by Diana Ballew
He grabbed the chair, spun it around, and straddled it backwards, his arms draped over the top.
The sound of the furniture scraping across the wood floor woke the young Yank. Patrick’s eyes bolted wide open, clearly surprised to see Rayce glaring at him rather than the kindly, older negro woman.
“Wha—?” Patrick struggled to sit up.
“Lie back down, son. We're gonna have a little talk. Just you and me.”
“Sir?” His brow furrowed. “What about?”
“Well, for starters, how about you tell me why you boys aren’t with the rest of your troops. You a deserter, are you? Where you from?”
Patrick squirmed and winced. “No, I'm not desertin'. I'm with the 26th Pennsylvania. We just took a detour, that's all.”
“I see. One of General Hooker’s men, are ya?” He raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Uh, I...I suppose not.” Patrick sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“And you're from where exactly in Pennsylvania?” Rayce lit the thin cheroot, dropped the match on the floor, and squashed it out with his boot.
“If you're planning on turning me in, well...then you just go ahead, Mister. I don't much feel like answering your questions neither.”
“I don't think you really want me to do that, Patrick. Armies don't take kindly to deserters.”
“Look. I said I’m no deserter.” Patrick folded his arms across his chest.
“Uh huh.” Rayce inhaled deeply from the cheroot and exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, blowing it in the Yanks face.
He couldn’t help but laugh as Patrick waved at the thick, smoky ring surrounding him and coughed.
“All right, fine. Lord Almighty, if you must know, I'm not from Pennsylvania. I'm from Virginia, not too far from here, but I joined up north when the war broke out. There, you happy now?”
“Not quite.” Rayce rolled the cheroot between his fingers. “And just what would make a good ol' southern boy from Virginia side with Pennsylvania and the North—Virginia's enemy?”
Patrick sighed and bit down on his bottom lip. Rayce could tell this was something the young man had thought a lot about. Unlike most turncoat abolitionists, Patrick was clearly uncomfortable with his decision.
The Yank took a long drink of water from the glass on the small table. He set it down and stared at Rayce. “Look, it's not like I had a choice, all right? There were some issues—back home, and that's all I want to say about it.”
Thick silence stood between them as Rayce glared into Patrick’s shifty eyes. “Suppose you tell me if any of those ‘issues’ has anything to do with that little lady, Eden Blair, I saw you talking to and gawking at.”
Patrick’s jaw dropped. “I wasn’t gawkin’.”
“Oh, you were gawkin’ all right,” Rayce charged. “Tell me.”
Patrick snorted. “And if I don't?”
“Look at you.” Rayce laughed and shot up from the chair, standing above him. “Do you honestly believe you have a chip to bargain with here?”
“No, I reckon' I don't.” Patrick lay back down, folded his arms behind his head, and sighed.
“Well, then start talking, young man, and you best be shootin’ straight with me, boy, because if you lie to me, I guarantee you, I’m a great shot.”
Eden smoothed the wet sponge dripping with magnolia-scented water down her throat and watched as the sheer window curtains blew gently into the room, nudged by a humid breeze. The light outside had faded to gray, and thunder grumbled across the rolling hills in the distance.
She sat back, resting her head against the smooth rim of the tub, and squeezed the sponge. She tilted her head and watched the small droplets splash like diamonds on the still surface of the bathwater. All the weariness of the last days seemed to drain away, leaving her limbs weak and languid. Another lazy rumble of thunder echoed over the river. She slumped deeper, letting the warm water encircle her up to her neck.
She closed her eyes, and all she could see was Rayce seated across the long dining table, staring at her through the lit candelabras, urging her to face him. She had refused to do so. Lord knows, she could get lost in those eyes, and she dared not tempt herself right now.
Having both Rayce and Patrick on the same grounds was proving to be more than unsettling. The young man she had known since she was a child, who had loved her and kissed her, was ill, asking for her help, and the possibly he could once again be hers—that he needed her—was disturbing, yet equally intriguing.
