The Men of Pride County: The Rebel

by West, Rosalyn

  “We can talk about this later. Right now, I’m going to put you to bed.” He saw her wild objection and added firmly, “Alone.”

  She still had on the golden dress, but it was clear she’d never be able to wear it again. The delicate lace was splattered with blood, the silk darkly stained with medicines and perspiration. Noble turned her and worked down the fastenings. The ruined gown followed her collapsed hoops to the floor. She stepped out of them and started for her bedroom without a backward glance. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up her clothes and followed.

  She’d curled up on her narrow bed like a vulnerable child and was squinting against the bright glare of the sinking sun that flooded in through her window. Noble drew the curtains to seal the room in a more sedate dimness, then looked back to her. A mistake. The sight tore through him with a ruthless savagery, daring him to deny he felt nothing for this brave and extraordinary woman.

  He hesitated to act, uncertain of what he could do to make her rest any better. Did she still blame their passion for her father’s present situation? If she did, what else could he say to dissuade her? That he was sorry? He wasn’t. That it wouldn’t happen again? He hoped it would. He knew it would unless she used this awful event to create a wall between them. The best thing, he decided, the only thing he could do for her now was to find out who’d done the deed. He knew about guilt and he understood blame, and he wouldn’t allow Juliet to carry the crushing responsibility for what had happened tonight.

  He was readying to leave when she called out to him softly.

  “Don’t go.”

  She didn’t name a reason, but he could read it in her expressive face. She was frightened and lost and couldn’t bear to be alone with her worries. That he could handle.

  Slowly, he unbuckled his saber and sidearm and laid them across her chair. His uniform jacket covered them. He stretched out on her maiden’s bed, and the moment he put out his arm, she was snuggled close, despite the heat. And on the weight of a single sigh, she was asleep.

  Taps had already sounded, and there was no place Noble needed to be. Shifting Juliet into a more comfortable position, he purposely blocked all thoughts of passion from his mind to concentrate on her father.

  He mulled over what various revelers had told him during questioning, using the pieces like a puzzle to make a whole picture of what had immediately preceded and followed the attack. The only people everyone could agree were missing from the room at that time, himself and Juliet excepted, were Miles Dougherty and Donald Bartholomew.

  Donald was an arrogant troublemaker, but was he a killer? How could Crowley’s death advance his schemes?

  And Miles, what would be his reasoning? Unless he’d thought to frame his rival in order to return to the colonel’s—and Juliet’s—good graces. But that idea was so far-fetched.

  Was he missing someone with a grudge and a dagger?

  The heavy heat of the early evening made it difficult to focus. Soon he was dozing in a contented lethargy with Juliet’s arm curled about his neck and her knee nudged across his thigh. A pleasant way to seek out a temporary slumber. A perfect way.

  He knew exactly when she awoke. Her palm stiffened against his shoulder and her breath caught. He kept his eyes shut, his breathing regular, and waited to see what she would do.

  Slowly, she exhaled, her slender body relaxing along the long line of his own. Her palm pushed in a circular pattern over his bared shin, then moved upward so that her fingertips could brush along his neck. There was no point in pretending to be asleep after that.

  “Feeling better?”

  She gave a slight start, then nodded. Her voice was low and rough with sleep. The sound sent an odd quiver through him. “Thank you for staying.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He touched her hair and felt a ripple of warming desire flow through him. Her head tilted back so that she could look into his eyes. Hers were softened by an artlessly exposed yearning. She waited for him to say something tender, something that would ease the sting of guilt from what had begun between them. What had he expected? She wasn’t a clever debutante who used her body and charms to win what she wanted. What had happened between them earlier that evening had been an honest offering, her first. She needed him to tell her she’d done nothing wrong, that he thought no less of her and that she should think no less of herself.

  But considering her earlier words, perhaps now wasn’t the best time to invite emotion into play. She was still so vulnerable, so confused by sorrow.

  “I’d better go.”

