Surrender to the Fury

by Connie Mason

  A soft whimper interrupted her reverie, and a force stronger than her own sense of survival compelled Aimee to reach out a finger and touch the child’s cheek. His skin felt like the softest velvet. He gurgled contentedly. One tiny fist closed around her finger, trying to drag it into his mouth. Despite her solemn vow to hate the product of Nick Drummond’s loins, Aimee lifted the baby from his cradle and snuggled him in her arms.

  Savannah watched from the open doorway, holding her breath as Aimee cuddled her child. When Aimee placed him at her breast to suckle, the faithful old nanny offered up a prayer of thanks. For one terrible moment she feared Aimee would reject her child utterly.

  For Aimee, this special bonding with the child she was prepared to hate was for life. In a flash, she realized the tiny, helpless being she had given birth to was innocent of his father’s sins and had a personality all his own.

  “What are you gonna call him, honey?”

  Aimee smiled up at Savannah, gratefully aware that she couldn’t have managed without the loving care the aging woman had lavished on her. “You name him, Savannah.”

  Savannah looked startled, then inordinately pleased. It took only a moment to make the choice. “Brand. His name is Brand.”

  Aimee couldn’t help but ask, “Why Brand? It’s an unusual name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.”

  Savannah grinned. “The instant you held him in your arms, he placed a brand of love on your heart.”

  “Brand. Brand LaMotte. I like it; it’s a good name.”

  Chapter 1

  Tall Oaks Plantation, Atlanta, Georgia 1864

  Captain Nicholas Drummond halted his company of Union cavalrymen at the entrance of a winding dusty road lined with stately oaks that appeared to stretch up to the sky. It was a surprisingly peaceful setting amidst a land ravaged by war, curiously untouched by time and man’s injustice to his fellow man. Yet the bloody, senseless war between the North and South, pitting brother against brother, had been raging for three years.

  Though the issue forcing the war was slavery, Nick knew the reasons went far deeper than that, and for the sake of humanity, he prayed it would end soon. But until then he had a duty to perform. He had joined the Union army because the cause was just and his honor demanded that he fight for justice and equality for all men.

  Nick twisted in the saddle, waiting for Lieutenant Dill to ride up beside him. “Is this the place, Lieutenant?” His voice was gritty with exhaustion, and his gaunt face gave mute testimony to the many battles he had fought and survived through sheer grit and determination.

  “Yes, sir,” Dill acknowledged. “Tall Oaks. It belongs to the Widow Trevor and her young son. Because of its size and proximity to Atlanta, it was purposely left standing to serve as an observation post in the area.”

  “I suspect Widow Trevor won’t take kindly to having her home occupied by Union soldiers,” Nick mused, stroking his stubbly chin. He felt grubby and dirty and couldn’t wait to feel a real bed beneath his aching bones. “How long has her husband been dead?”

  “Intelligence reports he was killed at Richmond back in sixty-two.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant,” Nick said dismissively, “Mrs. Trevor will just have to live with our presence whether she likes it or not. Warn the men that she’s likely to be bitter over the death of her husband, but that neither the widow, her son, nor any of her people are to be harmed. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll see to it.” Dill wheeled his mount and rode back to convey Nick’s orders to the men.

  Younger than Nick, Lieutenant Clifton Dill was a handsome man with a wry sense of humor and boyish charm most women found irresistible. In contrast, Nick was a seasoned soldier who learned the hard way to protect his back, be wary of the obvious, and trust no one but himself. His philosophy had brought him through the war unscathed thus far, and he expected to outlast most of the young, inexperienced men under his command.

  The tough veneer Nick had assumed made him no less appealing to women. He was the kind of man women found challenging. The hard planes of his face were saved from austerity by the deep cleft in his square chin and by his devastating smile, when he chose to show it.

  The plantation house sat majestically at the end of the driveway nearly one half mile long. As Nick drew near he could see signs of ravage wrought by years of neglect. In his mind’s eye he could picture how the house must have looked at one time with slaves bustling about performing all the chores necessary to maintain such an imposing mansion. The entrance rose three stories high, supported by tall, stately columns. The paint was peeling now, the acres surrounding the house lay fallow, and the slave cabins out back sat rotting beneath the hot Georgia sun. Nick saw no signs of life as he rode into the yard at the head of his company.

