"Yes, yes" -- Clara began wildly. But she was interrupted.
The sound of a clinking spur struck loudly and discordantly upon the
floor as Jamie stepped firmly between Tess and Clara.
"That's enough!" Jamie stated flatly.
"Clara, I don't know what got you going tonight, but you've no right to
judge this girl, none at all. You owe her an apology, and I damned well
mean it." He paused. Tess realized that he was looking across the crowd.
Looking straight at Eliza. And there was something about her eyes that
told all, even if she tried to stare at Jamie with a look of pure
innocence.
She had stirred up the people. Jamie had left her on the dance floor,
and dear Miss. Eliza had made the rounds, talking to those most
vulnerable.
"But what if it is true, Lieutenant? What if Miss. Stuart was seeing
things?
Then the Comanche or some other tribe is on the warpath, and if so,
we've got to start fighting back!" "I'll find out," Jamie said.
"I promise you, I'll find out." There was a gasp from the crowd. The
sound had come from Eliza, Tess realized. Her plan had backfired. Tess
wasn't sure what victory she felt. Whatever move Jamie made, he made
because he had been forced into it, a gentleman caught by circumstance
into defending a lady's honor.
"I'm going to escort Miss. Stuart to her home, and I'll look into things
there. And I will find out the truth."
By then Jon Red Feather had come to stand next to his friend. It was a
casual but defensive gesture. They were shoulder to shoulder. If any
fighting had erupted, the handsome half-breed would have been ready. But
maybe he had come for more than that. He edged forward, taking Clara's
hands.
"Give Jamie time," he told her.
The little woman looked up at Jon.
"Oh, Jon! I didn't mean you."
"I know," he said, grinning.
"I'm only half savage and heathen and barbarian."
She flushed brilliantly.
"Jon ..."
"It's all right, Clara. Heaven help us, if the Sioux Nation went to war
now, I'm not at all sure where I would be at times." He raised his
voice.
"Every single one of you has, at one time or another, seen some savage
injustice done to the Indians!. You've been with commanders who think
nothing of the murder of women and infants! How in hell can you possibly
doubt this story!"
There were murmurs, then the crowd began to clear. Clara started to cry
softly.
"I'll take her home," Jon told Jamie.
Jamie nodded. He and Tess watched as Jon escorted her through the
alehouse.
"Well, damn it, it's just exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"
He was a far different man from the one who had kissed her with such
staggering heat. She stiffened, wishing she could wash the taste of his
lips from her own, trying to wipe the taste away with the back of her
hand.
"What I wanted!
No! I never wanted to be called' any of those things, Lieutenant, and I
certainly never wanted to see an old woman in pain, nor did I ever
particularly want to be threatened with being tarred and feathered!"
"You wanted me to go to war with your von Heusen."
"All right, yes! I wanted someone else to stand up against him."
She was backed against the pillar still. Her hands slipped behind her to
reach for it for support. He turned on her, coming closer, leaning his
hands upon the beam and bringing his face very close to hers. She was
trapped by his arms, by the prison of his body.
"And now," he said softly, "it's my battle."
"You're the damned cavalry, aren't you? You spent time enough telling me
that the day that you dragged me into the dirt!"
"I dragged you into the dirt! Why, you little hellion! You're the one
who came after me like a bat out of hell!"
It was there again, that feeling of something entirely combustible
between them, of static charging the air, of 77 lightning on a still
night. She had to fight back, and quickly and hard, or she would lose
everything.
"I was frightened out of my wits," she retorted, "not that you probably
weren't worthy of everything I did!"
"Oh? Is that a fact? And have you taken to judging me, Miss. Stuart?"
"Why the hell not? You're determined to judge me." They were silent for
a moment, and in that moment, they both heard a throat being cleared.
Jamie swung around again. Sergeant Monahan was standing there,
red-faced.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant."
"What is it, Monahah?"
"The, uh, the colonel wants to see you."
"Right after I escort Miss. Stuart to her house."
"Er, pardon me, sir, but no, sir. The colonel says that I'm to escort
her and that you're to see him immediately. About this business of your
going to Wiltshire." Jamie frowned, started to protest, then sighed. He
cast Tess a warning glare, although she wasn't at all sure of what the
warning was about.
She was still trembling, she realized, still holding hard to the pillar.
Jamie bowed to her.
"Good night, Miss. Stuart. We'll leave as soon as possible."
He walked away with long, angry strides. Tess looked at Monaham Monahan
was watching Jamie go.
"Well, that might be one heck of a confrontation," he muttered. "Why?"
Tess asked.
"what? Oh?" Monahan flushed, as if he had just realized she was there.
"Why, nothing, miss ..."
"Monahah!"
"Well, the colonel may try to stop him from going."
