Surrender (16 page)

Julian realized that his pain over the boy was compounded by worry about his own family. The Yanks might hold St. Augustine, but news still filtered across the line. He’d heard that his sister-in-law, Alaina, had been acting as a spy and courier. She’d left St. Augustine, and not returned. Then a Yankee friend of hers,
Risa Magee, had disappeared while searching for Alaina. He hadn’t met Risa, but word was that her father, a general with the Union army, was getting ready to take the entire Fed navy to task and demand that his daughter be found.

There was nothing you could have done.” The words were softly spoken. His sister, Tia, was at his side, touching his shoulder. He turned to look at her, about to explain that it was more than this tragic death that so disturbed him. He fell silent instead. Tia was worried enough, yet seeing her there, his heart felt somewhat lightened. There had been a time when many of the South’s uppercrust society condemned any young woman who aided the troops as a nurse. Young women would see things they shouldn’t see; it simply wouldn’t be proper. Many “nurses” did nothing but read or write letters. Not Tia. She worked. She had come to him demanding to help with the war effort.

He was very proud of her. She was beautiful and competent. She’d acquired their father’s ebony eyes, while he and Ian had skipped back a generation to inherit their grandfather’s deep blue color. Her hair was as dark as her lustrous eyes, while her complexion was pure cream. She was of medium height, slim and vivacious. At the start of the war, Tia’s interests had extended to parties, balls, and travel. She’d wanted to see Europe and more, Egypt, the pyramids, and the Yangtze River in China.

But war had come. And though their father would have gladly sent Tia far away then, she remained close to home, and for the last months, she had been with him, working in the field. Their parents would never interfere in such a decision; neither Jarrett nor Tara McKenzie had ever bowed to the opinions of society. Naturally, it was difficult now to remember that he and Tia had argued like cats and dogs growing up. She’d become such an amazing asset. She read, wrote, and cheered the men, helped them through disease and fevers, and even worked well in surgery. She soaked up blood, made bandages, bathed the wounded, and managed to ignore the smells of putrifying flesh and waste.

As a doctor, he’d been lucky; when the Rebs had held
St. Augustine, he’d had his sister-in-law to help, and she had been an excellent nurse. Now he had Tia.

She glanced at the dead boy, her eyes misted, but she looked back to Julian quickly. “His folks—and his wife and infant—live in Ocala,” she said quietly. “I wrote two last letters for him. He was anxious none of them learn how fond he had become of tobacco, and he made me promise to burn his poker deck. He didn’t want his mother to find out he’d gambled, and he asked me to make sure that his wife and baby would always be able to remember him as a moral man.”

“Burn his cards, then, and get some rest. You’re wearing yourself out. You can’t fight each battle with such energy.”

She was silent for a minute. “Julian, we have a brother fighting
for
the Yankees. And it’s a known fact our father has always been an abolitionist. If our side does win this war, there are those who might need to be reminded that two McKenzies of Tampa helped keep Southern soldiers alive.”

“You work just as hard for the stray Yanks—and you have to admit, you don’t always sound like an ardent Rebel.”

She shrugged. “If Ian is injured in enemy territory, I pray he will receive the best care. And you’re right. I hate the war, it’s wrong. It started as a bunch of boys—and old men who thought they were boys—all threatening each other for months on end, determined they could beat each other up at a single show of arms, or in a matter of months! War still rages. Men keep dying. Homes are destroyed; children become orphans. And when it’s all over, I might just go to medical school—certainly, there’s going to be no one left to marry!”

As she stared at him indignantly, Sergeant Digby, Julian’s medical aide, ducked into the canvas tent, which was his field hospital. Digby, who had been United States Army out in the Arizona Territory until his state had seceded, was young and thin and quick. He saluted, noted the dead man, and sobered for a minute, but then spoke excitedly.

“He’s coming, sir, he’s coming!”

“Digby, who’s coming?” Julian asked.

“Captain McKenzie, sir, CSS
Lady Varina
. Don’t it just beat all, sir? Those Union ships, so many of them out there, and he just waltzes his ship in and out along the river, as you please!”

