And One Rode West (23 page)

So much for being entirely dignified upon his return, Christa thought quickly. Her fingers curled around the rim of the tub as he swiftly approached her.

She hadn’t realized how anxious she had been for the sight of him. She studied him avidly, noting every little thing about him. There was a slight stubble on his cheeks and he needed a hair trim. His eyes seemed very dark, gray as storm clouds. His hair was tousled when he tossed his plumed cavalry hat aside. He was usually so impeccable in his uniform; today he was covered in a light coating of dust. He seemed taller than ever, broader in the shoulders. His cheeks seemed just a bit gaunt, but they added to the hardness of his rugged good looks. Her heart seemed to slam and scamper. She hadn’t realized just how anxious she had been for this moment, just how hungry she had actually been for the sight of him.

It frightened her.

And just what was his intent? Did he mean to dive, uniform and all, into the small tub with her? A stray lock of deep auburn hair fell over his forehead, giving him a rakish look. As he came nearer she searched frantically for something to say, but no words came to her lips.

She shrieked out softly, discovering his intent. He didn’t crawl into the tub with her, he reached inside of it and plucked her out. She felt absurdly faint for a moment, clinging to him. His arms felt incredibly hot and incredibly strong. He held her and long strides brought them quickly to the bed. He laid her down upon it and paused, taking a long look at her. Then he was beside her, wrapping her into his arms, and his lips were upon her naked throat, touching, tasting, licking away the drops of water that lay there. She began to tremble, feeling an overwhelming urge to simply give in to it all. But words came tumbling from her lips because he was always so quick to take her, and always so distant when the fire was quenched!

“How was your journey, Christa?” she asked herself out loud, trying to ignore the masculine lips upon her nudity. “It was fine, thank you. And the babe? Fine, too, I believe. Were you ill at all? Just a bit. Amazingly, it ended aboard the steamer, and I did very well from then on. How have you found the camp? The men, for Yanks, have been as pleasant as can be expected. How—”

She broke off. She had caught his attention at last. He leaned upon an elbow, staring down at her. His eyes were silver with laughter and appreciation now, even if it was a dark silver, and none of the determination or intent had left them.

“I had intended to get to all that,” he assured her.

“Well, you hadn’t done so!” she whispered. “All this time since we’ve seen each other, and you just grabbed me up and brought me to the—”

“All this time! That’s quite the point, Christa. All this time! My love, believe me! This is the first act to be expected of any loving husband!”

Any loving husband, she thought.

He did not love her, but if she closed her eyes at that moment, she might well believe that he did. His lips
were against her earlobe and his words were hot and evocative. “You smell so sweet, taste so sweet … Jesu, all of you!” He moved like quicksilver. One minute his lips were upon hers, the next second his tongue stroked her breast, and a spiraling began deep in the pit of her belly. Words of protest bubbled in her throat, but she did not issue them. Her fingers fell upon his waving russet hair, but briefly, for he was moving again, touching all of her, whispering more feverishly against her flesh. Her fingers fell upon his shoulders and she felt the dust upon him.

“You’re covered with dust!” she whispered.

“Sorry!” he apologized briefly. Moving back he stripped off his jacket and shirt. She closed her eyes quickly, alarmed at how pleased she was at the sight of his chest, how fascinated she would be to touch it. When she opened her eyes again, he had stripped naked and was coming for her, and it seemed the devil’s dance had begun within her, all at the sight of his nudity and the protruding hardness of his arousal. When he crawled atop her again, she noticed a streak of red running down his neck and she cried out in earnest.

“You’re injured!”

“I’m not.”

“Let me tend to it!”

“If it’s anything, it’s a scratch, and I’d far rather you attend to other things at the moment!” he cried in frustration.

He had other things on his mind.

But she didn’t mind. He was always, even in his most fervent moments, a considerate lover. And there was a curious sense of rightness when he was with her so, when she felt his body blanket her own.

