The quartermaster’s depot was another matter. They couldn’t cover up that damage. The boy who swept the cells spoke of the gaping hole in the roof and the blackened walls. The only thing they could hide was the amount of supplies lost.
He shifted his foot, and a chain rattled—leg irons. As if the bars weren’t enough to hold him.
Morning Fawn. Four days and so far he hadn’t heard any female voices in the jail.Dear God, please let her be all right. Would they bring her here or take her someplace else? What did they do with female prisoners? The Federal government wasn’t shy about sticking lady spies like Rosie Greenhow and Belle Boyd in prison until they figured out what to do with them. But at least the women had been imprisoned or exiled, not executed. From what he’d heard, Reb authorities under General Bragg threatened to execute Federal spy Pauline Cushman, but thankfully, her falling ill delayed the action, and U.S. cavalry rescued her.
He should have stayed away from Morning Fawn. He raked his hand over his face and drove his fingers through his disheveled hair. Stupid of him to smile at her and welcome her company. That night he went to her room to check on her after her uncle and Owens had forced poison down her throat? She’d been better off living through the poison than becoming entangled with him. He’d known his mission was dangerous. He’d tried to keep her out of it. But then she’d gone and dressed up in George’s clothes and followed him. He was already too far gone by then, hopelessly in love, afraid to admit it.
In the end he’d done more harm to her than anyone else since the raid on her family’s wagon train. If he’d had any sense, he’d have ignored her protest and shipped her off to the coast with Jeremy, bound and gagged if he had to, regardless of whatever effect that had on the mission. Her life was at stake.
Just as Isabelle’s had been.
An hour later—or was it five? —he awakened to his stomach gnawing on itself. Four days and nothing to eat but a pan of gruel yesterday and a slice of stale bread the day before. A clank. He glanced toward the bars. His dry lips curled.
Moyer stood there dressed in a fine wool suit as if he’d never seen a fire. Unmarred, except for a bruise under one eye and four scratch marks on his other cheek. Were the marks new, or had he been too out of it to notice the first time the scum had showed up to taunt him?
Devon winced and pushed up to a seated position.
“Thought you might be hungry.” Moyer jabbed his thumb, and the jailor stepped forward with a metal tray.
The grubby man with his overhung belly bent and shoved the food through a slit near the bottom of the door. A chunk of bread and a small piece of cheese.
Devon’s mouth watered. But he would not dive in like a dog at the feet of this man. “Say what you got to say.” His words came out thick through still-swollen lips.
Moyer smirked. “I’ve been to see Beth.”
Devon’s hand shook.
Moyer dismissed the jailor, and the man trudged down the hall toward the main door and steps.
“Not hungry?” Moyer nudged his boot toe toward the tray.
“Not with you around.”
Moyer chuckled. “Might as well eat while you still have a throat that can swallow.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m mighty grateful for Beth alerting us to the danger the other night andhurrying us off to Alleyton. Otherwise, we might have wasted the rest of the night whipping slaves.”
“She didn’t tell you a thing.” Devon jumped to his feet, wobbling for a moment before gaining his balance. “She didn’t have any idea what I was up to, and if she had, she’d held on to the information with her last breath.”
Moyer strummed his knuckles against the bars. “I beg to differ. She hopped on a horse ready to lead us here. That’s why she’s not in jail and isn’t going to be.”
Devon ground his teeth. “You’re a liar.” He spit on the ground with what little spit he could muster. “What are those claw marks on your face? They didn’t come from me. If you hurt her?—”
“If I did hurt her, what would you do about it?” Self-satisfaction dripped from his tongue like venom. “But you don’t have to worry about that. I plan to take good care of her. She and I are to be married.”
“She would never touch your mangy hide.” Devon’s throat constricted.
“On the contrary. We’ll be married within the month. I’m taking her to England with me to work on securing more cotton contracts. If you’re still alive then, I’ll consider getting you an armed guard and allowing you to come to the wedding.”
“You’re full of stories tonight.” But his voice faltered. Morning Fawn would never agree to marry this man. And why would Moyer even consider her? Surely, he knew she’d played him for a fool. She wouldn’t have warned them about the attack even if her life were at risk. Would she? Could she somehow have thought she was helping by telling?
Moyer laughed.
Devon picked up the tray and threw it at him.
“Your loss.” Moyer shrugged and ambled toward the entrance and freedom.
The bread rolled back toward the bars. Maybe within reachif Devon laid down and stretched to his utmost limit from chain to fingertips. He sank to his knees instead. Morning Fawn would not betray him. She would not marry this man of her own free will. Maybe they were lying to her too. But if it saved her life…
Dear God, help us. I know You can make a way where there is no way. Please deliver her from harm. Let her know that I love her. And that You do too. If there could somehow be a way in Your infinite grace and purpose, let there be a future for us. A life here on this earth. A way for me to escape this fate.
