Glory (17 page)

Tia smiled. “Could he have caught your men?”

“Not without a lot of people being killed. He knew it, I knew it. I waited for him; he found me.”

“One day you’ll both be hanged for fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Do you think that Ian and I are the only enemies who meet in this war?”

“No, I suppose not. We exchange salt and tobacco for coffee and different supplies frequently enough along the river, but still, meeting the way you two do can be dangerous.”

“We’re careful.”

“I wish I could see him,” Tia said softly.

“You could go into St. Augustine, you know. I was actually invited in when General Magee needed foot surgery!”

Tia smiled. “I would love to see the children. We’ve a nephew and a niece and a new little first cousin and a second cousin, and I never get to see them. And I need to see them and be a doting old aunt since we’re killing off all the men and I’ll never get a decent husband.”

Julian crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed his sister. “God knows, no man will ever want you.”

She gave him a light punch in the arm. “Honestly, Julian, by the time the war is over—”

“Who knows, you may marry a Yank.”

“Never. Never that!” she promised. “Even if I do have a misguided brother who is a Yank cavalry hero.”

“A Yank who knows far more about Rebel movements than we do. Tia, he believes that most of us are going to be commissioned into the regular army, that the militia here is going to be even more skeletal.”

“You mean ... you’ll have to leave?”

“That’s what Ian has heard.”

“Oh, my God.”

“And there’s more.”

“More? What more?” she asked sharply.

“Jerome has been injured.”

She sucked in her breath. He could see her pulse pounding against her throat. “Badly?”

“It’s all hearsay, so I don’t really know.”

“He’s been injured before, a slash here or there. Oh, God, I hope it’s not serious. Do you think they’ll bring him here,” Tia asked anxiously. “Though he has a ship’s physician—”

“Yes, he does. David Stewart is an excellent surgeon, and David will patch him up, but he’ll want him tended by his family—if the wound is at all severe.”

“If anything serious were to happen to Jerome—”

“We’d be desperate,” Julian said flatly.

Tia looked at him, afraid. The infections that set in after surgery often brought about death. Tia studied him for a moment. “Well, what do you think? Is your witch really the healer they say that she is?”

He hesitated only a moment. “Yes, I think so.”

“If she can help save my cousin, then she’ll be a tolerable witch.” She studied him curiously. “There’s more behind you bringing her back here, isn’t there?”

He shrugged. “She was becoming addicted to her own painkillers.”

Tia arched a brow.

“Her husband was killed.”

“Almost everyone has lost someone in this war.”

“Our cousin Jennifer became a spy after her husband was killed. She was totally indifferent to whether she lived or died. People react differently to pain.”

“Indeed, she was in so much pain, and so drugged, she was still able to call on the Yanks to come after your reckless hide, brother dear.”

“I’ve seen addictions before,” he said softly. “They are easy to acquire and very hard to break.”

“So you risked our position—for her addiction.”

“She doesn’t know where we are. And we’ve had another Yankee guest, you’ll recall. Have you forgotten that Jerome’s wife is the daughter of a Yankee general?”

“But she’s Jerome’s wife.”

“But she wasn’t always.”

“Oh, so are you going to marry her to keep her quiet? Would it work with such a witch anyway?”

“Right now I just want to find out what the situation is with Jerome. I just want to see him alive and well and back on the seas again.”

“And if your witch can keep him from a serious infection,” Tia said.

“Dear sister, your claws are showing!”

“Are they?”

“Watch it—you may be in danger of becoming a nasty old maid.”

“Oh! Dear brother, perhaps you should watch it, too.”

“Really? Why?”

Tia smiled sweetly. “You seem to be thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy.”

“Oh, do I indeed?”

“She’s quite attractive. Tall, regal. And more.”

“What more?”

“Mysterious.”

“Not once you know her.”

“That’s what you believe.”

“I’m not a fool, Tia.”

“I never said that. I’m merely pointing out the woman’s attributes. She’s not just intriguing and attractive. There’s something else about her. She’s graceful ... she moves like a cat, sensual, enticing. Ah ... just like a black widow spider.”

