Surrender (30 page)

“Risa,” she heard his voice, felt his elbow’s prod.

“Yes!” she said startled.

Apparently, it was the right word at the time. She was prompted to state her vows, which she did—somewhat haltingly. But it didn’t seem to matter. Her hand was in
his, and he was sliding a ring on her finger. Oddly enough, it was an excellent fit.

“Champagne?” Alaina queried, trying to sound natural.

“Quickly, quickly,” Ian agreed. “For the reverend—and now, to the paperwork.”

Alaina had been prepared. While Risa shakily signed her name to the legal license making her a McKenzie, Alaina procured the champagne. She popped the bottle, and as the champagne spewed out, she caught it in glass flutes. As she handed Risa hers, she hugged her and whispered, “It’s for the best!”

Risa accepted the champagne from her. She was sure her eyes conveyed a silent accusation:
Traitor!

Alaina returned a helpless shrug.

Risa found herself engulfed in a warm hug, and Ian looked down at her, smiling. “Well, you’ve become a McKenzie, Risa. I’ll always be a bit jealous.”

She smiled. He was a liar who adored his wife and would have done nothing differently. She longed to tell him that she wasn’t really a McKenzie. She couldn’t really be a McKenzie. They had gone through a formality, and nothing more.

“It’s nearly dawn, Jerome,” Ian reminded his cousin.

“Yes, I know.” Risa heard his drawl from behind her.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” the reverend said.

“My thanks, sir,” Jerome said, taking his hand with his own, which carried a United States gold piece. “For your flock, sir,” he said.

“Indeed, indeed, thank you! And you won’t forget now, that I was forced into this—the Yanks here can be so brutal to those who fraternize with the Rebs!”

“You were forced, sir,” Jerome agreed.

The man nodded nervously, and slipped out. Risa watched as Ian set an arm around his very pregnant wife, leading her toward the door. “You haven’t much time,” Ian warned Jerome.

“I don’t need much time,” Jerome replied.

“Good night, then. God keep you both,” Ian said.

“God keep us all—to surviving the war!” Jerome agreed passionately, raising his champagne glass to the others as they departed. He set down the glass, turning
to Risa. She felt a warm, crimson flush color her face, and instinctively moved backward, groping for the mantel to hold.

He approached her with long strides, reaching for her chin, tilting her head so that her eyes met his. “Don’t worry, Mrs. McKenzie, you haven’t a thing to fear from me.”

“When have you ever seen me afraid, Captain?”

He smiled, a curious, grim smile that somehow mocked her words. “I must admit…your behavior runs to the foolhardy rather than the timid. Still, I assure you, you’ve nothing to fear—if you can remember that ‘obey’ part in the wedding vows. Stay here, where I know I can find you, Risa.”

“I’ve no plans to leave.”

“I’d thought that you should go to Jacksonville, but the city is far too unstable. There is Charleston, of course.”

“No,” she said quickly. His arched brow caused her to add, “It’s far too—Southern.”

“That would be the point.”

She shook her head, sincere in her words. “I can’t make you a Yankee, Jerome, and you can’t turn me into a Rebel.”

“True enough,” he said softly.

“And your fiancée lives in Charleston.”

“Married men do not have finacées.”

“Your ex-fiancée resides in Charleston.”

“So she does.”

“I’d not complicate the issue for you.”

“How very kind and thoughtful.”

She wanted to hit him. She managed to refrain.

“I’ll stay here,” she told him.

“In a town held by the North,” he commented dryly.

“In a Southern state. With Alaina. In Florida.”

Her lashes fell. She felt him watching her. He didn’t argue. After a moment he said, “I’m naturally aware of the danger involved in transportation these days,” he said. “But I want my child born at my family’s home. It’s not a grand plantation like my uncle’s Cimarron, but it is my family’s estate. When the time comes closer, you’ll receive word from me that I’m taking you home.”

“Can that be prudent, sir, under the circumstances?” she demanded. “My father—”

“Your father will have to accept that you are a married woman,” he interrupted.

“I’ve not heard from him yet. He’s sure to be worried—”

“Then, write—and tell him that you are well, and that you are married. And that it is no longer your duty to follow your father, but your husband.”

