Raffertys bride, p.1
Rafferty's Bride, page 1
Revenge is his mission…
No one had ever caused such fire in Travis Rafferty’s blood as Civil War nurse Meredith Carter. Yet when the prisoner of war attempted an escape, she’d betrayed him and his bedraggled men. Now, years later, he’s led west by vengeance, with nightmares of battle on his heels. This time, Meredith won’t get away.…
Love is his due…
Meredith has to persuade Travis of her innocence. But how can she convince him of anything when she reacts so wildly just standing next to him? Nursing his wounds is the only way to show him how she feels, that she could no more betray him than her own soul.…
ANGEL.
The jarring memory of Travis Rafferty’s hoarse voice resonated in her mind.
Finding people is what I do best.
A cold chill snaked down Meredith’s spine. She reined her horse around, suddenly anxious to be home. She’d made the journey to her house hundreds of times, on far worse evenings. Still, a knot clenched in the pit of her stomach.
Finding people is what I do best, Angel.
For months after the escape, she’d awakened in the middle of the night, her heart exploding in her chest, half expecting to see Rafferty standing there, looming over her. Even after she’d moved to Texas, the dreams had persisted.
She nudged her heels into her horse, goading him into a faster pace. An eerie feeling that someone watched her prickled her skin. She searched the road ahead, looking for any sign of danger. Tense seconds passed without incident and she started to feel a little foolish.
“Stop borrowing trouble, Meredith,” she said to herself.
Acclaim for Mary Burton’s recent works
The Colorado Bride
“This talented writer is a virtuoso, who strums the hearts of readers and composes an emotional tale. I was spellbound.”
—Rendezvous
The Bride for McCain
“This is a delightful Western romp.…A great first book for this new author!”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
“Newcomer Mary Burton is a delightful surprise for Western romance fans, as her genial tale…will fully beguile readers.”
—Affaire de Coeur
#631 GIFTS OF THE SEASON
Miranda Jarrett/Lyn Stone/Anne Gracie
#633 BECKETT’S BIRTHRIGHT
Brownyn Wiliams
#634 THE DUMONT BRIDE
Terri Brisbin
MARY BURTON
RAFFERTY’S BRIDE
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
MARY BURTON
A Bride for McCain #502
The Colorado Bride #570
The Perfect Wife #614
Christmas Gold #627
“Until Christmas”
Rafferty’s Bride #632
Dedication
For my sister, Kim
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Prologue
Libby Prison
Richmond, Virginia
February 1864
As a boy, Travis Rafferty had never been the best thief in Richmond’s back alleys, but for a time, he’d managed.
Until the day he’d failed to outrun the sheriff.
As the lawman had hauled fourteen-year-old Travis to the army post, he’d told him the service was just what he needed. The military would give Travis direction, a sense of honor, and would teach him patience, whether he liked it or not.
To Travis’s surprise, he’d taken to the structure and discipline, not to mention the warm bed and regular meals. His keen mind, just as starved as his body, had lapped up every lesson thrown at him. He’d discovered hidden talents for scouting, marksmanship, and he’d learned to read and write.
The army became his family and molded the boy into a man.
At thirty-two, he’d risen to the rank of captain and earned the respect of his men and the brass in Washington.
The army had done a lot for Travis Rafferty.
But it had never taught him how to be a good prisoner of war.
Travis tapped his long fingers against the grimy wood floor, wishing away the next nine hours. The afternoon sun’s orange-red light streamed through the half-dozen barred windows into the long, squalid cell packed with a hundred half-starved Union soldiers.
Some of his fellow prisoners of war huddled close to the water barrel, others sat in darkened corners, some lingered near the door, but each man was focused on one thought—in nine hours, they’d be free.
Since the Rebs had captured him three weeks ago, he’d been planning his escape. He and the other men had been digging a cramped tunnel that now stretched from the prison kitchen to a nearby warehouse. Tonight, once the sun set, they’d leave.
Everything had gone as he’d planned.
Almost.
The sweet taste of freedom soured when he looked down at the soldier who lay dying next to him.
Travis lifted the soiled bandage covering Lieutenant Michael Ward’s inflamed wound. The young soldier flinched and groaned. The lieutenant had gotten into a scuffle with another prisoner two days ago in the prison yard. The guards had fired at the two soldiers. Ward had been wounded in the shoulder, the other man killed outright.
Dr. Ezra Carter, a Union sympathizer, had dug out the bullet from Ward’s shoulder and promised to return with medicine to halt the infection. But the old man, who should have come yesterday, hadn’t arrived.
Rafferty cursed.
He had little in common with Ward, but the young man was Union army. Family. And Rafferty stuck by his own kind.
Ward’s eyes fluttered open, his blue eyes clouded with pain. “How’s it look?”
“Better,” Travis lied.
“I don’t feel so good,” the young man whispered.
Travis managed a crooked smile. “The doctor will be here soon with your medicine.”
