Читать книгу The Fire Within - Lynda Trent - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Megan knew it was important to keep her prisoner clean if he were to heal without complications. Why this was so, she couldn’t have said, but she had observed from cuts and scrapes she had received herself that cleanliness was important. If it was true for an everyday scrape, it should be doubly true for bullet and sword wounds.

She took a pan of hot water into the bedroom and stared down at the man. She had never in her life seen a naked man. The night she and Seth had made love in the clearing hardly counted, since the moon had given no light to speak of and he had kept his unbuttoned shirt on the entire time. She stepped nearer the soldier. She had to do what was necessary.

Not giving herself time to think, Megan pulled the covers back and sat on the side of the bed. He looked powerful even in repose and he was more handsome than she remembered from the day before. A day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw but did nothing to impair his looks. His hair was black and thick. She remembered his eyes had been a silvery gray.

Megan drew in a deep breath to give herself courage and bent to cut the underlinen down the side seams. Once they were washed, she could resew them, but she wasn’t sure how she would manage to put them back on him. As she pulled the cloth away, she couldn’t help but look at him. He was beautifully made, like the Greek statues she had seen in books. As she looked, he stirred and she hurriedly dipped the cloth in the wash water.

She washed him as well as she could without moving him. Beneath her fingers his skin was warm and supple, his muscles strong. She had also never seen a man with tanned skin all the way to his waist. Her father and the other men in the settlement never removed their shirts outside so only their hands and faces tanned. The brown of his skin for some reason made the man seem even more virile. She found herself imagining him chopping wood without his shirt, his muscles bunching and releasing. The thought made her blush and she tried to put it out of her mind. She wasn’t entirely successful.

Carefully, she removed the soiled bandages and dropped them on the floor with the underlinen. After they were boiled clean, she could use them again. She was glad to see neither of the wounds bled, though the edges were puffed and reddened. Was that normal in a severe wound? There was no one she dared to ask.

After she had cleaned the wounds as well as she could, she put fresh bandages on them, tied them into place and covered him with the quilt. To her surprise, she found her hands shaking. He affected her more than she thought possible. There was an element of danger about him even as he lay unconscious. She wondered what would happen when he finally woke up.

Megan lifted her head. Someone was coming. She could hear them running through the brush and into the yard. Hastily she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. By the time she reached the main room, Bridget had run into the cabin and stopped in the middle of the room. She was out of breath and the freckles stood out on her pale skin. Her bright red hair was in a tangle all about her face.

Megan glanced at the door to her bedroom. It was closed and the soldier still hadn’t gained consciousness. Nevertheless, she ushered Bridget back onto the porch. “What’s wrong? Is Papa having one of those spells with his heart?”

Her sister shook her head. “It’s Seth!”

“Seth is at the settlement? He’s home?” Megan was a bit surprised that the news didn’t lift her spirits any more than it did. “I’ll get my shawl.”

“No, no, Megan. Listen to me for a minute.” Bridget put her hand on Megan’s arm to stop her. “It’s a letter, not Seth in person. He’s in a Yankee prison.”

Megan’s heart plummeted. “A prison?”

“He was captured last month. The letter only arrived today. He’s not injured or sick. Just scared.”

Megan sat on the ladder-back chair on the porch. A cold wind was blowing but she didn’t feel it. “Seth has always been afraid of being locked up. Remember how he was that time he was locked up in Raintree for getting drunk and breaking the chairs in that saloon? He hates being locked up.” Now that the news was sinking in, she was near tears.

“I think you should come to the house with me. Seth’s parents are there and you can read the letter yourself.”

“Yes. I’ll do that. Let me get my shawl.” She left Bridget on the porch and ran back inside.

In the bedroom she frowned at the soldier lying on her bed. It wasn’t fair that he was being carefully tended and doctored and Seth was in some prison. It made no difference that Seth wasn’t wounded or sick. She had heard about Yankee prisons and they were infamous for brutality and bad living conditions. She tried not to think about that. Throwing her heavy wool shawl about her shoulders, she hurried back to Bridget.

