Triumph (38 page)

“You were right. There were a few men determined that the only good Reb is a dead Reb. Last night, a foraging party came across a small band of wounded Confederates, and brought them back. This morning, I thought I should look in on them—I didn’t want to believe that there were such men under my command, but I can tell you, it has been a bitter war. I knew the most fanatic of the men serving beneath Captain Ayers, so I knew who to watch for.” He lifted his hands. “To kill a man so vulnerable would have been cold-blooded murder. They panicked and tried to shoot me.”

“You would have been within your right to shoot back.”

“Thank you, no. The temptation was great, but I have no desire to defend myself on any trumped-up murder charge. I think I broke a few bones, made my point. And the men will be out of here, and under arrest.”

“But this slash on your chest! This is fairly serious! It should be stitched.”

“Ah, I see! And I think I’ve gotten your gentle touch at last, when all you want to do is stick a needle into me!”

“Taylor, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he murmured wryly, but he was smiling.

“I do excellent stitches. And if you’re afraid of me, your camp is well enough supplied with morphine!”

He stroked her cheek. “No morphine, not for such a trivial wound, and certainly not now. I want to be in full control of all my senses for the time I have remaining, thank you.”

She flushed slightly, her eyes downcast, but persisted. “Taylor, the wound really does need to be stitched. If you don’t trust me—”

“But I do trust you,” he said, and her heart seemed to warm. Then he added, “In this, I trust you.”

Her eyes flew to his again. “Yes, well, I know how you feel otherwise. Risa is here—to keep an eye on me, of course.”

“I was under the impression that Risa was a friend, as well as Jerome’s wife.”

“Yes—the wife of a really wicked Rebel blockade runner.”

“That wicked blockade runner is my relative as well, Godiva.”

“Don’t call me that!” she whispered, dabbing carefully at the wound again. “Take an injury like this too lightly, Colonel Douglas, and you’ll find yourself falling prey to a fever. Even with this, gangrene could set in.”

“It will be all right.” He caught her hand again. “Get what you need from Dr. Bryer. Meet me back in our tent. I just want to wash the rest of this mud off. Go.”

She rose, hurrying to do as he had said; the wound needed stitching. As she moved back into the camp, she was surprised when she was suddenly stopped by Captain Ayers. “Mrs. Douglas! I just wanted you to know ... well, I’m sorry. Most soldiers would never attempt to kill an injured enemy; they know that they, too, could fall into the hands of those they fight. You must believe me. I didn’t know I had men capable of such heinous actions. Don’t despise all Northerners for the cruelty of a few men who have fought in one battle too many.”

“I do not, sir,” she said quickly, uneasy with the way Ayers watched her. She couldn’t help wondering if he wouldn’t one day figure out that she had been the woman he had surprised by the stream that day.

“Excuse me, please, I must see to my husband ...” she murmured.

When she had obtained what she needed from the hospital tent, she hurried back to their own. Taylor had returned. His trousers and his hair were damp; he had washed away the dirt and blood and mud of the fight. The wound at his chest, cleaned much more briskly by his hand than hers, was bleeding afresh.

He sat at the camp desk, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He took a long swig from it as he beckoned her to him. “Ready?”

She nodded, bringing sutures and a needle to the desk. He looked at her gravely, then offered her the whiskey bottle.

“
You’re
supposed to drink for the pain, not me,” she told him. “You want small, neat stitches, right?”

He smiled. “I was handing you the whiskey to pour on the wound,” he told her, and poured the whiskey over his chest himself. He winced with the pain, gritting his teeth. She rescued the bottle from his fingers, knelt down beside him, and began to sew. She did so as quickly and efficiently as she could, and when she had finished, tying a careful knot, she met his eyes again. Watching her, he took another long swig from the bottle.

“You did that very well.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Did you want it to?”

“I asked you first. Did it hurt?”

“Not too badly. Disappointed?”

“Not really—except that maybe some real pain might have made you more careful in the future!”

He stroked her cheek. “I was careful. I knew what I was doing. And I thought that you would have been pleased that this matter was settled.”

Her eyes fell. “I
am
pleased. I was saddened to learn that a vulnerable man was made worse. I am grateful to you.”

