“Andrew and Sheba are keeping watch,” she said absently, suddenly remembering the way the major had looked at her and feeling uneasy about sleeping with him in the same house. She shook off the thought as she settled her head comfortably on her pillow. Almost at once she felt her muscles go limp. For a few minutes she listened to Elly rant about the terrible things that were sure to happen if she dared to go to sleep, then she yawned, pulled the pillow over her head and heard nothing more.
Chapter 3
Ambrosia woke at her usual hour just before daybreak to the noisy chirping of birds. As the layers of a deep sleep slipped gradually away, she turned her head and noticed that the sky had cleared. She reluctantly forced her feet to the floor. She tensed as her eyes caught sight of movement across the room, then let out her breath when she recognized Elly, who stirred uncomfortably in her sleep in a worn upholstered chair. She was still fully clothed.
Quietly Ambrosia began gathering up her soiled clothing and went to splash her face with water. She stifled a yawn as she lifted the pitcher, then frowned and bit her lip thoughtfully, the pitcher still poised in the air. It was still very early, and there was a good chance that everyone in the house still slept. If that were so, then it might be possible to slip away for a few moments of privacy without being missed. Ambrosia eyed Elly and vented a weary sigh, feeling the need for some time alone. And the brief ablutions of the night before had hardly begun to free her skin of the sticky residue of blood. With a burst of decision, she threw on a clean dress, made a bundle of fresh undergarments, tied on her prunella shoes, and left the room. She stopped at the foot of the stairs just long enough to see Andrew’s gray head nodding sleepily in the chair which blocked the parlor door. Several men were snoring loudly, but no one stirred.
Tiptoeing gingerly to the dining room, Ambrosia let out a tiny sigh of relief to see Major Rambert dozing in a chair, his long legs extended to full length in front of him. All was quiet.
With great care Ambrosia opened the door and slowly slipped out of the house, feeling the cool freshness of the crisp morning air on her face. She paused and smiled, savoring the moment and the morning, the precious time of peace and solitude, of escape from all that would trouble her for the remainder of the day. She eagerly ran down the front drive toward a private place she used on occasion these days, when there were so few slaves to work at all, much less haul water for a hot bath. The pond was not too far from the house, but it was well down a winding path through the woods and offered complete seclusion.
Ambrosia lost no time in removing her clothing and slipping with a gasp into the frigid water. Her skin tingled with the cold as she vigorously scrubbed with the tiny chip of soap she had hoarded from the bars she had made herself the years before. Then there had been an ample supply of lard. It seemed like centuries since she had enjoyed the luxuries of hot water and scented bath potions, and as the memory of such comforts whisked through her mind, she thought of how much she had changed in the past two years. Gone were the slight curves of adolescence, and in their place, finally, the firm contours of maturity. Her breasts had blossomed to a round perfection and her hips curved in a definitely feminine line from a trim waist. Her limbs were still thin, yet shaped and firmed by hard work. If only maturity had come earlier, she thought as her fingers drifted over the body she so seldom considered, then perhaps Ledger might have noticed that she was more than “just a child.” She scowled and pushed the thought from her mind. It would have made no difference, since Melissa was still more attractive and appealing than Ambrosia could ever hope to be. She lathered her hair with unwarranted vigor to banish any memories that remained behind, then hurriedly rinsed the last of the soap from her hair.
Ambrosia was shivering when she left the water and she hurriedly sought the warmth of her clothing. Her teeth chattered as she pulled on her chemise, the worn cotton clinging stubbornly to her still-wet skin. She drew on her pantalets and a single petticoat, which she tied about her waist, then rubbed briskly at the flesh on her arms, which was still raised with the chill. She tossed her plain homespun gown over her head and bent down to pull on her much-mended stockings and tie the lacings which held together her prunella shoes. She had knotted the second when something made her start. Her head jerked up and she jumped to her feet, panting with fear and anger. Not three feet from where she stood was the Yankee major, one broad shoulder propped casually against the trunk of a large tree, his cool blue eyes meeting her panicked expression with a calm that made her furious. A hot vibration of utter rage shot through her. He took a step toward her, his mouth opening to say something as if he were totally unaware of her anger. Before he could utter a sound, her hand drew back with the swiftness of a cobra and met the flesh of his cheek with a resounding smack. Far from easing her hostility, the shock which registered on his face merely added fuel to an already raging fire. “Filthy Yankee! ‘’ She drew back without a pause to strike him again, and again and-
Ambrosia drew a sharp breath as Drayton seized her wrist tightly and prevented her hand from meeting its target. In one abrupt movement she was drawn flush against his broad chest. Her mind rang with a hundred words of violence and hatred she’d heard men use when they’d thought her out of earshot, but none of them seemed vile enough to express her humiliation at this moment. “Bastard! Union dirt!”
