Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 13

  Hunter glanced over at her just as the sky burst with another brilliant flash. In the midst of the raging storm, she wore an expression of complete serenity, a look he found perfectly beguiling.

  Relighting his pipe, he stretched out his legs. “Did you see the gray gelding Johnny brought in yesterday?” Hunter was well aware she saw every horse that came and went on the estate since the arrival of Justus.

  Andrea nodded, continuing to stare straight ahead. “It’s sad the horses must give so much. Suffer so.”

  Hunter leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and peered at her through the darkness. “Everyone and everything has suffered during this war. Nothing has escaped it. Including you.”

  Andrea tilted her head to the side, and even in the dim light he knew she was staring at him intently with those big green eyes. “You are wrong, Major. Perhaps pain is inevitable.” She took a deep breath. “But I believe now that suffering is optional.”

  Hunter studied her, amazed at the resolve and strength of one so young. “Your wisdom is beyond your years.”

  “Again, you are wrong,” Andrea replied. “Were I wise, I would not be here.”

  A flash of lightning lit her features for an instant, and Hunter could see that the good-natured Andrea had mysteriously returned. She smiled at him then as if together they shared a secret joke.

  Hunter smiled too while drawing contentedly on his pipe, and made the decision to take advantage of her light mood. “I want you to know you can stay here as long as necessary. I know it’s difficult with our…differences. But you’re most welcome.”

  “And you won’t try to convert me to the Southern Cause?”

  Hunter answered without thinking. “I’d as soon ride a stubborn Yankee mule into battle.”

  The sudden silence that followed caused Hunter’s heart to pick up its pace. He knew he was pushing the limits.

  “Are you comparing my temperament to that of a mule, Major?” She turned her head slowly toward him.

  Hunter’s smile faded as he tried to think of a response that would not rouse her volatile temper. Prone as she was to spontaneous fits of anger, he wanted to choose his words carefully.

  “I believe I was thinking of the term willful—not stubborn.” He suppressed a grimace, waiting for the remorseless wrath to come.

  “How very diplomatic of you.” She smiled as the moon made a brief appearance, sending shafts of light over the garden.

  Hunter stared at her spellbound, unable to suppress the sense of accomplishment he felt—like he had finally ridden a horse that had heretofore tried to buck him off.

  Nothing remained of the storm now except a few clouds scudding across the moon, but thunder growled in the distance, indicating another tempest approached. Hunter wished to take full advantage of the short respite. “Too bad your loyalties are misplaced,” he said, taking a short toke on his pipe. “But I respect them.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw Andrea’s head turn toward him and could feel the green eyes flashing like the lightning that still flickered in the darkness. Perhaps he had gone too far now.

  “Had you witnessed the brutal atrocities I have, you’d not say my loyalties are misplaced.”

  “Had you been reared in Virginia, you’d agree that they are.”

  Andrea amazed him again by expressing neither anger nor resentment at his reply, but sat back as if to analyze it. Finally, she leaned toward him. “Virginia means much to you.”

  Hunter eyed her intently and saw she was prepared to weigh and compare what he told her, and then draw her own conclusions. The barrier of strained politeness between them had apparently been lifted. Despite the complexity of the subject, the conversation felt pleasant and cordial. “It is the land of my birth. Every obligation binds me to my state and my home.”

  “Then you are fighting for what you possibly can’t keep.”

  “No,” he responded in a determined voice. “I am defending what I will never part with.”

  “Defending it?” She looked over at him with a confused—but not angry—expression on her face. “But you fired the first shot.”

  Hunter inhaled deeply from his pipe, enjoying the way she dug in and defended her beliefs. “That’s like saying I fired the first shot at an intruder who broke into my home.”

  Either Andrea could not think of a rebuttal or she’d tired of the subject. In any event, she sat silently as dark clouds swooped in to swallow the moon again. Hunter’s gaze followed hers toward the west, where the wild skirmish line of another storm approached. Large drops of rain, already pattering on the roof above them, foretold another downpour was imminent.

