Glory (8 page)

She was in a frenzy, digging into his shoulders, tearing into his hair. And he rose above her, liquid, lithe, powerful, in the moonlight, thrust himself within until she was filled and shuddering, writhing once again, eager, famished, dying. He moved fully in her slowly, again and again, and when she thought she would go mad, he suddenly increased his pulse, and he was with her like the wind, like thunder, a force of nature, thrusting so deeply, again and again, sweeping into her, and causing her to soar ... to fly against fear, and nightmares, and haunting visions of ...

Battlefields.

And death ...

Blurred images started to form in her mind. She fought them. She felt him. His touch. His movement. His stroke within her ...

So hard now, starved, passionate, demanding.

So good.

“Oh!” A cry left her lips. There was nothing but sensation, blinding sensation.

No visions could touch her when she was held with such volatile passion within his arms. No pain ... just this sweet sublimity, breaking upon her, spilling like cascades of honeyed water, seeping between them ...

He fell against her.

“Richard,” she whispered.

Blissfully weary and replete, she was unaware that he stiffened.

And gave no reply.

The fervent pounding on the guest room door, accompanied by an urgent “Colonel!” drew Julian from an embarrassingly deep sleep. The wine, he thought. Potent, indeed. He’d slept like the dead, dreamed ...

“Colonel!”

He tried to rouse quickly, but it was as if he were coming from a deep, entrenching fog, uncomfortably lost and disconcerted ...

He usually awoke at the whisper of the wind.

He bolted up and became aware he lay beside his hostess in a plantation house somewhere north and not far west of St. Augustine. The pounding began again.

Dreams. Mammy Nor had warned him that his dreams would be sweet indeed. Yet ...

He had to cast off the sluggish sensation that still seemed to grip him. He bolted to his feet, reaching for the towel he had worn to the room. He hurried the distance between the two rooms, closing the door with the broken bolt behind him.

“Colonel!”

No time with the call so urgent to reach for his breeches; he hurried to the door to his room and threw it open. Corporal Lyle was there, anxiously waiting for him. “Horses, sir, riders, about fifteen of them, coming down the eastern road.”

“Yanks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Coming directly for the house?” he inquired sharply.

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid they are.”

She had known. Witch—or simply an intuitive woman—she had known that they were Rebs. Though, grudgingly, she had given them hospitality, in her manner, and perhaps had intended to make them think themselves safe.

While she had reported them.

“How much time do we have?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes, I reckon. Then them Yanks will be at the door.”

“How’s our patient?” he asked, quickly regarding Paddy.

“Doing fine, sir.”

“I’ll see to him quickly.”

He dropped the towel, reaching for his breeches, and stepped into them. Shoeless, shirtless, he sped down the stairs and into the room where he had treated Paddy.

Paddy was up. He had been given a fresh white shirt and a torn pair of clean breeches to wear. Rachel was busy re-bandaging his thigh.

“I’ll take a quick look,” he said gruffly.

Rachel stepped back. The wound was clean, there was no bleeding. His stitches were small and tight. Paddy would do all right; he was going to have to.

“I can ride like the wind, and you know that’s true, sir,” Paddy said.

“You’ll have to take care—”

“I will. And River can help patch me with his Seminole magic if there’s bleeding again.”

“Get to camp, and for God’s sake, get to bed and stay there,” Julian ordered, working deftly to pack the wound so that the stitches wouldn’t split.

“Aye, sir.”

“I’ll finish the bandaging, doctor, sir,” Rachel said. “He’s healing fine. You sew better than a seamstress.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” Julian said. “This is very kind. You know that we’re—”

“Rebs. Yes, sir. You’d best get moving.”

Corporal Lyle was behind him. He turned, giving orders quickly. “Tell River, Thad, and Ben to get Paddy and move inland before heading south. River will know the old Seminole trails, and I’m willing to bet the Yanks coming after us are from Ohio or Michigan or some such place. The rest of us will take a southeastward trail, keep them following us, and give you a better chance to escape more slowly with Paddy.”

“Yessir.”

“Get moving, then.”

