“Will I keep my foot?” he asked anxiously.
Rhiannon smiled, lessening the blow, she hoped. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But the poison from the infection hasn’t spread. You’ve had this injury some time, and it doesn’t appear to have affected the rest of your leg. We can try for a cure. No guarantees, but we can try.”
He grabbed her hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t saved the foot. I have to go, but I’ll be back.”
In the early evening she returned. Just one thorough soaking had made a difference. She might have imagined it, but it seemed the swelling was down some. She spread the poultice she had prepared over the foot, then bandaged it. Sydney stood at her side helping. To her surprise, the other girl didn’t blink when she had told her she had made the poultice out of moldy bread, among other ingredients. “It’s been known to work,” Rhiannon said. “Although ...”
“Although?” Sydney asked her.
“Well, to guarantee that he’ll have a chance to live, he should have the foot amputated right away.”
Sydney studied her seriously. “You’re not trying to kill him, right? Make sure that it goes so long he won’t have a chance?”
Rhiannon stared back at her. Sydney was hostile toward her—but carefully so.
“No, I’m not trying to kill him. Excuse me, but didn’t you ask that I be brought here?”
“Yes, I did—at Sergeant Granger’s suggestion. He heard that you were a witch—please don’t take offense.”
“I’m not offended. And I wish I did have magical powers. All I have is what I’ve learned through observation, mainly. And, of course, I read. And ...”
“And?”
“I’ve worked with your cousin Julian.”
“Ah,” Sydney said with a strange note.
“And what does that mean?” Rhiannon asked.
“Well, you are quite a curiosity, you know. I was told that you are connected with General Magee through my sister-in-law, Risa. Yet you came here and noted immediately that I was Julian’s cousin—rather than Ian’s cousin, or Jerome’s sister, or Risa’s in-law.”
Rhiannon wondered if her cheeks flooded red with the sudden heat she was feeling. Sydney had a point.
“I met Julian first,” she murmured vaguely.
“But you’re a Florida Unionist.”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you meet Julian?”
“You know, really, you do ask a lot of questions for a proper young woman.”
“I’m not proper, and I never claimed to be. How did you meet my cousin Julian?”
“He came to my house looking for shelter.”
“And you let him in.”
“Not by choice. One of his men claimed that they were Yanks.”
“But you knew better.”
“Yes, frankly, I did.”
“But you let them in.”
“They came in. I didn’t have the power to see them out.”
“Ah. Then how did you meet Jerome?”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes at Miss Sydney McKenzie. “I was brought back to Julian’s camp.” She hesitated, realizing that Sydney probably hadn’t heard what had happened. “Your brother was wounded—”
“What?”
Sydney had been cool, aloof; now she was tense, her fingers clutched into fists, her eyes frightened. Despite the hostility she had shown her, Rhiannon couldn’t help but feel a moment’s empathy.
“He’s going to be fine. He had a bullet stuck in his shoulder. Julian took it out.”
“Infection?”
“He was doing well when I left.”
“What did you have to do with his injury?”
Rhiannon smiled wryly. “I didn’t shoot him, if that’s what you’re asking. I assisted in the surgery.”
“His wife, my cousin Tia, Alaina were all near—”
“Tia was there, Alaina and Risa hadn’t been able to reach the camp. They arrived after the surgery. And excuse me, but you’ve no right to demand answers from me on anything or make the least accusation. I don’t owe you any explanations. I—” Rhiannon broke off. “Why are you here, at this prison?”
Sydney’s rich, dark lashes fluttered. “I—I’m a prisoner.”
“What?”
Sydney stared at her, hard. “Don’t you dare say anything to anyone!”
“I beg your pardon—”
“Please! Don’t you understand? I’m hoping my family doesn’t discover my situation until ... well, until I’m out of it. Someone might get killed.”
Rhiannon watched her a long moment. “All right. I won’t say anything. Who would I say anything to? But, Sydney ... surely, the information that you’re here is bound to get out. Your family is certain to hear what has happened sooner or later.”
