Emilie McAllister has lived the privileged life of wealth and security on a beautiful Plantation in Virginia when the Civil War turns her world up-side- down and she and her family have to flee when the advancing Yankees invade her ancestral home. The family flees through a hidden tunnel and goes into hiding in a cave to await rescue by Emilie’s brother, a blockade runner. But rescue is taking too long for impatient Emilie who has a hard time dealing with inactivity and hunger. While others sleep, Emilie sneaks back into her own plantation in search of food. Here, she suddenly finds herself face-to-face with an intense Union Colonel; and, she finds her pouting innocence and charming wiles, which usually have men tied around her little finger, aren’t about to save her.

Colonel Ty Montgomery is responsible for many men in his command and has to be aware of all movement in and around the area. So when this beautiful woman suddenly appears on the plantation where he has headquarters, he has to find out how she got past his pickets and up to the main house undetected. But she isn’t cooperating--in fact she is being down right stubborn. Even sitting for two days in a straight back chair isn’t softening her resistance. So he devises a plan to let her escape and he follows seeing where she takes him. He gets the shock of his life when she leads him through secret tunnels right out to the James River and an escaping blockade running ship. All that is left is Emilie crying on the shore because she missed the ship and a mysterious coded book. With the book now in the picture, Emilie is considered a spy. Now he has to get her and the book to Washington as soon as possible. Although Emilie doesn’t even know what is in the book, she knows it b! elongs to her brother so she isn’t about to talk.

Follow Ty and Emilie across the country to Washington as her stubbornness and his indomitable will clash again and again. Follow Emilie as her faith is tested and her values are questioned and in the end she emerges a strong woman. Follow as together they encounter danger, extreme hardship, humor, an assassination, and most of all each other. Discover how the Colonel finally devises a clever plan to get the information the union needs without hurting Emilie. Discover also the hilarious outcome of his actions. Also meet swashbuckling characters that you will encounter in later books.



Portions of Chapter Three-Emilie and the Colonel Meet

As soon as her feet hit a solid surface, Emilie gave a disgruntled huff and shook free of the two privates. Glaring at them both, she huffed, “Well, I am most displeased…..I am certain you have bruised me…” As she was saying this, she brushed at her clothing to make sure all was orderly. Then she swung around only to come face-to-face with an intense looking Colonel who was leisurely leaning against her father’s desk watching her every action with what Emilie was sure was a certain degree of amusement.
Emilie had always thought her father’s study large, but with this man in it, the room suddenly seemed to shrink. His presence seemed to fill every nook and cranny. He was very tall and very broad and very imposing in his dark blue uniform with the gold braid and epaulettes. He had thick black hair that seemed to shine luxuriously in the light cast from the lamp setting on the desk, but it was his eyes that seemed to divert her attention. His eyes were most commanding. They were dark gray like an evening storm and seemed to dare anyone to defy him and now those eyes were boring into her as if they were examining her very soul.

Emilie felt frozen to the floor. She had never seen such an imposing man in her entire sheltered life. She swallowed nervously as her heart plummeted to her feet. Licking her suddenly dry lips she thought, Lord have mercy! I messed up this time.

The Colonel gave her a beguiling half-smile, bowed and said, “Colonel Cortland, at your service, ma’am. Private, please pull up a chair for our visitor, then you are all dismissed. Sergeant, if you would please remain.” Emilie took a few steps backwards hoping against hope that she could also slip out with the Privates, but the Sergeant blocked the door like a large, snarling bulldog.

“I found her prancing about by the out-lying buildings,” the Sergeant offered.

“I do not prance!” Emilie hissed then swallowed hard.

“Come and have a seat, miss!” the Colonel said motioning her to the chair that the private had placed in the room before the large desk.

Emilie felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web. She was trying her hardest to still the trembling of her knees under her voluminous dress. She looked first at the Colonel, then the Sergeant and then back to the Colonel. Marshaling her strength, she lifted her chin and marched to the wooden chair that he had indicated. It looked like one of the Victorian Mahogany hall chairs. It had been pulled directly in front of the large desk. She gracefully sat down.