They ran most of the way to the settlement and were out of breath when they entered the house. The old, familiar smells enveloped Megan. Jane’s house always smelled of cooking and the strong lye soap she made every summer. The main room was crowded with the Brennans there. As usual, Aaron Brennan was pacing furiously and Sarah Ann Brennan sat stoically silent.

“Those damn Yankees have my oldest boy,” Aaron was saying in a loud voice. “There’s no telling what they’re doing to him.”

“Now don’t get so riled up,” Samuel Llewellyn said in a calming voice. “We don’t know Seth is being mistreated. He doesn’t say anything about it in his letter.”

“Those Yankees are capable of anything! Anything at all!”

Sarah Ann bent her head and sobbed as silently as possible. Jane went to her and put her arm around the woman. Sarah Ann leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder. Megan knew that the woman would get no comforting from her husband. It was well-known around the settlement that Aaron wasn’t kind to her. Megan also went to the crying woman and touched her other shoulder. Sarah Ann looked up, her small eyes red and swollen already. She patted Megan’s hand with the pudgy fist that held her soggy handkerchief.

“May I see the letter?” Megan asked. Aaron handed it to her with only a glance in her direction. He had always maintained that girls shouldn’t be allowed to read.

Megan managed to interpret Seth’s scrawling hand. He had never learned to spell properly but she could make out the words. “He’s being held just outside Corbin in Kentucky. Where is that?”

“It’s in the southern part, not far from the state line.” Samuel was watching her. “I’m real sorry, Megan.”

She managed a weak smile. “At least he’s out of the fighting. Had you thought of that, Mrs. Brennan? Seth can’t get shot in a prison.”

Sarah Ann looked up at her hopefully and the cane-bottomed chair creaked as she shifted her weight to sit straighter. “That’s true, ain’t it? He won’t be in no more battles if he’s fastened up in prison. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Aaron continued pacing, though there was barely enough room to move about. “We got to get him out!”

“Now be reasonable, Aaron. How are we supposed to get Seth out of a Yankee prison in Kentucky? Neither one of us even knows how to get there.”

“We could ask along the way. We know it’s north of here.”

Megan became thoughtful. They couldn’t hope to break him out of prison, but couldn’t they trade for him? Trade a Union captain, for instance?

“I wish I had me a Yankee here now,” Aaron growled. “I’d kill him before he knew which end was up.”

“So would I,” Samuel said. “They’re no good, the lot of them. Shoot first and ask questions later, that’s what I’d do.”

“Had you thought that our Seth is safer in prison?” Sarah Ann asked, still clinging to her only hope. “Had you, Aaron?”

“Shut up and let me think.” Aaron stomped to the other side of the room and Bridget shifted out of his way.

“Seth is safer in prison, ain’t he, Jane?” Sarah Ann persisted.

Jane glanced at Megan. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

Megan looked across the room at Bridget. Her sister stood in the shadows, twisting her narrow gold wedding band. She knew Bridget was worrying about Patrick. Bridget worried about him almost constantly, even when there wasn’t bad news pertaining to the war. Their eyes met and Megan said, “Patrick’s all right.”

Bridget nodded but her eyes still looked haunted. Megan knew what she was thinking. If this could happen to Seth, it could happen to Patrick, and if Seth had been captured in battle that meant Patrick had been fighting, too. He could be dead or wounded and word just hadn’t reached them yet.

“Patrick ain’t got nothing to do with this!” Aaron said angrily to Megan. “This here’s about your man! You’d think you’d at least shed a tear for him!”

“She’s never cried easy,” Jane said quickly. “You know that, Aaron. Megan almost never cries.”

“I’m as worried about him as you are,” Megan told Aaron. “You have all had time to think about it, and it’s still sinking in to me.”

“I can’t leave my oldest to rot in some stinking Yankee prison,” Aaron repeated to Samuel.

Megan opened her mouth to tell them about the Yankee captain at her house, but she remembered what both men had said about shooting a Yankee on sight. Even if they didn’t shoot him, they certainly wouldn’t let her give him any degree of comfort or medicine. In the settlement, they lived by an eye for an eye. If the soldier wasn’t tended, he might die and she wouldn’t have any bargaining power. Megan kept quiet.

