MIDNIGHT MARAUDER

By

Becca Colebank

© copyright February 2006, Becca Colebank

Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright February 2006

ISBN 1-58608-818-1

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Monday, May 18, 1863

The stranger in blue appeared out of the magenta Mississippi twilight like an apparition as Evangeline stood looking out the drawing room window. Her heart thudded as the dusty giant loped up the wide marble plantation steps as if the large object he carried was no burden at all. She steeled herself and ran to the vestibule to investigate this new trouble the night was brewing.

"Suh!" Emma, Evangeline’s young ward, gave an indignant shout as the entry door was wrenched from her hands by one thrust of a broad shoulder. The man brushed past her without a glance and strode to where Evangeline now stood, chin held high

A Yankee. A damn Yankee, as her brother Jules would have labeled him were he here to shelter her from such intrusions. But Lieutenant Jules Gauthier was not here, nor was anyone else save ten-year-old Emma. They were alone with the Yankee

Of course, it wasn't that Evangeline Gauthier hadn't been expecting the Yankees. The rumble of cannons in the east had jarred her awake early yesterday morning, so she knew the battling was coming closer. She and Emma had dressed and driven the two miles to Vicksburg to attend church as usual, however. Rumors flew that Pemberton had been repulsed at Champion's Hill, so the minister had forgone his usual sermon and instead offered a prayer for the safety of General Pemberton's Confederate troops. He requested that the womenfolk begin to gather lint and bandages for the wounded and be prepared to open their homes and larders as well. Evangeline was certain he hadn’t meant them to open them to Union soldiers.

The horrors of war that had shadowed the area for months had finally come to Vicksburg, the fortified city high upon the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River which was known as the Gibraltar of the Confederacy.

Evangeline and Emma rushed home to gather up the Gauthier plate and other valuables. They left the drawing room, the library, the music room, the ballroom and even the master bedroom bare and plain. They had just finished caching the hoard in a shallow hole in the family plot when the first thud of hooves and creak of wheels were heard passing by the plantation house on the Jackson Road. Soon the trickle of tired and dusty rebel soldiers became a flood, and she and Emma hurried to the edge of the plantation's wide drive to find out what was happening.

"Where are you going?" Evangeline asked a hollow-eyed corporal flanking a caisson. The man looked pained, and he seemed disinclined to answer her.

"Can anyone tell me what's happened?" Evangeline worriedly pressed the men with him.

Another soldier gave her a surly glance and finally muttered, "We are running."

"Running!” So the rumors were true.

"The Feds have overrun us, ma’am.”

“How terrible!”

“An’ some think it's all Pem's fault,” another soldier interrupted with disgust. “Some think he's more a damn Yank than a rebel the way he runs things. Yesterday we were routed at Champion Hill, today the Big Black. Now all that's left to hold is Vicksburg, God willing." The men trudged on.

More gray-clad soldiers followed, and by nightfall the stream of retreating Confederates degenerated into a panicked flood, all desperate to reach the fortifications of Vicksburg ahead of the advancing wall of Grant's forces.

Yes, she had been expecting the Yankees--but as conquering, burning, looting hordes--not in the form of one huge, unshaven Yankee.

As the uniformed man halted in front of her, Evangeline saw that the burden he carried was another man who was also clad in Union blue.

"Show me to a bed!" the Yankee thundered Evangeline stood rooted to the spot, startled yet mesmerized by the light-haired man's odd copper-colored eyes. She had sipped several snifters of bourbon throughout the afternoon to fortify herself, but he still loomed huge and menacing, making her feel quite small and vulnerable in spite of her stature.

"Lead me to a bed, or by God, I'll find one of my own choosing. And if it's your own sweet, soft bed, that will be all the better, madam." The Yankee fixed his strange eyes on her, and as the silence grew, their hue darkened to mottled terra-cotta. She was captivated by the maroon flecks that prismatically studded his pupils. Such odd eyes--truly the eyes of a Yankee viper!

The big man gave a shrug, then turned and strode purposefully through the foyer to the wide hall that angled to the right. Evangeline gasped and flew after him, her silk slippers barely whispering over the carpeted floor in the wake of the man's large, black-booted feet.

The Yankee glanced into each open door as he passed, ignoring the ballroom, the library and the cluttered plantation office as he headed directly to the last room in the wing. Curse his blackguard soul! How had he known to go directly to her room?

A mere closed door was no barrier to the man. He burst into the room and strode to the canopied bed where he laid the wounded soldier down. He took no notice of the delicacy of the embroidered ivory coverlet and the feminine lace-edged pillow slips.

The Yankee’s face was grim and dust-streaked, with tiny rivulets of sweat coursing through several day's growth of sandy beard. He looked crude, raw, and dangerous to Evangeline.

