by Connie Mason
“Yes, sir.” Dill saluted smartly as he spun on his heel and left the foyer.
“I’ll return after I check on the men,” Nick told the two women. “I’d like a bath before supper.” He sketched a hasty bow and followed Dill out the door.
Savannah, with the shotgun hanging loosely in the crook of her arm, stared at him in astonishment. “Well, if dat don’t beat all! I ain’t gonna like all dem Yankees underfoot. Mr. Beau must be turnin’ in his grave. And dat captain, talkin’ jest like he owns de place. What we gonna do, honey?”
“What can we do?” Aimee said bitterly. “I suppose we’ll just have to exist the best we can until they leave. I for one intend to keep out of the captain’s way. And I don’t want him to see Brand if I can help it. No telling what kind of ideas he’ll put in the child’s head.”
Strange as it may seem, Aimee had never revealed to Savannah the name of Brand’s father. And Savannah, thinking it was too painful for Aimee to discuss, never questioned her. It was enough for Savannah to know that the man had callously taken Aimee’s virginity without a thought for the consequences. Not that either of them ever regretted the joy Brand brought into their lives.
“I’ll do my best to keep Brand away from dem Yankees, honey, but you know what a curious little rascal he is. The only thing good about dis is dat maybe we’ll get enough to eat for a change. If de captain can be believed.”
“I wouldn’t put too much faith in the word of a Yankee.” Aimee’s voice was ripe with contempt as she turned away from Savannah. It wouldn’t do for her faithful friend to see just how deeply she had been affected by the reappearance of Captain Nick Drummond. “And don’t you dare do anything to those rooms upstairs. The Yanks will just have to put up with a little dust. Where is Brand?”
“I put de little scamp down for a nap. He didn’t give me too much trouble. He ain’t gettin’ enough food lately to keep up his energy level. I sure hope …” Savannah turned away, her shoulders drooping. She had done her best for Aimee and Brand, but it wasn’t enough. They were all teetering on the edge of starvation, with little hope for reprieve. In a way, having the Yankees occupy Tall Oaks was the best thing that could have happened. She wisely kept that observation to herself as she trailed Aimee up the long, curved staircase that had once been the pride of Tall Oaks, but like the rest of the house, had long since fallen into disrepair.
* * *
Nick surveyed with a jaundiced eye the elegant room he was to occupy during his stay at Tall Oaks. The room had definitely seen better days, but its faded elegance was undeniable. The featherbed looked comfortable enough despite the layer of dust covering it and the sparse furnishings. Nick couldn’t recall when he’d last slept in a real bed. The room boasted a fireplace but little furniture. Had marauders carried it off or had it been used as firewood during difficult times? He located a brass tub behind a screen and dragged it to the center of the room. Then he perched on the edge of the bed to removed his boots. When a knock sounded on the door, he called out permission to enter. The door swung open and Aimee appeared, her lips turned down into a scowl. “Your bathwater is heated.”
“Is there no one available to do the heavy chores?” Nick asked, frowning. Aimee looked so fragile, he didn’t want her performing the arduous task of carrying buckets of water up the stairs. He hadn’t meant to be unreasonable when he had requested a bath earlier, he just thought …
“Just Savannah, and she isn’t as young as I am.”
“I’ll assign a man to help with the chores.”
“There’s no need,” Aimee said tightly. “We’ll manage.” She didn’t want to be beholden to Nick Drummond for anything.
Nick leaped to his feet, grasping her wrist when she picked up the buckets. “I’m trying to make things easier for you, you little fool.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Dammit, Aimee Fortune, or Mrs. Trevor, or whatever you call yourself, what happened between us happened a long time ago.” Aimee flushed and looked away. “It’s too late to deny we’ve met,” he continued, “or to forget the outcome of that poker game those long years ago. You owed me a debt and I collected. If my memory serves, you enjoyed the encounter as much as I did.” His knowing grin sent her temper soaring.
“Let me go!”