“Don’t be grateful to me for this, Tia. I didn’t do it for you—I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

She drew away from him, rising. He caught her by the tangle of her hair, not hurting her but pulling her back. She wound up on her knees before him again, and he caught her chin, meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t do it for you—but I’m not unhappy if what I’ve done has pleased you.”

“Why did you need to let them attack you?”

“Because I was angry. And I wanted to hurt them for what they had done. But I can shoot the wings off a fly, and God knows, in this war, there are those who might have been against me if it came to a matter of military law. Frankly, I wanted very much to bash in the one fellow’s face—and I did so.” He hesitated a long moment, his eyes on hers, his fingers moving gently through her hair at her temple. “Tia, it was Gilly.”

“What?” She felt the blood drain from her face. Her men, the men she had wanted so badly to protect, had been taken anyway.

“Your friend, one of the young fellows with you when we met.”

She started to rise. “I have to go to him! I have to see what I can do.”

His pressed her back down, shaking his head. “Colonel Bryer is a really good man, one of the best surgeons I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. He is also compassionate. He has done his best. Cecilia is there with him now. Risa is helping out with all the injured. You are surely wanted, and may see him in time. But you’re not needed in the hospital tent now.”

“But—”

“I need you here.”

She nodded, trembling slightly. Her hands rested on his thighs; she felt very close to him, as if they were almost carrying on a real conversation between man and wife.

“Taylor—”

“He was one of the men you were trying to protect when you played your Godiva act and came here, isn’t he?”

“Taylor, I didn’t play any act on purpose.”

“So you came here, and now you are married and trapped in a lie, and it was all to no avail. Your injured have been taken by the Yanks.”

“You know the truth now of what I heard the soldiers say! I had no choice, Taylor.”

“That’s debatable. You heard the men. If you had brought what they said to Captain Ayers—”

“How could I know that Ayers was any better?”

“But look what your recklessness—or courage—had brought you to.”

His eyes were so intently upon her; the almost tender massage of his fingers had not ceased. She lowered her head, then raised her chin. “Well, there were a number of people worried that a woman as decadent as a
nurse
would never find a husband.”

“But you’ve married a half-savage.”

“I know,” she replied gravely.

He leaned forward, his knuckles grazing her cheeks. “I know your innocence, and your recklessness, I know that you are rash and determined. I know that you are loyal and headstrong, and that though your heart and passion are often in the right place, you are more likely than Robert E. Lee to take chances! Whatever any old biddies might have had to say, you could have acquired dozens of husbands, before, during, or after this war. But you have done the deed!”

“Yes—a commitment on paper,” she reminded him.

“A commitment you will live with!” His thumb padded over her cheek as he continued to stare at her. “I have to leave soon,” he said.

“I know. In a few days’ time—”

“Today.”

She was startled by his words, and startled by the pain that seemed to strike deep inside her. “But you’re injured—”

“A scratch.”

“I warned you—”

“I know how to keep a wound clean. I will not die of gangrene.”

She stared down again. “How long will you be gone?”

“A matter of weeks. I don’t know what will come when I return; Olustee Station was a total debacle for us—they may give up on penetrating into Florida again, and sit tight with what the Yankees hold along the coast. I may be ordered back to action in Virginia. But I’ll return to St. Augustine from the south, and I want you to be there.”

She closed her eyes. It almost sounded as if he were asking.

“I’ll be there,” she said softly. She looked at him, shaking her head. “I was with Julian for years without incident,” she told him. “I did nothing but help with injured men. I was never in danger.” Her head lowered again with the last. “I don’t think you understand. We can be so very
desperate
for help. I did nothing wrong.”

“No, there was nothing wrong in what you did. But it isn’t a matter of right and wrong. To the Confederates, Godiva is a serious heroine. The problem is that what you were doing was dangerous. Very dangerous. Look at me,” he commanded.

She did so.

“Swear that you’ll not ride out as Godiva again, and I’ll believe you.”

“I swear!” she said very softly.

“Come into my arms,” he said.

“Taylor! You were wounded and bleeding—”

“And I will lie alone with only memory and desire—a far greater injury—in the days and nights to come. I haven’t much time left at all. I want it to be with you.”

