Free Glory by Heather Graham Page B

really matter what side you’re fighting for, you’d rather heal men, I can see that in you,” she said.
    He stopped, turned back. Young and earnest, she was watching him, pale but steady, her eyes, touching his, were very sincere.
    “Thank you.”
    “God be with you, sir, even if you are a Reb.”
    “God be with you, Rachel.”
    He walked back to her, cupped her face, and lowered her head, planting a brief kiss on the top of her head. He turned and strode quickly out.
    Liam Murphy held his horse’s reins. Corporal Lyle, Kyle, Keith, Daniel, and Jim awaited him. He mounted quickly, nodding in acknowledgment to Liam’s silent warning that the Yanks were almost upon them. He indicated a side trail out of the yard, nudged his horse forward, and heard the others fall in behind him. He entered the cover of a pine forest to the immediate east of the property, and when the others had followed him to a safe distance, he reined in quickly. “Corporal Lyle, keep everyone moving back toward camp, straight toward camp, no engagements!”
    “And you, sir?”
    “I’ll see what I can of the Yankee position. And if I’m able, I’m going to double back for some of Mrs. Tremaine’s medicines. I won’t be more than a few hours behind you at best.”
    “Aye, sir!”
    Corporal Lyle spun his horse around and indicated to Liam to lead the others forward.
    Julian watched them disappear into the brush and pines, then doubled back.
    Keeping within the cover of the trees, he saw that the Yankee party had converged on the house. The men were dismounting. A tall dark-haired colonel was in command of the small group—strange, Julian thought, for a Union colonel to have been sent out in charge of such a small party.
    “Colonel, should we give chase?” a man queried.
    The colonel walked toward the steps, then turned back, observing the overgrown foliage that surrounded the house and the woods beyond. He shook his head. “These Rebs know the terrain, Shelby. You could give chase from now till doomsday, and they’d still be a step ahead.”
    Julian was suddenly certain that the Yank colonel was staring straight at him.
    He stared back from under cover. Maybe not the others, but you could give chase, and possibly catch us, he thought. He ducked back behind the trees.
    Rhiannon doused her face again and again in the icy water. Her head was drumming, and worse. She couldn’t shake the dreams that had haunted her through the night, and for once in her life she was very afraid.
    He had come in from his room — fully dressed! He had left her. She had passed out, and he had left her, and her dreams had been just dreams, but oh, God, how vivid, and yet she couldn’t have, she just couldn’t have ...
    The little vial of opium she’d been about to imbibe was on her bedside table. She stared at it, feeling ill. How much had she taken? Enough. Too much. And then she’d had the wine, and ...
    She’d sat outside, feeling sorry for herself. His fault. She was all right day by day when she was alone. But she’d seen him, and known that he was a lying Reb, and still, there had been that empathy in his eyes, beautiful eyes, and the texture of his voice, his touch, even watching the movement of his hands as he’d extracted the bullet. She had loved Richard. She missed Richard with all her heart. The pain probably would be with her all her life. But loving him, missing him, had made her somehow very vulnerable.
    This was all his fault. The Reb’s fault.
    No, not really. She’d taken laudanum before—and pure opium. In fact, she was aware that she’d gotten into taking it far too often. Just a touch, she’d told herself over and over again, but it had gotten to where she’d had that “touch” on a daily basis.
    She’d known better.
    And last night ...
    She’d taken too much. When she shouldn’t have touched anything, when she should have been careful, awake, aware. What if the Yanks had come earlier? What if there had been shooting?