Triumph (22 page)

Sydney awoke slowly. She opened her eyes, wondering why she felt so groggy, sore ...

And suddenly cold. She shouldn’t be cold. It was Christmas, and she should be home, where it was warm ... home with her mother, father, family.

She hadn’t been home in a very long time ...

But home was different now.

She sat up quickly, remembering that Jesse had come, remembering the night. Remembering the way that he had held her, infuriated her, and held her again. She was tired because she had barely slept; each time she had drifted to sleep, she had awakened to sweet sensation, seduced awake, and in dreams. The words that had come between them had made them more certain enemies than ever, but she had loved him before ...

And she loved him still, despite the damage to her pride, the bitterness he felt for her, certain she had betrayed him.

She looked swiftly around herself in the small bedroom, and then saw that he was there, standing in front of the mantle. He was dressed, in full uniform, hair clean and smoothed back. He held his hat in his hands as he stared at the flames, his expression grave. Though he didn’t turn, he knew that she had awakened, and he spoke to her softly.

“Sydney, I’m sorry. By God, so sorry. But I see no help for it!” he said.

“Help for ...”

He turned to her. Ever the officer, gallant and straight, thoughtful now in his words. She thought of the way he had touched her in the night, and more; she thought of the way he looked at her, at the gentle, teasing things he had said in the past.

“I swore for you,” he told her. “When we were married, I swore that you would cease all spying activities. On my own honor, I swore for you.”

She looked down, not knowing what to say, whether defending herself with the simple truth would suffice or not.

“Jesse, I’ve done nothing. I swear to you now, I’m innocent of any wrongdoing against the Union.”

“I wish I dared believe you.”

“How can you care for me, as you claim, and not believe me?” she cried out.

He smiled with a bittersweet curve to his lips. “I’ve seen your work firsthand, Sydney. I know that you are passionate about your cause.”

“Jesse, I haven’t seen you in six months. I left here once to see my brother Brent—”

“Who happens to serve just outside Richmond.”

“I wasn’t carrying any government or military secrets, Jesse. I just went to see my brother. He’s been assigned back to military hospital duty after having been on a special project ... dealing with disease.”

“Yes, I know where Brent is working, Sydney. I make a point of keeping track of your family, the best I can. Luckily—and with ill luck for the many who are killed—the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Northern Virginia are constantly circling one another. Brent was sent to try to educate some of the illustrious Southern camp followers, and stem the rising tide of venereal disease. Now he’s back trying to patch up the wounded, who flow in as constantly as we circle one another. That explains the past. What now?”

“I went to see him again.”

“You were not gone long enough to have traveled to Richmond.”

“How on earth can you know that?” she began with annoyance.

Again, he offered her a very wry smile. “Spies,” he said softly. “Sydney, why were you gone when I arrived? Where had you been?”

“I ...” she began, then hesitated. Did she have the right to tell him? Would he accept what she and Sissy had done as being a good thing?

She lowered her head. “I’m not at liberty to tell you,” she said.

“Sydney, for the love of God—”

“Yes, for the love of God.” She looked up at him, suddenly damning him. “There is no such thing as trust between us, is there?”

“Sydney, how can there be?”

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll dress—and you can arrest me.”

“Sydney, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leaving this room.”

“Then stay if you choose.”

She threw off her covers and rose, ignoring him as he stood by the fire. She gathered fresh clothing from the small wardrobe in the corner of the room, turning her back on him to dress. She had barely stepped into pantalettes when she felt his hands on her shoulders, his whisper at her nape.

“Sydney—”

“Jesse, leave it be!”

He spun her around to meet him; stroked out a long, tangled lock of her hair, ran his knuckles down her cheek. She wanted to fall against him, lay her head upon his shoulder, feel his comfort—and his passion. She pulled away from him, her green eyes hard as jade.

“Leave me be, Jesse. Leave me be.”

To her surprise, he did. Uttering a harsh oath, he turned away from her, heading for the door.

He paused there.

“House arrest, Sydney. I won’t have you thrown back into Old Capitol.”

“Indeed—even Yankees might ask about my current crimes!”