  Had Widow Trevor and her son vacated the premises? he wondered curiously. As a precaution against an unwelcome reception lying in wait for them, his hand hovered inches from his gun. Nick dismounted. His men followed suit. “Spread out,” he snapped. “Sergeant Jones, take some men and search the slave quarters. Lieutenant Dill, follow me into the house. The rest of you set up camp beneath those trees yonder.”

  “The place looks deserted, Captain,” Dill observed. “It must have been difficult for a widow to survive out here on her own.”

  “More like hell,” Nick muttered. Food was so scarce, his men had to scrounge for enough to keep them alive between quartermaster deliveries. He could well imagine what it was like for a woman with a child and no means of support.

  They approached the door, and Nick used the butt of his gun to knock. The sound reverberated hollowly inside the house. When no one answered, he tried the knob. It turned easily beneath his fingertips. The door was thick but somewhat battered, as if someone had tried at one time or another to hammer it down. Nick shoved it open with his foot.

  She stood facing him, an old, rusty pistol aimed at his midsection. Her face was set in grim lines, and Nick was assailed by a vague memory of having lived this same scenario one other time in his life. It was eerie, yet so vibrant that he had to squint his eyes in the dim recesses of the vast foyer in order to bring the woman’s features into sharp focus.

  Neither the purple shadows marring the delicate flesh surrounding her honey brown eyes nor the gaunt hollows beneath her cheekbones detracted from her beauty. The much patched and faded blue dress hung loosely on her spare frame. But Nick noted that she still had sufficient curves to identify her as a lovely young woman. Her blond hair was pulled back from her face in a taut bun, emphasizing fine bone structure beneath pale ivory skin.

  Nick’s heart beat a rapid tattoo as he gazed into those hate-filled eyes. He felt himself being swept five years into the past to a night of unforgettable passion aboard the Delta Belle. His gaze rested on her, steady, unflinching, unfathomable.

  Aimee Fortune.

  He had taken her in a moment of splendid madness in payment for a gambling debt.

  And he had never been able to forget her. The first time he had seen her, he’d felt lust, pure and simple, and he had satisfied it, handily, unforgettably. He regretted the haste with which he had left her the next morning, but she was sleeping so soundly, he didn’t have the heart to awaken her. He had slipped ashore at Natchez and immediately boarded a train for Chicago. But he had thought of Aimee Fortune often since then, and made an effort to travel aboard riverboats several times in the ensuing years, hoping to encounter once again the enchanting lady gambler who portrayed innocence so effectively. She was either a very talented actress or so experienced, she knew all the right moves.

  There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. Yet no one in New Orleans or Natchez seemed to know a lady gambler named Aimee Fortune or what had happened to her. She had virtually disappeared from the face of the earth, and Nick was forced to relegate the memory to a part of his past that somehow refused to die.

  The gun pointing at his middle wavered slightly.

  “What do you want here? Ha
ven’t you and your kind taken enough from me? I’ve nothing more to give.” Her voice was ripe with bitterness, raw with hatred, and Nick couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her.

  “We mean you no harm, Mrs. Trevor,” Nick said softly. He stepped into a patch of sunlight streaming through a dingy window in the dim foyer and removed his hat.

  Aimee drew in a ragged breath. Thick, black hair emphasized the coppery tone of his complexion, his bronzed skin dark against the stark blue of his uniform. He was much more deeply tanned and his face more rugged than when she had last seen him. Her heart hammered against her breast when his startling green eyes gazed upon her face. They had a hypnotic power that left her paralyzed and unaware of the peculiar way she was staring at his sensual mouth, at the cleft in his square chin, at the frown that drew his brows together and shadowed those incredible eyes. Eyes saturated with a secret knowledge that brought a rush of color to Aimee’s pale face. Devil’s eyes.

  Nick Drummond.

  He looked older, hardened by the war, his jaw more firmly set than she remembered. His expression was determined, the lines somewhat tempered by the cleft in his chin.

