Untitled

Chapter Two

Unable to dispel visions of Marx Wellbourne, Grayson tossed and turned in his bed. He went over the details in the man's file with the curiosity of a cat, longing to know what he'd been up to for the last four years.

If he entered the world on the fifth of February, eighteen thirty-nine, that would place him at twenty-five years of age. Yes, that was about right. Born in New Orleans, the man had resided in Charleston, South Carolina at the time he enlisted. He already knew that much, yet one never knew where a man placed his loyalties in this godforsaken war. Brother fought against brother, cousin against cousin and many who lived in the south were northern sympathizers. And vice versa.

Physical description: dark hair, fair complexion, six feet tall and . . . Grayson paused. Blue eyes, not the dark brown he'd envisioned from across a crowded room. Wellbourne's hard, lean body rose before him and the knot of tension in his gut he'd been trying to dismiss clenched. How many nights had he longed to see those eyes glazed over with passion, hear his voice? Yes, the voice could be nothing less than a slow, sensual drawl like so many who hailed from the Carolinas.

Marx Wellbourne had enlisted for Confederate service in Captain Moses Humphrey's Company of Cadet Rangers in June of 1862. While a cadet at the Citadel, he helped train the 14th SC Infantry. Grayson stopped the rumination of facts locked in his brain and mulled over the data. It didn't surprise him Wellbourne had excelled in his duties. The man carried himself with an air of superiority, if not mockery.

While at the Citadel, he'd transferred to the Fifth South Carolina Cavalry and was sent to Richmond in February of sixty-four. Grayson rolled onto his left side, hoping to gain a modicum of comfort. And finally, Wellbourne and the Fifth joined the Army of Northern Virginia as part of Butler's Brigade, Hampton's Cavalry Division. Another credit to Grayson's advantage—the man was well versed in horses.

Captured in June of sixty-four near Louisa Court House, Virginia on the York River, the Corporal eventually found his way to Hellmira by the end of that month. So the agency he worked for had been right, Wellbourne hadn't been at the prison camp for long.

Grayson put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Within two months of confinement, Wellbourne had managed to help ten men escape from that hell-hole and had served time in the box. Tenacious little bugger, and foolishly courageous, but that didn't surprise him in the least.

Grayson gave his pillow several hard punches and vowed to put all thought of Marx Wellbourne from his mind. If he didn't get some rest, he'd be little good at saving the man's life and Wellbourne wouldn't be fit to travel for quite some time. That simply wouldn't do.

His final thought before drifting off concerned the file. Why and how had Darkmore collected so much information on the man? What did the shifty Major know, and how long before he would have killed Wellbourne?

* * *

Grayson pulled the old nag up to the main building of barracks Number three, retrieved his medicine bag, and walked toward the entrance. How would he feel if the Lieutenant told him the Corporal had passed during the night? He didn't want to think about it. More than his attraction to the man hung in the balance.

The Lieutenant greeted him with the hint of a smile. “The Corporal has been drifting in and out today, hard for me to tell if he's better or worse.

“Better, I hope. I don't like the thought of any man dying in a strange land without family to comfort him.

“I believe you mean that, Doctor, no matter what side the man fights for.

“Yes, well, if you'll escort me in and open the cell, I'll check on his condition.

“Follow me, sir.

Tonight, curled up on his side with his eyes closed, Wellbourne occupied the same cot. When he entered the cell, his eyelids fluttered open. He had been wrong. They were not brown, but blue, bluer than sapphires. The man didn't twitch a muscle but rather watched the Lieutenant lock the cell when he left.

“Evening. I'm Grayson Drake, the local physician from Elmira—the town that is.

Still no reaction from the man who'd courted death in the last twenty-four hours.

“I examined you yesterday, administered quinine and opium—”

“I remember.

As he'd imagined, Wellbourne's resonant voice with the honey-liquid drawl of the South filled the empty space between them. Grayson sloughed the vague bliss washing over him, walked to the stool and opened his bag. “I brought you nourishment. Do you think you can keep it down?” The man stared at the flaky biscuits lathered in thick apricot preserves in his outstretched hand. “Take them. I assure you; they're not tainted.