  She was silent for a long moment, contemplating his offer, then said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” A pause, then a more fragile, “Do you want to?”

  “No.”

  He heard her swallow. She still hadn’t looked away from him. Her fingers were making maddening little forays around his ear and down his stubbled jawline. She was thinking about what she’d say next, so he stayed silent and waited.

  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier—that you were to blame. I was upset. I know that’s not true now.”

  “I’ll forgive you only if you forgive yourself.”

  Silence then, “Deal.”

  The subtle beauty painted by the half light took his breath away. Her smile was small, heartbreakingly pure. Something broke loose inside him then, a truth he’d tried to suppress and deny but could no longer. God, he was in love with this impossibly headstrong woman who’d first spurned his attempt to protect her virtue then surrendered it to him without pause. He was crazy about her.

  And the instant her big blue eyes lowered to the shape of his mouth, he knew he wasn’t leaving her bed any time soon.

  They met in the middle for a light reacquainting of their lips. A soft brush, a tentative parry of tongues followed by a long, leisurely exploration that lasted to the limit of their breath. They parted to study each other within the parameters of this oddly quiet mood. Desire was there, yes, but it was muted by a stronger need to connect on another, more intimate level.

  Never had Juliet felt more sure of herself and at the same time so dangerously out of control. She touched her fingertips to Noble’s mouth, learning its shape, and charted the rough bristle of his late-day beard along one lean cheek. Dropping to the buttons of his red woolen undershirt, whose color had long since faded to dark pink, she released those fastenings so that she could thread her fingers through the mat of black hair she found so fascinating.

  “Take this off,” she told him with the gruffness of an order.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sat up and pulled the undergarment over his head. As he did so, her hands glided over the hard muscles of his back and shoulders. She sat up, too, pressing a hot kiss at the nape of his neck. He turned to take her in his arms, but instead, she rode him down to the mattress, straddling his hips with her long legs. Their kiss was more fervent, quickly becoming serious business. After tasting the back of his throat until a restless groan rattled through him, Juliet sat back on her heels, her lips pouty, her expression half shy, half sassy. This wasn’t the fragile girl of moments ago but rather a woman just beginning to feel her power and strength—a mesmerizing transformation impossible to ignore.

  He unfastened the front of her corset cover. His hands were unsteady. He’d never had that happened before. He was shaking all the way down to his boots, as if this was the first time he’d crossed this intimate ground. It was the first time with Juliet. And that made it new. He bared her breasts and just stared for a moment, as if enchanted by their firm roundness, by the slow pucker of arousal that drew their pink tips up into hard coral buds. He thought now was the time he should say something tender, but his mouth was suddenly too dry for words, so he lifted his head to wet first at one supple breast, then at the other, sucking, tugging, laving until she cried out, her fingers clenching in his hair, drawing him closer as her back arched in unexpected delight.

  Encircling her lithe form, he rolled her down to the mattress, kissing his way back
up to her eager mouth. There was nothing playful about the aggressive exchange of plunging tongues and labored breath. Noble reached down to shuck off her drawers. His palms rubbed over the smooth flesh of her thighs and taut bottom until her legs shifted restlessly, until she pulled at his Union-issue trousers and commanded, “Take these off, too.”

  He was quick to oblige her, toeing off his boots, peeling down his breeches, long johns, and socks in one impatient motion. Then he turned back to her, and for a moment, time stopped as he took in the sight of Juliet laid out all golden and willing, part wanton, part innocent, all desirable. His heart shuddered within his chest. Then she reached up for him, breaking the spell, allowing him to settle between the spread of her knees, onto the yielding curves of her body, then so deeply inside her that he felt all at once lost then welcomed home.

  And he began to move.