Julian glanced at Tia. So far their cousin might be waltzing around as he pleased. But the work was harrowing, and each month that passed, running the blockade became more dangerous. Jerome was suited to the work as few men were. He hadn’t been United States Navy—as so many Confederate officers had been—but he’d been a diver, and a shipbuilder. He’d learned his techniques in the great northern shipyards, and he’d modified all that he’d learned for the Florida waters. His
Lady Varina
was his own design. She was light—five hundred tons. She carried seven small guns, three large ones. She could maneuver in the shallows—and she was equipped with both steam and sails, allowing her both speed and reliability. Julian was going to be damned glad to see Jerome. He desperately needed supplies.

“Let’s go to Jerome!” Tia said excitedly.

Julian nodded, yet glanced toward the boy who had so recently succumbed.

“I’ll see to the lad, Dr. McKenzie,” Digby said somberly.

Jerome nodded. He and Tia looked from his tent—concealed by a cover of pines—down toward the river.

It was barely dawn. Naturally, Jerome moved with the shadows. He was a phantom, using the cover of darkness.

The
Lady Varina
was indeed at anchor in the river. The docks at the hospital site had been destroyed again and again, first by retreating Rebs, then by the Yanks, then by the Rebs again. Julian didn’t want docks near his makeshift hospital—he didn’t want to attract enemy fire to his wounded men. But as he stared out at the ship, he saw several small boats rowing toward the embankment. And there was Jerome, standing in the lead boat, perfectly balanced, legs spread and feet planted wide. He smiled, lifting a hand as he saw his cousin. Like Uncle James, his “half-breed” kin, as his neighbors whispered, Jerome had always fascinated Julian. They were just months apart in age, but when they’d visited
McKenzie property in the far south of the state, Jerome was able to take the lead in many things—he had learned to alligator wrestle with the best, and he could let out a war cry that was chilling straight to the heart.

Julian smiled. Coming toward them, Jerome looked somewhat like Washington crossing the Delaware. He was definitely an imposing figure. He wore no uniform, just cotton breeches, boots, a gray cotton shirt, and scabbard and sword at his waist.

“Captain!” he cried as Jerome stepped ashore.

“Doctor!” Jerome called in return.

But Tia was first. She raced forward, throwing herself into Jerome’s arms. He picked her up and spun her around, hugging her close to him. He set her down, and he and Julian embraced quickly.

“It’s wonderful to see you. And unexpected. The river has been exceptionally dangerous of late,” Julian told his cousin. “But thank God that you are here. We’ve heard frightening things… Pray God, you have some information. Have you heard anything about—”

“Yes, but let me get the cargo moving off the ship, and we’ll talk. In private,” Jerome said.

Thirty minutes later Jerome McKenzie sat with his cousins around Julian’s camp desk in the confines of his makeshift tent office. His men finished the unloading of the supplies he had brought. Despite the Confederate military orders regarding the dispersal of goods, Jerome was determined that most of what he acquired was going to stay in his home state. Especially, when it came to medical supplies for Julian.

As soon as Digby went to fetch coffee for them, Jerome gave them the assuring news they craved.

“Alaina is fine.”

“Oh, God, how can you know that? Have you seen her—” Tia began anxiously.

“I’ve seen her.”

“And? What happened?” Tia demanded.

“Alaina was spying and smuggling goods through the blockade, yes, definitely. And the Feds were damned determined to get their hands on her—‘the Mocassin.’ But—”

“Someone warned her. The general’s daughter,” Julian said.

Jerome arched a brow. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Because it was known in St. Augustine—after she had departed, naturally—that Risa Magee coerced a young man into bringing her south. I can only assume it was because she was determined to find Alaina. It’s a miracle that she found Ian.”

“She didn’t. Not exactly. She found me.”

“Oh?” Julian said.

“But you saw Alaina? And she’s really all right?” Tia demanded. “And Ian—you saw my brother! How is he? Jerome, please, tell us everything.”

Jerome hesitated. He trusted his family implicitly. But sometimes, it was better that they not know everything.

“I found Ian, and he had found Alaina. Alaina is back on Belamar, and Ian was there, briefly, as well.”

“Ian’s gone back to war,” Tia said bitterly. Jerome didn’t reply.

“And the general’s daughter?” Julian pressed.

“Well, she is the real reason I’m here now. I need you to get her across the river for me.”