"What do you mean, might try? The colonel outranks him, doesn't he? Or
am I missing something?"
"No, no, but Jamie is up for reenlistment.
Technically, he could have walked away from the cavalry a month ago.
Paperwork gets slow out here sometimes."
"But why would the colonel want to stop him from going?"
"Oh, the colonel probably wouldn't. Not by himself, that " Monahah, you
are near to frustrating me to tears! What are you talking about?"
Now Monahah was a brilliant red. He stuttered, then started again.
"Miss. Eliza is the one who might mind."
"Eliza Worthingham."
"Monahah!"
"Oh, you don't know! Why, miss, Eliza is Colonel Worthingham's
daughter."
"Oh!" Tess cried, startled.
"Tarnation, I didn't mean to upset you none. Don't you worry. The
lieutenant ain't nobody's fool, and he ain't about to have his life run
by a skirt, even if Miss. Eliza is a pretty piece of fluff. Ah, hell,
not that you're not every bit as pretty--prettier!--but you see my
point? He ain't ever gonna have his mind made up by a woman. Not any
woman.
Oh, dear, this ain't getting' no better, not one wit! Come on, Miss.
Stuart, let me do one duty fight and get you home for the night!"
"Ah, yes, thank you, I think that I am quite ready to retire," Tess told
him, He walked her through the now empty alehouse and she thought of how
disastrously the evening had ended. Then she found that her fingers were
fluttering to her lips and that she couldn't forget the way Jamie ha
d
kissed her.
She would never forget the way he had kissed her. Not if she never-saw
him again, not if she lived to be a hundred and two.
He wouldn't ever let himself be run by a woman. That was what Monahah
had said. But if he came with her, he would feel he had been trapped
into doing it. He had been forced to say he would come with her to calm
down Clara.
But if he stayed. Then it might be worse, because if he stayed after he
had stated he would go, it would be because he had been ordered to
stay--because of Eliza.
He's torn between the two of us, Tess thought. And which one of us will
win?
They had come to the Casey house. Monahah opened her door and lit a
lantern for her, then looked around the small building.
"Seems clear," he said.
"Why, Lieutenant, this is a cavalry outpost! What would I be afraid of
here?" "Never can be too careful," Monahah said cheerfully. "We learn
that out here, ma'am."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," she said softly.
"Well, thank you. I do feel quite safe now."
He told her good-night and left. Tess sat down on the foot of the bed
and slipped off her black leather dance slippers.
Then she paused, feeling as if something in the place wasn't quite
fight.
She stood up and looked around. She hadn't had much brought in from the
wagon, but one trunk was shifted away from the wall when she was certain
she had left it against the wall. Her brush, which she had set on the
small vanity, had fallen to the floor.
She picked up the brush and set it on the vanity. Then she walked over
to the trunk and opened it.
It wasn't in wild disarray, but she knew someone had been into it.
She always folded her clothing meticulously and kept it in defined
piles, her flatiron on the bottom of the chest, her heavy skirts next to
it, her light blouses and lingerie on top. Things had been moved.
She sat again. Maybe Monahah was fight. You never could be too careful.
There was no one in the little house now, but there had been. Who?
Eliza. Tess was certain of it. She smiled.
"Eliza," she whispered softly.
"I've been dealing with the likes of yon Heusen. Fighting you is going
to be easy."
She finished undressing, slipped on the borrowed nightgown and crawled
beneath the covers. Her eyes wouldn't close, though. She was ready to
deal with Eliza. But what if she had already lost the battle?
There was no way she could know until morning. It was a horrible night.
She pt feeling Jamie's kiss upon her lips again and again. And no matter
how she fought it, she k~pt imagining that kiss falling against her
throat, her palm. and Other places.
She slept very late. D~pite the bugles and the commotion of a company
heading out for a day's scouting, when Tess finally slept, she did so
deeply and well. It was nearly noon when she imagined she heard a sharp
rapping on the door. She ignored it. Then she shot up as the door burst
open and heavy footsteps fell within the house.
The covers fell away. Her hair was tousled and falling around her
shoulders, her gown dislodged from one shoulder and draping precariously
low over her breast. Startled and disoriented, she gasped when she saw
Jamie Slater in full uniform, his plumed hat low over his eyes, his legs
apart and his gloved hands on his hips as he stared at her.
"You," she muttered.
He swept his hat from his head, bowing very low.
"Yes, do excuse me, Miss. Stuart. I wanted to let you know that we would
be leaving at the break of dawn tomorrow. I realize, of course, that
dawn might be difficult for you, sinee you are still abed this midday,
but I do intend to leave promptly. Are we understood?"
"Tomorrow! You're still--you're still taking me?" His eyes narrowed
sharply.
"I said I was. Why wouldn't I be doing so?"