“If you won’t tell me—”

“I can’t!”

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said.

The door opened, and he exited. The door slammed in his wake.

It was Christmas. He would come back, she thought. But he did not.

Following Tia, Taylor reached the stables to find a tall, muscular fellow standing at the stable doorway—swearing. If Taylor remembered correctly, it was Billy Cloud, Jarrett McKenzie’s head groom, whose features more than hinted of his Indian blood. He saw Taylor, flushed, and excused himself. “Colonel! I beg your pardon, I was in thought regarding a problem.”

“No explanations are necessary, sir, but what’s the problem? Perhaps I can help.”

“Her father’s the only man who can ever help with that hellion!” Billy said, shaking his head with exasperation.

“Are we referring to Tia McKenzie?” Taylor asked, grinning slightly.

“We are.” He peered at Taylor suddenly. “You’re kin to James McKenzie. And to Osceola.”

“Distantly, yes.”

“We’d heard you were coming. I remember you from many years ago. It’s good to see you again, sir—though in a strange uniform.”

“Billy, the men who brutally pursued our people in this uniform have split, just as the nation has split. I thought about it long and hard before I chose the path I did.”

“Did your dream visions lead you to your quest?”

Taylor smiled. It had been a long time since he’d been with the Seminole people. “Under the influence of the black drink—and stone-cold sober—I made my choice. You have stayed with Jarrett McKenzie.”

“Oh, I think some of those swaggering braggarts in Confederate uniform are complete asses,” Billy said, and grinning, he added, “I will get your horse. You’re leaving?”

“I’m going after Miss Tia.”

“Good, you will save me the trouble. Her father’s men guard the circumference of the house, but outside the grounds here ... I tell her not to ride into danger. She promises she will not and does so anyway. She doesn’t think she lies because she refuses to see danger when it stops her from doing what she will.”

Billy brought Friar from his stall and went for the saddle while Taylor bridled his horse. He thought that Billy’s assessment of young Miss McKenzie was right on the money—she didn’t think, and she didn’t see danger. She did what seemed right for her at the moment. She didn’t even see the danger she was causing in her father’s own house. She had no idea how her every word and movement were affecting Raymond Weir.

“Thank you, Billy,” he said, and grinned, stepping back.

Taylor followed the path Tia had taken. It was a clear shot to the woods, and once there, he could easily follow her trail. The area was exceptionally beautiful, the floor blanketed in pine needles, the trees forming canopies of green darkness overhead. He cantered through the trails at first, then slowed, certain she had stopped somewhere ahead. He dismounted, walking the distance, until he came to a copse around a beautiful, freshwater spring. She was seated upon a log, legs curled beneath her, staring at the water.

“Too cold to dive in?” he inquired.

Startled, she swung around, eyes widening, then filling with anger as she looked back to the water. “How did you find me? Billy told you where to go?”

He walked over to her log and stood by it, then hunkered down, folding his hands before him, staring at the crystal clarity of the water as well. He didn’t gaze at her. He didn’t need to. It seemed that she was a memory in his mind’s eye. Her eyes were very dark, mahogany dark like her father’s—a strange twist of inherited traits, since James’s family, with their Seminole blood, all had light eyes, blue or green. Tia’s very coloring was part of her beauty. The depth of her eyes seemed endless. The color seemed to match the sable luster of her hair. Her cheeks were fair. Pure ivory and cream. And her features were delicate and beautifully formed. Soft rose naturally blushed her cheeks, her lips were the deep red of wine, generous, full, beautifully formed. He remembered too clearly the taste of them.

“No one needed to tell me where to go,” he said. “You’re easy to follow.”

“Why did you follow me? I left the house to escape.”

“To escape what?”

“Mainly you,” she said, turning to stare at him.

“Or perhaps your father’s disappointment?” he suggested. She turned away quickly, and he knew that he was right. She had wanted to get to him—and so her stirring rendition of “Dixie.” She hadn’t gotten beneath his skin at all—he liked the song. But she had disturbed Jarrett.

“I’m not your concern. Why did you follow me? Why couldn’t you just leave me be?”

