Rebel Temptress (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  "I am rather weary. You do not need to walk me back to the house. Stay here if you like."

  "No, I will accompany you." They walked slowly toward the house. Honor found that she had enjoyed being with Major O'Roarke, and she was almost sorry their walk was over.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. "You remind me of an apple tree, Mrs. Daniels, sturdy and firmly planted in the ground, with delicate blossoms that float in the wind."

  She was startled by his assessment, and then gave him hers. "You remind me of a spring rainstorm that can come along unexpectedly and wash the land clean, then blow away just as unexpectedly."

  "The apple tree needs the spring rain to thrive, does it not, Mrs. Daniels?"

  Honor had stopped and turned her back to him. She reached out to him for support. He took her hand and turned her around. He saw the beads of perspiration on her forehead, and the pain in her eyes.

  "Help me, major," she said weakly.

  "You are unwell?"

  "I think it must be the baby," she said, gasping for breath.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the house hurriedly. When he reached the house, he carried her inside. Brushing past a startled Darcy in the hallway, Adam carried her up the stairs.

  Darcy came puffing up the stairs in his wake. "What the matter with my baby?" she asked.

  Adam waited for Darcy to open Honor's bedroom door before he answered. He laid Honor down on the bed gently.

  "Send someone for her doctor. I fear the baby is coming."

  Honor tried to rise. "There is no doctor, major. He is now serving in the army."

  Adam turned to Darcy. "Who will attend her if there is no doctor?"

  Darcy drew herself up proudly. "I helped bring her into the world; I will do the same for her baby."

  "Dear Lord, is there no one to help?" Adam said, feeling out of his depth.

  Honor gritted her teeth as another pain racked her body.

  Adam went down on his knees beside her and took her hand in his. "I will get you a doctor, have no fear."

  When he would have risen, she held on to his hand tightly. "I am frightened, major."

  Adam silently cursed the man who had done this thing to her and left her to face it alone.

  "Do not be frightened. I shall be just downstairs, will you remember that?"

  The pain had eased. Honor nodded and released his hand reluctantly, wondering why it was comforting to her just knowing he would be nearby.

  Adam rose and rushed from the room and down the stairs, calling for his aide. Lieutenant Harper was instantly at his side.

  "Ride over to the mill and see if one of our doctors will come to attend Mrs. Daniels. Her baby is on the way. Tell the doctor it will be good public relations. Maybe you will find someone who is weary of tending the dead and wounded and would welcome bringing a new life into the world."

  The hours passed slowly. The house was quiet. Even the large body of troops bivouacked in the front yard were silent. They were aware that the lady of the plantation was giving birth, and out of respect, waited for the forthcoming event. Many of the soldiers were seasoned veterans, used to war and death, but today the war could be pushed aside as they waited for a child to be born. It was comforting to know that the cycle of life was being renewed—even as men fought and died a new life was being born.

  Adam paced the floor, waiting for the doctor to come downstairs and tell him the ordeal was over for Honor. It had been seven hours and still she labored. He heard her cry out, and clenched and unclenched his fists. He drew aside the heavy drapes and looked out into the night. He could see the many campfires where his men were sitting quietly, waiting as he was. For the moment time and the war could wait. Death might be the final conqueror, but life would always be renewed.

  Adam heard someone enter the study, and looked up to see Sergeant Simpson.

  "Is there any word on the little lady yet, sir?"

  "Nothing yet, Simpson."

  "She is such a sweet little thing, sir. I am sorry she is having such a hard time of it."

  "Is it unusually long for a woman to be in labor, Simpson?"

  Simpson shook his grizzly head. "I can only judge by my own wife. Matty had barely enough time to feel the pain before she birthed my three sons. A fine, strong woman she is too," he said with apparent pride.

  Less than an hour later they both heard the cry of an infant, and a shout went up from the men waiting outside as the sound carried to the soldiers. Shortly afterward the doctor joined Adam in the study.

