Linda Castle (26 page)

Chase looked at his hand. The bullet had done little damage, thank God, even though he was bleeding. He focused on the men grunting and rolling on the ground, but he couldn’t risk a shot in the dark.

Suddenly another shot illuminated the pair on the ground. Both men stilled for a moment, then Homstock staggered to his feet and scooped up the money belt. Several more coins fell from it before he draped it over one arm.

“Damn you, Cordell, how did you find out it was a trap?” His labored breathing was harsh. Chase could see a dark stain spreading on Homstock’s shoulder where he had been shot with his own gun. “How did you know I had been sent to kill you?”

“He didn’t. An informant told me you would be coming to kill the men you found along the route at each meeting place,” Ira said. “I didn’t know until now it was Cordell you were meeting,” Ira said.

Chase felt his grip on the Colt slipping. None of what Ira and Homstock were saying made any sense to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Homstock declared with a sneer. “By now my superiors know the names of everyone involved. It won’t be long until they send enough men to destroy you all for good.”

“No, they won’t. They never got the information. The man you sent back won’t be reporting anything. At least not in this life.” Ira’s voice was deadly. Chase was surprised to see he was pointing the derringer at Homstock. “I found him first.”

Homstock roared and swung the money belt. The heavy leather pouch full of gold caught Chase across the side of the head. Sparks of light burst behind his eyes and he lost his shaky grip on the Colt.

“You spying Confederate son of—” Ira pulled the trigger on the derringer he had taken from Homstock, but it clicked harmlessly on empty chambers.

Chase sagged to his knees, stunned by the blow from the money belt, while the sound of his stolen horse’s hooves echoed through the night.

T
he returning memory continued to flow like an untamed river….

“Chase, are you all right?” Ira helped him to his feet.

“I’ll be fine.” Chase was still stunned, but he angrily jerked his arm out of Ira’s hand and tried to blink back the stars dancing in his head. “What the devil is going on?”

Ira looked at him speculatively for a moment. “You really don’t know, do you? I thought it was an act, but you weren’t meeting Homstock here in the usual place, were you?”

“Of course I wasn’t meeting Homstock, and I don’t know anything about this place. What the hell was he talking about?” Chase picked up his Colt with his good hand and stuck it inside his waistband.

“You really were just riding through these woods.” It was more a statement than a question. Ira bent down and scooped up the fallen gold coins from the loamy earth. He shoved them deep into his trouser pockets before he yanked his knife from the tree trunk where he had embedded it in his attempt to kill Homstock.

“Yes, I was.” Chase’s voice resonated with suppressed anger. “What were you doing? That story about getting thrown and having to walk was a damned lie and I know it.”

“I was sent here to save the life of whoever Homstock met. Then I was supposed to kill Homstock, quietly. He’s a
Confederate spy, an assassin. If Homstock was telling us the truth, then I was supposed to save a man named Cordell. I thought it was you, but now I realize it wasn’t. Here in this clearing, information—and people—-are met by Union troops or private escort.”

Chase cursed under his breath. “I don’t know anything of what you are talking about.”

“I’m talking about the Underground Railroad. And assuming that Homstock had no reason to lie, he was meeting a man named Cordell. Since there is only one other Cordell, besides you, then I guess we both know who he was supposed to meet.”

Chase swallowed hard. He followed Ira’s line of thinking even though logic forced him to resist the thought. “You don’t seriously believe my grandfather is capable of such deceit.”

“I don’t know
what
to think, but that’s not important. Homstock is a Southern spy and he is surely on his way to report to his superiors. Once he reaches them, every Southern sympathizer in Texas will be hunting for anyone named Cordell, starting with you and your grandfather.”

The truth of Ira’s words settled on Chase. He glared at Ira. Anger and concern over his grandfather dissolved the small measure of patience he had left. “I take it you are involved with the Railroad?”

“Yes,” Ira admitted reluctantly.

“Do you know who the others are, the ones Homstock was sent to kill, I mean?”

Ira shook his head. “No. We try not to know in case one of us is discovered. It’s a whole lot easier to keep a secret if only one or two people know it in the first place. All these years I’ve been working, I never knew your grandfather was involved. Cagey old fox, he had me fooled.”

Chase ignored the comment and focused on the problem at hand. “Do you know where Homstock was headed? Which road he would take?”

“Since he learned the last spy was killed, I’m sure he’s heading back to deliver this information firsthand. I’ve heard talk about Ferrin County. Strong Southern ties—rumors. He might’ve gone that way. Or maybe just straight east into Louisiana and the closest Southern army he can find.”

Chase looked up at the moonlit sky and cursed under his breath. Then he started walking.