"Fetch me a basin of cold water." The order was issued as if Evangeline were chattel to be pushed to and fro at his command.

But Evangeline was tall herself, at 5'8" a full head taller than most Mississippi women, and she was not chattel. The thought of the man's arrogance filled her with anger. Thrusting back her high, proud shoulders, she took a deep breath and said, "Fetch it yourself, Yankee"

The Yankee's powerful body froze mid-movement and his grim look turned deadly.

"Pampered rebel bitch," he swore succinctly, fixing his cold, coppery gaze on her and making her skin crawl. "As much as I appreciate your southern hospitality, I've had about as much of it as I can take. Fetch me a basin of water, or you'll see what happens to women who don't take orders well."

Evangeline shrank inwardly at the threat underscoring his words. He was so plainly used to ordering women about. Thankfully, she was a child of the Deep South, where men treated women with the utmost respect. This rude Yankee could use a lesson in courtesy, and she would be proud to be his tutor.

Removing her right hand from the folds of her gown, she withdrew the British Tranter pistol warming in her fingers. Using both hands to steady the silver-filigreed stock, she pointed the barrel at the Yankee and cocked the lower trigger. The metallic sound echoed dully off the pale yellow walls and ivory curtains.

The Yankee looked surprised for only the briefest moment.

"Out, Yankee! I want you and the other man out of my house. Now!" Evangeline hoped she sounded authoritative enough. She raised the barrel of the revolver until it was trained directly on his heart.

The Yankee hadn't moved, save for a slow, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyelids. His eyes, instead of showing fear, seemed to be measuring her with a slow, deliberate precision that created a shiver of revulsion up and down her spine. He was a copperhead, ready to strike.

She held her ground steadfastly, trying not to let the tip of the barrel wobble in spite of the trembling of her fingers.

After a few silent moments, he had obviously decided to take another tack. "Ma’am, this man is wounded and unconscious. See the bruise on his head?" He nodded toward the man on the bed, where indeed a nasty purplish bruise rose from the man's left temple. "Would you, a woman who seems to be untouched by the violence of this war, refuse aid to an injured man? Surely your God is more just than that."

She was not swayed. "I cannot give aid to Yankees, and how the war has affected me is none of your concern," she declared. "Now go, or I will insist on calling my men." To emphasize her words, she cocked the upper trigger as well. He should now be able to see that she knew very well how to deal with the double-action lock of the unusual pistol and realize that she meant business.

Long moments of silence followed. Evangeline was shaken when she realized that the man staring at her had an expression that seemed to border on a smile. Had he no fear of death?

"What is your name, miss?" He queried with what almost sounded like amusement.

How could that be? Had these Yankees no fear of guns?

"Don't underestimate me, sir, for I will shoot. I will give you to the count of five before my finger releases this trigger."

Evangeline could swear the man was laughing at her, even though his lips had never curved upward in the slightest.

She barely had time to stammer 'two' before he broke in. "There are no men on this plantation, ma'am. My advance scouts saw only you and the little dark girl."

Damn his Yankee smugness! What now?

"I can still shoot you," she replied. She wished she had been able to sound a little more threatening.

"I don't think so. If you had bothered to look out the window you would know why I believe I have the upper hand in this situation"

Look out the window? Why? She dared a glance out of the corner of her eye. Nothing seemed amiss.

The Yankee sighed and placed his broad hands on his lean hips. "The window facing the main approach."

"Don't move!" With a wave of the gun, Evangeline sidestepped to the large front windows of the room and looked out. There, swarming like ants over the tree-lined drive and the broad expanse of lawn, was what seemed to be an entire regiment of Yankees: most walking, some riding, all quite at home on Gauthier property.

The sight nearly made her faint. Even if she shot and killed this Yankee, he would soon be replaced by a hundred more.

"Your name, ma’am?" The Yankee crossed the room and held out his hand to take her gun. She gave it up without a struggle, acknowledging the Yankee had the advantage for now. But he didn't need to know the true depth of her fear. She threw back the cascade of black curls that had tumbled over her bosom and gathered her nerve about her.

"Evangeline Gauthier. And yours?"

“You're French?" A sandy eyebrow rose in amused inquiry.

"My grandparents were Acadians. But I am a citizen of the Confederate States of America," she answered proudly.

“Is that Miss Gauthier or Mrs. Gauthier?”

Evangeline thought about asking why it mattered, but she decided the time was not right to antagonize the Yankee any more than she already had. “I am engaged to be married.”

"Ah. I see. To a Confederate soldier, no doubt. I’m Wolffmann Ulbricht, Captain, United States Army." The Yankee stuck out a huge hand, but Evangeline ignored it. She didn't clasp hands with Yankees. After a long moment, he let it fall. Turning back to the man on the bed, he ordered over his shoulder, "Now that we have been properly introduced, get me that water. Quickly."