Her eyes spit sparks of fury as she jerked violently against his hold, stamping her foot hard on his instep and lunging forward to bite whatever part of his flesh her teeth happened to make contact with. The major had fully expected her to be angry, but he was stunned by the savagery in her reaction. There was extraordinary strength in her slender limbs, fueled by a fierce determination he had seen in few men. His admiration for her raised a notch, but he was none too happy about the healthy condition of her teeth.
“Yankee filth!” she gasped out as he drew her arms sharply behind her back and twisted to avoid being bitten again. He moved his foot just in time to miss another assault on his instep, only to have her lift her knee in a vicious attack on his groin. Pure instinct made him deflect the leg not an instant too soon, but she had scored a direct hit on his temper with the attempted maneuver, and he let her know immediately that he had had enough. In a single motion he pressed her back onto the damp ground, knocking the breath from her lungs. His hands grasped her wrists high above her head, and his legs held hers fast beneath his own. With considerable pain, she drew a deep, sharp breath and let it out in a low, throaty groan, straining with all her might, flexing every muscle in her body with every ounce of her strength. But her efforts gained her nothing. He yielded not the slightest measure. She gasped another breath and tried again, her face tightening and growing deep red with the effort as she snarled and twisted with all that was in her. She felt the frustration exploding inside her, fueling her with a surge of energy to lurch against his hold. She fully expected to be free. Yet his flesh did not budge. His fingers remained about her wrists like iron manacles, and the weight of his chest pressing against her breasts was almost unbearable.
With a half-sob of defeat, she gave up struggling and closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come.
‘’Ambrosia.’’ The voice was low now and soft, and the smoothness of it touched her ears like velvet. She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut and tried to ignore the odd, almost pleasant quivering she felt in her stomach.
‘’Miss Ambrosia,’’ he amended.
Her green eyes flew open, snapping with indignation. “Do what you will and be done with it, you filthy Yankee Pig!”
She saw a frown flit across his brow, then a spark of amusement as his eyes wandered from her face to the gaping bodice of her dress, where little of her anatomy was left to the imagination. She instinctively pitched against him again with renewed resolve to be free. His hold tightened fiercely as she did so, until she could no longer even breathe, until the sudden hunger in the blue eyes made terror clutch at her heart. Some of
her fear must have been apparent to him, for he freed her a moment later and rose to his feet, offering her a hand to help her do the same. She ignored the hand and stood shakily, turning her back to him as much to hide her confusion as to right her disheveled clothing and fasten the front of her dress. He moved to pull a twig from her tangled hair. She hurriedly jerked away.
He shrugged indifferently and lowered his hand. “I did not come here to have my way with you,” he said with a touch of amusement, ‘’though I admit that the prospect is most tempting...”
Ambrosia reached down to grab the last of her things and spun about to leave, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the flush in her cheeks.
He took hold of her arm and prevented her from leaving. “Hear me out,” he said firmly in a different voice which expected no argument.
She raised her chin and ground her teeth, offering no resistance but letting a murderous fire leap from her narrowed eyes. Drayton drew a deep breath and scowled, unused to such obvious mutiny. “I followed you here this morning.” he said coldly, carefully articulating each word, “because I thought you just might be leaving the house to meet a friend.”
She gave a skeptical snort and tossed her head. The major’s brow darkened dangerously. “Like it or not, I’m acutely aware that you are the enemy. It would be most foolish of me to trust a Rebel.”
