One Wore Blue

by Heather Graham

“You bastard!” Norris hissed suddenly. “I’ll get you for this, Cameron!”

  Jesse arched a brow to him while Pegasus pranced nervously beneath him. “You’ll get me for this? For setting up a hospital? What the hell is the matter with you, Norris?”

  Norris rode close to him. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. This place should burn! And she should burn. They should all burn, right down to the ground!”

  “There are children in there.”

  “They’ll grow up to be Rebs! And they’ll kill more of us on the battlefield.”

  “Andrew Miller is dead, Norris. And Anthony Miller is dead. That’s enough.”

  “You watch yourself, Cameron. You just watch yourself!” Norris warned furiously.

  “I always do, Norris,” Jesse told him. “Douse your torches!” he ordered loudly to the men. He stared at Norris again. “And you watch yourself, Norris. I’ve chosen a medical command this time, but I was cavalry a long, long time before that. And I know what I’m doing.”

  “You threatening me?”

  “I’m telling you that I know how to watch out for myself.”

  “Reb-lover! Or are you a Reb?” Norris demanded.

  “Get the hell out of my way,” Jesse snarled, “before I forget that we’re on the same side.”

  He rode past Norris and reined in right before the porch.

  She stood there still, as regal as ever, like a princess, not about to forget her station in life.

  “Hello, Kiernan,” he said softly.

  Her eyes swept over him, cold and filled with disdain. Gone, long gone, was the girl he had once known, the girl he had loved.

  She was a stranger now, distant, as cold as the frost of the coming winter.

  She didn’t respond to him in any way. He gritted his teeth, feeling his temper flare. He wanted to shout at her in fury. He wanted to shake that cold superiority from her eyes and make her understand. “Mrs. Miller, as of this moment I’m taking over this property for use as my headquarters, for hospital and surgical space as is necessary. You will kindly inform your household.”

  Her gaze swept chillingly over him once again, but at last, she spoke. “Captain Norris has plans to burn the place, Captain Cameron. I’m afraid you’ll have to seek your headquarters elsewhere.”

  That was the final straw. He wanted to do more than shake her. He wanted to draw her over his knee as if she were still a child and paddle some sense into her. He’d half-killed himself to reach her in time, and she was telling him that she’d rather see her house burned than see him in it.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he had dismounted and was striding up the steps. His fingers itched to touch her. Somehow, he restrained himself. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to save your home and your neck, Mrs. Miller,” he told her.

  “My neck hasn’t been threatened, Captain Cameron.”

  “Keep talking, Mrs. Miller, and it will be! Now shut up, and the manor can remain standing.”

  She delicately arched one brow, watching him. “Will you really be taking it over?”

  “Yes.”

  Her lip curled. “Then I’d rather see it burn.”

  It took every ounce of his self-control to refrain from wrenching her shoulders around to force her to understand the gravity of her position. He fought to speak in a level tone.

  “I’m sure you would, Kiernan. Common sense was never your strong suit. But what of young Jacob Miller and his sister?”

  “Jacob wouldn’t want a Yankee turncoat like you living in the house, either, Captain Cameron.”

  “You’d rather it burned?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared at her, and he thought of the reckless speed with which he had come here, so desperate to salvage her home for her.

  And she’d rather see it burned than see him touch it. He could have killed her.

  Instead, he started to laugh. Hard. He turned away from her, starting down the steps.

  “Captain Cameron!”

  He paused. She was suddenly hurrying down the steps to him. Her breathing was hard. Her breasts were rising and falling with agitation, and for a moment, all he could remember was the feel of the woman in his arms, and the look of those green eyes when they were drenched with passion. She was still so damned regal.

  But there was a chink within that armor of hers. She didn’t really want the house to burn. She just wanted him to know how very much she hated him.

  “Will you—will you burn it now?” she asked him.

