Surrender the Wind (12 page)

She drew his hand to her lips and kissed the hard lean knuckles. “And for all the times you have tortured me, General Rourke? Shall I call upon the Union Army to rescue a maiden in distress?”

John lifted a dubious brow. “You are a maid no more and my
wife
. If the Union Army appears, I will fight every one of them to keep what is mine.”

“Is that a threat?” Her eyes were wide and dared to taunt him.

“No, Catherine my love,” he whispered. “Only a vow from your husband.” His thoughts slammed into him. In the last week he had been shot, almost died, and then married a woman who he knew nothing about. An enchantress. Had he lost perspective? He had to get back. The soldier who had switched his uniform had been discovered as a fraud according to Father Callahan. They would be looking for General Rourke in the Elmira prison camp. He would not be there. The war, a distant, cloying shadow that called him to return. Before he was considered a deserter. Yet he was rooted. Angrier with himself, John rolled her over onto her back and made swift violent love, more desirous, more demanding than before.

After several ideal days of wedded bliss, John had never been happier. The treachery of his first wife, and the fact that he had never loved her, left an irreparable scar and had exacted a toll. Hadn’t he buried his bitterness in a military career? All of that seemed like years ago. Enamored with Catherine, his new wife in every way that a man could be in love with a woman, John lingered, content.

Everything about Catherine was honey-gold and warm, as if he were the focal point of the whole world. Even the natural and unassuming way she took his hand in hers, soothing, washing away the cynicism that had been roiling within him for so long. Her passionate nature had taught him to love. It was a new feeling for John. A feeling he welcomed.

Father Callahan had come to visit to see if either of them was still alive, ready to rub his hands with glee at the obvious success of his imposed marriage. He had handed John a package of cigars as a late wedding gift, muttering something about all good Virginia men must have them as a staple. Catherine’s uncle worked on a plan to get him south. He knew the old priest delayed to give them a honeymoon. Touched by Father Callahan’s generosity, and despite the old priest’s gruffness, Rourke considered him family, and therefore, under his protection.

In addition to Father Callahan’s visits, Samuel had been a regular visitor. John spent time teaching Samuel how to make fishing lures as well as foolproof snares to catch rabbits. Samuel both admired and adulated him, and as Catherine laughingly pointed out, hung on his every word as if it were a sacred decree handed down from God to Moses.

Today she had planned a picnic, and the both of them traversed the mountainsides. Thick buoyant white clouds scudded across a brilliant blue sky. The warm sun illuminated the landscape, rich and alive with daisies and yellow buttercups. It could not have been a more perfect day, in John’s mind, with the inherent promise of so much more.

The call to duty had been strong and nagging like an irksome thorn in his side. His wound had healed, thanks to Catherine’s ministrations. To head south? Duty. With certainty, his family worried if the war had made a statistic of him. In her pink day dress with no corset beneath and temptingly low bodice, Catherine made an enticing picture, and he luxuriated in the company of his wife. To part from her for even a minute? He clenched his jaw, unable to work out the logistics of moving her to his family’s home. He wanted her there. John cursed the war. She belonged at Fairhaven, but with the war upon Virginia soil? The venture proved too uncertain and too dangerous. To leave her behind until conditions changed was the only logical thing to do, and he hated the very thought of that logic.

Catherine tugged his hand, making a witty comment that broke him out of his reverie. John pushed away his gloomy thoughts, determined to seize the day with his lovely wife.

They came to a shady glen bordering a small spring-fed pond, secluded high above a rampart, verdant green in shadow and amber-gold in light, clinging with mosses, ferns and wildflowers. The rich scent of woodland loam mixed with violets wafted over their private paradise. Warmed from their exercise, they settled down on a blanket spread over soft green grass.

“What kind of husband will you be?” said Catherine still laughing at one of his amusing tales as a Rebel General.

“Ruthless, commanding,” he grinned with playful pleasure.

“Really?” She angled her head back, scoffing at his superiority.

“M-m-m,” he confirmed, plucking a piece of grass and trailing it down her throat. “And what kind of wife will you be?”

“A nagging, complaining, shrew.” She burst out laughing.

