Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 (30 page)

Someone was shaking him. “Captain, sir, the men are ready.”

He blinked his eyes, looked up to see Jim Dugan, a private from Texas staring down at him in the half-light of the moon. “Six men are saddled and ready to ride, sir,” he said.

“All right.” He moved to get to his feet but instead fell backward.

His head felt as though it were weighted down by a rock. His mouth felt dry and puffy.

“You all right, sir?’

“I wish everyone would quit worrying about me!” he cried.

Only sheer gut determination gave Travis the strength to make it up the hill to where his men were waiting. He caught sight of Kitty standing near the campfire, watching him curiously. Her dress was worn and tattered. He made a mental note to find her something decent to wear. She was too beautiful to be dressed in rags. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would send one of his men into the nearest town and find her the prettiest dress anywhere. Beautiful. She was so damned beautiful, with her hair shining like golden red wine in the firelight.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was no lovesick boy. The girl meant nothing to him. Let her wear rags. What difference did it make? She was only along in case she was needed, and her cooking talents came in handy. And that youngster with her was good for dirty work. Convenient. That’s all she was. And when he felt better, it would be time to once again take her in his arms and tease and torture her. This time she would beg…this time she would scream and beg him to take her.

“Sir…” Someone held out a hand to him, holding his horse by the reins.

He slapped at the soldier’s arm, shoving him back, grabbing at his horse’s mane as he swung himself up into the saddle. “Since when do I need help getting on a horse?” he snapped irritably.

Something
was
wrong, but he forced himself to sit erect in the saddle. His head was swimming, and there was that wave of nausea again. He tasted bile rising in his throat. Now he was perspiring heavily, clothes soaked to the skin.
Stay awake,
he commanded himself.
For God’s sake, stay awake!
What kind of officer was he if he let a little sickness put him fiat on his back and keep him from his line of duty? He
had
to go on,
had
to take the men out. They looked up to him, respected him, and he knew it. And this was important. McClellan believed that Magruder was sitting out there with thousands of soldiers, just waiting for him. They had been seen, McClellan insisted. Travis said Magruder was full of bullshit—he was tricky—known for being cunning and deceiving. But with President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton on his back, McClellan was being cautious. Too damned cautious. Already he had erected works facing the Yorktown lines, preparing to lay siege. Foolish, Travis thought, but he had to prove it. A waste of time. Magruder was merely stalling for time until more Confederates arrived to reinforce. Travis just felt this in his guts. But he had to prove it, and damnit, he wasn’t even sure he could stay in the saddle, much less lead a patrol on a dangerous mission.

They had camped in a deep thicket, well hidden, they hoped. Travis took six men, left six with Kitty and Andy Shaw. They moved forward, going slowly, making their way through the thick undergrowth and through the forest, Sam Bucher led the way. He had been out earlier, when it was light, and he knew a good spot where they could wait for the sun to come up. It was a ridge, overlooking Magruder’s lines.

It took almost two hours to reach the position, and as they arrived, Travis slid to the ground, felt his knees buckle and moved swiftly to clutch at the saddle to keep from falling. He hoped no one had seen. But of course they hadn’t. It was dark. He felt relieved. He could not let them know how weak he really was.

“Nothing to do till morning,” he said, trying not to sound so happy about it. He walked over and sat down beneath a sweet gum tree, leaned his head back, and promptly fell asleep.

Someone was shaking him anxiously. “Sir, sir, come look. Quickly…”

He moved to leap quickly to his feet but his head was so heavy, legs so weak, that he pitched forward on his knees dizzily. It was daylight, past sunrise. How long? Why wasn’t he awakened earlier? This was no time to sleep. He tried to stand up but could not. Looking around through glazed eyes, he realized that no one was watching him. They were all standing at the edge of a jutting ridge, looking down and shaking their heads in wonder.

“Look at that son of a bitch! Can you believe it? All he’s been doing these past weeks is marching the same troops up and down that ridge so McClellan will see them and think he’s got that many men. How many men did the Captain say General McClellan’s got?”

“Around 90,000, I think.”