"No--uh, no reason." She allowed her lashes to fall, shading her eyes.
"I was just worried that maybe ... that maybe you hadn't meant what you
said."
He was silent for a s~ond.
"Miss. Stuart," he said softly, "I always mean what I say."
"I was just worried that you didn't really want to go" -- "Oh, for God's
sake! I'm going. We're going. Tomorrow.
That is, if you get up on time."
She smiled, then forgot her animosity toward him, and just about
everything else for that matter. She threw back the covers and leaped
from the bed and raced toward him, casting herself into his arms. His
hands came around her as he held her uptight, his arms wrapping around
her. "Thank you!" she said earnestly. Then she realized what she had
done and how she was standing.
And that them wasn't much of anything between them. She could feel the
pressure of her breasts against the hardness of his body, and she knew
that the thin cotton gown wasn't hiding anything of herself.
She backed away, swallowing fiercely.
"Thank you," she repeated.
"I
really do appreciate it. Very much. I don't suppose that you could ever
understand, but I do." The gown was falling off her shoulder again. She
tried to retrieve it. Then she realized that she was standing in the
morning sunlight and that every curve and twist of her form, and even
the shadows of her body, would be completely evident to him.
And her body was warming, and she was certain that her breasts were
swelling, and she was breathing far too quickly, and he could probably
see the pounding of her heart.
"Sincerely, thank you." And she was still muttering. A broad grin
stretched across his features. She plunged quickly into the bed beneath
the covers.
"Miss. Stuart?"
"'yes?"
"Do me a favor once we're under way, will you?"
"What's that?"
"Please don't chatter away endlessly like that, huh?" "I never chatter!"
she said indignantly.
"Never?" His brow arched.
She flushed.
"Almost never. Lieutenant, do you realiz~ how very rude you're being?
You've disturbed my sleep, and now you haven't the decency to leave me
alone to dress." His eyes fell upon her. Lingered over her. He was still
smiling.
"Do excuse me then, Miss. Stuart. But count on this--for the next few
days, I'll disturb your sleep often."
He tipped his hat to her and strode from the room. Tess pulled the
covers close around her, then she smiled and sank low into the bed.
It was a busy day for Jamie. Jon Red Feather was going to be
accompanying him, but other than that, they would travel alone. Since he
didn't know quite what he was going to come up against, he spent a fair
amount of time determining what he wanted to pack on the supply horses
and what he might bring in Tess Stuart's wagon.
Dealing with Colonel Worthingham hadn't been hard. Eliza had been behind
the trouble, he had known that.
Worthingham might be blind about his daughter, but he was a good
officer.
Not that Eliza wasn't careful. She had been with Worthingham when Jamie
>
went to see him. She had spoken of the danger, of how Jamie was needed
at the post, and she had been so sweet no one might ever have suspected
her of having an evil thought.
Worthingham had suggested that another man might do the job; Jamie had
politely reminded him that he wasn't officially in the cavalry anymore,
and that had done the trick. He had three months now, three months on
his own.
And Jon was his own man. He always had been. Jamie was glad Jon was
coming along, even if he was being a thorn in Jamie's side over Tess. As
if the minx needed any champions. The girl did know how to fight her own
battles.
He didn't want to battle, he thought. He closed his eyes, then
remembered the way she had looked that morning, half dressed and
completely seductive, the outline of her delineated by the sunlight
against the soft white cotton.
And she 83 had smiled and thrown herself into his arms. He remembered
the taste and feel and texture of her and had known that he had to get
out of the room before he took a running leap and fell upon her in the
disarray of her gown and covers.
He was a fool. He should be steering as clear of her as he could.
Instead, he had given his word to take her to Wiltshire. And he kept his
word.
There was just so much he wanted from her in return. And she was
desperate enough to give it.
That wasn't the way he wanted her, he told himself. But then he
reflected that he wanted her in any way possible, and he wasn't quite
sure ethics entered into the question. And he had to stop thinking about
her. He clenched his teeth and set to work.
It took most of the day to requisition the weapons and ammunition he
wanted to take. It was dark by the time he was ready to return to his
rooms. He wanted a good dinner and a long, hot bath before he started
out on the trail.
His orderly would have arranged for his bath. When he opened the door to
his office and saw that the lantern had been lit and a steaming hip bath
set in the bedroom, he breathed a sigh of relief. He tossed his hat onto
a chair, unbuckled his scabbard and holster and set his weapons on his
desk. He pulled off his boots and left them where they fell.
By the time he reached the doorway to the bedroom, his shirt was
unbuttoned and he was flinging it on the floor. He was anxious for the
bath.
But then he paused in his trousers, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't alone.
Eliza was in the bedroom. And Eliza had been in his bath. She was curled
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