Linda Castle (27 page)

He wanted Miss Linese Beaufort and would have her.

He spun her in a series of turns, and by slow degrees she relaxed in his arms. When she looked up and met his gaze, he thought the ghost of a smile might be tickling the corners of her mouth.

“Your behavior has scandalized us both, Mr. Cordell. If you are not careful, you
will
have to marry me, then you will sorely regret your foolish, impetuous prank.”

“Scandal be damned,” Chase retorted. “You will be my wife. This is no prank, Miss Beaufort.” He raised an eyebrow, silently daring her to dispute his intentions.

Her cheeks flamed to crimson and he felt her heart flutter against his chest, but she met his eyes bravely. “You would have to convince my aunt Hesta of that. I’m afraid, Mr. Cordell, even you could not prevail against her. It has always been her desire for me to marry a… suitable gentleman.”

He laughed at her choice of words. This night he had become a most unsuitable man, with his disheveled appearance and a gun tucked in his trousers, and murder his latest intention. But by God, he was going to have this girl for his wife.

“Please, Miss Beaufort, call me Chase—no need to be so formal with your future husband.”

“Mr. Cordell,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “My aunt has a well-known Beaufort trait—stubbornness.”

“And are you also stubborn?” The more she talked the more he knew this was the woman he had secretly longed for all his life. She tilted her head to look at him squarely. The light caught her eyes and made them into blue jewels against her creamy velvet skin and golden hair.

“Sometimes, sir, I am quite stubborn.”

“As I am, Miss Beaufort.” Chase held her gaze while she absorbed his words. “As I am.” He felt himself smiling again. “Lead me to your formidable aunt now, because I do intend to marry you with all possible haste.”

Chase watched her gaze flick over to a matronly woman standing by the Presbyterian minister. Their faces were etched with shock. Chase was fairly sure that was the legendary Aunt Hesta.

“Be prepared, miss. If I fail to charm her, I may indeed have to compromise your honor in order to succeed in my goal of marrying you.”

A soft gasp of indignant surprise escaped her lips. The fiddle player chose that particular moment to take a break. Linese wriggled out of Chase’s grasp and attempted to evade him, but he reached out and clasped his arm around her waist. While she fought to maintain her veneer of control within his most possessive and inappropriate grasp, Chase escorted her to the punch bowl.

Chase had just handed her a cup when the door opened. His position kept him concealed behind a wide beam, but he had a clear view of the entrance. Alfred Homstock leaned inside far enough to scan the church quickly. He hesitated for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead, before he disappeared and the door closed.

“Excuse me, Linese.” Chase allowed himself one lingering glance at her face before he followed Homstock outside.

Tied to a bush just outside the torch-lit church was the stolen bay gelding. Chase heard the crunch of boots on gravel. He followed the sound and crept toward the back of the church. The hollow thud of a door drew his eyes to the outhouse, near a copse of trees, where he assumed Homstock was relieving himself.

Chase pulled the Colt from his waistband and prepared to commit murder, but before he had taken another step he heard a muffled groan and running feet. Chase sprinted toward the outhouse and flung the door open. It was empty.

The music inside the church began again with a rhythmic thump. The sound of people clapping, stomping and whooping in time to a rowdy Virginia reel muffled any other sound around him. Chase searched the shrubs and worked
his way toward the trees. He moved to the thicket and looked down.

Homstock’s eyes were open and lifeless. The ground beneath him was soaking up his still-warm blood. The Underground Railroad was safe for a while longer and Alfred Homstock would not be telling any secrets or meeting any more Cordells.

Pounding hooves drew Chase’s eyes. He caught a glimpse of the tired bay gelding and the black mare he had loaned Ira earlier disappearing into the night.

Chase took a shuddering breath and got up from the hard, narrow cot in his cell. The chain on his leg rattled when he moved toward the narrow ventilation slit. All the memory, all the answers, didn’t change anything. He could not defend himself against the charge of murder, unless he identified Ira as Homstock’s killer.

That was a thing he would never do. Ira Goten had buried his knife blade deep into the Southern spy’s back in order to protect the Cordells, as well as the Railroad. Now it was up to Chase Cordell to protect Ira, his grandfather, the Railroad, and quite possibly the entire Union cause by remaining silent about what happened on that night over two years ago.

