Glory

by Heather Graham

  “Perhaps, as you say,” she told him smoothly, “I choose to be blind.”

  “But it’s a dangerous world.”

  “My world wasn’t,” she said, “until you and your men came along.”

  “That was inevitable. Someone was destined to happen upon your place. And it might have been far worse.”

  “Indeed? The enemy might have come along?”

  She felt his irritation. “Deserters might have come along. North or South. Men with no morals or scruples remaining—”

  “And we might have been compromised?” she asked in a whisper.

  “You might have been murdered,” he said flatly.

  “Murdered? Surely, you exaggerate, sir.”

  “I do not. This is a strange war, Rhiannon. Fought by both cavaliers and gentlemen in some of the most tremendous extremes—privates, sergeants, colonels, and generals were friends and family before the first shots were fired; the generals were the best of friends, school chums, who fought side-by-side before. We write to one another’s wives, send gifts across the lines at the birth of a child. But it’s also a hellish war as well, and just as you have the cream of humanity in uniform, so do you have, at times, the very dregs of society. Men who would slit your throat for your silver tea set, my dear. And then, of course, there are those Southerners who might think you a traitor—or a witch—ripe for burning.”

  “Then I should be grateful that you and your lying men came upon my place, ate my food, slept in my house, and that now you are forcing me to a Rebel camp?”

  “Exactly.” His voice became a whisper once again. “And, of course, you should be grateful for much more,”

  She tensed, wondering to just what exactly he referred for which she should be so grateful.

  “You knew better than to become addicted.”

  She exhaled on a long sigh, relaxing against him. “I’m not addicted,” she lied by rote.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Only a little,” she murmured. She realized she lay back against him in her realm of darkness. The day must have gone completely to night, no streaks of a dying sun remaining, because now her blindfold seemed to leave her in a world of total blackness. She wanted to turn and look at him. She could twist around, but she couldn’t see him.

  “How much longer?” she asked.

  “Till we reach camp? Not much.”

  “Till ... the tremors stop. And the chills ...”

  “Ah. Every day will be a little bit better.”

  “Oh, God—”

  “Last night was the worst. Seriously, don’t you feel better already?”

  “No.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “I feel horrible.”

  “But better in a way.”

  She was surprised to realize she was smiling. “Only in believing that it will get better. And I’m so tired.”

  “Then rest.”

  “I can’t. I’m blindfolded moving through pine land and swampy marsh.”

  “I’m an excellent horseman,” he reminded her. “Like all gallant dashing young cavalry.”

  She thought she heard a note of bitterness to his voice, and she wondered then if he hadn’t seen more of the war than he admitted to. She was really tired. So tired. And it seemed a luxury suddenly to be riding. Breathing his scent, feeling his arms, both experiences that were becoming all too familiar ...

  What had she done?

  She didn’t know. Leaning against him, she felt sheltered. He was like rock ... steadfast. Far too blunt, rude, arrogant ... he had known, he had seen. A most unusual doctor, as deft with a sword as he was with a scalpel. His words could cut as sharply as any knife, yet they could heal as well, as surely as his touch ...

  Did any of it matter? She could not be among the Rebels long. They would blindfold her again and send her back to the Yanks at St. Augustine. Whatever had or hadn’t happened wouldn’t matter. It would be over, the war would go on, and they would go their separate ways.

  Chapter 8

  SHE MUST HAVE DOZED, for she came awake as Julian reined in the horse. All about them, men were shouting greetings.

  “Doctor Colonel, sir!” came a shout.

  Then a woman’s voice. “Julian!”

  Julian lifted the blindfold from her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to adjust her eyes to even the very pale light. They were in the center of a group of tents surrounded by dense pines. The area was lit by only a few campfires and an occasional torch. In the dim light the canvas tents seemed to glow with a strange red-gold color. There were a number of men grouped around them, and she realized that they’d been joined by a further escort along the way. The men were not in uniform. They were much like the ragtag band that had come her way. Here and there she saw a pair of Confederate-issue butternut trousers. Here and there a gray frock coat or even a regular issue blue, yet none of the clothing worn seemed to denote any rank. The promise of rain remained in the air, and the night was strangely cool for the season.

