‘’If you take a moment to look at the lash marks on her back, you will realize that your men intended serious physical harm.” Drayton paused as the colonel’s eyes flicked over the small figure huddled against Rambert’s broad chest, at the bloodied stripes across her back where the whip had tom the coarse fabric of her dress. His eyes returned to Drayton’s.
“I sincerely doubt that any court,” he went on softly, “military or civil, would equate being ‘slightly out of order’ with the crime of rape.” Colonel Reed’s eyes darted momentarily to Bardo.
There was a raging hatred in the scarred face, but no intention of crossing the major. The men who stood behind the colonel now were of the same mind. Some would have raped the woman without a second thought, but none wanted to challenge a man of Drayton’s reputation. Particularly when he held a revolver in his hand.
“Sergeant Rykert.”
A tall, balding man snapped to attention. “Yes, sir?” “Privates Bagly, Turner, and Angus are under arrest.
They are to be kept under constant guard until they can be sent to the surgeon.”
His eyes remained locked with Rambert’s, ignoring the wounded men’s protests of innocence as they were taken into custody, keeping close watch on the gun that was yet leveled on his chest.
As the rest of the soldiers began a wary retreat from the stable, Bardo’s voice rang low and threatening. “You won’t get away with this, Rambert. You killed a man in cold blood, and I intend to write a story that will ruin you.” He smiled. ‘’And I’ll have fifty eyewitness accounts to back me up.”
Rambert gave a shrug. “Print what you like, Bardo.
I’ve no desire to be one of your paper heroes.”
Colonel Reed stiffened at the obvious affront. “Your conduct has been questionable at best, Rambert,” he admonished sharply when he found his voice. “I would advise you to remember who’s in command here.”
“I’m very much aware of who’s in command, Colonel.” Drayton’s eyes flicked significantly over Bardo.
The colonel’s face went livid and his mouth tightened into a thin, white line. Letting out a furious breath, he whirled and marched stiffly from the stable.
Bardo’s black eyes narrowed as he watched the colonel’s retreat. He turned to face the major, his forefinger tracing idly over the scar at his cheek. “I’m going to write my story, Rambert,” he said softly, slowly. “And I’m going to see that you pay for this. If not in one way...’’ His eyes moved pointedly to Ambrosia before meeting the major’s again. He smiled, then turned and was gone.
Ambrosia clung to Drayton’s coat and dared not open her eyes through the entire exchange. She was only vaguely aware that the voices stopped, that there were sounds of retreating soldiers, groans of the wounded men as they were removed none too gently by the others. She started in terror at the final slam of the wooden door against the side of the stable.
When the last of the noises had died away, Drayton slowly lowered his revolver. His eyes were still alert in the semidarkness for any who might have remained to challenge him. He let out a long breath as he cautiously placed the gun in its holster; his full attention shifting then to her injuries.
“Ambrosia?” He whispered the name, caressing it with softness as he gently uncoiled the white fingers that gripped too tightly to his tunic. She fought him for an instant, her eyes opening wide and dazed as he firmly drew back to look at her face. “It’s all right. They’ve gone. There’s nothing here to hurt you.”
The blank stare faded slowly from her eyes; but with reality came a tremor of barely restrained emotion echoing through her. She swallowed hard and looked away from him, instinctively trying to break free of his embrace now, wanting to sob her humiliation, her revulsion, her fear, but certainly not wanting a Yankee to see her.
“You’re hurt.” He held her fast and raised cautious fingertips to touch the bruise at her temple.
She turned away, her spine stiff and rigid with resistance. “Let go of me.”
Her voice was so cold and final that he was taken by surprise. He released her, scowling darkly as she stumbled but a few steps and reached blindly for the side of the nearest stall. A single long stride pµt him beside her again. He began to examine the flesh wounds at her back, ignoring her weak, disjointed protests. “You’re covered with dirt and mud and God-knows-what. These wounds will fester quickly if they aren’t cleaned.’’
