Jeffrey was ready to get out of bed. Already, he could feel his muscles needing to stretch. Perhaps in the morning, he would get up and take a look around.

In the meantime, he pondered what he would tell Claire. She wanted to know what happened to him.

For the first time in a year, he regretted his decision to fight for the Yankees.

It was fate, he thought.

It was fate that he ended up here in the northern part of his own state and in the home of a very southern girl who sent his blood stirring.

Fate, yes, and irony.

Ironic that she would most likely want nothing to do with him now, or once she learned the truth.

A southern lady would have nothing to do with a Yankee. And a southern lady would have nothing to do with a man who chose to fight against his own country.

He could see no way to redeem himself.

Claire came back into the room and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. It tasted a little like chicory. Reminded him of home.

“How long have you been in the army?” she asked.

“Three years. Since the war began.”

“The war is interminable.”

“It is. Do you have family members fighting?”

She slid into the chair next to the bed. Shook her head. “I don’t have any siblings and my father was killed in the Mexican-American war when I was a child. My grandfather is too old.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was raised by my grandfather also. My parents and grandmother died during… my childhood.” He had almost told her that they had died during the yellow fever outbreak, but she would have doubtless wondered how they could have been affected so far north.

“We’ve both had our share of tragedy,” she said. “Tell me how you ended up here.”

“We were fighting in the fog,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We couldn’t see two feet in front of us.

“We got the order to charge, but the… um… enemy was waiting for us.”

“So, you had to retreat.”

“Yeah,” he said. How could he talk about the Rebels being the enemy when she was one of them?

Even more, he had been one of them for two years. Before he decided to fight for an idealistic cause instead of protecting his own country.

There was a war outside Claire’s doorstep and two days ago, he’d avoided thinking about his duty to protect his fellow southerners.

Now, just like that, he was caught between two worlds.

He pressed his fingers between his eyes. Scrunched up his face.

“Are you alright?” Claire asked, alarm in her voice.

Jeffrey took a deep breath. Smiled at Claire. She returned his smile.

And some of the weight fell from his shoulders.

Right now he had to focus on just two things. Healing and making sure Claire was safe.

“Your grandfather is a good man,” he said. “Has he been ill?”

She nodded, her brows furrowed. “He’s been bed-ridden much of the last year. Doc Pritchard said it was old age. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.”

“He seems ok now.”

“He does seem more like his old self.”

“It’s curious indeed. What about your mother and your grandmother?”

Her face was enveloped in sadness at the question. “My mother died in childbirth shortly after my birth so I never knew her. My grandmother died three years ago.”

“Ah, chère,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps your grandfather was grieving?”

“Perhaps. I hadn’t really considered that possibility.”

Jeffrey reached out, lifted a lock of her hair off her shoulder. Marveled at its softness. Her eyes widened, and she appeared to hold her breath.

“Love does strange things to a man.”

“So they say,” she murmured.

It occurred to Jeffrey that Claire may be spoken for. One of the soldiers he had been fighting against could hold her heart.

He had to know.

He must know.

“You?” he asked.

She looked at him questioningly.

He shook his head. Started again. “Are you spoken for?”

“You mean, am I betrothed?” she asked.

He nodded.

“No,” she answered quickly. “There’s no one.”

He gazed into her green eyes, wondering how a man of his troubles, could even begin to court a girl such as Claire.

“And you?” she asked. “Does someone wait for you at home?”

“Only my sister and grandfather. But truth be told, they likely believe me dead.”

“Oh. My. That’s terrible. Why would they think that?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Best left for another day.”

“Oh course,” she said, standing up. “You must be tired and you need your sleep. I’ll leave you for the night.”

He didn’t want her to go. He could talk to her all night. Wanted to talk to her forever. To know everything. All her thoughts.

But before he could protest, she had slipped from the room, taking the candle with her.

Jeffrey lay in darkness. With nothing to do but contemplate his plight.

Perhaps he was tired. His thoughts twisted and tangled until he could no longer make sense of them.

He fell into a fitful slumber.

Only to wake to the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

He must have slept longer than he thought. The room was bathed in the pale glow of dawn.

Other than the knocking, the house was quiet. Claire and her grandfather were still asleep.