“Black widow spiders move like cats?”

“You’re missing my point, Julian. She’s quite stunning, and a Yankee—and deadly. She is spinning threads you can’t see to catch the unwary in her web. Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful in black?”

“Tia! She’s in mourning.”

“So are we all.”

“Not like Mrs. Tremaine.”

“Still, brother, take care!” Tia warned with mock severity. “If she is a witch—as many have claimed—she might well cast a dangerous siren’s spell upon the men around her. Be warned! You hold our fate in your hands.”

“I’m not so sure any man holds his own fate in his hands anymore,” Julian said dryly.

“You’re missing my point, a woman’s view,” Tia said with a sigh. She wagged a finger at him. “Be careful. Don’t trust her. If he is brought here, watch her carefully with our cousin. And watch yourself. And see that she doesn’t figure out how to escape the camp and reach the Yanks.”

“Well, with your woman’s point of view, I swear, I stand forewarned.”

She smiled. “Make light of my words! You will rue the day if you do so!” With a toss of her head, she left him there.

Watching her go, he smiled as well. He was grateful that she had chosen to work with him. They’d been through a great deal together.

His smile faded, and he wondered if she was right.

Was he thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy?

He shook his head, feeling the soft breeze around him, the gentle caress of the night. Such a peaceful place in the middle of such a tempest. He could hear the movement of the water. Tonight he could hear, feel, and see again, so clearly. Everything.

No. He knew what he was doing. He knew she was the enemy. He was wary, as he had warned himself before. He had never doubted her determination to remain the enemy. His enemy.

And still ...

He had the strangest feeling right now. He had forced her along because he had been afraid. For her.

Tia was right in a way. Rhiannon held a fascination for him. As if she had spun delicate threads and cast a strange web. No, she had simply needed help.

But he suddenly felt that he needed her as well. Needed her here. He had seen her work with Paddy. Few men or women had such a natural touch, knew so much about injuries and medicines.

Was she a witch? Now, listening to the movement of the water, feeling the lulling touch of the breeze, he felt almost as if this had somehow been destined ...

He snorted in the darkness, mocking himself. With another shake of his head, he left the peace of the cove behind him. He needed some sleep. He was back, safe, at his own camp. He could rest here tonight.

Or could he?

He would never sleep, he thought. Unless he had seen to her first.

It might well be a long night.

D
IGBY WAS A NICE
young man. He was obviously smitten with Rachel, and Rachel was apparently smitten in turn. So much for Union loyalty.

But they were here, in this camp. And at the moment they had little choice but to make the best of it.

Rhiannon thought that there weren’t more than fifty men in the company here, some of them old as the hills, some of them still boys. Some of those who had been at her home had joined Digby in attempting to make the tent provided them into a home. Grizzled old Henry Lyle had brought her a bouquet of wildflowers; Thad and Benjamin Henly, the men from Tallahassee, had brought them a small table fashioned from palm fronds; and Kyle Waverly, the man who had once been a teacher, had brought them a watercolor of the harbor at St. Augustine, a work he had done himself. It was small, set in a pine frame, and it fit on the little table. She was surprised that these men should be so courteous, but they didn’t mention what she had done. It seemed that they respected her difference of opinion.

She did find out, however, very late that night, when she had tried to wander out, that she was under guard. Old Corporal Lyle was on duty right outside her tent.

“Evening, Mrs. Tremaine,” he told her politely, as if there were nothing unusual in her appearing long after midnight.

“Evening, Corporal,” she returned.

“Can I help you?”

“I had just wanted some air.”

“The rain is coming soon.”

“I had thought it would have come by now.”

“It’s going to be one whipping wind when it comes, wet as a witch’s tit—oh, ma’am, sorry, I haven’t been around many ladies in a long time.”

She smiled, lowering her head, wondering if he was worried about his reference to a tit—or to a witch.

“Well, since it hasn’t started yet, I thought I’d walk a bit—”

“I’m afraid you can’t, Mrs. Tremaine.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be. It’s war, isn’t it?”

She slipped back into the tent. Rachel was sound asleep in her camp bed.