A hard, tight lump formed in Chase’s throat. He had only one regret. By keeping his vow, he would make Linese a widow with two tiny babies to raise alone.

“Linese,” he murmured.

The full recollection of their meeting was bittersweet with its intensity. She was like sunshine in the dark, like rain quenching a drought. Now he knew why the sight of her in the yellow gingham dress had been like taking a bayonet in the chest. She had been wearing that same dress when he met her.

“What a young fool I was,” he said remembering his wedding night.

He had been with other women before Linese, but he had never been in love with any of them. That difference had robbed him of any finesse he may have possessed. Love had made him self-conscious and clumsy in his lovemaking. Holding her in his arms had stripped him to the bone, laid him open, exposed his soul in a way he had never before experienced.

“God, how I loved her then, and now.” Chase raked his hand through his hair. He had thought it remarkable that she loved him when he
couldn’t
remember. Now, with his memory intact, he knew it was nothing short of miraculous that she could care at all for a fool as big as him.

He leaned his forehead against the cold, hard bars and cursed himself. His brain had taken everything that had happened to him in his life, then jumbled it up in no particular order. The few memories that were left intact became a confusing tangle that had forced him to stay away from Linese for too long. “How much precious time I wasted.” Because of his bewildered state, he had denied his beloved wife and himself time together, time he could never recapture, time they would never have again.

“Linese, it near breaks my heart to see you looking so sad.” Melissa pulled her baby, Eathan, back onto the braided rug. His attempts to crawl consisted of pulling himself across the floor on his chubby forearms.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be such poor company.” Linese gently removed her breast from Sarah’s pouting lips. The sleeping baby continued to suckle while she brought one tiny fist up to her downy cheek.

“It’s not that,” Melissa explained. “I’m happy and grateful to be living here with you. I just wish I could do something to help.”

Linese blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill over. She had moved through each hellish day since they took Chase, barely maintaining control of her shredded emotions, while she cared for her daughters and prayed for a
miracle. “Nobody can help. Chase doesn’t want me to talk to Ira.” Linese stopped in mid-sentence, realizing she had been thinking aloud.

“Ira? Ira Goten? Can he help Mr. Chase?” Melissa’s eyes gleamed with interest and hope.

Linese silently chided herself for letting Ira’s name slip. “Probably not, it’s complicated. I can’t explain.” She could not tell anyone about Chase’s missing memory, not without his permission. Linese laid Sarah next to her twin in the crib and pulled the crocheted coverlet over them. She caressed the dark curls on Marjorie’s head.

Melissa pitied Linese. It just wasn’t fair. Of course, life rarely was fair, but the idea that those babies were to be left fatherless and Linese a widow made Melissa crazy. Everyone in Mainfield had heard about the trial to be held, and the fact that there would
be
a hanging after.

She watched Eathan squirm off the rug and onto the bare floor once again. He had grown fat and sassy living here at Cordellane. Melissa owed Linese Cordell a great debt for giving her shelter when she needed it. Not many respectable women would have done the same. “Linese, would you watch Eathan for a while?” Melissa was determined to find a way to help.

“Of course, I’ll watch him. Is there anything I can help you with?” Linese offered.

“No, I just need to call on Doralee,” Melissa lied smoothly.

“Do you think it’s safe, with the Northern troops so near to Mainfield?”

“I heard they are regrouping—anyway the shooting has stopped for a few days. I’ll be fine.” Melissa didn’t intend to be gone long, just long enough to speak with Ira Goten.

Ira watched the young woman’s face while she talked. She was one of those people whose expression told every thought. Melissa was not lying to him, that he was certain of.

“So, Mr. Goten, I came here to see you, to ask if there was anything you could do to help Linese.”

“Mrs. Cordell doesn’t know you are here?” Ira never took his eyes off Melissa’s face, while he watched for any sign of deception in her story.

“Oh, no. She wouldn’t like me interfering, but I can’t stand by and do nothing. I mean, if there is any way you can help Mr. Chase, that is.” Melissa wrung her hands in the faded calico skirt. “I just had to come and ask you to do it.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now you go on home. Don’t mention this to Mrs. Cordell or the Captain. And don’t worry.”