  Adam shook Dr. Wilson's hand vigorously. "I did not know it was you who attended Mrs. Daniels," Adam told him.

  "When I was told she was in labor, I thought it was the least I could do to repay her for her care of our wounded."

  "Is she all right?" Adam asked.

  "Tired, but she will be fine. She has a son."

  The doctor took the brandy Adam offered him and sat down wearily.

  "Was it rough on her, Stan?" Adam wanted to know.

  "Yes. She is such a tiny little thing, but courageous all the same. This war begins to tell on me, Adam. What kind of world is it when a young woman gives birth without the comfort of her husband, and surrounded by enemy soldiers?" He shook his head. "I wish I could turn my horse and ride for home."

  "I fear the war is not half over, Stan."

  The doctor sighed heavily. "Today Mrs. Daniels gave birth to a son. He can grow up and fight in another damn war. Then he can beget more sons, who can grow up to fight in yet another war. It is a never-ending cycle."

  "You are feeling a bit philosophical tonight, doctor."

  "Maybe." He downed his brandy and rose wearily to his feet. "I must be off. I want to lay this weary body down. Perhaps my sleep will be a little better after tonight. It felt good to bring a new life into the world, in spite of my grim predictions."

  Adam walked the doctor to the door.

  "What was the baby, doctor?" one of the soldiers hollered out.

  Dr. Wilson smiled as he mounted his horse. "A son, soldier. Mrs. Daniels has a son."

  * * *

  At that moment Jordan Daniels lay on his cot, wishing he were home. It felt as though his small tent was closing in on him. He rose and threw the tent flap open, and stared out into the night. He closed his eyes, wondering where Meagan was. Was she having dinner at some sidewalk cafe in Paris? He tried to imagine her face, but it was not as clear as it once had been. He had tried to block her out of his mind so often, maybe he had been a little successful.

  His mind wandered to Honor as it did so often lately. He remembered their wedding night and felt sick inside. He thought of how he had drunkenly taken her, and shook his head sadly. Sweet little Honor, how she must hate him now. He thought of how she had looked the summer before the war had started. She had been a free spirit, young and carefree, with her light-colored hair streaming down her back and tiny freckles dotted across her pert little nose.

  He had watched her grow up, and even his all-consuming love for Meagan had not shut out the affection he had felt for Honor. He remembered wanting to take care of her after finding her all alone when her aunt had died. Jordan smiled bitterly. Who had been there to protect her from him?

  He was full of self-loathing. His poor little one. He had used her sorely. He hated the thought that she would never look at him with that adoring innocent smile again.

  At first he had taken her to avenge his wounded pride, but he remembered how she had felt in his arms, and in remembering, he felt his body burn with desire, not for Meagan, but for Honor, his wife.

  Had what he felt for Meagan been lust? Was what he felt for Honor love? He walked back to his tent and lay down on his cot.

  He had tried to write to Honor many times, but the things he wanted to say to her could not be put in a letter. At least she was safe and well cared for by his mother and father at Green Rivers.

  "Poor little one, poor Jordan," he said aloud as he closed his eyes.

  J
ordan had no way of knowing he had just become a father.

  * * *

  The Union soldiers were silent and grim-faced as they mounted their horses. The only sounds that penetrated the darkness were the jingling of spurs and the creak of saddle leather.

  For days now Adam's men had been joined by men from other units and their numbers had swelled to over seventy battle-ready soldiers.

  Adam had received word from headquarters that the rebel forces were on the move and that they expected a big push to retake the vital bridge within the next few hours.

  It was only two hours until daylight. Adam watched as the long line of blue-clad soldiers formed a column and urged their mounts forward.

  Sergeant Simpson halted his horse beside Adam. "There is going to be all hell to pay this morning, sir."

  "Ride to the head of the column, Sergeant. I will join you shortly," Adam told him. Simpson saluted and urged his horse forward. Adam's face turned upward as he glanced up at Honor's bedroom window and wished she would awake and look out her window. He could be killed today, he thought, and he would die without her even knowing that he loved her.