When the pounding came a second time, Jeffrey went on full alert. It was a soldier’s knock. Though whether it was Northern or Southern, he couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t decide which was going to be worse.

In a whirlwind, Claire appeared at his bedside. “Hurry,” she said. She wore a white nightgown and her hair swirled around her.

Swallowing a groan, he swung his leg around to the side of the bed. His head spun with dizziness.

“Come,” she urged, tugging on his sleeve.

Distracted by her angelic appearance, he stood up, swayed, and promptly passed out.

 

 

Jeffrey heard men walking above him. The wooden floor creaked beneath their heavy boots. Breathing in the damp earth, he swallowed a sneeze.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, except that he was beneath the floor. The house was built on piers and beams and someone had walled in a section to create a makeshift cellar.

How he got here was a bit hazy. He only remembered Claire urging him to drop through the hole in the floor.

Claire’s voice mingled with the soldier’s. She sounded calm and confident. If the soldiers threatened her, he was prepared to reveal his hiding place beneath the floor.

Even now, he struggled to discern whether the voices came from Yankees or Rebels.

“Absolutely not!” Claire’s voice rang out, clearly reaching him.

His heart lodged in his throat. What did they want with her? Were they about to harm her? He would not allow it. Poised to leap through the trap door to her rescue, he stood, one hand raised toward the latch.

Then she laughed. Laughed? And they joined her, their laughter a bit bawdy for his taste. Why would she be laughing with the soldiers?

Slowly, he lowered his hand, forcing his heartbeat to return to normal. Now was not the time to barge in on them.

Their footsteps retreated and he waited. Waited for the front door to slam closed behind them.

He continued to wait. The air grew quickly damp. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was damp… and cold. He rubbed his arms and blew warm breath on his hands. After stomping his feet, he leaned against the wall and ventured to study his surroundings, but darkness prevented any scrutiny.

Something scurried in the shadows. A rat perhaps? Or maybe something more sinister. A snake? If he was locked down here with a snake, he may as well go ahead and surrender to the soldiers now. Any fate would be better than meeting up with a snake.

He strained to hear some sound from above. All was quiet. Why didn’t someone… Claire or Grandpa come and rescue him from the dank, dark hole in the ground?

Reaching up, he tried the latch, determined to get out of here. But it seemed someone had made sure it could only be opened from inside the house.

Damn.

Truly, this was worse than when he’d been tossed into the Mississippi River when the steamboat exploded. At least then he’d been able to make his way ashore. Now he was trapped. He didn’t dare call out. That would be just insane. He may get to that point if a snake appeared, but he wasn’t to that point yet.

Taking a deep breath, he resolved to wait. He closed his eyes, but only for a second. Straining to see in the unrelenting darkness was better than not being able to see at all.

Seconds passed. Minutes. How long must he wait?

He began to sweat. His knees grew weak. He wasn’t well.

Giving in, he melted down to the cold, earthen floor. The dampness seeped through his britches. But he continued to sweat.

His eyes drooped, but he strained to keep them open. Fought the heaviness.

And lost the battle.

Curled on the dark, damp earth, with unknown rodents scurrying around him, he slept.

 

“Wake up! Jeffrey, you have to wake up.” Claire heard the desperation in her own voice as she shook him.

His skin burned from fever. He had not been well enough to be put here under the house. It was worse than any prison she could imagine.

She’d had no choice, she reminded herself. The soldiers had stayed inside the house all day and only now, had she been able to risk opening the door beneath the trunk in Grandpa’s closet. They had rested, eaten, and rested some more. Finally, after nightfall, they settled in behind the house and allowed her to lock her door.

“Oh God, Jeffrey, please wake up.” There was no way she could get him back into the house if he didn’t wake up. He didn’t seem like such a large man, but gracious, he was heavy.

She couldn’t ask Grandpa to help. He was in no shape. In fact, even now, he slept, exhausted from the ordeal with the soldiers. What could she do?

Bounding up the ladder into the house, she lit a candle and placed it near the opening. Then she retrieved the blankets off of Jeffrey’s bed and brought them under the house with her. She retrieved the candle and secured it in the dirt at the edge of the cellar.

