And One Wore Gray (51 page)

He saddled and bridled the horse, and when he was done, he mounted up and began to ride.

The moonlight was all the guide he needed.

He rode over the plantation, impressed again with the manner with which his sister and Kiernan—and the twins—had managed to keep things going. He rode slowly, determined to drink in the sights and scents and the richness of summer here along the river before he would have to ride away.

But he did not ride idly. He knew where he was going.

An hour or so out he came upon the rough wagon they had abandoned on their ride in. There, in the darkness, he looked through the belongings they had deserted on their trip home.

He found the box with the white dress and its embroidered red flowers, crooked it under his arm, and mounted up once again.

He returned to the barn, watered Zeus and brushed him down well, and strode slowly back to the house.

The house seemed very quiet as he entered it through the back porch. He glanced in the dining room, but it was empty.

Curiously, he walked up the stairs, still carrying the dress box. He strode the few steps from the portrait gallery to his room. He tried the doorknob and scowled, a bolt of fury ripping through him like lightning.

The little witch. She’d bolted the door against him.

He nearly slammed his shoulder against it then and there, determined to break it down.

He hesitated. No, not yet. If she was lying awake, let her brood for a while.

And hell, he wanted to get his temper back under control.

He strode back down the stairway and went back into the den, drew the chair out from the desk, sat down, and propped his feet up. He leaned back, closing his eyes.

He had one fool night home, and he had spent it in the saddle, where God help him, he’d be spending his nights from now until who-knew-when!

And now she’d bolted the door against him. No matter. He’d made her no promises, and he didn’t give a damn what the household might think. It was his room. He’d give her a few minutes. But then he was going in.
“Daniel?”

The soft whisper startled him. He glanced up. Kiernan was in the doorway. “Come in,” he told her.

She did so. He’d known her his entire life. She wasn’t shy with him.

She sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap. He smiled. That surely meant he was in for it.

“What, Kiernan?”

“That was rather rude.”

He shrugged. “Kiernan, I assure you, my wife would far prefer your company to mine.”

“Are you so very certain?”

“Entirely.”

“Daniel—”

“Kiernan, I love you dearly,” he warned her softly, “but you are treading on dangerous ground!”

“Hmmph! And I used to think that Jesse was the difficult one!”

“He is. You just don’t see enough of him to truly appreciate his difficulty anymore,” Daniel teased.

“Daniel—”

“Kiernan!”

She sighed. “Oh, all right! But just in case you’re wondering about your wife, I’ll tell you. She kept up a tremendous front, trying not to appear embarrassed that her husband had but one night with her and his son and disappeared in the midst of dinner despite it. She was in a difficult position, but I daresay she held her temper fairly well the first hour. Then she excused herself, saying that she was exhausted, which I’m sure she is, although I imagine she is presently torn between sleep—and the burning desire to skewer you through.”

Daniel arched a brow at Kiernan. “I wasn’t wondering about my wife. I know exactly where she is. But thank you, Mrs. Cameron!”

“You don’t intend to apologize?”

“No, madam, I do not! I told you,” he added more softly. “I don’t think she missed my presence. In fact, I can almost guarantee it. And I will be going up. Soon.”

Kiernan rose. “Well, I think that you’re being as pigheaded as a mule. But still, I want you to know …”

“What?”

“Well, I’ve put both the boys to bed in John Daniel’s nursery. John Daniel has graduated from his cradle, and it’s just right for Jared. They’re both sound asleep. I thought that you should know. Just in case.”

It was good to know.

“Thank you,” he told her softly.

“Good night, Daniel,” Kiernan said softly. “I love you, you know.” She came behind him, hugging his shoulders. She kissed him on the cheek.

He held her hand, where it lay against his shoulder. Then he turned slightly and kissed it. “I love you too.”

She left him, and he stared broodingly across the room.

He’d married her. He’d brought her home. She was upstairs in his own room, and he was her husband, and he had every right, and he was about to ride away to war….

There was a sound outside. He narrowed his eyes. Maybe she was bringing the war to him. But it wasn’t Callie.