“Perhaps, but in this instance, later is better. I could be released, deported back to Virginia. Something could happen before ... something good could happen before something bad happens.”
“It could. Well,” she murmured brusquely, “I’ll be back to see Private Lawton in the morning, and then he’ll be your patient and the foot will be your call. I leave tomorrow.”
“To travel with the Army of the Potomac!” Sydney mocked.
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t worry too much. The Yank generals spend more time avoiding Lee than they do going after him. You may have a nice quiet summer.”
“I may,” Rhiannon said, turning to leave.
“Watch out for Julian!” Sydney called after her.
She spun around, meeting the other girl’s enigmatic gaze.
Sydney said, “If the Yanks do find Lee, you will find my cousin. His will be the field tent closest to the fighting.”
Rhiannon felt a strange chill, like cold fingers, curling around her heart. “I’ll watch out for him,” she murmured coolly. “You watch out for yourself.”
“They’ve yet to hang a woman here.”
“There’s always a first time,” Rhiannon warned her.
“You could try to get me out of here.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Sydney shrugged. “For Jerome’s sake, perhaps. His wife did get you here, right? And then ... if not for her ... well, then, for Julian.”
“For Julian!”
Sydney shrugged. “Help me.”
“I haven’t the power.”
“Maybe you underestimate your power.”
Rhiannon hesitated. “If you were to be free, would you go home and ...”
“Behave?” Sydney suggested, arching a brow.
It was Rhiannon’s turn to shrug.
“I would leave here, never to return,” Sydney vowed.
“If there’s anything I can do, I will do it,” Rhiannon said.
“You’re a witch. You’ll find the power,” Sydney said.
Rhiannon stared at the other woman, wondering if Sydney desperately needed her help, or if she simply enjoyed mocking her. She didn’t owe Sydney McKenzie a thing. Or did she?
She felt a sudden trembling sensation, a deep unease, and with it, the knowledge that blood would be spilled if Sydney weren’t released. She didn’t see pictures of mayhem and death in her mind’s eye, as sometimes had happened. She just felt that terrible sense of unease. Someone would die. And she didn’t know who. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.
Chapter 15
NEAR MIDNIGHT, THE CAMP was quiet. Thankfully, the medical tents were to the rear and off to the side of the camp, a better way to keep infection from spreading. In the midst of moving north, twenty boys had come down with the measles. Farm boys from South Carolina, they’d never been out of their own country until the war, and thus they had avoided many of the childhood diseases that many of the soldiers from areas of greater population had already survived. Julian had gotten the sick soldiers isolated, treated them, and left them in the care of an assistant surgeon.
The day was over; and they were in position.
&
nbsp; Dan LeBlanc paced his tent. Young Liam arrived, and behind him Henry Lyle. Both of Julian’s Florida boys waited his instructions.
“It’s time,” Julian said, reaching for his hat.
“I can’t let you go,” Dan said.
Julian paused, staring at him. “How do you intend to stop us?”
Dan hesitated. He started to lift his hands in defeat, then paused, staring at the entry to the tent. Hearing a whisper of movement himself, Julian spun around.
A young man with a bearded face and long blond hair stood there, a plumed cavalry cap in his hand.
“You’re Colonel McKenzie.”
“Captain, regular army,” Julian said.
The cavalryman smiled. “Colonel, we let our fellows keep their highest ranking, brevet or militia. When it comes down to who outranks who, we argue a point then.”
“What can I do for you?” Julian asked.
“There’s a whisper out you’re interested in seeing some of the countryside.”
Julian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his camp desk. “Oh?”
“I’m Captain Elijah Henley. Know the area well. A night ride isn’t any good with too many people, but then, there might be a Yank or two out yonder. Three isn’t so fine a number. Six could be just about right.”
Julian hesitated. “What makes you think I’m going for a night ride?”
