The Prize (69 page)

he was sorry, that he
still loved her and he always would and that they would make their marriage
right.

They turned the
corner and came face-to-face with five dangerous, bloody, red-coated men.

They whirled to run
the other way.

A man suddenly
blocked their path, his sword raised.

Instinctively
Virginia raised the musket, finding the trigger, aiming at him. Then she saw
the navy-blue jacket, the gold buttons and epaulets. She saw the clear gray
eyes, the hard face. She began to shake and her musket waffled wildly.

"Virginia,"
Devlin said harshly. "Put the musket down." He lowered his sword.

Devlin.
She had been praying for him to
come and he was there. Stunned, she started to lower the gun.
"Devlin," she whispered, suddenly flooded with relief. And she was an
instant away from moving into his arms.

But his expression changed.
His eyes went wide and his sword was raised. "Virginia," he shouted
in warning.

And in that instant,
she felt the hostile presence behind her. But before she could react, she was
seized from behind. As she twisted, she met glazed eyes, a toothless grin and
saw the man's scarlet coat. Other marines were with him and one held a fiercely
struggling Tillie.

"Got me a nice
whore," the man laughed, his breath foul with rotten teeth and whiskey.

"Devlin!"
Virginia cried, trying hopelessly to break free of the marine's grasp. And
suddenly his grip eased and the marine howled in pain, hot liquid spraying over
her. Dumbfounded, she saw that the hand still attached to her breast was
severed from the marine's arm. As dumbfounded, he stared at his armless shoulder.

A saber whistled and
the marine's head disappeared.

Virginia stumbled
away, gagging, as the armless, headless body collapsed at her feet. She turned
to see Devlin assault

the other marine, his
face frightening in its fury. As he landed blow after blow, she went down on
her hands and knees, crawling away as fast as she could, somehow realizing that
Devlin was insane with rage. Now, nearly paralyzed with terror, she turned
from the ground and saw four dead marines not far from where she knelt. Devlin
was viciously attacking the last soldier, clearly intent on murdering him, too.
Suddenly Tillie was beside her on the ground, but she had eyes only for
Devlin, wide and aghast.

A voice whispered in
the night.
"O'Neill."
It was soft, taunting. Virginia knew that
voice and knew the threat and she desperately wanted to warn Devlin. But the
earth had tilted wildly and she had to hold on tight. Somehow, as her world
spun around, she managed to look up. And the last thing she saw was Thomas
Hughes standing behind Devlin, smiling as he raised his musket and aimed it at
his head. And the last thing she heard was his gun being fired.

Her
dream was
a terrible one; soldiers were everywhere, killing one another, and Devlin stood
on the other side of a wall of fire, shouting for her, but she dared not run to
him, for to do so would mean being burned. Desperate, she held out her arms;
between them, the fire roared. "Devlin!" she wept.

"It's all
right."

Virginia gasped, her
eyes flying open, certain he had spoken, and as sleep instantly fled, she
recognized her bedroom at Sweet Briar. She was there in her own bed. She turned
her head, whispering, "Devlin?" She needed him so—she had never
needed him more.

Tillie gripped her
hand and stroked her forehead. "You're awake," she said softly.

Virginia blinked, a
terrible dismay beginning. "Is...is Devlin here?"

"No, honey, he
is not."

And she lay back
against the pillows, closing her eyes, seared with ghastly recollections of the
battle of Hampton.

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And suddenly she
could see Thomas Hughes pointing a gun at the back of Devlin's head.
Devlin
had been there. He had come to her rescue when soldiers had seized her from
behind. He had been enraged as she had never before seen him, murdering one
soldier after another. And then Thomas Hughes had appeared, raising his pistol,
pointing it at the back of Devlin's head.

And she had heard the
shot, hadn't she?

"Where's
Devlin?" she cried, her heart beating frantically, filled with fear.
"Please, God, tell me he's all right!"

"Doc Barnes gave
me some laudanum. Here, let me give you some," Tillie began, holding a cup
of tea laced with the drug.

Virginia struck her
hand away, the cup and saucer falling to the floor.
"Where is
Devlin?"

More tears fell down
Tillie's face. "He went mad when he saw those men grab you. He killed them
both, then went after the man holding me. He killed him, too. I never saw so
much rage, honey, and he did it all in a single moment," Tillie whispered.

She seized Tillie's
wrist.
"Is he alive?"

The tears became a
flood. "I don't know," Tillie wept. "Someone shot him from
behind—and I didn't see anymore—I had you to take away!"

Virginia somehow sat
up. Her heart pounded with sickening force. The baby chose that moment to
kick. She clutched her belly, trying to calm herself for the child's sake, but
it was impossible.
Devlin could not be dead.
"It was Tom
Hughes," she said hoarsely, in horror. "I saw him, I saw him shoot
Devlin from behind. He wanted to murder him in cold blood!" And she
began, finally, to cry.

Was this how Devlin's
obsession with his father's murderer would end? With his own murder, as well?

Virginia
closed her eyes and tried to
breathe. She demanded composure and self-control of herself. Grief and fear
would not serve her now. If Devlin were alive, she had to find him; she had to
find him even if he were dead. But he could not be dead!

"Help me get
dressed," she said, and threw her legs over the bed.

"You're supposed
to stay in bed until the child is born," Tillie shouted at her.

"My husband may
be dead,"
Virginia
said quietly. She stood, holding
on to the bed for support. Grief and fear continued to rack her, but she fought
them both. How calm she sounded. "You can come with me or you can stay
here. But I am going to find my husband, one way or the other."

