Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Read online

  Hunter forced a laugh and tried to control his own rising temper. “My dear, there is nothing decent about this war, nor the crimes you perpetrated against the Confederacy. As for common decency—”

  “My crime against you was devotion to my country, her laws, and her Constitution.” She interrupted him before he could finish. “The worst, most despicable punishment you could conceive would be to bring me here. I may well die within the confines of these walls.”

  “I have no reason to be concerned about that possibility.” Hunter crossed his arms and stood at the foot of the bed. “You are obviously too stubborn to expire on enemy soil.”

  Andrea turned her head as if warding off a blow, and stared again at the wall.

  “I apologize for your imprisonment,” he said more softly now, “but as for being caught, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  For a moment Andrea did not speak. Then her gaze shifted toward the window, and her hand lifted in silent supplication. “Then confine me if you must…but please don’t make me bear this burden without being able to see the sun.”

  Hunter stared at her sallow skin, and could not help but agree that the sun would do good for one who had risen from the dead. He sighed and walked over to the window. Opening the curtain, he stared out at the cold, gray sky. Situated as it was on the north side of the house, the guest room never received direct sunlight, even when not veiled by snow clouds as it was today.

  When he turned back to Andrea, she appeared to have drifted into a restless sleep.

  Exiting the room and starting down the stairs, he called for his servant.

  “Yes, Massa?” Mattie magically appeared at the top of the stairwell.

  “Prepare the bedroom on the east wing,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You mean—”

  He stopped and turned around. “Yes, Mattie. I said the east wing.”

  Mattie walked away, but Hunter heard her mumbling under her breath. “A person can’t keep up with such transforminations as is going on around heah.”

  Chapter 3

  O, with what freshness, what solemnity and beauty is each new day born.

  – Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Hunter walked out of his chamber as the first rays of light began brightening the night sky. Passing his houseguest’s new bedchamber, he stepped through the doorway when he noticed she had somehow pulled herself onto the wide windowsill.

  “It’s magical, isn’t it?” she said without altering the direction of her eyes.

  Hunter did not answer at first. He just stared at the figure silhouetted in the window. With her hand pressed against the glass, it appeared she was trying to touch the sun as it entered the morning sky.

  “It’s ga-lorious no matter how many times you see it!”

  She glanced around when no one answered. “Oh, it’s you.” She turned back to the window in grim silence.

  “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  His words were met by icy silence. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, though he could tell the action was not from weariness. The way in which a nerve throbbed in her temple revealed that each movement, no matter how slight, caused her great pain. How she had managed to pull herself onto the wide sill he could not see. But he was glad he had taken the added precaution of moving the bed next to the window.

  “I will make every effort to see that your stay here is comfortable.” He strode closer to the bed when she did not respond. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.” She answered without looking at him.

  “Why must you continue this defiance?” He couldn’t keep the frustration from revealing itself in his voice. “Am I so unlikeable?”

  “No more so than anyone else who fights against the flag of their nation.”

  Hunter took the blow like a true soldier. His young houseguest had apparently awakened from her long slumber with a soul no less full of hostility than when he had seen her some months before.

  He watched her eyes soak up the landscape outside, and when she spoke again, it was in a low, confused tone. “The seasons seem to have changed without me.”

  “It’s February,” Hunter said, knowing she was trying to calculate the lost months. “You were in Libby through December. I petitioned for your release as soon as I heard about your imprisonment.”

  “Heard about my imprisonment?” She turned her head slowly toward him. “And it somehow came as a surprise to you?”

  Hunter looked down at the floor, knowing his story sounded like he was shifting blame. “As I told you, there was a miscommunication.”

  Andrea dismissed him once more by closing her eyes, and he dismissed the thought that he would ever again see anything but a scowl upon her face. The warm, enchanting smile she had worn at the ball must have been part of the act, because he had yet to see any semblance of it here.

  “It may please you to know, there’s been a rather large escape from Libby.”

  “The tunnel?” She turned her gaze toward him. “When?”

  Hunter cocked his head and stared at her intently. “Yes, they escaped through a tunnel…just a few days ago.”

  “Was Colonel Streight among them?” For the first time all morning, she looked him in the eyes with something other than hatred.

  “Yes. He was listed among them.”

  Andrea sighed, and Hunter thought he almost saw her lips turn slightly upward.

  “You were aware of the plan?” The way she was acting at the moment, Hunter pondered the possibility that she had dug the tunnel herself.

  She turned her head away like a cat that pretends not to see or hear its master. Hunter interpreted the action exactly as it was meant, as one of rebuke and defiance.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that although she was gaining strength, she was also growing more remote and irritable—if that was indeed possible. The fever of her illness had passed, replaced by the fever of unrest and hostility. The former had been capable of killing her…The latter, everyone else in the household.

  Hunter did not repeat the question, but stared at her countenance reflected in the warm buttery light. She appeared tired, her eyes heavy with fatigue. Yet still they glowed with the untamable spirit he knew lay hidden within. He wondered which was worse, the battered being he had brought into his home or the caged animal that now resided in the room adjoining his.

