Triumph (3 page)

“Ah, poor fellow, you are indeed surprised. A fact that might spare your life, though I had thought of you before as something of an honorable man, just a fanatic. But yes, I did say marital bed. You hadn’t heard? Though it grieves me deeply to admit, the lady is a liar and a fraud. She can marry no one for she is already married. She is wily, indeed, a vixen from the day we met. All for the Southern Cause, of course. She will play her games! But what of that great cause now, Tia?”

Humiliated, Tia braced herself against the fury behind the sarcasm in his words.
What would he do?
She’d sworn not to play the role she’d managed to make quite famous when they’d first met. Well, tonight, she had not ridden as the Lady Godiva. She’d tested his temper before: Never like this. But he
had
sent her home, sent her
away
. And he hadn’t written, or even sent word.

And she’d had no choice in this!

So thinking, and finding refuge in anger herself, she caught the tip of his blade and cast the sword aside as she leapt from the bed. She wanted so desperately to find some dignity in this situation—difficult when she stumbled desperately in her search for all her clothing. She could feel her husband watching her. She was amazed he hadn’t simply killed her.

“Tia?” Raymond said, and the sudden streak of naked pain in his voice gave her so much pause that she had to remind herself that he had meant to kill her father. “You are
married
to him.”

“Yes.”

“But you came to me ... tonight!” he rasped out, wanting to believe that she had desired him.

“You were going to attack Cimarron,” she said, adding bitterly, “and kill my father.”

Raymond shook his head. “Your father ... no, Tia. I meant to seize the property, nothing more.”

“That’s not true! My father was to be killed—executed.”

Yes, it was true. The truth of it was in Weir’s eyes. He was, in his strange way, an honorable man, and found lying difficult. “I would have spared his life—for you!”

“How touching,” Taylor interrupted, his voice a drawl that didn’t hide his fury. “Tell me, Tia, was that explanation for him—or me?”

She moistened her lips to speak, but she was too hurt, angry, and ashamed to address Taylor.
I would have come to you!
she wanted to cry.
But I didn’t know where you were, and there was no time! You must understand, my father’s life is at risk ...

She couldn’t explain. She lashed out instead. “Taylor, you’re being a truly wretched bastard. You don’t understand anything!” she screamed, her fingers trembling so hard she couldn’t get her buttons fastened. Both men were staring at her.

She’d made a mistake with her bitter words, she quickly realized, for Raymond suddenly made a split second decision to defend her honor.

Her honor. It was laughable, for she had none left.

But Raymond made a dive for the sword he had so hastily discarded in his eagerness to be with her. He barely drew it from the sheath before the sound of crashing steel erupted in the night. Raymond’s sword went flying across the room, and the tip of Taylor’s blade was once again pressed to the Rebel’s throat.

“Taylor!” Tia cried out, and at last dared look at her husband. “Don’t ... murder him. Please!”

No, she had never seen such anger, so barely controlled. They had met and clashed before, they had argued, indeed, the war had never burned more brightly than between them. But this ... fury that now compelled him was such that she longed to shrink away, to run, to flee. Indeed, death itself would be far easier than facing what she must. He was tall, standing an even inch above Raymond, so filled with tension that the constriction of his muscles seemed evident even beneath the cut of his blue cavalry frockcoat. His eyes, a striking, curious hazel seemed to burn tonight with a red-gold fire as deadly as the haze about the moon. His features, very strongly and handsomely formed, were taut with his efforts to control the sheer fire of his anger.

She wanted so badly to cry out to him again. She had no words, but she wanted the anguish in her voice to convey what had been in her heart.

“Please, don’t ...” she said simply.

Those eyes rested upon her. Fire in the night.

Then Taylor gazed back at Raymond. “I’ve no intention of doing murder, sir. We are all forced to kill in battle, but I’ll not be a cold-blooded murderer. I’ve yet to kill any man over a harlot, even if that harlot be my own wife.”

Tia felt as if she’d been slapped, struck with an icy hand. And yet it was at that precise moment that she realized their situation. Good God! The yard was filled with soldiers! Rebel soldiers, enemies who could take Taylor down,
murder him,
without a thought!