He left the room, hurrying back upstairs and looking out the large bay window above the breezeway hall to ascertain the position of the Yankees. They had ten minutes at best. He hurried on to the bedroom to finish dressing. Once there, he snatched up the rest of his clothing. As he slipped into his shirt, he stared at the doorway between the two rooms. His Colt remained in her room, dropped at the foot of her bed where he had left it last night. He stumbled into his boots then strode quickly to the door. With the bolt gone, a touch of his palm threw the door quietly open. Maybe he wouldn’t even awaken her, and then he wouldn’t be so tempted to throttle her.

But she wasn’t sleeping. She had just risen, awakened, perhaps, by the sound of the riders. Tall, lithe, her hair a wild, tousled ebony cloak, she appeared ethereal, and still so breathtakingly beautiful that he paused. She stood near the bed, ashen, confused, far more disoriented than he, he realized—yet staring down at his Colt where he had cast it the night before and trying to determine her chances of reaching it.

And using it?

It suddenly infuriated him anew that she should be so careless with her life. She’d reported them—casting herself into danger should battle erupt in her house, and yet she had been so certain that they would be easily swept away that she had dared douse herself with drugs and wine.

And now, it seemed she was so determined on their capture that she would draw his own gun against him. He had no desire to discover just how ardent a Yank she was. He walked quickly across the room. She saw him, saw his face, and suddenly made a dive for his weapon. She reached out, fingers grasping, but he was there too quickly, catching her by the length of her hair. She cried out, jerked back, but he loosed her instantly. He reached for his Colt, sliding it into his holster.

“A Colt-carrying doctor!” she exclaimed. “What a wondrous physician, so concerned with life!”

“I am concerned with life. At the moment I’m concerned with my own.”

“No one intends to kill you—”

“Then what did you intend with my Colt?”

“To—waylay you.”

“Why? Because troops are on the way to capture us?”

She was motionless for a moment, very straight, as she tried to regain her dignity. She was still wearing her cotton nightgown, her long dark hair was free and streaming down her back in wild disarray, and she seemed completely distressed and unnerved, as if the past hours were a complete blur to her.

Did she remember what happened?
he wondered.

Her vivid green eyes touched his. “If you were a good Yank, sir, as you proclaimed, it would be your countrymen coming to your aid.”

“I never actually proclaimed myself a Yank, ma’am,” he said politely. “Naturally, whatever I am, I do thank you for your hospitality. However, we will be taking our leave.”

She stared at him, lifting her chin. “They’ll catch you, you know.”

“Well, that was your intent. But I doubt it. I’m from here—they’re not. I know where I’m going, they don’t. But I thank you for your concern.”

Her eyes flickered downward. He turned, striding for the hallway door, and was startled when she called him back.

“Colonel?”

He stopped, turning to look at her. God, how she wanted to be cool and aloof and watch him walk away without a further word! But she didn’t seem to be able to do so. “You did sleep in your own room?” she inquired. It was a whisper so soft that he could barely make out the words.

He hesitated, watching her. The wine had been potent. He had been exhausted. Had he dreamed ... awakened within a dream only to continue in a deeper sleep? The night seemed so fleeting. He could be the perfect gentleman, tell her what she wanted to hear.

He could, but ...

Why on earth would he want to?

“My own room? Ma’am, my own room is far away, south and across the breadth of the state.”

She was very pale. “I don’t ... I don’t remember much. I mean ... I remember you coming in here, taking the—the opium from me ... and nothing more.”

“Nothing more? Well, you didn’t need the opium. Another dose and you might not have awakened.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to sleep.”

“Ma’am, that is definitely the coward’s way. You don’t need opium. Thousands of dying soldiers out there do.”

“Colonel, why can’t you understand, my life is none of your concern.”

“I’m leaving.”

“But I—I need you to tell me. I mean, I don’t know ... I’m afraid I was very lost ...”

“Fine. Be specific. Just exactly what is it you want to know?” He wasn’t going to give her anything. Even as he stood there, knowing full well he needed to run, he wanted to stay.

No, he couldn’t abide a wasted life.

Certainly not hers! He needed to stay, to be with her, to make her see the addiction ...