  She gazed out over the meadow that now blushed in the soft glow of morning light. “It heals my soul,” she said of the sun that shimmered like gold through the window. Then she glanced over her shoulder shyly, as if embarrassed at having spoken aloud.

  “I appreciate the new accommodations.”

  Hunter found himself speechless that she actually expressed words of appreciation. It appeared that simple sunshine and the bountiful gifts of nature could nourish her health in ways bed rest alone could not. If watching the sun come up each morning was going to help warm the cold spirit that dominated her being, Hunter was doubly glad the change in chambers had been made.

  She interrupted his thoughts in a tone that once again hinted at approbation. “So this is Hawthorne.”

  “Yes.” Hunter followed her gaze to the fields beyond. “I hope you approve.”

  “How could I not? It seems I closed my eyes in hell and woke up in paradise.”

  Fearing the consequence of changing her mood again, Hunter decided against asking her if she needed anything. He began backing out the door to allow her to revel in the dawn of a new day, when her voice interrupted the peaceful quiet.

  “Goodness gracious, who in the world decorated this room?” Andrea’s gaze darted around for the first time in full light.

  Hunter looked around too, as if seeing the red rugs, lavish wall hangings, and ornate full-length mirrors for the first time himself. In fact, he had kept the room locked and not laid his eyes upon its interior for at least three years now. “My former wife,” he said without feeling. �
��If you need anything, do not hesitate to call for Mattie. I will not be around today to provide company.”

  “How very disappointing,” Andrea replied, turning back to the window.

  For once, Hunter could not tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic, but decided on the latter before exiting the room.

  * * *

  Izzie arrived a short time later with food, and Andrea ate voraciously of everything she brought. When finished, she thought about her conversation with Hunter and tried to picture him married. Captain Hunter? A wife? It did not seem possible.

  “What happened to Mrs. Hunter?” Andrea asked innocently as Izzie gathered up the dishes. For a moment, Andrea thought the servant was going to drop the tray. In fact, Andrea decided a more utterly bewildered reaction could not have been compelled from the girl had all of Andrea’s teeth fallen out and clattered to the floor

  “Don’t ever mention Mistis ‘Lizabeth again!” Izzie warned in a loud whisper, her eyes as big as the saucers she carried.

  “I didn’t mention her name, you did,” Andrea replied. “Where did she go? Did he kill her and bury the body in one of the fields?”

  “Mistis Andrea, you stop speakin’ like that!” Dishes clattered on the tray with her shaking hands. “She just gone. Dat’s all. Now don’t ever ask again!”

  Andrea shrugged her shoulders and looked around a second time at her new surroundings. French doors, sided by two large windows with deep sills opened onto a warm balcony that faced the rising sun. Oaks, at least a century old, stood right outside her window, though they did not block a spectacular view of the fenced pastures, fields, and valleys that rose gently to reach the hills farther east.

  In the dim light of dawn, Andrea had failed to see the true majesty of the estate. Now bathed in full light, she could see stone walls running in rectangular patterns across the field, marking the boundaries of paddocks and pastures. A carriage turnaround sat directly in front of the house, its center filled with the promise of future blooms of every description.

  Farther beyond sat a large stone barn, bordered on three sides by rolling pastures, each filled with horses of every size and color. Still farther she saw the glistening sparkles of a wide stream that offered a natural barrier to anyone approaching from the east. If ever there were a more beautiful vista or more perfectly situated property for natural defense, Andrea had never beheld it.

  As she sat in dreamy indulgence, Andrea noticed the temperature outside had risen with the awakening sun. The remnants of snow remaining from the previous night’s storm were melting and creating a beautiful mist through which everything looked like a dream.

  Andrea opened her eyes wider as a large black man appeared from out of that mist, leading the big, gray horse that Hunter often rode. “Who’s that?”

  Izzie leaned forward to see. “That Zach, my papa, and Dixie.”

  “And Mattie is your mother?”

  The girl nodded proudly. “They been here since befo’ Massa was bawn.”

  “And you like it here?” Andrea scrutinized the girl.

  The slave’s gaze fell at the inspection and then rose with honest resolve. “Ole Him is a good man.” She turned with her tray and disappeared through the door.

  Andrea’s head nodded, and she soon drifted off to sleep again. Upon awakening, she saw that the room had been cleansed of all signs of the mysterious former wife during her deep slumber. The garish furniture had vanished, replaced by pieces from her previous room. Only two original items remained—a trunk and a wardrobe, both of which seemed to be overflowing with women’s clothes.

  “Ole Him say you can find a dressing gown in here,” Izzie said.

  Andrea looked down at the man’s shirt she wore and, for once, agreed with Hunter. She allowed Izzie to help her change into a simple nightgown, then watched the servant disappear at the sound of an approaching storm.

  Lightning soon lit the room with brilliant flashes and the wind began to beat its fist against the glass. After a struggle and much pain, Andrea opened one of the large windows. She was instantly rewarded with a cool blast as the wind and rain rushed in and surrounded her.