  With her eyes closed and Noble Banning her only awareness, sensation enslaved her: the scent of him, hot and male, the harsh burr of his chest hair abrading her nipples, the sound of his breathing—an erotic melody the likes of which she’d never heard before. And the power of him moving within her. Relentless. Demanding. Coaxing her to the edge of sanity and beyond. He swallowed up her wild cry of surprise and discovery with a fierce kiss, riding out her completing pleasure spasms, then expending his own in a seemingly endless surge. Then the silence after the storm: their breath sharing a waltz, their heartbeats a gradually slowing march. A moment of perfect harmony. But only a moment.

  “I should go,” Noble said, not moving.

  “Yes,” she agreed, not releasing him.

  “I can’t stay.” His head burrowed into her hair.

  “I know.” Her fingers combed through his.

  “I have to be back in my quarters before reveille.” He eased from her upon a reluctant sigh.

  She scooted over to give him room to settle in beside her. “I’ll make sure you’re awake.”

  But she didn’t. She slept hard and deep, stirring only briefly at the feel of his lips brushing hers as he whispered a predawn good-bye. And when the bugle finally broke her slumber, she woke to her solitary bed and to what might have been a dream. Except for the leather-bound volume lying open beside her. Shakespeare, opened to the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.

  Defy thy father, and refuse thy name. Was that what he was asking of her? Or she of him?

  all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

  She closed the book and held it to her breast, wondering what interpretation to make of the message he’d left her.

  Chapter 17

  “Papa, what are you doing up? Get back to bed!”

  John Crowley appeared sheepish at his daughter’s edict but refused to obey it. He continued to fasten his uniform jacket. “Now, Jules, I have a command to run. I can’t lie around just because of a scratch.”

  “A scratch? That scratch could have killed you.”

  “Could have, but didn’t.” He touched her cheek to ease the expression of worry. “I’m fine. And my place is in plain sight of my troops if I’m going to hold them together. I don’t need to tell you of the rumbling already circulating—that the Southerners plotted this assassination attempt.”

  “No, you don’t.” But her concern didn’t lessen.

  He smiled. “That’s a good girl. A smart girl. I can’t afford to have suspicion run wild. The men will look to me for guidance, and if I show them strength, we’ll get through this. If I show them doubts, chaos will reign.”

  She nodded, hating to agree but knowing he was right. “Be warned, I will not let you overtax yourself. My eye will be on you every minute.” Then she glanced away, suffering a pang of regret. She’d failed in that vow once before, but never again. Never again.

  His features softened. “I would expect no less from you, my dear.” He took her arm and allowed her to escort him out into the bright morning sunlight where the troops were gathered in the central square for inspection. The lines came to attention immediately, and Juliet faded back so that her father could step forward without assistance.

  “At ease, men. I would like to commend my senior staff for maintaining order during my brief incapacitation and to assure you all that I am fine and fit for command. I would have my officers report to my quarters as soon as the companies are dismissed. Carry on.”

  There was no trace of weakness from his ordeal as the colonel strode across the parade ground. And Juliet found herself studying the faces first of the officers, then of the enlisted men to see if any betrayed disappointment. What she saw was a grudging respect, but no hint of a killer.

  She’d made coffee and was bringing it in to the men gathered around her dining table when she got the first unpleasant indication of her father’s plans. He wasn’t discussing the search for an attempted murderer.

  He was discussing blatant suicide.

  “The Mescalero have gone beyond boldness with their attack on H Company. It’s time we made a show of force to scare the heathens back to Bosque Redondo. What I plan is a massive sweep of the area. There are several homesteaders I want collected and brought in to the safety of our post, because the first move the Apache will make is one of retribution against the civilians. Major Banning, you will lead your company out first thing in the morning.”

  Juliet’s knees weakened. She slid the tray quickly to the tabletop lest she spill its contents with the sudden shaking of her hands.

  Noble leading the attack upon the Apache.

  She was careful not to look up as she poured out the coffee and added the appropriate sugar and milk to suit each man. While distributing the cups, she glanced up to meet Noble’s gaze, his cool and unblinking, hers bright with welling fears. His smile was small, a reassurance masquerading as thanks. She couldn’t respond without betraying too much.

