Love Not a Rebel

by Heather Graham

  “Margaret, you needn’t leave. No one need leave. You thought that I had betrayed this hall—I can only swear to you that I did not. If you believe in me, you are welcome to stay.”

  Margaret was crying. “Thank you. Thank you, milady. May I tell the same to Remy?”

  Remy had actually spat at her. Amanda ground her teeth. How could she condemn the servant when her husband still did not believe in her?

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Remy may stay.”

  Before Margaret could start thanking her again, Amanda hurried on up the stairs. Richard came along, and Danielle with Lenore. Richard showed her to the nursery—the room that had once been hers had been cleverly converted with a basin and drawers suitable for the blankets and tiny garments of a babe, and a beautiful bassinet with mosquito netting draped about it. “There’s two, milady, you needn’t fret! There’s been twins before, there will be twins again, I daresay! We’ll have the second down in no time.”

  “That’s fine. I shall take both babies in with me for a while,” Amanda assured Richard.

  “Yes, milady. And may I say welcome home. We’ve missed you, we have!”

  She smiled. “Yes, Richard, you may say so. Thank you.”

  Amanda brought the twins in with her to nurse, and when they had become sated and slept, she called for Danielle. By then both bassinets were ready. The two women set the babes to sleep for their first night in their own home.

  When she returned to her own room, she discovered that Richard had sent her a steaming tub, with French soap and huge snowy towels and a silver tray filled with wine and plate of ham swimming in honey and raisin sauce with fresh green beans and summer squash. She smiled with gratitude, then she shivered slightly, remembering how like that last night things seemed.

  Still, she sipped the wine and sank into the bath. There had been no such luxury over the nine weeks it had taken them to return. When she finished she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in the towel, drying her hair before the fire. Then, with her towel swept around her, she sat at her dressing table and started to brush out her hair.

  And it was then that he entered the room. In his boots, breeches, and open-necked shirt, he stepped into the room and closed the door. Amanda turned slowly around to meet his gaze. He strode slowly across the room until he came to her. Then he lowered himself upon one knee before her and touched her shoulders. His hands moved slowly over and around her breasts, and the towel fell away. She caught her breath, wishing that she were not so eager for him. But firelight danced in his eyes, and in her own, and with a poignant ache she realized that it had been a year since he had touched her. She could not protest what she desired with all of her heart, and if things were not perfect between them, she was still his wife. And she was here once again, in the room they shared. No matter what his words, no matter how he fought her, she could see and feel the heat of the desire about him, and instinctively she knew that he had never wanted another woman as he wanted her.

  “Perhaps I should go,” he told her. “Maybe I’ve no right to be here, madame.”

  She swallowed, alarmed at the strength of the sensations that swept through her at the simple soft stroke of his fingers upon her swollen breasts, rolling lightly over the dusky rose of her nipples, stroking again the under-flesh.

  “I have waited for you,” she told him solemnly.

  “And I have been the worst fool in the world, and if you had sent me away, lady, God help me, there is no way that I could have gone.”

  He stood and scooped her up into his arms. When he lay her down upon the bed, he paused and looked over the length of her. An soft explosion, a curse, a cry, escaped him, and then he was upon her. He had never touched her with such care, with such tenderness. His touch stirred her, his kiss aroused and awoke her, and as his lips and fingertips and tongue traveled and caressed the length of her, whispers, then moans, escaped her. He drew her ever upward, and when she thought that she would cry out and beg that she could bear no more, he would gently ease her just slightly downward again, his tongue delving soft and vulnerable flesh.

  And when he came to her she did cry out, shuddering, holding tight, winding her limbs about him. The need to be with him was so great, the strength of his body so shocking, that she nearly whispered all that she felt. She almost told him that she loved him. But just in time, she bit back the words, and she cried out her longing instead and he dove and swept within her, becoming the world, searing her soul, taking all of her, and bringing everything of life, and just a little bit of death.