On the other hand, there’s Rayce; the man who had never once proclaimed his love for her, but showed her the beauty in passion and desire. Wrapped within his arms, she felt safe and protected from harm at a time when no one possessed the luxury of such comfort.
The thought of his naked body, hard and lean against hers, instantly gave her goose bumps. She hugged her arms across her chest. “I guess I'm a ruined woman,” she murmured. The thunder rumbled across the skies above in seeming agreement. She frowned and flicked her fingers across the bathwater.
Beau scrambled up from his small mat and trotted to the tub whining, his nails clicking like castanets on the hard flooring.
“It's only thunder, boy,” she reassured him, scratching him behind the ears. He yawned and dropped down on the rug at the foot of the bathtub.
Why did she feel driven to help Patrick? The lout had left her hurt and humiliated and in fear of ever loving another man. The thought of learning why he had left her had gnawed inside her for so long, she never really weighed her options until now.
Was her injured pride worth her dignity?
The storm moved in quickly, crouching around the house, and the low throaty groan of thunder grew nearly constant. If it got any darker, she would soon need a candle for company. Lifting a leg from the steamy water, she rotated her foot and flexed it, watching as the silky water beaded down her ankle.
Beau suddenly sprang to his feet at the crackle of lightning. She jumped, sloshing water over the rim of the bathtub and called to him. In a moment, his cold, wet nose poked her outstretched hand. “You’re right, boy, it’s time to get out.”
She pulled herself upright and raised her hands behind her head, running her fingers through her hair and smoothing out the tangles. She twisted the long, silky rope, winding it in a knot on the top of her head, and tucked in the ends.
Beau barked as sheets of rain and hail erupted from the sky, just as the force of wind caught a nearby door and sucked it closed with an enormous slam. She flinched and reached for her towel. “It’s all right, boy, I’m coming.”
The sky grew dark and spiteful. Wrapped in a thick towel, she scurried around the room to light a lamp, shielding the small flame from the gusts of wind. At the sound of Will and Ann talking below in the parlor, she sighed, relieved they had made their way back to the manor before the sky broke open.
Deciding to join the others, she dressed casually and headed downstairs where she spotted Hetty and Trinidad in the parlor, putting away the polished silver.
Trinidad nodded, acknowledging her entry. “Miss Eden, would you like evening tea?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine,” Eden murmured. “Hetty, you’re back already? Is Daniel tending to the soldier?”
Hetty sat polishing a serving spoon, examining it closely under the candlelight. “No, Miss Eden. The major wanna take over a spell.”
Eden’s throat went dry. “The...major? Are you sure?”
“Yes’m.”
“Oh, all right, then.” Eden turned away from the others, her mind racing. “Oh, um, just put my tea in my room, please,” she called out over her shoulder.
A huge bolt of lightning hit nearby, slamming into the ground with resounding fury. The old house trembled and groaned in seeming agony. All along the wood paneled walls, family portraits glowed menacingly in the brilliant flashes of light.
A shrieking rush of wind shook the house. The tall windows suddenly flew open, and the candles blew out in an instant. The long draperies twisted i
n a flurry of fabric as violent gusts of wind and rain ripped through the window, howling like a beast in mourning. Eden groped the arm of the nearby chair for support.
A screeching owl flew by the opened windows. Ann squealed and flung herself on the divan.
Just then, Eden saw an image in her mind of Rayce and Patrick together—just the two of them—in the outbuilding.
That's where he’d gone—the matter he had to tend to.
Rayce was a man she cared for, more than she ever thought possible. But he was clearly capable of doing anything he set his mind to and got whatever he wanted when he wanted it. The very things that drew her to him were also what she instinctively feared.
A sudden, sickening wave of nausea threatened. All at once, the claw residing inside her belly scratched, like a demon emerging from slumber, and she saw her past and future, standing before her like a giant two-headed beast.
Oh, Lord in heaven.
“Miss Eden? Are you all right?” Will asked.