  “Colonel, are you sure Banning is the right man for this detail?” Miles couched his objection as a question, but no one was fooled. Miles made his concerns clear. He didn’t think Noble could be trusted to lead a group of men, mostly Southerners, without supervision.

  “Yes, Major Dougherty, Major Banning is exactly the man I want in charge.”

  “But, sir—”

  “You’ve had your say, Miles. Any more will be considered argumentative.”

  “Yes, sir,” he grumbled, casting a hostile glare at his rival.

  “Do you have any questions, comments, Major Banning?”

  “No, sir. Not at this time. I’ll see that my men are prepared and properly rationed.”

  Crowley nodded and the matter was settled—except in Juliet’s heart.

  Carefully, Juliet measured out a rationed amount of water onto each of her newly sprouted vegetables. Despite her daily fussing, the additives she put in the soil, the canvas she’d erected to shade the tender seedlings during the scalding heat of midday, and the precious water, the plants failed to prosper. The delicate shoots lay flat upon the unyielding soil, their leaves wilted and underdeveloped. Checking each one for signs of infestation, Juliet blinked her tears away.

  Her mind could no longer deny what her heart had embraced. What she felt for Noble Banning went beyond desire. She admired his quick mind. She respected his sense of honor. She delighted in simply looking at him. She went deliciously weak at the mere thought of his touch. But what had her trembling with distress and close to crying was the thought of never spending time with him again, be it in argument or intimate agreement.

  She was in love and she didn’t like it, because of the pain it was sure to bring her.

  Unwise—an understatement. She held no illusions. To the handsome Kentuckian she was most likely a diversion, someone with whom to amuse himself at an isolated frontier post until restored to the preferred pickings in his home state. She was the means to an end he’d made no secret of pursuing with more than just a vengeance.

  What to do? The first time her emotions Were engaged with a man, the man was totally unsuitable. She would have laughed at the irony
if she hadn’t feared falling into hysteria. Noble was everything she’d ever dreamed of, and the last man to make those dreams come true.

  And for a moment, as she spaded the infertile ground, she chastened herself for letting pride get in the way of her father’s obtaining Noble as her husband. She should have damned the reasons and accepted the offer. Then at least she’d have had the right to enjoy these final moments with him as his wife instead of being forced to accept a token smile across a crowded table. It wasn’t fair.

  A man’s shadow crossed her garden plot. Wiping her eyes as if blotting the perspiration from her brow, Juliet glanced up to see the object of her yearnings silhouetted against the sun.

  “Is there any hope of me sampling your produce when I return?”

  She didn’t dare read more into his soft-spoken words. Prodding a limp bean sprout, she said, “It doesn’t look like it. I’m afraid the environment is too harsh for such tender things to flourish.”

  “You might be surprised,” was his cryptic reply. He extended two volumes. “I wanted to return your books before I left. I enjoyed reading them, symbolism and all. Perhaps you could select several others for me to start when I get back.” He spoke as though there was no chance of him not returning. Juliet knew better. She couldn’t meet his steady gaze.

  “You seem to be fond of Shakespeare.”

  “I’ve read all of his sonnets and most of his plays.”

  “And have you any particular quotes?”

  “One comes to mind of late. ‘With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.’”

  “A pretty sentiment,” she told him, daring at last to look up again. The aura of light surrounding his form was blinding. “One you’re carrying back to some sweetheart in Kentucky?”

  “I’ve no one waiting for me there with romance on their mind.”

  Then who inspired him to think of words of love? His fair Juliet? Her heart beat faster with wanting to believe that, but her features pulled themselves into a frown of doubt. It was one thing to act the fool in private and quite another to lay bare her thoughts and prove herself one. In all likelihood Noble was speaking rhetorically or simply teasing her. She didn’t respond well to either in view of what they’d shared. Though she vowed not to want commitment or to demand permanence, in her heart she mourned that loss.