  There was no time for them. Perhaps that was the most bitter fact that she seemed always to have to face. Eric was gone all the next day, seeing to the estate, the planting, the horses, the building, the repairs. They did not even have dinner together, but Amanda waited, and when he came to her, she welcomed him with her body silken, her arms eager to close about him. They made love until it was nearly dawn, holding tight.

  In the morning it was time for him to leave again. It was the middle of June, and Eric had been away from the war a long time. Virginia was peaceful enough, but the British offensive was moving in the northern states, and there had already been several battles.

  As usual, Amanda stood on the steps, ready to watch Eric ride away. He was upon Joshua, ever the excellent horseman, exceedingly handsome in his uniform with his plumed hat, high boots, his hair still damp. Amanda approached him with the stirrup cup, for it was tradition now, and as he returned the cup to her, she met his eyes with her own wide and grave upon his. “I never did betray this hall, Eric,” she told him.

  He leaned down to kiss her lips. “Care for them, Amanda. For the twins. And if anything happens to me, fight for this place. With whatever you have. It is their heritage.”

  He kissed her again. Tears flooded her eyes, and she stepped back. He was riding away to war again, and though he might love her, he still did not trust her. He did not believe her, and he was telling her that if the war was lost, she was to keep Cameron Hall by any means available—including a plea to the British should the master of Cameron Hall be hanged.

  She watched the horses ride away. “I do love you,” she whispered aloud. But there was no one to hear.

  In December she sat upon the rail at the paddocks watching Jacques put the yearlings through their paces. Danielle came running down the pathway from the house, waving her arms frantically. As she leapt off the fence, alarmed, Amanda quickly felt her worried frown slip into an incredulous smile.

  Damien was coming close behind Danielle.

  Amanda let out a shriek of pure pleasure and raced madly along the dirt path until she pitched hard into her cousin, crying and laughing, shouting his name, crying and laughing all over again. He scooped her up and swung her around and held her close, and at last he set her down.

  “My God, how are you here?” she demanded.

  “One furlough in how many years?” he teased. Then he sobered. “There aren’t many furloughs these days,” he said grimly, and her heart thundered hard.

  The war was not going well, she thought. “Come on into the house. Look at me, I am a disaster!”

  “They say you run one of the finest estates in Virginia,” Damien said dryly.

  Amanda shrugged, walking up the back steps to the house. “Come into the parlor and have a brandy.” He was looking ragged, she thought. His brass buttons were not shining, his boots barely seemed to have soles, and his coat was nearly threadbare. “Damien! I cannot believe it!” she cried, and hugged him all over again.

  In the parlor she served him brandy and felt his eyes upon her. Seated casually in a chair before the fire, he lifted his snifter to her. “Amanda, you are thin and lithe and more beautiful than ever. Your features are ever more delicate and refined. You thrive, cousin, even as a matron.”

  “Matron!”

  “Well, you are a wife and mother of two. And I am most eager to see my new relations. God knows, there are few enough of us!”

  “The twins will
be down soon, Damien. Danielle will bring them when they awake. Tell me, what is happening? How is—how is Eric?”

  Damien leaned forward, frowning. “The war? Let’s see. A young lad named Alex Hamilton is Washington’s secretary now, and doing a damned good job of it. He knows money better than any of those fools in Congress. What else. Ah—we’ve another young man, a Frenchman. The Marquis de Lafayette. He is a volunteer who rides to death with a smile upon his face—and does wonders for our cause. General Washington is wonderfully impressed with him, and I must admit, so am I. The war, let’s see. There have been so many battles! The British meant to split the colonies, you know. Right down the Mohawk Valley. They did not manage that. In April they attacked Danbury—Benedict Arnold held them back. Burgoyne took Ticonderoga in July, but I am very proud to say that he surrendered on the seventeenth of this month. General Arnold again, with some fine help from Morgan’s riflemen. We lost the Battle of Hubbardton, we won the Battle of Bennington. The Battle of Brandywine—your husband was magnificent at that one. Riding that giant stallion of his … few men are better with a sword. Still, Howe very skillfully turned the American right, forcing Washington back toward Philadelphia. General Howe—with the help of his brother, Admiral Howe—has taken Philadelphia now. This winter, cousin, the British will sit in the splendid homes of Philadelphia. Washington is moving his forces to Valley Forge.”

