Erin's Rebel Page 3

  Yes, his present life suited him fine, as long as he could escape being hit by Yankee bullets. And he had found a way to make it better when he befriended the man who’d been in camp two months before posing as a photographer but who was actually a Federal spy. That Yankee had promised him money and other benefits if he simply appointed Erin O’Connell to the position of laundress.

  Once he agreed, Jake was rewarded with the excitement of espionage and the promise of sampling the Irish woman’s charms. All he had to do was supply military information she could send to her Yankee contacts.

  He struck a match against the heel of his brogan and lit a hand-rolled cheroot. The day had passed quickly, and he still hadn’t had the chance to talk to her. First, that busybody Brigid Malone had shown up. Then he’d been assigned duties that took up the rest of the day. He’d just completed his last assignment for today, assigning men for picket.

  The overcast sky and the lateness of the hour cast the camp into near darkness. The tip of his cheroot glowed red, the only illumination around. Everyone must be asleep, including the laundress.

  He hesitated for a moment, then eased his way to her tent. He’d find out what the hell she was up to. He had every right, since they were in this together. If caught helping her, he’d be shot as a traitor.

  Glancing around to be sure no one saw him, he crept around her tent. He ground his cheroot under his boot and ran his hand along the canvas until he found the slit. Feeling along the edge, he felt the ties that held the tent closed and fastened from the inside. He inserted his fingers and worked the knot until it came loose, then untied the other strips above and below it to lengthen the opening.

  Jake allowed his vision to adjust before edging forward in the dark interior. He banged up against the edge of a table and stifled a curse.

  The cot creaked, as a body shifted.

  Jake froze, holding his breath, then slid a hand against smooth wax in the shape of a long tallow candle set in a metal stand. Pulling out a match, he struck it and held it to the wick. A soft glow illuminated the interior.

  A form lay on the cot beneath a worn patchwork quilt. At the top of the cot, a shock of red-gold hair cascaded over the covers. He bit his lip, itching to run his fingers through the loose, silken strands.

  She moaned and turned over, her face exposed. He focused on her mouth, wondering how those generous lips would taste. The woman was no virgin. She’d told him she’d been married. Mr. O’Connell had died of scarlet fever before the war started, leaving his wife of two months, newly arrived from Ireland, in dire straits.

  He knelt before the cot and leaned toward her lips. Her sweet scent intoxicated him as his mouth came within a breath of hers.

  Her eyes opened wide. She inhaled sharply, then let out an ear-splitting shriek. Afraid she’d wake others, he grabbed her shoulders and pressed his lips to hers. She fought like a wildcat—the way he liked it. He took his fill of her honey-sweet mouth before she pushed him away.

  Gaping at him, her blue eyes wide, she said, “Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here?”

  ****

  Heart hammering, Erin stared at the man who held her pinned to the cot. At first, she’d thought he was trying to smother her. Once she realized his mouth was pressed against hers, outrage overtook fear. Even after she’d pushed him off, the taste of tobacco and whiskey on his breath made her gag.

  “I need to talk to you now. I couldn’t allow you to scream.” He grinned as if that explained everything.

  She clutched the quilt to her chest, realizing she’d seen this man before. Long, dark lashes shaded his pale eyes and copper-colored brows. A memory surfaced of a soldier sitting near an open fire.

  “I saw you yesterday.”

  “And I saw you,” he said, “being escorted by the captain.” He nearly spat the word. “And then I hear tell of the goings-on last night.”

  She stared at him. “Do I know you?”

  After a brief hesitation, he asked, “What kind of game are you playing now, woman? What in tarnation happened to your brogue, or was that part of your spy cover?” His fingers bit into her shoulders.

  “Ow!” She wriggled, trying to free herself. Who the hell did he think he was? “Let me go.”

  He lifted his hands from her and stood.

  Gathering the quilt, she rose to a seated position. She needed time to think—to clear her head. And she needed this man out of here.

