Siege of the Heart (Southern Romance Series, #2) (5 page)

“Jasper! Why did you not tell us?” Robert’s annoyance turned to shock.

“Because I hoped you would let her go!” Jasper said, trying to make himself sound indignant. “You know as well as I do that she’s nothing to you. They want me, not her.”

“And I know you well enough to know you’d do something stupid to try to get away if I let you. I can’t do that.”

“I promise.” Jasper stared at him. He had to get back to Clara, part of his mind whispered, and another part whispered that if he let Cecelia be hurt for his folly, neither he nor Clara would survive their guilt. Clara would understand. She would have to. “Put me in chains, Knox. Kill me here. Just let her go home. She’s with child, for Heaven’s sake.”

Robert looked around at the group of men, clustered, looking at him expectantly, and he sighed deeply.

“This way, Perry.”

Jasper hesitated. Was this it then? Was Knox going to take his bargain and kill him right here, right now? But Knox shook his head, and Jasper let out a breath. A quick death would be preferable, but even the moment of fear had been paralyzing.

When they were away, Robert turned on him.

“What?” Jasper asked.

“Why do you not treat her like your wife? No kisses, no embraces.” Robert looked at him long and hard. “You stare into the distance more than you look at her.”

He must not know the truth. Jasper fought the urge to speak reflexively, and chose his words. “Do you think I could bear to look at her?” he asked softly. “She knew what I was and she was good-hearted when I was at my lowest. I was unkind to her, you know, and when I realized I loved her.” He sighed. “I nearly left her still. Can you understand my love of her, even if she’s a Yankee?”

“She’s a fine woman,” Robert said after a moment. “No sniveling. I like that in a woman. And carrying on well for being with child.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, I can understand, Perry.”

“And now this woman, who gave me everything when I was too sick and miserable to give her anything in return, will have nothing from me but a mouth to feed and no one to help her feed it. What’ll happen to her, Knox?”

“You’re trying for pity now?” His face turned stone-like.

“No,” Jasper assured him. “I know I have to stand trial for my crimes. I’m not asking you to let me go. But can you not understand that I can hardly bear to look at her? Please, let her go. Let her grieve me. Let her start over.”

Robert heaved a sigh and looked back at the camp. “You know I can’t do that,” he said finally.

“Knox,
why
?” Jasper stood no chance. He had condemned an innocent woman to death.

“Because I can’t trust any of the men with her,” Knox said brutally. “They’ve kept their hands off her because they’re afraid of me, but I can’t leave her with any of them.” He ran his hand over his forehead and spat again. “And I can’t leave you with them and go back with her, either. They’d tear you to pieces before you ever got to trial, Perry.”

Robert was right. Jasper didn’t want to admit it, but he had seen the way the militia men glared at him. “Will you promise to bring her back yourself?”

“You’re asking a lot for a traitor.”

“I can’t not ask!”

“Aye, I can see that. Well enough, Perry. I promise. But in return, you must give me something.”

“You can have the homestead,” Jasper said promptly. “It’s yours.”

“Not that.” Robert leaned back against the tree, and crossed his arms. “How about you tell me the truth.”

Jasper must have frozen, for the man laughed.

“I knew it.”

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s more there than you’re admitting, and the way she looks at you confirms it. You’re lying about something, Perry.”

“Tell me this,” Jasper said angrily. His blood beat against his ears. “Is there any purpose to it? They’ll kill me, no matter what I say. They’ll make me stand up there and give some impassioned defense, but you know they won’t let me live.”

Robert paced for so long that Jasper grew dizzy watching him. “I keep hoping,” he said finally, and Jasper swallowed, “that you’ll say something that’ll make me able to argue for your pardon. Can’t you understand that, Perry?”

“No.”

“If it was me sitting where you’re sitting, wouldn’t you wonder why? Wouldn’t you think there had to be a reason? Jasper, you betrayed us.
Why
? For the last time, why?”

Jasper swallowed. What could he say? He could not tell the truth of Solomon’s defection. If he did, he knew no false name would be enough to keep the Confederate army from tracking him down and killing him. They would think the same Jasper had: that Solomon had been sent as a spy, to report on them. His disappearance would only confirm it.

