Northern Star

Chapter 5

As Hunter's party traveled north, the early spring air grew cool with evening and a mournful, silent fog crept around them. Abram finally turned the horses toward a cluster of trees in the distance. "There's a plantation up the road where we might get that hand doctored properly. Maybe we could even spend the night there. Looks like we're in for a storm."

Perry didn't comment. Every bone in her body ached from bumping around in the wagon. She watched the last bit of watery yellow light pass from the horizon and hoped she could stay awake long enough to find a corner to curl into for the night. The brooding sky blended with her mood. She felt that if the wagon hit another bump, her weary bones would snap in two.

They passed through the gates of the large plantation. The grounds were massive but the house looked old and in need of repair, even from a distance. A brick kitchen and one ancient barn huddled behind the dilapidated main house. It looked as though someone were slowly removing the walls and fences for firewood.

Abram maneuvered the wagon with tireless skill. "During the first part of the war hundreds of troops were housed here. Before we were soldiers, Hunter and I came over to watch a balloon ascent. Now it looks like no one's around."

Abram slowed beside the deteriorating back steps. A soldier, not out of his teens, bounded from the kitchen. He struggled awkwardly, trying to put his coat on and hold his rifle at the same time. "Who goes there?" he yelled as his rifle twirled like a baton and fell in the dirt before him.

"Captain Hunter Kirkland and party," Abram answered formally with no hint of laughter in his tone. "We need a doctor.''

The soldier picked up his gun and straightened to a formal stance. The tiny smile on his pimply face told of his thanks for Abram's kind disregard of his clumsiness. "Don't have no doctor, but you're welcome to come in. Me and the boys were left behind last week to guard this place, and we haven't seen more'n a jackrabbit. If you got news, we'd be glad to share our grub."

Abram climbed down from the wagon. "Have you a dry bed for the captain? He needs to be out of this damp weather.''

"Beds are all full. We're sleeping four to a room upstairs. The only fireplaces that work are downstairs. Those rooms are reserved for officers' meetings, but we ain't got any here now.'' The guard looked at Hunter. Perry could see by the curiosity in the boy's eyes that he'd never seen the pain of battle. "There's a formal dining room. Reckon we could put a mattress over the table for a night. Ain't no bigwigs here to eat off it." The soldier seemed fascinated by the red spot on Hunter's bandage. "We leave a guard on duty in the hall, so you don't need to worry about some deserter killin' him in his sleep. We can build a fire big enough to warm his bones."

Abram nodded. "Thanks for your kindness. I'll sleep with the horses in the barn. We've already had them almost stolen once. I'm not giving anyone another chance. Do you have a warm place for the boy?" He pointed at Perry. "He's been feeling poorly lately."

The guard glanced at Perry. "Reckon he could sleep in the kitchen. There's a cook and her grandson in there now, but she goes to her place at night."

Perry was amazed at how fast they settled inside. In a little over an hour Hunter was resting in his bed on a huge formal dining table, and Abram disappeared into the barn for his first sleep in two days.

She helped all she could, then took a blanket from the wagon and headed for a corner in the kitchen. The old cook and a boy of about seven were banking the fire for the night when she opened the kitchen door. Without a word the cook filled two bowls with butter beans and ham. She gave one to her grandson with instructions to take it to the man in the barn and handed the other to Perry.

While Perry ate, the woman mumbled, "When you finish, there's a medicine kit if that bandaged hand needs care. I wanta head home before the storm starts pouring and I get stuck here for the night."

"Thanks," Perry said between bites. The old woman's face remained as cold as a three-day-old corpse until her grandson returned. She managed a half smile for the boy but huffed her disapproval when he sat down next to Perry and began rattling away.

"Wanta see somethin' really fine?" The boy's eyes sparkled.

Perry couldn't help but smile and mentally braced herself for a frog, or whatever the child might consider a wonder in this world.

The boy danced over to a corner of the kitchen and lifted a trapdoor. "This here's a tunnel from the kitchen to the main house. Goes right into the dining room. Before the war, we carried tray after tray of food over to the fine folks and never had to worry about rain or snow. They always made us whistle when going through the tunnel so's none of us would try having a snack on the way. Plus, I think it scared fine folks to have kids appearing in the corner of the dining room without notice. We call it Whistling Tunnel."