“But Taylor ...”

“Yes?” His hazel eyes looked gravely at her.

“It’s day.”

“Tia, trust me. We will not be disturbed.”

She stretched higher upon her knees, and wrapped her arms around him. She lay her cheek against his chest where he was not injured. She eased her fingertips down the muscles of his arms. “I’d not hurt you ...” she said hesitantly.

“My love, you will not hurt me,” he assured her.

He rose with her, cradling her into his arms.

And in minutes, she didn’t care that it was day.

That the sun rose, that the wind blew, that the war and the world went on. Time was precious, and she didn’t know what she thought, or even exactly what she felt.

She only knew that she wanted to be with him.

W
ITH TAYLOR GONE, TIA
thought she’d be very unhappy.

She had no idea of how she could miss a man, none at all, until she lay awake at night, thinking about him, wanting him. He had touched something within her from the first time they’d met. She should have wanted to escape this place, their marriage, all that had happened since her desperate run to this camp.

But she didn’t want to escape. She wanted Taylor to return.

Nor could she despise the Yankees here.

Ian was in charge of the camp, and Risa was with her, and Colonel Bryer and Cecilia were wonderful people. Captain Ayers continued to study her upon occasion, but he remained baffled as to why she might be familiar to him. It was beyond the range of his imagination that Colonel Douglas would have married so notorious a Rebel as Godiva.

There was plenty to keep her busy in the hospital tent. Every morning when she awoke, she was glad to be able to assist the injured men. She was especially happy to be with Gilly.

Each day, he grew a little stronger. He seemed to have complete faith that he would eventually get better, because she was with him.

By the third day after he was nearly killed, Gilly was conscious again, his fever was down, and he seemed on the road to recovery.

She sat with him, carefully tending the rebandaged stump of his lower calf.

He watched her, shaking his head.

He had been startled to see her, but then she whispered what had happened to him. He smiled when she said that she was married to Taylor Douglas. Gilly knew perfectly well who he was, and he didn’t seem surprised by the marriage part of it all.

“So you married Colonel Douglas!” he whispered to her one day, eyes bright as he shared the secret. “Did you have to?” he whispered.

“Gilly!”

“No, no, I didn’t mean, did you
have
to in that manner. I mean, were you in trouble as Godiva?”

“I married him because I chose to,” she said, and it might have avoided the truth, but it wasn’t a lie.

“He’s a darned good fellow. For a Yank.”

“A Floridian. A traitor, some might say.”

“Like your brother,” Gilly reminded her shrewdly.

“Like my brother,” she admitted. “But—”

“There’s a strong man who can go against the tide of a raging sea to follow the convictions of his own heart and soul. Far harder to see, and understand, the losses, and be willing to fight the battle despite all that. Taylor Douglas, like your brother, may be the enemy, but he’s proven himself one good friend to me. And he’s been a good and honest man by you as well, Miss Tia McKenzie. Douglas,” he added, then smiled. “And he knows about the Confederate secret weapon, eh?” Gilly seemed amused by it all.

“Secret weapon?”

“You.”

“I never intended to be a secret weapon,” Tia told him in return. “It just happened that way.”

“But quite a legend. It will live on and on—with a happy ending, because you’ll never be caught and killed now!”

The last gave her a shiver. “Gilly, it’s all good, because you’re here, and I’m with you, and you’re going to get better.”

“And be half a man,” he said sadly.

“Never half a man, Gilly. A man is on the inside, not the out.”

He squeezed her hand. “You tell that to the girls who’ll refuse to marry me for being half a man, Miss Tia.”

“Gilly, one day, the right girl will know you as I do, and she’ll love you, and you’ll never be half a man to her. I can promise you that.”

“And how can you promise that?”

She decided a little blunt and rough-edged love would be in order then. “Gilly, half of the men won’t even be half a man—they’ll be dead and buried and six feet under or rotting in a forgotten and abandoned cornfield somewhere. You’re going to live. And a woman who wants a man is going to love you one day, and that’s that. And you can still have children—that part of you looks to be in fine working order! You’re very young, and you’re going to live a full and productive life.”