Triumph (57 page)

“Damn you, Taylor Douglas!” Weir swore furiously. “You’ll die for this. I swear it! How did you get in?”

“I entered by the door, Captain.”

He felt Tia’s eyes on him. Still huge, so dark, containing so many secrets, lies, truths. He swung the point of his sword around. Laid it between her breasts. She was so beautiful, so still, staring at him. He couldn’t endure her lying there, where she had been—if briefly—with Weir.

“Tia, get up. And for the love of God, get some clothing on. I grow weary of finding you naked everywhere I go—other than in our marital bed, of course.”

“Marital bed!” Weir exclaimed, stunned.

“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 it, 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?”

Her eyes seemed to crackle with a dark fire. She was never a coward. She caught the tip of his blade and cast the sword aside as she leapt from the bed. Her eyes touched his—with an amazing pride and hauteur. She searched about in the shadows for her clothing, then dressed very quickly.

“Tia?” Weir asked suddenly. There was a sad crack to his voice. Weir had loved her, really loved her, Taylor thought. It didn’t ease the tempest inside him. “You are
married
to him,” Weir said.

“Yes,” she said.

“But you came to me ... tonight!” he cried, his ego demanding that she had come to him because she had always wanted him, no matter what she had said or done before.

Tia lifted her chin. “You were going to attack Cimarron,” she told him, her tone cold and brittle. “And kill my father.”

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

“That’s not true!” she said. How she had learned about this, Taylor had no idea. But Weir wasn’t fooling her in the least. “My father was to be killed—executed,” she said.

“I would have spared his life—for you!” Weir told her.

Taylor had definitely had enough.

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

“Taylor, you’re being a truly wretched bastard. You don’t understand anything!” she lashed out at him.

Raymond suddenly made a dive for the sword where it lay on the floor. Taylor was itching to slash it out of his hands..

He forced himself to refrain from cutting flesh. He hit Weir’s sword with a vengeance. The blade flew across the room. He pressed the tip of his own sword to Weir’s throat once again.

“Taylor!” Tia cried out. “Don’t ... murder him. Please!”

He stared at her, fighting for control.

“Please, don’t ...” she said simply.

He returned her gaze. Remembered that he had come to prevent murder, not to do the deed himself.

He turned his attention to Weir. “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.” A bitterness he couldn’t control welled up in his throat. “I’ve yet to kill any man over a harlot, even if that harlot be my own wife.”

“Call me what you will,” Tia cried to him, suddenly passionate and vital, “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. “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. Weir stared back at him.

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

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

Raymond nodded, as if grateful for the courtesy. He reached for his shirt and frockcoat. The latter was barely slipped over his shoulders before Riley and another of Taylor’s men, Virgil Gray, appeared in the doorway.

“To the ship, Colonel?” Riley asked him.

“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 Weir.

Weir looked at Tia and bowed elegantly to her. She stared at him, and kept staring at him as Virgil slipped restraints around his wrists. Then he turned with Riley and Gray, and departed the room.

Then they were alone. Taylor and his wife. After so much time.

After this!

She was so still, not facing him now. But again, asking no pardon, no quarter, giving no excuses, saying nothing at all ...

He came to her suddenly, because he couldn’t help himself anymore. He gripped her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. She met his eyes. He felt as if he had been seized by every demon in hell, and he wanted to strike her to her knees.
No!
He pushed her away. There was more to the night.

It seemed that he stood there forever, wanting to do some violence to her, wanting to stop the rage that warred inside him, wanting just to hold her. And finally, he managed to walk away. The time had finally come when he didn’t dare trust her, himself, or the future.

Walk away!
he told himself.
Let your men come and escort her to prison. Get to Cimarron, while there is still a Cimarron to get to!

But now, she had suddenly found movement, and a voice. She came flying after him, catching him on the stairs. She pushed past him, turning around to face him. He saw the grief in her eyes, heard the pain in her voice. “Taylor, I—I—they said he meant to kill my father.”

“Step aside, Tia,” he said.

“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 lashed out, sarcastic and cruel, striking her with the anguish that ripped through him.

“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?” he challenged. How many times had she defended Weir to him?

“Yes, you know that—
once
we were friends. But I ... please!” she whispered. His heart constricted, fingers plucked at it, tightened, squeezed. There was so much in that simple word. And the way she looked at him.

He reached out, lightly stroking her cheek. “Please? Please what? Are you sorry, afraid? Or would you seduce me, too? Perhaps I’m not such easy prey for you, 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. 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.”