The cook waddled closer, pulling on her coat. She nodded a slight farewell to Perry. "You can use it to check on that wounded captain during the night." Her words were matter-of-fact, as though she had long ago lost interest in anything this world had to offer. "If you try going outside and up the back steps, you're likely to be shot as a prowler.''

"Thanks," Perry answered sincerely, though the advice was not given with any kindness.

The old woman shuffled and tied her ragged wool scarf around her neck. "Just don't wanta clean your blood off the steps come morning. Plus it looks like it's really gonna rain, and I don't relish you tracking mud all over the dining room and my kitchen if you make a trip." She pointed toward the corner near the fire. "There's a hip tub over there if you want a bath. From the looks of ya, you might be doing the world a favor to have one. Don't reckon nobody be coming in here if you bolt the door after us."

Perry couldn't help but smile. The old cook was trying to be kind, but lack of practice left her rusty.

The woman pulled her boy toward the door. "There's clean clothes in that basket. You might find something to sleep in besides those bloody rags you're wearia', and I doubt if any one of them soldiers got sense enough to notice somethin' gone."

Perry would've hugged the cook if she hadn't vanished through the doorway an instant later. Her suggestion sounded too good to pass up. Perry locked the door and put water on to boil. She stripped off her clothes and took a long bath to the music of a heavy spring thunderstorm outside. She scrubbed her skin almost raw and washed her hair until her arms ached. Her problems seemed far more bearable as she dried before the fire. With salve and a fresh bandage across her palm, she felt not only human but a lady again.

She found a huge white shirt with ruffles down the front in the clean laundry. The shirt was long enough to be a nightgown, and with the sleeves rolled up it looked almost elegant. Her hair curled and waved around her in a black cloud of silk. She couldn't bear to bind it up, though she knew she should.

Laying Hunter's necklace atop her pile of dirty clothes, she noticed how foreign it looked there, as foreign as a Southern lady in a northern camp. The only gold in this mess was the chance to be near Hunter. During the idle times of the ride she'd let herself imagine what it would be like to be loved by such a man.

Perry lit a candle and decided to try the passageway. She'd seen all the lights go out in the main house an hour before and knew all the soldiers were asleep, except for the guard on duty in the main hall.

She told herself she. only wanted to check on Hunter's health, but she knew that was only half the truth. She longed to touch him once more before she had to disappear from his life. One memory of being in his arms would carry her the rest of her life… one last moment of being totally alive.

The tunnel was dry and brick-lined. There were no spiders or mice, only the earthy smell of the damp dirt above her. The brick slanted upward until she came to a stairway. She blew out the light, not wanting to announce her presence until she was certain Hunter was alone in the dining room.

Hunter tried to sleep, but the thunder pounded against the dining room's long windows like cannon fire, and the lightning flashed, reminding him of battle. He hated being too weak to move more than a few inches. He hated the constant pain that throbbed in his shoulder. He hated being alone in this old room. But most of all he hated admitting to his weakness.

He closed his eyes and cursed the war for the hundredth time. He wanted a life outside of a uniform. He wanted rest. He wanted to feel more than hate and duty before he was too old to feel anything but pain. The fever always seemed worse at night, making him light-headed and confused.

A creaking sound came from the corner. Hunter's senses came alert. He slowly turned his head toward the noise as his one good arm reached for the holstered revolver above his pillow.

The sound came again, like aging hedges crying with movement. He searched the darkness.

Lightning flashed against the windows as bright as day. Hunter turned his stare for a moment toward the curtains. The yellowed lace looked aflame, then darkened back into pale stillness. The thunder that followed sounded like the heavens were falling upon the house.

Hunter looked back at the corner of the room, but nothing was there. He had only imagined the noise, as he'd imagined so many other things since his fall a few days ago. The corner was as bare as the rest of the room… as the rest of his life.

He sighed heavily and pressed his palm against his forehead. Sleep seemed his only escape from the pain, and it was a welcome comfort. He wouldn't think of the loneliness or the throbbing in his shoulder. He would only relax and dream.