There was a slight tap on the door, and then Christa poked her head in. “Daniel!”

“Come in,” he told her.

She smiled and came in. “How about a brandy for your sister?” she asked.

Placing his feet on the ground, he pulled out the brandy carafe and glasses. He quickly poured the amber liquid. He didn’t comment that a lady shouldn’t be so determined on drinking at this hour of the night.

A lady shouldn’t be working the way that Christa did to keep a place together, either.

He walked around the desk, handing her a brandy. “To the real Cameron among us, Christa! The one keeping the home fires burning.”

Christa smiled. “You’ve three women keeping the home fires burning now, Daniel! Even if you are atrociously rude.”

He sighed. “Must everyone comment on my affairs?”

Christa lowered her head. “No, I won’t. Not anymore, not tonight. You’re my brother, and I love you.”

She stood up abruptly, careless with her glass as she suddenly hugged him, hard and tight. “Oh, Daniel, it’s so good to see you, and so hard to know that you’ll ride away so quickly again. Every time one of you leaves I feel that more of my heart is torn away. Jesse hasn’t managed to come home in more than a year now!”

He hugged her in return, smoothing back her hair. “Shhhh!” he told her softly. “It’s all right.”

“Sometimes. And sometimes, I’m so scared, Daniel! It will never be the same again. Never, never.”

“No, it will be the same! We’ll be the same, Christa. Nothing has ever managed to touch the fact that we’re a family, that we love one another, that we have one another! We need to hold on to that.”

“Yes, of course. Except that Jesse is so far away. He might as well be across an ocean, the chasm is so deep!”

“Christa!” He lifted her face by her chin, searching out her eyes. “What—”

“Daniel, I want to get married. I can wait a few more months, but not forever! I love Liam McCloskey so much, and I’m always so afraid! With—with your blessing, we’ve set June for a wedding date. I pray that the war will be over. I pray so desperately that it will end!
But if it doesn’t, Jesse will be far away! Oh, Daniel, he should be there—”

“Hush, Christa, maybe he will be.”

“Kiernan can go to Washington. She can see Jesse there and let him know.”

That probably wasn’t such a good idea. Kiernan had to be very careful, moving back and forth across enemy lines. Too many Yanks knew that Jesse’s family was all Reb, including his wife. The war itself was like that. Families were divided.

But spying was dangerous, and though Daniel knew that Jesse had suspected his wife of spying at one time, they had come to a truce of their own.

“There will be a way to let Jesse know,” he assured her. “I’ll see to it.”

“He won’t say no, will he?”

Daniel grinned. There were some things war couldn’t change. Christa wanted Jesse’s approval. It was only right.

But after their own hasty marriages, Daniel couldn’t begin to see either Jesse or himself dictating anything about propriety to Christa!

“He won’t say no.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “I’m just so tired of it all. Daniel, there was an explosion in Richmond at the munitions factory—someone grew careless—and there were over sixty people killed.” She pushed away from him and her eyes welled with tears. “They were mostly women, Daniel, working because the men were all gone to war. So now the ladies die as well as the gentlemen, and still, a generation of boys will be dead when this is done! Are we wrong, Daniel? Have we brought on this bloodshed for nothing?”

“We didn’t bring on the bloodshed, Christa. Not you, nor I, nor Jesse. We were swept up into the midst of it, and we all did what we thought we had to do, and that’s ail that any man—or woman—can do. I pray that
we’re not wrong, I pray that daily. It’s all I can do when I watch men fall, and bleed, and die. And walk barefoot in the snow, looking to me for a guidance I find it harder and harder to give.”

“Oh, Daniel, I did not mean to distress you!”

He smiled and touched her cheek. “You never distress me. At least, you don’t anymore. You were, upon occasion, a tremendous little hellion years ago.”

She grinned. “I’ve seen to it that you’ve a fresh uniform to wear back to the front, Daniel. I’ve sewn on your insignias and bars just today. And I’ve knitted you a wonderful sash, and Patricia went out to find new plumes for your hat.”

“Thank you.”

She kissed his cheek. “Good night, Daniel. And don’t forget, you must come home next June to give me away for my wedding just in case Jesse can’t make it.”