When she felt his body enter her own. Taking her, making them one. Moving. Even as she twisted her head, biting into her lower lip, feeling the rugged heat
and rhythm of his motion, she discovered that deny it or not, she was pleased that he did want her so. Her fingers rested on his shoulders, and she felt the tremendous tension in the rise and fall of his muscles, felt the hunger building and building within him.

She had imagined something like this. But she had never felt this with Liam, never sensed that this could come.

Her breath caught with the sudden force of his movement, and she very nearly felt something exploding within her, something promised, something wonderful. Then she was washed in the rich expulsion from her husband and felt the shuddering that shook through him again and again.

She bit her lip hard, something inside telling her that it was wrong to deny him, that perhaps she could give them both a chance if she could quit denying him. But they had been apart too long. She didn’t know his feelings, and she certainly didn’t know his mood.

He fell to her side and was silent for a while. She curled to her side, not facing him, but not moving away from him. His fingers moved idly over her back.

“Liam McCloskey is dead,” he told her. The words were soft—she still thought that there was a note of anger to his voice.

Her lashes fluttered over her cheeks. “I know that very well,” she murmured. Darkness had fallen since he had come. Just dusky at first, then darker and darker. Outside the tent, the stars would be dotting the heavens. The moon would be rising. She had slept here last night alone, but she hadn’t felt the wilderness so keenly.

Neither had she felt so truly alone then, for she had been waiting for him. But now she felt his withdrawal. He rolled to his back. She thought that there was now a note of grave disappointment in his tone, more jarring than the sarcasm of his words. “Liam is dead, the
war is over, but you’re still fighting. And you may look as sweet and southern and delicate as magnolia blossoms but we both know that you’re no simpering belle! It’s a pity, my love, a true pity, that you were not in the field. No matter how many had died, you’d not have allowed Lee to surrender!”

She stiffened, stunned that tears could suddenly burn so hotly behind her eyes. “All this time we’ve been separated,” she charged, “and you’re being exceptionally cruel!”

“All this time! And you’re still as cold as ice. Well, my love,” he said wearily. “You may not believe this, but I do not
try
to make you so wretchedly miserable.”

She frowned, glad of the darkness. “I’m—I’m not wretchedly miserable,” she said softly.

The tent had grown very dark. She felt him looming over her again. “No?” he queried. “You don’t hate me, or”—she felt his slight hesitation—“this?”

Even in the dark—and even after the incredibly intimate things they had just shared—she felt herself blushing. “No,” she murmured. “I—I don’t hate this. I mean, I don’t find you physically detestable. I mean—”

He laughed. She wasn’t sure if he was amused or if the sound was entirely ironic. His lips touched hers again briefly. “Welcome to camp life, my love,” he murmured. “My fair, sweet cavalry wife!”

He rose from the bed. “You need to dress quickly, Christa. I want a bath, but not one filled with rose-scented bubbles. The men might find it difficult to take me seriously if I smell too sweet.”

He lit the lamp on his camp desk. Soft light flooded the room and Christa looked away from his nakedness, but he quickly drew his trousers back on and walked to the flap of the tent, lifting it to call to Nathaniel. Christa dived beneath the covers as he did so. She opened her mouth to warn him that she needed some time, but the words died in her throat.

There was something in the bed. Something very warm and furry. Something that moved.

She shrieked out, jumping from the bed. Jeremy stared at her, astounded.

“There’s something hairy in there! That moves!”

“Thank God it isn’t me!” Jeremy murmured, then ripped the bedding aside. Christa gasped again as two little creatures leaped up, flew from the bed to the ground, then raced wildly in opposite directions, finding the way out at last. She stared in astonishment and horror. Jeremy was doubled over in laughter.

Her eyes narrowed. “What—”

“They were just two little polecats, Christa!” he assured her.

Polecats. They wouldn’t have hurt her.

“Sometimes the men keep them as pets. Lots of Indians do—they eat them when they’re done being entertained by them. They say polecat can be very tasty.”

He was still laughing, watching her in wry amusement.

Ah, yes. The girl from the plantation. The foolish little spoiled creature.

“I was startled,” she said coolly. “It will not happen again.”