“I—have seduced no one else. I ...” she said. Tears glistened in the darkness of her eyes. “I’m not a harlot, Taylor!” she managed to whisper. There was a wealth of hurt and sorrow and reproach in her words, and he found himself trembling, shaking, glad to find that she was safe, glad that she wanted him to believe her.

He reached for her, drawing her into his arms. He kissed her too hard, with too much violence in his soul. Felt her hair, her flesh, tasted the sweetness, tempest, and passion in her lips. He was in love with her, did love her so much, had sworn that he would not. He wanted nothing more than to be with her. Hold her, forget. Make love then and there, and let the world crash down around them.

No, good God, he could not be seduced now, couldn’t forget his anger, didn’t dare. He pulled away from her, speaking hoarsely. “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.”

“A battle?” Either she hadn’t known about the pincer movement planned against her father, or she had forgotten. “But you’ve stopped 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. And terrified, he thought. “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!”

He wasn’t going to allow it. She was willing to risk far too much. He ran after her, caught her first by the length of her raven dark hair. She cried out; he ignored the sound, winding her back into his arms, meeting her eyes. “You’re going nowhere,” he told her firmly.

“My father—my home—”

Yes, they were everything to her. And once, she had probably thought that Weir would be the one to fight for them. “Your enemy will save them for you,” he said.

“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.

No, no ... no. He could not let her be there. She would die to save her family, or Cimarron. He almost explained that to her, but he heard footsteps at the landing. 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.

Now she really hated him, he thought. And again, the longing was there to pull her to him, to forget everything else.

No!

He released her.

She stared at him again. “No!” she said softly. Then she cried out, “No!”

He had forgotten who she was, how fast, sleek, supple, and determined. She spun around with such a swift fury that she tore past him, and the soldiers who would have taken her.

She raced down those steps. As she did so, he swore, thinking that Blaze was probably out there; he hadn’t thought to seize her horse when they’d arrived.

“Colonel, sir, sorry! We’ll catch her!” one of the men swore quickly.

“No, you will not. I barely have a chance myself,” he said without rancor. “Tell Riley to leave all the prisoners with the captain, and to ride hard for Cimarron behind me.”

He burst outside just as Tia leapt up on Blaze. Her eyes met his.

“Home, girl, home!” she told Blaze, nudging the animal.

Taylor whistled for Friar, mounted him in a flying leap. Tia had already filled the air with her dust.

The pounding of the earth beneath him seemed to fill him. He rode hard a good ten minutes before nearly catching her. He shouted; she didn’t hear him, or wouldn’t stop. He rode abreast from her and leapt from Friar to Blaze, catching her in his embrace. She resisted him, twisting in the saddle and bringing them both flying down from the horse. He pinned her. She fought him like a wildcat. “Please, Taylor, please, for the love of God ... Please, please!” she whispered. “Bring me home! Let me be there. Bring me home tonight. I’ll stay by your side, obey your every command! I’ll surrender, I’ll cease to ride, I’ll turn myself in to Old Capitol, I’ll put a noose around my own neck, I swear it, Taylor, please, I’ll—”

Her eyes were, for once, so honest. She loved her family. If only she felt half that for him. “Love, honor, and obey?” he asked wryly. And it wasn’t even that he had chosen to forgive her; it was that they were closer to Cimarron than they were to going back.

He stood, drawing her along with him. “You’ll ride with me!” he told her harshly. “And go where I command, stay away from all fire! Blaze can follow on her own—she knows the way.”

“Yes!” she promised.

He whistled again. Friar, good old warhorse that he was, had stopped his flight with Taylor gone from his back. He returned. Taylor set Tia upon his horse, mounted swiftly behind her. He kneed Friar. The horse began a hard flight once again.

The night sky remained bathed in blood. Indeed, when they neared Cimarron, coming from the south below the river that would be one line of defense, the white plantation house itself was steeped in the blood.

Before they reached the property, he could hear shouts. Commands being given, responses, men moving quickly. Defenses had been erected against the river, and men were already busy at the work of battle, taking places behind newly erected earthworks.

Ian had arrived with troops; they were positioned behind the earthworks.

But there were Rebels on Cimarron’s side as well. And he saw Julian in the midst of them, calling out, giving orders, receiving responses.

They might not have known, might not have made it. But they had. Now that Taylor was there, they had the superior numbers. And for once in the war, the color of the uniform meant nothing.

He was accosted by a guard at the rear of the property. “Halt, or be shot!”

“It’s Colonel Douglas, here to defend with the McKenzies!” Taylor shouted, sliding down from Friar.