“I can take care of myself, Major.” She jerked away from his hand. Her movement caused the room to lean sharply to one side, then to the other. She gripped the wooden post and tried to steady herself, but she continued to sway until she was leaning her full weight against it, seeing long, blurry images that refused to right themselves.
Drayton swung an arm beneath her knees and a second about her waist, easily lifting her from the floor. Her arms flew tightly about his neck and she braced herself against the nausea that rose in her throat as he carried her across the stable.
Just as he reached the door, he stopped short. He dropped her feet to the ground and drew his pistol in one sweeping motion. Ambrosia grasped tightly to his coat and hid her face in her hands as the hinges let out a soft groan of protest. A gnarled black hand eased the door slowly open from the other side, and two dark eyes peered anxiously through the crack in the door. The major relaxed his stance and returned his gun to his holster. “It’s all right. It’s only Andrew.”
He lifted her again and proceeded briskly toward the house, giving a reassuring nod to the wide-eyed black who held the door ajar, then stumbled clumsily after them in an attempt to match Rambert’s long-legged stride. The sudden coolness of the twilight air worked to clear Ambrosia’s brain, and her hand swiftly left his neck to close the gaping bodice of her gown. She hazarded a look at him, then looked to where he was taking her. “I am capable of walking.’’
He tossed her a skeptical glance, not slowing his pace in the least. “Put me down, Major.” She squirmed and forced him to meet her glare, swiftly becoming angry at having her demands so easily dismissed. “I told you to put me down.”
He tossed a glance over his shoulder and allowed Andrew to catch up, all the while resisting Ambrosia’s struggles to regain her feet. “I said, put-”
“I fully intend to,” he returned with curt finality. “As soon as we get where we’re going.” They were nearing the rear entrance to the house, and Andrew scrambled forward to get the door. Major Rambert made for the back stairs but was stopped by Ambrosia’s shriek of protest.
“No! Not up there!” She let go of her tom dress to press both fists against him in earnest. ‘’Colonel Reed requisitioned all the rooms upstairs for himself and his men.”
Drayton frowned and looked up the stairs, then evenly met her eyes. “Where are your things?”
Ambrosia lifted her chin and turned her head. ‘’Put me down.”
“Where are your things?”
She winced and bit her lip at his hard, demanding tone. “In Father’s study,” she said in a small voice.
Drayton made his way to the study, which he found cluttered with clothing and linens and sundries, so much that Andrew had to clear off a chair for him to put Ambrosia down. “Go and fetch the healing box, and some bandages from the parlor,” Drayton ordered as he deposited her gingerly on the chair. ‘’And bring a fresh pitcher of water.”
“Bring Sheba back with you,” Ambrosia called after him.
Major Rambert raised an amused brow as she flashed him a distrustful glare. “You seem to be feeling much better.”
She turned her head away, not wanting to meet .his eyes as he lifted a pile of Elly’s undergarments from the comer of the desk and tossed it aside. “Would you care to tell me what you were doing out there? In the stable? All by yourself?” His amusement had fled now and he was angry. She could very easily have been killed if Andrew hadn’t informed him of what was happen
ing, if he had arrived just a few moments later.
Drayton half stood, half sat on the cleared edge of the desk, leaning forward expectantly and letting a long, muscular arm dangle leisurely across his knee. Ambrosia sat, tight-lipped and rigid, fully aware of his anger, both her hands holding fast to her tom bodice. The space of silence lengthened. Drayton’s anger grew stronger. She needed to learn a lesson from this. The next time, he would not be here to protect her, and he did not want to think what might happen to her then. ‘’You seem to have a way of seeking out trouble, Miss Lanford,’’ he began. ‘’Seeking out-!’’ She sprang to her feet, but her head rolled with the sudden movement and she was forced to sit down again. She drew a deep breath and braced a single hand on the side of the desk. “Yankees are the trespassers here, not I! Am I to watch as they torture and kill a helpless animal? This is Lanford land and it always will be, Major. It is mine, and I am free to do what I please here.’’ She lifted her chin haughtily and gave him a condescending glare. “Drunken, thieving, bloodthirsty bluecoats and your self-righteous abolitionism! May you all bum in hell!” she muttered.
