Rebel Temptress (Historical Romance) (11 page)

"Exactly. You would not like me to give aid to the enemy, would you?" She laughed at her own daring, and his deep laughter joined hers.

"Was Landau your name before you married, Mrs. Daniels?"

"Yes."

"I assumed as much since that is the name of your plantation."

"The plantation was left to me by my aunt. She was an extraordinary woman. She has been dead these last nine months."

"Nine months. You must have married your husband shortly after she died."

Honor's green eyes flashed. "Shall we return to the house, major?"

He threw away the apple core and jumped from the fence. "I am sorry. You must be tiring. Have I kept you too long?"

"I am rather weary. You do not need to walk me back to the house. Stay here if you like."

"No, I will accompany you." They walked slowly toward the house. Honor found that she had enjoyed being with Major O'Roarke, and she was almost sorry their walk was over.

His voice broke into her thoughts. "You remind me of an apple tree, Mrs. Daniels, sturdy and firmly planted in the ground, with delicate blossoms that float in the wind."

She was startled by his assessment, and then gave him hers. "You remind me of a spring rainstorm that can come along unexpectedly and wash the land clean, then blow away just as unexpectedly."

"The apple tree needs the spring rain to thrive, does it not, Mrs. Daniels?"

Honor had stopped and turned her back to him. She reached out to him for support. He took her hand and turned her around. He saw the beads of perspiration on her forehead, and the pain in her eyes.

"Help me, major," she said weakly.

"You are unwell?"

"I think it must be the baby," she said, gasping for breath.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the house hurriedly. When he reached the house, he carried her inside. Brushing past a startled Darcy in the hallway, Adam carried her up the stairs.

Darcy came puffing up the stairs in his wake. "What the matter with my baby?" she asked.

Adam waited for Darcy to open Honor's bedroom door before he answered. He laid Honor down on the bed gently.

"Send someone for her doctor. I fear the baby is coming."

Honor tried to rise. "There is no doctor, major. He is now serving in the army."

Adam turned to Darcy. "Who will attend her if there is no doctor?"

Darcy drew herself up proudly. "I helped bring her into the world; I will do the same for her baby."

"Dear Lord, is there no one to help?" Adam said, feeling out of his depth.

Honor gritted her teeth as another pain racked her body.

Adam went down on his knees beside her and took her hand in his. "I will get you a doctor, have no fear."

When he would have risen, she held on to his hand tightly. "I am frightened, major."

Adam silently cursed the man who had done this thing to her and left her to face it alone.

"Do not be frightened. I shall be just downstairs, will you remember that?"

The pain had eased. Honor nodded and released his hand reluctantly, wondering why it was comforting to her just knowing he would be nearby.

Adam rose and rushed from the room and down the stairs, calling for his aide. Lieutenant Harper was instantly at his side.

"Ride over to the mill and see if one of our doctors will come to attend Mrs. Daniels. Her baby is on the way. Tell the doctor it will be good public relations. Maybe you will find someone who is weary of tending the dead and wounded and would welcome bringing a new life into the world."

The hours passed slowly. The house was quiet. Even the large body of troops bivouacked in the front yard were silent. They were aware that the lady of the plantation was giving birth, and out of respect, waited for the forthcoming event. Many of the soldiers were seasoned veterans, used to war and death, but today the war could be pushed aside as they waited for a child to be born. It was comforting to know that the cycle of life was being renewed—even as men fought and died a new life was being born.

Adam paced the floor, waiting for the doctor to come downstairs and tell him the ordeal was over for Honor. It had been seven hours and still she labored. He heard her cry out, and clenched and unclenched his fists. He drew aside the heavy drapes and looked out into the night. He could see the many campfires where his men were sitting quietly, waiting as he was. For the moment time and the war could wait. Death might be the final conqueror, but life would always be renewed.

Adam heard someone enter the study, and looked up to see Sergeant Simpson.

"Is there any word on the little lady yet, sir?"

"Nothing yet, Simpson."

"She is such a sweet little thing, sir. I am sorry she is having such a hard time of it."

"Is it unusually long for a woman to be in labor, Simpson?"

Simpson shook his grizzly head. "I can only judge by my own wife. Matty had barely enough time to feel the pain before she birthed my three sons. A fine, strong woman she is too," he said with apparent pride.

Less than an hour later they both heard the cry of an infant, and a shout went up from the men waiting outside as the sound carried to the soldiers. Shortly afterward the doctor joined Adam in the study.

Adam shook Dr. Wilson's hand vigorously. "I did not know it was you who attended Mrs. Daniels," Adam told him.

"When I was told she was in labor, I thought it was the least I could do to repay her for her care of our wounded."

"Is she all right?" Adam asked.

"Tired, but she will be fine. She has a son."

The doctor took the brandy Adam offered him and sat down wearily.

"Was it rough on her, Stan?" Adam wanted to know.

"Yes. She is such a tiny little thing, but courageous all the same. This war begins to tell on me, Adam. What kind of world is it when a young woman gives birth without the comfort of her husband, and surrounded by enemy soldiers?" He shook his head. "I wish I could turn my horse and ride for home."

"I fear the war is not half over, Stan."

The doctor sighed heavily. "Today Mrs. Daniels gave birth to a son. He can grow up and fight in another damn war. Then he can beget more sons, who can grow up to fight in yet another war. It is a never-ending cycle."

"You are feeling a bit philosophical tonight, doctor."

"Maybe." He downed his brandy and rose wearily to his feet. "I must be off. I want to lay this weary body down. Perhaps my sleep will be a little better after tonight. It felt good to bring a new life into the world, in spite of my grim predictions."