A soft hand covered his own in the darkness. Hunter didn't move, knowing his feverish mind was playing yet another trick on him.

His fingers slid from his face, but the soft pressure of a woman's hand remained against his forehead. "I knew you'd come in my dreams again," he said without surprise.

The hand trembled slightly, as if debating vanishing, then hesitantly stroked his hair back from his face.

"Tell me, my angel, are you the angel of life or death?"

"Your fever is no longer high." Her voice whispered, as soft as the palest hue, reminding him of his mother's Southern tones. "I think you'll live."

Hunter's fingers circled her wrist and pulled her nearer. "Lie with me. I don't want to be alone… even if my companion is only a dream."

The woman he'd thought of so often climbed atop the table with him. He could see the velvety black hair surrounding her face, which was still in shadow. Hunter moved his fingers and trailed the lines of her jaw. "I can only see your outline, yet I can sense your beauty with my touch. Lie beside me as you did in the loft."

He knew he couldn't stop her if she pulled away, for though her frame was petite, his bandages were chains of restraint about him.

She moved close without hesitation, her body needing his warmth as deeply as he needed hers. She laid a soft cheek atop his unharmed shoulder and her hair circled near his face in heaven-spun softness. "I can't stay long," she whispered.

Hunter moved the back of his fingers along her arm. He would almost chance ripping his wound open to make love to her. But tonight the loving would have to be with his words.

She was so perfect. He could feel her shiver as his fingers trailed along her side from her shoulder to her hip, yet she made no move to withdraw.

"The curve of your body is flawless. I would know it anywhere by touch. You're the one I've dreamed of all my life, but you've never been so real in my arms. Did I die in the balloon crash? If you are heaven, then I'd fall a thousand times to have you near.'' He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "How can you feel so warm and wonderful in my arms and be only a dream?"

He slid his hand past the white cotton gown she wore and touched the silk of her thigh. Her body arched to his touch just as he'd known it would. He moved his hand higher to her hip. She moved slightly, bending one knee over his leg in an intimate gesture that warmed his blood as no fever ever could.

He kissed the tip of her nose, then moved down on his pillows until their lips were close. "I've longed each night to hold you like this." His lips moved lightly along her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth.

She pushed against his chest. "You must be careful. I would not cause you pain." Her voice had the flavor of the South, exciting him as no Northern girl's could.

Hunter's laughter was low against her hair. "You are causing me much pain, my angel, but not to my injury." His lips touched her lightly as he whispered, "Grant me at least the taste of your mouth."

His kiss covered her lips, lightly tasting. Her head moved slightly from side to side, brushing his shoulder with her hair as his mouth explored. He couldn't stop a moan as she parted her lips to allow him entry. His hand slid up beneath her gown to the soft curve of her waist. Her flesh was like a velvet wonder beneath his touch. As his impatient hand ventured upward, she stopped his exploring fingers with the gentle pressure of her hand over his.

Hunter's action stilled and he pulled his mouth free of her honeyed lips. His words were low and ragged between breaths. "Do you wish me to stop? Does an angel withhold the ecstasy of heaven?" He tried to see into the shadows that hid her eyes from him. Was her hesitance withdrawal or shyness?

Her words feathered against his ear. "I have never…"

Hunter smiled and pulled her close against him. Shyness he could accept, but her withdrawal would wound him mortally. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "It's all right-even fitting, perhaps-that my dream love be so shy. Love has played a game with me all my life; why should it vary in my dreams?" He moved his jaw gently against her cheek as he breathed against her ear. "Don't be afraid. If I harmed you, I'd damn myself to an eternity in hell."

Her hand slowly raised from his and she leaned toward him with a sigh as his fingers moved hesitantly up to cup the fullness of her breast. It swelled beneath his touch as though begging to be caressed. His lips covered hers once more, and he tasted passion in her mouth.

When he moved away again, it was to taste the warmth of her slender throat and bury his face in the ebony curls. He could feel her rapid breathing and knew their single kiss had affected her as deeply as it had him.

