Surrender (20 page)

He lay awake, his temper soaring anew as he remembered the newspaper articles. When he got his hands on her again …

if
he got his hands on her!

The length of him was afire. Muscles, flesh, and blood—all seemed to ache. He’d had the opportunity to do something about the pent-up tension within him—but he had refrained from the opportunity. Because of Risa. Because of wanting to strangle her. Because of
wanting
her.

It was insanity. After the things she had said …

He would get his hands on her again, he determined angrily. And if she meant to write damning articles about him, well, then … by God!

He’d sure as hell see to it that he did something for her to write about!

It didn’t much matter where in time and place men were wounded—or who they were.

And it didn’t much matter what color they wore when bullets ripped into muscle and bone, when sabers tore open flesh and veins.

Injured men, North and South, were much the same. They suffered the same, bled the same, screamed the same—died the same.

That was a lesson Risa learned very soon after arriving in Washington, and being brought to her father.

Despite the anguish and the pain it caused her, Risa was glad to tend to the men. Despite the horrors she faced, she was grateful. She was well aware that many so-called “society” families were adamantly opposed to young ladies working as nurses. It was totally indecent for them to be near the soldiers in any intimate way, seeing men in less than a complete stage of dress. Thank God for her father.

In many ways.

Returning to Washington had been far more overwhelming than she had ever imagined. She’d not stepped foot off the sloop that had brought her down the river before she’d been besieged by reporters. She’d thought
she’d been close to truthful and careful and extremely calm when she’d spoken—somehow, her words had all been twisted, and the stories she’d seen after were enough to make her skin crawl. If she were ever to meet with Jerome McKenzie again, he would probably skin her alive on the very spot. In the Northern capital, however, she was a heroine. She was invited to tea at the White House, where she tried again to put a calm perspective upon everything that had happened. But people were eager for high seas adventure that didn’t include blood, and so, she was a valiant heroine trying to secure valuable information for the North, and Captain Jerome McKenzie became a savage Rebel with wild Indian blood determined on kidnapping an innocent young woman and having his way with her. Despite the friends she was able to see, she quickly fled Washington. Besides, her father couldn’t get to her; he was embroiled in the Peninsula Campaign, and to see him, she had to go to him.

Once Angus had greeted her—dismissed his men and held her with warm, wet tears in his eyes until he all but crushed her bones—they had talked. She had told him that she was fine, that Ian’s cousin had done nothing cruel to her, but Angus remained infuriated that any man had had the effrontery to abduct his daughter. He wanted her safely back in Washington, traveling no more. But she had stood her ground, insisting she couldn’t keep house throughout the war. And he had sternly painted her a picture of how many possible future in-laws might view her medical service if she insisted on following the army as a nurse. Once she had informed him firmly that she did not care—she couldn’t bear the duration of the war if she couldn’t do something useful!—he had been entirely supportive.

Not that following the army was easy. Union troops outnumbered Southern, but chasing the Rebs was tedious and difficult. For her ears alone, Angus was sometimes willing to admit that the army had lost many of its best and brightest officers to the Confederacy. The soldiers fell prey to disease far more often than they fell before bullets. Summer complicated their problems. The heat was sometimes terrible; the mosquitoes were often
hungrier for blood than either Northern or Southern troops. Malaria, smallpox, dysentery, and other fevers worked havoc on the men. They engaged in a “Peninsula” campaign while McClellan sought with little success to take Richmond.

Some days were nothing but marching and fighting disease. Some days brought minor skirmishes. Some days brought major battles, horrible wounds, and death. To a dying soldier, it didn’t much matter. Whether injured by gunfire or laid low by disease, it was terrible to hear the screams of the wounded, the cries of desolation when a man learned he must lose a limb in order to survive. Worse were some of the cases of sexual disease. Nothing was worse than the sight of a soldier dying in the last stages of syphilis. Along with army life came camp followers, and soldiers, scared and lonely and never knowing when death might come, were often eager for entertainment.