“Billy was about to come after you—he said he warned you to stay closer to the grounds of the house.”

She shook her head, staring at him. “You’re in danger. I’m not. I serve with the Rebel militia. No one is angry at me.”

“You don’t need people to be personally angry at you to attract violence, I’m afraid. But I told you before—
I’m
angry with you.”

“Well, are you a threat?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve certainly warned you of that, too.”

“But you’ve given me your word that you will not reveal my secret.”

“As long as you keep
your
word.”

“I said I would.”

“But will you? You like to play with fire.”

She sighed, then stared at him. “Why is it that a man is brave and a woman foolish when they both want to fight for something in which they believe?”

“I don’t consider all women fools.”

“Only me? How selective of you!” She shook her head angrily, loosening the coil that had held the length of her hair. It rumbled down her back. He rose, but she saw him coming and jumped off her log, retreating from him. She backed into a tree, and he reached around her, capturing a long tendril of her hair. It curled around his fingers like a silk sheath. “I should slice this off here and now, force you to keep your word.”

“My father would kill you.”

“For what—assault upon your hair?”

She tugged at the lock. “Let go.”

“Maybe. After we have a conversation. Tell me, Miss McKenzie, who do you know better? Weir—or me?”

“What on earth are you talking about, Colonel?” she demanded impatiently. “We’ve known Colonel Weir forever; he is a friend of the family.”

He leaned toward her, laying his free palm flat against the tree at her back. “No, Miss McKenzie, you misunderstand me. Who do you know better? Was there a serious relationship between you two?”

“It’s none of your business, is it, sir?”

“Perhaps.”

“How can it be?”

“Well, I feel that I’ve come to know you rather well. And having learned how well versed you are in the art of seduction through intimate experience, I feel obliged to ask. Does he know your lips the way that I do? Or the feel of your bare breast in his hands—”

She was quick. She very nearly caught his cheek with a serious slap—one which might have left it reddened for hours to come.

But, she realized, he had goaded her on purpose, he had expected the slap—and so he had caught her hand in the nick of time.

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “You tell me, sir—how does the feel of my bare breast compare to that of your wife?”

She might as well have managed to strike him, the sudden pain that seared him was so very sharp.

Abby was dead. For what felt like many years now.

Yet her question seemed to rob him of breath, to tear at his heart, his soul.

She didn’t realize that his wife was dead.

But he had no desire to inform her. He stared at her blankly, fighting the reminder of the pain and impotent rage that had filled him at her death. He had learned to live with it. He’d been with other women since her death. He didn’t understand what affected him so, until he thought,
she’s like Abby in this, too much like Abby
.

He hadn’t seen it at first, because they were so different. Abby was pale in her beauty, golden, with eyes bluer than the morning sky. But she could be so stubborn as well. Set on her own course, refusing to see the danger ...

He could still hear her, crying out that she could reach the injured men. He could hear himself shouting to her, “Abby, no!”

She had turned to smile, but had kept hurrying forward.

“I can reach them.”

But he couldn’t reach her.

“Abby, no!”

He had run after her. The day remained loud with the sound of fire. So loud that he didn’t hear the individual shot. Her eyes were still on his.

Abby, Abby ...

Huge, blue eyes, so very wide on his ...

But she was falling, and when he caught her, confused, unable to believe what had happened, he lowered her to the ground. Pulled his hand away.

And it was red, so very red; God yes, a sea of blood seemed to drip from his hand, blood from the hole that had pierced through her back, and straight into her heart ...

His fingers tightened. He didn’t realize that he had unintentionally pulled Tia’s hair until she cried out.

He eased his hold. Stared at her hard. Yes, in her way, she reminded him of Abby. And then again, she did not. She attracted and intrigued him. She didn’t know the power of her own passion. She made him feel a hunger stronger than what he’d felt with even the delicate wife he had loved so much. She infuriated, compelled, repelled him. She was the daughter of a friend; not a woman to be any man’s plaything, and yet, she didn’t know what she did. Best get the hell away. He had no power over her, no power to stop the tempest that surged around her. He gave himself a mental shake. Let go. Stepped back.