Captive

by Heather Graham

  “No man,” Jarrett said. “I have said these things to friends in politics and in the military. Jesup has told me, though, that the orders regarding escaped slaves come straight from Washington.”

  “Ah, yes. Secretary of War Poinsett! Under President Martin Van Buren. Protege of past president Andy Jackson Well, now, he has never hidden any of his feelings for the red man, has he?”

  “No one in Washington seems to have much choice with the current mood of the country. There is a growing voice among the abolitionists, but I don’t think it will grow loud enough to help matters down here anytime soon. It is a volatile issue on Capitol Hill.”

  “It has always been. Thomas Jefferson knew it was going to be a viper’s nest when he drafted the Declaration of Independence.”

  Jarrett grimaced. “You did study your American history.”

  “I always did intend to survive. Know your enemy and all that.”

  “Well, I’m American, and I’m not your enemy. I’m your brother.”

  James lifted his glass again. “And a damned good one, as we’ve both agreed!”

  “Here, here!” Jarrett said, lifting his snifter as well. “Are you going to stay awhile then? I’d be delighted.”

  “No, I can’t stay. Perhaps just a little longer … but I’ve got to get to those who’ve agreed to come into Fort Brooke and make sure they understand the provisions. I need to find Osceola—”

  “Who surely will keep this war going on forever and ever,” Jarrett interrupted.

  James hesitated. He stared into his snifter and then looked at his brother. “I don’t know. He’s not well.”

  “Sick?”

  James shrugged. “He has suffered from fever. He has not looked strong since.” He hesitated again. “I even wonder if some of his power is not fading.”

  “Trust me, his name is spoken with dread among the white soldiers.”

  “Osceola is a strange man. Fascinating, charismatic—and as much feared by some of the Seminole chiefs as he is by the whites. Some honor him, some wish to honor more traditional leaders. I do admit that I admire him greatly, yet I feel that I know him better than others. I also feel he has been wrong at times. But I have to return to him, ride with him. And when he is anxious to parley, I am anxious to do the talking for him. I pray daily, to Mary’s Supreme Spirit and our father’s God, that this will end. But, Jarrett, it will not. No matter how far south or how deep into the swamp we are pushed, warriors will fight. Fight and run. Oh, many will agree to go west. Anything at all will look better than the life they are forced to lead here. Even barren desert out in no man’s land with the Creeks! And hundreds will die. The blood that streams from us all is red, and will cover the landscape like rivers. I can see it, and I hate it, but I cannot stop it. I can only let it take me where it will.”

  “James, no man can do more than you have done, try harder than you have tried. You have been true to your heritage—to all of your heritage. We can only do the best we can in the windstorm that sweeps us. I hate to say this because I fear for you, because I wish I could make you safe from army guns, but you must do as you said before—follow the dictates of your conscience. Then, my brother, no matter what else happens, you will save your soul.”

  James rolled his glass in his hand, then looked at Jarrett, smiled and shrugged. “You’re not just a damned good brother, Jarrett. You are a wise and damned good man.”

  “Thank you. I strive for perfection.”

  “Is Tara aware of that?” James teased.

  “I’m trying to convince her.”

  “To Tara!” James lifted his glass. He shook his head again. “Damned fine brandy. The comfort of being here, though, does cause me shades of guilt. To feel so filled, so warmed, to sleep in such … comfort,” he said, strangling out the last a little.

  Jarrett frowned at him.

  “I’m growing too fond of the brandy.” He set his snifter down and rose. He strode to the window. “Jesup is supposed to clear good land of all the red men. But there are a lot of bands out there in that region. Osceola is near, Philip, Alligator. Jesup will have to march his men hard through the jungle and swamp. But I believe Jesup will do it. I hate it, Jarrett!” he said suddenly, passionately. “I hate knowing that it will go on and on and that I am tangled within it, straddling a precarious fence, having to fight when I don’t want to fight, speaking out desperately and knowing half the time my words are barely heard. I hate repeating lies. I hate praying that it might end … I pray for a future. For Jennifer. For myself. For a different time, a different life.”

