Jordan as severely wounded. She had literally trembled with alarm, causing him to wonder what type of relationship she had with the officer.

  “He’s expected to make a complete recovery and has been promoted to brigadier.”

  Andrea took a step forward and put her hand on his arm. “Oh thank you, Major! Catherine must be so relieved. I was so worried for her.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Yes.” Andrea took a step back, her cheeks turning red at her emotional display. “His wife. My cousin, Catherine.”

  “Ah, that Catherine. Then I’m happy I could be the bearer of good news.”

  Andrea turned back to the row of books, a new glow seeming to radiate from her.

  “I see you enjoy Shakespeare,” she said at last, fingering through the volumes. “What might be your favorite?”

  When Hunter did not answer at first, she looked around to question his silence.

  “I’m afraid you won’t believe me,” he replied, relaxing again against the desk. “Or you will think me a hopeless romantic.”

  Andrea’s eyes carried a hint of amusement when she met his gaze. “If you’re thinking to tell me, Romeo and Juliet…No, I wouldn’t believe that.”

  “And why not? You do not believe me capable of admiring selfless devotion?”

  “It seems out of character.” Andrea looked him up and down as if reflecting on the idea. “From what I know of your reputation.”

  “Come now.” Hunter laughed. “You wouldn’t judge someone based on their reputation.”

  Andrea shrugged and turned back to the bookshelf without answering one way or the other.

  “I wouldn’t judge you on yours.”

  “I have no reputation to speak of,” she said, whirling around to face him.

  “Now that depends.” He pushed himself off the desk. “Perhaps Miss Evans does not. But Sinclair does, I assure you.”

  “Oh?” Andrea looked surprised and uncomfortable to hear the name mentioned.

  “Well, perhaps not by name. But Captain Carter has often referred to you as the little kid with the big backbone.”

  Andrea half-smiled at his words as if recalling a distant memory, but the smile was pensive and heart wrenching to him, so infinitely touching and reflective did it appear. She returned her gaze to the books. “How well might you know it?”

  “Know what?”

  “Romeo and Juliet.” She glanced back at him with a playful look in her eyes. “You said it was your favorite.”

  “Test me,” he said.

  “My only love sprung from my only hate,” she began.

  Hunter smiled and picked up the passage instantly. “Too early seen unknown and known too late…”

  “Prodigious birth of love it is to me . . .” she continued.

  “That I must love a loathed enemy,” he finished the verse.

  The room fell silent and Hunter felt the urge to fill it. “You appear to be well educated, Miss Evans. Were you tutored at home or abroad?”

  Andrea shrugged and dodged the question. “I enjoy reading.”

  “Come now. You must admit your level of female cultivation is entirely unusual.”

  “Anything beyond the knowledge of the proper performance of domestic duties is unusual within the Southern household, isn’t it?” Her voice held a tinge of indifference in it.

  Hunter tried to recover his blunder. “Be that as it may, a solid education should be considered among one’s most valuable possessions. And you seem to possess an abundance of it.”

  Andrea looked back at him now with a furrowed brow. “I am of the belief that loyalty and personal honor should be more highly revered.”

  “I suppose,” Hunter said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Few virtues are more courted. That goes without saying.”

  “Yes, of course, it goes without saying.” Andrea gazed thoughtfully at the Confederate banner in the corner of the room. “It is honor for which you fight, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, the honor of Virginia. The honor of the Confederacy.”

  Andrea gazed up at him. “The honor of your own principles and convictions.”

  “Yes.” He agreed, nodding his head. “As priceless a commodity as the blood spilled to defend it.”

  Andrea had a distant look in her eye when she spoke again, and her tone seemed somewhat colder. “Then if you can accept the premise that a woman can possess principles and convictions, surely you can understand that my honor is more precious to me than my education.”

  Hunter was about to ask why every conversation seemed to place them on opposite shores, when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Rain’s stopped, Massa,” Mattie announced. “Zach says the wagon’s ready.”

  Hunter glanced at the window where streaks of sunlight were now shining through, and turned to Andrea. “I’m going to check some fence in the upper fields. Care to join me?”

  Andrea’s eyes opened wide, and he thought for a moment she might jump up and down with excitement. Instead, she fell back on the education and upbringing granted her and responded quite calmly.

  “If you please, a little ride outdoors would not be unwelcome.”

  Chapter 22

  There would I find my settled rest, while others go and come; No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child…home.

  – Psalm 23, Isaac Watts

  Andrea sat wide-eyed as the wagon rolled down the lane. Turning around in her seat, she took in the view of the palatial estate for the first time from a distance and gazed upon an enchanted world of beauty and charm.

  The mansion itself rested on a crown of rising ground wreathed by elaborate gardens and trees. Along the back, hedges of boxwood bushes fell in a series of terraces toward a large lake that swarmed with geese and swans.

  To the north, a grove of mighty oaks bordered the home, their huge spreading branches shadowing a vast, velvet lawn that seemed never ending. Andrea’s gaze drifted toward the barn, and then to the rolling land beyond, where horses stood knee-deep in clover.

  Even the birds seemed eager to join in on the festive occasion, providing a riotous concert along the wagon’s path. Andrea looked from right to left
, taking in the sight of magnificent dogwoods already robed in white, and wildflowers saluting spring in rich profusion all around her.

  Along the fringes of the drive, and especially along the stream they approached, more colorful blooms flourished. Andrea clenched her hands together in restrained delight when the wagon rolled across the stone, triple-arched bridge. She glanced behind her once more at the imposing vista behind her. Never had she seen such a mingling of beauty and elegance.

  “We might have to move some horses up there,” Hunter said, pointing to the next ridge and interrupting her thoughts. “I want to make sure the fence is in good shape.”

  The wagon suddenly veered off the road, and Andrea held onto the seat with all her strength to avoid grabbing the driver. Hunter did not seem to notice her struggle. His gaze was intent on the fence now as they trotted beneath a tracery of bud-laden oak boughs. It did not take long for him to find something amiss, and he pulled the wagon to a halt.

  Andrea watched him drag a large tree limb off the fence and begin to restack the rocks. “I wish I could be of some help.”

  “That’s quite all right,” he said turning around, breathing heavily. “Just enjoy the view.”

  Andrea lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks grow warm at the view before her now. The cotton shirt Hunter wore stuck to his form, revealing the power of his broad shoulders and the strength of every swelling muscle. Glistening with sweat, his bulging forearms looked like they could bend steel. Both frightened and fascinated, Andrea quickly turned away to the safer vista in the opposite direction. The effect of the breeze as it danced with the sunlight through the leaves above soon captured her attention.

  “That should do it.” Hunter wiped his hands on his trousers and jumped into the wagon. “There’s a creek up ahead. I think I’d better wash off.”

  Andrea nodded, keeping her eyes cast downward. She dared not look at him. It confused her that a mere glance from those gray eyes suddenly caused her heart to pound and her cheeks to blush.

  But Andrea forgot her apprehension when the wagon broke out of the forest that sheltered them. Not even the bountiful sights through which they had just passed could compete with the majestic splendor spread before her. A sparkling creek trickled through a meadow where nature had spread a blanket of floral glory. Here and there, large oak and birch trees seemed to stand guard to any unnatural intrusion, and above it all, the sun poured out bountiful rays that turned everything they touched to golden splendor. The scene surely rivaled Eden in its indescribable beauty.