Sitting upon her own bed, Rhiannon shivered. She was tired, so tired. The best rest that she’d had in a long time was on the horse coming here when she had drifted to sleep. She rose and tore through her belongings until she found a plain cotton nightgown. With some difficulty she stripped off her black mourning gown and undergarments and slipped into the nightgown. She was more comfortable; she could sleep, she told herself, lying down.

The wind continued to whip beyond the tent. Then, she drifted.

She awoke, feeling as if an awful darkness surrounded her. She was shaking, trembling. Nausea gripped her. It was coming again ...

No, she told herself.

She lay back on her camp bed, but in a matter of seconds she felt her stomach cramping. She curled into herself, feeling wave after wave of tremors envelop her. She sat up again, clammy with sweat, despite the breeze that stirred. She sat there, gritting her teeth, wishing that she could die.

The lights that had burned around her were gone. The rain had come, she realized, dousing the few fires that had burned. Clouds obscured the moon. The breeze continued to moan softly, like something ... someone ... just clinging to life.

No, no, no ...

“Rhiannon ...”

Had she moaned aloud herself? She wondered if she imagined his voice in the darkness. No. He was there. He sat at her bedside, drawing her up and into his arms.

“It’s all right.”

“No!” She spoke aloud, and in the darkness she wondered if she had created him within her mind, summoning him to be with her because she hadn’t the courage to face the night alone. No ... she wasn’t dreaming anything. He had come. After the rain he had come, suspecting that she might be lying awake. In pain.

“It’s going to be all right.”

Tears stung her eyes. “It’s supposed to be better. You said—”

“It is better. You just don’t know it yet.”

“It’s so dark.”

“It’s a dark night.”

“Rachel—”

“Rachel is fine. Sleeping.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, you will, it is better ...”

He held her, rocked with her. He eased her back to the bed.

“My stomach. I’m ... going to be sick.”

“Maybe. Try breathing deeply. Very deeply.”

She wasn’t sick. Slowly, the churning began to settle. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. Night settled around her; the darkness became a gentle blanket; the breeze was sweet, cooling her. She closed her eyes, started to drift.

She felt him moving. She was holding his arms, she realized. She tightened her grip. “Don’t leave me!”

She didn’t know if she spoke the words or imagined them. He was stiff for a moment, then eased down at her side, pulling her against him. She felt the cotton of his shirt as his arms came around her. Felt his warmth, a wonderful, vital heat.

A shiver seized her. He tightened his hold. She eased against him.

“Remember this, Yank, come morning, when you’re eager to kick me in the head again.”

“You just said it,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Yank. I’m a Yank, sir. And come morning, you are the enemy.

“But it’s night now, and all cats are alike in the dark?” he murmured.

“Am I the cat or are you?” she whispered.

“Hard to tell at times, isn’t it?” he murmured in reply.

She bit her lower lip. It wasn’t hard to tell at all. She was coming to know him far too well. She was coming to need him, to long to hear his voice ...

“There is nothing but the dark,” she said. Yet she wanted him there. And she was so afraid that he’d leave. He was her strength in the darkness, all that she had. Her fingers fell over his, and she pressed against them, as if she had the power to keep them there if he chose to leave.

Had her guard left her? she wondered. What had Corporal Lyle thought when McKenzie had slipped into the tent, when he remained ...

It didn’t matter. With him there she could close her eyes. It was better, as he had said. There had been those moments, really bad moments ...

But they had come and gone. And she was closing her eyes, and drifting again, sleeping ...

Dreaming.

There was a ship. Tossed on the seas, swept by the rains. The river had offered a certain shelter, but even there, the spring storm had buffeted the proud vessel. She saw a face, dark against the whiteness of sheets, sleek with sweat, dark-haired, head tossing, his face, Julian’s face ...

No, not Julian’s ...

Lightning slashed the sky. She could see the room, a ship’s cabin. The man tried to rise from his bed; he was pressed back by the man who was tending him. His head tossed on the pillow. She saw the bandaging around his arm and saw that as he tossed, the bandage became more and more stained with the red of his blood ...