Daughter of the Sword (51 page)

“Dane …”

His fingers across her lips silenced her. “He's relieved that I want to marry and accepts that I may spend most of my time in ‘the colonies,' as he still dubs your country. He's got an eager brother to take over the estate in case Rolf doesn't. But he wouldn't understand why I stopped at Fort Leavenworth on my way here and joined Major Sturgis's command.”

“What?” faltered Deborah, unable to believe.

“I'm a captain in one of the volunteer regiments. Maybe you haven't heard that General Lyon has occupied Jefferson City, chased Jackson and Price's forces down to Boonville, and whipped them there. The Confederates are massing again. Lyon's collecting all the men he can—German volunteers from St. Louis, volunteers from Iowa and Kansas, regulars from Fort Riley and Leavenworth. He hopes to crush Price's army, save Missouri for the Union, and put a quick end to the war in this part of the country.”

Deborah's head swam. “But you—why should you fight?”

“For my woman. For her home.”

“You don't believe in war!”

“Who does except for mad dogs and profiteers?” He took her face in his hands and tilted it up. “It was one thing when you insisted on staying in the midst of turmoil, but quite another when war grips a whole country. I booked passage the day war was declared. Pretty much guessing how things would go in Missouri, I had to defend my woman.” His lips were very close to hers. “Didn't I?”

“You could have tried to take me to England.”

“You wouldn't have gone.”

“No.”

“So why try?” His voice was rough, husky. The pounding of his heart seemed to fill her so that she lost all strength. “Hell, Deborah, of course I'd rather have you out of this! But you are what you are; that must be part of why I love you.”

His mouth claimed hers, achingly sweet, urging, seeking. She melted against him, joying in the hard strength of his body, unable to get close enough.

At last, drawing back, he said with a small choking laugh, “Will you marry me now, before I join Sturgis? Or do I first have to whip the Confederate army?”

Marriage? Stiffening, happiness turning to ash, Deborah knew she couldn't refuse him without a reason. She didn't want him swearing vengeance on his brother, the vengeance she felt bound to exact if ever she had the chance. She hated to tell him the truth about Rolf, and yet she must, for he stood between them. She would kill him if she could, so how could she marry his brother?

“Rolf killed Conrad, Dane. And it was trickery—Rolf pulled a second knife! I—I was that boy who almost killed Rolf.”

“They were fighting over you!”

She shook her head. “There were runaways at Friedental. Rolf and his gang were after them. He promised not to capture the slaves if Conrad fought him.”

“Ah. Single combat. And to the victor went the spoils? You?”

“It wasn't like that! I—” She broke off. How could she tell him how Rolf had used her without provoking brother-murder? And in spite of everything, Dane loved Rolf.

“I can guess how it was,” Dane said with a weariness worse than fury. “I can even see that it's my fault for leaving you when I knew Rolf was crazy for you.”

Dane drew away from her. She'd never felt so naked and exposed, even when Rolf had plundered her. “I suppose I should apologize for carrying your lover back to England,” Dane said at last. “This is why he's been eager to return, though, on my advice, Father packed him off on the Grand Tour as soon as he could travel.” Deborah wasn't prepared for Dane's next words. “Do you want to marry him?”

“I'd rather die!”

A long sighing breath escaped the man looming above her in the night. “Marry me, then.”

“Not when you sound as if you're asking for a prison sentence!”

His hands gripped her shoulders. “Shall I caper with joy that my betrothed gave what was promised me to my brother?”

“He forced me!” She drove the words through her teeth.

“Forced you?” Dane's hands dropped from her. He seemed to freeze. His voice broke hoarsely. “Raped? Not just rough wooing?”

She laughed in bitter anger at the thought, and suppressed rage and humiliation came flooding back. “He killed Conrad, made me wash his blood off me, and had me by the river. He took me again that night. That's when I hoped I'd killed him.” She shook her head wearily. “But I couldn't cut his throat to make sure. I'll kill him if he comes back.”

Dane took her hands. “Deborah, Deborah, what can I say? Must I kill my brother?”