“Call me what you will,” she cried, “but your life is in danger here, and you fool, there is much more at stake! There are nearly a hundred men outside preparing to march on my father’s house—”

“No, Tia, no longer,” Taylor said, and his gaze focused upon her again. “The men below have been seized. Taken entirely by surprise. Quite a feat, if I do say so myself. Not a life lost, Colonel,” he informed Raymond.

“So you’ll not murder me. What then?” Raymond asked.

“I believe my men are coming for you now, if you would like to don your shirt and coat.”

Raymond nodded, reaching for his shirt and frockcoat. The latter was barely slipped over his shoulders before two men appeared in the doorway. Yankee soldiers.

“To the ship, Colonel?” asked one of the men, a bearded, blond-headed fellow of perhaps twenty-five.

“Aye, Lieutenant Riley. Have Captain Maxwell take the lot of them north. Meet me with the horses below when the prisoners have been secured.”

“Sir?” the lieutenant said politely to Raymond.

Raymond looked at Tia. He bowed deeply to her. She dared do nothing but look back. The perfect soldier, Raymond accepted the situation—and the metal restraints slipped on his wrists by his Yankee captors. They departed the room.

She remained dead still, waiting. She couldn’t face Taylor. She wanted to cry out again, burst into tears, throw herself into his arms ...

If he were to kill her, would anyone blame him? She had put his life in danger often enough, willingly at first—he was, after all, the enemy.

Or had been.

And he would never believe that she hadn’t wanted to do what she’d done tonight, that the ties he had bound around her had been there, invisible but strong, a web he had woven that held her with far greater strength than the piece of paper that proclaimed them man and wife. She had fought him so often. Now, when she wanted peace, to pray for his forgiveness, he stared at her with no mercy.

But could that matter now?
she asked herself.
She had prayed that Ian would come, her brother the enemy, with his Yankee troops, and he might have been the one to fight and save his inheritance. Ian hadn’t come; Taylor had, and he would make her father safe. Cimarron would be saved. She had been willing to pay any price ...

And this, it seemed, was the price.

So she braced herself. Waiting, at least, for a blow to fall. For him to touch her with some violence. She could feel it in him, feel it in the air, the way he must long to hurt her!

He came to her. Powerful hands gripped her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. She met his eyes. His arm moved, as if he would strike her with all the force of his fury.

No blow fell. He pushed her from him. She closed her eyes, shaking, looking for the right words to tell him that she hadn’t wanted to come here, that she would have come to him ...

She heard him turn from her, walk away, head for the stairs.

She didn’t know what foolhardy demon stirred her then, but she found herself flying after him.

She caught him upon the stairs, stumbling to get ahead of him, to force him to face her. And then she couldn’t speak, she stuttered, faltered, and tried again. “Taylor, I—I—they said he meant to kill my father.”

“Step aside, Tia,” he said simply.

“Taylor, damn you! I had to come here, I had to do what I could to stop him. Can’t you see that, don’t you understand?”

He stood dead still then, staring at her with eyes still seeming to burn with the red-gold blaze of the ghostly, blood-haunted night. She had lost him, she thought. Lost him. Just when she had begun to realize ...

“I understand,
my love
, that you were ready, willing, and able to sleep with another man. But then, Weir is a good Southern soldier, is he not? A proper planter, a fitting beau for the belle of Cimarron, indeed, someone you have loved just a little for a very long time. How convenient.”

“No, I—”

“No?” His voice alone seemed to make her the most despicable liar.

“Yes, you know that—
once
we were friends. But I ...” She broke off, fighting the wave of tears that rushed to her eyes now. What was it? He was the enemy! And yet, staring into the gold steel of his eyes, feeling him there above her, knowing his anger, knowing how he leashed it now, knowing the scent of him ... and remembering ... the touch of his fingertips on her skin ...

And she knew then, quite startlingly, clearly, despite the circumstance, just how very much she loved him. Had, for quite some time. Neither duty, debt, nor honor had given her pause tonight. It had been the way she felt about him, loved him, him, only him.

“Please!” she whispered.