“Ah …” Julian said, frowning. “Why didn’t you leave her at Belamar?”

“Because I couldn’t. She knew where I was going. She was dangerous to me and my men.”

“You think that she would have betrayed you?”

“I know that she’d betray me. She’s an avowed Yank.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Tia murmured. “She risked her life for Alaina, didn’t she? What makes you so certain that she would have betrayed your position?”

Jerome sipped his coffee, feeling knots form in his stomach as he stared at his lovely little cousin who was so determined to stand up for a woman she didn’t even know. “Because she assured me she would,” he said flatly. Would she still do so? he wondered. Yes. Not out of maliciousness; she simply remained as loyal to the Union as ever. No matter what had happened between them. Sweet Jesus, what had happened? he asked himself. No great mystery. He’d wanted her. He’d simply
wanted her. And on her part? He didn’t know. Had she willingly been seduced by his similarity to Ian? Maybe the war itself had sent her into his arms. The war made everyone realize that life was short, and uncertain. Lovers died like flies, and with them, a woman’s hopes and dreams for the future.

But Risa hadn’t instigated what had happened.

Neither on the beach, nor in his cabin.

He had done so. But she had responded to him with such a sweet burning passion that he had become the one seduced.

And he was the one haunted now, wanting her still.

Under normal circumstances, he should have requested her hand in marriage. In the prewar world, she would have been ruined. After all, scandal, not even truth, had brought Ian to the altar with Alaina.

But passionate Yanks did not wed passionate Rebs. And he pitied couples already in that position.

No … what had happened was best forgotten. No future loomed before them; she remained desperate to escape him, to reach her beloved north. She would be quite appalled by the concept of marriage to a half-breed, Southern blockade runner. And the truth of it was that she had been seduced by the moment, and a longing to touch something that had once been taken away from her. And still …

It was damned hard to let her go. Just thinking of her made his fingers tense around his cup, his muscles tighten, and a pulse tick faster at his throat. He might deeply resent the fact that she had probably succumbed because she could pretend he was Ian, but that didn’t dampen the fires she had stirred within him. She instantly aroused thoughts of pure lust in his heart—and yet he thought that it was her eyes he’d remember until the day he died. Sometimes they were green, touched by blue, then blue, touched by green. Sea eyes, glittering, beautiful, changing, aquamarine.

He set his cup down firmly. “While she had knowledge of my movements, I didn’t dare release her. She is, however, quite anxious to return to Yankee territory.”

Julian leaned forward, about to speak, then he paused
because Digby arrived, bringing them coffee and biscuits. Julian thanked him, and he departed.

“Jerome, I must warn you. I’ve heard that her father is breathing fire. He knows she left St. Augustine, and I’ve heard he intends to hunt down and destroy any man—Reb or Yank—who has harmed a single hair on her head. What happened to the fellow who brought her south, by the way?”

“Finn?” Jerome arched a brow. “He was left with a few Yankees on a small island. A Federal ship will pass by soon enough, if one hasn’t done so already.”

“Ah…well, I pity him when the general finds him.”

“Since I’m at war with the Union as it is, I can hardly fear the lady’s father,” Jerome said lightly. “And I’m damned sorry, but she had more information than a dozen spies. There was nothing I could do.”

“I’m sure she’s unharmed. At least—I hope so,” Tia murmured.

Jerome smiled dryly. “Ah, Tia, I’m quite sorry to disappoint you. She fought like a wild cat. I had to do something. Naturally, I had her tied to the mainmast, and ordered my first mate to give her twenty lashes with a cat-o’-nine-tails,” he said with a sigh.

Tia gasped. “Jerome, dear God—”

“Tia!” Julian groaned. “Tia, he’s teasing you.”

Jerome laughed. “Yes, I’m teasing. However, I was damned tempted.”

“Where is she now?” Julian asked.

“On board. She was sleeping. Now that we’ve talked, I’ll go back to the
Lady Varina
and bring her ashore. The crew and I will have to be ready to sail come the afternoon; we need to make the open sea right around dusk to avoid the Yanks lurking south of Fernandina Beach.”

“Well, if she’s the reason you’ve come, I’m grateful to her. I’m desperately low on morphine,” Julian told him. “How long do you think we can continue this war with so few ships, men, and supplies?”