She felt Adam's arms tighten around her as he pulled her against him. She felt his lips on her face. "I can almost shut out all of the ugliness when you are in my arms," he whispered in an agonized voice.
Honor felt her body begin to tremble as his hands spanned her waist. "Help me forget, Honor. I need you."
Feeling the danger to herself, she pulled away from him. "Major O'Roarke, are you forgetting I am a married woman? It is wrong for you to say these things to me." She knew she was just mouthing words so she could bring herself under control.
"Damn right I am aware that you are married. You do not think I could forget for one moment that you belong to another man, do you?"
"I do not know what you want me to say."
"There is nothing left to say, is there?" He turned and walked away from her without a backward glance.
Honor sat down beside the fence and buried her head in her hands. She cried for Sergeant Simpson, and she cried for herself. She knew now that the love she had felt for Jordan had been a young girl's fantasy, one she would have outgrown in time. But the feelings she had for Adam O'Roarke were those a woman felt for the man she would always love.
* * *
Adam sat at the desk trying to concentrate on his paperwork, but it was useless. Finally he shoved it aside and leaned back in the chair. His eyes moved over the room and rested on a portrait on one of the bookshelves. It had not been there previously. Darcy had brought it in earlier, saying the frame had been damaged, and she had found one to replace it in the attic.
Adam had paid little attention to it at the time, but now he rose and walked over to the bookshelf and picked up the painting.
He recognized Honor immediately. She had been a lovely child. The artist had captured the innocence in her face. The redheaded girl in the portrait stared out at him with bold eyes. Her sister, Meagan. She was beautiful, but Adam had seen many women with her look, and it held no fascination for him.
He traced the profile of Honor's face with his finger. He, Adam O'Roarke, was in love. He loved her so deeply it was almost painful. He was a man who had had many women, and some of them had loved him, but he had never given his heart before. Why should he lose his heart now, and to a married woman . . . a child.
He wanted her as a woman, but he also wanted much more from her. He wanted to share the rest of his life with her. It did not seem that Honor loved her husband, and there was definitely something wrong between them.
"Oh, God, I love you, Honor, and I need you."
He had known her such a short time, but that did not matter, for he had lost his heart to her the very moment he had caught her in his arms to keep her from falling down the stairs.
* * *
The next morning the Daniels arrived. Adam insisted that the meeting take place in his presence. He noted the open affection Honor had for the older Daniels, and they seemed to love her in return. He watched how Maggie Daniels fussed over her new grandson while swearing he was the picture of her son Jordan. Adam could not understand how anyone could say a newborn baby looked like anyone —to him all babies looked alike.
He knew the older Daniels suffered his presence with ill grace. They ignored him, for the most part. Every so often Adam would be graced with a none-too-friendly glance, but it did not bother him overmuch.
Mr. Daniels became indignant when Adam told him they could not leave the room, and Mrs. Daniels called him a Yankee intruder, which only served to amuse him.
Adam tried to ignore them as he sat at his desk working on his unfinished report. He had been trying to write a letter to Simpson's wife and sons, but could not find the words to say.
"Are you treated well, Honor?" he heard Mrs. Daniels ask.
Honor smiled and took her mother-in-law's hand. "I can assure you I have been shown every courtesy."
"Have you heard from Jordan?" her father-in-law asked.
"No, I have heard nothing since he left."
"My dear, you must not think he still cares for Meagan. I am sure he cares for you a great deal," Mrs. Daniels told her.
Adam's eyes narrowed as Honor lowered her head. "Have you heard from Jordan, Maggie?" she asked, feeling crushed that Adam would have overheard her mother-in-law's remark about Jordan and Meagan.
"As a matter of fact, I have. I brought the letter with me, knowing you would want to hear it." Maggie removed her spectacles from her drawstring bag and began to read:
Dearest Mother and Father,
I do not know if this letter will reach you. Not knowing if you are receiving my letters or not, I still continue to write, hoping some of them may reach you. I am well and hoping you are the same.
I will be glad when this war is ended so I can return home. My unit was involved in a skirmish outside Vicksburg. I will not tell you any of the details, except to say we won. I must close now; they are calling for all letters.
Your loving son,
Jordan
P.S. Give my Regards to Honor and tell her to remember what I told her.
Honor closed her eyes. She was still only an afterthought to Jordan. She who had borne him a son was a postscript at the bottom of the letter he had written his parents.
