Free Faith by Lyn Cote

conditions aggravated him. “You need to go to your tent and recover your strength.” You need to go back to where you belong.
    “Yes, I am fatigued, but I’m sure I’m needed at the hospital.” She rested her head in one hand.
    “You will go to our tent,” Honoree stated firmly, “and sleep for a few hours and then freshen up and eat another meal before I let you go near the surgeons’ tents. I’m not going to let you ruin your health. That won’t help anyone.”
    The Quakeress sighed in quiet acquiescence.
    “We will come with you and see that you have what you need,” Armstrong said, surprising Dev.
    “Yes, we will,” Dev agreed. “I’m afraid I’ve been distracted by my cousin’s perfidy.”
    And that was how it came that he and Armstrong escorted the two women to their tent.
    As Dev began to leave, the Quakeress stopped him, a gentle hand on his sleeve. “I’m sorry thy cousin broke his word. But I find that the evil one sends a kind of blindness to those who avoid the Light of Christ.”
    Dev could think of no reply, so he merely nodded. With a sinking sensation, he realized what honor demanded of him, and without delay. “Thank you, miss, for your help.”
    “Thee kept my friend safe. Thank thee. God bless, Devlin Knight.”
    Her use of his given name softened his heart, but he steeled himself. He headed toward the headquarters through the camp of many thousands. He must now face the punishment for trusting his untrustworthy cousin.

    Soon Dev approached the tent of his immediate superior, Brigadier General Peter Osterhaus, to confess and face his punishment. He could be court-martialed for hiding a Rebel. His stomach churned with bitterness. Before he could speak to the aide outside, Osterhaus stepped out and saw him. “What is it, Knight?”
    Dev saluted. “I need to speak to you, sir.”
    After returning the salute, Osterhaus waved him inside.
    Dev entered the weathered tent.
    “What is it?” the brigadier general repeated, standing near a table with a map spread out on it.
    Dev stiffened himself. “I’m afraid I’m guilty of aiding the enemy.”
    Osterhaus straightened, looking surprised. “How so?” he asked, his voice mild.
    “Earlier this month in a skirmish east of Port Gibson, I met my cousin, who is in the Confederate cavalry, and saw him fall.” The memory brought back that awful moment when he’d thought his cousin dead. But it paled in contrast to his cousin’s dishonor. “Afterward I returned and found him, wounded in both arms but alive.” Dev was aware that someone had entered the tent behind him.
    The brigadier general straightened to attention and saluted. Dev knew he should turn and do the same, but he was desperate to get his confession over and done. He plunged on. “I carried my cousin back to my tent and tended his wounds.” Dev decided not to mention Miss Cathwell’s involvement. “I intended to turn him over as a prisoner of war as soon as he was well enough. He gave me his word as a gentleman   —” Dev’s voice caught in his throat   —“that he wouldn’t try to escape.”
    “But he broke his word,” Osterhaus concluded, nodding at Dev, an indication that he should acknowledge the officer behind him.
    “Sad business,” the man behind Dev said with evident sympathy.
    Recognizing the voice, Dev turned and his chagrin heightened. General Grant had entered with his young son Fred, about thirteen years old, who acted as his orderly. Dev’s humiliation was now complete   —not only was Grant the highest authority here, but Dev and Grant had a history.
    Dev also snapped to attention and saluted. “I regret trusting him, sir, but I had no idea that he’d   —”
    “Violate his word,” Grant finished for him. He motioned toward the brigadier general. “At ease, Osterhaus.”
    Unable to speak, shame heating his face, Dev remained at attention, stiff with anger at Jack and at himself. He waited to hear his punishment.
    Osterhaus and Grant