“After you followed me here,” she flung back indignantly, “it must have been obvious even to one of your dull wit, Major, that I intended to meet no one. There is no excuse for-for-”
“For taking pleasure at the sight of a beautiful woman?”
She was stunned speechless for a moment, even more so when she felt his fingers loosen and lightly caress her arm. “None,” he answered low and husky, “except that I am a man.” The eyes which met hers left no doubt as to his meaning.
Ambrosia swallowed hard, suddenly aware of her vulnerability. “Let me go.”
“I’m not finished yet.” His eyes hardened and his voice was once again cold, demanding. Ambrosia was relieved. ‘’I do not trust you, Miss Lanford. I cannot afford to trust you. I do not want you or any of your people to leave the house without my permission. Not until after my men and I have safely left the premises.’’
She gave him a stiff smile. “I’ll keep the suggestion in mind, Major.”
Before he could catch himself, his brows arched in surprise and his fingers tightened painfully around her arm. “That’s an order, Miss Lanford.”
Ambrosia said nothing, but the arrogant lift of a single brow made Drayton’s temper soar. For a long moment he considered slapping her. Had she been a man, he wouldn’t have thought twice about thrashing her to within an inch of her life. But Ambrosia Lanford was a-woman-very much a woman. And something in those hard green eyes told him that she would never be broken with a beating. Her vulnerability lay elsewhere, if she were vulnerable at all.
‘’It is unfortunate,’’ he said slowly, letting a single finger drift over her cheek and noticing that she flinched visibly at his touch, “that we were cast as enemies in this war.’’
“Is there anything else, Major?” she snapped frigidly, not understanding why his touch made her shake inside. She forced herself to remain steadfast and tried not to show her relief when he heaved a long sigh and dismissed her.
“That’s all.”
Without another word, Ambrosia whirled and hurried toward the house, her fingers combing at the moist dirt and leaves that clung to her long, damp hair, her palms brushing at the mud on her skirt. The house was still quiet when she returned to hurry up the stairs and change into her very last gown. Elly was still sleeping peacefully when she slowly closed the door of the bedroom and tip toed back downstairs toward the parlor. Andrew was yet dozing in his chair, and the first of the men were just beginning to stir uncomfortably beneath the brightness of the eastern sky. Ambrosia placed a light hand on Andrew’s shoulder and whispered his name. The old man sprang to his feet in a flash, fumbling furiously to cock the shotgun. Ambrosia ducked as the barrel of the gun bounced dangerously about in her direction, then covered her ears and winced, waiting for the explosion. A moment later, when it did not come, she cautiously peaked out at Andrew and met a pair of embarrassed brown eyes. “Ain’ nobody caused no trouble heah, Miz Ambrosia,” he vowed contritely. He lowered the shotgun slowly, and Ambrosia let out the breath she had been holding. “Ah maked sure dos Yankees stayed put. Ah sho’ did.” He gave a weary smile and Ambrosia could not bring herself to scold him for allowing Major Rambert to slip past.
“Thank you, Andrew. Go along now and get some sleep.”
Andrew stifled a yawn and scratched his shoulder wearily. “Sheba done been up half de night too. She be needin’ some help wi’ feedin’ all des extra mouths. An’ ah don’ think ah’d sleep a wink anyways, wi’ Yankees in Massah Jackson’s house.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lawd! If Massah Jackson evah-”
Andrew was cut short when the front door opened, drawing his attention. He blinked, his eyes like saucers as they moved from Major Rambert to the dining room and back again. He would have sworn no one left the house all night! He gulped and tossed a glance at Ambrosia, whose eyes were momentarily locked with the major’s cold blue ones. Andrew frowned, belatedly noting Ambrosia’s damp hair and the pink color that rose in her cheeks. He didn’t like it, not one bit.
“My men will bewanting breakfast,” Drayton said finally, breaking an uncomfortable silence.
“Yes, sir,” Ambrosia responded sarcastically. The shakiness she had felt when he touched her had gone now, and she was angry with herself for ever having felt it. He was just a filthy Yankee, after all, while she was a Lanford. She would not allow herself to forget that again, no matter what he did.