The Colonel walked around to the front of the desk and stood before her. He leaned back, sitting against the edge of the desk and stretched his long legs out in front of him with his boots nearly touching the hem of Emilie’s day dress. Emilie swallowed nervously, finding that her mouth was now completely dry.

“May I have a drink, Colonel?” she squeaked.

The Colonel motioned to the Sergeant, who in turn poured her some water from a carafe on the desk and handed her the glass. He then resumed his post guarding the door.

“Now, my dear,” the Colonel began. “What is your name and how did you happen to suddenly appear in the front courtyard?”

Emilie swallowed some of the water to buy herself a little time. While she was doing this, she studied the Colonel as one would observe their enemy— looking for weaknesses or chinks in his armor. She could find none. He looked like a pillar of strength with his dark features, firm jaw, and broad shoulders. She took another dainty sip of water and handed the glass back to the Colonel, thanking him demurely. He accepted the glass, set it on the desk, and then turned his attention back to her. He was still waiting for his answer.

Think Emilie, think! “I….I am a servant to the McAllisters. I was away on leave, visiting my sick mother. I have only now returned.” Whew, that was close. Wonder if he will buy that? “Of course,” she continued to say, “I am dismayed to find the household gone and Yankees here.” She emphasized the word Yankee with a distasteful turn of her upper lip.

“She told me she was fetching water for the cook, but she wasn’t carrying a bucket,” the Sergeant added.

Drat! I forgot about that! Emilie thought, turning to glare at the interfering Sergeant.

The Colonel smiled and rubbed his chin with his long fingers. “Ah, Miss….what did you say your name was?”

Did I? “Ah….I didn’t, but it’s… it’s Bessie!” she answered nervously fingering the folds of her apron.

“Humm…Bessie!” he repeated thinking that she doesn’t lie very well. He suddenly reached out like a striking viper and grabbed hold of one of her hands. She jumped and gasped with alarm. She tried to pull her hand away but his hold on it was like a vice. He turned her hand palm side up. He rubbed his thumb up and down the palm of her hand. She drew a sharp breath of air and finally pulled her hand free.

“Really, Colonel! You are no gentleman!” she hissed rubbing her hand as if he had scorched it with his very touch.

“And you, my dear, are no servant—not with smooth hands like that, and not with the dress you are trying unsuccessfully to conceal under that apron. Now, my sweet Emilie! Where did you come from?”

Emilie’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. He had called her by name. How does he know my name? “How…How…” was all she could manage to spit out.

The Colonel pointed to a portrait that was hanging on the wall to his left. It was a portrait of a lovely coppered-haired beauty that he had spent hours studying since moving into this plantation. In fact, he had spent two days staring at it in-between his hurried tasks--two days of dreaming and fanaticizing about this beauty in the gilded frame with the brass plated inscription entitled Emilie. And, here she had now mysteriously materialized in front of him like an apparition from some gothic novel. He half wondered if he hadn’t conjured her into existence.

Emilie looked at the portrait with a sinking feeling in her heart. She had forgotten about the portrait. It had been commissioned just last year. Emilie still remembered the pain involved while posing for the artist. It had taken hours and hours to complete, during which she had to sit very still, not moving a muscle. It had been pure torture for Emilie who disdained inactivity. Now, the dratted portrait had come back to haunt her.

“So, do you want to tell me what the daughter of this plantation is doing waltzing around the front court-yard?”

Emilie took a deep breath for courage and notched her chin in the air. “I wasn’t waltzing, and okay, I’m not a servant. I’m Emilie McAllister, but I was still just coming home. You see I was visiting the neighboring plantation these past two days. I have just returned only to find you….you interlopers trampling around my mother’s rose gardens.”

The Colonel lifted one black eyebrow. “Trampling…your mother’s rose garden?” he asked.