He couldn’t; nor could he stand guard over her and keep her from the dangers she presented to herself. He had to be harsh, cruel. And perhaps she would learn a bitter lesson. He smiled politely. “Are you still trying to delay me from leaving, ma’am, in the hopes that your Yankee friends will catch me?”

“No ... yes ... no, I—”

“You didn’t send for them?”

“Yes, of course—”

“Because you knew we were Rebs.”

“Yes.”

His smile broadened. “But you don’t know what did—or didn’t—happen last night?” he inquired politely.

Her color went from ashen to crimson. “Nothing happened last night, Colonel—”

“As you say. Good day, ma’am.” He swept his hat from his head, bowed, and determinedly left her bedroom.

Rachel was standing in the breezeway as he hurried down the stairs. He looked at her and apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly sorry that we’re not who you’d like us to be.”

“Paddy has already gone with the men as you ordered. The others are waiting for you just outside. The Yanks are nearly at the house.”

“Thank you,” he told her gruffly.

He strode for the door.

“Colonel, wait, sir. Please—”

“You know I can’t wait.”

“Yes, I do know, but I want you to know that you should come back. If you need to. Come back if you need ... herbs. It doesn’t really matter what side you’re fighting for, you’d rather heal men, I can see that in you,” she said.

He stopped, turned back. Young and earnest, she was watching him, pale but steady, her eyes, touching his, were very sincere.

“Thank you.”

“God be with you, sir, even if you are a Reb.”

“God be with you, Rachel.”

He walked back to her, cupped her face, and lowered her head, planting a brief kiss on the top of her head. He turned and strode quickly out.

Liam Murphy held his horse’s reins. Corporal Lyle, Kyle, Keith, Daniel, and Jim awaited him. He mounted quickly, nodding in acknowledgment to Liam’s silent warning that the Yanks were almost upon them. He indicated a side trail out of the yard, nudged his horse forward, and heard the others fall in behind him. He entered the cover of a pine forest to the immediate east of the property, and when the others had followed him to a safe distance, he reined in quickly. “Corporal Lyle, keep everyone moving back toward camp, straight toward camp, no engagements!”

“And you, sir?”

“I’ll see what I can of the Yankee position. And if I’m able, I’m going to double back for some of Mrs. Tremaine’s medicines. I won’t be more than a few hours behind you at best.”

“Aye, sir!”

Corporal Lyle spun his horse around and indicated to Liam to lead the others forward.

Julian watched them disappear into the brush and pines, then doubled back.

Keeping within the cover of the trees, he saw that the Yankee party had converged on the house. The men were dismounting. A tall dark-haired colonel was in command of the small group—strange, Julian thought, for a Union colonel to have been sent out in charge of such a small party.

“Colonel, should we give chase?” a man queried.

The colonel walked toward the steps, then turned back, observing the overgrown foliage that surrounded the house and the woods beyond. He shook his head. “These Rebs know the terrain, Shelby. You could give chase from now till doomsday, and they’d still be a step ahead.”

Julian was suddenly certain that the Yank colonel was staring straight at him.

He stared back from under cover.
Maybe not the others, but you could give chase, and possibly catch us,
he thought. He ducked back behind the trees.

Rhiannon doused her face again and again in the icy water. Her head was drumming, and worse. She couldn’t shake the dreams that had haunted her through the night, and for once in her life she was very afraid.

He had come in from his room
—
fully dressed! He had left her. She had passed out, and he had left her, and her dreams had been just dreams, but oh, God, how vivid, and yet she couldn’t have, she just couldn’t have ...

The little vial of opium she’d been about to imbibe was on her bedside table. She stared at it, feeling ill. How much had she taken? Enough. Too much. And then she’d had the wine, and ...

She’d sat outside, feeling sorry for herself.
His
fault. She was all right day by day when she was alone. But she’d seen him, and known that he was a lying Reb, and still, there had been that empathy in his eyes, beautiful eyes, and the texture of his voice, his touch, even watching the movement of his hands as he’d extracted the bullet. She had loved Richard. She missed Richard with all her heart. The pain probably would be with her all her life. But loving him, missing him, had made her somehow very vulnerable.