“I will always follow my own heart and mind!” she informed him passionately.

“Then, pray, my love, that they lead you in the right direction.” He stepped back. “If you find that you need me for any reason, you need only summon me; I’ll come as soon as I can. Good night, Risa. Take care of yourself—and our child.”

He turned, and opening the door, slipped out into the darkness of the night.

Like a demon wraith, he was gone.

“S
o what is the news?”

Sydney looked up from the letter she had been reading, flushing to discover that her patient—prisoner of war Union Colonel Jesse Jon Halston—was awake, watching her.

He was an intelligent, handsome man with rich brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. He’d been taken at the awful battle of Antietam Creek—half dead at the time—and still considered an incredible prize by the Confederates who had seized him. He was a cavalryman, hailed by the North for his ability to ride as well as any Southerner and actually encircle Rebel positions. He was also a respected man in the South—since he had put a halt to the hanging of five Southern soldiers in the Shenandoah Valley. Certain that the men had been spies who had betrayed their position to Jackson’s men, they had nearly been lynched when Jesse Halston had stepped into the situation, calmly reminding his fellow officers that there was no evidence whatsoever against the men—and that God would smite them all if they didn’t maintain some code of ethics. However, it wasn’t his humanitarianism that made him important as a prisoner. Lincoln had commended Halston for a scouting raid that had given Union troops the position of an ambush, and saved the lives of hundreds of men. It was all a big chess game. Halston, though a colonel, had a reputation that might make him worth two generals in a prisoner exchange.

He had lived, Sydney believed with pride, because her brother Brent had been called in to attend him. Halston had taken five bullets—yet, miraculously, none had shattered his bones. Other Union soldiers had been horrible patients, convinced Brent meant to kill them if he didn’t
amputate an injured limb, and convinced he wanted to hack them into being lesser men when he had no choice but to cut.

Jesse Halston had opened his sizzling gold eyes against the blood on his face long enough to see Brent. And he’d kept his silence, not accusing Rebel surgeons of any butchery whatsoever. He hadn’t screamed once during surgery—despite the fact that his only anesthesia had been the remnants of a bottle of whiskey. In the end, he’d passed out rather than cried out. During his slow, fevered recovery, he’d reached out frequently for someone called Mary—and he’d come to think that Sydney was Mary. Due to his tremendous importance, the matron at the hospital had ordered Sydney to make Halston her priority. Brent was one of the growing number of physicians who heartily believed in fresh air and ventilation as important for healing, so as soon as Halston had been able, she’d become his escort on those mornings when he’d asked to see sunlight. Today, he’d already been out in the courtyard when she’d arrived, eyes closed, dozing in his wheelchair. He could walk now, but hadn’t the strength to take himself far. He would always limp, Brent had said, but what a small price for a man to pay for the beating he had taken.

“Gossip, family gossip,” she told him.

“I should love to hear it,” he told her.

She shrugged. “It’s not that fascinating.”

“Anything is fascinating when you’ve been hospitalized long enough. And I imagine, Miss McKenzie, that anything in your life must be fascinating as well.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “All right. My cousin-in-law, Alaina, is due to have a baby very soon.”

“Yes, Alaina.”

She arched a brow. “You know her?”

He smiled, shaking his head yes. “But I’ve ridden with Ian often enough.”

“Oh!” she said, surprised. “Then—”

“Indeed, I recognized my surgeon as a McKenzie relation the moment I opened my eyes. Ian often praised both his brother and cousin’s surgical skills, sometimes incurring the wrath of other physicians by advising them what Brent or Julian McKenzie would do under the cir-
cumstances. Let’s see, naturally, you are a far more lovely version, but still very definitely a McKenzie of Florida, though you’ve a distinctive exotic look. If I may be so bold as to suggest—”

“Indian blood,” Sydney said matter-of-factly. She was quite proud of it.

“It makes you exceptionally beautiful.”

“What is this flattery, sir? Careful, you are beginning to sound like a Southern gentleman.”

“Men are gentlemen or they are not, North or South,” he advised her pleasantly.

“And some are wickedly adept at flattery, and some are not,” she informed him saucily. “If you are thinking to somehow charm and escape me—”

“Why on earth would I want to escape you?”

