Love Not a Rebel (50 page)

“That was—”

“Your mother’s name, yes. Does that suit you?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “And—our son?”

“Jamie,” he said huskily. “A Jamie Cameron began life in a new land. This Jamie Cameron will begin life in a new country.”

“The war has not been won,” Amanda observed.

His eyes fell upon her coldly. She lifted her chin, not wanting to fight, not knowing how not to do so. “And with what you said to me when we last met, I had doubts you would claim them as your own,” she murmured.

She held her breath, awaiting his answer. She so desperately wanted him to disclaim his words, to vow some small word of love to her.

His eyes stayed upon her. “As this is March eleventh, I daresay the timing is quite right since our last—encounter.”

Tears stung her eyes. She refused to shed them. “I wish that they were not yours!” she lied softly.

He stiffened, his back to her. “Ah, my dear wife! And you claimed to love me so the last time that we met!” She was silent. He turned to her. He set the baby down carefully in one of the cradles that had been brought and came to stand beside her. She nearly flinched when he reached down to touch her hair. He did not miss her reaction. He picked up his son even though a sound of protest escaped her. “The lad sleeps,” he said. With Jamie Cameron set in his cradle, Eric came back to her again.

He reached into his frock coat and produced a small velvet box. He withdrew a ring from it and took her hand. She tugged upon her fingers but he held fast. A second
later a stunning emerald surrounded by diamond chips was set upon her third finger. “Thank you,” he said very softly, and it was the tone of voice that could set her heart to shivering, her very soul to trembling. She wanted so badly to reach out and stroke his face. No matter how tender his words, she dared not. “I did not mean to be so crude. I do, however, live sometimes for the day when I might meet Lord Tarryton once again. You forget, I discovered you once within his arms.”

A smile escaped her. “And rescued me from them, if I recall.”

“Yes, but I admit, I cannot forget that you loved him, and fears have often tormented my dreams. But I thank you for my children—healthy twins were far more than I dared dream. I would that they had been born at home—”

“You sent me here.”

“Aye, and I would bring you home now. But, Amanda, you must swear to me that you will no longer betray my cause.”

“I did not betray your cause—”

“I ask you for the future.”

She lowered her head, feeling the urge to burst into” tears. He still did not believe her. He had always been there for her, even in the midst of childbirth! But he did not believe her, and she knew of no way to heal their breach.

“I will not betray you, I swear it,” she said softly.

His knuckles rested upon her cheek. He opened his mouth as if to speak. She turned her head aside. “This is a travesty of a marriage, is it not? When you loved me, I did not love you. Then I loved you—and you did not love me. There is nothing now, is there?”

His hand fell and he walked away from the bed. She heard the door open, and yet he hesitated. “Aye, there is something,” he said. Her eyes rose to his. Cobalt fire, they fell upon her, and touched her flesh and blood and entered deeply inside of her. “For you are mistaken. I have loved you since I first laid eyes upon you, milady, and I have never ceased to love you.”

The door closed. She was alone.

XVII
  

I
t was several days before Amanda saw Eric again. Although she pondered his words endlessly when she was awake, it seemed that she was often exhausted in those first days. Danielle assured her that producing live, healthy twins was no easy task and that she deserved her rest. And in those days, countless gifts came to her, from the Comte de la Rochelle, from Benjamin Franklin, and even from the young king and queen. Marie Antoinette sent her Flemish lace christening gowns, as beautiful and opulent as the Palace of Versailles. While she was still abed, the twins were taken to be baptized, in an Episcopal ceremony, although the French royal court was devoutly Catholic. Though no one dared say it to Amanda, infant mortality was high, and so the ceremony was quickly arranged. Danielle stood as godmother to both infants, while Amanda was delighted to have Ben Franklin stand as their godfather.

By the end of a week she was feeling much stronger, and though she had been offered a young wet nurse by the court, she was determined to care for both of her babies herself. It was trying but greatly rewarding, and she could not forget for a moment how deeply she had feared that she would never have children.

Now she had two, precious beings who still brought her to awe. She never tired of searching over their little bodies, of counting fingers and toes, of studying their eyes and their hair and their noses and chins, trying to decide just whom they resembled. “I shall show you some of your ancestors!” she promised. “There’s a huge gallery with rows and rows of Camerons! You shall see, and then we shall decide!”

They were way too young to smile, but still, she thought that Jamie, especially, watched her with very grave eyes. His father’s eyes. They already had a tendency to look cobalt at times, silver at others.

She had her infants … and she had Eric. And he had even said that he loved her, that he had always loved her. But could it be enough? He had come for her—but she was certain that he still did not trust her.

And he stayed away from her. He came to see his new son and daughter, she knew, for Danielle always informed her. But he did not wait to see her when she wakened. She didn’t know where he slept at night, but there Danielle assured her too. He was across in the comte’s room, and the comte was in his eldest son’s quarters. And Eric was not often around, Danielle continued, because he had been entrusted by Congress and General Washington to take messages to the French ministers. He also spent hours with Mr. Franklin.

They would leave for home on the first of April. Eric would arrive in time to fight during summer and fall—if the fledgling country survived so long. Sometimes it terrified her that she would be bringing her children home to a land of bloodshed.