“Will your groom be home?”

“Of course. I’m giving you both ample notice.”

She blew a kiss to him and disappeared. Daniel sat back down and picked up his brandy glass, swallowing down the contents instantly.

Poor Christa. She could give them all the time in the world, but neither he nor Christa’s beloved captain could dictate the course of the war.

Please God, let it be over! he thought.

It didn’t seem that God had answered many prayers lately.

The brandy was good. It burned. He poured another quickly and swallowed it down just as fast.

He had a good head for brandy. But he wanted the haze tonight, something to blunt the edges.

What the hell was he going to do? Sit here as the hours passed and want her, ache for her, long to wake her arid shake her … and have her?

He caught his breath suddenly, for he could see her
through the slit at the doorway. The door to the den stood ajar.

She was coming down the stairs. She seemed a wisp of cloud at first. Ethereal, magical. She moved like a sprite, reaching the foot of the stairs.

She moved swiftly and furtively across the hallway. Still, she seemed to float, in that elusive cloud of beauty, her hair a clean and brilliant fire, the sheer froth of whatever she was wearing swirling with her at every step.

She was wearing something of Christa’s.

And Christa had beautiful things.

This concoction of silk and fluff was in softest gray, a color that caught hold of the moonlight well, that shimmered and moved beneath it. It seemed to dance hauntingly along with the swift, graceful glide of the woman. When she paused, it hugged her form, delineating each curve and plane and fascinating hollow.

Everything within him tightened and constricted. Still, he sat motionless in his seat, watching her. What was she up to?

He knew. She had come down to assure herself that he had chosen to sleep elsewhere, that she might find herself in peace for the evening. He sat back, watching, brooding, as she looked into the dining room. She peeked quickly in and quickly out, a wraith in the shadows of the darkened house.

He rose at last, silently leaning against the doorway, watching her still as she moved along the great hall. She turned and started to hurry back to the stairway, and that was when she discovered him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, awaiting her.

“Good evening, Mrs. Cameron.”

She stopped dead still. “Good evening,” she replied coolly, spinning to skirt around him, having decided, it seemed, that retreat might leave her to battle another day.

Not tonight.

He caught hold of her arm, swinging her back around. “I believe you were looking for something?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I thought that a sherry might help me sleep.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t want anything to drink, and you weren’t looking for anything to drink.”

She jerked her arm free. “Well, the same doesn’t seem to be true of you!” she informed him smoothly. She wrinkled her nose as if she were the grandest dame to have ever set a foot on Virginian soil.

“Why, yes, Mrs. Cameron, I have had a drink or two. But rest assured, I am not drunk.” He bowed deeply to her. “A southern officer would never overimbibe.”

Callie didn’t know if he was drunk or not; she only knew that he was dangerous at that moment.

If she came too close, he might touch her. She couldn’t allow him to do so. Her pride still seemed ravaged by what he had done tonight, walking away from his own family in order to walk away from her.

“So, just what are you doing?” he asked her.

She felt his tension, felt an anger as great as her own. An uneasy thought struck her. Perhaps he had come upstairs and he knew she had locked the door against him.

“I told you—”

“You didn’t come down for anything other than the hope that you would find me sound asleep in a desk chair. I imagine you were hoping I might be well gone into oblivion!”

“Don’t be ridiculous” she said. “It is immaterial to me where you choose to sleep.”

He smiled, striding toward her. It was probably the moment to run. She couldn’t quite do that. He had her angled against the door, and suddenly she was pinned there, his hands on either side of her face.

“Then why was the door locked?” he demanded.

“Oh, did I lock it?”

“Indeed, madam, you did.”

His gaze was sharp, glittering in the moonlight. Callie felt the tension that ripped through his body, and she was suddenly more furious than ever.

“Yes, I locked the door! I locked it against the rudest Rebel bastard I’ve ever met, and I’d do so again.”

She slammed her fists against his chest, shoving past him. For a moment he was still, and she thought that she might make the stairway in one piece. If she could just reach the room, she could lock the door against him again. He wouldn’t break down a door in his own house.