One Wore Blue (41 page)

He was stiff, as rigid as steel. He held her in silence, his teeth grating, his jaw clenched. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. His eyes were dark upon hers, his features taut. “Damn you, Kiernan! Damn you.”

But she was free. She looked at him, quickly backing away from him, hoping that her tears would not fall and that she would not betray her own emotions.

She turned and fled and mounted her horse and galloped all the way home.

He was behind her all the way, but he did not try to catch her again. At the house, she did not dare to look at him again.

She left her horse with Jeremiah, who was worried, and who cried after her. She would not stop. She fled to the house and to her room.

Once again that night, she listened. She listened to his footsteps in the room next to her own. She listened to the creaking of his chair as he sat. She heard his boots fall, heard the very weariness as he shed his clothing and fell into his bed.

She closed her eyes tight, clenching down on her jaw. It would be so easy to rise and walk the few steps down the hall. So easy to open the door and drift in white, like the white of a bride, to his bed.

And lie down beside him.

And feel his arms and the night breeze against her naked flesh.

She buried her face in the pillow.

Trying to hate him …

And hating herself.

It was morning before she realized that she had not left her message in the oak. The information she had learned from the Yanks might save a number of lives.

She dressed in a simple gingham and brown day dress in
case Jesse happened to notice her moving about the house. Very carefully, she folded her written message and slipped it low into her bodice and left her room. Knowing that she had to take grave care, she went first to the ward and spoke with the men. Corporal O’Malley was there with an assistant, speaking with the men and looking over bandages and braces and splints. Kiernan swept among them all, offering smiles and assurances, pouring water and providing what little amenities that she could to make them more comfortable.

One moment, she felt as if twin darts of fire were burning into her back, and she turned.

Jesse stood in the doorway watching her. He had accused her of caring nothing for the men, and he had said that spying was her only reason to be among them.

He’d never have believed that she wanted nothing from them that morning, that she had learned that she cared for any man’s suffering, no matter what color he wore.

But Jesse would never believe that. The look he gave her now condemned her a thousand times over. It made her shake inside and want to cry out.

She turned quickly from him and changed the cool cloth on the forehead of the soldier who had asked her assistance. When she turned back again, Jesse was gone.

She lingered with the men for another hour. She heard Corporal O’Malley say something about finding Tyne to help Jesse get ready in surgery.

It was time for her to leave.

She hurried downstairs and out of the house. Glancing back, she was certain that no one stood at a window to watch her departure. She ran to the stables.

But when she opened the door, she found two soldiers standing there, staring at her.

“Gentlemen?” she demanded.

The first, Private Yeager, shook his head. “Don’t try to sweet-talk us, Mrs. Miller.”

“Sweet-talk you, sir?” she said sharply, her brow rising.

“You’re carrying information to the Rebs,” the second soldier, Sergeant Herrington, said flatly.

“Don’t be absurd!” she lied. “Get out of my way.”

She started forward, but Yeager stood directly in front of her. “Hand it over, Mrs. Miller. You’re carrying a message.”

“Get out of my way!” She stepped around him.

To her amazement, he pulled her back. His eyes were bright. “You’re carrying a message, and I want it.”

“Don’t you dare handle me like that!” she cried imperiously.

“I’ll handle you—” he began, but then his voice broke. He was staring over her shoulder. His hold went slack, and Kiernan spun around.

Jesse stood dead set in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes implacable.

“What’s going on here, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Herrington cleared his throat. “Sir, she’s carrying notes to the Rebels. We’re convinced of it.”

Jesse arched a brow and looked at Kiernan. “Are you carrying secret missives to Rebel soldiers, Mrs. Miller?”

“No,” she lied flatly.

Jesse looked to the two men. “She denies the charge, men.”

“Well, just you let me—let me—” Herrington began.

“Let you what?” Jesse asked.

“Search her!” Herrington spat out with relish.

Kiernan gasped. “Captain! You cannot let this orangutan touch me!”

“Madam, such a comparison is insulting to orangutans.”

“Captain—”

“We are soldiers in the Union Army, gentlemen. I cannot let you search a lady. And as gentlemen, men of honor, you are obliged to accept her word. You may return to your posts.”

Herrington cast her a furious stare and walked out, the hapless Private Yeager at his heels.

Kiernan’s heart sank. She certainly couldn’t ride away now. She started after them, but Jesse slammed the door in her face before she could go.

Startled, she looked at him—and her heart began to beat
hard, for there was fire in his eyes, and they were alone, very alone, in the stables.

“Are you carrying a message, Kiernan?” he quizzed her softly.

“You’ll never know, will you?” she asked sweetly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

He shook his head. “I certainly will not excuse you.” He took a step toward her, and she backed away.

“Jesse, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to find out if you’re carrying a message.”

“What?” she cried. “You can’t!” She took another step back, a step that landed her in a freshly broken bale of hay, and she fell back into it.

Jesse stood above her, his long legs straddled over her own as he stared down at her.

“Jesse, you wouldn’t dare!”

“I’ve told you before, I dare anything.”

“You just said that a gentleman in the Union Army couldn’t do such a thing! You wouldn’t allow those men—”

“Ah, but Kiernan, you told me long ago that you considered me no gentleman. And I told those men that
they
couldn’t.” He smiled wickedly. “I certainly didn’t say that I couldn’t … or
wouldn’t.”