“Yes, her most prized roses are now all but destroyed by your…your clumsy horses and wagons.”

He smiled, trying not to laugh. “Ah, Miss McAllister, I can assure you, your mother’s most prized rose is doing very well and looking quite lovely. She sits in front of me even as we speak.” That brought a blush to Emilie’s cheeks. “But I digress,” the Colonel continued. “Why don’t you tell me what plantation you were visiting?”

His words had flustered her. She knew she had to regain control of the situation, and fast. “Ah ... why the Cory’s. I am a close friend with their daughter Annabelle and ... and her two cousins were also visiting.” She decided to put in a few true facts to make her story sound more plausible. The Cory’s plantation was near and Annabelle was her good friend; however, the Cory’s had long ago fled their home.

The Colonel doubted her story. He knew that most plantations had been vacated weeks ago. He leaned forward--much too close for Emilie’s liking. “Where is your carriage?”

Carriage? Why didn’t I think of that? “Why I walked!” she declared but even Emilie wouldn’t have believed that lie. She felt short of breath with his face so close to her. Her heart was thundering in her chest and her head was starting to pound.

“And I suppose you just strolled down the road and up the drive? How did you get past my pickets?”

“Ah, I..I came through the trees. It’s a shortcut you know.” She averted her face to stare at the Aubusson carpet. She had never been very good at lying and she was sure her face would reveal her sin.

The Colonel took his booted foot and lifted the hem of her skirt. Emilie’s head swung up, aghast at the audacity of this gesture. “Perhaps you would wish to revise your story. The hem of your skirt shows no dampness from dew and no grass or mud stains.”

Emilie grabbed the folds of her dress and pulled it away from his reach. “I am sorry if you don’t see fit to believe me. I have no other story to tell you,” she hissed with a glare that would have blistered any other man but the Colonel seemed oblivious to it. Then she lifted her chin as if daring him to contradict her.

Ah, the rose has thorns. “Well perhaps you can just sit in that chair until you wish to answer my questions truthfully.”

Emilie jumped to her feet. “You can’t be serious.”

He also stood up, but slowly and with more aplomb. Then he put a mere inch between them as he leaned closer. He looked down into her upturned face and said with deadly seriousness, “Oh, but I am….very serious.” He pushed her shoulders with two of his fingertips until she was forced to plop back into her chair. “You see, there is a war going on. I am responsible for a great many men and I have to be aware of all movement in and around the area. You pose a puzzling conundrum. If a mere slip of a girl can get past my pickets and up to the main house, anyone can. I want to know how you got here.”

“But….but, I told you!” she whined.

“No!” he interrupted harshly, “You didn’t! You lied and you will sit in that chair until you decide to tell me the truth.”

The Colonel then turned and walked back to the chair behind the desk. He dismissed the Sergeant then sat down in the plush burgundy leather chair that was her fathers. He bent his dark haired head and resumed his work, dismissing her as if to say that the conversation was now over.

Emilie felt like she had just been reprimanded. How dare he talk to me like I am a child! She notched her chin up, twisted herself until she was looking away from him and mumbled, “Barbarian!” She peeked back to look at him. His head was still bent, but he was smiling which irritated her even more. Of all the rude, ill-mannered, disagreeable men, he surely has to take the cake!

Emilie chewed on her lower lip as she analyzed her current predicament. What should I do now? She debated just ignoring his command to sit, but she knew this man wasn’t one to take disobedience lightly. If she jumped to her feet, he would just forcefully return her or worse yet tie her there. She toyed with the idea of another lie, but she couldn’t come up with anything very convincing. She thought of her mama and papa and let out a sigh. She couldn’t betray their hiding place. She would just have to bide her time. Perhaps the Colonel would grow tired of this silly game and release her. Or, perhaps the opportunity would arise for her to escape. If only I had listened to Bessie. What had she said?--wait and pray. Well it looks like I’m forced to wait now, and I better think about praying too because I’ve really gotten myself into a pickle this time.

