"I see you're awake, Captain," a crisp voice said. "I'm on night watch and thought I heard you yell out."
"I must have been dreaming." Hunter didn't try to keep the pain from his voice. The sudden twisting for his weapon had cost him.
"The cook said for you to drink some of her spiced tea if I saw you awake." The soldier lifted a cup from beside the hearth. "What with the cook's herbs and a touch of brandy, it'll make you sleep like a baby and keep those nightmares at bay.''
Hunter suddenly felt very tired and confused. If he'd been talking aloud, could she also be as real as his words? "Did anyone come in or out of this room just now?"
"No, sir. I've been standing not three feet from your door all evening. Anybody who'd get past me would have to be a ghost."
"Or an angel," Hunter answered, then drank the tea in long gulps.
"Pleasant dreams, Captain."
"Thanks." Hunter barely had the energy to hand the guard his drained cup. "I plan to."
He leaned back against the pillows and thought of the way she'd felt in his arms, of how sweet her mouth had tasted. He tried to remember her soft voice. She was still near; he could feel it.
Chapter 6
An hour before dawn, Perry climbed back into her dirty old clothes. She took great care to rub a thin layer of mud over her hands and face. She even smeared a few smudges of rancid lard across her shoulders to ensure that Hunter would no longer think she smelled nice. Remembering the feelings he'd awakened in her had robbed her of sleep. After much thought she'd come to one firm conclusion: She couldn't allow Hunter to be part of a crime. If he knew she was a traitor and didn't turn her in, he would be just as guilty as she. He was not the kind of man to take his honor lightly.
Abram was waiting for her at dawn with the wagon ready. Hunter was awake and looked rested, but his gaze watched the sunrise. He was silent, but his eyes showed longing.
Perry climbed onto the seat and looked over her shoulder at Hunter. Her heart tore apart as she saw the sadness in his stormy gray eyes: A sadness not from his injured arm and shoulder but from his heart. She knew he was remembering last night and longing for the feel of her in his arms, and she equally longed to be there. A part of her wanted to crawl into the back of the wagon and hold him forever, but she'd seen the strength in his character. The question weighed heavy in her mind. Would he accept her if he knew the truth? Would she still see the loving warmth in his eyes if he learned that they fought on different sides? She'd seen no weakness, no compromise in him when he'd faced the deserters the day before. Would he be as unyielding to her if he discovered what she had done?
The cook hurried to the wagon and handed Hunter another cup of her hot herb tea. "You drink this, Captain. You'll sleep for several hours and wake up feeling a mite better."
His words for the old woman were kind, but the sadness never left his gray eyes. Almost before he'd finished the last drop, he was sound asleep. The cook pulled the blankets close around his shoulder as Perry watched, wishing she could do the chore for him.
Abram thanked the soldiers and slapped the team's rumps to start them moving down the muddy road. He seemed in high spirits and unmindful of Perry's quiet mood. "We've a long ride to Philadelphia. Soon we'll have Hunter where he can get proper care, not that your brother didn't do his best under the circumstances." Abram urged the horses forward. He glanced back to make sure Hunter was asleep. "I promised your brother I'd see you safe on the road to your grandfather's, and I will, too, as soon as I get Hunter tucked away."
"If I had some money, I could get back on my own." She remembered the one piece of jewelry she'd taken with her when she'd left home. Unfortunately it was in the packet with her mother's papers. The papers were miles away in a loft she doubted she'd ever find again.
"Hunter's got some folks not more than thirty or forty miles from where your brother told me your grandpa lives. He can lend you money, and you could pay him back after the war,'' Abram said matter-of-factly. "Just look at it as a loan from a neighbor."
Perry's brow wrinkled in thought. She hated to take money from anyone. However, she felt her grandfather would make it good. At least she hoped he would. Her correspondence with him had been sparse, but he was a Southern gentleman. Perry suspected a brooding feud between her father and her mother's father, though neither ever spoke about it. The one time she'd seen the two men together, there had been a coldness in the air.
Turning her attention back to Abram, Perry asked, "Isn't Hunter a Yankee?"
" 'Course he is. But his mom was a Southern lady. Her folks still live in the South. I suppose that's why Hunter hates this war so badly, feeling a part of himself on both sides. He told me more than once about visiting his mom's folks when he was a boy. She died years before the war. Maybe it was for the best; don't know if she could have stood seeing her world divided. Anyway, Hunter's not been back in years, but ever once in a while he gets a letter smuggled through from his grandpa. If this fighting ever ends, I have a feeling that will be the first place he heads."
"Abram, will you go back with him?" Perry asked.
"Guess I will. Though my memory of the South isn't nearly as fond as Hunter's. I was born in Virginia, and from the time I walked, I don't remember much except beatings. I ran away the first time when I was about six. Didn't make it free till I was nineteen." Abram pushed his hat back and continued. "No, can't say I look forward to going back below the Mason-Dixon line, but I will if Hunter goes. I've been with him so long, can't see changing now."
Abram paused, deep in private thoughts of his own. Perry watched the countryside slowly rolling past them. The trees lined the road in thick huddles, as if they'd gathered to watch people pass. Everything was turning green with spring. As the buckboard moved farther north, Perry saw fewer signs of war. Here the farms were peaceful and quiet. She saw no hastily abandoned campsites or burned farmhouses. The war seemed far away, almost unreal in this countryside.
Perhaps an hour went by in silence before Abram broke in abruptly. He seemed to be in a mood to talk, and Perry was a willing listener. "You remember Captain Wade Williams, back at camp?" he asked.
Perry nodded, knowing she'd never forget the disagreeable young officer. She remembered the feeling of evil that shadowed him and fouled the air when he spoke.
Abram continued, "Guess you could say he was the first person I met when I came north. I was nineteen and turned loose in Philly with three dollars and a good-luck pat on the back.
"I remember the town showing another black boy very little kindness. Within a month I was well on my way to starving and stealing.
"Well, one night I was walking along, looking for a dark corner to sleep in. This young kid yelled at me, 'Hey, nigger, I'll give you two bits to hold my horse here till I return.' The kid was Wade Williams. He was only a college boy then, but as sharp-tongued as he is now. I could tell at a glance he'd been drinking. I didn't know it at the time, but he was planning to play a prank on someone. So he needed his horse ready to be able to get away fast.
"Next thing I knew, up galloped this other fellow, dressed pretty much like the first, only he was sober. They got in a bitter argument right there in the street. Wade kept wanting to fight, while the other kept trying to reason.
"Finally, madder than hell, Wade turned away and grabbed the reins of his horse. Now I was powerful hungry, so I stepped out to remind him of the two bits. Lord! Fire showed in his eyes as he pulled his horse up and trampled me down like I was grass.