"There's nothing fragile about you," Jesse remarked as he stopped and swung her to her feet on solid ground. "You have a determination that would put most men to shame."
"Do I?" She looked up at his shadowed face, and saw that he was smiling. "Why do you say that?"
"If you didn't," he replied softly, placing a finger under her chin and lowering his head to brush his mouth against hers, "I sure wouldn't be traveling through the swamps in the middle of the night on a wild notion."
"Don't you believe me?"
He kissed her again, then said, "Let's just say that I'll reserve my final judgment until later."
"Then you're doing this for me, not because you have any faith in my prediction." When he frowned and started to reply, she put a hand over his lips. "No. It's all right. I find it very gratifying that you have enough regard for me to agree to do this even when you don't really believe it."
Jesse stared at her in the dappled moonlight. "You're an odd little thing," he said after a moment. "You almost make me believe in destiny."
"Almost? Don't you believe in fate?"
"No. I believe man controls his own fate by his actions. Or I did until I met you, that is. Now I wonder if there aren't sometimes inevitable conclusions."
Amanda asked, "Do you mean kismet? Preordained destiny? One man for one woman? That kind of thing?"
"You must admit," he said wryly, "that there could be few other explanations for our ending up in the swamps like this. It's not exactly a rational thing for me to do, and I used to think I was a very rational man."
"This is very rational. You're going to keep your brother-in-law from being killed." She glanced up when a cloud passed over the moon and shadows darkened the night. "We must hurry. I'm not certain exactly when it will happen, but any time after midnight tonight is a risk."
Jesse helped her mount the mud-covered mule and looked up at her. "You know that if you're wrong, Forrest will probably have me shot for disobeying orders."
She smiled. "No, he won't. For one thing, I'm not wrong. For another, Forrest would never be foolish enough to shoot a valuable soldier for such a trivial thing-though he might not mind giving you the very devil for a while."
"If that's intended to be comforting," Jesse muttered, "it's not. I've seen Forrest's brand of chastisement, and it holds no appeal for me."
Amanda laughed, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of self-doubt. What if she was wrong? Or they didn't find Michael and Jamie in time? All manner of things could go wrong, and she might be risking a lot more than Jesse's pride. As she had been reminded earlier, these were perilous times. Anything could happen. She might even end up being a footnote in history: the death of a mysterious woman in the Cold water River Bottoms at the hands of the Yankees. It was hardly a comforting thought.
Doubts plagued her as they rode along in silence and the moon drifted in and out of clouds, providing fitful light for them to see their way. They'd reached Panther Creek when Jesse jerked his mule to a halt and put up a warning hand. Amanda's heart lurched into her throat.
Through the trees ahead of them, she could see the faint flicker of a fire on the opposite banks of the creek. Shadows grouped around the flames, but she could not discern if the men were Federal or Rebel. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs when Jesse motioned silently for her to dismount.
He'd drawn his pistol; moonlight gleamed dully along the long, lethal barrel. Amanda reached his side, averting her eyes from the weapon. It was a too vivid reminder of their danger.
"Who are they?" she whispered when the tension grew too heavy for her to bear.
He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the campfire. "Yankees," he said softly. "No sentries that I can see, but those men sitting right in front of the fire are prisoners that you should recognize."
"I should?" She stared at the fire, slowly able to detect the firelit forms of two men with their hands bound in front of them. It struck her who they must be. "Michael and Jamie," she breathed softly, and Jesse nodded.
"Yes. You were right, it seems. I'll do what I can to get them out of there before the Yankees kill them. I want you to stay here-"
"No." Her quick response made him jerk his head around with a frown, and he glared at her.
"I refuse to allow you to be endangered any more than you already are. For the love of God, don't be stubborn."
"It isn't stubbornness. It's determination, remember?"
Jesse swore softly, then growled, "I suppose we don't have time to argue about this. Can you fire a weapon?"
Startled, she said, "If I have to. I took a course at the shooting range at the penal farm."
"These are not wooden targets, but live ones. If nothing else, I suppose you can at least put the fear of God into them," Jesse muttered as he withdrew another pistol from beneath his shirt. "It's loaded and fires to the left. Try to remember that. Pray the powder has stayed dry and the cartridge isn't jammed."
Gingerly hefting the heavy pistol in her right hand, Amanda took a deep breath. "What's your plan?"
"I don't have a damned plan," he said grimly.
She grabbed his sleeve. "We can't succeed without some kind of plan. Damn-what would MacGyver do?"
"Tsk tsk. Your language-who the devil is MacGyver?"
"Never mind. Wait-I know. Do you have any extra bullets and powder?"
"These pistols would be rather useless if I didn't," Jesse pointed out.
"Good. I have an idea…"
Swearing softly to himself, Jesse had to admit as he snaked his way through the underbrush on his belly that Amanda had a pretty good idea. It was a variation of one of Forrest's favorite tricks, and it just might work. And it seemed as if she'd been right in feeling that Michael and Jamie were in danger. From the looks of things, they were in a dire situation.
Seated on the ground with their hands tightly bound in front, the prisoners had ropes looped from their wrists to the bonds around their ankles. Trussed like Christmas geese, Jesse mused as he paused beneath the thorny branches of a blackberry bush. He'd have to be ready and work quickly when Amanda provided the necessary distraction.
Stickers pressed painfully through the material of his shirt, pricking his skin as he reached into the pouch at his belt for the extra bullets. With Amanda's clumsy help, he'd loaded them with extra powder, packing it tightly into the metal cartridges. In crossing the creek, he'd had to hold the powder bag high above his head to keep it dry. Now he hid in the brambles and waited for Amanda to accomplish her goal.
One of the Yankees around the fire rose and stretched, then walked toward the two Rebel captives. He stood for a moment grinning down at them. "Old Forrest gave us hell at Brice's Cross Roads, but you Johnny Rebs will do the payin' for it when we git you back to Washburn in Memphis."
Michael Scott glanced up, and Jesse winced when he saw his brother-in-law's battered face. Through split lips, Michael said, "You Yanks only got what you deserved."
"Is that right? It wasn't us who started this damn war, it was you Southern hotheads."
Michael glared at him. "You're standing on Southern land; what did you expect-a warm reception? Well, I hope we gave you damn Yanks a hot enough welcome at Brice's Cross Roads…"
Crouching down, the soldier glared at his prisoner. "My brother died in that battle, Reb. As far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon shoot you now as wait till we git you to Memphis."
"Untie me, and we can settle up with pistols at ten paces," Michael shot back. "Or are you too scared?"