  He set his foot on a step and leaned an elbow casually upon it. “Well, Mrs. Miller,” he told her, “I probably should do just that. But I am sorry to disappoint you. I’m afraid that I can’t burn it now. I had to threaten and cajole and just about turn handstands to get the general to turn the place over to me. You see, Millers aren’t real popular among the Union men. Lots and lots of them have had friends and kin killed by Miller firearms. They’d like to see the total destruction of Miller property and Miller people.”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult now, considering that the majority of the Millers are dead—thanks to the Union Army.”

  “I assure you, several hundred Union men died the same—thanks to the Confederate army.”

  “They were on Virginia soil!” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  “I didn’t start the war, Kiernan.”

  “But we’re on opposite sides.”

  He felt his temper snap.

  He loved her so much.…

  And they were enemies. No words that she had ever spoken had shown him that as clearly as the look in her eyes today.

  “So fight me!” He managed to say the words softly. “But I’m moving in, with my staff. Take your little charges and run to your own home. You’ll be safe enough there for a while. I probably won’t be able to salvage everything in the house, but at least I can keep it standing.”

  “I don’t want any favors from you!” she snapped. Again, the fire was in her eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing. “And I’ll be damned,” she continued, “if I’ll run away from a passel of bad-mannered Yanks!”

  His heart seemed to slam against his ribs—and his groin.

  “You’re staying?”

  Her chin shot up, and she might have been the Queen of England. “Stonewall Jackson will bring his army in here and wipe out the lot of you,” she promised. “I might as well wait around for him to come. And keep your men from looting the house blind.”

  “You haven’t been asked to stay, Mrs. Miller.”

  “Are you planning on having your men throw me and the children out—bodily?”

  “Heavens no, Mrs. Miller. It’s war, and I have managed to send men into battle. But I’m a merciful commander—I wouldn’t dream of sending them in after you.”

  She ignored his sarcasm completely. She almost smiled in cool, calculating challenge. “Then I’m staying.”

  “Maybe not,” he told her heatedly. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t come in after you myself.”

  “What a fine point of valor, Captain Cameron!”

  “Go home, Kiernan!”

  “This is my home now. And Jackson will come back. Or Lee will come back. Some southern general will come for this land again, and you will be routed.”

  She was probably right about that, Jesse determined. Stonewall would claim the area again—and again. Or Lee would come back, or someone.

  He couldn’t hold it long. But when the Union was here, he had to manage to be here too.

  He stared at her—at the pride in her stance, at the beauty in her face, at the fire within her eyes and the passion.

  And the fury and the hatred.

  And still, he wanted nothing more than to strip away the silver finery of her dress and hold her beneath him and take the fury and the tempest into his arms. To lie with her, to bed her again.

  His gaze raked up and down her, and then he shrugged and spoke as casually as he could. “That’s highly possible, Kiernan. Fine
. Stay. But I’m taking over the house. Be forewarned.”

  “Forewarned, sir?” Her fury was ragged in her voice. “I’ll be looking over your shoulder. I’ll be making sure that you treat Reb prisoners with the same care that you would give to your own injured.”

  Oh, how he itched to seize her throat! But she had intended to reach into his soul, and he would never let her know how easily she could do so. He stepped closer to her. “I thought you’d run because of me, Mrs. Miller, like you did before. I won’t mind your being around. I’ll enjoy it. You’re the one who promised never to suffer life with a Yank, remember?”

  “I won’t be suffering a life with you! I’ll be surviving in spite of you!”

  He smiled slowly, watching her. Fine, challenge me! You will not win, Kiernan, so help me God, you will not win!

  “I’ll fight you every step of the way. And the South will win.”

  “Maybe the battles, but never the war,” he said quickly. He realized that he wasn’t talking about the great conflict between the North and the South. He was talking about the two of them.

  Suddenly, the tension was so great that it was nearly unbearable. He felt her heat, felt the raw desperation and fury and determination in her.