“I’ll have to deal with that particular behavior with—” Rourke made a lunge, grabbed her and rolled her beneath him. “—a hickory stick.”

“The hickory stick is for you. Besides…” She dabbed a pointed finger into his chest, “How many children would we have? I always loved and wanted children but the idea up until now seemed nonexistent.”

John exhaled a long sigh of contentment. “Ten to start out with. All boys.”

“To spite you, I’ll have ten girls. All of them like me,” she fenced, watching him with smug delight.

“God forbid. How you do seek your revenge,” he growled and bent to kiss her.

She pushed at his chest, unbalancing him and throwing him off, then scrambled to her feet and darted behind a tree. From the safety of her position, she taunted him. “Pray tell, do you always plan your military feats with the same endeavor? I find them lacking, for you cannot hold onto your wife.”

John rose, and like a predatory lion, greedy and hungering, he stalked her. “I always plan for predictability. But nothing about you,
Mrs. Rourke
, is predictable.”

In a vain attempt to outmaneuver him, she ran to another tree. But he was faster and, with lightening quick ease, grabbed her and backed her up against the tree.

Trapped between his arms, she tilted her head to the side in careful measurement of him. With no room for escape, she crafted a different tact.

“Dear General John D. Rourke,” her declaration rang with goading command. “In consideration of all the circumstances governing the present situation of affairs of this station, I propose to the commanding officer of the Rebel forces the appointment of commissioners to agree upon terms of capitulation of the forces under my command. In that view, I suggest an armistice until otherwise indicated. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, General Catherine Rourke, Northern States of America.” She met his gaze, elated by her strategy.

No way was he fooled. He had her entirely surrounded and
she
was at his mercy. From his experience in the field of battle, he recognized the ploy as a stall for time.

“Dear Madam General.” He began, enjoying the gentle sparring as much as she did. “Yours of this date proposing an armistice in appointment of commissioners to settle terms of capitulation is just received. No terms except unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted, and I propose to move immediately…” He chucked her under the chin with a strong finger, and her eyes widened, “I am, Madam General, very respectfully, your obedient servant, General John Daniel Rourke, Confederate States.”

Catherine slid her hands up around his neck pulling him closer. “Dear General John D. Rourke. I will not retreat a single inch and I will be heard. Due to my immediate ceasefire, I again implore a truce and peace agreement settled by the appointment of commissioners to govern the terms of capitulation. Very respectfully, your ‘less’ than obedient servant, General Catherine Rourke.”

“Dear General Catherine Rourke, U. S. Army. Madam, again, no terms except immediate and unconditional surrender.” Enchanted by her wit, he pressed her with complete enjoyment, but grimaced when she tweaked the hairs at the base of his neck.

She cleared her throat, forcing a remote dignity into her declaration, and she had no idea how sensuous her voice sounded to him. “Dear General John D. Rourke, Army of the Confederate States. The distribution of the forces—” She stopped breathless as John pushed up against her, letting her feel the force of his longing, and cleared her throat again. “—under my command, incident to the overwhelming force under your command…compel me to accept the ungenerous and unchivalrous terms which you propose. I am, Sir, your disobedient servant,” she emphasized. “General Catherine Rourke, United States Army.”

John smiled idly as his fingers slid up her bare arms and buried into her thick lustrous hair. He beamed approval before his lips pressed against hers, covering her mouth in a long exacting kiss that left her speechless. He swept her up and carried her to the blanket where his sweet adorable wife began to undress him.

A rush of pink stained her cheeks, blushing at her own excitement as she tugged his shirt free from his breeches. His skin prickled as her cool fingers trailed down his hot naked flesh, and with boldness, she unbuttoned and removed his breeches. Rourke groaned. Scorching, hungering desire snaked through his veins.

Forever their lovemaking would be branded on his brain, remembering with aching poignancy and clarity, and shaking anew with all he held in his arms. For all the years of loneliness, to have found his one true love, his lifelong soul mate, and the fate that brought them together, far beyond the scope of his imagination.