For the next hour the Brennans sat in the close quarters of the Llewellyn cabin and poured out their anger and grief. Sarah Ann cried until her eyes were mere slits in the puffiness of her face, and Aaron roared until he was hoarse. As word spread through the settlement, others came to offer their sympathy or righteous anger. Brother Grady, along with his mousy wife, Elvira, and their herd of children, arrived with a plate of steaming food for Sarah Ann and Aaron’s supper, as though Seth were dead and not merely imprisoned. Sarah Ann accepted it gratefully.

As soon as she gracefully could, Megan escaped to the peace and quiet of her own cabin. She was glad it was up the mountain and less accessible to the others. She had her own way of grieving and it didn’t involve a public display of tears.

For a long time she sat in the main room of her house, rocking in the uneven chair and thinking what this could mean. It was common knowledge that sickness ran rampant in prisons and that the food the men ate was no better than slop. Seth might never get out. The war had been expected to be of short duration, but it had already lasted four years and could go on until there were no men left to fight. She couldn’t depend on it ending quickly and Seth being released.

Her eyes drifted toward the closed door to her bedroom. She heard a small sound in there, as if the soldier were regaining consciousness. He would be her best bet for getting Seth back. Wouldn’t the Union army prefer to have one of their officers back than keep a Confederate private who would rather be home instead of fighting? Surely by now all the fight had gone out of Seth. It took whiskey to make him really cantankerous.

She heard the sound again. She stood and crossed the room to get the squirrel gun she kept behind the door in case of intruders. She was going to nurse the soldier back to health, no matter what it took.

When Caleb opened his eyes, he was looking at the barrel of a shotgun. He blinked, trying to make sense of it. A glance told him he was lying in a strange cabin. Holding the gun unwaveringly was one of the prettiest women he had seen since leaving Pollard’s Crossing, Ohio.

“How do you feel?” she asked, not lowering the gun.

“I hurt like... I hurt.” Caleb had been brought up from birth not to use strong language in front of ladies and he automatically censored what he had been about to say. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my cabin, Mr....”

“My name is Captain Caleb Morgan.” Speaking made him hurt from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“I’m Megan Llewellyn.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Where do you hurt worse?”

“Everywhere. Could you put that gun down? I’m not going anywhere.”

She lowered the barrel. He tried to focus his eyes in spite of the pain. She was a small woman, not much taller than the rifle she carried. The light coming from the only window gave red highlights to her dark hair, and her skin was milky white. Her brown eyes glared at him as if she had a personal vendetta against him. Under different circumstances he would have found her extremely attractive.

Caleb lifted the quilt and looked down. He was naked under the covers and there were bandages on his right thigh and upper left arm. Reflexively he pulled the quilt up to cover himself. She didn’t seem to care that he was showing more skin than was decent. “How did I get here?” He was having trouble remembering what happened before he lost consciousness. Hadn’t he been in a battle?

“I brought you. You were shot in the leg and there’s a cut on your arm. I guess they didn’t find you when they came after the dead and wounded. You were in the woods by your horse.”

“Surely you didn’t carry me here all by yourself.”

“Yes, I did. You helped some.”

“I don’t remember it at all.” He tried to shift to a more comfortable position and she quickly raised the rifle again. “Will you calm down? I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to.” He pulled himself up to a half-sitting position, ignoring the pain that racked him. “Where’s your husband?”

“I’m not married.”

“Your parents, then. Surely you don’t live here alone.”

“Yes, I do. My parents and sister live downhill from here in the settlement.”

“Why would you live here all alone, as young as you are? Are you a widow?”

“I was promised to marry Seth Brennan, but he enlisted before the wedding. I’m living here to take care of our house until he comes home.”

“I see.” Caleb couldn’t have cared less about these details; he only wanted to put her at her ease so she would stop pointing the rifle at him. At this range, she would kill him with one shot.