  “Julian!”

  Rhiannon heard the feminine voice again and saw a striking young woman with nearly coal black hair and eyes and cream skin so pure that it might have been marble. She was slim, of medium height, and the men were making way to allow her through. Freed from the blindfold, and acutely uncomfortable, she struggled to dismount from the horse. She couldn’t do so with Julian behind her, but he was dismounting himself already, and as he came to the ground, he turned back, lifted her, and set her down just as the dark-haired woman reached him. Rhiannon saw that young Digby had courteously set Rachel on her feet as well, and she inched toward Rachel as the girl inched toward her. They stood together as the Rebs happily greeted one another.

  “Julian! Thank God, you’ve come at last! We were terrified—” the woman began.

  Julian caught the dark-haired beauty in a fierce hug. He lifted her, spun her around, set her on her feet again.

  Rhiannon felt ill, far more uneasy than she had since any of this had begun. Who was this ebony-eyed wanton?

  “Why?” Julian demanded, smiling. “You shouldn’t have been worried. The men reached camp before me, right? You knew I was on my way.”

  “Aye, sir, we told Miss Tia you were coming!”

  It was Liam speaking, the youngest of the men who had accompanied Julian.

  “I was still afraid, Julian,” she said. “We heard about the skirmishing, the gunfire ...”

  “How is Paddy?” Julian asked anxiously.

  “Doing well.”

  “I’ll see him right away.”

  “And then, of course—” the woman continued, but she broke off, and Rhiannon found the woman staring straight at her. She smiled slowly, assessing her as an enemy. But her smile was also slightly self-mocking. “We heard you’d encountered a Yankee witch.”

  There was laughter among the men. Rhiannon felt her cheeks burning.

  “I’d no idea you were bringing her back,” the woman continued with an edge.

  “Rhiannon is no witch!” Rachel said fiercely.

  Rhiannon set an arm around her young ward. “Rachel, dear, I am quite capable of defending myself—against all types of ill-mannered Rebs.” She cast her gaze around the camp and the laughter subsided. She was glad of her height, for at this moment it seemed to grant her some desperately needed dignity.

  “Tia, where are your manners?” Julian drawled.

  “I’m afraid I left them home soon after the war began,” the woman replied, still studying Rhiannon with a frank appraisal. “I apologize for calling you a witch, Mrs. Tremaine—although you are called that, no malice intended. They say that you are a witch in the nicest way. But you are a Yankee, and therefore I wonder just why my brother brought you here.”

  Brother. So this was the sister to whom Ian McKenzie had referred when they had talked. She felt dizzy. Just how many of these McKenzies were there running about?

  “Is there a superior officer here?” Rhiannon asked.

  “Well, since Julian has ret
urned ... Julian,” Tia said with a shrug.

  Rhiannon had the strangest feeling that she had just been kidnapped by Robin Hood and his Merry Men. There would be little help to be had here, that much was evident.

  “That’s right, I am the superior officer, and this is a base of the Florida militia, boys. Those of you at ease, get some rest, and those of you who are on duty, get back to it, please. Digby, can you make some arrangements for our guests?”

  “That I can, sir. Right this way, ladies, if you will. We’ve an empty tent, and ragged as we may appear, we do have a few amenities to offer. Come along, please.”

  With little choice, Rhiannon turned to follow Digby, an arm upon Rachel as she did so.

  She felt all the Rebel eyes on her back as she walked. How strange. She might have heard a pin drop in the pine forest that surrounded them, the Rebs were all so silent.

  Watching her ...

  All those eyes.

  And still, she was certain that she could feel Julian’s stare, blue fire burning into her.