Ann stared at her wide-eyed from the divan. “Eden, what's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
A rush of cool air blew an old portrait of Captain Hampton off the wall, sending it crashing to the floor. The wind howled like a wounded animal across the outside eaves. Everything around her—the sounds, the storm, the voices—all appeared to move in slow motion. Beads of moisture formed on her face and neck, and her pulse beat so hard against her throat she thought she would faint. She placed a trembling hand to her chest to calm the frantic beat of her trapped heart and stared at Will and Ann.
Feeling as if the shadowy walls and ceiling were closing in, Eden darted out of the room. Gasping for air, she opened the heavy, wooden entry door. Rain blew in with a giant gust, and hail pelted her face and clothes like shattered liquid glass pouring from the sky.
“Eden! What are you doing?” Ann called out. “What's gotten into you?”
“Miss Blair!” Will cried.
A wild current of air seized the open door. Eden gave the thick knob a forceful yank to shut it behind her. Flying down the portico steps, she ran into the darkness with the wind tearing at her thin cotton dress. Rain hammered her skin, and icy pellets ricocheted off the roof like rapid gunfire. Her hairpins came loose, and her hair fell heavily down her back in a blanket of thick, wet curls.
An explosive crack of lightning pierced the sky in a single brilliant blue flash, striking the giant willow oak tree next to her, splitting it in two. Covering her head, she fell to the ground, screaming, as a blast of sparks rained down around her. The ancient tree began groaning under its own twisted weight.
“Eden!”
Somewhere in the darkness, Rayce called her. She turned her head, side to side, looking for him. A blurry figure came into view, running toward her, then suddenly stopped short in their tracks.
“Eden, get up!” he shouted through the thundering rain. “Get up now and run—dammit—run!”
She scrambled up and scurried as fast as she could, just as a large piece of the once mighty oak slammed into the ground with a tremendous thud, missing her by inches.
“Eden!” Rayce shouted.
“I’m here!” she yelled into the shadowy darkness, the relentless rain hampering her view.
“Eden!” he called again.
She ran toward his voice and slipped in a flow of thick mud. “Oh, no!”
Rayce had heard the lightning strike the massive old tree and ran outside. His heart sank when he saw Eden lying on the ground with sparks spilling all around her and the huge branch about to give way.
He gulped in air, trying to calm the beat of his racing heart as another flash of lightning tore over the river, framing the old manor in a murky yellow hue. Wet strands of hair covered his eyes, obstructing his view, and his clothes were so wet and heavy they stuck to his skin like glue.
Another blast of lighting filled the sky, revealing her position. He shoved his hands through his slick hair and ran toward her. He crouched down and scooped her in his arms. “What the hell are you doing out in this storm, woman? Have you completely lost your senses?”
He rushed through the rain with Eden in his arms, his boots clomping through the torrent of suctioning mud with each forceful step. With the lightning ripping through the skies all around them, he headed for the nearby grain shed.
He kicked the door open. “This will have to do for now.”
The thunder echoed, reverberating off the tall, wooden-planked walls. With Eden in his arms clutching his neck, he grabbed the tarpaulin from a hook by the door and dropped it over a pile of freshly gathered grain as a blanket. After gently placing her down, he stopped to light a lantern.
He lowered himself over her, taking swift assessment. God help him if she wasn’t the most beautiful wet mess he’d ever seen. Her long hair was drenched, spreading wide across the tarpaulin in a fan of liquid gold. Her thin dress was soaked through, and her taut nipples looked like ripe cherries through the sheer fabric. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, Rayce...I...” Her bottom lip quivered, and tears filled her eyes.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sweetness,” he said, sighing, “Damn, you had me worried and...”
She closed her eyes. “And?”
He watched in the dim light as tears ran down her cheeks. He kissed each salty tear. Against her ear he whispered, “And, God help me, but I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”
He kissed her, gently, passionately, coaxing her trembling lips apart with his tongue. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching thick strands of his wet hair.
She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Rayce, I’ve been so—”
“Shhhh, I know.” He smoothed her hair. “I understand.”
