The Rebel Wife Read online

  “Inside the tent. This is your last warning. Show yourself now, or we’ll come in and drag you out.”

  He tested his muscles, flexing from head to toe. All responded without hesitation. Purged of his dream, his body and mind were his once again. He couldn’t have needed them more.

  With a jerk of his hand, he snagged the woman’s wrist and forced the knife away from his neck. She tried to wrench free, hissing cat-like as he tightened his grip.

  “I’m going out to talk with them,” he whispered harshly.

  “No—”

  “From the sound of their horses, there’s at least three of them and only one of you. Not good odds.” He gave her no chance to reply as he shoved her hand away and rolled to his knees. Cool air hit his sweat-dampened skin, trailing gooseflesh down his bare spine, hips, and thighs. In the future, maybe he should reconsider sleeping naked.

  He secured the blanket around his waist and with a quick swipe, found his eye patch. He slipped it on and ducked through the tent flap.

  Pale moonlight illuminated the four riders dressed in unmistakable Union blue. One of them had dismounted and was poking around. Jack clamped his teeth around a curse. There could be any number of reasons why his Southern intruder didn’t want to be seen by Yankee soldiers—none of them good. And that didn’t bode well for him either.

  “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  The officer nudged his horse closer, the barrel of his pistol aimed at Jack’s chest. “What’s your name, mister, and what’re you doing camped here?”

  He put on his best smile. “Name’s Jackson Porter. I’m a journalist for The New York Herald, heading to Point Lookout Prison on assignment. I’d shake your hand, but...” He tightened his hold on the blanket. “I’ve papers, if you want to see them.”

  The Lieutenant peered at him, then lowered his weapon. “One-eyed Jack. I’ve heard of you. The papers won’t be necessary.”

  He fought the urge to adjust the eye patch. Helluva thing when a man was known for a mangled eye. It’d cost him more than his sight, and if he had it to do over again...

  No. That was past stupidity. He needed to focus on the matter at hand, before he found himself not needing his good eye either. “What brings you out so late, Lieutenant?”

  The officer leaned over and spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground. “We’re trailing a woman.”

  “A woman?” He made an effort to sound shocked.

  “She fled from us just north of here. We didn’t get a good look at her face, but she’s a scrawny thing with bright colored hair.”

  “Blonde?”

  “Not sure. But she definitely wasn’t dark.”

  “Why are you after her?”

  Leather creaked as the lieutenant straightened in his saddle. “A courier was found knifed to death on the roadside. His dispatch sack is missing.”

  “And you think this woman is responsible?”

  “She was seen kneeling over him, hands covered in his blood. We captured her Negro, but he’s in no shape to talk. Took a bullet in the back. Once he’s patched up...” The officer gave a meaningful pause. “Perhaps, he can be persuaded to answer a few questions about his mistress.”

  “So, she wasn’t traveling alone?” Gripes. How many more people might show up tonight?

  “We only saw the two of them, but better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Sir.” The nosey soldier had made his way to the tent and now had his pistol drawn. “I think there’s someone in there.”

  The lieutenant again leveled his weapon on Jack. “You’re not alone?”

  He fisted the blanket. Now what? Did he risk a noose for concealing a suspected murderess? Or protect her, and risk getting murdered himself? And yet, guilty or not, he knew what the soldiers would do if they got their hands on her. War brought out the worst in men. In Pennsylvania, he’d been powerless to stop an assault on a woman accused of aiding the Rebels. She’d been beaten and raped, despite her denial of the charges. If the soldiers suspected his petite intruder of wrong-doing, she likely faced an equally brutal torture. He couldn’t allow that.

  Damnation. Think fast, Porter. “No.” A long shot, but it might work. “I’m not alone. I...uh...brought my new bride along with me.”

  The officer looked skeptical. “New bride, eh?”