Adam watched her face. What kind of a man was this Jordan Daniels that he would write his parents and ignore his lovely wife? Adam knew that Honor's sister Meagan was somehow involved in Honor's feelings for her husband. How could a man prefer the sister when he was married to Honor? Adam was still puzzling over the answer when the Daniels left for Green Rivers. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels both left in a huff because Adam would not allow Honor to accompany them to Green Rivers.
He knew he could easily let Honor visit her in-laws, but he knew he only had a few days left before he would be called away, and he wanted to be near her as long as possible.
* * *
A week passed and Honor herself could feel that there was something that had changed in Adam's treatment of her. She would catch him watching her with a strange look on his face, and the last few days he had seemed to avoid her.
She sat on the veranda watching the sun set behind the mountains. There was a chill in the air, and she knew it would not be long until the first snow fell.
Honor had just decided to return to the warmth of the house when she saw Adam walking toward her from across the driveway. She waited as he climbed the steps and stood beside her.
"I am glad for this chance to speak to you, Mrs. Daniels. I wanted to tell you that I will be leaving in the morning before daybreak."
"The men are not breaking camp. You will be back, will you not?" she asked, fearing what his answer would be.
"No. My orders are sending me to Washington. My men will follow tomorrow afternoon."
Her mind was screaming that he could not just ride out of her life and never return. She willed herself not to cry, to act normal when her heart was breaking. "I will pray for your safety, major," she said in a choked voice.
He looked at her through veiled eyelashes. "Will you?"
"Yes, every night."
Adam was aware that his men were watching, so he could not say the things to her that were in his heart.
"I have had my men lay in a store of hay for your livestock, and I have given orders that your grounds are to be cleaned. No trace of the camp will remain."
"I thank you, major. Could I ask a favor of you?"
"Any favor you would ask me, I will grant, Mrs. Daniels."
"I have written a letter to Sergeant Simpson's family. Will you see that it is sent on to them?"
He loved her more in that moment than he had ever dreamed possible. "I will handle it personally, and I thank you on behalf of his wife and sons."
She offered him her hand. "Good-bye, then, major."
Taking her hand, he looked into her eyes. "Oh, God, I hate this, Honor."
Pulling her hand away, she turned and rushed into the house. When she reached her room, she threw herself down on the bed and cried until she was exhausted. How she loved him; she
would miss him for the rest of her life.
The next morning she rose early and stood at her window and watched as Adam mounted his horse. He raised his head and gazed up at her bedroom window. Honor drew in her breath at the sadness she saw in his eyes. She knew he could not see her. As she blinked the tears from her eyes, she looked at him, most probably for the last time.
She wanted to race down the stairs and throw herself into his arms and tell him of her love for him. Would he be shocked and disgusted by her if she allowed herself to do such an outrageous thing?
Honor watched as he whirled his horse about and rode away just as the first winter snowflakes began to fall. Her heart felt heavy as she watched him until he was out of sight.
"Good-bye, my beautiful Yankee," she whispered. "I love you."
* * *
The weather was bitterly cold in the Shenandoah Valley in the year of our Lord 1864. Icy winds blew through the valley. The snow was deep as it blanketed the surrounding countryside. The rivers and creeks were frozen solid.
The war raged on, and it was becoming apparent that the Union forces were gaining in strength and were pushing the Confederate forces further south. The land was dotted with smoldering ruins and deserted homesteads. The fields were wasted. Virginia was desolation, as the Yankee General Philip Sheridan urged his troops always forward.
Jordan rode into camp, dismounted, and handed the reins of his horse to a nearby corporal. Entering his tent, he took off his hat and coat, which were covered with snow. Removing his gloves, he warmed his hands over the small portable stove. Pouring himself a liberal amount of brandy, he sat down on a camp stool wearily.
The tent flap opened, allowing a gust of icy wind to penetrate the warmth of the tent. Sergeant Casey snapped to attention.
"At ease, sergeant. What is the news?"
"You were right about the enemy, sir. They are camped just beyond the river."
"Pour yourself a glass of brandy, sergeant," Jordan told him as he studied the contents of his glass.
The older man's eyes lit up. "Thank you kindly, major. It has been a long time since I tasted good brandy."