He winced. “I want to leave with you tonight.”
Ward was too ill to crawl through the tunnel. The trip north would kill him. The medicine was his only hope now. With it, he had a fighting chance. “Let’s focus on getting you better.”
“I’m not getting better, Captain.” Desperation crept into his voice. “The pain’s worse every day, and you and the others will be gone soon. I don’t want to die in this place alone.”
“Hold tight. Dr. Carter will come back.” This helplessness made Travis angry enough to drive his fist into a wall. “You’ll be fit by week’s end.”
Travis leaned back against the brick wall and absently rubbed the scars on his wrist, a reminder of the shackles he’d worn during his first days as a prisoner.
Ward coughed, winced at the jarring motion. “Talk to me. Keep my mind off the pain.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
Ward moistened his dry lips. “Any family?”
“The army’s my family.”
“No wife?”
The raw hurt returned. “There was a fiancée once, but the long absences were too much for her. She married another man.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He’d been a fool to think a society type like Isabelle could handle the sacrifices and loneliness required of a soldier’s wife.
“I’ve a new wife, Roberta,” Ward said, his words slurring now. “I’ve got to get back to her. She’s everything to me.”
“You will.”
Ward shifted his position, flinched and fell back against the pallet. He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to die in this place.”
The brick wall dug into Travis’s spine. He’d seen so many men die in the past three years. “Remember, you promised me a steak dinner when we get to Washington.”
Ward managed a weak smile. “Right.”
A disturbance outside the cell shifted Travis’s attention to the crowd around the door.
“Get back,” the guard shouted. “Or I ain’t opening this door.”
The prisoners grumbled, shoving and rubbing shoulders as they retreated a couple of steps away from the cell door.
Travis unfolded his warrior’s body to his full height of six feet, two inches. His stiff joints groaned in protest, but he stood straight, feet braced apart. “That damn well better be the doctor.”
A bolt slid from the latch and seconds later the cell door opened. Instead of Dr. Castleman, a young woman stood in the doorway, clutching a large leather bag and lantern.
The dim lantern light flickered on coppery curls tied at the nape of her neck. Her black cape hugged her slender shoulders but didn’t hide her petite, shapely frame.
A hush fell over the ward as every man’s attention shifted to the woman. Like him, most hadn’t seen a female in months. She was as unexpected as a warm summer breeze in the icy cell.
The woman’s gaze brushed over the large, dingy room and the sea of emaciated prisoners staring at her. Her pale face tightened and Travis half expected her to leave.
The Confederate jailer, called Spider by the men because of his spindly legs and beady eyes, enjoyed the woman’ s hesitation. “Serves you right if they tear you apart. You’re no better than a traitor.”
The woman lifted her chin. “That’ll be all. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.”
Spider spit on the floor, stepped away and slammed the door closed. “Traitor.”
The woman stood with her back pressed against the door as the dozens of men gathered in a semicircle around her. One reached out and touched her sleeve. She moved to the right to get away but bumped into another lean, wild-eyed soldier who brushed her cheek.
“Don’t do that!” she said. Her panicked voice was clear and cultured.
Travis strode through the crowd of men. “Get back. Let her breathe.”
Some men glared at Travis, some complained, but all moved.
Satisfied he’d not have a riot on his hands, he turned to the woman. “Who are you?”
She met his gaze, her eyes bold and bright. “Meredith Carter, Dr. Castleman’s niece.”
Travis cursed. “Tell me he didn’t send you to his place?”
She squared her shoulders. “Uncle Ezra is very ill. He couldn’t come.”
He shoved his fingers through the thick bramble of his hair. Normally he kept it closely cropped, but during the long months on the trail and weeks in prison, it had grown past his collar. “I need a doctor, not a debutante.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Well, you’ve got a debutante who’s dug out bullets, sewn torn flesh and bandaged wounds.” The Southern lilt of her clear voice didn’t disguise her rising anger. “But if you’d rather I leave, I will.”
A thick-necked sergeant named Murphy stepped forward, brushing past Travis. The sight of a woman was too rare to pass up. “Name’s Murphy. Franklin Murphy.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Murphy, anxious to stay close, added, “Don’t let Captain Rafferty scare you. He’s first-rate. We served together. Fact, we was captured together near Ashland a few weeks back.” He grew bolder, enjoying her attention. “We lost a few men but we took a good many Rebs out before they caught us.”
Her hands started to shake. “My husband is a major in the Confederate army. Last I heard, they were headed toward Ashland.”
Murphy’s grin vanished. “I uh…”
Travis glanced down at her left hand. A bright gold ring winked in the lantern light. The idea that she was married irritated him more than it should have. “You are married to a Reb? Your uncle supports the Union.”
“He and I don’t agree on everything.”
The men hovered close, listening to every word of their exchange. A few grumbled their disapproval. Most were happy just to be near her.
“Why are you here?” Travis demanded.