“I don't want you to.” Moved at the anguish in his tone, she softened her own. “But you must surely see that I can't forget what happened.”

“Neither can I. If I hadn't already joined a command, I'd track Rolf down. Now I can only hope someone else takes his life before I must.”

Shaken at his implacable words, Deborah caught his arm. “You mustn't, Dane! That would be horrible!”

“What Rolf did was horrible. I hope our father never has to know, but if he did, though it would break his heart, he'd agree Rolf shouldn't live.”

Shaken from her own grief by pity for Dane's cruel position, Deborah bowed her head. She couldn't steel herself to resist as Dane drew her close.

“Shall we be married in Lawrence?”

Her heart leaped and a frozen dead part of her seemed to warm, but then she remembered Rolf and Conrad's blood. “It's not possible, Dane—not while what Rolf did is between us.”

“But that's all the more reason! My brother wronged you. If I can make some restitution, take care of you—”

How hard to close herself against the pleading of his voice, the compelling strength of his arms! Deborah longed to go limp and yield to his tenderness, marry him, have what they could. He might die in a war he'd come to for her sake. Rolf might well be killed in some European duel with a gallant as hotheaded as himself. Who knew how fate would weave the strands?

Yet she knew that if Dane had to kill his brother, or if she did, it would be a poison at the roots of their love. It might bind them together in guilt, but it couldn't be a happy union for them or for their children, not to mention the poor old frail father in England who loved both sons.

No. While Rolf lived, she must not marry Dane. But they had waited for each other so long.… Shaking her head, she said slowly, “I can't marry you now, Dane. I won't! But—”

She didn't know how to say it. Taking his long, hard fingers, she moved them to her breasts. Shock passed from him to her. His fingers moved convulsively before he snatched them away.

“No! Not till you marry me!”

“But I'm no virgin. Dane, please! Let's have this, at least!”

Silence grew between them, assuming solidity. Deborah ached to reach out to him, at least touch his hand. She knew he was as tormented as she, forbore to weep or press him further. In this thing, they must respect each other's integrity. At last he shrugged with a heaviness that made the set of his head and shoulders seem suddenly old.

“I can't take you, darling, though I'd give my soul for it. A man's urge to make love before battle is nature's trick to be sure there's always someone to fight the next war. Sweet as a night with you would be, I can't risk giving you a child I might not be around to father.”

“Dane—”

Gently enough, he laid his fingers on her lips. “Deborah, let's not talk about it while all we'll do is hurt each other. In spite of my pathetic words about a fatherless child, I'll use all my old cavalryman's tricks to stay alive. I'll be back.” He laughed savagely. “You'd marry me, I'll bet, if I lost an arm or leg! Or had my manhood blown away!”

“Don't!”

“My God, Deborah!” Struggling with himself, he said huskily, “I'm sorry … sorry for both of us!”

Taking her hand, he drew her firmly along the path. “I won't lose a hair of my head more than I have to. You'll just have to take me as I am.”

“And that's how you must take me.”

The lights of the house shone mellow as they passed the forge, its fire banked till morning. “Truce!” said Dane. He paused in the shadows. “I've taken your kisses tonight, Deborah. Will you give me one?”

She drew his head down and kissed him with all her love and grief, longing and hope. It was he at last who put her away, turned her toward the house as if he dared not be alone with her another moment.

Jewel, Sam, and Jace had gone to bed, but the others had waited up. Even the twins were awake, and they stared a long time at Dane, and then each appropriated a knee and arm, thin, red-headed Tom watching this big stranger with wide, soft brown eyes, Lettie snuggling against him, closing a dimpled, honey-brown hand around his thumb. Though Maccabee and Laddie played with them, they missed Johnny, a father-man.

Deborah poured coffee, wryly conscious of her friends' perplexity. Instead of the wedding announcement they'd expected, they were regaled with how Alexander II had abolished serfdom and arranged for the peasants to be allotted land through communes which would repay the government over forty-nine years.

