The Last Cavalier Read online

  She smiled, enjoying the cool breeze. “My grandfather is one of those ‘good old boys,’” she told him.

  “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. And it is funny sometimes. They all had ancestors who actually fought right here, and believe me, they almost come to blows over who made the mistakes!”

  “It’s easy to become overly involved!”

  His words were no sooner out than voices rose around them. Someone was arguing that Ulysses S. Grant had been no better than his predecessors—he had just come around with more men and supplies when Lee’s men had just been too decimated and dog-tired to fight anymore.

  The reply was quick and furious. Grant had been a damned good general—at the very least, he’d quit retreating.

  Vickie smiled. She realized that she was having a good time. She also realized that Steve and Karen were trying very hard to make sure that she had a good time, and that was why they had invited her here. There were a few other wives around like Karen, who had joined their husbands in the reenactment. But the company was mainly male, and Vickie was definitely receiving a fair share of masculine attention.

  And Jerry was pleasant. He was a single stockbroker with nice brown eyes and a deep, rich baritone voice.

  Vickie just wasn’t in the market.

  “Where did you meet Steve and Karen?” he asked her.

  “My husband and Steve started off in school together. We’ve been friends for years.”

  He frowned at the word husband. Karen was calling her, and Vickie decided not to enlighten Jerry as to her widowed status. She grinned, excused herself and hurried to Karen. The marshmallows Karen had tried to roast had turned to charred globs of glue.

  Vickie laughed, trying to get Karen started again. “I give up!” Karen moaned. She watched Vickie as Vickie reset the sticks to go over the fire. “So how do you like Jerry?”

  “He’s very nice.” She handed the sticks to Karen. “Now toast them—don’t melt them.”

  But Karen ignored the marshmallows.

  “Vickie, I know how deeply in love you and Brad were. But he’s been dead a long time now. And I’m beginning to think that you’re burying yourself down here—”

  “I’m not,” Vickie assured her quickly, squeezing her friend’s hand. “I don’t intend to mourn forever and ever…honest. It’s just that I had the right thing once. If the right thing comes around again, I’ll know it.”

  “But, Vickie, you’ll never know—”

  “And honestly, Jerry is very nice. I enjoyed his company. And I’ll be back. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow the public is allowed in and visit the camps, right? I’ll come and sit with you for a while.” She wrinkled her nose and deepened her accent, addressing the group. “Besides, I promised Gramps that I wouldn’t spend too much time with any damned Yanks!”

  “Leave if you have to—but don’t forget, you promised us chili, right?” Karen laughed, and let her go. Steve came along, leading Arabesque. Vickie thanked him and mounted the horse. Again she waved a cheerful good-night to all of Company B, and turned Arabesque around to retrace her steps back home.

  Salutes and waves and the warmth of campfires followed her at first. But she hadn’t gone very far before she realized that she had truly left the light of civilization behind her to ride into the darkness. Once she was away from the glow of those fires, the night seemed stygian.

  She was well accustomed to the country, but this night seemed exceptionally dark. There was no moon above to light her way. She reined in on Arabesque and looked back to the camp, suddenly seized by an eerie feeling of impending danger.

  “How can I be afraid here?” she mocked herself out loud. But it was dark. So damned dark.

  And no matter what she told herself, a feeling of unease had taken root inside her.

  Arabesque seemed uneasy, as well. She suddenly whinnied, and then reared high. A night breeze picked up, strong and wild. The horse reared again.

  “What—” Vickie began.

  There was a blur in the darkness. A figure leapt from behind a rock with such speed that it seemed to swoop down upon her like the wings of a giant bird.

  Vickie shrieked in terror as Arabesque reared wildly again, nearly pitching over backward. Vickie was a good rider, but she was bareback in her ridiculous long gown. She lost her grip. Crying out again, she was catapulted to the ground. She hit it hard.

  Dazed, she heard a voice. A deep, soft masculine voice with a definite Virginia slur to it. “Whoa, whoa, there!” the voice from the darkness said, soothing Arabesque. For a moment Vickie remained where she was, too stunned to be frightened, but then she heard the tremor of hoofbeats against the earth as Arabesque went racing away in fear. She heard a mumbled intonation of fury from the man, and then she tried to rise. Her head was splitting. What was the idiot doing?

  “You stupid fool!” she hissed irately, but she was quickly silenced. Rough hands held her by the shoulders, dragging her to her feet. Her head still spinning, she stared up into a pair of fierce, blazing, silver-gray eyes that loomed out of the darkness, and a face that was taut with tension.

  She knew that she should be afraid. But the fear didn’t sink in quite yet. She was staring at him, realizing that he was very handsome. All the planes and angles of his face were lean and strong and nicely sculpted. The nose was straight and the mouth, full and sensual.

  “Shush!” he warned her.

  “Don’t you dare shush me!” Vickie protested loudly. She noticed his cavalry hat then, and the large sweeping plume that protruded from it. His uniform was gray wool with yellow trim. Southern cavalry. Damned authentic, right down to the dust and gunpowder marks. She wasn’t sure about the insignias on his uniform. What was he? A colonel?

  What difference did it make? It was all pretend.