  “If you must know,” she said, “I don’t remember anything about last night.”

  His ice-blue gaze narrowed. “Were you drunk?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “The hell you don’t.” He rolled his eyes.

  She ignored his statement. “When I fell, Doc thinks I lost my memory.”

  “About last night?”

  “About everything.”

  He scowled. “Are you saying you don’t know who I am?”

  “No—I don’t remember you.” This guy was really starting to piss her off.

  He shook a dirt-streaked finger at her. “If you’re lying...”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t even know who I am.” She wrapped the quilt around her and rose to face him. He stood only a few inches taller than she—not as tall as Captain Montgomery. Why had she made that comparison? The idea of having the captain in her tent, instead of this bastard, sent a thrill through her.

  “I don’t understand this at all,” he complained. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I think you should leave, now.” Erin glared into his ice-cold eyes. Her pulse raced, and she found breathing difficult. What would she do if he said no?

  “I’ll leave. But you best take care what you say to the captain.” He pushed open the tent flap and disappeared into the night.

  She stood a moment longer, trying to control her breathing then sank back onto the cot. She watched the open flap, half expecting him to return. Sighing, she pushed back her newly acquired mass of hair. This was all too real. Somehow, she now occupied Erin O’Connell’s body. If she only knew what had happened to her own body back in the future. She could be dead. Or lying in a hospital in a deep coma. And how was she supposed to get back after she did whatever she was expected to do?

  A scene from the movie, Back to the Future, flashed through her mind. Things she did here could have an effect on her own or her family’s future.

  Her gaze rose to the open tent flap. A light breeze waved the canvas back and forth. She rose and poked her head outside. The man had disappeared. She tied the flaps back together, then paced the confined interior.

  Who was he to Erin O’Connell? She didn’t even know his name. But he knew her. She wiped the edge of the quilt across her mouth to erase his rancid taste. She didn’t know if she’d get any more sleep tonight. She just hoped to God he didn’t come back.

  Chapter Five

  “Miss Erin?”

  Erin groaned as the lilting voice pierced through her dream. Or had it been a nightmare? She’d dreamt she was lost in a forest. Men with rifles chased her...

  She rolled over and slid off the narrow bunk. “What the hell?”

  “Miss Erin?”

  She glanced in the direction of the voice. Light slivered through the opening in the canvas. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I’m still here.” She dragged her aching body from the rug covering the dirt floor. Remembering she only wore a loose cotton chemise, she grabbed the tattered quilt from the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders before unlacing the ties that held the tent closed.

  When she peered out, Brigid’s round face greeted her.

  “I heard a crash,” the Irish cook said. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh...ah...I fell off my bunk.”

  Brigid blinked. She hesitated a moment before saying, “Doc asked me to look in on you to see if yer recollection had come back a’tall.”

  Erin shook her head. Since she seemed to be stuck in this God forsaken time, the loss of memory story would be her only sal
vation.

  “You’ll be needing help setting up the laundry, then?”

  She nodded. “Ah...yeah.” Brigid had told her she was a laundress. She wondered what doing laundry in this century entailed as she eased out of the tent opening.

  The Irish woman’s gaze dropped. Her face reddened when she stared at Erin’s bare feet. “You’ll be wanting to dress before you come out of there. You don’t want the men in camp to be seeing too much.”

  “Oh.” Erin backed up. “I guess I’ll put something on then.”

  Brigid smiled. “I’ll bring you some kindling for yer fire while yer dressing.”

  “Okay,” Erin called. She studied the dress and petticoats she’d discarded the night before. A fine sheen of dirt covered the clothing. She wanted something clean to put on. Jeans and a tee shirt were what she preferred, but she doubted she’d find those items here.

  Sighing, she reached under the bunk and brought out the trunk. She’d hoped the past day and a half had been a bad dream. But, somehow, she was still here. Well, she could do nothing but get dressed. She needed to uncover more information to discover a way to get back to where she belonged.

