He growled into her mouth, every sense alive and wanting. He hardened and the intense pressure to touch her everywhere grew until, somehow in the dark recess of his mind, he was reminded that Edward was there as well. With the greatest reluctance, he broke the kiss.
She stood there before him, with shortened breath and lips swollen from his kiss. Her darkened gaze started to clear as confusion and perhaps disappointment, he hoped, took control. He released her from his embrace and she stepped back, still staring intently at him. Neither said a word. Then, she blinked. That action cleared her eyes and all that remained were the bruised lips.
“Good morning,” he offered.
He couldn’t decide if she was glaring or concentrating. Instead of a direct reply, she dropped again to check his ankle.
“Amazing. The swelling is virtually gone.” She gave him a puzzled glance, her doctoral shield back in place. “Again, how does it feel?”
He shrugged, managing to tamper the passion that soared and almost crashed with her switching to his injury over his attentions. “Sore, a little stiff, but with the stick, I can manage fairly well.”
She stood. “It looked rather awful last night. Being off it over the last few hours was good, but I’m surprised it’s gone down this much. I’m very curious what he put on it.”
“You’ll have to ask.”
“It’s a poultice of herbs, mostly, some of them I mentioned,” the black man stated as he rose. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Little bit of this, little of that, mixed with mud.”
“Mud?” She pursed her lips and frowned. “Now, I think you’ve started the day off with a fib.”
Francois laughed. “No, I reckon you’d find he isn’t.” He bent and whispered low, “It’s magic, or so it’s believed.”
Edward chuckled.
“Magic?” Ada huffed. “If they’re full of magic, why didn’t they just whisk themselves free?”
Again, her pushing that agenda. He sighed. Her abolitionist tendencies, of making all white Southerners friends with the Devil, came out in full force. He’d need to squash this quickly.
Grabbing his torn frock coat, he nodded to Edward, who also started to collect the few items he had in the saddlebag he’d brought in. Francois turned to Ada.
“We need to go. Bettin’ both sides will be itchin’ to fight this morning, and we’re in the space between. Need to get to the side, and you out of danger.” He stuck the LaMott revolver he’d taken from Wiggins into his waistband and shoved the cartridge box and caps into his bag.
Ada stood there for a moment, a puzzled look on her face. In the beaming sunlight, she looked almost angelic. Almost. Until she thought of another insult to throw at him and his country over her frustrations about Edward staying here. He saw her lips quiver, as if she was fighting for the right words.
Edward, who had stealthy slipped out the door, walked back in, leaving the door open. Francois could see his horse just outside, fully saddle. He whispered a silent prayer of thanks, because he was the one betting she’d be stolen by morning.
“Massa, your horse is ready.”
Francois nodded. Ada, though, snarled.
Chapter 37
“I will never forget the joy of the wounded when they were brought into our lines. One of them cried out, trying to raise himself from his litter. ‘All right now! I shall not die like a dog in the ditch!’”
—Union General Regis de Trobriand at Marye’s Heights & Fredericksburg, 1862
What had been hell yesterday was a night- mare in the morning. The stench in the air nearly made Ada retch as the smell of burnt trees mixed with dying bodies, burnt remains, sulfur and horse manure, illuminated in sunlight. Smoldering lumps of weeds, sticks and heavens knows what else made her ill. She grasped her middle as if to stop the nausea that would be horrible to spill when sitting on top of a horse, and possibly on Francois, who sat behind her.
“Little rough, wouldn’t you say?” he asked her softly.
She could only nod, still afraid of opening her mouth for fear of what might happen.
Slowly, they walked through the battered land. Edward walked next to them. The pressure of Francois against her definitely changed the focal point of her senses. His solid torso was an added comfort yet it sent tingles through her. Cradled in between his legs, she couldn’t help but feel the slight bulge that nudged against her, despite the woolen skirt and petticoats. Her cheeks heated when her core registered his body. She blinked hard and tried to take her mind off him.
Looking into the distance, she swore she could see the red, white and blue of the Federal camp. In disbelief, she gulped. “We’re heading toward the Union camp? Do you think that is wise?”
“I need to get you back to safety.”
“At what price?” Her voice peaked, at virtually a yell. Her safety at the price of his? “You didn’t do well last time you stayed at a Federal prison.”
That comment got Edward to glance at them.
“I can’t just leave you here,” he began.
She grabbed the reins out of his hold and pulled back to stop the mare. “No!”
“Missus Ada, hollering out here not a wise thing,” Edward warned. But neither she nor Francois heard him.
Francois tried to take the reins back.
“Ada, please, let go!”
“No, let me off! I’ll walk back over…”
They managed to shift enough on Rose and tug her mouth to where the horse started to side-step, a little faster with each step. Just as the mare started to hop, trying to dislodge her riders, Francois got Ada’s grip