“Well, I’ll bet there ain’t over 15,000 or so down there. Don’t that beat all? McClellan could’ve taken them anytime he wanted to. Damndest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Captain.” Someone was calling him, but he couldn’t see who it was. Damnit, the sun was shining but all he could see was a bright, glaring haze that covered everything so that he could not distinguish faces, objects. And it was hot. Oh, God, it was so hot. Had he been killed and gone to hell to burn? He’d always figured he’d wind up there, anyway. Why in thunder did Virginia have to be so hot? Why did the sun have to shine so brightly here?

“Captain, you were right. Magruder’s been playing a trick. We’ve got to get word to McClellan.”

“Damnit, Travis, you’re sick…” He heard Sam’s voice somewhere through the haze. “Let’s get him back to camp and let Kitty take a look at him.”

“She’ll kill me.” The words came out hoarsely. “Give…her a chance…she’ll kill me…”

“I’ll stay with you,” Sam was promising. “Now come on, Travis, you never should have come out here, you stubborn bastard.”

They were helping him into the saddle, and he was trying to push their hands away. He could make it back to camp. Kitty had poisoned him, that’s what was wrong. She had slipped something into his food, and he was dying, and he wanted to last long enough to get back to camp and wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze the life from her. That’s what he was going to do. She wouldn’t get away with it…he’d take her with him…

He felt himself falling…down…down…down and then there was nothing.

The words came to him through a deep, black void. Time stood still. He could hear but not speak. Slowly, the darkness tried to fade, and he could distinguish objects, shapes.

“He’s trying to open his eyes. Praise God.”

“Stand back, please. I’ve got to sponge his eyes with this.” Kitty’s voice. He could hear her speaking. Damn, was she in hell, too? Had he succeeded in murdering her and taking her with him? But no, it was cool here—cool and damp. He could feel it. But Lord, he was weak. He tried to lift his hand, to let them know he was all right, but he could not move a muscle.

“Stand back, I say. Honestly, Sam, after all these weeks, do you think I’m going to harm your precious Captain now?

She knelt beside him, dipped a cloth in the vinegar and water solution and began to dab at his eyes. He jerked his head. “He moved… Captain Coltrane?” she asked anxiously. “Can you hear me? Oh, thank God.”

“Captain, you okay?” Sam Bucher’s voice. Travis opened his eyes to see his longtime friend smiling down at him. “You’re going to be okay. I told this girl if you died, I’d kill her and that Reb both, and I’d have done it,” he added gruffly.

Kitty stared at Sam angrily. “Yes, you probably would have, even after I told you he had smallpox—and how many people live after they’ve had smallpox? The only reason he’s not dead is because God doesn’t want him, and the devil won’t have him either. Now will you get the hell out of my way so I can put some of this in his eyes so he won’t go blind?”

He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. In spite of his weakness, he had to smile at Kitty cussing at old Sam that way. And it worked. Sam moved back out of her way. “Get him a cup of that wine cooling in the creek,” she ordered. “And bring me another dose of that opiate I mixed up. He’s still got a long way back.”

“How…how long have I been out?” It surprised him that he even found the strength to speak.

She kept dabbing at his eyes.

“How…long?” he repeated.

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” He wanted to rise up but could not.

“Just be still. I’ve got to get this solution in your eyes. I wish you’d stayed unconscious. I don’t think I can stand treating you awake.”

Three weeks. What had happened during that time? Did they tell McClellan about Magruder’s trickery? It was all coming back to him now—the sickness, the patrol, the discovery of Magruder’s clever ploy.

What had happened in the last three weeks?

He was in a tent. There was someone lying nearby. One of his men? He tried to turn his head but felt himself sinking. “Don’t fight it, Captain,” Kitty was saying. It surprised him to hear her sound so gentle. “Sleep. You need the sleep for your strength.”

When he again opened his eyes, he found Sam Bucher sitting beside him on the ground. “Three weeks on a blanket on the cold hard ground ought to wake up any man,” he quipped down at him. “How do you feel?”

“Weak.”

“I imagine so. You had a rough time of it. For about three days there, Kitty said you could go any time. She stayed right with you, giving you some kind of stuff she mixed up out of herbs and roots. She sent one of the men into town for some medicine, too. We had to stay here. The woods are crawling with Rebs, especially after Johnston got his army to Magruder, finally.”