And she had given him so much in return. Although she had never declared it, he knew in his heart, she loved him. She brushed her fingers against his chest and around his neck, playfully testing every muscle and sinew, then rose against him, the soft curves molded beneath the simple cotton of her dress, pressed against his naked chest, alluring and taunting. With heady persuasion, she captured his lips into a deep soulful kiss, sending his body ablaze with all the passion known to strip a man senseless. With due haste, he removed her gown and laid her down upon the blanket cushioned beneath by soft sweet grass.

Latticed light penetrated the leafy bower high above, and rippled over her full ivory breasts. Her hair splayed over the blanket, and a golden aura encircled her, her beauty exquisite and, regal, and in the glowing light of the forest glade made her more ethereal than ever. He encircled her in his arms, one hand held in the small of her back, locked against her spine. She ran a delicate finger across his lips.

“General, I fear you have not laid out the terms of surrender. Without the terms there can be no surrender.” She sighed and stretched provocatively beneath him. He exhaled, aware of her scheme.

“Dear wife. If you seek to deny me surrender, then prepare, and without delay, for a full assault. For you see, my patience is at end and any more tricks will yield to a full offensive and escape will be an exercise in futility.”

She tapped an accusing finger into his chest. “If you seek to do battle with the same lust you do me—” her voice was light with humor “—then you will soon exceed Napoleon and conquer the world.”

He tightened his arm around her. “Would that my lust be appeased with the scant morsels sent my way—”

She hit his shoulder. “You have kept me in bed night and day since we have been married. You are wicked, allowing me no sleep and laboring me with your every whim.”

“I do not think that I act alone. I seem to recall…my shrewish wife with her insatiable lust and I, a prisoner to her every desire.”

Before she could say any more, John crushed her to him, taking her mouth with a savage intensity, and she responded with equal fervor, arching her body toward him, caressing the muscles across his back and shoulders. His hands began a lust-arousing exploration over her breasts, and then below, his gut ablaze with need and his male satisfaction swelled with pride for she could not disguise her body’s reaction.

Moaning with primal pleasure, she gasped as he took her fully and completely, his impatience exploded, sending them both to throbbing levels of ecstasy.

John kissed the top of her head and rolled to his side. Not to be outdone, Catherine climbed atop of him, enjoying the moment and stared down into his face with warm regard. His skin was seared by the pale peaks of her breasts, a sweet, delightful torment. John folded his arms behind his head and contemplated his impish wife. “What new game are you up to now?”

Catherine teased the hairs on his chest. “I need more terms of surrender.”

Rourke feigned exhaustion. “If you seek any more, I will be removed from this world under the weary duty of succumbing to your conditions. “But…” he smiled with easy assurance. “A duty well spent, a heavenly way to depart, and an initiative most inspiring. Yet there is great risk. What would we do if we fell in love with each other? What would be in store for us then?”

Catherine’s fingers touched her lips, lost in a wave of confused emotions. To drown in languorous warmth, allowing a contentment and peace to sweetly drain all her thoughts and fears of Mallory. Didn’t she savor John’s raw act of possession? Could she ever get enough of him? She was shameful.

Did she love John? Or was it
a combination of loneliness and lust?
She could not answer, because she had no answer. She was fond of him, but in love? Never had she been in love with a man or even mildly attracted before John. The forest rang at a dead silence. The squirrels no longer chattered from the trees. The birds no longer sang their sweet song. No wind stirred. And as he waited for her answer, the stillness could be cut with a knife.

A twig snapped. John jumped to his feet, cursed, and yanked on his pants. He hand signaled her silence then moved like a wraith. Through the underbrush, a doe and her fawn appeared, sniffed the air, and ambled into the far reaches of the forest.

John shrugged, and she laughed, putting her arms through the sleeves of her dress. “A Yankee under every bush? Let’s eat. All this surrendering has left me starving.”

They feasted on cold fried chicken and slabs of oat bread smoothed with creamy butter and followed by peach pie for dessert…and, for the time being, skirted the point where their relationship had to be resolved. What would it be like to witness him leading his men? Command exuded every corner of his being, and stamped on his face was an air of authority from one who demanded instant obedience. That side she had never seen. With her, he was nothing but tender and gentle.