The last of the ham was retrieved from the smokehouse and every egg that had been collected from that and the two previous mornings was set to sizzling in Sheba’s skillet. Ambrosia and Sally saw to the gruesome task of scrubbing the dining room clean of any signs of the night before, and soon the major, his men, and the one conscious Confederate prisoner settled around one end of the table to breakfast.
Ambrosia tried not to think about the vast quantities of food being used up on a single meal, though that was nearly impossible after so many months of careful rationing. She clenched her teeth as the soldiers ate their fill, finding herself without an appetite but grateful for the sack of meal which had been wrapped in oilcloth and
buried with a crock of sorghum just last week. With a reluctant nod to Andrew, she gave approval to Private Riley’s demand for a fourth slice of ham, remembering the way Andrew had once given a nod to his boys to refill her mother’s fine crystal water goblets or to clear a cluttered table. Not so very long ago her father had sat at the head of this table, and the chairs had been occupied by gentlemen in starched and proper attire, by ladies whose skirts had fallen in bright rainbows about the floor.
Ambrosia’s eyes grew distant and wistful for a moment, until they met the major’s and flared with renewed defiance. She was uncomfortable when he stared at her that way, as if he were trying to see something beneath her expression, some part of her that she had no intention of revealing to anyone. She felt relieved when his gaze finally wavered, caught by a movement in the hall. In the next moment all eyes lifted to take in the new arrival, and Ambrosia noticed that a tiny gleam of satisfaction lit in Elly’s eyes at the attention.
Elly wore her best dress, a simple, light, printed muslin with tiny blue and yellow flowers. She had taken care to comb her hair, which fell in saucy brown curls over one shoulder, though her expression was anything but inviting. The smell of ham and eggs frying must have finally given her the courage to face the Yankees, Ambrosia thought wryly, and true to her nature, Elly could not help but flaunt herself in front of anything in trousers.
With a noticeable lift of her nose, Elly strode haughtily past the men and on
toward the kitchen. Private Riley seemed to suddenly loose interest in his fourth slice of ham. He rose to his feet and moved to block her path. “Well, well. What have we here?” He let his eyes dip familiarly to Elly’s generous bosom before rising to meet her disdainful glare.
“Out o’ my way, you filthy Yankee,” she spat. Ambrosia’s eyes widened a bit at that. She had never known Elly to be anything but flirtatious with a man, any man.
“Let her alone, Riley.” Rambert’s words were low and calm, but the authority in them rang crystal clear.
With barely a hesitation, Riley settled abruptly back in his chair and watched Elly take her leave. Ambrosia cocked her head in curiosity, waiting for Riley to voice some objection, for his eyes sparkled with mutiny. “Didn’t mean no harm, Major,” he said at length, after he had taken his time cleaning his plate. “Jus’ meant t’ make the lady’s acquaintance is all.” His mouth curved into a smile which did not reach his eyes. “...Since you don’t seem too eager t’ share the other one with the rest of us.’’ His eyes flicked suggestively over Ambrosia and she straightened indignantly at the insinuation. The major said nothing, but Ambrosia could see that he was not amused. Apparently something in his eyes conveyed that same impression to Riley, for the private thought the better of saying any more.
Ambrosia and Sally cleared the dining room table as soon as the men had finished with their meal. Ambrosia watched guardedly as the three Yankee soldiers, Riley, Hunt, and Essex, packed their gear and prepared to take their leave. Both the major and Private Crawford accompanied the men to the stable while the three saddled their horses. It was the opening Ambrosia had been waiting for. As quietly as possible she slipped into the parlor, hoping for a word with the one conscious Confederate prisoner while the Yankees were otherwise occupied.
The prisoner had been bound hand and foot, but was seated comfortably in the only remaining parlor chair, staring distantly out the window. Ambrosia watched Corporal Laird stir restlessly for a moment. She tossed a nervous glance over her shoulder, but neither Crawford nor the major was anywhere in sight. She moved nearer to the captive.
Ambrosia Page 6