  “She’d come out and greet you, but...” He let the blanket hang open. “We weren’t exactly dressed for company, if you take my drift.” The lie pricked at his conscience. He’d dedicated his life to the black and white truth. And here he was, shading his words in gray. She damn well better appreciate his sacrifice.

  There was a bit of snickering and expressive throat-clearing. One man coughed.

  “Odd place for a honeymoon,” the lieutenant said, still scowling.

  “As I told you, I’m on assignment. The Herald’s got deadlines, you know, and if I don’t meet ’em, I don’t get paid. Mrs. Porter...” He raised his voice to be sure she heard. “Well, my wife made it clear what she’d do if I left her behind.”

  The soldiers chuckled good-naturedly, heads bobbing in agreement at the unreasonableness of females in general. The lieutenant considered it a moment, then holstered his pistol. He nodded to the meddlesome soldier, who grinning, shot a glance at the tent before moving back to his horse.

  “So, I thank you for checking on us, Lieutenant.”

  “Not very comfortable accommodations for a new bride,” the officer replied. “Even if she insisted.”

  “We’re quite satisfied.”

  “I’m sure the Major can find more adequate accommodations for you. You’re welcome to ride back with us to our field headquarters.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Not very far. I’m certain the lady—”

  “Thank you, sir,” he repeated firmly and gave the man a pointed grin. “We’re content here. With our privacy.”

  “Er...well then, I reckon we’ll be on our way. Be sure to watch out for that fugitive. If she killed our courier, she’ll be armed and dangerous.”

  Yes indeedy, she was armed, and he had a nick on his throat to prove it. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you, Lieutenant. Good night.”

  The officer reined his horse toward the woods. The others followed. A few seconds later, all four riders disappeared into the darkness. He rolled down his shoulders. One crisis averted—one to go. He ducked into the tent and found the woman crouched in the back, weapon at the ready.

  “Don’t come any closer.” Moonlight glinted on the steel of her blade. “Or I’ll make your wife a widow.”

  “That’s not a problem. I don’t have a wife.” He lowered himself onto his bedroll in a slow, non-provoking movement. One knife nick was enough. “Okay if I light a candle? I’d like to find my clothes.”

  “Those Yankees gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure? Because if they’re waiting out there...”

  “The soldiers are gone, ma’am. Otherwise, I’d be risking both our lives after that tale I just told.”

  She hesitated, then gave a soft grunt of agreement. “Fine. Get your clothes. But no quick moves.”

  His things were stacked in neat, easily accessible piles. It always paid to be prepared. Naked was not the way he wanted to greet visitors, especially half-crazed, knife-wielding women. He pulled on his trousers, then thumbed a match to life and touched it to the candle. Soft light filled the tent and—

  Gripes. Bright hair didn’t begin to describe it. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this untamed, flaming wildness. Below the blazing red halo, pale green eyes met his. She had a pert, defiant nose and luscious pink lips just made for devouring. His gut clenched as though he’d been sucker-punched. This woman was dangerous—in more ways than one.

  “Reckon I should thank you for not turning me in.”

  Her full lower lip bloomed into a slight pout. He wanted to reach out and touch it. “Always happy to help a lady,” he said instead.

  Any man
in his right mind would be wary of this lady. Strangely, he wasn’t. She might be desperate, but instinct told him she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. In spite of her ease with that pig-sticker, her eyes were way too soft. As for her knife...

  “Now that we’ve settled that ugly business with the soldiers, I imagine you’ll want to be on your way.”

  Several seconds passed. She merely looked at him, knife lowered but still steady in her grip.

  What was she waiting for? “You are planning to leave?”

  “Not just yet.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  She started and thrust the blade toward his face.

  “Whoa, lady. Take it easy.” He shoved up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just wondered, since that patrol is gone, if you’d want to be on your way.”

  “And I said I’m not ready to go yet. For all I know, the bluebellies are just off in the woods. They’re not going to give up that easy.”