Ignoring her plea, Nick dragged her tightly against the rock hardness of his superbly fit body. “Do you know that I looked for you afterward? Many nights I lay awake wondering who you really were, if you were all right, and why I could find no trace of you when I returned to the area. That night was like an erotic dream, one I’ve relived many times over. I can perceive no good reason why you should hate me. I was merely collecting a debt of honor.”
His gaze met hers. It was an unrelenting look, sparing her nothing as he cocked a questioning eyebrow, demanding an answer.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Nick Drummond.” Her body was molded to his, and she could feel every brass button on his dusty jacket. “Just being a damn Yankee is enough to earn my hatred.”
“Perhaps, Aimee Trevor, but I have a feeling that fate has a plan for us. A plan set into motion on the night we met.” The timbre of his voice was deep and oddly compelling. Aimee knew he was going to kiss her before he lowered his lips to hers; the devil hiding in his green eyes leaped out to warn her.
His kiss was a sensual exploration of taste and texture. Five years melted away as if they had never existed as she vividly recalled the touch of his mouth, the unique taste and smell of him. Five years of the same dream caused her memories to mingle with reality. This was the man she had reason to hate above all others. This was the man to whom she had surrendered her virginity, the man who had calmly walked out of her life the next morning. This was the man who never realized she had been untouched! This man was the father of the child she adored!
Nick Drummond was a devil.
Aimee felt herself being dragged backward toward the bed, felt rough hands slide around to fondle her breasts, felt the hard, unrelenting thrust of his sex against the softness between her legs. She recognized a profound terror.
“No, let me go! I don’t want this; you have no right!”
Nick was so aroused, Aimee’s words barely registered in his befuddled brain. He wanted her. He’d wanted her the first time he saw her and he still wanted her. But as her words registered, he realized he indeed had no right to assume she’d fall into his arms. He never deluded himself about the hatred she bore him for winning the wager, and the years had done little to change her feelings.
“Why are you hurting my mama?”
The tiny voice had the same effect on Nick as a dash of cold water. Abruptly he released Aimee and she stumbled out of his arms. Her breath was ragged, her eyes fraught with terror. Her hands flew to tidy the bun at her nape where long tendrils of blond hair had become loose and spilled down her back.
Nick stared at the child who had burst into his room like a tiny whirlwind. He was suddenly at a loss for words, but knew he must somehow placate the boy or play the villain during his stay at Tall Oaks.
“I’m not hurting your mama, son. I mean no harm to her or anyone in this house.”
Wide hazel eyes stared back at Nick with an intensity far beyond his meager years. Tousled black hair the color of a raven’s wing framed a thin, serious face that seemed to pierce directly into Nick’s heart. The boy’s features were hauntingly familiar, almost as if Nick recognized him. Nick hadn’t been around children much, but this small imp could easily occupy a place in his heart.
“What are you doing in my papa’s bedroom?”
Nick shot a quizzical glance at Aimee. He had no idea he had been given the master bedroom. “This is one of the few bedrooms fit for use,” Aimee explained as she started to shoo Brand from the room. She didn’t want her son and Nick together longer than necessary.
“Wait,” Nick ordered. “I haven’t met your son yet. I’m Captain Drummond.” Smiling broadly, he held out his hand to the boy.
Brand peered resentfully at Nick’s blue uniform, not too young to recognize an enemy when he saw one. Many Union soldiers had stopped at Tall Oaks during the past few years, and he had been taught to be wary of anyone wearing a blue uniform. “I don’t like you.”
“Brand!” Aimee cautioned, looking fearfully at Nick. She knew so little about him, she had no inkling what his reaction would be to Brand’s mutinous outburst.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Trevor.” He carefully addressed Aimee in a formal manner for her son’s benefit. “So your name is Brand,” he said, kneeling before the boy. “My uniform is blue because I’m a Union soldier, but that doesn’t mean I’m here to harm you or your mother. On the contrary, I intend to see that you get enough to eat during my stay here. Can we be friends?”