Still, following the army kept her close with her father. And working with Doctor Abe Tanner, the old physician and surgeon who served her father’s men, kept her busy as could be—too busy to do much brooding. She might have fared better if it weren’t for the summer’s heat and what it seemed to do to food. All during the remainder of June and into July, she was sick—a fact she kept hidden from her father and the men. She didn’t dare let her father know that there were times when the sight of blood completely nauseated her. Or that she did, upon occasion, run from an amputation, unable to stomach the soldier’s agony and cries.

Life with the army was not easy. But she had tasted the real metal of war. And she could never go back to quilting again.

They were always on the move. But in June, on a night when the guns were still, the medical corp took over an abandoned house. Late that evening, while she sat in a handsome old winged-back chair reflecting on the war, she was startled to hear her name softly spoken by a familiar voice. When she turned around, she cried out, incredulous to see that Ian McKenzie was standing at the entrance to the room. She rose, rushed to him,
and hugged him gladly. He held her close in return, swung her about, and at last set her down.

“Ian! How can you be here? You’re safe and sound. I’m so glad to see you. Would you like whiskey? Has my father seen you? What of Alaina? I haven’t heard from her. But I haven’t tried to write, either, it’s been so very busy here!”

“I’d love a whiskey.”

She poured him a drink from a decanter on the occasional table by her chair. She handed it to him, and he urged her to return to relax as he sat in a sofa near her. “Sit, now, rest—I know you must be exhausted. I hear you work without stop. Do you know what the soldiers call you?”

She arched a brow. “Nothing evil, I hope?”

He laughed. “General Angel. They say you can dictate orders with the best, but that you’ve a healing touch unknown to most mortal women—and you look like an angel, with just a hint of a redhead’s sweet wickedness.”

“Any woman looks good out here, Ian.”

“And you look good anywhere, Risa. Except that you’re far too thin.”

“I’m fine. We’re all a bit thinner. Tell me, please, anything you know.”

“About the war?” he queried dryly. “Well, let’s see, General Pope is hated by the South and North, and yet he thinks that he will eventually halt good old Southern Stonewall Jackson in the Shenandoah Valley while McClellan takes Richmond. The generals fight among themselves like children, and my old mentor, Robert E. Lee, is watching us all and weighing his chances. We outnumber the Rebs by thousands, and yet we wage war knowing that we can lose a thousand men to their hundred and eventually win anyway—it’s insanity! What else can I tell you?”

“Alaina?”

He smiled. “I saw her a few weeks ago, and she is fine, but misses you a great deal. She said I must beg you to come back if you are able. All the men have been stripped from Florida, she says, and if the Yanks are to hold St. Augustine, then you should be among them.”

She smiled. His hand was in hers, and she idly rubbed the rugged, cavalryman’s palm.

“I wouldn’t mind going back. I loved St. Augustine. But I’m useful here.”

“And not bitter?”

“About what?”

“About Jerome?”

She shrugged dismissively. “Oh, the papers were hungry for scandal rather than more death. It’s all in the past—I barely remember it,” she lied. “Have you seen my father yet?”

He winced. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

Ian grinned, blue eyes dancing. “He’s quite livid. I guess you haven’t seen the story yet. Jerome was interviewed by an English paper and the English paper in turn lambasted Yankees for carelessness—and poor parenting. And you became a notorious spy—deserving of whatever befell you in Southern waters. Naturally, Lincoln and this war have enemies, so the story is again running throughout all the Northern papers. Strange—you’ve been quoted as replying to it all, and stating that Jerome McKenzie is a Rebel savage, and there’s no more to be said.”

She stood abruptly, incredulous that others dared speak for her. Snatching up his empty whiskey glass, she threw it across the room where it smashed into the fireplace.

“Risa, hey, come here!” Ian said, gently taking her into his arms to soothe her. “You can’t control what people say.”

“I shall sue for libel!” she stated.

“I’m sorry I told you, but your father is in quite a state—I thought he was going to run me through for being Jerome’s cousin. Come on, sit with me, I’ve only tonight, then I head back to join my troops again. I came to Washington for new orders, and I was given a few days leave here to visit friends. You are still my friend?”

“Of course.” She hesitated a moment. “Of course. The rest of your family is well?”