He kissed the drops of rain on her throat and felt her racing pulse against his lips. A flash of lightning sliced through the cracks of the wooden slats, followed by a steady rumble of thunder traversing the skies.
Her wet clothes clung to her skin, her breasts straining against the restricting fabric. Arching her back, she pressed herself against his chest, her fingers tugging at the back of his wet shirt, untucking it from his trousers. She roamed her chilled hands up his back, sending icy jolts rushing across his warmer skin.
“Dear Lord, Eden.” He slowly stood up and stared down at her, releasing the rest of his shirt. “Are you hurt?”
“My ankle...a little bit.” She offered him a beguiling smile, her green eyes deepening in color within the flashes of light. Leisurely, she sprawled out across the improvised blanket. “But I think I’ll live.”
“Stay still.” He bent down and gently lifted her foot. “Is this the one that's hurt?”
“No,” she murmured.
He removed her wet boot and cotton knee stocking and gently massaged the uninjured foot and ankle. He reached for the other foot, held it in his hand, and moved it ever so slightly. “Does this hurt?”
“No. I...I don't think so.”
He removed the other boot and stocking and lightly touched her ankle. “And how about here?”
“A little bit.” She flexed her foot and turned it slowly about. “It’s not too bad.”
“Uh huh.” He smiled and slid his hands leisurely under the hem of her long dress and gently massaged her bare calves. Her soft skin felt chilled against the heat of his hands. “How about here?” he whispered.
He moved his hands higher, and Eden trembled as his fingers inched their way up to her thighs. He rubbed slowly, his hands gently kneading her supple skin, each time moving closer to her warm, sensitive middle. Having discovered her unencumbered by the usual myriad of women's undergarments, he gingerly slid a finger toward the velvety soft flesh between her thighs and grinned. “And how about here?”
Eden inhaled his scent, and her body flushed against his large hands. “Rayce,” she breathed. His finger penetrated her and moved gently in and out. She rolled her head slowly from side to side against the tarpaulin, her hips moving wit
h a life of their own in a slow, rhythmic dance against his hand. He lifted her dress to her waist and the sudden breeze of cool air made her gasp.
“But—” Instinctively, she moved to protest, but he stopped her, holding both of her wrists in his hand.
“Not tonight, Sweetness,” he insisted, letting go of his grasp. “Not this night.”
His head moved lower and out of her shadowy view. For a fleeting moment, she wondered where he had gone. Then, she felt her thighs lifted up and his hands underneath her bare bottom, supporting her. She caught a glimpse of his dark eyes as he moved in closer. Before she knew it, his mouth moved down upon her, his tongue circling her small bud.
Her knees instantly quivered. “Oh, Rayce,” she breathed.
Then, in an assault of unfathomable dimension, his fingertips dug into the skin of her bottom, and his tongue plunged deep within her. Breathless, she arched her neck back and whispered, “Oh, Rayce, how you torture me.”
Like the unyielding storm surrounding them, he showed her no mercy. He moved deeper, faster, causing her pulse to pound like a tribal drum through her body. She reached down and ran her fingers through his thick hair. Fleeting glimpses of sharp wood and metal farming tools dangling from iron hooks above them glinted menacingly with each flash of light slanting through the cracks.
Against her thigh, he whispered, “Eden, my sweet.”
A wave of exquisite torment began to rise within her body, building with the energy of the outside storm. Aching with a deep, primitive yearning, she clutched his hair and drove her fingertips into his scalp.
He increased his pace, moving in a dance of wicked seduction, and her body surrendered, helpless against his urgent mouth. Her insides pulsed with desire, and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
Without warning, his tongue narrowed in on her sensitive pearl. She squirmed beneath him, crying out as he gripped her writhing bottom, keeping her at his demand.
She lay with her eyes closed, gasping for air when he stood and scooped her in his arms. “Oh, Rayce,” she breathed, “don’t...don’t stop.”
He laughed a low throaty growl. “Woman, I wouldn’t stop now if you begged me.”