“Because my uncle begged me. He refused to rest himself until the poultice was delivered.”
“Otherwise you wouldn’t have come.”
She pursed her lips. “No, I would not. The Union has destroyed nearly everything I’ve ever cared about.”
“How do I know you’re not here to spy on us?” His voice was quiet, full of anger.
“I’m not here to spy,” she hissed. “I’ve come to deliver medicine, just as I promised my uncle. When I’ve done my job, I’m leaving and I won’t be back.”
He didn’t like any of this. Meredith Carter was the last thing he expected today. “I don’t believe you.”
Challenge sparked in her eyes. “Fine. I’ll leave.” She turned toward the door and raised her hand to knock to summon the guard.
Studying the delicate line of her set jaw, he considered his options. He should take the medicine she’d brought and send the woman packing. The last thing he needed was a Reb’s wife snooping around hours before the breakout. But he didn’t know the first thing about medicine and, Lord help him, there was something about her that made him want to trust her.
“My wounded man’s over here.” Without waiting for a response, he took her lantern from her and guided her through the swarm of ragged men who crowded around them.
As her black skirts brushed his legs, she tripped once on the uneven wood floor. He steadied her easily and was gifted with a whiff of her perfume. He resisted the urge to inhale the sweet, feminine scent.
When they reached Ward’s flea-ridden pallet, she stared down at the injured man. The anger in her eyes vanished and the stiffness in her shoulders eased.
Without a word, she knelt on the squalid floor, unmindful of the filth staining her black skirts. Her brow knit, she laid a slender hand on Ward’s head. “He’s burning up.”
Travis squatted next to Mrs. Carter and raised the lantern high so the ring of light dripped over Ward. “Your uncle said without the poultice the fever would kill him.”
She peeled back Ward’s threadbare jacket caked with blood. At once, she pressed the back of her hand to her nose as the foul odor rose.
Ward stirred and opened his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, dazed. “An angel?”
She frowned. “I’m no angel.”
“You sure look like one.” Ward’s fogged mind drifted. “If you had wings, you could carry me out of here.”
Her skirts rustled as she faced Travis. “Uncle was right about the infection,” she said quietly. “The poultice will help, but under these conditions, I don’t know if it will be enough to save his life.” Her gaze drifted across the filthy room and the piles of soiled hay.
Travis flexed his fingers. “Do what you can for him.”
Mrs. Carter nodded and removed a small burlap sack from her bag, a mortar, pestle and a corked bottle filled with water. She dumped the ingredients in the mortar and worked them together into a fine paste.
“Before I put this on, I’ve got to clean the wound. You and your men are going to have to hold him down.”
Murphy stepped forward. “I’ll help.”
Travis nodded. “Murphy take his legs, I’ll take his hands.”
Travis handed the lantern to a nearby soldier and instructed him to hold it high. The other men crowded close as he and Murphy positioned themselves on either end of Ward. The air grew thicker, hotter.
“Go ahead,” Travis ordered.
Mrs. Carter pulled a clean white cloth from her bag, poured alcohol over it, and then began to scrub the wound. Immediately Ward’s eyes flew open and he cried out.
Murphy tensed. “Maybe she’d best stop. He’s in agony.” Several men grumbled their agreement.
Travis tightened his grip and glared at the circle of men who had closed in around them. “This needs to be done. Men back up. Give her room to work.”
Mrs. Carter continued with the task, removing all traces of dirt and dead flesh. The louder Ward screamed the more her hands trembled, but she stayed on task. When she finished, the room was silent, except for Ward’s moans.
The soldier, now drenched in sweat, rocked his head from side to side. “I don’t want to die here.”
Shaken, Travis patted the man on the shoulder as he sat back on his haunches. “Is that the worst of it, Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes. The rest won’t be nearly as bad.” Shadows from the buttery light accentuated the circles under Mrs. Carter’s eyes. She looked fragile, bone weary, but she was a pretty little thing.
If only they’d met in another time and place, before she’d married…Travis tossed the idea aside. No sense wondering what would never be.
As she dipped her fingers into the pasty mixture and spread it gently on Ward’s wound, Travis wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. “That smells awful.”
“How could you possibly notice in here?” There was challenge in the question and in her green eyes.
He shrugged, oddly amused and pleased by her grit. She wasn’t afraid to stand up to him or speak her mind. He liked that.
Mrs. Carter smoothed the paste over Ward’s wound, working slowly, carefully. Only after she’d applied a liberal amount did she wipe her hands clean and bandage the wound.
Travis realized she’d done an excellent job. “I underestimated you.”
Her spring-green gaze lifted to his and he felt the quick trip of his pulse. They were so close he could feel the heat of her body. “I know.”
Neither spoke while she packed her belongings into her doctor’s bag. When she’d finished, Travis rose and held his hand out to her, a peace offering of sorts. “We got off to a bad start.”
She ignored his outstretched hand and pushed herself to her feet. “No harm done.”
