One Wore Blue (16 page)

She didn’t want there to be anything else in the world except for the night, and the two of them.

Anthony was surely in her past now. Jesse, despite his recklessness and stubborn streak and even the wildness that sometimes brewed in his heart, was a man of extreme honor. There was no question that he would marry her. But that was the future. Anthony would have to be dealt with first, gently. And there was her father. He might be difficult to handle. He’d be appalled that she’d come so close to one man while nearly engaged to another. But it would all work out. It was just a matter of diplomacy.

She didn’t want diplomacy now. She didn’t want anything to spoil the memory of this night.

“Jesse, what was it? Why were you so upset?”

“I had no right to come for you. Really, I didn’t.”

“But what was wrong?”

He shrugged and sat up beside her, folding his legs beneath himself and pulling her close. “What was right?” he murmured.

“John Brown is in custody. It’s over.”

“It’s not over. Don’t you see? It will never really be over, and nothing will be the same again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You saw only some of what people were doing. You didn’t see it all.” He stood again and paced to the fire. He stared into the flames. “Kiernan, in the West, I saw terrible things. The Indians did terrible things to the white men—a number of which they learned from the white men, I might add. Because the white men were doing terrible things to the Indians. I saw things just as horrible here. People weren’t
just shot, Kiernan. They were abused. Atrocities were committed here.”

She understood him, yet she didn’t understand him. She had felt a vague sense of horror herself, but Jesse’s seemed deeper, seemed to touch something within him that she didn’t comprehend, or seemed to relate to something that he knew and that she did not.

“Jesse, John Brown attacked these people. He shot the mayor, one of the nicest, most gentle men I have ever met. People reacted.”

“Yes, but people reacted badly to people all the way around,” he murmured.

“Jesse, you’re scaring me. I don’t understand you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You’ll never understand me.”

“Then tell me what you mean!” Kiernan flared.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying myself, Kiernan.”

But suddenly, she did. She leaped up, pulling his cape along with her, and stared at him hard. “John Brown is a fanatic,” she said flatly, staring at him. “And so is that Lincoln. If he wins the election, the country is going to split. It’s going to split right in two.”

“You don’t know that, Kiernan.”

“Yes—yes, I do. Because of sectionalism, Jesse, and because of the economy. And because there is a way of life for us, and a way of life for them.”

“You can’t pull a country apart, Kiernan.”

Kiernan was suddenly more frightened than she had ever imagined she could be. She’d had everything in her hands. She’d had Jesse. She’d made love with him. She should never have done it, but she’d never been conventional, and neither had Jesse. It had been the most beautiful thing in the world, and her future had been bright, as beautiful as the blazing stars that had touched her in the aftermath of his touch.

And now it was slipping away from her. It was as if she had held water in the cup of her palm, then suddenly opened up her fingers. It was all trickling away.

“Jesse, you’re a Virginian!”

He stiffened. “You can’t tear it apart, Kiernan. You just can’t tear it apart.”

She spun away from him. Half blinded by the tears that stung behind her lashes, she hurried about the shack, looking for her strewn clothing.

She couldn’t handle the corset alone. She needed his help, but she couldn’t bear accepting it.

Suddenly he was behind her. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.

“It’s too late for that,” he murmured, a hint of amusement touching the tension in his voice.

“Let go!” She tried to wrench free, but he had her ribbons. As she pulled to free herself, he pulled harder and she jerked back against him.

“Stand still!”

She had little choice but to let him finish tying the garment. But once he was finished, she pulled free again, hurriedly finding the rest of her clothing. She felt his eyes upon her, but she didn’t want to look his way. At last she had to. “I’m going, Jesse.”

“When I’m ready.”

“I’ll walk back.”

“No, you’ll ride back with me.”

“Jesse—”

“You came with me. I’ll take you back.”

He started moving at last, his eyes on hers while he grabbed his shirt off the floor. Her gaze nearly fell from his, but she forced herself to meet him with her growing fury.

How could he argue against the rights of the southern states? How could he argue against her father, against his own brother, against his own way of life?

It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself. It
couldn’t
matter.

But it did. She felt as if she were being buffeted in a tumult, dragged down the rocks of the river. People were already talking about war.

If it came to war, would Jesse be on the wrong side of it?

He tucked his shirt into his pants, sat, and pulled on his boots.

Then with a mocking curl to his lip, he swept up his hat and set it low upon his head, then reached for his cape.

The cape on which they had lain together.

She swirled around, heading for the door. He caught her arm, jerking her back. “I thought you said you loved me.”

“I can’t love a traitor.”

“I’m not a traitor.”

“You’re on the wrong side.”

“There are no damned sides!”

“Then swear!” she told him suddenly. “Swear that you would be on the right side—”

“What would the right side be, Kiernan? Tell me that, please, will you?”

She paused, staring at him. She wanted to burst into tears and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to forget it all and to lie down now before the fire beside him. She wanted to see the flames upon their naked flesh as they made love again.

