Scarlet Widow

By Everly Ryan

Tough...or tender? If she follows her heart, she won't have to choose.

Molly has forever lusted for all three Barksdale brothers, but could never choose. Instead, scandal chose for her, and she married the youngest of the three. Then the brothers go to war, and Molly finds herself a grieving widow when her husband is murdered by a merciless band of Union soldiers.

Hardin Barksdale is hell-bent on avenging his brother. Greer Barksdale is honor-bound to protect his home. They both want Molly-and this time, they're willing to share. The temptation is seductive, the passion sizzling. In harsh, post-war Tennessee, their nightly forbidden trysts wield the power to heal them all-if they can escape the twisted desires of a man bent on seeing all three of them dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Everly Ryan
• Release date: Jan 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386898986

Book preview

SCARLET WIDOW

EVERLY RYAN

HTTP://EVERLYRYAN.COM

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 Everly Ryan. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

Dedication

This book is for gal pal Stormy, for myriad reasons. And for Zoe, who might never read this but who would so love Hardin Barksdale.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Civil War military historian Heath Mathews, for invaluable knowledge of all things Army of Tennessee and for helping me add fact to fiction. I sincerely appreciate tailor Scott Lyndon’s expertise in nineteenth-century clothing. A lot goes into dressing and undressing my characters! As always, a heartfelt thank you to my critique partner, the incomparable Naima Simone, for cheering me on, plotting with me and catching my foibles. I am sincerely grateful to each of you!

Chapter One

August, 1864

Molly Barksdale’s eyes snapped open. Her fingers clutched at the hand over her mouth. Pinpricks of adrenaline shot through her veins. Her dreams already forgotten, she struggled to focus on the face so close to hers in the darkness.

Don’t scream, Molly. The command was low, masculine and charged with warning. Familiar.

Where’s Witt? a hot whisper demanded.

Molly’s eyes widened. Her body relaxed as sweet recognition flooded her. The hand left her mouth and she sat, resisting the urge to throw her arms around her brother-in-law’s shoulders. Hardin!

He put his finger to her lips to silence her, and she tasted leather and something metallic and male.

I need to know if you’ve seen Witt, he said urgently, his gaze darting toward her bedroom door as if he’d heard someone in the hallway.

Molly shook her head, wondering if this was all a strange dream. Does your father know you’re here?

No. Hardin sat on the edge of the bed and moonlight spilled over his harsh features. He’d always been the handsomest of the three Barksdale brothers but tonight he looked ragged, gaunt. Worried. A several-days-old beard shadowed his jaw. Wayward locks of his too-long black hair tumbled over his forehead, accentuating the strong lines of his face. Rips and tears scarred his once-immaculate gray wool uniform.

Is something wrong with Witt? Molly asked, fear sparking at the glint in Hardin’s eyes. How on earth had he ever gotten past Athena’s watchful eye?

His parched lips parted and he inhaled an audible breath. Debate lurked in his gaze and Molly began to tremble. Hardin knew something he wasn’t telling her. Something terrible.

His eyes searched hers. The Yankees will come here, he told her as if her survival hinged on every word. They will question you. Be stalwart, Molly. You have no idea of Witt’s whereabouts and you did not see me. Make them believe it. Do you understand?

What’s happening?

He seized her by the shoulders. Do you understand?

She nodded. Yes. But—

No word of this to Witt or to Greer. Not even to Father. Promise me. A deep tenderness suddenly filled his eyes and he thumbed back a strand of her dark hair.

Molly wanted to avert her gaze but she could not bring herself to do it. In spite of everything, his look dragged long-ago memories kicking and screaming to the surface—memories Molly wished she could forget.

I promise, she uttered, her voice but a breath.

I wish I could stay and protect you from harm, but I must go, he said, his reluctance evident on his face.

Molly swallowed thickly. Her traitorous gaze dropped to his mouth and for a hairsbreadth of a second she entertained kissing him. Again.