  Before now he had not given death too much thought, but now he was a man in love, and he did not want to die. His blue eyes pierced the darkness, as if willing Honor to awake and look out her window so he could glimpse her face before he had to go into battle. He slipped his boot into the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. Nudging his horse in the flanks he galloped to the head of the column where he took his position.

  The sky was painted in brilliant oranges and reds as the Union soldiers took up their position overlooking the bridge. Adam lifted his field glasses to his eyes and scanned the opposite shore. So far there was no sign of the enemy.

  Tense minutes passed with the slowness of hours. The three Union soldiers who were on guard paced the length of the bridge with their rifles resting on their shoulders. Adam wondered if the three men felt like decoys, or more accurately, sacrificial lambs. He had sent word that they were to abandon the bridge at the first sign of trouble.

  Suddenly Adam's senses became alert as he saw what he thought to be the sun reflecting off of a rifle barrel. There was no time to speculate as the first shot rang out and one of the soldiers guarding the bridge grabbed his chest and pitched forward, landing in the churning water below.

  A blood-curdling sound pierced the silence as a rebel yell echoed down the valley.

  "Good Lord, major, there must be at least a hundred." Sergeant Simpson calculated.

  The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire as Adam waved his arm and urged his men forward. As he charged down the slope he was aware that his men followed, and Simpson was at his side.

  There were sounds of the wounded and the dying all about him, but Adam did not slacken his pace. He lost count of the times he fired his rifle and reloaded it.

  Time had no meaning as blue clashed with gray. It flashed through Adam's mind to wonder if a damn bridge was worth even one life. He realized that his gun was empty and he had no more bullets. He "saw an enemy charging toward him and he threw down his empty rifle and withdrew his saber. He thought his arms would be wrenched from their sockets as the charging Confederate leaped forward and landed on the point of his saber. Adam saw the blade enter the man's chest and come out the other side. He pushed the dead man aside and faced another. He was fighting for his life. He must not die before he saw Honor one last time, he thought.

  He watched as the rebel soldier raised his rifle and aimed it at his heart. Time seemed suspended as the enemy, who was no more than a boy, hesitated. Adam felt the taste of death like a bitter pill in his mouth as he saw the boy squeeze the trigger. Adam waited for the impact of the bullet, but it never reached him. Sergeant Simpson, who had been standing beside him, leaped forward, and the bullet that had been meant for Adam knocked the Sergeant to his knees.

  Adam reached for Simpson's gun and quickly aimed it at the boy who had taken his Sergeants life. He felt satisfaction as he saw the Rebel fall forward to lie dead at his feet. He had slain Simpson's killer with his gun.

  Adam charged toward the bridge. It had now become important that they keep the bridge, so Sergeant Simpson would not have died in vain. Adam's men, seeing their commander rushing for the bridge, took courage and followed his lead.

  Time passed as both sides battled for control of the bridge. Adam was not aware that he fought at the head of his men and was an inspiration for them. He was aware of nothing but gaining control of the bridge. It had become the main focal point of his life. He would either regain the bridge or die in the attempt. He had no thought for his safety. He was like a man possessed.

  It was late afternoon when the few remaining enemy retreated in defeat. Adam stood in the middle of the bridge. His face was streaked with blood and grime. He grasped the wooden railing that ran the length of the bridge and looked down at the river below. He closed his eyes as he saw that the river was running red with blood, and he gave an involuntary shudder.

  His men stood silently waiting for an order from him. One of the men stepped forward. "We did it, sir. We helt the bridge."

  Adam had a feeling he was going to be sick. "Damned right we helt the bridge," he said wearily.

  "Are you all right, sir?"

  Adam looked at his hands that were covered with blood and said in a voice filled with wonder, "I was not even scratched."

  8

  Honor's son was three weeks old. She hugged the soft body close to her, feeling mother love for the tiny infant. He had blond hair and gray eyes like Jordan. She had decided to call him Aaron.