* * * * *

The Colonel hadn’t known how torturous it was for Emilie to sit still, but he soon discovered that he had indeed found her Achilles heel. After only a half- hour, Emilie began to wiggle and squirm with pent up energy. As the Colonel noticed Emilie’s discomfort, he smiled to himself. She’ll be cooperating with me in no time.

He continued his deskwork, trying his hardest to ignore her, but she was not one to easily disregard. He found it took increasing effort to concentrate on his work and he found himself frequently sneaking glances her way. The Colonel decided the portrait didn’t do Emilie justice. It didn’t capture the fire and sparkle that seemed to emanate from this girl. Yes, she truly is a prize rose--thorns and all.

Her hair was a blaze of copper. It wasn’t light; it was dark, more a burnished rust like you would find on a rusty hinge of an old barn door. No, he changed his mind, it was more like cinnamon and it probably smelt as nice too. It had a thickness and unruliness that was evident by the way curls seemed to pop from their pins, just like a child that couldn’t be restrained. In fact, Emilie herself looked very much like that truant child, with her bottom lip protruding in a slight little pout and her long lovely fingers toying nervously with that horrific apron she was wearing over an expensive yellow gown. The apron couldn’t hide her hourglass figure, or her shapely ankles that peeked out occasionally from the hem of her dress as she squirmed around. No, she wasn’t one you would easily overlook.

After two hours, his captive still appeared to be simmering with ire and squirming around in discomfort. The Colonel got up, stretched his long legs and walked about the room. He admired his surroundings as he paced. Since first entering this plantation, the study had been a favorite room for the Colonel. Part of this was due to Emilie’s portrait, which seemed to take center stage in the room; but a larger portion had to do with the warm masculine comfort offered in the room. It had the smell of cigars, brandy and leather. The gleaming wood floors were covered in areas by plush Aubusson carpet. There were Regency bookcases in a dark mahogany--each case containing leather bound volumes. There were burgundy leather chairs—one behind the large Louis XIV desk and two adjacent to the fireplace. The room reeked of authority and power. Yes, I could get used to living in a house like this.

Emilie watched him pace. She thought he looked like a prowling lion, exuding a strength and self-control that seemed to overpower everything else around him. She knew that his domineering potency was a force to be reckoned with, and she suddenly felt at a loss. She had always been adept at twisting men around her little finger, but this man—this stone wall of fortitude, seemed to be immune to her charms.

She was beside herself with indecision. She truly didn’t know how to handle this domineering man and it frustrated her to no end. That, and the fact that she was also feeling downright tired, hungry, and sore, all added up to give her the overall feeling of misery. Emilie shifted once again in her chair to ease her aching back. Ouch! She winced, sure that her spine had calcified into a permanent sitting position by now. I swear I can feel all of the eight bone stays in my corset. I wish I could loosen the lacing. She wiggled a bit and said, “Really Colonel, this ...”

“Yes?” he interrupted her, spinning around to pin her with his intense, stalking eyes. “Did you wish to tell me how you came to be on the front lawn of the plantation?”
Emilie sighed, gave him her most frosty look and remained silent.

Four more hours passed and her nose wiggled, as she smelt the aroma of chicken coming from some area of the house. She sighed in despair. It wasn’t long before the door opened and an aid brought in a plate of chicken and dumplings for the Colonel. She fumed in disbelief as he sat at the desk and leisurely picked up his fork.

“Colonel, I am somewhat hungry myself,” she ventured to say, which was a gross understatement. She was in fact light-headed from the lack of food.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” he said spearing a piece of chicken. “If you’ll but tell me what I wish to know, I’ll be more than glad to have my aide bring you some food,” was his only reply and he actually had the nerve to start eating.

Of all the gall! How utterly rude! Tears welled up in her eyes and her stomach gave out a loud, very unladylike growl. The smell made her mouth water. She groaned out loud not realizing that she had even made a noise. The Colonel only smiled at the sound, thinking that he was truly gaining ground. He was sure that she would soon break and tell him all that he asked.