Henley smiled. “Because I rode with your brother once before the war. If it’s out there, you’re going to get it.” Henley’s smile faded. “I was at Sharpsburg, sir, in a far field, when the surgeon ran out of anesthesia first, and then whiskey. A friend of mine was on the table. He died. I think it was the shock of the pain on top of being half blown to bits. If you’re going for ether and morphine, I’d be mighty pleased to show you the way.”
“You’re taking a risk.”
“Not much of one, sir. I’m officially assigned to General Stuart, who is off on other business now, as you know. I’m to scout around and keep my eye on the enemy. What better way?”
Henley, Julian realized, was on the level. “Let’s go,” he said simply.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having horses ready,” Henley told him.
Julian nodded to Liam and Henry Lyle, who both followed him out. Two men waited with six mounts—decent-looking horseflesh for the Reb army. Henley introduced his men as Abe Jansen and Alistair Adair. They all nodded quick acknowledgments, mounted, and rode hard from the camp.
Thirty minutes out of the camp, they slowed their gait. Elijah Henley moved his horse next to Julian’s. “You’re the spittin’ image of your brother.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Too bad he decided to stay a Yank,” Henley said without rancor. “We sure could have used him.”
“Well, the war has been hell for him. He feels he’s fighting for what he thinks is right, but he’s fighting his own family.”
“Sure is a shame. All way around. Why, I heard one of Mrs. Lincoln’s brothers was killed fighting for the South. And all she could say was that he shouldn’t have been a-fightin’. The Yanks just jump down her throat if she so much as sheds a tear for her own kin! My General Jeb likes to find ways to sneak notes under his father-in-law’s plate when he’s eating in the capital with other Yanks, just to pull the old fellow’s cord and prove the Southern cavalry is fast enough to do anything. Well, I sure hope so. Jeb is off sniffing around the Yanks right now, trying to figure out just where the Union army is. Hell, good thing the Billy Yanks are slow. Else they would have had us a half dozen times by now!”
“So we’re heading for a major battle.”
“Well, we know the big Yank army is near, they know we’re near. Hell, yes, we’re going to clash in a major way.” He went silent suddenly. “There’s your road, Dr. McKenzie. Straight ahead. Did you have a plan?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Dismount, hide the horses, into the trees.”
The men hurried to do his bidding, Elijah Henley’s boys as quick, agile, and quiet as Lyle Henry and Liam Murphy. Julian found himself taking up the last position; the wagons would have to be directly beneath them all, then they’d have to leap down and catch the guards, using speed and surprise to suppress resistance before it could turn into a skirmish.
Time began to tick by ...
The night was warm. An occasional breeze stirred. When it did, it felt like a slice of heaven. Julian scratched an itch on his knee, hoping that the trees weren’t full of ticks. It was the right time of year for them.
He heard Liam, just down from him, swearing.
“Liam?”
“Sorry, sir. Varmint of some kind, don’t rightly know what.”
“We’ve got to keep quiet. You know that.”
“Hell, yes, sir.”
More time passed. Julian began to wonder if it had been a rumor. Then he heard Lyle, first man out, give a soft bird call. Meant a lone man was coming. Lone man ... a point rider, watching for guerilla Rebs?
He waited, tensing, He heard a horse, then saw a rider. Nice blue uniform, new and unsoiled. His horse looked as if it had just come off the farm, fat and sleek.
The boy was whistling as he rode—whistling, Julian thought, because he was afraid.
The rider kept coming, unmolested. They wanted him deep into the trap before they sprang ...
When he was beneath Julian, Julian hesitated, then leapt. He fell silently, knocking the boy from his horse and to the ground in a matter of split seconds.
The boy struggled and Julian whispered to him. “Hush, now—”
“Rebs, Rebs, Rebels, oh-my-God-Rebels-oh-my-God-Rebels—”
“Shut him up!” Henley called. “The wagons are coming.”
“Son, shut up,” Julian warned.