Hunter brushed her silken hair off her shoulder. "I could do that all night." He moved his hand to unbutton the front of her shirt. "How can my lady be only a shadow? How can you feel so real in my arms?" He pushed the cotton aside and blanketed her breast with his hand. "If I live forever or die tonight, I'll never forget the feel of you. Promise me, my angel, that you'll come to me when I'm well and let me love you with more than a few kisses and words."

She hesitantly kissed his cheek. "I can only promise tonight, and I will only stay longer if you rest and sleep."

Hunter pulled her under his protective arm. "The promise is easily made, for I am asleep even now. I've been so alone for so long, I wouldn't even frighten a dream away. But I'll not promise to rest unless you swear by all earth and heaven to return to me when I can love you without restraint. I wish to hold you when there is no fever to cloud my brain and no fire within me but the fire I have for you."

She reached and touched the strips of cotton. "You feel alone?" That soft Southern accent touched her words.

"Sometimes I think the loneliness will drive me mad. Or maybe it already has, for I've been waiting to fall asleep all day so I can dream you're here with me and forget the insanity of the world." He combed his long fingers through her hair.

"You promised to sleep," she whispered.

Hunter raised her chin gently with one finger. His lips brushed hers with a feathery kiss. His words were low in her ear. "If I am to die of these injuries, let me die with the feel of your mouth against mine."

Before she could protest, Hunter captured her lips once more. It was a gentle kiss, for he feared she might yet vanish in his arms.

But this time she returned his kiss with more fire than he'd ever have hoped. Her hand moved along his shoulder, leaving tiny sparks of pleasure against his flesh. He caught her fingers and pulled them to his lips. When he tried to draw her other hand forward, she jerked away once more, as if suddenly afraid.

She rose quickly with the grace of a beautiful deer.

"Don't go!" he yelled. What had he done or said that had frightened her so? "Don't leave me, my angel."

She knelt before him, her back straight and proud, her hair touching her hips. She held her hands behind her, which pulled apart the unbuttoned nightshirt even more. "I will not leave you. I'll be near, but you must sleep."

"How can I sleep when you are so close? And if you leave me, I'll never sleep from the longing to be with you."

Hunter's fingers moved up to part her shirt more. The button at her bust line gave way to his tugging, and he touched her warm flesh from her throat to her waist. "Your skin is as soft as fine silk." His hand replaced the few fingers and retraced the path.

Hunter brushed long ebony strands of hair away from her shoulder. "You are the best of every woman in the world rolled into one.'' He moved his hand to her throat and pushed the ruffles of her shirt open enough to reveal the swell of her breasts: She didn't pull away as he ran his fingers tenderly down between her breasts and made tiny circles in the valley where her creamy mounds met. "You are God's perfection in creation." He only saw her outline, yet his other senses could not lie. She knelt above him in royal splendor as he worshiped her with his touch, wishing he could find words to express her beauty and his desire.

The door rattled like noisy thunder in the quiet room. Hunter reached for his gun above the pillows. When he looked back, his angel had vanished as quickly as if she'd slid beneath the table. A beam of light widened from the hallway as a man entered clumsily. Hunter lowered his weapon. No attacker could be so awkward. The intruder must be the guard on duty.

"I see you're awake, Captain," a crisp voice said. "I'm on night watch and thought I heard you yell out."

"I must have been dreaming." Hunter didn't try to keep the pain from his voice. The sudden twisting for his weapon had cost him.

"The cook said for you to drink some of her spiced tea if I saw you awake." The soldier lifted a cup from beside the hearth. "What with the cook's herbs and a touch of brandy, it'll make you sleep like a baby and keep those nightmares at bay.''

Hunter suddenly felt very tired and confused. If he'd been talking aloud, could she also be as real as his words? "Did anyone come in or out of this room just now?"

"No, sir. I've been standing not three feet from your door all evening. Anybody who'd get past me would have to be a ghost."

"Or an angel," Hunter answered, then drank the tea in long gulps.

"Pleasant dreams, Captain."

"Thanks." Hunter barely had the energy to hand the guard his drained cup. "I plan to."

He leaned back against the pillows and thought of the way she'd felt in his arms, of how sweet her mouth had tasted. He tried to remember her soft voice. She was still near; he could feel it.