And he could not say, he knew, that he doubted the Confederate cause. To do so was to beg for them to kill him outright. To say that he thought the south as it was should fall...

But he still remembered Solomon’s words in the forest:
It’s no different in the north. It’s all lies told by rich men in suits.

“Because I couldn’t stomach it,” Jasper whispered, and it was the truth. “It was too much, Knox. I’m not made for war.”

“
I’m
not made for war,” Knox hissed, and Jasper looked over in surprise. With his tall frame and hulking form, Jasper would have expected that Knox would be perfectly suited to battle. “I want to be home with a wife and children. I want to be tilling fields, Perry, and I was out slogging through the mud with you. What was it that you had nothing to fight for anymore?”

That, Jasper knew, was a trap. If he admitted to it, he was saying that his own family meant more to him than all the other families of the Confederacy—and around the fire at night, they had all sworn that they fought for everyone. That they would take care of anyone who needed help after the war.

No one mentioned the slaves,
his new sensibilities pointed out. However, Knox would never agree.

“I don’t know what to tell you! I lost Horace and I lost everything. He saved me when I was near to death, and you remember him—how much he believed. When he was gone, I didn’t know how to believe any longer myself. Can’t you see that? I still wake from nightmares of the battlefields, and they’re a hundred miles away. Dammit, Knox, can’t you see what the war is doing to us?”

“And can’t you see that you turned and ran when we needed you?”

Jasper turned away, clenching his hands and looking up to the sky. There was nothing to say to that. Knox was right, and he knew it. Jasper had betrayed them all. This was the guilt that had wormed at him. It was all well and good to know that they had been outmatched; how many times had he gripped his tankard while the men in the taverns had crowed about how little the Confederate army had, how they had marched barefoot? They had used it as an example of the North’s innate superiority, and Jasper must bite his tongue to keep from defending his comrades.

He should not care about them. That was what the others in the town thought, as if it were possible for Jasper to cut his heart out and sever all ties when he came north.
I left the army,
he wanted to cry.
I don’t believe in their cause any longer—but can’t you see that I still believe in them? That I still left them?
There was always going to be the wondering: what if he had stayed? Would one more man have turned the tide of the battle? Would two? It didn’t matter how much his mind understood that he and Solomon would have done nothing. His heart would never believe it.

“Just kill me now,” Jasper whispered. “I can’t live like this. Waiting. You could bring Cl...Cecelia back now.”

“Oh, no, Perry.” Robert’s voice had gone cold. “You’re going to live for a little while longer yet. You’ll remember what it is you did.”

I know what it is I did,
Jasper wanted to cry. He just did not know where he fit any longer. He did not know if he belonged in the north or the south, or neither.

“Y
ou’re the one who’s been tailing me,” Solomon said. He could not answer the man’s accusation; there was no answer, and they both knew it.

“Of course.”

There was a certain jaunty quality to the man’s victory, Solomon thought. He was somewhat shorter than Solomon—not unusual, with Solomon’s tall frame. Lean and pale, the man’s face had a delicate quality that somehow did not convey weakness. He still held the pistol out, seemingly with little regard to the weight of it, and he kept his hazel eyes trained on Solomon’s face.

“What brought you to Knox Township?” Solomon asked, leaning back against a tree and trying for a hint of a smile. There was little else he could do with the pistol trained on him.

“You. Of course, I
was
looking for Horace...”

Solomon’s face flickered, and the man smirked. He had a rare stillness, this man, not easily moved to laughter or scowls. His satisfaction, however, was plain.

“I see.”

A single eyebrow raised.

“That’s it?”

“What would you like me to say?”

Surprise flickered over the man’s face. “Well, an admission of guilt is of course preferable, but protestations of innocence are more common.”

Solomon could not help himself: he laughed. It was not bitter, but admiring. This man was relentless, absolutely determined to get what he wanted, and sure of himself. As well he might be, of course, for he had unraveled Solomon’s lie, but Ambrose Stuart did not seem inclined to gloat, as some men might, and his humor was refreshing after the months of dramatic speeches Solomon had endured at the tavern.