She hurried from the room, shame reddening her cheekbones. How she hated the Yankees--and this one in particular! In mere moments he had reduced her to slave status.

"Emma! I need a bucket of water," she snapped to the small black form that huddled against the hallway wall. "Hurry!"

"Is that man going to hurt us?" Emma's eyes were large and round with fear.

"No, dear, but there are very many of them, and it is very important that we pretend that they are our masters. Bring the water to my bedroom, please."

Evangeline picked up her skirts and ran. The house was large, and the linen closet was adjacent to the servant's quarters in the opposite wing. When she finally reached it, she grabbed a clean sheet and tore it into sections, then headed back to the east wing. She nearly bumped into Emma in the hallway, who was struggling with a full pail of water from the laundry.

"Thank you, Emma. Now you go keep watch from the attic and fetch me right off if anyone else tries to come in." Evangeline turned her toward the vestibule and gave her a pat on her back. She didn't want Emma to be present if the Yankee decided to take advantage of her female vulnerability, as they were rumored to do. The thought made her shudder.

When Evangeline returned, Captain Ulbricht was sprawled wearily in the upholstered occasional chair next to the bed. The chair was dwarfed by the huge, muscular bulk of his body. Although he appeared to be unconcerned, his coppery eyes followed her every movement as she approached.

"I need to get a basin from my dressing room," Evangeline assured him hastily, not wanting to arouse any unwarranted suspicion. The en suite dressing room was convenient, and she had enjoyed having her own self-contained quarters in the busy plantation home before the war. She opened the louvered doors to the small attached room and reached for the basin atop the mirrored dressing table. She couldn't help but see the reflected brightness of her cheeks in the mirror as she halted in front of it. Why couldn't she manage at least a small degree of composure in the presence of this man?

"You look fine," muttered the Yankee dryly. Evangeline glanced up, horrified to see him watching her in the mirror. "But would you mind tending to your personal toilet later? I've got an injured man here, and no time to wait while you preen."

As if she cared how she looked to a brute such as him! Cheeks now flaming, Evangeline ignored him and stalked to the bed, where she splashed water into the basin from the pail and stepped back.

"Put a cold cloth on his head," directed the Yankee from the chair.

Evangeline bit back a retort. The wounded man’s head injury was a bad one, all right, judging from the pallor of his face.

She drew back the golden hair that fell over the man’s forehead and placed a folded wet cloth over the bruise. There was something about this man--something about the evenness of his features, the high, wide, Aryan cheekbones and forehead, the large build--why, he was almost the exact mirror image of the man sprawled in her occasional chair! The seated Yankee's hair was a shade lighter, but the resemblance was eerie. She turned to the captain with a silent question.

"My brother Karl." Captain Ulbricht nodded. "You understand now the need to take very good care of him."

"What caused this?"

"Not that it is any of your business, miss, but he was knocked down by a rebel cavalryman on the way from Black River. I think the horse may have kicked him in the head. He also has a small saber gouge under his right arm that needs to be cleaned and dressed."

Reluctantly, Evangeline unbuttoned and removed the man's coat. She lifted his right arm and caught her breath as she saw the smear of blood that surrounded a small, dark, even-edged hole. She dampened a cloth and gingerly began to clean it.

"It needs soap, damnit. Surely an elegant lady like you has soap."

Frustrated, Evangeline crossed to her dressing table and found the expensive French-milled soap she had been hoarding. To have to waste any part of it on a Yankee galled her, but she lathered the cloth and carefully cleaned the wound, then rinsed and dried it. Folding another section of sheet, she tied it over the wound with a long strip of cloth and stood back once again, waiting for the Yankee's dismissal.

"Well done," he growled, eyeing her from under hooded lids. "I see you have some experience in nursing the wounded. Have you been taking good care of your shot-up Johnny Rebs?"

"Our Johnny Rebs have been taking very good care of themselves, until now," Evangeline shot back. "And my nursing experience is none of your concern."

"So you haven't any nursing experience."

"No," she lied. Actually, she had taken care of her father in his long illness. It was the reason she hadn't been on the marriage market until recently. "Perhaps you would rather a more capable nurse be called in for your brother."

"Perhaps," the Yankee mused, rubbing his whiskered cheek with large, rough fingers. "If there were any more capable women available. You seem to be the only woman around these parts.”

Evangeline knew that was true, but she couldn’t care about or for Yankees. "No good southern woman would tend your brother unless forced."

The Yankee shrugged. “I'm afraid it'll have to be you." He leaned forward in his chair. "I could use a bath. We've been on the road bedeviling your damned Pemberton for eighteen days."