Quickly she forced herself to return to her senses, to tamp down her illicit desires. Her breath caught and she turned her head, but he caught her chin and lifted it so that she looked into his eyes once more.

Witt should have been branded a coward instead of joining the army and leaving you behind. Hardin’s thumb brushed across her bottom lip and then dropped to boldly, but quickly, caress the pointed nipple pushing against the thin cotton of her nightrail.

A little whimper escaped Molly’s lips. He leaned forward and her pulse pounded out of control as she awaited his kiss. Desire surged hard and then disappointment hurtled down around her as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stood. She had never ached for the loss of another person’s touch and warmth so much in her life.

I must go, he repeated, drinking her in with his eyes before silently disappearing into the darkness.

Molly stared at the spot where she’d last seen him, still unconvinced that he’d been real. She could barely discern the outline of her open bedroom door that faded into the blackness of the upstairs hall. No sound of boots echoed on the stairs. No jingle of spurs or even the telltale creak of a floorboard. The only thing indicating he’d ever been in her room at all was the taste of his skin on her lips. She raked her hand through her hair and a shudder coursed through her. Guilt rampaged in her bosom at just how easily she could have betrayed Witt—the Barksdale brother who’d married her.

She had loved them all. Bookish Greer who had become a lawyer just before the war began. The epitome of the word gentleman, Greer remained polite and thoughtful. Honor bound. His needs always came last and Molly had felt safe with him.

An air of mystery swirled around the oldest brother, Hardin. The best looking of the three, he seemed dangerous and secretive. While his eyes betrayed his desire, he had only acted on it twice. Tonight when he had touched her breast and then before her marriage to Witt, when Hardin had taken liberties no gentleman should take with a lady.

No lady would have allowed a man to do the things Molly had let him do that night behind the buggies at the church social. She inhaled sharply at the memory of Hardin’s fingers exploring beneath her petticoat. With one sinful touch, he’d awakened her to the pleasures of the flesh. And then he had ignored her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, realizing how much she had matured in the four long years since that evening tryst. Then, she’d been an impetuous and selfish girl with uncontrollable desires. She’d done the unthinkable and had foolishly given her maidenhead to Hardin’s brother, Witt, outside of marriage.

When Witt had sheepishly asked her to marry him a week later, she’d had little other choice than to accept. Word had gotten leaked by a busybody named Verna Murks, who overheard them talking behind the church building. Had Molly not married, she would have been a pariah, shunned by decent society.

Her own parents had practically disowned her but the Barksdales had welcomed her to their plantation home, Oakleigh, and all of them had defended her honor in spite of what everyone in Maury County thought of her.

Cut off from her former friends and family, she counted herself lucky to have found a husband in the youngest of the Barksdale boys. Funny and cavalier, there wasn’t a prank Witt wouldn’t pull. The life of every party, he held all the girls under the spell of his boyish face and charming sense of humor. Despite all the whispers, Molly had stood proudly alongside all the other war brides at the train station in Nashville and watched her new husband and his brothers journey off to war, entertaining visions of grandeur and glory in their heads.

Even then she’d felt as if she’d married all three of them, because although she was legally wed to Witt, she loved them all with the same fervor.

And now, without warning, her husband’s brother, Hardin, had swept back into her life to unravel her with mysterious warnings and taboo caresses.

She bit her bottom lip, wondering just how far she would have let him go. After all, it had been months—no, years—since she’d known a man’s touch. She squeezed her own breast, recalling Hardin’s brief caress.

What had he meant? What had he wanted and why had he come here? Was Witt in trouble?

Molly’s heart twisted at the thought.

The thunderous sound of hoofbeats pounded on the drive and the noise sent a cold shudder of dread racing up her spine. Shouts and a command to surround the house drifted through the open window. The accent was Northern. Hardin had told her the Yankees would come.

He’d known something. But what?

She flung back the covers and donned her robe as she scurried down the wide grand staircase. Already, the few house servants who hadn’t left when the Yankees first came were lighting lamps and moving through the entry hall, toward the doors and windows.