  Damn this was turning into a long, unpleasant night. Eye on the knife, he inched away. “So, how long do you plan to stay? It’ll be dawn in a few hours. You’re much better off leaving under the cover of darkness.”

  A moment passed. Then another. “I didn’t kill that soldier.”

  There was something different in her tone, softer, slightly vulnerable. He decided to press his advantage. “And yet, here you are, using my tent to hide from a Union patrol and holding me at knifepoint.” He dabbed at the gash on his neck.

  A rosy glow stained her cheeks. He kept his gaze fastened on her flushed face, refusing to apologize for any discomfort she might feel. She’d intruded on his sleep, threatened him, and now had the gall to defy him.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you,” she said. “But I couldn’t take any chances. There’s too much at stake.”

  “You mean your accomplice.”

  “Accomplice?” She frowned, then dipped her head in understanding. Pale eyes glistened with moisture. “Jeb. Yes, there’s him...” She swallowed and averted her gaze. “But there’s more than that.”

  Must be a hell of a lot more for her to behave in such a desperate manner. Even if she didn’t kill the courier, there was no predicting what she might do now. “May I ask a favor, Miss..? Ummm...I don’t even know your name.”

  “Does my name matter?”

  “Since we’re going to be spending time in each other’s company, it might be nice to know. And I presume you heard mine is Porter. Jack Porter.”

  She furrowed her brow as though considering a response.

  “Or you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” Always wise to give a cornered rattlesnake an out.

  She relaxed and gave a half shrug. “No harm in your knowing, I s’pose. It’s Louisa. Louisa Carleton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Louisa Carleton.” He donned the same smile he’d used earlier on the lieutenant, the one reserved for politicians, government officials, and newspaper editors. Anyone he needed to get on his side. “Now as to that favor I mentioned...since we’re on such friendly terms. Is there any way I can entice you to put down that knife?”

  Her shoulders and head came up. “I won’t give up my weapon.”

  “Nobody asked you to. Just tuck it away somewhere.”

  She wagged her head. “I don’t know...”

  “There’s no need to hold me hostage. I got rid of those men. If I’d intended to hand you over or try to escape, I certainly had the opportunity.”

  “Well...” She lowered the blade a notch, yet she continued to eye him with distrust. “Yes, well, I suppose that makes sense. But I know how to use this, so don’t try anything funny. And don’t go thinking you can entice me to do anything.”

  She put a hard edge on the word, turning her pretty mouth down in an ugly twist. Her clothes bordered on threadbare, besides being torn and filthy. Streaks on the dress looked suspiciously like dried blood. If he had to guess, he’d say someone had done a serious wrong by this girl to make her so wary and unpredictable. There was more to her situation than the Yankees, he’d bet his next paycheck.

  “Why are you hiding if you didn’t do anything wrong?”

  She held her ground. No telltale shifting or blinking. “It’s just like that Yankee officer told you. I was seen with that soldier, but I swear, I was only trying to help him. Not that those bluebellies would believe me. They’d hold me for as long as they pleased, asking questions, and...” She swallowed again. “I can’t afford the delay.”

  “Where are you in such a hurry to go?”

  “I need to get to Point Lookout Prison.”

  The prison? No wedding band adorned her left hand, though that didn’t mean anything. Many women donated their jewelry to the War effort. Still, he could think of only one obvious reason why a woman would take this kind of risk.

  “A sweetheart or husband?”

  Pools of sadness shimmered in her eyes. “I just need to get there. And I’m running out of time.”

  A million questions filled his journalist’s mind, not the least of which, what would it feel like to have a woman care so much. Not that he wanted or needed one, even if she was beautiful and intriguing and could handle a four-inch blade.

  No. Miss Carleton’s man could have her and all the aggravation that most likely came with her. And that would be plenty—he was sure of it.

  Hot wax trickled onto his fingers. As he adjusted his grip, candlelight flashed on the steel of her blade, a potent reminder of the threat he faced. No more questions, Porter. It’s time to get rid of this crazy lady.