“Where are you going?” Ira fell into step beside Chase.

“To Cordellane for another horse. I’ve got to stop Homstock before he manages to talk.”

Ira kept pace beside Chase. “Will you loan me a horse and a gun? I was supposed to have stopped the spy before he got this far.” Ira’s voice was thick with guilt and regret.

Now Chase understood why Ira had been alone in the woods—he was an executioner waiting for his victim.

Ira stuffed the Colt Chase loaned him into his belt before he leapt into the saddle. The rangy black mare snorted and pawed, anxious to be off. She was Captain Cordell’s favorite mount, fast and surefooted as a goat. Chase wondered where the old man was. He uttered a silent prayer that he was someplace safe, while his mind struggled to deny that his grandfather was not crazy.

The moon was high overhead and brightly illuminated the woods around Cordellane when Chase mounted a fresh horse. If Homstock left any sign of a trail at all, they should be able to find it in the glow of moonlight.

“I’ll go south first, just in case he doubled back on us,” Ira told Chase.

“Fine. I’m heading straight to Ferrin County.” Chase gathered the reins of the deep-chested roan stallion in his uninjured left hand.

“Chase, if anybody ever asks you about tonight, we never saw each other. You may not have been involved before, but now you are. Lives depend on your silence. Agreed?”

“Agreed. I won’t speak of this night. You can trust me to keep your secret, Ira, to the grave if necessary. But I have to ask something of you, as well.”

“Go ahead.”

“If you are right about my grandfather—and I’m not saying you are—you must promise to keep the secret. If he has gone to all this trouble…” His words trailed off.

“I understand,” Ira said.

The words of the two-year-old vow hung in his mind while Chase paced on the end of his chain inside the tiny cell. He felt like a tethered animal. Instead of his memory setting him free, it had shackled him with bonds stronger than mere iron. His own honor and vow of silence held him prisoner now. He forced himself to remember the rest of what happened….

The big roan settled into a steady, rocking gallop. Chase had not taken the time to bandage his hand, but he had stuck a bottle of whiskey inside his saddlebag. He swiveled around and reached for it without allowing the stud to slacken his pace.

Chase took a long drink and then poured some whiskey over his hand. A goodly portion ended up on his shirt, coat and the reins he held, but some of the liquid reached the wound. It burned like being scorched by live embers, but Chase did not want to risk infection from a dirty wound.

By moonlight, Chase followed the straightest path to Ferrin County. Fortunately for Chase, the short road was also the most traveled and he hoped that Homstock would take the longer but more sheltered trail. It would give him badly needed time. He came upon an itinerant peddler who had built his meager camp beside the road. With the glow of the camp fire lighting his face, the old man told Chase someone sounding like Homstock had asked directions to the Presbyterian church in Ferrin County not more than an
hour earlier. Chase plunged cross country, driving the horse harder upon hearing he was definitely on the right trail. He could reach Ferrin County ahead of Homstock. While he rode, he concentrated on everything he had learned this night.

He decided, with no small dose of irony, that he had never really fathomed the character of any of Mainfield’s men-most particularly his grandfather. Even though he found it nearly impossible to believe, he acknowledged the bitter truth.

Captain Aloyisius Cordell was shrewd, calculating, and had been playing a deadly game of deception in order to help free oppressed people and runaway slaves, but he was not crazy.

The man Chase had been shamed by, the man whose blood he sought to repudiate by proving himself to be the best at everything he attempted, was a crafty old fox.

A burst of pride ignited in Chase’s chest and burned away his initial anger. Aloyisius Cordell had fooled them all. Chase would have liked to stay angry for all the years he lived under the stigma of his grandfather’s madness, but instead he envied him. The ex-ranger was long on nerve and sharp as a knife blade, Chase realized with a sigh. Now he had an opportunity to be half the man his grandfather was, and he prayed he would measure up.

The dark-shadowed woods blurred by with each lunge of the long-legged horse. Chase was hopeful he would overtake Homstock before he reached his destination. Trying to ignore the ache in his hand, Chase urged the big stallion to give him more speed. He had never killed in cold blood, but the risk to his grandfather, Ira and countless others gave him no options, so he rode hard with murder in his heart.

Chase heard the music first. He stopped the horse and listened. The sound of hands clapping in unison was interrupted by an occasional gleeful whoop. Chase moved more cautiously toward the circle of light and found himself outside the Presbyterian church. He scanned the rows of horses,
searching for the one Homstock had stolen from him earlier. He dismounted and walked among the tethered animals, checking each one, but his gelding was not among them.