  Paddy was doing well. He remained impatiently in the infirmary tent, rising on his elbows as Julian arrived.

  “I’m right as rain, Doc Colonel, I do so swear it. That Yank angel has a way with her, doesn’t she?”

  “Umm,” Julian murmured, removing the dressing on Paddy’s leg, his sister assisting at his side.

  “Angel?” Tia sniffed. “That’s not what I’ve heard!”

  “Why, now, Miss Tia, no woman will ever take your place in our hearts, don’t you go being jealous.”

  Tia smiled at Paddy. “I’m not jealous, Paddy. I’m worried. Julian, Father knew her family, you know. They owned some of the richest salt works in the state. Her father was a loyal Union man, her husband was a loyal Union man—”

  Julian looked up at his sister. “Our father is a loyal Union man; our brother is a Union cavalry officer!”

  “I know, but we don’t invite our father or our brother to our camp!” Tia exclaimed.

  “He couldn’t leave her, Miss Tia,” Paddy said. Julian met Paddy’s eyes, but Paddy continued, “There’s folks up there who might find out that she tried to turn us over to the Yanks at St. Augustine. I think your brother here was afraid that an enterprising citizen might take it into his own hands to burn the lady’s house down around her—or worse.”

  “And maybe she deserves it.”

  “Tia!” Julian said, startled.

  “They nearly hanged our cousin Jennifer for being a Rebel spy. If Ian hadn’t happened upon them ...” She let her words trail off. They all knew what might have happened. “And they do hang men. Right and left. For spy activities!”

  “She’s not a spy,” Julian said.

  “She would have had you killed.”

  “Tia, can we talk about this later?” he inquired sharply.

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Tia?”

  She gritted her teeth. “You sound just like Father. And, Julian—”

  “Father isn’t here. I am your older brother. And I’m also the superior officer here.”

  Tia fell silent. He studied Paddy’s wound. It was healing remarkably well. He told Paddy to brace himself, doused the wound with a small amount of their precious whiskey supply, and rebandaged with his sister’s able assistance. He bade Paddy good night and beckoned to Tia to follow him.

  They walked in the moonlight a distance from the tents, to a place where a narrow feeder for the river created a bubbling brook, a charming place in peace time, quiet, shaded, pine-blanketed.

  “Julian, any time we have prisoners here it’s dangerous. The Yanks know we have to be near the river. One day they’ll have enough man power and courage to really come after us, and then anyone who has been here will be a real hazard to us!”

  Hands on his hips, he turned to her. “Tia, we’re not going to be here much longer. Not in any strength.”

  She frowned, startled. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw Ian.”

  “Ian?” He saw her eyes widen at the mention of their brother. “Oh, God, how is he, Julian? How did you manage to see him? Has he seen Alaina, Risa, the children—”

  “Ian is fine, doing much better than any of us, looking far stronger, so I was told.”

  “Stronger—”

  “Ian is very well,” Julian told her. “Apparently, Mrs. Tremaine is friends with an officer at St. Augustine who was sick, and Ian happened to be there when her man Angus arrived to call for help. He made certain that he was the officer in charge of the troops sent out.”

  Tia smiled. “Could he have caught your men?”

  “Not without a lot of people being killed. He knew it, I knew it. I waited for him; he found me.”

  “One day you’ll both be hanged for fraternizing with the enemy.”

  “Do you think that Ian and I are the only enemies who meet in this war?”

  “No, I suppose not. We exchange salt and tobacco for coffee and different supplies frequently enough along the river, but still, meeting the way you two do can be dangerous.”

  “We’re careful.”

  “I wish I could see him,” Tia said softly.

  “You could go into St. Augustine, you know. I was actually invited in when General Magee needed foot surgery!”

  Tia smiled. “I would love to see the children. We’ve a nephew and a niece and a new little first cousin and a second cousin, and I never get to see them. And I need to see them and be a doting old aunt since we’re killing off all the men and I’ll never get a decent husband.”

