Free The Rebel Wife by Donna Dalton Page B

it’d be wise for you to question the prisoners, Mr. Porter.”
    She stilled her fork. How would they find Lance if they weren’t allowed to talk to the prisoners? She clamped her teeth around the question hopping on her tongue. She’d already drawn enough attention with her remark to Calhoun.
    Porter wiped his mouth, then set his napkin beside a plate nearly licked clean of crumbs. Man had a healthy appetite—for food and knowledge. He’d uncover the major’s reason for denying them access to the prisoners. No doubt about that. She knew first-hand how the newspaperman worried at a bone until it was gnawed clean.
    “Why shouldn’t I speak with the prisoners, sir?”
    “They’re known to embellish the truth. I would hate for you to be misled by falsehoods.”
    “I’ve become pretty adept at seeing through falsehoods.”
    “Perhaps so, but...”
    Jack cocked his head to the side, his gaze drifting over her before returning to the major. “I could make it worth your while.”
    Alarm shot through her at his words. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. Slowly. Deliberately. As if he held a nugget the major couldn’t resist.
    Maybe her , for instance?
    ****
    Shadows lined the pathway ahead, dark pockets perfect for hiding an ambusher. Calhoun, perhaps? She shifted closer to the protective presence beside her, then tensed. Was she trading one threat for another?
    Are we not friends, little Red? Have we not tendered cheer during times of distress? Protected one another from torment?
    They had been slick words. Spoken with a friendly tongue and compelling her to go against all good sense. Porter also had the gift of gab. She’d seen him practice it on several occasions, first with the farmwoman and again with Major Brady. Would he use his smooth-talking talent, as Bart had, for ill? It would be wise to learn more about him and avoid such trickery.
    “You shouldn’t have embarrassed Lieutenant Calhoun like that,” Jack admonished.
    She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing moved in the darkness. She lowered her voice anyway. “What I should’ve done is stick a knife in the traitor’s back. Texan, my—”
    “Now, Kitty. We don’t want to get on the bad side of these men.”
    “Do they have another side?”
    He guided her around a large puddle. “We’ll learn more if we show them we can be trusted.”
    Porter? Trustworthy? When words cloaked in sheep’s wool rolled off his tongue? She gave a soft snort of derision.
    “What was that for?”
    “That what?”
    “That enchanting expression of cynicism?”
    “You were awful sociable with the Yankees, laughing, joking, toasting to their newborns.” She toed a rock and kicked it into the underbrush. “Makes a body wonder where to place one’s trust.”
    “Familiar with that old saying, ‘you catch more flies with honey’?”
    “Flies will light on garbage, too.”
    “True, and a good deal of what I say to them is just that. Rubbish. But it’s how I uncover information. Get friendly with them. Earn their confidence.” He reached up and pushed a low-hanging branch out of the way. It swished softly behind them when he released it. “Then they divulge secrets they wouldn’t have otherwise yielded.”
    Time for a little uncovering of her own. She adopted a curiously polite tone. “How long have you been a newspaperman?”
    “Since sixty-two, after my graduation from the University of Rochester.”
    “My, my, a college man. What’d you study?”
    “A liberal selection of classes...philosophy, law, economics.” His voice rose with enthusiasm. “I couldn’t get enough of books and the knowledge they contained. Enrolled in every course the administrator allowed me to take.”
    Hmmph. People were more fascinating than dumb ol’ books. “I imagine you had lots of friends.”
    “A few. Until the War started and Lincoln called for volunteers. Most of the students left to enlist.”
    “But you couldn’t because of your eye?”
    “That was one