Perhaps Homstock had simply let him go when he arrived. Or maybe luck had been with Chase and he had beaten Homstock. Perhaps he was inside, meeting with his Confederate contact right now. Dear Lord, Chase thought, how many men will die to keep these secrets?

He forced himself not to think about it while he walked toward the church. He brushed off the worst trail dust on his trousers and raked his hand through his hair. Then he straightened his coat and buttoned it over the butt of the Colt. Without a doubt, he was the sorriest-looking man who ever entered a church, but he was determined to silence Homstock.

A large crowd was milling near the door when he stepped inside. Chase mumbled his apologies and shouldered his way through the throng while he looked for Homstock. Chase kept himself positioned near the entrance, in case Homstock should see him and try to flee again. With his back snug against a thick beam supporting the roof, Chase searched each corner of the room. After he had checked every man twice, he grudgingly accepted the fact Homstock was not here—yet.

Homstock had asked directions of the peddler—he was coming. Chase couldn’t consider the possibility that Homstock might get away, that he could have eluded him on the trail. He resigned himself to waiting inside the church until Homstock showed. While he was scowling over the idea, Chase felt curious eyes upon him.

He looked up and found a beautiful girl scrutinizing him from across the church. Eyes bluer than the Texas sky probed him. He felt his own gaze flick from her face to the fourth finger of her left hand without conscious thought.

There was no wedding ring. When he looked back into the cool blue depths, he knew. Whether or not he lived through
the night, he had to meet the girl who stared at him from across the room.

Chase maneuvered his way across the room, dodging dancers and men who had been passing a bottle when the preacher wasn’t looking. He stopped a yard from her and took a deep breath for courage. A smell that put him in mind of springtime, flower gardens and warm sunshine on his face filled his nostrils.

“Miss.” He nodded his head and allowed his appreciative gaze to skim over her face, her slender neck and the creamy top of her shoulders. She was all soft curves inside the simple yellow gingham frock. Pale blond hair framed a face so pretty it was almost painful for him to gaze upon her.

“Sir—I—we have not been properly introduced.” She lowered her eyes and deftly snapped open a fan that had been dangling from her delicate wrist. “I cannot speak with you until that time.”

He couldn’t help but grin. She had done what a well brought up young lady should do, when confronted by an ill-mannered rascal. Undaunted, he took another step toward her. She met his advance with wide doe eyes. His heart flip-flopped in his chest and he felt himself preparing to do the unthinkable.

“Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Chase Cor-dell, of the Tyron County Cordells.” He bent at the waist and did his best imitation of a gallant bow. Chase knew he probably looked the fool, with his travel-stained clothes and the bloody gash across the top of his hand. He wondered if he had lost his reason—stopping to court a woman when so much hung in the balance. He asked himself how he could take time to speak to her at all when Homstock might arrive any minute. Yet, he persisted in his suit.

“Contrary to what my appearance may make you think, miss, I am a respectable man. In fact, I own a newspaper.” He grinned proudly.

She peered warily up at him over the edge of the fan, while she seemed to consider his doubtful claim.

“I am Linese Beaufort.” She lowered the fan enough for him to see two spots of color on her cheeks.

It seemed to Chase a crowd was beginning to gather at his elbow. He wondered if she had a brother or father who would call him out for making so bold with Miss Beaufort, but nobody challenged him, so he pressed forward while a voice in his head told him to look for Homstock and abandon this reckless endeavor.

“Miss Beaufort, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, and I feel I must tell you—I am the man you are going to marry.”

The group behind him gasped in unison. Miss Linese Beaufort’s blush deepened in a manner that made Chase’s loins tighten. Innocence and purity shone in her face. Her shock was more tempting and erotic than anything he could have imagined. Instead of regretting his words, he was sure he had spoken the truth.

“You must not say such things, Mr. Cordell.” She fanned her face but it continued to flame hot pink with embarrassment. “It isn’t proper for you to speak to me this way.”

Chase impulsively pulled her into his arms and out onto the dance floor away from the murmuring crowd.

“Mr. Cordell!” she gasped. “What will people say?”

The butt of the gun pressed firmly between them when he pulled her closer and stared into her eyes. She stiffened in his arms. He held his breath, half expecting her to slap his face, or jerk free of his possessive hold, but she remained silent. Chase knew in that moment there was steel beneath her fragile exterior.

She was perfect. She was the woman for him.

Chase held her much too close to be proper, but he didn’t care about propriety. Everything he had learned this night had shown him he had wasted too much time in the past, wasted it on things that did not matter. He wasn’t inclined to waste another minute because of silly convention or manners. From now on Chase intended to grasp what he wanted of life and live every minute of it to the fullest.