  “I know,” Jarrett said quietly. “Dear God, I know.”

  “I wish …” James began again, but then he paused, the slightest smile curving his lip as he stared out the glass pane to the sweep of lawn beyond. “There’s Tara, riding. Your wife is really quite exceptional, you know.”

  “Yes, I think so,” Jarrett agreed.

  James frowned to his brother. “She is careful how far she rides these days?” He had first met his sister-in-law when his own band had still lived close, and Tara had ridden a little too far and recklessly into the interior. Jarrett had determined that she’d learned her lesson that way, but James worried that she didn’t realize thing had only grown worse since the beginning of the war.

  “She is very careful. She never leaves the property,” Jarrett assured him.

  “She is riding with Warren’s daughter,” James murmured.

  “Mmm,” Jarrett said with some annoyance.

  James sighed. “I have apologized to you for my rudeness to her at your party.”

  “But have you apologized to her?”

  “I believe I have explained myself to her,” James said, his voice just a little tense.

  “If you’re staying at all, perhaps we could join them. And you could be polite—just on my account.”

  “I will be polite,” James said flatly.

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  “Jarrett, we’re grown men!”

  “Cross your heart. Even Mary used to make you do that, remember?”

  “I resent your doubting my word.”

  “Your word will always be good with me,” Jarrett assured him. “Especially when you cross your heart,” he added.

  James sighed loudly to show his brother his impatience. “Cross my heart.” He made the motion with a vast show of exaggeration. “Now, did you want to join your wife before she’s old and gray?”

  “Ready when you are,” Jarrett said, sweeping an arm toward the door and bowing politely.

  “Too much white blood in you,” James said, shaking his head. But he grinned as he walked past his brother.

  The McKenzie property was vast and beautiful, Teela quickly realized. She loved it. She loved the oaks that dripped with moss over the creeks, and she loved the manicured lawn and the slope to the river. Tara had shown her numerous trees and plants, otters scurrying into the water, colorful birds soaring from the surface of it into the incredible blue sky. They had ridden through grazing fields and farmlands. She had pointed the way to Robert Trent’s, their nearest neighbor’s home, and she had pointed out to Teela the trail that had led to her brother-in-law’s village. “Of course, there is little there anymore. Some of the cabins still stand, but James has moved his people, those who did not die with the fever or in the conflict.”

  “He was close?”

  “Very close.”

  “His wife … ?” Teela inquired, then gasped softly. “She wasn’t killed by soldiers, was she, Tara?”

  Tara shook her head, eyes narrowing at Teela. “The yellow fever took her. He has grieved for her terribly. Sometimes I think that is why he is able to ride so recklessly, going from the war chiefs to the white officers, heedless of bullets or arrows that might stop him. He loved her very deeply, and I don’t think he has accepted her death. He had another daughter, a little older than Jennifer, as sweet and adorable and innocent as you could
possibly imagine. She died with her mother. If Jennifer had not survived, I might wonder whether James would care about his own life at all. Of course, he and Jarrett are closer than most full brothers. Their bond is tight; life has made it so.”

  Teela stared down the overgrown trail, feeling her heart pound painfully again. James had deeply loved his wife; he mourned her still. Perhaps the whites had not killed her, but she had died in the midst of this awful war. She felt slightly faint, remembering both his touch and his angry words. What had she expected? He had come into her room because she had come into his. She had teased; he had taken. There was nowhere for them to go. He was sorry only that he had defiled a woman he considered to be a friend’s fiancée. There was nothing there. No emotion other than passion, no force other than basic human need.

  What had she expected, what had she wanted? He was a half-breed living most of his days in a savage swamp, inviting bullets. He was contemptuous of her, wanted nothing more from her than what he had taken.