He slowly arched a dark brow. And then he reached out, touching her cheek. “Please? Please what? Are you sorry, afraid? Or would you seduce me, too? Perhaps I’m not such easy prey, for I am, at least, familiar with the treasure offered, and I have played the game to a great price already. When I saw you tonight ... do you know what I first intended to do? Throttle you, you may be thinking! Beat you black and blue. Well that, yes. Where pride and emotions are involved, men do think of violence. But I thought to do more. Clip your feathers, my love. Cut off those ebony locks and leave you shorn and costumeless, as it were—
naked
would not be the right word. But what if I were to sheer away these lustrous tresses? Would you still be about seducing men—friend and foe—to save your precious family and state? Not again, for until this war of ours is finished, I will have you hobbled—until your fate can be decided.”

Hobbled ...
imprisoned
. Did he really intend to make her a prisoner of war? He had threatened it before. It didn’t seem to matter now. Too much had gone too far out of control.

“I—have seduced no one else. I ...” She was again amazed that tears threatened to choke off her speech. “I’m not a harlot, Taylor!” she managed to whisper. Her eyes met his.

Then she gasped, startled and afraid, for he suddenly reached out for her, drawing her into his arms. His lips were punishing as they crashed down upon hers, forcing her mouth apart, kissing her deeply, with passion, with anger ... regret, perhaps, a tumultuous series of emotions that left her shaking, bruised ... and longing for more. His fingers threaded into her hair, arching her neck. His palm cradled her cheek, fingertips stroked her throat and beyond, his touch then seeking more of her, tracing the form of her body beneath the thin cotton fabric of her bodice. She felt his fingers over her breast, his palm encompassing, thumb rubbing over her nipple, stroking, eliciting. A sweet weakness pervaded her. She wanted to fall against him, feel again a time she had known once at war ... and let it become peace. She would have gladly given herself into his arms. She wished, prayed, that his anger would cause him to sweep her up, carry her back up the stairs to the scene of her almost-sin, and there, assert his right to be with her, punish her with a wild ravishment, remind her that she had sworn to be his, enemy or no ...

Yet he pushed away from her. “Ah, Tia, what a pity! I’m not at all sure of your motives at the moment, but for once, when you are apparently ready to become a willing wife with no argument to give me, there remains too much at stake for me to take advantage of your remorse. There’s a battle still to be waged.”

She drew back, frowning. “A battle? But you’ve stopped Captain Weir from the War he would wage against my father.”

“Tia, you little fool! Weir was only a half of it! There’s a Major Hawkins with militia from the panhandle who will bear down upon Cimarron at any moment now. I don’t know if Ian ever received word of this, or if Julian knows somehow. You apparently learned about it. But I may be the only help your father will have.”

She stared at him, stunned. “Dear God! I’d forgotten there would be more troops. I’ve got to get home!” she cried, and she turned, running frantically down the remaining steps.

“No! Tia!”

She didn’t make it to burst out into the night. She was caught.

By the long ebony flow of her hair. How ironic.

She cried out, but found herself whirled back inexorably into his arms. Meeting his eyes. Again, they were fire. Fire, and fury. His fingers bit into her as he held her. “You’re going nowhere.”

“My father—my home—”

“Your enemy will save them for you,” he informed her bitterly.

“No, please, you have to let me ride with you. I beg of you, Taylor, in this, I swear, I—”

“Make me no more promises, Tia, for I am weary of you breaking them.”

“But I swear—”

“This fight will be deadly, and I’ll not have you seized by either side as a pawn in the battles to be waged.”

“Please!” she begged, but even as she desperately entreated him, the front door burst open. She didn’t turn. Her eyes locked with his. She heard soldiers, and knew his men had come—for her.

“Gentlemen, take my wife to the ship, please. They’ll not be surprised to find another McKenzie prisoner at Old Capitol.”

One of the soldiers cleared his throat politely. “Mrs. Douglas, if you will ...”

She lowered her head, stepping away from Taylor’s hold. He released her all too quickly.

She looked up at him again. “No!” she said softly. Then she cried out, “No!” and she turned, and did so with such speed and with so great an element of surprise that she was able to tear past the two Yankee soldiers who had come for her.