  And he felt the sizzle of the fire that had always burned between them. Dear Lord, he wanted her! And the memories of the things that had once been between them were suddenly naked in her eyes.

  Damn, but I will have you again! he vowed in silence. Perhaps she didn’t fully remember. She’d been Anthony’s wife.

  A black wave of unreasoning anger washed over him. He’d been warned to keep his personal life out of the military.

  And here he was, growing heedless of the forces around him, heedless of the autumn day.

  Wanting her. Wanting to take her until he could erase the touch of a dead man. Wanting her to remember only him, and hating that dead man for ever having touched her. Hating the emotions that touched him, but still wanting her. Wanting her so badly that he could have swept her into his arms right now and had her, there on the lawn, despite the troops, despite—honor.

  “The Confederates will come back!” she cried out suddenly.

  “They very well might,” he told her. “But until your Rebs come back, Mrs. Miller, it’s going to be share and share alike.”

  He swept off his hat and bowed low to her with a mocking gallantry, with all the fury that still churned within him.

  Then he turned very quickly on his heel and walked away from her, shouting orders to the men who still waited. His words came out normally, no matter what thoughts that raced through his mind.

  Damn her, damn her, damn her!

  It was, indeed, war.

  3

  War

  Sixteen

  Montemarte

  October 18, 1861

  Despite her insistence that she would stay in the house, Kiernan disappeared for much of his moving-in process.

  The Miller housekeeper greeted him when he stepped into the hall of Montemarte. He didn’t see her at first in the shadows, and for a moment, it was as if the autumn twilight played tricks on his eyes. He could remember the hallway from better times. It stretched from the entry to the rear of the house, much like the breezeway at Cameron Hall. There was a fine spinet set at the end of the hallway, and there were groupings of elegant furnishings. Dead center in the hall was a fireplace. It was warm and inviting. During their balls and entertainments, the Millers had always ordered the furniture pulled back. Dancers in silks and satins and taffetas had waltzed through the evenings. He could almost hear the rustle of skirts now.

  “So, Yankee, you’re here.”

  The words made him start. He stared into the shadows and saw the woman. She was tall and handsome, ramrod stiff with graying hair. He remembered her vaguely. She had always held an important place in this household, since Andrew’s wife had died soon after the birth of Anthony’s younger sister and brother.

  She knew him. She’d welcomed him and Daniel and Christa, and she’d accompanied her young charges to Cameron Hall.

  She knew him by name. Yet she seemed to prefer calling him “Yankee” at the moment.

  He set his hands on his hips and stared across the room at her. Janey—that was her name.

  “I see,” he said. “You would just as soon the place be burned down too.”

  She looked at him, then shook her head. “No, not me. I like a roof over my head. I like this roof just fine. But if you think I’m going to welcome you here, Yank, you’re wrong.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Don’t welcome me, but listen to me. If there’s anything of real value—”

  “We done buried the silver a long time ago, Yank.”

  “Good. But see that handsome spinet there? It just might be better off up in the attic.”

  “I hear you loudly, Yank,” Janey assured him. “I’ll see to some moving right away.”

  “Good.” He started for the stairs. He had to find a place for himself to sleep at night, and he wanted a room with good light so that he could maintain an office in it too.

  Halfway up the stairs, he realized that Janey was on his heels. He paused and turned back, and she almost bumped into him. “I’ll give you a tour, Yank.”

  “Oh?”

  “That way I can warn you where not to sleep.”

  They reached the second floor, and Janey hurried on by him. “Not there—that’s young Master Jacob’s room.” She went on down the hallway. “And this one is Patricia’s room.” She started onward again, but Jesse stopped. A doorway was open to a very large room with windows that faced the east and the rising sun. The massive bed in the room looked comfortable and, after the rush he’d gone through that day, very inviting. There was a desk across from it, and a very large armoire off to the side by the windows. It was perfect.

  But it was a master bedroom, he thought. Anthony’s room? Or Andrew’s room?