Adam walked the doctor to the door.

"What was the baby, doctor?" one of the soldiers hollered out.

Dr. Wilson smiled as he mounted his horse. "A son, soldier. Mrs. Daniels has a son."

* * *

At that moment Jordan Daniels lay on his cot, wishing he were home. It felt as though his small tent was closing in on him. He rose and threw the tent flap open, and stared out into the night. He closed his eyes, wondering where Meagan was. Was she having dinner at some sidewalk cafe in Paris? He tried to imagine her face, but it was not as clear as it once had been. He had tried to block her out of his mind so often, maybe he had been a little successful.

His mind wandered to Honor as it did so often lately. He remembered their wedding night and felt sick inside. He thought of how he had drunkenly taken her, and shook his head sadly. Sweet little Honor, how she must hate him now. He thought of how she had looked the summer before the war had started. She had been a free spirit, young and carefree, with her light-colored hair streaming down her back and tiny freckles dotted across her pert little nose.

He had watched her grow up, and even his all-consuming love for Meagan had not shut out the affection he had felt for Honor. He remembered wanting to take care of her after finding her all alone when her aunt had died. Jordan smiled bitterly. Who had been there to protect her from him?

He was full of self-loathing. His poor little one. He had used her sorely. He hated the thought that she would never look at him with that adoring innocent smile again.

At first he had taken her to avenge his wounded pride, but he remembered how she had felt in his arms, and in remembering, he felt his body burn with desire, not for Meagan, but for Honor, his wife.

Had what he felt for Meagan been lust? Was what he felt for Honor love? He walked back to his tent and lay down on his cot.

He had tried to write to Honor many times, but the things he wanted to say to her could not be put in a letter. At least she was safe and well cared for by his mother and father at Green Rivers.

"Poor little one, poor Jordan," he said aloud as he closed his eyes.

Jordan had no way of knowing he had just become a father.

* * *

The Union soldiers were silent and grim-faced as they mounted their horses. The only sounds that penetrated the darkness were the jingling of spurs and the creak of saddle leather.

For days now Adam's men had been joined by men from other units and their numbers had swelled to over seventy battle-ready soldiers.

Adam had received word from headquarters that the rebel forces were on the move and that they expected a big push to retake the vital bridge within the next few hours.

It was only two hours until daylight. Adam watched as the long line of blue-clad soldiers formed a column and urged their mounts forward.

Sergeant Simpson halted his horse beside Adam. "There is going to be all hell to pay this morning, sir."

"Ride to the head of the column, Sergeant. I will join you shortly," Adam told him. Simpson saluted and urged his horse forward. Adam's face turned upward as he glanced up at Honor's bedroom window and wished she would awake and look out her window. He could be killed today, he thought, and he would die without her even knowing that he loved her.

Before now he had not given death too much thought, but now he was a man in love, and he did not want to die. His blue eyes pierced the darkness, as if willing Honor to awake and look out her window so he could glimpse her face before he had to go into battle. He slipped his boot into the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. Nudging his horse in the flanks he galloped to the head of the column where he took his position.

The sky was painted in brilliant oranges and reds as the Union soldiers took up their position overlooking the bridge. Adam lifted his field glasses to his eyes and scanned the opposite shore. So far there was no sign of the enemy.

Tense minutes passed with the slowness of hours. The three Union soldiers who were on guard paced the length of the bridge with their rifles resting on their shoulders. Adam wondered if the three men felt like decoys, or more accurately, sacrificial lambs. He had sent word that they were to abandon the bridge at the first sign of trouble.

Suddenly Adam's senses became alert as he saw what he thought to be the sun reflecting off of a rifle barrel. There was no time to speculate as the first shot rang out and one of the soldiers guarding the bridge grabbed his chest and pitched forward, landing in the churning water below.

A blood-curdling sound pierced the silence as a rebel yell echoed down the valley.

"Good Lord, major, there must be at least a hundred." Sergeant Simpson calculated.

The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire as Adam waved his arm and urged his men forward. As he charged down the slope he was aware that his men followed, and Simpson was at his side.

There were sounds of the wounded and the dying all about him, but Adam did not slacken his pace. He lost count of the times he fired his rifle and reloaded it.

Time had no meaning as blue clashed with gray. It flashed through Adam's mind to wonder if a damn bridge was worth even one life. He realized that his gun was empty and he had no more bullets. He "saw an enemy charging toward him and he threw down his empty rifle and withdrew his saber. He thought his arms would be wrenched from their sockets as the charging Confederate leaped forward and landed on the point of his saber. Adam saw the blade enter the man's chest and come out the other side. He pushed the dead man aside and faced another. He was fighting for his life. He must not die before he saw Honor one last time, he thought.

He watched as the rebel soldier raised his rifle and aimed it at his heart. Time seemed suspended as the enemy, who was no more than a boy, hesitated. Adam felt the taste of death like a bitter pill in his mouth as he saw the boy squeeze the trigger. Adam waited for the impact of the bullet, but it never reached him. Sergeant Simpson, who had been standing beside him, leaped forward, and the bullet that had been meant for Adam knocked the Sergeant to his knees.

Adam reached for Simpson's gun and quickly aimed it at the boy who had taken his Sergeants life. He felt satisfaction as he saw the Rebel fall forward to lie dead at his feet. He had slain Simpson's killer with his gun.

Adam charged toward the bridge. It had now become important that they keep the bridge, so Sergeant Simpson would not have died in vain. Adam's men, seeing their commander rushing for the bridge, took courage and followed his lead.