  “But Eric—”

  “Eric is alive and well,” Damien said irritably.

  Amanda sat back, surprised. “Damien, you used to be so fond of Eric yourself! What has happened?”

  Distraught, Damien rose and stood before the fire, watching the flames. “I did not care for his treatment of you,” he said simply.

  Amanda sighed, clutching the arms of her chair. “Damien, I was betraying him.”

  Shocked, Damien turned around. “What?”

  She didn’t want to distress him further, but she had to tell him the truth. “Not when the British came to destroy the supplies here, someone else is guilty of that, and someone will betray the Virginians again unless Eric does believe me and look elsewhere. But, Damien—” She hesitated just a second and then plunged onward. “Damien, Father used to blackmail me with you.”

  “Me!”

  “They knew all along that you were running arms from western Virginia to Boston and Philadelphia. First he promised to arrest you and see you hanged. He killed your horse, Damien. Don’t you remember? In Williamsburg.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  Amanda didn’t look at him. “Then you were his prisoner. He promised me that there were all manner of things he could do to you.”

  “Oh, Amanda!” He came to her, kneeling down, taking her hands into his. “My God, I am so sorry! I did not know! How could you risk so much for me?”

  She touched his cheek. “Get up, Damien. I love you, remember? We have always had each other, and besides, it is all over now.”

  He stood and walked back to the fire, and she realized that he was hesitating. “It isn’t really over,” he said at last.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you should be with your husband this winter.”

  “But—”

  “Martha always comes to stay with George when he settles into his winter quarters. And you—you need to come.”

  “I haven’t been asked,” Amanda said stiffly. “I don’t think that he believes me yet.” She sighed. “I know that he does not completely trust me, no matter how far it seems that we have gone. God knows, I might betray something were I to be there!”

  “You need to be there!” Damien persisted.

  “Why?”

  Damien stuttered and then cleared his throat. “Anne Marie is there.”

  “Anne Marie Mabry?”

  “She has followed her father to war. And she cooks often for Eric. And—”

  “And what?” Amanda demanded.

  Damien lifted his arms and dropped them. “I don’t know. But you need to be there.”

  She felt as if giant icy fingers gripped her heart and squeezed, and then she felt an awful fury rip through her. How dare he judge her when he …

  Anne Marie had always cared for Eric. Always. Amanda had known that the night she had first met him.

  The cold, and then the heat, settled over her. She tried to breathe deeply. If he meant to have another woman, she told herself, he would do so. She could not walk with him everywhere.

  She could not force him to love her.

  But she could discover the truth of it, and if he was determined to have Anne Marie, then he would not have her at home waiting eagerly for his return!

  “I—I think that I will accompany you to Valley Forge, Damien. When you’re ready to go.”

  He smiled. “That’s my darling, daring cousin. What of the babes?”

  How could she leave them? Danielle would care for them. They were old enough now to eat food, and though it would hurt her, she would find a wet nurse. They would be well. She would be the one to be empty without them.

  “They will be fine here,” she assured Damien softly.

  He smiled again. “Well then, I am glad that you will ride with me. We should leave within the week. I’ve some business in Williamsburg … and then there’s Lady Geneva.”

  “Lady Geneva?”

  “Cousin, even I was destined to fall in love.”

  “With Geneva!”

  “And why not?”

  Why not, indeed? Geneva was beautiful, sensual, and perhaps just right for Damien. “No reason. How long has this been going on?”

  “Affairs of the heart move slowly in wartime, Mandy. And sometimes quietly. This, as you call it, has been going on for several years now.”