He must have realized that he had offended her. He slipped his arms around her and she was reminded that she had jumped up naked. “I rather enjoyed your reaction,” he told her.

She pushed his arms away. “Your man is going to be returning any minute.” Freed from his touch but not from his gaze, she hastily found the very plain and sensible dress with the split skirt she had chosen for their first days of travel.

“How
are
you feeling?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she said curtly.

“No more sickness?”

“No.”

“You can still barely tell,” he murmured. “Except that your breasts are larger.”

Christa swung around. “You are outrageous!” she charged him.

He grinned, boyish and very appealing at that moment in his trousers and nothing more.

“Colonel?”

He was called from outside the tent. Nathaniel had come. Jeremy quickly asked for new water for the bath.

“It was a bad one, Colonel, eh?” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes,” Jeremy said simply. Nathaniel tipped his hat to Christa, then went about his business.

“What was bad?” Christa asked.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

She grit her teeth. “I’m here. I have a right to know.”

“All right, maybe you should know. Never, never wander away alone. One of the companies from another regiment did so. And they were wiped out by the Comanche. Are you afraid?”

She felt weak.

“No,” she lied.

“Well, you had better learn to be very afraid. Never, never go off alone!” he warned her.

“What about—your men?” she asked.

“My Yankees? A few were wounded.” He relented and added, “No one was killed. Is that what you meant?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m—I’m very sorry for those who were!”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” She turned to him, eyes blazing. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you,” he said tiredly. Maybe he was being wretched to her because he was still haunted by
the sight of all those men dead in the trench they had dug.

He turned away from her. Nathaniel called out again, and entered with two other men to empty the tub and fill it again with water heated over a fire. When they were gone, all tipping their hats to Christa, Jeremy climbed into the tub. He winced suddenly, touching his neck. “I was nicked!” he muttered. “Want to come over here and take care of it now?”

“No!” she muttered. But she came toward him, fascinated. She picked up the washcloth and dabbed at his throat. “An arrow came that close?”

He caught her hand. “A bullet, I imagine. That close—you were nearly widowed. What a tragedy.”

“You’re a fool,” she informed him coolly.

“Be tender. Take care of it.”

She smiled. “I will. I’ll get Jesse and he’ll give you a stitch or two.”

He shook his head. “Scrub my back—and tell me more about the trip out here.”

“Ask me nicely.”

His silver eyes touched hers. “All right. Please scrub my back and tell me about the trip.”

She smiled, and tossed the washcloth his way. “No!”

“All right, you little southern vixen,” he warned. “Scrub my back or—”

“Or what?”

“I’ll climb out of this tub, drag you back into it, and scrub yours.”

She bit her lip, picked up the cloth, and gingerly scrubbed his back. She liked the feel of it.

She even liked the intimacy of it. It seemed like a good time to warn him about a few things. She talked idly about Washington and the train. Then she told him, “You have a Major Brooks in your command.”

“Yes?”

“He has a wife.”

“Lots of men do.”

“She, er, she traveled with us.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Oh, I think she’s going to be much happier telling you about me.”

“Oh?”

He turned around, staring at her. “What’s she going to tell me?”

“Well, she was being rather self-righteous, I thought. I think I said something about my God still being on the battlefields picking up lost souls, and she went huffing off because we weren’t observing the Sabbath properly. And then she didn’t like the fact that I was playing poker—”

“With Jesse?” he said sharply.

She sighed. “Of course with Jesse! Oh come, Jeremy, had you sent me with the Virgin Mary, I couldn’t have had a more proper escort!”

She thought that he smiled. His dark lashes fell and he leaned forward. “Down a little. Did you win?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you win at cards?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I’m a—”

“Cameron, yes,” he murmured. “And Camerons don’t like losing.”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong—”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” He leaned back suddenly, and he looked very tired. “Go on and find your brother. I’ve hired a woman, Bertha Jacobs, to come along with the laundresses specifically to help with whatever we might need. She and Nathaniel will be serving us a private dinner here tonight.” He hesitated a minute. “I saw your brother coming in. He’s leaving in the morning at the same time we pull out from this camp.”