“Heah’s de box, Majah, sah,” Andrew announced as he clumsily opened the door and headed straight for the Yankee. “An’ ah brung d’ watah too.”
Ambrosia’s head shot up and her eyes swiftly searched the doorway. “Where’s Sheba?” she demanded sharply.
“Sheba?” Andrew repeated with a blank stare. “I told you to fe-”
‘’Thank you, Andrew.’’ Drayton accepted the box from Andrew and pointed to the space on the desk where he could place the pitcher of water. “I will take care of everything here.”
Ambrosia’s eyes widened as the black gave a meek nod and made to leave. “Oh, no you will not! I will not have you giving orders to my people, Major. They listen to me! I will not have it!”
Even as she spoke, Drayton was placing an arm about Andrew’s stooped shoulders and leading him to the door. She caught the general drift of what he was saying all the while he walked the old man, explaining to him about blows to the head and befuddled states of mind and dizziness. Andrew listened and nodded in agreement, ignoring Ambrosia’s angry string of protests which continued nonstop until he left the room. Drayton closed the door behind him. Then she stopped in midsentence. The silence fell instantly and uneasily.
Ambrosia’s eyes hardened as she met his cool blue eyes. “I am not amused, Major.”
He gave an innocent shrug and approached her. “I’m merely intent on returning a favor. You tended my wounds the other night.”
“That’s a favor I neither want nor need returned,” she retorted.
“Forgive me, Ambrosia, but I am of another opinion.” His eyes were dark and serious. “I cannot bear the thought of your back being permanently scarred... or worse...’’ He came to stand at the side of the chair and placed the healing box on a stack of blankets nearby. Ambrosia considered bolting for the door, but there was still a fuzziness to her vision, and her head was beginning to throb. She clutched tightly to her bodice with both hands and made up her mind to endure whatever torture he had in mind with dignity. She closed her eyes and held her breath as he ran long, lean fingers through her hair, pausing to test the swollen area just above the ear. “You took quite a bump,’’ he told her as he continued to examine the area.”It will probably pain you for a week.”
“Thank you,” she said icily.
She relaxed a bit when he stepped back from her but frowned darkly when he stepped close again, a scissors in his hand. His fingers took hold of her shoulders and turned her at an angle, paying little heed to the hot protest that followed. Catching both her wrists firmly in one of his hands, he lifted the scissors to cut open the back of her dress. He accomplished this in a single movement, then laid the scissors aside and struggled to hold her still so that he might gently separate the garment from the wounds. But she wanted no part of his ministrations. She wrenched and twisted and managed to thwart him quite effectively until his temper snapped. With a brisk, “Stop it!’’ his grasp on her forearms tightened abruptly, and he jerked her to a stunned silence of which he took immediate advantage.
Pulling the tatters of dress and chemise from her shoulders and leaving her to protect her modesty as best she could, he began to work with a moistened cloth, to loosen the bits of fabric and dirt from the deep slashes the whip had left on her back. He winced as he tore at the already tender wounds, though Ambrosia remained silent and gave no sign of the pain his work caused her. When he finished cleaning the wounds and applying the salve she had recommended for Laird a few days before, he set himself to binding them with a long roll of linen. He pulled the remnants of her bodice from her hands to draw the linen strip about her ribcage, leaving her to endure a humiliation that was far worse than the pain. Though his hands continued their precise movements with studied indifference, more than once Ambrosia felt his eyes linger on her naked breasts, and she felt her cheeks flaring hot and pink whenever his fingers grazed her skin. She bit her lip hard and squared her shoulders.
“You seem to enjoy humiliating me, Major.” Her voice was low, her tone much subdued.
Drayton paused and cocked his head in surprise. “I have yet to see you humbled, Miss Lanford.’’