  “I hope Zach took Lightning and that filly into the barn,” he said. “It’s too bad that mare is so afraid of storms.”

  “He did,” Andrea said, not removing her gaze from the approaching storm. “I made Izzie help him.”

  “Izzie had to help him?”

  “Yes, it takes two. I’ve never seen a more headstrong, stubborn, obstinate foal in my life.”

  “Perhaps you’ve had too much influence over her.”

  Hunter’s heart twitched at the sound that followed, for it was the richest, most mirthful laugh he had ever heard. Unlike the flirtatious, restrained giggles that emanated from the throats of most women, this was a deep, gurgling, infectious laugh one hears only between friends.

  “Yes, you’ve uncovered my plot.” She gazed over at him, her eyes sparking with amusement. “I’ve been planning to turn your stock, one by one, into headstrong Yankee mules.”

  “I don’t doubt your success with such an enterprise.” Hunter kicked his legs out in front of him again. “But I’m afraid you won’t have any luck with your scheme on Dixie. She has the soul of a true Virginian.”

  “Oh, I see.” Andrea nodded. “So she is already headstrong and obstinate.”

  Hunter raised his eyebrows. “That is what you think of Virginians?”

  “I’ve known only one.” She glanced over him and smiled shyly. “I suppose it would be unfair to judge an entire breed of humanity on but a single man.”

  Hunter shook his head and leaned toward her. “But you did know another.”

  A shadow crossed her face and she sighed deeply at the thought of Daniel. “Yes. I did know another. But it seems like forever ago and barely at all.”

  The sound of rustling skirts brought a hasty end to their discussion.

  “Alex, there you are. Whatever are you doing out in this beastly weather?”

  “Alex,” Victoria said again. “I’ve been searching all over for you. Why don’t you come—”

  The sudden change in the atmosphere when she saw Andrea was unmistakable. The temperature dropped so swiftly Hunter half-expected to see his breath. Yet at the same time, the air crackled around the three as if heat lightning sent spasms of jolting energy through the surroundings.

  Andrea stood. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night.” She nodded in Hunter’s direction but did not meet his eyes. “I hope you enjoy the next storm.”

  Hunter wondered if she meant the one in the sky or the one that sat down with a great heave in the chair beside him. In any event, he knew that Victoria would make amends for the peaceful minutes of silence and good conversation he had just shared. For all her vaulted correctness, she was a shameless busybody.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home,” Victoria began before Andrea had even made her way through the door. “Why I hardly know how to occupy myself. Did you know I just received a letter today from Peg, and she said that Dottie Lane and Ben Collins are—”

  At once, the contrast forcibly struck Hunter. They are so different, he thought, looking wearily at the flashing sky. As different as the lightning bug from lightning.

  Chapter 27

  How beautiful is death, when earn’d by virtue!…What pity is it that we can die but once to serve our country!

  – Cato, Joseph Addison

  M
ay, 1864

  Hunter stopped at a fallen tree and gazed out over the lake. Every color of the sunset’s spectacular display was reflected in the water before him, the deep hues even more brilliant than those in the sky above.

  Instead of noticing the flaming exhibit of glass and fire, he sighed deeply, placing one foot on the fallen timber and crossing his arms over his bent knee. Two swans lifted off the glassy surface, their reflections rippling across the water in a blurred, mystical effect as mirrored wings and feathers merged with the vibrant colored sky.

  “Major?”

  The soft voice startled him. Hunter turned to find Andrea standing behind him with her cane in one hand and an envelope in the other. He reflexively looked back toward the house, surveying the distance she had walked to bring it to him.

  “A dispatch for you, sir. You appeared to be waiting for something important. A courier just brought it.”

  Hunter nodded, wondering how she had grown to know him so well. “You needn’t have walked all this way,” he said a little more coldly than he intended as he took the missive from her outstretched hand.