  Amanda started to laugh. Damien cast her a hard warning glare and she laughed all the harder.

  “Amanda—”

  “I am delighted, Damien. Absolutely delighted. And a week will be fine. I need time to leave the twins and time to gather supplies to go. I cannot imagine that they are overly endowed with food and blankets for the winter.”

  “Hardly,” Damien said dryly, then smiled. “Laugh away at me, then, cousin, if you will! I shall be eager to see the show once we arrive.”

  Amanda sobered quickly. He winked her way, taking full advantage of his own turn to be amused. He lifted his brandy glass.

  “To the winter at Valley Forge!”

  Neither of them was quite aware yet of what those words would mean.

  XVIII

  Amanda had known that things were going badly. She knew that General Washington had gone to Valley Forge from his defeat at Germantown, and Damien had warned her that the men were in bad shape.

  But once Damien had identified himself and they entered into the compound—she, Damien, Geneva, and Jacques Bisset—Amanda was still stunned by the appearance of the men and the encampment.

  Snow rose everywhere, piled high, part of the biting cold of the winter. The soldiers’ homes were crude log buildings that they had constructed themselves. Smoke billowed from makeshift chimneys, windows were covered with canvas or paper. There didn’t seem to be a leaf or a straggling bush left alive anywhere; about the emcampment there were only the barren and naked branches of tall trees, skeletal, deathlike.

  Yet the camp was not so appalling as the men. As Damien flicked the reins and the horse dragged the cart onward, they passed hundreds of men. Lined up along the trail, some waved, some saluted, and some just stared. They huddled in frayed blankets, shivering, staying close to one another. Amanda’s eyes fell toward the ground and she gasped, despairing to see that many had no shoes, but stood in the snow with their feet bound in rags.

  “My God!” she breathed, and tears stung her eyes. “Dear God, but perhaps surrender would be better than this!”

  No retreat, no surrender. The words rose in her heart. They had always been there, between her and Eric. And now they seemed appropriate for the ragtag army. They had come this far. Surely they were weighed down heavi
ly with despair.

  Damien exhaled behind her. “Washington endures this place day after day while there are those in Congress trying to tear him down. I’ve never seen a man so willing to suffer with his subordinates, so touched by all that he sees.” He flicked the reins again. “There, up ahead, are the command quarters. I see your husband’s ensignia. There lies your home, Amanda.”

  “And what of mine?” Geneva asked sweetly from the rear.

  Amanda swung around to grin at her old friend. Geneva had been eager to come. She had sworn that she could cure many a man of whatever ailed him. But looking about the complex, she did not seem so assured.

  “My dear lady, I shall see that you have the finest accommodations in the place!” Damien assured her.

  “See that you do,” Geneva replied sweetly. Amanda could feel the sparks flying between them. She glanced at Jacques and grinned, then lowered her head, still smiling. They were both so strong-willed and determined upon their own way. Perhaps they deserved one another.

  Damien pulled in on the reins. As he did so, Amanda saw Eric appear in the doorway of one of the huts. He was striking as he stood there, very tall in the shadows. But even his uniform seemed ragged, his boots were shined but worn, the brass upon his frock coat was heavily tarnished. His face was lean and hard, perhaps more arresting than ever, taut with character, his eyes very blue against the bronze of his features. But they were not welcoming eyes. They did not touch her with warmth, but with reserve.

  She had thought to run to him, to find herself swept off her feet. Suddenly she could not run. Her heart was caught in her throat. Eric remained still, and Jacques helped her down from the wagon.

  “Lady Cameron!”

  Thankfully, Washington had stepped out from around her husband, a petite, rounded woman in a mob cap coming behind him. “Lady Cameron, as your husband seems tongue-tied, I must welcome you to Valley Forge. Martha, have you ever met Eric’s wife? I hadn’t thought so, well, you must do so now. Lady Cameron—”