  Julian crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed his sister. “God knows, no man will ever want you.”

  She gave him a light punch in the arm. “Honestly, Julian, by the time the war is over—”

  “Who knows, you may marry a Yank.”

  “Never. Never that!” she promised. “Even if I do have a misguided brother who is a Yank cavalry hero.”

  “A Yank who knows far more about Rebel movements than we do. Tia, he believes that most of us are going to be commissioned into the regular army, that the militia here is going to be even more skeletal.”

  “You mean ... you’ll have to leave?”

  “That’s what Ian has heard.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “And there’s more.”

  “More? What more?” she asked sharply.

  “Jerome has been injured.”

  She sucked in her breath. He could see her pulse pounding against her throat. “Badly?”

  “It’s all hearsay, so I don’t really know.”

  “He’s been injured before, a slash here or there. Oh, God, I hope it’s not serious. Do you think they’ll bring him here,” Tia asked anxiously. “Though he has a ship’s physician—”

  “Yes, he does. David Stewart is an excellent surgeon, and David will patch him up, but he’ll want him tended by his family—if the wound is at all severe.”

  “If anything serious were to happen to Jerome—”

  “We’d be desperate,” Julian said flatly.

  Tia looked at him, afraid. The infections that set in after surgery often brought about death. Tia studied him for a moment. “Well, what do you think? Is your witch really the healer they say that she is?”

  He hesitated only a moment. “Yes, I think so.”

  “If she can help save my cousin, then she’ll be a tolerable witch.” She studied him curiously. “There’s more behind you bringing her back here, isn’t there?”

  He shrugged. “She was becoming addicted to her own painkillers.”

  Tia arched a brow.

  “Her husband was killed.”

  “Almost everyone has lost someone in this war.”

  “Our cousin Jennifer became a spy after her husband was killed. She was totally indifferent to whether she lived or died. People react differently to pain.”

  “Indeed, she was in so much pain, and so drugged, she was still able to call on the Yanks to come after your reckless hide, brother d
ear.”

  “I’ve seen addictions before,” he said softly. “They are easy to acquire and very hard to break.”

  “So you risked our position—for her addiction.”

  “She doesn’t know where we are. And we’ve had another Yankee guest, you’ll recall. Have you forgotten that Jerome’s wife is the daughter of a Yankee general?”

  “But she’s Jerome’s wife.”

  “But she wasn’t always.”

  “Oh, so are you going to marry her to keep her quiet? Would it work with such a witch anyway?”

  “Right now I just want to find out what the situation is with Jerome. I just want to see him alive and well and back on the seas again.”

  “And if your witch can keep him from a serious infection,” Tia said.

  “Dear sister, your claws are showing!”

  “Are they?”

  “Watch it—you may be in danger of becoming a nasty old maid.”

  “Oh! Dear brother, perhaps you should watch it, too.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Tia smiled sweetly. “You seem to be thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy.”

  “Oh, do I indeed?”

  “She’s quite attractive. Tall, regal. And more.”

  “What more?”

  “Mysterious.”

  “Not once you know her.”

  “That’s what you believe.”

  “I’m not a fool, Tia.”

  “I never said that. I’m merely pointing out the woman’s attributes. She’s not just intriguing and attractive. There’s something else about her. She’s graceful ... she moves like a cat, sensual, enticing. Ah ... just like a black widow spider.”

  “Black widow spiders move like cats?”

  “You’re missing my point, Julian. She’s quite stunning, and a Yankee—and deadly. She is spinning threads you can’t see to catch the unwary in her web. Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful in black?”

  “Tia! She’s in mourning.”

  “So are we all.”

  “Not like Mrs. Tremaine.”

  “Still, brother, take care!” Tia warned with mock severity. “If she is a witch—as many have claimed—she might well cast a dangerous siren’s spell upon the men around her. Be warned! You hold our fate in your hands.”