  Numb terror held Aimee speechless. She knew by his words that he had recognized her, though she had changed greatly during the past five years. Does he know about Brand? she wondered, desperately searching his face for a hint of his thoughts. His eyes remained carefully hooded. It took very little effort for her to hate Nick Drummond—even less for her to recall the way his loving had made her feel so long ago and the precious gift he had given her in the form of her son. Brand was the only person left in the world besides Savannah whom she truly loved and who loved her in return. She was seized by an obsessive fear that Nick Drummond had come to take her son from her. She had lived with that fear for five years and wanted desperately for Nick to leave before he saw Brand.

  “You’re trespassing on my land. State your business,” she said.

  “The widow Trevor,” Nick mused, still stunned at having finally found the woman who had haunted his dreams for the past five years. He had never recovered from the guilt of leaving her so abruptly aboard the Delta Belle. It was unlike his usual behavior with women, but he had had a train to catch. “Perhaps you don’t remember me, Mrs. Trevor, but I recall every moment of our last meeting. Five years ago, aboard the Delta Belle. I knew you as Aimee Fortune. Does that jog your memory?”

  Jog her memory? Dear sweet Lord, how could she forget when she had living proof of their brief encounter? On the heels of that thought came the memory of a tantalizing smile and erotic mouth that kissed and caressed her until she was senseless with rapturous pleasure.

  A look of bemusement settled on Lieutenant Dill’s face as he listened to the interchange between Widow Trevor and his captain. Her thinness took nothing from her natural beauty, and Dill looked forward with delight to becoming better acquainted with her. It puzzled him that even though Captain Drummond appeared to know her, she gave no indication of having met him before. A very interesting situation, to say the least, thought Dill.

  “Perhaps I did meet you,” Aimee admitted sourly. “But it was a very long time ago, and if I did, I hardly recall the encounter.”

  That observation did not sit well with Nick. How could Aimee Fortune forget him when he remembered every passionate detail of their one and only time together? “I looked for you, you know, for a long time. No one seemed to know a damn thing about a woman called Aimee Fortune.”

  Aimee shrugged. She wasn’t going to admit a damn thing. Brand belonged to her, and no one was going to take him from her, especially not a damn Yank captain who spread death and destruction across the South. Who besides Savannah would testify in court in her defense if Nick took it into his head to petition for custody of Brand? She knew she was being obsessive about the whole thing, but she couldn’t help it. She’d lived with that fear for too long. “You still haven’t told me what you Yankees are doing here.” Her voice was cool and uncompromising as she kept the gun trained on Nick’s midsection.

  “Put the gun down, Mrs. Trevor; we mean you no harm.”

  Nick smiled in an attempt to defuse the situation, bringing the dimple in his chin into sharp focus. Even though it was covered with dark stubble, Aimee had noticed it immediately. A bitter taste of apprehension spurted into her mouth.

  “I realize you’re not going to like this, Mrs. Trevor, but your home is to be used as headquarters for myself and my men.” He directed an appraising glance toward the stairs, silently speculating on how many men could be accommodated in the bedrooms above. “You need only billet Lieutenant Dill”—he nodded toward the silent Dill—“and myself in the house. The men can set up tents on the lawn. Starting with supper tonight, the Lieutenant and myself will share meals with you and your family.”

  Aimee gave a bitter laugh and lowered the gun. “You’re welcome to all the food you find in the house. We’re not exactly prepared for company. You’d do well to seek accommodations elsewhere.”

  Nick appeared undaunted. “In case you haven’t noticed, few plantations in the area are fit for occupation.”

  “Whose fault is that?” Aimee snorted sarcastically. “You’ve taken our men, left our children orphans, destroyed our homes, and expect to be welcomed with opened arms. Get off my land, Captain.”

  “The name is Drummond, in case you’ve forgotten. Nick Drummond. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with us until such a time as we’re ordered to move on. The decision to occupy Tall Oaks was decided by those in higher authority than myself.”