She turned her head then to search his face. There was no trace of amusement in his eyes. She looked away, her pride somehow soothed by his response. For a moment she was silent. ‘’The man Bardo,’’ she mused aloud. “He hates you for some reason.”
Drayton gave a short laugh. “The feeling is a mutual one.”
“He threatened to write things that would ruin your reputation.’’
Drayton knotted the bandage, then met her eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me what he writes.”
It was obvious to Ambrosia that he spoke the truth. She held his eyes a moment longer, then looked away and was silent for another moment. “Why did you stop them?”
He did not answer immediately, so she twisted again to face him. “Why?” she repeated, holding his eyes.
He shrugged and turned his attention to clipping the ends of the bandage. “I don’t know.”
Ambrosia stared at him a bit longer, then let out a long, thoughtful breath and looked straight ahead. “It might have meant your life, Major,’’ she reminded him softly, pointedly.
Drayton closed the jar of ointment and set it aside, replacing everything neatly in the box and closing the lid. He rose then and rounded the chair, coming to stand before her. He bent low, placing an arm to either side of her and leaning his weight on the chair. Ambrosia’s fingers tightened instinctively on the ruined fabric she had lifted again to cover her breasts. “Is my life of value to you, Ambrosia?’’
“N-no Yankee’s life is of value to me,” she managed in a hushed voice. She turned her face away from his small, taunting smile, feeling the heat of his breath on her cheek, feeling the thudding of her heart with his closeness. She pressed her back hard against the back of the chair, heedless of the discomfort, wishing only to avoid his powerful masculine presence. His fingers caressed her jaw line from her bruised temple to her chin, pausing to tilt her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were intent, a clear, vivid blue. ‘’Are you quite certain of that?”
She pushed his hand away, but he merely caught her fingers and pressed his lips deliberately against them. Ambrosia shivered and tried to retrieve her hand, not liking the way her breath caught at his touch, afraid to meet the question those dark blue eyes continued to pose. He held fast her hand, turning it, sighing as he contemplated its cuts and blisters, pulling it again against her will toward his lips, tenderly pressing a kiss to its palm. Ambrosia’s last shred of composure flew, and something warm and new broke through to the innermost reaches of her heart, touching her in a way she did not want to be touched. Another man had kissed her thus, so very, very long ago. How long she had waited for it to happen again, though she had ne
ver admitted it to anyone, not even herself.
“Ambrosia...”
He whispered her name, his mouth descending slowly toward hers, so slowly that an eternity passed before it reached its destination. In those long, endless moments, the dim spark of warmth grew inside her, flaring bright and hot with the magic touch of his lips. Stronger, much stronger than her hatred or her fear. Her senses cried out with a heightened awareness as his fingers slid possessively up her arm, bringing her to her feet, pulling her into an intimate embrace. He had intended only a brief, proper kiss. But he had not been prepared for the desire that washed over him with her compliance. His mouth was moist and playful as it moved deliberately over hers, becoming more and more serious as he sensed her willingness. A small, trembling hand slipped against his chest, letting the tattered gown fall from her grasp. Then another hand, until her palms were flat against the great expanse, feeling the warmth, feeling the racing of his heart. His kiss became aggressive then, his tongue slipping cleverly through her lips, probing, tasting, plundering, bringing a rush of memories, very recent and very repulsive. Suddenly horrified at her nakedness, she gasped and stiffened as he moved to cup her breast. She pulled away and tried to cover herself, not really understanding what had happened, wondering how she could ever have allowed him such liberties. He felt the change in her at once and carefully searched her face.
She swallowed a large lump in her throat and forced herself to face him. “You are no better than they,” she spat at him, hating the bitter taste of the words. “Your life is worth nothing to me! Nothing! “
She was breathing hard, wishing that ne would release her quickly, wishing that she could ignore the warm, strong feel of him against her, wishing that she could forget the kiss he had pressed to her palm. For a long moment she waited, tense and afraid of his next move. It would be all too easy for him to prove her a liar, and she had never been so afraid of being caught in a lie as at this moment.
Ambrosia Page 11