  Yes, all that was true, but …

  Her cheeks burned and she turned quickly from Tara.

  All that was true, but still the memories of the night were so vivid and so intimate. She knew somehow that she would never taste anything so sweet again, know anything quite so wild, reckless, and passionate again, ever. She would never touch any man with so great a fascination, so strong a longing.

  Her obsession had not dimmed, she realized painfully. There was nowhere to go.

  And yet she wanted something more.

  He needed another good slap, she thought. No, a shower of them, aimed right at his arrogance and presumptions!

  He would ride away today, she thought.

  And her heart felt heavy again. He would ride away, and she would not forget.

  “Speak of the devil,” Tara murmured.

  Teela brought her chestnut gelding around and looked across the field toward the outbuildings and stables of Cimarron. Jarrett and James McKenzie were racing toward them. James rode a spotted gray; Jarrett was atop a handsome bay. Both men rode bareback, their horses running neck and neck.

  “They’re racing,” Tara said, shaking her head. “Boys will be boys.”

  Teela smiled. They might be racing, but neither brother seemed able to get the advantage. Nor did they seem to want to admit—to themselves or others—that they were racing.

  They both slowed their horses as they approached the women.

  “Well, Miss Warren!” Jarrett called cheerfully. “What do you think of Cimarron?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she told him, trying to ignore James. Damn, if she just didn’t feel the heat of that blue stare upon her. “Possibly the most beautiful plantation I have ever seen.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Anywhere. Although, of course, Blue Forest, my family home in Charleston, does rival it in some ways.”

  “Charleston is a beautiful place. We’ve family there,” Jarrett said. “But since you find Cimarron so charming, we hope that you will truly consider it your home away from home, right, my love?” he added to Tara.

  “Always,” she said earnestly. “This can be a frightening land.”

  “Filled with savages, wild creatures!” James warned, and she turned to meet his challenging gaze, her chin high.

  “I believe I have already encountered such creatures,” she said smoothly. “But then,” she added, smiling to Tara and Jarrett, “Blue Forest is near swamp and woodlands—not so wild as this, perhaps, but close. And I have discovered that most creatures become savage when they are threatened or afraid. When they discover that there is nothing to fear, they are much more pleasant.”

  “Some creatures,” James informed her, “are never tamed.”

  Tara, completely innocent of the subtext of the conversation, warned her, “There is no such thing as a tame rattler, so don’t be fooled if you hear one in the woods!”

  “I will learn to take the gravest care,” Teela promised her, casting a grim smile toward James.

  “You’ve shown her the whole of the property?” Jarrett asked his wife.

  “Well, all that is safe to travel,” Tara told him.

  “You two must be thirsty and famished. Perhaps we should return to the house and see what Jeeves can arrange.”

  “Well,” Tara said, moving her mare closer to her husband’s mount, “since I had hoped you might finish with business and join us, I asked Jeeves if he couldn’t arrange a picnic out on the porch. The day is beautiful. It’s still cool, but the sun is so warm against the breeze.”

  “A picnic sounds wonderful,” Jarrett told her.

  They smiled at each other. They were an exceedingly handsome couple, Teela thought, feeling a slight pang again, and then yearning to withdraw somehow. She felt as if she was intruding on something very intimate, though the two were not even touching.

  She looked away.

  And caught another McKenzie’s eyes upon her. They still seemed to search for something. As if he judged her. Looked her up and down, sought some secret within her. She felt herself growing warm. She couldn’t keep the thoughts of last night at bay. She wondered if a decent woman would have come so close and intimate with a husband of a decade. But it didn’t matter. She remained a little lost, confused, and breathless every time she thought of it. She feared she had shared things with him she might never share again.

  But he had been married. Deeply in love. He probably wouldn’t even understand the way she felt.

  She didn’t exactly know herself.

  “Let’s head back for the house, shall we?” said Tara.