  “You havin’ trouble with dese no-good Yankee devils, honey?” Savannah materialized from a nearby hallway, brandishing a shotgun. She had used the weapon more than once in staunch defense of her mistress since the war had started, and she was prepared to use it again.

  Nick glanced at the once substantial black woman whose flesh now hung in loose folds. “No one will be harmed,” Nick assured her, “as long as everyone cooperates. We’re occupying the plantation until further notice. See that two rooms are prepared for Lieutenant Dill and myself.”

  “How dare you come in here and take over my household!” Aimee bristled indignantly, furious at Nick for issuing orders as if he owned her. “Your president freed the slaves long ago. Savannah is my companion. She was freed even before that.”

  “My error,” Nick said with a hint of sarcasm. “Then you may see to our rooms. And our supper.”

  “Like hell! I don’t grovel before damn Yankees.”

  “Supper!” Savannah snorted in obvious disgust. “Ain’t no food in dis house. Not for no Yankees. Brand gets whatever we’s able to scrounge.”

  Aimee blanched. “Savannah!” What if Nick demanded to see Brand? What if … No, she decided, men had no idea about children and their ages. He’d never suspect Brand belonged to anyone but her dead husband, Beauregard Trevor. Everyone thought the lovely young bride Beauregard Trevor had brought home with him from a visit to Memphis early in 1860 was a widow with a young child. Beau had wanted it that way, and that’s the way it had been. Beau couldn’t have loved Brand any more if he had been Beau’s own son.

  Beauregard Trevor had fallen deeply in love with Aimee at first sight. They’d met by chance while he was visiting relatives in Memphis, where Aimee had fled when she learned she was expecting Nick’s child. With Savannah’s help she had sold all her possessions, which were few indeed, and left the city of her birth in shame. When she and Beau had met, Aimee had already given birth and was at her wits’ end. She had little money and no prospects for a job. Savannah did what she could to earn their keep, but it wasn’t enough to support three people. When Beau proposed, Aimee briefly considered letting him continue to believe, as her few acquaintances in Memphis did, that she was a widow. But Aimee was too honest for that kind of subterfuge. Instead she confessed everything, every sordid detail of her short-lived career as a gambler and the astonishing outcome. Beau was more understanding than she had a right to deserve after her reckless b
ehavior.

  Beau still wanted Aimee for his wife and gladly accepted Brand as his own son. They lived together as husband and wife briefly and barely got to know each other before Beau went off to war in ’61, but during those short months Aimee couldn’t have asked for a better husband or father for her son. If she never found the passion she had hoped for, the blame was entirely hers. She deeply regretted not having been a more loving wife to Beau, though he had never complained, and when he was killed at Richmond in 1862, she was troubled by the thought that he never knew how very much she had appreciated him. Her consuming hatred for one man and preoccupation with a war kept her marriage from reaching its full potential. They had barely known each other before he left, never to return. There were many, many things for which she held Nick Drummond accountable.

  Nick realized Brand must be Aimee’s son, and a jolt of jealousy shot through him. The thought of another man fathering a child with Aimee made him feel strangely uncomfortable. He had never forgotten the sweet innocence of her response, even though he knew it was all pretense. But another thought intruded upon his reverie. Both women implied there was no food in the house. He knew things were bad, but surely a plantation this size had food hoarded away somewhere. The thought that Aimee and her child were starving was shocking.

  “You said there was nothing in the house to eat,” Nick probed gruffly. “Are you telling the truth or have you hidden away a cache of food someplace where it can’t be found?”

  “I don’t lie,” Aimee said tiredly. “What we had was stolen long ago by Union soldiers, brigands, and deserters who took great pleasure in leaving us nothing on which to survive. If not for Savannah …” Her sentence trailed off, leaving Nick furious enough to want to seek out those men who had made Aimee suffer.

  “As long as I’m here, I’ll personally see that there is enough to eat in the house. Unless, of course, I learn that you’re lying to me.” He turned to Lieutenant Dill. “Lieutenant, send a detail of men immediately on a food-seeking expedition. I don’t care how they get it, just see that there’s food for the house and troops. Dispatch a messenger to the quartermaster. The army can’t very well let us starve.”