“I’ll try not to. Linese is nearly sick with fretting. I doubt the old Captain even knows what has happened, or that he understands who Major Cordell is.”

Ira smiled at the way the crafty older Cordell continued to deceive Mainfield. He had kept his word to Chase, and never let on that he knew the ex-ranger was sane. “You’re probably right, Miss Melissa, he probably doesn’t even realize what is going on.” Ira smiled. Even when Chase came home from war, they had kept their silence, as they agreed to do two years ago. But Ira had never forgotten Alfred Homstock.

Ira had done what he could to help Chase that night. He had taken the stolen bay gelding, and ridden the black mare like the devil himself. He had been careful not to be seen when he returned the horses to Cordellane. Nobody had spotted them outside the Presbyterian church. For two years he had kept the gun and the gold—and the secrets.

“I’m sorry, Chase, but now I’ve got to break my promise,” Ira muttered while he slipped his knife into his boot top. “You and I will have to talk about that night.”

Chase’s jaw muscle jumped convulsively while he listened to the conversation taking place in Rancy Thompson’s outer office. His entire existence centered around what
information he could hear by eavesdropping. Today it was Kerney who came to discuss him.

He listened to Colonel Homstock and Kerney talking about him, while his blood burned with hatred for the wishy-washy politician. At least the colonel believed in what he was doing. With Kerney it was all a matter of profit, just as it always had been.

“It pains me to think that one of Mainfield’s own could be responsible for your brother’s death, Colonel.”

“Really.” Colonel Homstock’s voice was emotionless.

“Yes. I hope you will allow me to offer my services as judge for the scheduled trial. As mayor of Mainfield, I have often presided over the local court, if the circuit judge was unavailable.”

There was a long pause. “You would do that, Mayor Kerney, sit in judgment on one of your own?”

“Of course, Major.” Kerney sounded downright eager to put a noose around Chase’s neck. He should have known the man would find a way to get even for his lack of cooperation about the articles.

“And doing so would not
offend
your sense of loyalty?” Colonel Homstock asked.

“My greatest concern, and loyalty to, has always been the continued economic stability of Mainfield. And the welfare of its citizens, of course.”

“Of course.” There was a wry tone in the Southerner’s words.

“If getting this trial over with, and bringing Major Chase Cordell to justice, will smooth relations between the town and your troops, then Colonel Homstock, I consider it my civic duty.”

Chase flopped on his cot in disgust. If only he were free. Chase would love to meet Kerney face-to-face for just five minutes. The sound of pebbles hitting the side of the jail wall drew Chase’s attention. He frowned at the narrow ventilation hole. A tiny scatter of pea-sized gravel pattered across the floor in front of his cot.

“What the hell?” Chase picked up his chain so it would not rattle while he moved closer to the opening.

“Chase? Are you there?” Ira’s harsh whisper floated to Chase’s ears.

“Ira? What are you doing here?” Chase could not see him through the small aperture, but he definitely recognized the voice.

“I got word there might be something I could do to help you.”

“You better leave, it’s not safe for you here.” Chase warned.

“Safe for me?”

“Ira, you’ve done all you can to keep my family from harm. Now it’s up to me. But I’m glad you came, it gives me a chance to thank you for what you did that night in Ferrin County.”

“What I did was nothing, Chase. You don’t have to thank me.” Ira sounded perplexed.

Chase grimaced. Ira must have steeled himself against the harsh reality of his deeds, the way Chase had seen many soldiers do when they were forced to fight their own kin and neighbors.

“You killed a man to save my grandfather and me,” Chase whispered.

“Killed a man?” Ira’s shocked words cut Chase off in mid-thought.

“Your secret is safe with me, Ira. Have no fear on that account. The only thing I would ask, is that you keep an eye on Linese and my daughters after—after I’m gone.”

“My secret?” There was the sound of shuffling feet outside the narrow slit. “Don’t you mean
your
secret?”

Chase frowned and leaned closer. “No. I mean what you did to Alfred Homstock.” Chase was beginning to wonder if Ira had lost his memory.