Sydney arched a brow, wondering why this man should so unnerve her and cause her to flush so easily.

The war was full of men. And in nursing, she had certainly seen her share of them—all of them.

“Well, you won’t escape, so behave. I’m also about to be an aunt. Again. My older sister, Jennifer, has an adorable little boy. But it seems that my wayward sea captain brother has taken a bride as well—and is to be a father.”

“The wayward sea captain—who married General Magee’s daughter?”

“That would be the one,” Sydney said. “Why?”

“General Magee is still steaming. Please, go on.”

“Well, the most important news of all, of course, is that—” She broke off, looking at him. He was interested. Really interested in the domestic side of her life. Of course, he was lan’s friend. And he’d served under Magee.

“What?” Jesse Halston asked, smiling.

She shook her head. “I’m telling you everything. You’ve told me nothing.”

He grinned. “I am the only grandchild of a rich fur merchant, I’m afraid, with wads of money, and an incredible mansion in New York City.”

“Humble, too, I see.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “The money has been growing by itself since soon after the Lewis and Clark expedition—I can take no credit. And, you see, the
money came through my mother, who eloped with my father—a soldier. He fought in the Mexican War. Therefore, my appointment to West Point—where I met your cousin Ian. And my commission now. What more can I tell you?”

Sydney looked at him, hesitated. Then she asked, “Who’s Mary?”

He took a while to answer. “My wife. She died of malaria two weeks after I rode to war.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. So go on. Tell me more about your letters.”

“What? Oh!” Sydney stared back to the pages on her lap. “My mother is about to have a child.”

He smiled. “You sound so disapproving. Do you think she’s too old? That it’s not quite…proper?”

Sydney shook her head. “No. I love my mother. I don’t want anything to happen to her. I’m worried. My brother Brent is getting leave. He has fought the entire war without so much as a day’s absence, for which I am grateful now, because after his service at Antietam, his superiors have determined he must have some time away. Jerome, my oldest brother, has tremendous freedom of movement—there’s not an officer in the war who wouldn’t help him because his talents in securing supplies are so miraculous. But he runs a dangerous game, and I worry terribly. He should have been here for us by now.”

“The sea captain?”

She nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Halston told her. “From what I’ve heard, he’ll come.”

“You can’t possibly know Jerome as well.”

“Only by reputation,” Jesse Halston assured her. He reached across the few feet separating his wheelchair and her bench. He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You’ll reach your mother.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“All there can really be now is faith,” he told her. “Keep believing.”

Two days later, when she sat with Jesse Halston once again, Jerome arrived.

The hospital staff was in a fluster. Jerome was a Southern hero, defying guns that kept other men home. By appearance, her brother quite lived up to his reputation. He seemed exceptionally tall and imposing in his sweeping blue military cape, and wore a plumed, cockaded hat. His features were very bronze from the sun at sea, and his eyes were a flaming blue against them. He courteously greeted the nurses, both the gaping matrons and the swooning, sweet young debutantes, and stopped to talk to old friends and new in the wards along the way. Sydney, who knew him so well, saw the pain in his eyes for those who suffered. When he reached her bench in the courtyard at last, he wrapped her in his arms. Jerome had changed. They had all changed. But he had always been the most like their father, confident in all that he was, recklessly brash and charming, yet somewhat untouchable. He retained his devastating smile, and his dark charm, but there was something far more serious about him now. It was visible in his walk, his casual, agile movements, even in the deep tenor of his voice. And still, his arms were warm and his words for her tender as he greeted her with a long hug and a compliment, telling her how wonderful she looked.

“You, too, big brother!” she told him heartily. He did look good. Lean and hard and wary, like a wolf. She drew away to introduce him to her patient. “Captain Jerome McKenzie, Colonel Jesse Halston, USA.”

“Captain McKenzie, sir! The scourge of the sea,” Jesse Halston greeted him.

Sydney saw Jerome’s half smile, a sure sign that he had heard of Jesse as well. He offered his hand to Jesse. “Colonel Halston—the only man to rival our own Jeb Stuart.”

“Unless it be your cousin, Ian, sir,” Jesse said modestly.