“No, sir, I don’t believe you do. Seth was captured and is in a Yankee prison. I plan to trade you for him and get him back.”

“I see.”

“Stop saying that. I figure they would rather have you back than keep Seth. You’re a captain and he’s just a private.”

“That makes sense. Could you put that rifle away before it goes off? There won’t be much to trade if you pull that trigger.” He touched the bandage on his arm. “How badly am I wounded?”

“Bad enough to be unconscious since yesterday. Don’t pull on that bandage.”

“I don’t suppose this settlement of yours has a doctor, does it?”

“No, we take care of our own. I know how to make poultices and change bandages. Just don’t try running away. You wouldn’t get far on that leg.”

“I’m not in the mood to run anywhere. Where is my uniform?”

“I’ve got it soaking. You can’t wear it like it is. And I hid your boots so you may as well decide to stay put.”

“Why would I want to leave? You’ve already said that you’ll trade me for your fiancé.” He watched her carefully. If he could get her to let her guard down, he might be able to escape. His boots wouldn’t be that hard to find in a cabin no larger than this one must be. As for his uniform being wet, he had worn it wet every time it rained.

“I guess that makes sense.” She put her head to one side as if she were trying to decide if she should believe him. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded. He wasn’t, but he knew he would need to get his strength back if he was going to escape.

“I’ll be back after I fix you something to eat.” She turned and left the room.

Caleb waited until she was out of sight, then tried to swing his legs out of bed. Pain shot through him and he suppressed a groan. Carefully he pushed the quilt aside and probed the bandage on his leg. He was hurt more than he had thought. There was no way he could walk on his leg. He couldn’t even get out of bed. He refused to think that the bullet might have shattered the bone. If it had, he might never walk again. He lay back and closed his eyes.

Megan put the rifle in easy reach against the cabinet and reached in the water where the uniform was soaking. It was heavy and almost black in the water. She held it up to drain, then squeezed as much water as she could from the fabric. Did Seth have such a warm coat? She tried not to think about that.

When she had it as dry as possible, she took the uniform to the fire and hung it over the rocker to dry. She didn’t dare risk putting it on the line outside. To ensure it would dry quickly, she added another log to the fire. Although she had no intention of returning the uniform to him until he was well enough to travel, she couldn’t risk having Bridget or her mother come in and see it drying.

While she waited, she washed the long underlinen and bandages, then put the bandages in a pot to boil by the fire. She hung the underlinen on the chair with the uniform.

“Miss Llewellyn?” Caleb called from the other room.

“What is it?”

“Who won the battle?”

“I’d say we did. Mama said your side was in retreat when they were seen going down the mountain. I couldn’t tell from what I saw in the clearing. There was nothing left but dead horses.”

“Did you say my horse was dead?”

Megan went to the bedroom door. “If you were riding a big bay with a blaze face, he was. There was such a horse lying beside you. You’re lucky he didn’t pin you underneath him. I might not have been able to get you out.”

“I probably owe you my life. Thank you.”

Her eyes met his and she found it difficult to turn away. His silvery eyes were hypnotic and seemed able to look into her soul. “You’re welcome. I would have done as much for your horse, but he was already dead.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that I love animals and would have taken care of him. Were you fond of him?”

“Not very. He was a good animal, but I didn’t have him that long.”

Megan leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “That just goes to show how different we are. I could love an animal at first sight. Especially if it was one I considered to be a ‘good animal.’”

“You learn not to be attached to horses in a war. I’ve had several shot out from under me. I stayed detached on purpose.”

“Can you do that? Remain detached? I’ve never learned how to turn my feelings on and off like that.” She knew she was goading him, turning his own words against him, but she was upset. “You take Seth, for instance. He’s fond of drink, and if the truth were told, of loose women as well. But I don’t stop loving him. I can’t. If I could, I might be less human.”

“Or you might be simply discerning. Why do you want to marry a man who drinks and runs after loose women?”

Megan frowned and straightened. “I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t want you talking about Seth.” His words echoed thoughts she had had in the past. More than once she had wondered why she loved Seth. Could it be merely habit? Or the fact that no other man in the settlement cared about her? “Get some rest,” she said sharply, and left the room.