Wellbourne pushed up into a sitting position and like a starved beast, took the biscuits and answered with his mouth full. “Nothing would surprise me when it comes to Darkmore.” He devoured the first one and paused as if savoring the second. “Been a long time since I had homemade biscuits smothered in preserves.

“You don't have to convince me by the look of your rib cage.” Grayson reached for a flask in his bag and passed it to him. “Tea with a shot of brandy.

“Jesus, who sent you, Gabriel?

“After I examine you, we'll talk.

Wellbourne looked at him over the rim of the flask and for a tenuous moment Grayson thought the man recognized him. “I knew this was too good to be true. What are you, the bearer of bad news bringing a dying man his last meal?

Grayson laughed. “If you'd have asked me last night, I would have been inclined to agree with that assessment, but you look much better this evening.

“Oh, yeah? Well two days ago when they pulled me out of the box and dumped in this hellhole, I thought I'd be meeting my Maker soon.

“Can I take a listen to your lungs?

Wellbourne struggled to sit up and gave a smirk. “Be my guest.

Grayson moved above him, listening to the front side of his chest and next the back. “You still have a touch of pneumonia but I suspect you'll live.

“Pity, that.

Grayson settled onto the stool. “Look, we don't have much time so let me get to the point.

The Corporal swished down another gulp of the tea concoction. “You said we'd talk about who sent you. Like the army mules, I'm all ears.

“I must get to Richmond and you need to get out of here.

He eyed him warily. “Richmond . . . as in Virginia?

“The same.” Grayson thought about what this must sound like to the man and wondered if he might lose him if he didn't weigh his next words. “I can't reveal all the details but I went through your file and believe you're quite familiar with the territories, North and South.” The gorgeous man's body tensed, so subtly most wouldn't have noticed. Grayson had made it his life mission to watch nuances, however small, had studied a man's eyes until he knew what he'd do before he knew himself. His life depended on it. “Hear me out before you dismiss the notion.” Reaching into his bag again, he pulled out a Bible. “Open it to page three-hundred-twenty. You'll find a forged pass to get you through the front gate.

With one eye on him, Wellbourne opened the book to page he recited. “How apropos, Darkmore's signature.” He looked up, drawing Grayson's full attention. “And what do you propose I wear when I sashay out of here? These rags?” He picked up the hem of his tattered jacket. “Or are you really a wizard who can transform me into a frog?” The sound of the Corporal's rich laughter sent a shudder through him. “I could leap my way to the gate I suppose.

Everything about the man was perfect, his voice, his laugh, and oh, God, the eyes. Even dressed in tatters, Wellbourne oozed sexuality. He wanted to touch him again, longed to lose himself in the fundamental joining of another man's flesh against his. Not just any man, but Marx Wellbourne's. Damnation, why couldn't his mission have included someone other than the fantasy of his every dream, like some toothless, dreadfully revolting man from the foothills of Virginia? “Wear this—a Union uniform, forage hat and all.

“Shit, what else you got in that magical pouch, fried chicken, a cask of whiskey, a one-way rail ticket to Charleston?

He hadn't asked if he could pull a woman out of the bag. Of course he wouldn't ask for a woman, but most men would after months of celibacy. “We won't be needing a train ticket.

The seconds droned on as Wellbourne studied him. After a lengthy time, he asked, “What must I do to regain my freedom?

“Get me to Richmond, and we'll be traveling overland.

“On foot?

Grayson shook his head and withdrew a map from the bag. He looked over his shoulder and then lowered his voice. “We'll make our way south via this route.” He pointed to the town of Corning, and next Canton and Williamsport. “After Williamsport,” his finger danced over the towns, “Harrisburg, York, Baltimore and finally Richmond.

“Are you daft? Union troops will be crawling all over the territory. We'll be taken for deserters and shot on the spot, or hung.” A chortled rasp followed his laughter. “And it's near to four hundred miles to Richmond.