She wrapped the blankets around him. Then felt his head again. The fever raged.

She shivered. If she stayed here, she would catch her death. But she wouldn’t leave him. Desperate, she crawled beneath the blankets with him, snuggling up against him.

She put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest.

His skin was hot against hers, even through his cotton shirt. She closed her eyes and her breathing matched his—slow and steady.

The stress of the day caught up with her and she began to drift into sleep. Shifting closer to him, they were entwined, head to toe. His arms were around her. She was warm… and safe. She slept. A dreamless sleep. His breathing lulled her into a much needed rest.

She woke, disoriented, not sure where or when she was. It was pitch dark – she could see nothing. Her hip ached against the hardness of what could only be the floor. How had she ended up sleeping on the hard floor instead of her soft feather bed?

She felt someone’s breath against her cheek and froze. Her world careened and it all came back to her in a rush.

The candle had gone out, but the smell of damp earth was unmistakable. She was on the floor beneath the house, of all things, snuggled beneath blankets, pressed against… Jeffrey.

The heat of embarrassment flushed over her face. She was so close to him, her body pressed against him. His arms were like a steel band across her back.

He was not asleep. At least if he slept, he feigned wakefulness.

He shifted slightly, until their cheeks were pressed against each other. Her mouth parted a little, her breathing hitched. She was aware of him in every corner of her body. She lay frozen, unable to move. She kept her eyes closed.

This physical reaction to him was intense… and unexpected.

He shifted again, ever so subtly, and his lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. Her heart tripped in her chest.

It was nearly her undoing.

She longed to shift that fraction of an inch that would press her lips against his. She longed to feel his lips against hers. She longed for something she couldn’t name. Something that was wrapped up in the essence of Jeffrey—this man she just met.

He shifted, but shifted the wrong way. He moved back that fraction of an inch and she sighed.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I, um… I couldn’t wake you.”

He was silent. Although she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see him in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek.

“It’s all right,” she whispered.

He moved his hand up and put his fingertips against her cheek. Her lips parted.

 He must have inched closer, because she could feel his breath against her lips.

As he shifted closer, her eyes drifted closed and she held her breath.

His lips touched hers, light as a feather. So light, she must have imagined it. She shifted into him, increasing the pressure minutely.

Then she felt him break the contact.

“We have to get you out of here,” he said, tossing back the blankets and getting to his feet. Finding her hands in the darkness, he pulled her to her feet.

Sighing, she allowed him to help her up the ladder.

Grandpa must have fallen asleep without realizing the two of them slept under the floor. The house was dark and quiet.

She could barely keep herself moving. Her muscles ached with exhaustion. Ignoring the heaviness in her eyes, she stoked the fire in the wood stove and brought a clean blanket to wrap about Jeffrey. His eyes were glassy from the fever which he denied having.

“You’re still with a fever,” she said, as she tucked the blanket around him. The warmth from the fire filled the room.

“I’m all right,” he insisted, though his words were a little slurred.

After pressing a cup of hot coffee into his hands, she stepped back, pulled a chair next to him, and sat down. As she watched, he sipped the coffee.

Then his eyes drooped closed, reflecting the way she felt. Shoring up her strength, she took the mug from his hands, and set it aside.

She sat back down and studied him, his new beard, his smooth skin, his dark, wavy hair…

He began to snore lightly.

She smiled. Smiled at the irony that she would know that a man snored in his sleep. When she hadn’t slept with him.

Heat crept up her cheeks as she imagined what it would be like to lie next to him in bed, wrapped in those strong arms. Those arms that had held her in the cellar.

As she studied him, she began to shiver. Pressing a hand to the back of her neck, her fingertips encountered the slipperiness of sweat. She touched her own forehead and the heat burned her skin.

She, too, burned with fever?

Going to him, she pulled on his arms. She had to get him back in bed so she, too, could rest.

She pulled hard, but he merely shifted, his snoring paused, then began again.

“Jeffrey, wake up. I have to get you to bed,” she said, her face flushing. Was it the words or the fever? He stood up, took one step, then slowly melted to the floor.

Her strength giving out, she kneeled on the floor next to him, resting her arms on his knees. Her head felt heavy. She put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.