It was a bright, hot
afternoon and the town stank of death. Buzzards flew in the skies overhead,
circling with deadly intent. The British were gone, of course, and the inlet
and bay were blandly vacant except for a bobbing fishing ship. The American
army had arrived and had set up a makeshift fort with a prison camp and field
hospital on the perimeter of town.

Virginia
was weak with fear and
exhaustion and she walked with Tillie holding her under one arm. Frank trailed
behind them, ever vigilant, as if expecting the hordes of British to descend
upon them once again. A soldier at the camp's gates had pointed out Captain
Lewis, the camp's commander, and she approached him now slowly from behind. She
continued to hang on to her composure with every ounce of strength she had
left, as it was all she had.

She burned with
determination now. She would find Devlin, and she would find him alive.

But she was so
afraid, because she knew Tom Hughes had shot him with murder in his mind.

Lewis was in a fierce
conversation with several officers, all of whom turned and strode swiftly off
as Virginia paused

before him. He was
not much older than she was, with bright blond hair and blue eyes, his cheeks
sunburned, and his expression turned weary as he faced her. "Let me
guess," he said heavily. "You are missing a husband, brother or
father. Here's the list. It is incomplete."

Virginia accepted a
sheaf of papers he lifted from the table he was apparently using as a field
desk. "My husband is a British officer, sir. Perhaps you would know if he
were captured or killed." She remained amazed at her calm tone. She felt
as if she floated outside of her body, completely detached, watching a
magnificent performance.

For she dared not
feel.

If she felt, she
would come apart, she would become crazed, and she would never be able to
locate Devlin.

The stakes were so
high.

His brows lifted and
his eyes showed some interest now.

"His name is
Captain Devlin O'Neill." She held her head with pride.

His jaw tightened.
"O’Neill? The captain of the
Defiance?
The one who did this?"
He gestured toward the hospital just beyond them, a sea of tents, with the wounded
lying on pallets and blankets, bloody, bandaged, moaning and crying for help.
A few doctors and staff were trying to attend to the hundreds needing
attention.

"My husband
would never condone such an attack."

"No?" His
jaw was hard, his skepticism obvious. "I have not seen his name on either
list."

She glanced down. One
page was for the dead, another for the wounded. "You said these lists are
incomplete?"

"They are."

"And what about
prisoners of war?"

He made a mocking
sound. "There are only two dozen."

She swallowed.
"I'd like to tour the dead, the wounded and the prisoners, Captain."

He shrugged. "If
you find O'Neill in our control, I shall be a very happy man." He turned.
"Sergeant Ames! Escort Mrs. O'Neill to the morgue, then allow her to tour
the hospital and the prisoners of war."

A burly, grizzled man
came running. "Yes, sir." He saluted. "This way, ma'am."

Virginia followed
with Tillie still holding her arm, the sergeant shortening his stride to
accommodate her slower steps. "The hospital's right here," he said,
"morgue's just outside of camp. 'Course, it ain't really a morgue, but
it's what we call it."

"I am looking
for a British naval officer," she said as they crossed over toward the
field hospital.

"Mostly
Americans here. Shouldn't be too hard to find someone British—and in
blue," he said. He did not seem at all curious that her husband was
British and Virginia was thankful for that small boon.

Fifteen minutes
later, Virginia was exceedingly ill but certain Devlin was not among the wounded
at Hampton. As if reading her thoughts, Tillie said, "He's not here,
Sergeant. Can we see the prisoners?"

He nodded and led
them back into the center of the camp. "Morgue's just over there," he
said, pointing.

Virginia saw where he
indicated. Rows of bodies were neatly laid out, each covered with sheets. She
stopped in her tracks. "I can't do this," she said, choking. Her
self-control was about to disintegrate.

"I can go. I can
identify the captain," Frank said quickly.

"Bless
you," Virginia whispered.

He returned a half an
hour later, looking green beneath his dark skin. "I looked at
everyone," he said roughly. "Only one bluecoat there, but I looked at
'em all. He ain't among the dead, Miz Virginia."

Virginia had been
sitting on a chair the sergeant had kindly

provided her with.
She felt the tears begin. "Thank God," she whispered. She fought for
the composure that had thus far served her so well, trembling hard with the
effort. He wasn't among the wounded here and he wasn't among the dead. There
was hope and she clung to it. Even if she and Devlin never reconciled, she
would never complain—not if he was alive.

"Come this way,
ma'am," the sergeant said rather kindly.

At the far end of the
camp, a small stockade had been erected. Virginia was allowed to enter with
Sergeant Ames, who spoke with the camp's warden. She only half listened, her
gaze scanning the two dozen assembled men. Half were in red coats, the other
half in their shirts. Not a single blue coat was among them.

"If we had
Captain O'Neill here, I would know it," the warden said. "I know
these men by name."

Virginia turned away.
If he wasn't dead, wounded or a prisoner of war, did that mean he was back on
the
Defiance ?
She trembled with relief. Maybe Tillie had been wrong.
Maybe the shot had missed him and maybe he hadn't been seized after all.

"Virginia?"
A familiar male voice called.

She slowly started to
turn, stunned.

"Virginia
Hughes? Is that you?"

One of the prisoners,
his wrists shackled, was approaching. Her eyes widened as she recognized him.
It was Jack Harvey, the man who had once been the ship's surgeon on the
Defiance.
"Mr. Harvey!" she cried, rushing forward.

He smiled at her as
if glad to see her. "You are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Hughes."

"Mr. Harvey, are
you all right? Have you survived that terrible battle?"

"I am unhurt—and
I have tried to offer my services numerous times to the Americans, but no one
wishes to avail them-

                             
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