I hope that chicken is so hot that it burns his mouth. Then I hope his eyes cross and his nose runs and and… he chokes on a chicken bone. Yes, that’s it— he should choke on a chicken bone and when he looks to me for help, I’ll just remind him that I’m not allowed to leave my chair. Emilie smiled maliciously thinking of her glorious revenge. She secretly plotted his death by flood, fire, plague, pestilence--any demise would be too good for the likes of him.

The Colonel looked up seeing her malevolent smile. He wondered what she was thinking. Definitely not something nice, he decided. He gave his shoulders a shrug and continued with his meal.

In an effort to ignore the steaming plate of food sitting in front of the Colonel, Emilie gazed out the beveled glass window behind the desk. It was growing dark outside with just a few shards of purple and orange streaking the night sky. She knew that the approaching night would be the worst hours to face—those quiet, dark hours where everyone else was snuggled between blankets and sound asleep. Then she spotted a hornet on the wall above the Colonel’s head. Come on, little guy. Move a little lower. See that nice head in front of you with all that black hair. Wouldn’t you just love to go over there and take a bite out of him? Yes, a little lower…now over…over…wait…wait, you are going the wrong way. Drat! She let out a long, slow, sigh of despair.

Two hours later, a new problem arose. Emilie was getting so drowsy that she thought she would expire if she couldn’t close her eyes and sleep soon. A couple of times she let her eyes drift shut and her head bobbed, which startled her enough that she jerked upright in her chair. The Colonel found this immensely amusing, but Emilie did not.

Finally, after fighting sleep for hours, she didn’t care. She let herself slip to the floor thinking she would sit on the floor and rest her head on the seat portion of the chair. She had no sooner achieved this comfortable position when strong arms lifted her and plopped her back in the chair, once again facing the desk. Along with this, came an admonishment, “Now, Now, Miss McAllister. The rule is that you stay in the chair until you decide to tell me the truth.” He squatted down in front of her so their faces were in line with each other. “Do you wish to speak with me now?”

No, she wished he would be cast into the fiery furnace of Hades. That is what she truly wished. Emilie sat there staring at his intense eyes. She sighed. Actually, she wished she could comply with his demands. She longed to be done with this whole ordeal but she could only give another sigh of resignation.

“I have nothing to say, Colonel,” she stated rather weakly. At that point, Emilie felt broken. She wanted to cry. Tears pooled on her long lashes, but she quickly got her emotions in check, willing the tears away. She vowed not to suffer the ultimate humiliation of crying like some little baby in front on the colonel. She also vowed she would rot in the chair before telling him one iota of information.

The Colonel just shrugged his shoulders, stood and walked back to his desk. Her stubborn refusal surprised him. When he had crouched down and looked her in the eye, he had been sure she was about to confess all. Her eyes had such a longing desire that he was sure she was about to melt; yet the next second her resolve returned and her face turned to stone. It was now obvious that Miss Emilie McAllster was made of stronger stuff than he had at first imagined.

But what had he imagined. When he had first looked at her portrait, he had thought that she was probably a spoiled princess--a pampered snobbish empty- headed debutante. But she was anything but that. She was a bright, spirited, intelligent woman. He shook his head in disgust. She was also a stubborn, willful little liar, and he needed to remember that. He also needed to be very cautious until he found out exactly what she was up to.


About the Author:

Vicki Schraven and her husband Michael live with their two beagles in the scenic mountains near Asheville, North Carolina. They have one daughter living in a nearby town. Vicki has a Bachlor's Degree and has worked in various positions from hospital lab work, to teaching, to writing television, radio, and newspaper ads in a public promotions position. She currently works for the University of North Carolina in the Finance Office. Besides writing, Vicki is a selling artist. Vicki is proud to introduce this new novel, first in a series of three, and hopes you will enjoy the humor, adventure and romance in this particular story.