“It might work for slaves here,” Dane finished. Then he went on to laugh about Sir Harry's outrage over Darwin's evolutionary theories. “In 1650 the Archbishop of Armagh calculated all the ‘begats' back to 4004
B.C.
, and John Lightfoot of Cambridge later fixed the time of man's creation precisely at nine
A.M.
, October 23. Father agrees with the good wife of the Bishop of Worcester. At the notion of being descended from apes, she cried, ‘Let us hope it is not true, but if it is, let us pray that it will not become generally known!'”

Sara shot him a look of such mystification that Deborah announced he was joining Sturgis at Leavenworth for the push into Missouri to reinforce Lyon. After a flurry of surprised appreciation, Sara remarked wistfully, “Maybe you'll see Johnny.”

“And Doc Challoner,” added Judith.

They then had to explain who Doc was, and they passed a while longer in talking about the tide of black refugees pouring into a Kansas that was only slowly recovering from the terrible drought.

“When I heard Kansas had been made a state, I drank a toast to you all,” said Dane. Rising, he gave Sara the now-sleeping Tom, then handed Lettie's sweet chubbiness to Deborah. “Well, ladies, you'll come through the war just as you did through Border Ruffians, freezes, and the drought.”

Judith snorted. “I could do with some plain old monotonous bein' happy!”

“That'll come, too,” said Dane.

His eyes met Deborah's over the child's black hair. “Good night,” he said. He touched the side of both their cheeks before he turned away.

“Good night,” echoed Judith, following as Deborah carried Lettie to Sara's room. “What's that mean?”

“Exactly that!” Deborah snapped. “He—I—we're not going to talk about marriage for a while.”

“For sure not, him goin' off to fight them Missouri Secesh,” agreed Judith. “Something's wrong here, Deborah! Man don' come back from England and join up for a war unless he's mighty interested in a woman!”

Sara tucked in the twins, then put her hand on Deborah's. “Don't pester her, Judith! It's that Rolf: trouble when he's here, and trouble when he isn't!”

Judith, with a malevolent grumble, went off to her bed, as did Deborah. But it was a long time before she slept, miserable over what she'd done, but not able to see what other course she might have taken.

She didn't know whether she should be glad or sorry that Dane meant to return to her. What could lie ahead for them but trouble?

But with all her heart she prayed he would come back.

xxii

Dane left the next morning after an early breakfast. He was waved off by the entire household. He bent from the saddle to pull Deborah up against him and give her a last kiss. He touched the chain around her neck. “Keep wearing it,” he said. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” That, at least, could be said.

He looked at her ruefully. “If you mean that—Hell, there's a war to fight! Good-bye, Deborah.” His mouth jerked crookedly. “Stay as safe as you can.”

When he was lost from sight, Deborah turned back to the others. Had she been a fool, to refuse the happiness they might snatch now? But she could never, if they all lived to be a hundred, forgive Rolf for killing Conrad with that hidden knife.

That blood debt must be settled before she could live with Dane. Only now, concern for his safety overrode future worries.

Pressing her hand to the little medallion, she willed him to be protected, before she said to Jewel, Sam, and Jace, “Are you ready to move to your new home?”

Belshazzar pulled the wagon loaded with equipment, such bedding as Sara could scavenge, half a dozen chickens, and a pig. A cow, one of Venus's offspring that'd been traded to Johnny, walked behind the wagon. She was coming fresh in a few weeks and would supply milk, butter, and soft cheese.

“Pity we got no children for all that milk,” Jewel said to Deborah, who was riding alongside on Chica. “If folks turn up with a baby or two and need a place, reckon we could take 'em in.”

“I'll remember,” said Deborah gratefully. It was beginning to look as if every available shelter was going to be needed for refugees who wanted to stay in Kansas.

Jewel wasn't dismayed at the soddy-stable's dilapidation. “Won't be hard to fix the roof. And that chicken coop in good shape.” She gazed about, her face glowing. “Dandy well-house! And look at that wheat and corn all hedged in with Osage orange! Miz Deborah, we sure goin' to get this place fixed up good. You won' be sorry when you ready to take it back.”

“By that time you'll have a good farm of your own,” Deborah said. “There's unclaimed land on two sides of us.”