“Two sturdy mounts in excellent condition, without carrying a heavy load, can travel sixty miles a day. You don't look too heavy to me, Corporal.

Wellbourne looked at the ceiling and next the floor. “Depends on the terrain, but for a short period, say five, six days it's possible, providing a man stops for food, rest and water often.” He looked up again. “Who are you? And why me?

“It doesn't matter who I am, and I've already told you why I selected you. You know horses, the country and you're a seasoned fighter.

“Look, I don't give a rat's hide what you were before the war, but I won't be a part of helping you infiltrate the South so you can report back with precious information to the likes of Darkmore.

“I assure you, Wellbourne, I'm not a Union spy.

“Marx. If we're going to be running for our lives in this ill-fated scheme of yours, don't you think we could call one another by our first names?

Grayson nodded. “Gray, you can call me Gray, and if you agree to help me, no more questions about my motives. Understood?” Marx hesitated, and Gray added, “You have my oath; I'm not a Northern mole.

“I get you to Richmond and then what?

“You go your way, I go mine. No questions asked.

“If you want to get to Richmond, why don't you just hop that train in Elmira? It's a straight shot down.

“No, it won't do. Darkmore's been asking too many questions for my comfort, and his men would be all over that train like ticks on a coonhound. I won't make it to the next town.

“What kind of questions?

Gray put his flask back in the bag, rose and with tin cup in hand, walked toward the cell door.

“Wait . . . all right, no more questions about your motives, but when should I make my way to the gate?

“Darkmore returns in three days. Two evenings from now, you'll walk through that entrance and head west to the woods outside of town. You'll see my low-burning fire from the edge of the forest. The horses will be ready.

“Why two days?

“You're still weak, wouldn't be fit to travel thirty miles a day, much less sixty and we need to get a jump on them that first day.” Gray released a sardonic chuckle. “Unfortunately, Darkmore is judicious, one of the shrewdest military men I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“He will come for me, you know.

“Oh, well I know, and me too once he puts two and two together.” Gray tossed him the flask across the room. “To bolster your courage, and stuff the uniform under your mattress. I'll tell the Lieutenant I left a Bible on your night table in case you don't make it.

“Two more questions before you call for the guard. Do you know how to shoot a gun? And, how am I supposed to get out of this cell two nights from now?

Gray rapped on the metal bars three times. “I can shoot well enough to hit small game when I have to. As to your second question, use your imagination. Just find me in the woods forty-eight hours from now and be ready for a hard ride through the night.

“How do I know I can trust you?

“That's three questions.

“And damn worthy ones at that.

“When is the next time you'll have an opportunity to get out of here, or are you looking forward to returning to the box?

Marx twisted the lid of the flask and took a swallow. “I'll be there, but if you're not there with the horses, I'm a dead man.

“Then that makes two of us. Like I said, Darkmore has been snooping around, watching my every move. He doesn't know anything of value, but knows something is up. It's now or never, Corporal.

“I said I'd be there.

Grayson nodded and knocked on the bars. Moments later, the Lieutenant appeared to open the cell and glanced at the Bible. Marx had already stuffed the uniform and flask under the mattress and lay sprawled on his back, groaning. “I don't know, Lieutenant. He's much worse tonight. Darkmore sure will be disappointed when he comes back and discovers his favorite prisoner has passed on to Glory.

“You mean he's gonna die?

“Don't rightly know. I filled him with quinine and opium. You ever had scarlet fever, Lieutenant?

The Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his scrawny neck when he swallowed hard. “No, sir, can't say I have. Is it contagious?

“Contagious? Hell, yes. I'll be lucky if after touching the varmint I don't come down with it. If I were you, I'd bring his meals, slip them in real quiet and leave as soon as possible. Don't touch him or anything around him.

The Lieutenant glanced to the bed again. “No, sir. I won't, you can be sure.

Gray followed the man down the hallway and let himself out. Then he prayed Marx would find a way to get those damn keys from the Lieutenant.

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