  “If you’re in that much of a hurry...” He nodded suggestively at the tent flap.

  Hardness replaced the sadness on her face. “My plans have changed a bit.”

  “Oh?”

  “With the soldiers looking for me, I need another way to get to Point Lookout.”

  “You have something in mind?”

  “Sure do.”

  “And, pray tell, what is that?”

  Her almond-shaped eyes gleamed like a cat with a fresh kill. “Apparently we’re married, so I’ll travel with you, Mr. Porter.”

  Chapter Two

  The newspaperman’s jaw sagged. “Are you addled?”

  Addled. Stupid. Dim-witted. The names stung. Just like they had most of her life. Anger rose in her, and she forced a calming breath. Now wasn’t the time to be showing temper. “Don’t call me names. Please.”

  His lips puckered for a brief moment. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply...” He flicked his gaze to her knife as though deciding if he was about to get gutted for his insult. “Your suggestion of traveling together...well, it’s just not a good idea.”

  “I disagree.” She lowered the blade to her lap. Just enough to put him at ease, but not so far she couldn’t protect herself. “I can pose as your new bride.”

  “My bride?”

  “Yes, like you told those soldiers.”

  He shook his head, sending dark locks skidding over a deeply furrowed brow. “That was a ruse to get rid of them.”

  “A very clever ruse.” Already her mind raced toward the possibilities. If he was heading to Point Lookout, Jackson Porter could very well be the answer to her prayers. She wasn’t as addled as he might think. “What’s this assignment you have for The Herald? Will you have access to the prisoners?”

  “My assignment has no bearing on this.”

  “It has every—”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t be part of...whatever trouble you’re in.” His tone, though hard-edged, was polite.

  Candlelight played over his firm lips and mulish, jutting chin. Convincing this man of anything was going to be harder than catching a mud-slicked pig.

  “Why are you being so unreasonable?” She shifted to a more comfortable position. It appeared she was in for a long battle. “We’re both heading in the same direction.”

  “Me, unreasonable?” He gave a harsh snort. “You crawl into my tent in the middle of the night, threaten me with a knife while
I’m half-dressed, and make ridiculous demands. And I’m unreasonable? Gripes, woman.”

  “Don’t call me ridiculous.”

  “Not you, in particular. I mean this farcical idea of yours.”

  “Give me one good reason why my idea is...what’d you call it?”

  “Farcical.”

  “I suppose that means you don’t think it’ll work. Why?”

  He scowled at the top of her head. “In large part, that.”

  “That what?”

  He made a gesture. He had long fingers, clean nails, no calluses that she could see. But then a man wouldn’t get rough hands working a pencil all day.

  “That fiery mane of yours.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “The soldiers are looking for a woman.” He scoured her from head to toe. “A scrawny woman with brightly colored hair.”

  A slight? She couldn’t be sure. “Many women have brightly colored hair.”

  One eyebrow drifted upward. “Not like that, they don’t.” He looked her over again, slower this time. The corner of his mouth curled into a faint smile. “Though I must say, you’re not as scrawny as I thought based on their description.”

  Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She wanted to look away, but even with a single good eye, he held her captive. She’d felt it before, that intimate male inspection, and it usually led to no good. Perhaps she should rethink her plan. Experience warned she could be making a pact with the Devil.

  She forced in a steadying breath. As much as she hated being dependent on anyone, especially this uppity, pig-headed Yankee, she needed his help. Nanny Belle’s favorite lecture rose in her mind.

  You kin catch mo’ flies with honey, Miz Lou.

  Lordy, for all the honeyed words she’d choked up lately, she ought to be coated sticky-sweet by now. “Perhaps,” she said, with that good-natured voice she always used with the Lawrences, “we can come to some sort of agreement.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “With all due respect, Miss Carleton, why would I want to make a deal with a wanted woman?”

  “An innocent woman.”

  He hesitated, thinking about that. She worked on looking innocent.