  She pulled out a brown calico dress with a starched white collar. Beneath it were two cotton petticoats. How many was she supposed to wear? When undressing last night, she’d found she’d been wearing three. She eyed the white, boned corset. No way was she putting that on.

  By the time she slipped into one of the petticoats, tied it at her waist and settled the dress over her head, Brigid had returned. Erin slid on a pair of stockings, tied on a pair of those flat, stretchy things she’d discovered were garters when she’d undressed last night, and stepped into and laced up her shoes. She lifted the tent flap to find the Irish cook crouched before the fire pit, adding bits of kindling.

  “Do you recall where you left yer matches?”

  “Ah, yes, I think so.” Erin wasn’t sure where she’d tossed the matches after Brigid had helped her locate them on the table in her tent yesterday, but she managed to find the container on the table amid a pile of clothing.

  Reaching into the box, Brigid removed a thin wooden match. She struck it against the log she’d placed in the fire pit yesterday. After the kindling caught, she rose and wiped her plump hands against her apron. “I’ll fetch me teapot and a few biscuits I saved from last night’s meal. We’ll have a bite to eat before we head down to the stream.”

  “The stream?”

  “To fetch the water for washing,” Brigid said.

  “Oh, sure.” Erin shrugged. She didn’t like the sound of that. This totally sucks! Just how far away is this stream, and how much water do we have to carry? She watched the cook scurry to her tent.

  She eyed two tin buckets sitting upside down alongside her tent. They’d need more than that to fill the large wood laundry tub.

  Once Brigid returned and they’d eaten, she instructed Erin to bring along the buckets by the tent and produced two more. Erin followed her down to the stream, where they filled the containers before lugging them up the slope. After they poured the water into a large copper pot hanging from a cast iron rail over the fire, the Irishwoman brought out a large bar of lye soap from a wood box set beside Erin’s tent. While the water heated, soldiers arrived bearing soiled shirts.

  Erin rubbed her aching arms. She anticipated a long, hard day ahead of her and wished there was a way she could transport a modern washing machine from the twenty-first century.

  ****

  Will ducked into his tent and sifted through the folded, crumpled papers he’d found yesterday after he’d escorted Mrs. O’Connell to her tent. The pages had obviously been torn from a journal. The writer had penned a list of recent and future Confederate troop movements. He studied the small, neat handwriting looking for any clue as to the writer’s identity. They likely had a spy or traitor amongst them.

  Mrs. O’Connell had only been here two weeks. Sergeant Wagner had appointed her laundress, claiming she was a recently widowed relative who desperately needed the money. He’d noted Wagner’s comings and goings to her tent at all hours and wondered about their relationship. But he hadn’t given a thought to them being involved in espionage. The sergeant could be a trial at times—insubordinate and late for roll call. He’d been caught drinking while on picket duty. And he’d had his share of punishment.

  Wagner wasn’t much different from many of the men. They’d left their homes to defend the rights of Virginia to govern itself and not be dictated to from Washington. But camp life wasn’t an easy way to live, and the time between battle engagements could be endless. Men sought diversions any way they could.

  Will folded the papers and stuffed them into his leather haversack. He’d turn the pages in to the colonel. But without proof, did he want to cast suspicion on Mrs. O’Connell and the sergeant? He wouldn’t voice his doubts to the colonel, but he’d keep an eye on them. If they had anything to do with the papers, maybe they’d trip up, and he’d catch them.

  A loud, male voice outside drew Will from his tent.

  “I told you, woman, I want what I was promised. You won’t put me off again.”

  He glanced a few yards down the row of military tents toward the laundress’ tent. Wagner held Mrs. O’Connell’s forearms.

  “Let go!” She struggled against the sergeant’s grip.

  Will’s jaw tightened when he strode down the path to face the couple. “Is there a problem here, Sergeant?”

