Beloved Enemy (41 page)

Alex came out of the trees a few yards away, smoothing with
one pressing finger the irritable frown lines creasing hi
s
brow. He was in need of solitude and a quiet unsullied
by repetitive, shouted orders and the tramp of boots. The forced inactivity
that was yet endlessly busy was driving him to a near-intolerable pitch of
frustration. The Scots had crossed the border, and every day Parliament's
forces delayed in the south brought the enemy closer. That Parliament's army
would defeat them when they eventually came up with the enemy, Alex had not a
shadow of doubt, so the delay was not threatening, but for as long as the Scots
remained on English soil, the war would drag on and the process of reconstruction
could not begin. And he could not begin to think of his own future and how that
future could or would be bound up with that of a proud rebel with a bee-sting
tongue and an indomitable spirit.

So absorbed was he in these dismal reflections that he almost
fell over the supine figure in his path. The irritation left him miraculously
as he looked down at her, and she smiled, squinting her eyes against the bright
spot in the clouds where hid the sun. Her hair was in one long braid hanging
over her shoulder, and because of the oppressive warmth, she wore only a simple
summer kirtle over a thin shift, no chemise and petticoats to trap the heat or
obscure the lines of her body.

"Good morrow, General Marshall," said Ginny,
sitting up and smoothing down her apron, lifting her face imperatively for a
kiss.

Alex, chuckling, squatted on his heels and obliged.
"Strawberries," he said thoughtfully, before tasting her lips again.
"
And honey." He sat down beside
her with a sigh of relief. "If ever a man needed a brief respite, chicken
. . ."

"Then let us stay here for the afternoon,"
suggested Ginny, taking his hand and tracing the fingernails intently.
"
I will return to the inn and bring a
picnic."

T wish it were possible." He sighed again
,
then frowned. 
"
What
have you done to yourself, Ginny? You are hurt." He touched the
bloodstains on her apron.

"Oh, no, 'tis not
my
blood," she said
incautiously.

"Then whose is it?" The smile had left his face,
the tenderness gone from the green-brown eyes. His eyes fell on the basket of
bandages, salves, and medicines on the grass beside her. "What have you
been doing, Virginia?"

Ginny decided that she had had enough of scuttling around on
her errands of mercy like a spider escaping the broom. "A man from Colonel
Chambers' brigade sustained a severe cut. I tended it for him."

"You what! How many times have I told you not to go
anywhere near the camp?" he demanded furiously.

"You are being ridiculous, Alex," Ginny said,
trying to sound patient and reasonable. "If you will just listen to me for
a minute
—
"

"I asked you a question! How many ti
m
es?" he interrupted.

Ginny gave up and allowed her own exasperation full rein.
"I have lost count; at least half a dozen I should think."

Alex took a deep breath and hung onto his temper by a thread.
"I will not tell you again," he said, with what he considered
meritorious moderation.

Not so Ginny. "Good
,
"
she snapped. "The repetition grows tedious."

Alex paled, and that telltale muscle twitched in his drawn
cheek. "The next time you go within a hundred yards of the camp, you will
spend forty-eight hours in solitary confinement on bread and water."

Ginny lost her temper. "Yes, just like the baker who
supposedly mixed chaff with his wheat, and the sentry who was three minutes
late for duty, and the private whose jerkin was stained from camp
f
ire smoke and — "

"Yes," Alex roared, even more incensed at this
further evidence of her intimacy with the camp. "Just like that." He
sprang to his feet, standing over her, hands firmly planted on his hips.
"For as long as you march with this division, Virginia Courtney, you will
be subject to the same discipline as the rest of us, and don't you ever forget
it*

Swinging on his heel, he strode off. Ginny leape
d
up. 'Pigheaded dictator!" she yelled, picking up
a rock-hard lump of river mud and hurling it at his departing back. Even as the
missile left her hand, she prayed that it would miss its mark, but her aim was
true and the distance short. The lump struck Alex squarely between the shoulder
blades, and Ginny stood frozen to the spot, her hand clapped to her mouth,
waiting in a sort of fearful anticipation.

Alex turned around very slowly, bent, and picked up the
missile. He examined it
thought
fully, men tossed it into the bushes.
"
If I am a pigheaded dictator, you are
a virago," he stated
m
atter-of-factly and took a purposeful
step toward her. Ginny took an equally purposeful one backward. This curious
method of progression continued in silence for several more paces until Ginny
suddenly stepped into air, straight off the bank to land with a squelch on her
knees on the muddy bottom of the River Thames.

She struggled to her feet with a gasp, her hands coated with
the mud that clung to her soaked skirt and encased her toes. Alex stood on the
bank regarding her with some satisfaction. "That is quite the best place
for you," he said. "It will cool your temper, and you may remain
there
until I receive the apology you owe me."

In other circumstances, Ginny would have agreed cheerfully
that throwing rocks at people did indeed warrant an apology. But not under
duress. She looked along the bank.
It
was steep for as far as she could see, and deeply cut away below the top so
that scrambling out, while quite possible, would be an awkward maneuver and one
quite easily hampered by someone above who had
that
intent. Alexander Marshall clearly had that intent.

Very deliberately, she flattened her hand, making a sharp
wedge of it, t
h
en brought it down on the surface of
the water in a vicious chopping movement that sent an arc of water straight at
the bank to slap against Alex's chest. It was a trick she had learned in the
sea when water fighting with Edmund,  and she now employed it with most
satisfactory results, driving Alex backward, away from the edge.