  Cradling him in her arms, she kissed his cheek softly. Handing her sleeping baby to Darcy, she threw back the covers and stood up. She was feeling well and strong, and in need of fresh air.

  Honor was aware of the courtesy shown to her by the troops camped out in her front yard. They had been unusually quiet, not wanting to disturb her or her baby.

  Honor looked at herself in the mirror. Her figure was slim, with soft curves. Her silver-colored hair fell down her back to her hips. Her green eyes sparkled with health. Was that stranger in the mirror really her? Could she be beautiful?

  Darcy had returned after placing little Aaron in the nursery. She helped Honor into the bath that had been prepared for her, and later laced her into her stays. Honor pulled the big bell-shaped crinoline over her head and slipped into a bright green gown.

  Standing before the mirror once more, she was startled by her changed appearance. She was beautiful.

  Picking up her brush, Honor ran it through her curly silver hair.

  "You are as pretty as a speckled pup," Darcy told her.

  Honor wondered if Major O'Roarke would think so. Then she scolded herself. She was a married woman. Why did she think so often of the major? Darcy had told her that Major O'Roarke had gone away, along with Sergeant Simpson and most of the soldiers. She wondered how long he would be away, and found herself listening for his return.

  Honor walked out the front door and across the veranda toward the apple orchard. The weather had grown cooler, but it was still warm enough to enjoy being outside.

  Some of the soldiers waved to her from a distance, and she smiled and waved to them in return. It was hard to think of them as the enemy now, when they had been so nice to her. While she had been recuperating from the birth of her son, Honor had received little gifts brought to her by Sergeant Simpson. Some of the men had made a wooden cradle for Aaron, and others had sent flowers and other little trinkets, and she treasured their thoughtfulness.

  When she came to the apple orchard, Honor paused by the rail fence. The apples had all been gathered, and the leaves had begun to change colors and were falling from the trees. Reaching over her head, she pulled a bright red leaf and held it in her hand.

  "I am pleased to see you up and about, Mrs. Daniels."

  Honor recognized the major's voice, and turned to see him sitting under one of the trees, his back resting agai
nst the tree trunk, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  "I did not know you had returned, major." Her heart raced at the sight of him.

  "I got in late last night. You must have been asleep."

  "Where did you go?" she asked curiously.

  He rose to his feet and towered over her. "You do not really want to know."

  "Was there fighting?" she wanted to know, thinking he looked tired, as if he had not slept.

  "Yes, there was fighting."

  All of a sudden, fear gripped her. Suppose he had been wounded or killed. She could not bear the thought of his being in danger.

  "I am glad you have returned safely."

  He let his eyes wander over her, thinking she was even more beautiful now that the baby had been born.

  "How is little Aaron?"

  "He is delightful."

  "Does he look like you?"

  "No, I believe he looks more like Jordan."

  They were both making small talk, neither willing to admit the strong feeling that was beginning to develop between them.

  "I have given permission for your mother- and father-in-law to visit you tomorrow morning."

  "Are you not afraid I will give away your secrets?"

  "After last night there is no longer any need for secrecy."

  "The fighting you were involved in concerned the bridge?"

  "Yes."

  "I see. I do not want to hear about it."

  "I would not tell you even if you asked."

  "The fact that you are still here is proof that you must have won."

  His face grew stormy. "Dammit, what price do you place on a bridge?"

  "I set no value on a bridge, major. I leave it to men like yourself to weigh its importance."

  "Is it worth the price of Sergeant Simpson's life?"

  Honor placed her hand to her throat. "Oh, no, please say that it is not true. He cannot be dead."

  "He is very dead. Oh, God, it was awful." Adam swallowed hard.

  Honor did not know how it happened, but suddenly there was no fence between them and she was holding him in her arms, giving him comfort. She could feel his broad shoulders sag as she pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. "I am so sorry," she said as tears fell down her face. "I liked him very much. He was a good man."