  Tara rode ahead with Jarrett. Teela fell naturally behind with James. A short distance slowly lengthened between the pairs of riders.

  “You’re still here,” Teela murmured after a few moments. “At Cimarron.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you staying?”

  “Not long. I must see to some things.”

  “Oh.”

  They rode in silence another moment, then James asked politely, “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Why would I not be?”

  He stared at her, arching a brow. “Perhaps you hadn’t realized, you’ll never … be quite the same again.”

  She stared straight ahead. “I am quite fine. I am not completely naive, and I do not need your concern. And you needn’t be so abrasive and rude—”

  “I was not being rude—”

  “Cruel, then.”

  “What?”

  “Perhaps it’s your attitude. Perhaps it’s the way you phrase things, perhaps the way you mean them—”

  “Oh, do excuse me! You don’t want my concern? What do you want, my undying gratitude for allowing me to defile your tender, innocent white flesh?”

  She stared at him furiously, then started to nudge her horse forward. He reached over from his own mount and caught her arm. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I am being rude. And in truth, I am sorry that I gave so little thought to my actions.”

  She still stared at him. He smiled ruefully and continued. “I’m afraid, though, that I am not sorry for my actions themselves.”

  She looked quickly down and flicked a strand of her horse’s mane from one side of its neck to the other.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry for your actions,” she said softly.

  “It is never pleasant to hurt someone,” he said.

  “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Only a little.”

  “You were hurt a little, or you’re lying a little?”

  “Both.”

  He laughed softly. She loved the sound of it. It was as alluring as his smooth copper flesh, his striking and handsome features, the hot feel of his taut-muscled body and the searing sweep of his blue gaze.

  Don’t love it so much! she warned herself. But he had been right when he had whispered in the darkness that the moth had come too close to the flame. Her wings were scorched. She would never just fly away.

  Ev
en if he rode out of her life.

  “James—”

  “Take care!” he warned softly. “We’ve come to the house.”

  Before them Tara and Jarrett had reined in their horses just before the rear porch of Cimarron. Two young boys, almost identical and of mixed blood, came to take the horses, waiting for Teela and James to dismount as well.

  “Lemonade is already on the table,” Tara said cheerfully. “Jeeves has determined to create an oasis of peace here, James, no matter what lies around us!”

  “Jeeves is a marvelous person, dear sister, and you must never forget that,” James told her, his voice overly grave, his lips twitching. He shrugged toward Teela. She tried not to blush, but cast her lashes downward anyway, despite all her best efforts.

  “I’ll run in and tell him we’re ready for lunch,” Tara said.

  “Come, have a seat, Miss Warren,” Jarrett said.

  She was startled as she felt James’s hand at the small of her back, escorting her up the steps to a small table that had been laid out with silver, linen napkins, glasses, and a frosty pitcher.

  Jarrett pulled out her chair for her, eyeing his brother.

  “It seems that you have graciously forgiven James his outrageous behavior at the party last night?” he said.

  Teela started to reply, then paused, staring at James. Her turn to play the game.

  “I have forgiven his absolutely outrageous behavior of last night, yes, Mr. McKenzie.”

  James slid into the chair beside her. “She has a most forgiving nature,” he said politely. Then his eyes narrowed. “But I fear I cannot beg anyone’s forgiveness for my feelings toward Warren.”

  Teela stiffened.

  She could not beg anyone’s forgiveness for her own feelings regarding the man.

  But James McKenzie had no right to look at her so. “James—” Jarrett began.

  But Teela pretended not to hear him. She set her napkin on her lap as she softly interrupted with, “Are you guilty of all your father’s sins, Mr. McKenzie?”

  “My father had none,” he replied simply.

  “Every man has some.”

  “Not my father,” James said softly. She realized that he revered the man, and she felt a sudden sympathy for him. If he had so adored his white father, as deeply as he cared for Jarrett now, this Indian war must truly be hell for him.