To Kiernan’s astonishment and rising horror, he was suddenly down upon the hay.

Upon her.

Eighteen

His knee lay at an angle over her thigh. He leaned upon one elbow at her side, while his left arm was braced around her waist. She stared at him furiously. “Jesse, I always knew you were no gentleman, but—”

“Kiernan, let’s not go through this again. I want the message.”

“There is no message.”

“There is. You can give it to me, or I can take it.”

He was serious, she decided. But she couldn’t just hand over proof that she had been using her association with the hospitalized men to aid the Confederacy. Why in the Lord’s name hadn’t she waited until she reached the tree before she wrote down her message?

Because he might have followed her, she thought dully, and she never would have had a chance to write it down.

“Jesse,” she said very softly, her eyes on his with what she hoped was open honesty, “I’m asking you to stop this. It’s totally undignified. It dishonors all—all that we ever were to one another,” she added with a note of pathos.

“And what is that, Kiernan?” he asked softly. His knuckles brushed softly over her cheeks, and she was amazed by the warmth that filled her with that touch. The warmth spread the length and breadth of her, the rake of his knuckles was so tender. His lips were close to hers, and the weight of his body was painfully familiar.

She had to seduce him into letting her go free, she reminded herself. She reached up and brushed back a lock of his hair, a dark lock that dangled rakishly upon occasion, no matter how much she knew he tried to subdue it. She smoothed it back and allowed the tips of her fingers to stroke his face in turn.

“Jesse, let me up, please. I have to get away. There are times when I just have to ride away. Don’t you understand?”

He caught her fingers and planted a kiss upon them. He held them still, fascinated. Another kiss fell, and another. She felt the hot, sultry movement of his tongue upon them.

“Jesse …”

“I understand,” he murmured. “There are Yankees in your house. Yankees.” He repeated the word, looked into her eyes, smiled, and shivered. “Ugh.”

She almost snatched her hand away. She gritted her teeth and pouted. “Jesse, be serious, please.”

“I’m very serious,” he promised her. He eased back, curling his fingers around hers, allowing both their hands to rest upon her chest, just above the rise of her breasts. “Let’s see, you need to ride away because there are Yankees in your house.”

“That’s right, Jesse.”

“You’ve been good to those poor, sick Yankees.”

“Yes, I have. I tend to them daily.”

“And now you want to ride away with all the little goodies, tidbits of information, that those poor sick Yankees with their tongues hanging out have given you, right?”

“Right.” Her own reply stunned her—she had been so entranced by the cadence of his voice. “No—wrong! Oh, Jesse, you’re confusing me so!”

“Like hell I am!” To her great irritation, he grinned. “Ah, Mrs. Miller, it is the dramatic stage’s loss that you never tried your hand at acting.”

“Jesse, you get off me!” she cried out, twisting frantically to be free from him. But this was one fight that he did not intend to lose. Before she knew it, her hands were slammed down high atop her head. He straddled her and grabbed her
wrists together to hold them tightly with one hand. His fingers wound around her wrists hard, pinning them above her head.

And then his free hand was on her, on her breast. His fingers touched her bare flesh, delving with purpose into her clothing. She squirmed in wild desperation that only seemed to entangle them more fully. Buttons gave way, and her breasts seemed to spill forth over the ties of her corset and the soft, now-mangled material of her chemise.

“Jesse, you bastard!”

Her voice broke as the ties of her corset suddenly gave, and her note fell free. Still holding her with one hand, Jesse unfolded the missive with the other, holding it out to read quickly in silence.

His eyes fell upon hers, a bright, hard blue.

“You wouldn’t dream of spying, Kiernan?” he asked politely.

“Jesse, you’ve got what you wanted. Now get off me!”

But he didn’t move. His eyes raked over her in the light and shadow of the stables. Her hair, freed now, was tousled and tangled with the hay. Her face was so flushed, her eyes so wide.

And her breasts, naked, spilling forth.

She gritted down hard on her teeth, trying to force his eyes back to hers, for she could feel her nipples hardening beneath his scrutiny. As she lay exposed, she could not hide her emotions.

“I haven’t gotten what I wanted at all,” he told her.

“You must be insane!” she cried out. He was going to touch her again, she knew it. His hand was touching her clothing. “No!” she breathed, and closed her eyes. God, don’t let him touch me, because he’ll know how very much I want him. “Please!” she whispered.

But she felt the ties coming together, not apart. The velvet of her bodice was being pulled closed, covering her nakedness, not revealing it.

She opened her eyes. He was watching her still, with a dark and brooding tension. No violence remained, no breath of ruthlessness as he touched her cheek again.

“I could arrest you.”

“Then arrest me,” she told him.

“I don’t want to. I want you to stop doing what you’re doing.”

“I’m lying on a stable floor in misery. I want to stop doing that myself,” she murmured bitterly.

He smiled and sank back on his haunches, lifting her up beneath him. It felt so good, for those few moments, to have his arms around her.

“Kiernan, you can’t win this war, you just can’t. Do you know that you’re suspected as far away as Washington?”