Caleb didn’t close his eyes. She had a number of weaknesses. He was certain to be able to use one of them to escape. He had no intention of remaining here until she got around to trading him, even if such a thing were feasible. She was too quick at pointing a gun at him. What if she got word that Seth had died or escaped? She might shoot him just to be rid of him.

He looked around the room. It was small and the chinking between the logs seemed new. The floor was made of broad pine planks instead of dirt or split logs, so someone had gone to a great deal of effort to build it for her. What had she said? It was meant to be the house she and Seth would share. He wondered if Seth had built it himself. It was unusual for a new cabin to have more than one room. Rooms were usually added later as children arrived. In many cabins the children just slept in the loft until they were grown and had places of their own. For a cabin, this was quite grand.

It was also clean. After living in tents or on the open ground for the past four years, Caleb didn’t take cleanliness for granted. Once the war was over, he planned to bathe three times a day.

Megan’s clothing hung on pegs in one corner. There were three changes of dress, an everyday poke bonnet, a Sunday bonnet, a lightweight shawl. Beneath was a pair of polished black shoes with a pair of white cotton stockings rolled neatly in them.

Caleb turned his bead and studied the wall beside him. Unlike the outer walls, this one was of pine planking. A drawing of a raccoon beside a stream was nailed to it. The drawing was unusually good and he wondered who had done it.

A color caught his eye and he reached into the crack between the bed and wall and brought out a red book. Beneath it was a green one. Caleb was educated, as were his mother and sister, but he knew it wasn’t common to find mountain women who could read enough to enjoy a book. “Is this yours?” he called out.

“What now?” Megan came back to the doorway. When she saw the books in his hand, she froze.

“These books. Are you reading them?” He read the titles. “The Mysteries of Udolpho? You’re reading Mrs. Radcliffe? And this other one is on Greek mythology. Are they yours?”

“Give them to me.” She came to the bed and held out her hand. He noticed she was trembling.

Slowly he handed them over. “I’ve read both. Are you enjoying them?”

She glared at him. “There’s no need for you to tease me, Captain Morgan. I assure you I can read—probably as well as you can. And yes, I am enjoying them.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry.”

Megan turned on him, her books tucked protectively under her arm. “Why should I believe anything you say? I wasn’t born yesterday. I know men don’t like to know women can read. That’s why I hid them. How was I to know you’d come along and end up in my bed?” She realized what she had said and blushed.

Caleb smiled at her choice of words. “Can’t we talk like civilized people? We’ve found a common ground. We both read and we apparently like the same books. Have you read the others by Mrs. Radcliffe?”

Megan came a step nearer although her movements were reluctant. “Has she written others?”

“Three others. My favorite is Mysteries of Udolpho but I also enjoyed The Romance of the Forest.”

“I’ve read Udolpho three times. I bought it because it was the thickest one on the shelf.” She looked away. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. You’re my prisoner. I couldn’t care less what books you read, or if you read at all.”

“Why were you hiding them?”

“That’s none of your business!” She turned and stalked from the room.

Caleb watched her go. In spite of himself he was intrigued by her. He had never known anyone to be so defensive about reading a book. Who had forbidden her to read? It was obvious someone had. Why else would she be hiding them in her own house? Caleb’s family were all voracious readers and he couldn’t imagine his sister reading in secret or hiding a book. Most of the girls he had known in Pollard’s Crossing read to some extent, some more than others. It wouldn’t have occurred to any of them to defend their right to read.

He moved his body lower in the bed. She was a mystery, his jailer. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed solving that mystery a great deal. Now, he only wanted to get out of here and either join his regiment or be sent home.

Home. It was like thinking of heaven. The war hadn’t reached Pollard’s Crossing, according to his parents’ letters, so it would be waiting for him just as he left it. He was determined to survive this hell of a war and go back home again. Just now survival meant rest. He could smell Megan cooking food in the other room and his stomach rumbled expectantly. He had to get his strength back and heal quickly so he could be on his way.