Just out of range, he stopped.
"
So you want to play, do you?" There was a rather
alarming glint in his eyes, and Ginny was about to say that that was the last
thing she wanted to do when he pulled off his boots and stockings. Open-mou
th
ed, she watched in disbelief as he shrugged out of his
tunic, men stood for a minute with his hands on his belt buckle, that same
glint in his eye. She stared, wondering if he was really going to do what she
thought he was. He was. The belt came undone and dropped to the grass; in one
smooth, economical movement, his britches joined it, and Alex stood, lean,
hard, and gloriously naked on the bank. And something about this entire,
ridiculous business had aroused him mightily.

Ginny stood transfixed, thigh deep in the water, her gown
drenched from the shoulders down. Alex jumped off the bank, landing beside her
with a splash. "Take off your gown," he demanded, catching the rope
of her hair and twisting it around his wrist.

"
You
are crazed!" She found her voice at last, although it was somewhat faint.

"Possibly," he said, taking another turn of the
braid. "Having rocks thrown at one tends to have that effect. Take off
your ki
rtl
e, unless you wish it torn."

A bubble of laughter grew in her chest, mingling with the
undeniable excitement at his naked, aroused proximity. Her fingers fumbled with
the hooks at her bodice, but at last they came undone, and she pushed the gown
off her shoulders, down her body, over her hips, catching it on her foot, which
she lifted clear of the water, grabbing at the soaked heap of material.

Alex released her braid to take the gown, which he wrung out
carefully, then tossed onto the bank. "Get out now," he directed.

Ginny, who for one glorious moment had thought he was going
to make love to her there in the river, was totally nonplussed. "I do not
understand."

"You are not required to understand," he said
calmly. "But
it
is a perfectly simple thing I asked
you to do, so do it. Get out of the water."

"Like this?" She indicated her shift that clung
wetly and immodestly to every curve and hollow.

A glow appeared in his eyes. "That, little gypsy, is exactly
why I want you to get out."

The deep sensuous glow was as exciting as it was reassuring.
Alex was playing a game, and he wasn't sharing the rules, but experience had
taught Ginny that Alex's games were never less than immensely rewarding.

She waded to the bank while he stood with hand
s
on his hips watching through narrowed eyes.
Scrambling up onto dry land was both awkward and inelegant, and she had
little
difficulty imagining the picture she
must present, covered, yet not covered by the transparent, clinging shift.

"
You've
a delicious curve to your backside
,"
Alex laughed as she finally reached the top.
"
Seldom have I been treated to such an
alluring spectacle."

"Shame on you!" Ginny got to her feet and marched
to the edge of the bank.
"
You are nothing but a satyr."

"A wild, lustful creature of the woods and streams"
Alex agreed, striding out of the water, revealing the wildne
s
s of his lust. He sprang with enviable agility onto
the bank beside her, then drew her wet length against him, tipping her chin.
"I do not know how it is that you always manage to turn away my wrath. You
yell insults at me and throw great rocks at my back, and desire takes me
totally unawares. It
'
s a magic you have, Virginia."
His lips came down on hers with hard possession, and his hands moved to her
back, pressing her into his body as if he would imprint her with his shape,
before he pushed her down onto the grass, his mouth still locked with hers.

There was nothing gentle about this loving, no time spent on
preparing her to receive him, but none was needed. Her own hands helped him
eagerly as he pushed the sodden shift up to her waist with rough haste. An
impatient knee nudged her thighs apart, and her hips lifted of their own accord
as he cupped her buttocks, raising her as he penetrated with a deep thrust that
wrenched a gasp of pleasure from her. It was a different kind of loving, one
where, although joined, they strove for themselves, clawing their separate ways
up separate mountains, until, the instant before the fall, he spoke her name
and his mouth seared hers, branding her as his own, and her nails raked the
hard-muscled back, staking her own claim.

A clap of thunder and the heavens opened on them as they lay
spent and breathless on the grass. Ginny began to laugh weakly, opening her
mouth to catch the hard drops. "At least, now, my soaked condition will
cause no comment." Spread-eagled, arms stretched wide, she reveled in the
sensation as the rain beat down upon her filled and satisfied body.

Alex groaned as he looked at her and felt lust stirring
again. "Such a glorious wanton, you are, my Ginny. Never could I have
imagined being so in thrall. If I do not leave you now, we will remain forever
in the rain on the banks of
this
river."

"Why not?" Ginny asked softly. "Put duty
behind you for one short afternoon
.
"

"I cannot. Do not tempt me." He began to dress
swiftly in his rain-soaked clothes while she continued to lie on the grass
taking her rain bath. When he was dressed, he bent over her, pulling her firmly
to her feet. "You must not catch cold, chicken. Hurry back and change; the
temperature will drop rapidly when the storm abates." He kissed the corner
of her mouth, then said with quiet gravity, "I meant it, Ginny, about your
going into the camp again. We may have made peace, but it alters nothing of
what I have said."

It was pointless to reopen the argument, and she shrugged in
mute resignation, bending to pick up her ki
rt
le.
Alex left, running through the rain, and Ginny dressed and made her way back to
headquarters, laughing good-naturedly at the gibes her soaked condition invited
from Diccon and the young officers taking shelter in the kitchen.

Something was going to have to be done, Ginny resolved,
emerging pink-cheeked from the towel she had been using to rub the water from
her hair. How to convince tha
t
most
infuriatingly stubborn man that in this instance he was quite wrong? Initially,
he had had good reason for his edict, but those reasons no longer applied. If
he wouldn't listen t
o
her, though, how could she convince
him of that? The problem lay entirely in the way he perceived military
authority. The issue now was simply one of an order that had to be obeyed
without question and for the sake of it. While t
h
at form of self-discipline was all very well for soldiers, whose lives
and those of others might well depend on implicit obedience, it had no
relevance for Ginny. She was needed in the camp, and not even General Marshall
was going to deprive those who needed it of her expertise.