“Indeed, from what I’ve heard. We’ve been blessed, thus far. My brother and sister are fine. My cousin Brent
is with Lee’s army facing us here, and he is well. And my cousin Sydney is in Richmond, tending the wounded there. It helps, of course, that the majority of my family are involved with medical corps, though canisters and grapeshot are blind when they spew death upon the fields. Only Jerome—” he began, then broke off.

“Jerome defies the blockade—and death—daily.”

He shrugged.

“Have you heard from him?” she tried to ask casually.

“I’ve heard he put into Charleston against great odds and that his ship is undergoing repairs there.” He looked at her unhappily. “I believe he is well. I hope so. I’m sorry. He is my cousin, and my parents were quite fiercely determined—having survived the Seminole wars—that we would understand the bonds of family, and love. So I do love him, and therefore, I must be concerned for his welfare.”

“Naturally,” she murmured.

“You told me you weren’t bitter.”

“Of course not. However, if he were to be taken to rot in a prison for the remainder of the war, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be at all distressed. In fact, if he were fed gruel and water for the next decade, I’d not mind a whit. Perhaps he could be hung up by his toes, and beaten daily with a whip.”

Ian laughed. “Ah, well, you’re definitely not bitter. I can see that the two of you quickly became fast friends!” He sighed. “Was he really that wretched?”

She hesitated. “I was a prisoner.”

“You went with him willingly.”

“What should I have done? Had you defend me? Kill him—have him kill you? I—”

“You what?”

“I did know his plans. And I would have taken them to the Union as quickly as possible.”

Ian nodded, looking down at their hands. “Ah. But I ask again, was he that wretched? He might have been raised in the swamps along with kin who often claim alligators as family members, but he was raised a gentleman, despite his wild streak.”

“He kept me a prisoner, and did not let me go. In time,” she said, whispering the last.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing—is in the past.”

“You both did what you did for Alaina and me, and I am so grateful. Come, friend, let’s forget the war for a while.”

They sat on the sofa together then. She leaned her head on his shoulder. They held hands. She closed her eyes, and thought about how much she cared for Ian. And she thought about what might have been. But even caring about Ian, she knew that she had never known anything like the fire she felt when Jerome touched her with his eyes alone.

She asked him about Alaina again, and he told her that his wife was growing round with their second child, and he said again that he wished Risa could be with her. Risa told him that she’d met his sister and brother, and that they’d been charming. And they talked and talked while the night passed by. In the end they dozed sitting side by side for perhaps an hour. Then General Angus Magee came into the room with the dawn. He cleared his throat with a roll of thunder, and Risa awoke, jumping. Ian had heard Angus enter, and when Risa was steady, they stood together. Angus shook his head. “Daughter, what shall we do with you? The gossips will have all the more to say!”

“Sir, it’s entirely my fault—” Ian began.

“Indeed! It is your fault. Damn your family, man!” Angus said, shaking.

“Now, Father,” Risa said, approaching him. She slipped an arm around him. “Ian is my friend. And he served as your best horse soldier for years.”

Angus gritted his teeth. “Indeed, Ian McKenzie. But you should have known better than to spend the night with Risa! You two have been alone for hours—the soldiers will talk.”

“People will always talk,” Risa said, somewhat amused.

“Risa, dear Risa! Your reputation is already in shreds!” Angus said, distraught. “What happens, my dear, when you do fall in love and wish to marry?”

“Father, if I discover I have fallen in love with a man who listens to gossips, I will fall right out of love.”

Angus shook his head unhappily. “You’re young, and rash, and you’re not seeing the future clearly. Love isn’t planned, child, and we can’t turn it on and off. And as to you, young man! What would your poor wife say, Ian McKenzie?”

“Not a word, for she values Risa as her best friend as well. My deepest apologies, sir, for whatever discomfort I have caused you.” He saluted. Then he came to Risa and tenderly kissed her cheek. “Keep yourself well.” He looked back to Angus. “Guard her carefully, sir. She is one of the greatest assets to our cause!”

“Guard yourself well, Ian McKenzie!” Angus ordered gruffly. Then he left his daughter’s side for a moment to briefly embrace Ian. Ian winked to her, and left.