  Had it ever been Kiernan’s room? Had she ever slept with her husband in it?

  “Yankee, are you comin’?” Janey demanded.

  He ignored her and voiced his own question. “Is this Mrs. Miller’s room?”

  Janey paused, her jaw twisting, and she hesitated to give him an answer. She spoke at last. “No, this ain’t nobody’s room right now. Used to be Master Andrew’s room, and it would have been Master Anthony’s room, except he done got himself killed. So there’s no one in there right now. But it’ll be Master Jacob’s room one day—”

  “I’m not moving in for eternity, Janey,” Jesse told her, “just for the duration.”

  “The duration of what?” she demanded.

  “The war.”

  She snickered. “You ain’t gonna hold this property even that long, Yank.”

  “Right. But even if we lose this place, we’ll be back for it. The Union will keep fighting for this area. I won’t be here long enough for Jacob to grow up, get married, and bring home a bride—I hope,” he added under his breath. “This will be just perfect.”

  Janey turned and started to walk away. Somewhat amused, Jesse called her back.

  “What is it, Yank?”

  “Where does Mrs. Miller sleep?”

  Janey’s eyes narrowed sharply. “What do you want to know that for, Yank?”

  “So that I don’t put injured men on her bed,” Jesse replied dryly.

  Janey inhaled and exhaled with a long sigh. She pointed to the door next to his own. “There’s her room. So you’ll be all set. The healthy folk will be at this end, far down the hall, and you can put your injured in the rooms closer to the stairs. There’s five more on this floor. The one over there will be big enough for a ward. The others can accommodate two or three men.”

  “Thank you for that information, Janey.”

  Once again, she started to leave him.

  “Oh, Janey?”

  “Yes, sir, Master Yank?” Janey slung the field-hand accent at him with fake, wide-eyed innocence. He almost smiled. The woman was as feisty as her mi
stress.

  “Where did Master Anthony sleep?”

  Janey paused, and he thought she was hiding a smile. “Why, Yank? He ain’t sleepin’ there no more, so you don’t have to worry about puttin’ no injured man in his bed.”

  “Curiosity,” he admitted.

  Janey pointed across the hall to the room that she had said was large enough for a ward.

  Kiernan wasn’t sleeping in the room that had been her husband’s.

  Had she ever slept in his room? Jesse wanted to know, but he couldn’t ask Janey any more questions. Not if he wanted her to keep answering his questions now.

  “Thank you,” he told her.

  “I’m not gonna cook for Yanks,” she said flatly.

  “I have a company cook,” he told her. She left, and started down the stairs. But before Jesse had stepped into the room he intended to make his own, she was back.

  “Ain’t gonna be no Yanks in my kitchen. I’ll cook for the household, same as always. You can eat at the table if Miz Kiernan says—”

  “No, Janey,” he corrected her. “I’ve taken over the house. And I dine late. At least eight o’clock because I need all the daylight hours. If Mrs. Miller wants to dine at that time of day, then she—and the children—may join me.”

  Janey looked as if she wanted to stamp a foot on the floor, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked away, and Jesse inspected his new room at last.

  Apparently, Kiernan had no interest in fighting him for the dining room. Nor did she fight him on much else during the days in which he took charge of the Montemarte mansion.

  After looking over his sleeping quarters, Jesse had found two black men downstairs moving the spinet. One was elderly, and Jesse didn’t like to see him huffing and puffing over the heavy furniture. He told them both to wait, rolled up his sleeves, and joined them in moving the spinet up the stairs, followed by several other large pieces.

  He wasn’t trying to salvage Miller furniture. He needed the space for the cots that would be arriving in the morning.

  He didn’t speak much with the two men, but he noted that their dark eyes were on him as they worked together. He learned that they were father and son, that the elder was named Jeremiah, and the younger, Tyne. Jeremiah was growing old. Tyne, on the other hand, was young and as strong as an ox.