Aimee couldn’t believe Nick was taking so much time and effort with her son. She had hated him for so long, it was difficult to imagine him possessing redeeming qualities.
Brand’s small face grew solemn as he studied Nick. He was very young when his papa went away, and he hardly remembered him. Since then, he’d known no other adult male well. Naturally distrustful, he wanted desperately to accept Nick’s friendly overtures but feared offending his mother, who seemed to have an aversion to anyone in a blue uniform. Rather than hurt her, Brand remained mute.
“He’s shy,” Aimee offered, sensing the reason for Brand’s reticence. The sensitive child was too young to remember Beau, yet old enough to know a Union bullet had deprived him of a father. “So many of the raiders who stopped here wore blue uniforms. They threatened our existence and left us nothing to eat. Often we had to flee for our lives when we saw them approaching.”
“I’m sorry,” Nick said, rising to his feet. “I promise you have nothing to fear from us.”
Nothing to fear? Aimee shuddered at the thought of what Nick’s reaction would be if he found out Brand was his son. She would live in a state of constant anxiety until he and his men left Tall Oaks. “May we go now?”
“Of course. Tell Lieutenant Dill I said to assign one of the men to carry water up for my bath.”
Aimee turned to leave, but Brand hung back, as if there were something he wanted to say but didn’t dare. Nick noticed the boy’s troubled expression and asked, “Is there something you wanted to ask me, Brand?”
Aimee frowned, trying to guide Brand from the room. But the child dug in his heels and refused to budge—until he had asked the question that had burned on the tip of his tongue since the moment he saw Nick’s blue uniform.
“Yes, sir,” Brand said with the guileless innocence of a five-year-old. “Did you shoot my papa?”
Nick blanched. He barely heard Aimee’s sharp intake of breath as he grappled with Brand’s question. What could he say to this small child who had been deprived of a father’s love by a Union bullet? Yet the question demanded an answer—one a small child could understand. He dropped down to one knee, seizing Brand by the shoulders.
“No, Brand, I didn’t shoot your papa. In war times, terrible things happen, things that most men wouldn’t think of doing during normal times. I don’t like killing, but I’m doing what I think is right for our country. So was your father. He died a hero, son, never forget that. Only God knows which of us is right One day history will judge the issue. I want you to know I don’t consider either you or your mother my enemy. Do you believe me?”
Much of what Nick said was lost on Brand. But knowing that the tall captain hadn’t killed his papa made accepting him in the house much easier. He looked to his mother for guidance, but she was staring at Nick, and Brand couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He decided to reserve judgment until the blue-coated captain proved himself worthy of friendship.
“I believe you didn’t shoot my papa, but I’m still not sure I like you.”
“I can live with that.” Nick grinned, giving the child a quick squeeze before sending him on his way.
As he watched Aimee and Brand leave, he made a solemn vow. He promised he’d find some way to earn the child’s trust and to teach him that not everyone in a blue uniform was bad. And Aimee? The mother was another story. He wanted Aimee. Her sizzling hatred was a challenge to his virility, one he couldn’t resist.
Chapter 2
There was more food on the table than Aimee and Brand had seen in months. Brand’s hazel eyes widened when Savannah carried a platter of roasted pork surrounded by browned potatoes and carrots from the kitchen and placed it in the center of the table. The fine china and silver had long since been sold or stolen, but the odd assortment of chipped earthenware made little difference to those assembled for the meal.
Nick noted with compassion Brand’s eagerness to dig in to his food when a small portion was ladled onto his plate, as if it might be whisked away before he had his fill. Aimee’s appetite was more subdued, but Nick could tell by the way she concentrated on her food that it had been a long time since her hunger had been satisfied.
His men had scoured the countryside and flushed out a wild boar. The fresh meat provided a welcome supplement to the dreary rations provided by quartermaster. Lieutenant Dill had informed Nick that a wagonload of rations as well as fresh beef and pork would arrive from quartermaster in a few days. Nudging Dill, Nick indicated that they were to eat sparingly of the food, leaving the bulk of it for the young widow, her son, and her servant. Dill understood Nick’s meaning immediately, setting his fork down and complaining that he had little appetite after a large noontime meal with the troops. Truth to tell, Nick felt as if he could have eaten the whole boar himself, but his pleasure at seeing Brand wolf down the food was reward enough for leaving the table hungry.