But the kid was scared to his brand-spanking new boots. “Rebs, Help. Oh, help, help, Jesus above us, help—”
“McKenzie! The others are coming round. Kill him!” Henley shouted.
“What?” Julian called.
“We need you! They outnumber us, remember? It’s a war, Julian, kill the little momma’s boy. We can’t jeopardize the whole action.”
Julian stared down at the boy. Kill him. Easy. Take the knife, slide it into the heart. He knew all about death.
Kill him.
Couldn’t do it. If he did, it made everything to which he had dedicated his life to a lie. It was one thing shooting bullets when he was escaping Yanks in Florida. He was being shot at, he shot back. But this would be murder.
The Yank beneath him, young, mute with fear, was staring at him. Eyes as wide as that of a buck.
“McKenzie, get it over with!” Henley hissed.
If he killed the boy, he’d have no chance of getting out of the war with even the remnants of his sanity left.
“Julian, they’re coming—”
“Sorry, kid,” Julian said softly.
Rhiannon had tried every move she could think of. General Magee had sent word that he’d try to get Sydney out; of course, he’d have to go through the proper channels and authorities and it might take time. She’d appealed to Granger, she’d tried to find out where Ian McKenzie was, but he’d left for the battlefront. It would take time to find him, too.
It was Granger, however, who told her about Jesse Halston.
Jesse was still in town, for another week. A second injury on the field and he’d been sent back to the capital from his company to work with the Pinkerton men trying to guard the security of military information here.
Jesse Halston had been involved somehow when Jerome had escaped, and he’d been instrumental in getting Sydney arrested later. With little choice, Rhiannon sent word to him with her name and a message that she urgently needed to see him. She received a message back from a young soldier inviting her to Halston’s office across from the White House. She arrived at dusk.
He was a handsome young fellow with level hazel eyes and a quick smile.
“Sir, I need your help.”
“Why, Mrs. Tremaine, I would just be willing to help you in any way that I possibly could,” he told her.
“Sydney McKenzie. You arrested her. Perhaps you could free her.”
“Ma’am, if I wanted her free, why would I have arrested her in the first place?” he asked, his eyes suddenly guarded.
“She’s a McKenzie, and I know that family,” Rhiannon said firmly.
Halston sat back on his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “She can’t be trusted.”
“I think she can be. She could swear that she wouldn’t cause any more trouble. I know that people have been freed by signing vows of allegiance—”
“Do you think that Sydney McKenzie is going to sign a vow of allegiance to the United States of America?” he asked her.
Rhiannon looked down, smoothing out a pleat in her skirt. “No, but I believe that she will swear to leave Washington, to cease her spying activities.”
“And then you want me to trust her?”
“Yes.”
Halston watched her, shaking his head. “If you’re worried about Jerome coming after her, I understand. But if you’re in love with him—”
“I’m not!” she snapped indignantly.
Halston grinned. “Good, because he’s got a wife, though when I saw you—”
“When you saw me, what?” she demanded, eyes narrowed, jaw locking.
“My apologies, nothing intended, Mrs. Tremaine. It’s just that you’re a very beautiful woman, and you seem so passionately and sincerely worried about the McKenzies.”
“Captain Halston, I’m becoming passionate about human life—and it not being stupidly wasted when there is so much carnage to begin with!”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Tremaine. But what makes you think that Sydney will let me help her? Especially since I did put her in there.”
“She said that she’d do almost anything to get out. I believe she’s really afraid of someone in her family becoming too reckless in their efforts to save her.”
He smiled, watching her curiously. “They say you’re a witch.”
She groaned. “Dear God, not that again—”
“Yes, that. Are you a witch?”
“It’s all in the eyes of the beholder, isn’t it?”
“Well, I guess we can thank God that you seem to have such unusual powers. You’ve convinced me to do your will, and I didn’t believe that you could do so. I will get Sydney out, Mrs. Tremaine.”