  And he had just caused her to be thrown. In fact, she could have been killed. “Why, you incredible lout! You—” she lashed out again.

  A hand clamped over her mouth again. She started to struggle but she suddenly found herself held tightly in his arms, and she felt the deep simmering fire of the silver in his eyes as they stared warningly down into hers. “Sorry, ma’am. But you aren’t going to get me caught!”

  Caught? Wasn’t he taking this playacting just a bit too seriously? What kind of a lunatic was this man?

  She twisted, kicking him in the shin. She was furious, but panic was beginning to seize hold of her and she knew she had to act quickly. He grunted in pain and she cast back her head to scream again.

  But she never managed to do so. His reflexes were incredibly fast and his hand was over her mouth again so quickly that she didn’t manage to emit a single sound. “Shush, and I do mean shush, this time!” he warned her sharply. “All that I wanted was your horse, but I’ve lost that now. I really don’t mean you any harm but I will be damned before I’ll let any Yankee-loving whore get me tossed into a prison camp for the duration of this war!”

  Her eyes widened incredulously and she was suddenly fueled by her fury again.

  Enough was enough. She jerked hard, freeing herself from his grasp. She cracked her hand across his face with all her fury, and opened her mouth, not sure if she meant to scream or tell him exactly what she thought of him.

  But it didn’t matter. She never managed to do either. Suddenly he had dipped low and butted her belly with his shoulder, throwing her over his back. The air was knocked clean from her. She couldn’t even breathe.

  Then he was running, with her weight bearing him down, up the mountain. Dazed, Vickie realized that if she managed to scream now, it wouldn’t do her a single bit of good. She was too far away from the encampment and heading for the trees that rimmed the crest of the mountain. No one would hear her if she did scream.

  The panic she had fought now swept violently through her and she clamped down hard on her jaw as she thudded against his shoulder and back. She desperately sought some logical reason or thought. This had to be some kind of a joke. Steve
and Karen had put this man up to this and had arranged it with others in their company. They were probably roaring with laughter right now. She could just imagine Karen innocently teasing her tomorrow. “Well, we thought that maybe a Rebel soldier would do the trick, since we Yanks didn’t seem to be quite what you wanted….”

  Yes, it had to be a trick.

  Because if it wasn’t, a maniac was dragging her up a mountain, and into an endless trail of forest and deep green darkness.

  High atop the mountain, her captor stopped at last. He dropped her down upon the grass and retreated a couple of steps. She could barely see him in the darkness, but at least he was gasping now. Gasping desperately for breath. With some satisfaction, Vickie realized that it had exhausted him to carry her straight uphill for all that distance.

  Served him right.

  She stood up. She was frightened, but she was still so angry that she only had to swallow once for the courage to speak.

  “All right, all right!” she told him. “Cute. Fine, fun. I’m laughing. It was great. What a performance. But now, if you’ll just excuse me—”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, interrupting her softly. Yet despite the quiet tone of his words, she felt a shiver snake along her spine. He meant them.

  “I’m going where I damned well please!” she informed him, desperately determined that bravado would get her out of this. She whirled around. “Watch me!”

  She started walking in the direction from which they had come, her arms swinging, her strides long. But despite her speed, she had barely gotten anywhere before he was upon her. She hadn’t heard him move! Hadn’t heard a thing. There had just been the slightest whisper of air, and then she was flying. In his arms, and flying.

  She landed hard on her backside with the handsome but maniacal stranger straddling over her.

  “I told you, I really don’t want to hurt you!” he said, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “But you came out of the Union camp,” he said, bending closer. She saw the startling tension in his strong features, the fire in his eyes. “I’ll be damned a thousand times over before I’ll be turned in by a little redheaded witch!”

  She stared at him for a long moment, shaken, and yet still furious. What was going on? Who would carry out a joke like this for so long? Was he mad?

  But he didn’t look mad. He looked just like a soldier, one weary and accustomed to battle, strong and determined. Not cruel, but needing to survive.

  There was no war now! It had ended well over a hundred years ago! He was striking, he was unique, but he was either halfway—or all the way!—insane, or else going way too far with this reenactment business.

  She stared at him a long moment and then exploded. “I have had it! I mean, I have had it! Okay, okay, I know that some of you guys really get into this thing, but I have really had it. Enough is enough. Now you listen, and listen good. You let me up. You let me up right this second, or so help me God, I will press charges against you for kidnapping and battery!”

  A tawny brow hiked up into a curious arch over one of his sizzling silver eyes. “Charges! Charges! Oh, ma’am, I think not! You may be cottonin’ up to the Feds here, lady, but this is still the great state of Virginia, and you’re addressing a colonel in the Army of Northern Virginia. If any charges are going to be levied, I’ll be the one leading those charges!”

  “You are an idiot!” she accused him. He seemed really amused now. He didn’t trust her in the least but he didn’t seem to like the look of her one bit. But with his hard thighs straddled around her hips and his fingers pinning her wrists to the ground, she had nothing to fight with but words. “A fool!” she cried. “Get off of me! If you want to file charges, file charges—”

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid. Not tonight!” Once again, his voice was soft. It carried the same chilling determination. “I’m afraid that neither of us is going anywhere tonight.”