  Andrea did not seem to mind the excursion. She stood staring over his shoulder at the molten light of the setting sun casting soft hues of bronze and pewter over the water now. “It was worth it.” She took a deep breath and gazed at the dark outline of the mountains in the distance. Clouds that had been puffy and white earlier, now glowed pink and violet as if lit from within. But their bellies were slowly turning dark and gray as the last bit of light trickled out of the western sky.

  Hunter watched Andrea’s gaze drift over to a small rise that overlooked the pond, and then to the massive oak that stood like a stoic guard. She turned back as if she’d forgotten his presence for a moment. “Daniel is…there?” she asked, motioning with her eyes.

  Hunter nodded, his thoughts moving to the lone tree and the single headstone beneath it.

  “I believe he’d be pleased.” Andrea shifted her attention to the family burial grounds that lay some distance from where Daniel was interred. The spot where he rested was a lovely one with a bird’s-eye view of the entire estate.

  “You cared for him.” Hunter’s voice was low and husky.

  Andrea blinked repeatedly as if recalling the day Daniel’s life trickled out before her very eyes. “I was not acquainted with him for very long,” she said at length, “but a greater loss I have never known.”

  They both fell silent for a moment, and then Andrea spoke. “I trust it’s not bad news.” She nodded toward the unopened communication.

  Hunter turned the dispatch over and then back again. “I believe it may be.”

  “Would you like me to open it?”

  Hunter did not answer at first, then hesitantly handed her the envelope.

  The diminishing light made it difficult to read, forcing Andrea to turn the missive toward the setting sun. Hunter watched her eyes sweep over the words and knew the report was unpleasant.

  “It’s news of Stuart?” His voice cracked with anguish.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” She took a deep, shaky breath as if feeling the weight of the news herself. “I’m afraid his wound was mortal. He died yesterday in Richmond.”

  She reached out and put her hand on Hunter’s arm. “There is honor in dying for one’s convictions, yet it seems an inconceivable loss. I’m sorry.”

  Hunter did not say anything. And now, neither did Andrea. Yet somehow, just as when Daniel had died, they found themselves in the embrace of each other’s arms, enclosed in a cloak of shadowy comfort.

  Andrea finally broke the spell. “He is at peace,” she whispered to console him. “He fulfilled his duty to God and country.”

  Her words did little to ease Hunter’s deep sense of loss. He stiffened and drew away. “My dear, you are mistaken. God is nowhere to be found in this war.”

  Without another word, he stalked away into the darkness.

  Chapter 28

  The heart has its reasons, which reason knows not.

  – Blaise Pascal

  Andrea lifted her eyes from the book she was reading to gaze at the rays of soft sunlight drenching the lawn of Hawthorne in a rich golden blanket. She heard the front door close, then the familiar sound of Hunter’s spurs clanking across the porch. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he leaned one shoulder against the ionic column and gazed meditatively over the gorgeous panorama of the valley he owned.

  She knew the death of General Stuart had hit him hard, yet it had only seemed to increase his devotion and steadfastness for the Cause. He was forever in the saddle, rarely at home, and when he did make a brief appearance, he never seemed idle.

  Andrea tilted her head, unable to draw her eyes away from the indomitable figure before her. With one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other stuffed indifferently in his pocket, his image suggested little of the intrepid character she knew so well. Dressed casually, without his Confederate coat, he seemed tranquil and relaxed. Yet his large muscular frame, with his strong, tan forearms and powerfully built legs, showed evidence of his ability to put up a fight.

  She lowered her eyes to her book, then lifted them once again. He was striking, she mused, irresistibly masculine and, she had to admit, very appealing. Tall, broad-shouldered, and vigorous, he was the incarnation of force and strength. Yet she also found him to be a gracious and gallant gentleman who bore little resemblance to the terrifying and intimidating soldier he was renowned to be.