She gave him an incredulous look. “I’m to heat and carry your water now?”

"Yes. I know such menial work may be foreign to a fine lady such as you, but the days of slavery are over. I think you are the best person for the task,” he said insolently.

This would be the perfect time for General Lee and the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia to appear, thought Evangeline to herself. But she had had no word of where Lee was headquartered lately, and he was surely too busy to come to the aid of one lone Confederate woman and a small black child. Perhaps the Yankee would let her go once she had prepared his bath. She hurried to the laundry to fill the large copper kettles and light the kindling under them. When they were hot, she dragged a large copper tub into her bedroom to fill it.

Captain Ulbricht was still in the chair and his eyes were closed. He was not sleeping though, she found as she tried to leave after she had filled the copper.

“Miss Gauthier,” the Yankee called her back and waved her confiscated pistol lazily. "I am too tired to move. Take off my uniform and shoes for me. You can't give a man a bath with his clothes on."

Evangeline looked at him aghast. “I cannot bathe you. It’s not proper!”

The Captain laughed grimly. “War is not proper, my lady. Don’t you know that all rules are suspended during wartime? Now hurry because I am pressed for time.”

Evangeline, red with embarrassment, removed his jacket. He emanated a rather unpleasant odor, she thought, nearly gagging as she removed his boots and stockings.

He stood and, to her horror, started to shuck his uniform pants. She averted her eyes quickly and as he sat down in the copper, she hurried toward the door.

Captain Ulbricht cleared his throat. “I haven’t given you permission to leave, Miss Gauthier. Since I am a guest in your home, I am sure you will afford me the luxury of washing my back.”

Evangeline bit back a scathing retort. It wouldn’t do to make this Yankee angry. Who would take care of Emma? Who would see to Darlington Oaks until Jules came back? Reluctantly she sank to her knees and picked up the washing cloth. As she swirled the cloth over his back, she couldn’t help noting the smooth way the muscles rippled reflexively under his skin as she touched him. She had never seen such musculature except in the field slaves.

When she finished his back and started to get up, the Captain stopped her. “I am enjoying this too much to allow you to stop, Miss Gauthier,” he said, ignoring the look on her face. “I’m in such a state of ennui I would like my entire body bathed, stem to stern.”

Did he really expect her to wash even his private male parts? Horrors! But a true Southerner had to be willing to make sacrifices out of loyalty, she reminded herself . This was a very small sacrifice compared to what some Confederate men were giving. She began washing his chest, but soon her eyes were inevitably drawn downward. She couldn’t help noticing the Yankee’s manhood slumbering in its nest of fine golden fleece. She didn't know the normal proportions of men, but this Yankee was undoubtedly large. She looked up to see the Captain watching her. He had a decided smirk on his face. Bastard! The redness again crept up her cheeks. Never had she used such profanity, even unspoken!

Throwing the cloth into the water and giving the Captain a deadly glare, Evangeline marched from the room. Yankees be damned! He could wash himself!

* * * *

Wolff wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. Damn! The southern wench was naive! From the awestruck look on her face, she had probably never seen a naked adult male.

He finished his bath and drew on his uniform. He listened to Karl's breathing for a moment, then gently raised one of his eyelids. Karl's pupil contracted with the light as it should. Good. Although he had one hell of a concussion, his brother would probably live.

His mind wandered back to the subject of Miss Gauthier. No man would deny that she was stunningly beautiful. She had a lithe, graceful body, a narrow waist, slim hips, and breasts that would plump right into his hands like a pouter pigeon. And that hair. It could only be described as raven black, long, curly and lustrous with highlights, framing the face of an angel. High cheekbones, eyes of a perfect, natural blue and a smattering of fine freckles over her nose and cheeks made a most pleasing sight for sore, war-weary eyes. Too bad she was such a devout rebel vixen. He wasn't about to fight her tooth and nail to gain the utmost in southern hospitality that only a fine-looking female such as Evangeline Gauthier could give.

Strange that she was alone on this plantation, with only a young black girl for company. How had she managed to keep the place up as well as she had? Maybe she hadn't been alone that long. Some of these rebel planters had only now joined Pemberton when faced with the destruction of their homes.

He gave the bedroom a second look, noting the feminine appointments, the expensive furniture, and the soft pastel hues of the room. Only a family with a great deal of money would have a home such as this, he knew. In fact, he had never seen a mansion of such monstrous proportions, nor one so elegantly furnished. It made his own modest brick family home in New Ulm seem very humble in comparison.

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten since this morning when his company had been engaged in hot pursuit of the rebels at the Big Black. Where would the kitchen be in such a house? This time he didn't have the telltale eyes of Miss Gauthier to lead him to his destination. He drew on his boots and set out to explore the mansion.