She wanted him to love her and for him to be the man she had always wanted. The man who lived the life she knew so well—the Virginian.

She wanted him to be with her, no matter what.

“My side is the right side, Jesse,” she told him rigidly. She waited for him to agree, to promise that he would always be with her.

But he was silent as his cobalt eyes bored into hers. She spun around again, tears about to fall. And once again he caught her, spinning her around to face him. “Kiernan, marry me. You’re going to be my wife. You
have
to.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Jesse Cameron.”

“Do you think you can run back to Anthony Miller after this?”

“I don’t need to run anywhere, Jesse. But Anthony’s loyalties lie with mine.”

He swore savagely. One last time he wrenched her against him. She tried to twist from his hold, but he caught her chin and held her face to his, and he kissed her again. He kissed her ruthlessly and passionately until he forced a response.
He lifted his head from hers. “Don’t play foolish games with our lives, Kiernan!” he warned her.

She broke free from his hold and hurried outside. He was quickly behind her, his arms sweeping around her waist when she would have gone on. Before she could voice more than an oath, she was sitting upon his roan once again, and he was mounting behind her.

“Where are you taking me now?” she demanded.

“Home!” he snapped.

He did not walk the roan. He gave the animal free rein, and the hungry horse galloped into Harpers Ferry.

He urged the horse to the front of Lacey’s house. Still furious, Kiernan slid down from the horse on her own.

“Kiernan!”

She stopped and swung around. Jesse would have to come around to siding with Virginia. She would have to make him understand that he must.

He jumped off his mount and headed toward her. But a rakish grin suddenly slashed across his handsome features.

“What?” She backed away, afraid that he would touch her again.

He did, pulling her against him although she struggled against his hold. She went rigidly still and repeated,
“What
, damn you?”

His voice was low, husky, soft. “I warned you before not to marry him if he couldn’t kiss you as I did. Now I can warn you that you’ll never have anything like you had tonight with him. Not in a thousand years, Kiernan.”

She broke free, lifting her hand to slap him. He caught it and chuckled softly.

“Kiernan—”

“Go to hell, Jesse,” she told him. She pulled her hand free and spun around, heading for the house.

“Kiernan, I cannot change my conscience!”

She kept walking, calling back to him, “And I cannot change mine!”

She felt his silence, felt the tension of it.

Then she heard the sound of his horse’s hoofbeats as he rode away, and she swirled around again.

“Jesse!” she whispered in anguish.

But it was too late—he was gone.

She stood in misery. The night wind suddenly picked up, and it was cold.

So very cold.

As cold as a world without Jesse.

Seven

Kiernan didn’t see Jesse again that night, nor did Daniel make it back. She heard a report of a slave rebellion in Pleasant Valley and that Jesse and Daniel had ridden out there with Lee and Stuart.

There was still nervousness in town that the nearby slaves would rise and rebel—even if it was too late for them to join John Brown’s cause.

Kiernan knew that she should be worried, too, but she was far too involved in her own inner conflict to dwell on fears that might be unfounded.

She spent the evening trying with all of her heart to be calm. She tried to enjoy the dinner that Lacey made in case the Camerons managed to come back.

But the truth of it was Kiernan could hardly stand sitting there with Lacey. Just being polite was the most difficult thing she had ever done. Her mind didn’t stop racing for an instant, and at the first opportunity, she begged exhaustion and hurried up to her bedroom.

And there she went into a frenzy of washing her face, which alternately seemed to burn with shame and grow cold with chills of wonder. She went over every minute detail of what had happened, and she began to wonder how on earth she had been so brazen. Then she reminded herself that it had been Jesse, that she loved Jesse.

Ultimately, no matter how she chastised herself, a sweet
quivering started up deep inside her, and she knew she could be certain of one thing.

She wanted to be with him again.

But she was angry, too, furious that he seemed to be living on a different plane of reality. It occurred to her she had told Jesse she loved him—but he never said those words to her.

Jesse had said that he would marry her. No, he had said that she
must
marry him! His duty called, she thought wryly. Perhaps there was more of his upbringing in him than he cared to admit. But she would never marry him if he thought it was necessary because of what had happened between them. She would only marry him if he loved her.

And if he loved Virginia.

She wondered if she was wrong to feel so passionately about her state. It was not proper for her to care as much as she did about the politics of the day. It was not an admirable feminine trait, her father warned her often enough. But she and Anthony shared the same passions. He did not mind what she had to say, for he agreed wholeheartedly.

She couldn’t marry Anthony, she knew, had probably always known. Not while Jesse existed in her life.

A warmth swept over her that brought her to a renewed and different trembling. What if there were … complications from today? She had been innocent until that afternoon, but she wasn’t naive. She could be carrying Jesse’s child at this very moment.

To her amazement, the idea did not bring horror or shame to her. Instead, excitement seized hold of her, and she knew that she would love to have Jesse’s child.

Because she loved Jesse.

And perhaps, if she were in the family way, she would be able to forget their differences, no matter how devastating they seemed now.