  She felt his silver eyes, pinning her to the ground as strongly as the powerful heat of his touch. “What do you think you’re doing!” she cried.

  “Surviving,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I’ve got to make it back. I’ve got to. I’ve got an injured man waiting for me.”

  “Who’s injured? Tell me, maybe I can—”

  “No Yankee help!” he said angrily. He shifted his weight, and she tried with every ounce of her strength to escape him then, but it didn’t matter. He rolled her to her stomach and caught her wrists behind her back. He held them there and she screamed aloud in an absolute panic when she heard the fabric at her hem ripping away.

  “I’m not going to hurt you!” he reiterated impatiently. “If you would just please shut up!” Apparently he didn’t intend to hurt her at the moment, but he didn’t intend to let her go, either. He was binding her wrists together with the fabric from her own gown.

  Tears stung her eyes. She tasted the dirt and grass from the mountaintop.

  She began to seethe and swear furiously against him. Whoever he was, he was the lowest form of life she’d ever encountered in all her years. “You are an incredible idiot, a madman—oh, my God, I can’t think of anything ill enough to call you! Bastard, slime, fool, madman—”

  His head lowered down to hers against the ground. She felt his husky whisper against her ear, and heard his words, deep, masculine, warning. “I’m going to ask you once, lady. Please quit.”

  “You’re nothing but a petty criminal!” she cried. Oh, God, she hoped that he was petty! What did he intend? “A snake in the grass, the most incredible ass—!”

  “Enough!” he warned her.

  “No!” she shrieked. “It’s not enough. You’ve got to let me go—”

  She heard fabric ripping again. He rolled her back to face him again and she realized that he’d pulled off another good swatch of her hemline. “No!” she cried, staring into his eyes. And he stared back, with those haunting silver eyes, with his disturbingly handsome and set features, and shook his head slowly. The barest curve of a smile turned his lips. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get through the night.” For a moment she was still, staring into his face. It seemed that he was so very haggard, so very war weary. It seemed as if he really was sorry, as if he didn’t want to hurt her. But it also seemed as if he would have his way.

  “No—”

  The swatch of cloth was bound around her mouth. She shook her head wildly, fighting his touch. She stared at him then, fighting the tears that stung the backs of her eyes. It seemed that he was real….

  But he couldn’t be. She had been bound and gagged by a madman on the mountain crest. She was nearly helpless. He would hurt her now….

  But he didn’t touch her again. He straddled over her without a hand on her. He stared back at her, watching her, maybe a little amused, definitely very exasperated. Once again, she thought that he seemed ridiculously real in his uniform. She’d seen so many of those that belonged to the reenactors, and this one was authentic to the last detail. He was so striking in his person with his neck-length tawny hair, silver glinting eyes, lean cheeks, square jaw and hard, set features.

  “Woman,” he said very softly, “do you ever shut up?” Obviously, he wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Go to sleep now,” he commanded.

  He rose, a tall, tautly muscled man, a powerful figure, standing over her. A man with eyes that blazed a definite strength and warning.

  Sleep!

  He turned away, and left her.

  Sleep!

  Oh, no, she would never, never sleep. Never. She was alone on a mountaintop with a maniac, bound and gagged. Her heart was pounding mercilessly, and she was terrified.

  He hadn’t hurt her. Not yet!

  He didn’t hurt her. Time passed. He came nowhere near her. She began to shiver with fear and with the damp night chill that settled over the earth.

  Suddenly, a warm woolen jacket was tossed over her. A soft, masculine whisper touched her ears. “Please, shut up for a while, and we’ll dispose of the gag.”

&nbs
p; She swallowed hard and nodded. Screaming wasn’t going to get her anywhere up here anyway.

  He untied the gag. She breathed deeply. She felt him watching her in the darkness, waiting for whatever she might try to do. She lay still, then flinched as he moved toward her, but he was only adjusting his jacket over her shoulder.

  “Is that any better, ma’am?” he asked.

  It was insane, really insane. His voice was so deep and husky. Masculine. A sexy voice.

  She was going insane. He was a madman, and she was thinking that he had an arresting voice, a sensual one….

  “Please, try to understand,” he continued. “I really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even want to hold you here. I just can’t take any chances.”

  Bewildered and exhausted, Vickie held silent. She felt him lie down beside her, stretching out, just inches away. She closed her eyes tightly. Was he dangerous? How did one deal with such a misguided, demented madman? Humor him? Keep fighting him? Stay still?

  She’d always suspected she should have taken more psychology classes in college instead of music and art.

  What did they say to do on all those news programs?

  Memory eluded her.

  He was so close to her. Lying beside her. Warm, human, and masculine. He had to sleep. She would lie still; she would feign exhaustion and pretend to sleep herself. And in the darkness of night, when he was deeply sleeping, she would manage to stumble to her feet and slip away.

  Vickie shrieked anew at his sudden motion in the night. “Sorry,” he apologized abruptly, but he wasn’t sorry enough to keep from tethering her bound wrists to one of his own with another long strip of her skirt. She heard it ripping, felt it pulled taut. Terror filled her again.