The meal ended quickly, too quickly to suit Nick. He was as intrigued with Aimee today as he had been five years ago. Though Aimee was plainly dressed in a patched and faded gown, her hands rough from physical labor, her face honed fine and her body as slim and fragile as a wraith, Nick vividly recalled the torrid passion he unleashed in her during one perfect night of bliss. And he wanted to do it again; he craved it more than he’d ever craved anything in his life.
Aimee sat back and sighed, full for the first time in a very long time. She smiled at Brand, who was just shoveling the last morsel of pork into his mouth. She hadn’t wanted to be beholden to Nick Drummond for anything, but seeing Brand’s smiling face now was worth more than her pride. From beneath lowered lids she gave Nick a covert glance and was flustered when she found his hooded gaze resting on her.
Nick searched Aimee’s face, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her skin was pale pink; her lips full and rounded over even white teeth. When she smiled at Brand, he found himself wishing she would smile at him like that. But she despised him with an intensity that went beyond the color of his uniform and the place of his birth. She hated him for reasons that puzzled him—he damn well couldn’t figure them out.
Fidgeting beneath Nick’s avid scrutiny, Aimee rose stiffly to her feet. Nick and Lieutenant Dill both stood politely.
“It’s Brand’s bedtime. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll see to my son.”
“Will you return later?” Nick asked.
“I think not,” Aimee replied. “It’s been a long day.”
“I insist,” Nick said. “There are a few rules I must lay down while my men are in residence here. We have yet to discuss them.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No.”
Aimee twisted her hands nervously. What did he want? She was terrified that Nick had recognized something of himself in Brand. Could she afford to make him angry by refusing his request?
“It is rather late, Captain,” Lieutenant Dill objected, sensing Aimee’s reluctance and feeling pity for the young widow. He couldn’t figure out why Nick was deliberately baiting the woman, unless—unless there was more between them than they were letting on.
“I agree, Lieutenant, and I suggest you seek your bed immediately. You’re to lead a patrol into enemy territory at first ligh
t tomorrow. As for you, Mrs. Trevor, I’ll meet you in the study in an hour. That should give you sufficient time to see to your son.”
Finding himself abruptly dismissed, Dill left the room in a huff. If his captain had designs on the young widow, he wouldn’t bet money on his success. Aimee Trevor didn’t look the sort to meekly submit to a man she obviously despised.
“Good night, Mrs. Trevor,” he said. “Pleasant dreams.”
Aimee quickly took her son by the hand and led him from the room, refusing to look at Nick as she swept past.
“Good night, Brand,” Nick called as the child was hustled from the room. “One hour, Mrs. Trevor,” he repeated for Aimee’s benefit.
“Is Captain Drummond a bad man, Mama?” Brand asked once they had reached the privacy of his room. The child was deeply aware of his mother’s hostility toward the Yankee, which confused him since the captain had told them he hadn’t shot his papa.
Aimee was hard-pressed not to blurt out that Captain Drummond was the worst kind of devil imaginable. He had taken so much from her—so much. He had cheated her out of her money and stolen her virginity without being aware of his theft. But something deep inside her wouldn’t allow her to revile the obnoxious Yankee to his son. Even though Brand would never know Nick Drummond as his father, she couldn’t quite utter the words that would condemn him in the eyes of his small son. The animosity she felt for Nick Drummond was so personal that Aimee could share it with no one, least of all her child—Nick’s child.
“Captain Drummond is a Yankee, Brand. I imagine there are good Yankees, though I’ve yet to meet one.”
“Is Captain Drummond one of the good ones? He seems so nice.”
“That’s something you’ll have to judge for yourself. Personally, I don’t like the man.”