The twins were a full two weeks old when she awoke to find Eric in her room, rocking one cradle while seriously observing Lenore. Amanda felt her eyes upon him and he
turned to her. A misty shield covered any emotion, but his expression seemed as grave as Jamie’s was often wont to be.

“We still leave on the first of April. I hope that is convenient for you.”

She nodded, wishing that he had not caught her so unaware. Her hair was tousled, her gown was askew, slipping down from her shoulder. She had wished so badly that she might be more dignified, more perfect, more beautiful. He had said that he loved her. And they were so distant still, strangers who met between the explosions of cannon balls and the clash of steel.

She slipped out of bed and went to him, touching his arm. “Eric, maybe we shouldn’t go back.”

“What?” He swung around, amazed, staring at her hand where she touched his arm. Her hand fell.

“I was just thinking—maybe we should stay here. In France. We could survive. We would not need so very much—”

“Have you lost your very mind!” he asked her.

She backed away from him, shaking her head. “I am afraid! Look at the strength of the British army. They can keep sending men and more men! They have Hessians and Prussians and all other kinds of mercenaries. The colonies—”

“The United States of America,” he corrected her very softly, his jaw twisting.

“We cannot pay our own troops!” she exclaimed. “Eric, if we should lose the war—”

“We?”

“Pardon?”

“You said ‘we,’ my love. Are you part of that ‘we’? Have you changed sides, then?”

She exhaled, mistrustful of the tone of his voice. She felt at such a disadvantage, clad in the sheer silk gown, tousled by the night, barefoot. Eric towered over her in his boots. He was dressed fully in his uniform with his cockaded and plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his breeches taut about his muscled thighs, his spring cloak emphasizing the breadth of his shoulder. She trembled
slightly. He would not come to her now—indeed, he did not seem interested in her—but she wished suddenly and desperately that she could sweep away the time and the anger and the hatred and rush into his arms, just to be held.

She forced a cool and rueful smile to her features. “You have called me a traitor. Well, sir, if I was for the British, then I was not a traitor at any time, unless that time should be now. Am I for the colonies now—excuse me, the United States of America? Yes, I am. And no thanks to you, Lord Cameron. You haven’t the gifts of persuasion that Mr. Franklin so amply possesses. I should very much like to see the Americans win. It’s just that—”

“That you doubt that they can, is that it?”

She flushed and lowered her head slightly. “I have never known quite what it was to love with the need to protect until these last few days. I am afraid.”

Eric was quiet for several seconds. “As far as I know, madame, the British have yet to make war on children. I have to go back. You know that. You’ve known where I stand, and just how passionately, from the very beginning.”

“And you knew where I stood,” she reminded him softly.

“I just never thought—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“What!” Amanda demanded heatedly. She knew what. He had never thought that she would take it so far as to betray her home. “I have told you that I did not—”

“Let’s not discuss it—”

“If we cannot discuss it, then we’ve nothing at all to discuss!” she cried.

He stiffened. For a brief moment she thought that his thin control upon his temper would snap, that he would wrench her into his arms, that he would demand her lips as he had been so quick to do in the past. She prayed silently that he would touch her.

He did not. He bowed deeply to her. “I leave you to the care of our children, madame. Remember that you must soon be ready to travel.”

* * *

It was not so difficult to leave behind Versailles, no matter how beautiful it was. Amanda had never really entered into the inner circle of the court, but she had made friends, and she would miss them. Most of all, though, she would miss Ben Franklin, who would stay on in France until his mission was completed. He hugged her warmly when the party bundled into the coaches that would take them to the port.

“Ah, I do long for home! But then, my dear, I am too old to be a soldier, so this is how I must serve. God with you and yours in all your endeavors!”

She was going to cry, Amanda thought. Mr. Franklin had offered her a quiet and steady friendship when her world had been awry, and she would always love him for it. She kissed his cheek impulsively and climbed up into the coach with Danielle and the twins. One of the babies was thrust into her arms, and she sat back, listening as Franklin said his good-byes to Eric, giving him the last of his communications homeward to Washington, the Congress, and his daughter.

Amanda heard the crack of the whip, and she realized she was leaving Versailles for good. It hurt to leave Mr. Franklin and the comte, who had been kind, but that was the only pain. A raw excitement was already burning in her heart. She was very eager to go home. The soft whisper of the river already seemed to sound in her blood. She could feel the salt against her face, the heat of the summer’s day; she could see the leaves in the autumn, falling with their beautiful and brilliant colors upon the leaves and the water. She could see the stables and the smokehouse and smell Virginia ham. Please God, she thought, let it be there when we return! Let Cameron Hall still stand!

It would stand, she thought. Eric had told her that the British were threatening the north—they had been, at least, away from southern shores.

He did not ride in the carriage with her, but chose to ride a horse alongside. Nor, even during the long journey to reach the water, did he tarry with her long. When they
stopped for an evening meal and a bed for the night, he ordered her a room and had food sent to her and Danielle and the twins. It was Jacques who saw to her welfare most often. And each time Jacques approached, he stopped to admire the twins, never touching the pair but watching them with such a poignancy about his eyes that her heart seemed to catch in her throat. Amanda would wonder what tragedy had touched the man’s past to cause such a look in the eyes.