  Fresh, clean, delicious air greeted her, smelling so good and feeling so cold that it made her chest ache. Never did she think she would feel and taste and smell clean air again.

  “What are you doing?” Hunter’s voice was louder than the storm as he strode across the room and reached out to close the window.

  “Oh no, wait.” Andrea wrapped her fingers weakly around his wrist. “Please, it’s been so long. Let me feel it.”

  Hunter paused, but only for a moment. “You are soaked!” He slammed the window closed.

  Andrea sat silently for a moment, staring straight ahead. “You take for granted the offerings of Mother Nature,” she said solemnly. “Perhaps if you had to go without, you would look at the world differently.”

  Before he had time to answer, Mattie appeared in the doorway. “Gal, you gonna ketch your def of cold!” She rushed over to the trunk and pulled out a dry gown. “Put this on. I don’t wanna hear no argumentations.”

  Andrea heard Hunter retire to his chamber to do the same, and determined from his heavy tread that he found her new-found strength a nuisance rather than a blessing.

  Chapter 4

  In a minute there are many days.

  – Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

  Andrea lost count of the days she spent staring out the window, listening to rain pelting the house and watching the picturesque meadows of Hawthorne reduced to fields of muck and mud.

  She wondered how Hunter and his men continued their raids, but apparently the weather did not slow them. The Captain returned only to bring in captured horses, catch up on the affairs of Hawthorne, and, every so often, sleep a few hours. After only a brief rest he would be back in the saddle and, presumably, causing chaos again.

  For the most part when Hunter was home, he did not seem conscious of Andrea’s presence. Or perhaps more truthfully, he made it a point not to be in her presence. She rarely saw him and never spoke to him, so despite living under the same roof they remained as divided as two enemies could be.

  Andrea appreciated the separation. The inevitable response of rage that crept into her body when she saw him, or even thought about him, fueled the throbbing pain she faced daily. Dark thoughts of vengeance controlled her, and became what motivated her to make it through another day.

  But her thoughts of retribution were interrupted one morning by the sound of a rider galloping hard through hock-deep slop. Before she could ask Izzie who it was, the hoof beats charged back out the lane.

  Minutes later, Mattie entered with a package in her hand. “Ole Him sended something for you.”

  “Really” Andrea stared at Mattie, stunned that Hunter would think of her, let alone send a courier with a package. He had not been back to Hawthorne for more than a week by her estimates, and she had begun to think he was no longer in the land of the living.

  But what she held in her hand gave her second thoughts about her unchristian wishes for Hunter’s demise. Newspapers, almost a week’s worth, lay neatly bound with string. Most of them were out of Richmond, but one, a dated one, was from the North. How thoughtful of him to think of her—and how she hated him for it.

  Desperate for war news, Andrea rummaged through the stack to find the most recent information. A headline from one of the papers instantly caught her eye.

  Appreciating the public interest in the recital of everything connected with the recent exploits of Captain Alexander Hunter’s activities behind the enemy’s lines, we have gathered, from reliable participants in the affair, these additional particulars, when with but fourteen of his men he captured thirty Yankees with no shots fired . . .

  Andrea read the story with disgust and then wondered if Hunter had seen it. The papers did not appear to have been opened. She spent the rest of the day and most of the next catching up on the world, and forgo
t, for a while, about her throbbing leg and the unfortunate circumstances into which she’d been thrust.

  But when Andrea awoke later from an afternoon nap, she sensed that something had changed. After listening a few minutes with closed eyes to a melodic sound coming from outside, she sat straight up in bed, and smiled at the joyous strains of birds welcoming the arrival of the sun. Golden rays dappled the floor, their warmth melting away the shadows of gloom that had darkened the room for so long.

  “Izzie, I want to sit outside today,” Andrea said, her gaze sweeping the landscape. “Oh, please! Get your father to carry me, won’t you?”

  The pounding of hoofbeats and the jangling of spurs and bits interrupted the discussion. Andrea pulled herself to the windowsill and watched a group of ten riders, each leading at least two extra horses, draw rein in front of one of the paddocks.

  Hunter was easy to spot in the group of disheveled men. He was a stalwart figure who embodied the military bearing of a respected officer while maintaining an air of dignity that exemplified a Virginia landowner. Although mud-spattered and careworn, he looked vibrantly strong and lethal. Even from the window, he appeared to her the incarnation of nobility and knighthood.

  But Andrea’s mind was not on the muscular physique of her captor. Her pulse raced at the thought that she was so close to the band of outlaw rebels with whom she had so often crossed paths. If only…

  At that moment Hunter looked toward the window, as if reading her very thoughts. Andrea shivered and glanced away from the penetrating glare, and by the time she looked back, he had returned his attention to the horses.

  Leaning his bronzed arms on the fence, he appeared to be commenting on each one. When all had been released into the paddock, Hunter removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and headed toward the barn with long, powerful strides, his black, unruly hair ruffling as he walked.

  His men followed, but Andrea’s gaze now lingered on the martial figure in the lead. “What are they doing here?” Andrea asked, turning to Izzie.