Free The Rebel Wife by Donna Dalton Page A

arrived here that the only folks he understands are the Reb prisoners. Oh, begging your pardon, ma’am.”
    She dismissed his apology with a shake of her head. “No offense taken. While I am a Southerner, I don’t hold with slavery. Never have. However, I do feel forcing the issue with violence is wrong.”
    Calhoun snagged a chicken leg from a platter. “I disagree. Only way to get through to a slaver is with force.” He ripped off a hunk of meat with his teeth, then chewed ill-manneredly while talking. “Give ’em back what they been dishin’ out to the Nigras.”
    A knot of resentment coiled in her belly, for the moment muzzling her fear. She met Lieutenant Calhoun’s smug gaze straight on. “Those are mighty Republican beliefs for a Texan.” She deepened her own drawl. “When on earth did Texas take up the Union cause?”
    Color rushed into the lieutenant’s face. He dropped the mauled drumstick to his plate and opened his mouth to reply.
    But she didn’t give him a chance. He’d smeared Papa, Lance, and her with his comment. It was not to be borne. She heaved a sigh that would’ve rivaled any of Fannie’s theatrics. “I do swear, one would think having a newspaper man for a husband, one would occasionally hear some news. Good or bad. Perhaps I should have married a soldier after all.”
    There was a moment of uncertain silence, then all down the line, laughter exploded. Calhoun, crimsoned-faced, pushed to his feet. He tossed her a furious glower, then slammed his napkin on the table and stormed toward the door.
    His comrades threw taunts after him, several mimicking his Texas twang. Others toasted her witty humor and though the moment was clearly hers, she found little to enjoy. A chill scuttled down her spine. Curse her flap-happy tongue. Now she had a new, more personal enemy to watch out for.
    She eyed the empty doorway. “Oh, dear...I didn’t intend to upset the lieutenant.”
    “Don’t you fret none, Mrs. Porter,” Major Brady soothed. “Calhoun gets a bit hot-headed at times. He’ll soon simmer down.” He reached for the wine bottle. “Would you care for more wine?”
    Perhaps a good slug of spirits would help settle her rattled nerves. “Yes, I would. Thank you, Major.”
    As the officer poured a generous dose into her glass, Porter gave her a pointed look across the table. “This is wonderful French wine, Major. Very potent. I’ll bet the effects can sneak up on you real quick if you’re not careful.”
    Brady chuckled. “Right you are. Very potent indeed. I only allow it to be served on special occasions.”
    Ignoring Porter’s warning glare, she took a healthy sip. She’d have more wine if she wanted. He had no hold over her.
    Frowning, Porter downed his wine and set the goblet on the table. “Where’d you come by such exclusive stock during wartime?”
    “Ah, the rewards of capturing blockade runners. More?” At Jack’s nod, Brady refreshed his drink. “A large crate was confiscated from a French schooner bound for Norfolk. I’ve no doubt some unhappy Virginia gentleman is settling for weak blackberry extract with his dinner right now.”
    No doubt . She shook her head, and her vision swam. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. Dratted wine was almost as potent as ol’ Carson’s corn liquor. Perhaps she should go easy with the spirit. Not that Porter was right. She just didn’t need her tongue loosened any further. One furious Yankee was enough. She stabbed another bite of crab. Adding something solid to her stomach should help tame the wine’s effects.
    Porter’s mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. She smiled back. Let him think what he would.
    “You’ll have to allow me access to this blockade runner, Major,” Jack stated. “I’d love to discover his French source.”
    Brady motioned for the dark-skinned soldier standing behind him to remove his plate. It seemed, even in the Union Army, Negroes were given the lowliest jobs. “I don’t think