  Officers with far less military prowess dressed flamboyantly and welcomed the prestige the position granted them. Hunter, on the other hand, always wore a uniform that displayed nothing but hard usage, and shunned the accolades awarded him.

  Andrea cocked her head and scrutinized him more closely. He was a complex man, distant, not easy to know well. Somehow the combination of conflicting characteristics added to a puzzling veil of mystery that made him all the more captivating. How could one man inspire so much admiration in the eyes of his comrades, and rouse so much fear in the eyes of his foes? How could his name be synonymous with terror and dread in one part of the country, and tantamount to a hero and legend in another?

  Andrea could not help yielding him a nod of admiration because his courage and devotion to the Southern Cause—though misguided—made him almost impossible to dislike.

  Almost.

  She looked away and sighed as her thoughts began to disturb her. This tug of attraction confused and alarmed her.

  “Oh, there you are.” Hunter turned around and moved toward her with a brilliant smile, revealing a hidden handsomeness all the more enchanting. Placing his cup down on the table opposite her, he took a seat. His dark eyes usually carried a secret expression, but today there was a hint of lightheartedness about him.

  Andrea also detected an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye and tried to decipher its cause.

  Chapter 29

  Even God cannot change the past.

  – Aristotle

  Hunter began to talk even though it appeared that Andrea was more interested in her book than conversation. “I forgot to mention that I had a chat with some fellows from South Carolina last week.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as if simply making conversation.

  Andrea lifted her gaze and then lowered it again, but otherwise did not respond.

  “Yes, the Charleston area to be exact.” Hunter noticed then that even though his houseguest was staring at the book in her hands, her eyes did not move—a hint to him that her thoughts were not on the words. “Maybe you know the area? Something-Crossroads, I think they said.”

  Andrea closed her book and looked up at him with a questioning expression, yet still said nothing.

  “Anyway, they can’t recall any Evans from the area,” he continued, “but they do know about this chap Charles Monroe”—Hunter emphasized the last name. “Who, oddly enough, was married to an Evans—of Virginia.”

  He watched Andrea swallow hard
and with difficulty, as if something large had suddenly lodged in her throat.

  “Anyway, this Charles Monroe owns half of South Carolina.” He swept his arms to show the magnitude. “A place called MontRose.”

  Hunter knew with certainty he had struck a chord now. Despite her best efforts to maintain an appearance of indifference, his young houseguest looked troubled, like she wanted to run or just disappear.

  “I’d be somewhat surprised if you hadn’t heard of it with your knowledge of horseflesh. It’s quite a reputable breeding establishment. In fact,” he laughed, “can you believe Fleetson’s dam was bred at MontRose? You remember Fleet, don’t you?”

  Andrea stared straight ahead, but the color blossoming in her cheeks revealed that she recalled, not only Fleet, but most likely his dam Lady Fleet, one of the plantation’s most blooded broodmares.

  “Yes,” he continued, not giving her time to answer, “my grandfather dealt with Charles Monroe quite extensively apparently.”

  “This is really a very nice story, Major.” Andrea put the book down and made preparations to leave. “But I’m afraid I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  “Oh, wait.” Hunter took her by the hand. “I haven’t gotten to the best part. I do insist.” He plopped her down in the chair next to him and stared at her musingly as he took a leisurely sip of coffee. “Anyway, according to these men, this Charles had a daughter, an only child, an heiress to all his wealth and power.” Again, he spread his hands to show the magnitude.

  “How nice.” Andrea sounded bored, but she stared mournfully out over the pastures while her fingers fumbled nervously with the pages of her book.

  “But instead of being content with all that fortune and living a life of elegance and ease, do you know what she did?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “She ran away,” he said bluntly. “At a very young age, I’m told.”

  Andrea stood to leave again. “Heavens, I was so hoping your story would have a happy ending. Now I really must go talk to Izzie.”