“How does this work then?” Solomon asked him. “You say you have captured me, and you bring me...”

“To stand trial.”

“A true trial?” Solomon raised an eyebrow right back at the man. “Or is this a witch hunt, and no words will save me?”

The man paused, tilting his head to one side. “Do you truly have a defense?”

No.
Nevertheless Solomon only smiled.

Ambrose sighed. “Insofar as your defense is verifiable, and is deemed worthy. It shall work to your benefit.”

“Truly?”

“We are not monsters on a witch hunt, as you so eloquently suggested. We are people of reason. Quite unlike the Confederacy.” Ambrose put the pistol back in its holster, but the smoothness of the motion was itself a warning; he could draw the weapon once more before Solomon would ever get a chance to use his rifle. “Now, will you come?”

“What did you say about the Confederacy?” Solomon’s attention had been caught on that one word, and his heart began to pound.

Ambrose stopped, almost comically. “Is this relevant, Mr. Dalton?”

“Very much so.” Solomon’s voice was tight. “You see, I track a man and woman abducted for, I can only assume, one of the Confederate tribunals.”

“Jasper Perry,” Stuart guessed at once.

Solomon nodded. His stomach twisted at the quick assessment. How much did the man know, and to whom, in Knox, had he spoken?

“How very interesting.” The spy looked genuinely intrigued. “But who is the woman? Your sister?”

“The wrong sister,” Solomon said softly. “My younger sister, Cecelia. A woman they have, I can only assumed, kidnapped to be brought to death. Or to scare Perry.”

“I see. So naturally, you fear for your friend’s life.”

“He saved my life, as you doubtless know. It’s my duty to go to his aid. More so,” Solomon said, his voice hardening, “it is my duty to see that my sister is not harmed.”

“
Very
interesting.” The spy’s eyes narrowed in speculation.

“What?”

“Well, I must say I’m impressed,” the man admitted. “Most men snivel and beg for their lives. You, on the other hand, I do believe you’re bargaining for your sister’s life.”

“And while I bargain, we lose time.” Solomon heard his own voice rise. He was furious suddenly. Angry for himself, for if he had not defected, he would not be held up here at gunpoint while Cecelia was being carried ever further south.

Of course, if he had never defected, Cecelia would never have been captured at all.

He was furious too at the agent. For his knowing smile, for the enchanted manner in which he greeted Solomon’s pleas. For his humor.

“So what do you propose?” the agent asked, after a moment.

Solomon took a savage pleasure in the fact that the man was genuinely at a loss. “You want me to come back and stand trial, you say,” Solomon said simply.

The man only nodded. He knew this was some kind of trick, and even if he could not see where it was, he did not want to make himself look foolish by buying in whole-heartedly. For the first time since he had apprehended Solomon, Ambrose appeared worried.

“I’ll do it. I give you my word on my farm, my father’s legacy, I will come back with you and stand trial for the crimes you have accused me of.” It was the most presence of mind he could come up with right now, and he knew that his refusal to confess, or even dispute the charges, would pique Ambrose’s interest.

“And in return?” The voice was liquid, beckoning.

Almost for a moment, Solomon thought that it sounded—

No, it could not be.

“You come with me now to help me save my sister and my brother-in-law from the Confederate tribunal.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Do you think I’ll escape?”

“I think if I took the chance, I would nearly be accused of treason myself. I have you in my custody, Mr. Dalton. There is no possibility of doing anything other than going back now.”

“You cannot let an innocent woman stay captive,” Solomon hissed. “Do you know what they’ll do to her? Do you know what happens to women in wartime?”

To his surprise, the agent flinched. “I know.” His voice was rough. “But you are my responsibility, not her. Her capture was not my fault, and her rescue is not on my head.”

“It is on
mine
,” Solomon roared at last. “It is. I went to save her. Jasper was taken because he defected to bring me home, because he nursed me through a wound that should have killed me, and now he pays for that with his life, and my sister with him! It’s a debt I cannot leave unpaid.”