  Wagner released Mrs. O’Connell. “She owes me money, sir.”

  The woman glared at Wagner.

  “I’m sure you’ll get your money when Mrs. O’Connell gets paid,” Will reassured.

  “But sir—”

  “She wasn’t able to work yesterday due to her injuries. You should be a bit more understanding of your own relation.”

  Wagner dropped his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed, Sergeant.”

  Wagner saluted and stalked off without looking back.

  Mrs. O’Connell hadn’t moved or spoken during the exchange. Will’s gaze drifted over her. She wore a bib apron pinned to her worn, calico workdress. Her hair was now arranged in her usual bun.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” She seemed fragile. He longed to put his arms around her and reassure her.

  She brushed her hands over her apron. “I’m fine.”

  “If he hurt you,” he continued, “I’ll see that he’s punished.”

  She glanced in the direction Wagner had taken and scowled. “I can handle him.”

  He doubted that. He’d seen Wagner drunk and knew how mean he could get. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, how are the two of you related?”

  Her mouth dropped open. He didn’t consider it an unusual question, since a sergeant normally appointed his wife, or one of his other relatives as laundress and took a cut of her pay.

  “He’s a cousin,” was all she said.

  “Well, cousin or no, if he bothers you again, you come to me.”

  She smiled. Her teeth were small, even and white, surrounded by lush, pink lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He had a hard time drawing his gaze from her mouth.

  Whoa, I don’t know anything about this woman. Getting involved with her will likely bring me nothing but trouble.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’d better be getting back to the laundry.”

  Will tipped his cap. “Ma’am.” He watched her return to the washtub. She rolled up her dress sleeves, exposing the ivory skin of her forearms.

  He admonished himself as he turned away. Don’t get sweet on a camp laundress, especially one who could turn out to be a Yankee spy.

  ****

  After a meal of salt pork and corn the men had been permitted to pick from a local farm, Will spotted Wagner leaning against a wide oak tree at the edge of camp. The sergeant puffed on a cheroot.

  Will watched him, and anger bubbled up inside. What hold did he have on Erin O’Connell? Maybe a talk with the man
would shed light on their situation.

  Wagner’s eyes widened, then narrowed when Will approached. He tossed his cheroot to the grass and ground it out with the toe of his brogan.

  “I’d like a word with you, Sergeant,” Will said.

  Wagner straightened. “Sir?”

  “Mrs. O’Connell has not been herself since she fell off the horse.”

  “Ah...” Wagner hesitated. “She does seem to be having a hard time recollecting things.”

  “Perhaps if she were to return home, a familiar setting might jar her memory.”

  Wagner glanced away. “She don’t have a home to go to. That’s why she’s here.”

  “But surely, your family—”

  “My family?” The sergeant shook his head. “I have no family I care to associate with.” He raised his gaze to Will. “She has nowhere else to go, sir.”

  The bleakness of Wagner’s statement caused Will’s chest to tighten. Mrs. O’Connell had no one but this man?

  He dismissed the sergeant but noted the intense glare in the man’s eyes as he turned to go. He was dangerous. Will didn’t know Mrs. O’Connell’s true relationship with Wagner, but he was damned if he’d allow him to hurt her again.

  Chapter Six

  Erin arrived at the medical tent that evening cradling a peach pie Brigid helped her make that afternoon after she’d hung laundry to dry. Doing anything in this century took so much time and effort; she was amazed these people had any leisure time at all. When Doc dropped by to invite her to share his evening meal, she couldn’t resist the opportunity, hoping she could pump him for more information about Erin O’Connell’s past. Brigid didn’t know anything about her, other than she was a widow.

  After reading the journal entries, she learned Erin O’Connell had tolerated Wagner for the information he provided. But a later entry revealed that her Civil War relative had been more than a bit attracted to Captain Montgomery, although he showed no indication of reciprocating her feelings. She suspected the woman had a secret crush on him.