“Did you get word to McClellan that it was all a trick?”

He nodded, and Travis realized his vision was clearing up because he could see the lice crawling in Sam’s dark beard. “Yep, we sure did, but McClellan already lost a month, and when he heard from us, he was going to open a big bombardment the next day, had his big guns in position and ready. And know what? Johnston evacuated Yorktown. Oh, they had a skirmish at Williamsburg, but the whole thing just made McClellan look worse to President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton.”

“Hey…am I wearing you out?” Sam asked as Travis closed his eyes. “Kitty said you were to rest.”

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping. It’s nighttime now. You woke up around noon today and went back to sleep. It’s my turn to sit up with you. She stayed with you day and night for the first three days, though. Said she’d never seen anybody stay unconscious so long. You really must’ve had quite a case. She said you stayed asleep ‘cause you were too weak to be awake. I guess that makes sense.”

Travis could turn his head finally. Someone was lying nearby.

“That’s Vince Potter,” Sam said quietly. “He just come down with it. Kitty says he probably won’t make it. He was poorly to start with.”

“Did anyone die?”

Sam looked away.

“I asked you, Sam, did anyone die?”

His voice broke. “Jim Dugan. And Lonnie Mack. They died the second week. Raney, he died a few days ago. Kitty says the worst of it may be over. You’ve got to get well, Travis. You’ve got to get well and get us out of here. I slipped into town the other day and all hell’s breaking loose in the war now. We’re needed bad. The rumor is that the Rebs will march on Washington, and everyone says if that happens, the war is lost.”

“Bullshit.”

“I thought I heard a familiar voice.” Kitty stepped into the tent, her dress even more tattered and worn, if that was possible. Her hair hung loose and flowing around her face, and it gleamed golden in the firelight. Travis thought once again how damned beautiful she was—and those eyes—so blue they were purple. He’d never seen a woman with eyes such a strange color. And her lashes—as she leaned over him, he could see those long, dusty lashes. They sparkled with gold speckles, as though dusted with some magical powder. Strange—strange but lovely. He found himself wishing he had the strength to crush her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless.

She told Sam to get some more wine, good for regaining strength, she said, and some of the boiled beef left from supper. He had to eat to get stronger, even if it meant forcing the food down.

He ate, and the food was good, and Sam said he’d get some rest if Kitty would stay up. She went to where Vince Potter lay in a stupor, tried to force some liquid down his throat but could not. Then she returned to sit by Travis.

“You know, the last thing I remember is thinking you had poisoned me, and that’s why I was so sick. I was determined to get back to camp and kill you with my bare hands before I died.”

She rubbed at her throat and laughed. “So that’s why you tried to choke me so many times when I’d try to get you to keep wine and water down your throat. Once you might have succeeded if Sam hadn’t been close by to pry your fingers loose.”

“I did that?”

She laughed. “You certainly did, and I didn’t realize you hated me so much. All the men were talking about it, wondering why you insisted on keeping me around when you hated me enough to kill me. I wondered about it myself. And poor Andy, he’s been worried to death you’d succeed and then your men would kill him.”

He looked at her for a long time, and neither of them spoke, eyes holding in a steady gaze.

“I don’t hate you, Kitty,” he said finally. “I find you to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I just don’t happen to trust women, and you are about the most deadly female I’ve ever run up against. I guess it was only natural for me to think you’d kill me the first chance you got, and now I find out I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

“Well, Sam said if you died, he’ll kill me and Andy.” She fingered the hem of the frayed dress. Seeing so lovely a creature in such a horrible costume was like putting a wildflower in a field of weeds, he thought. Such a woman was not meant to wear rags.

“I doubt Sam could have killed you, Kitty. I think he only meant to frighten you, because he figured you’d be happy to see me dead and wouldn’t do anything to try to get me over the pox. I’m grateful.”

Outside, they could hear the night sounds-the crickets, a hooty owl mournfully calling from someplace not too far away. Inside the tent, the small fire burning at the entranceway crackled and sparkled, and they could hear the gasping, uneven breathing from where Vince Potter lay.