Through the sidelights on either side of the front door, soldiers bearing torches were visible. It wasn’t the first time the Yankees had come here like this but tonight’s visit evoked a new sort of fear in Molly. Based on Hardin’s visit, she knew these men would be looking for him or for Witt—or both.

Witt’s father, Hamish, emerged from his bedroom downstairs, pistol in hand. An older version of Hardin, Hamish Barksdale looked every bit the part of a country squire. Tall. Straight and slim, with his distinctive shock of unruly white hair mussed from sleep, he calmly checked his pistol.

Yankees, whispered Athena, the old servant who’d practically raised all three of the Barksdale brothers.

Molly debated whether or not to tell them she’d seen Hardin but the memory of her promise prevented her. Any type of alert would set the men outside on Hardin’s trail in an instant.

Her heart jumped in her chest at the sound of heavy footsteps on the front gallery followed by three loud raps on the door. Her gaze shot to Athena’s.

Eyes rounded, the resolute old woman looked to Hamish for permission to open the door.

Let us see what these invaders want, he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Molly wiped her perspiration-damp palms on her robe as Athena unlatched the door and opened it. Without ceremony, the Yankee stormed inside. Where is DeWitt Barksdale?

Hamish stepped forward. Even though he was dressed in a robe and slippers, he possessed an air about him that stopped the Yankee colonel in his tracks. I’ve not seen my son in two years.

The Yankee eyed Hamish’s pistol. I doubt that.

Are you calling me a liar? Hamish trembled with rage. His eyes glittered from under bushy white brows. I’ve felled men for lesser slights.

Athena placed her rotund body in the path between them. Her eyes narrowed to vicious slits. Don’t you doubt Mr. Hamish’s word!

The Yankee ignored her as his gaze took in the high-ceilinged hall and the shadowed parlors on either side. Because Middle Tennesseans had been cooperative with the Union Army, the local citizenry had not suffered the way Georgians had at the hands of Cump Sherman’s troops. Molly didn’t like the way this particular Yankee eyed the Barksdales’ heirloom furnishings and the sumptuous rug on which he stood in his muddy boots.

Finally the Yankee’s gaze slid to Molly’s. Her breath froze as he appraised her from head to toe the same way he had assessed their belongings. Meshach January. Colonel, United States Army, he introduced with a curt incline of his head that would have been considered polite in any other situation. The spark that flashed in his eyes made Molly’s blood run cold.

They will question you. Be stalwart, Molly. Hardin’s words echoed in her head.

January’s mouth twisted into a leering snarl beneath his copious brown moustache. "I know who you are, he said, stepping around Athena. You’re Mrs. DeWitt Barksdale. I can’t imagine that a soldier would forgo an opportunity to visit a wife as comely in appearance as yourself."

Don’t you speak to her in that tone! Athena barked.

Hush, woman, January scolded, swatting the air as if she were a bothersome mosquito he could shoo away.

Athena’s bottom lip protruded and Molly knew she would have given the Yankee a sound tongue-thrashing were it not for the firm shake of Hamish’s head. No one, not even Hamish, talked down to the formidable Athena.

Molly shrank as January stepped closer. He reeked of cigars and campfires. A shiver coursed up her spine when his lurid gaze dropped to her breasts. She resisted the strong urge to recoil.

Are you certain you haven’t seen your husband, Mrs. Barksdale? he asked, his voice slippery with innuendo.

Molly cleared her throat. I have not.

January’s gloved hand encircled her throat and he held her, forcing her to look into his eyes. She tried to gasp but could not draw a breath.

Get your hands off her, filth! Athena shouted.

He leaned in close. I’ll see you stripped naked and paraded before my men if you do not tell me. His breath stank of whiskey.

The very idea! She hasn’t seen him. None of us have, Hamish said. Unhand her!

Molly burned a stare into January’s snuff-brown eyes.

He tipped his slouch hat

Reviews for Scarlet Widow

[Amy Boyer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was a wonderful story and I loved the surprise at the end.