Jordan laughed. "Pull up a stool, sergeant, and enjoy the brandy, courtesy of the Yankees. The supply train we raided had a case of the finest Napoleon Brandy. No doubt headed for Ulysses S. Grant himself. Will you object to drinking his brandy?"
The sergeant sat down and took a deep drink. "Well, my stomach might not like me drinking enemy liquor, sir, but we will just keep it a secret between ourselves. Since I joined the army, I have learned not to tell my stomach everything," Sergeant Casey said, grinning broadly. He took another drink and studied his commander's face. "There's going to be hell to pay tomorrow, sir. We got them bluebellies boxed in, with the river to their back and us to their front. They will try and fight themselves free."
"That is what I plan on, sergeant."
"Begging your pardon, major, but sometimes it seems like we survive one battle so we can fight another. I lost count of how many battles I have fought in, long ago."
"Are you married, sergeant?"
"Yes, sir. I got me a fine missus and four kids at home."
"I have a wife, sergeant. I watched her grow up, or rather growing up," he corrected. "She is still quite young."
Sergeant Casey looked amazed for a moment. For three years he had fought alongside Major Daniels. He liked and respected him, as most of the men did, but the major never let anyone get too close to him, and he never spoke of his personal life. It wasn't that he thought he was too good for them, it was that he was a very private man and kept pretty much to himself. The men who followed Major Daniels into battle counted themselves lucky to serve under him, for his judgment under fire was unfailing, and he was rarely wrong when it came to second-guessing the enemy.
"What is your missus' name, major?"
Jordan took a sip of brandy and looked at Sergeant Casey. "Her name is Honor."
"Do you have any little ones yet, sir?"
The major was quiet for so long that Casey thought he would not answer. The sergeant watched him stand up and place his brandy glass on the desk.
"No, we have no children. I want this war to be over so I can return to my wife. The longer I am away the more my thoughts are of her."
"Me and my missus have been married for fifteen years, and every day I miss her as much as the day before."
"You are fortunate, sergeant. I only had one night with Honor."
"Well, sir, that is too bad. How long has it been since you last saw her?"
"It has been over two years, sergeant."
Jordan sat down at his desk and leaned back in the chair. "Post a sentry every thirty yards tonight, sergeant," he said, bringing the conversation back to the war. "You had better see that they are relieved every two hours. It is getting colder."
Sergeant Casey drained his glass and stood up. "You think we will have any trouble out of the Yankees tonight, sir?"
"I do not think so, but it never pays to underestimate the enemy."
"You have never been one to do that, sir. Thank you for the drink. I will say good night now."
Jordan watched him leave, then he blew out the lamp and lay down on his cot. He closed his eyes, and Honor's face came to him, as it so often did now. His arms seemed to ache to hold her. Meagan no longer haunted him; the one night with Honor had slowly blocked Meagan out of his mind. He knew that he was in love with his wife, and he wished he could return to her. He had hurt her deeply, and he wanted to make things right between them.
He was able to look at Meagan objectively now. He knew her for what she was, a cold and calculating woman who used her beautiful body to obtain what she wanted.
Jordan did not spare himself. He knew he had been worse than Meagan, that he had hurt the one person in his life whom he really cared about. He prayed that she would have forgiven him by now. He had not heard from her, but the mail was not reliable. He had not heard from his parents either, and he knew they would have written.
Listening to the wind howling outside the tent, Jordan finally fell asleep.
9
Honor was restless and having trouble falling asleep. The wind blew the branches of the trees and they scraped against her bedroom window. She listened to the sound the sleet made on the rooftop. Pulling the covers tightly against her, she shivered. Noticing that the fire had gone out, she got up and placed another log in the fireplace, then hurriedly climbed back into her bed. Perhaps she was so restless because she felt so alone tonight.
Darcy had been ill for the past week, and tonight before Honor had gone to bed she had insisted that Darcy take a sleeping potion to enable her to get a good night's sleep. Poor Darcy's legs were becoming increasingly painful for her, and Honor knew that she would have to somehow convince her to slow down and take things easy for a while, though how she would accomplish that Honor had no idea.
Her mind wandered, as it always did, to Adam O'Roarke. Was he safe? Was he somewhere where he would be warm and dry tonight? It had been almost two years since she had last seen him, and anything could have happened to him in that length of time.
Honor thought of him daily and prayed for him each night, as she had promised him she would. She always included Jordan in her prayers as well, feeling guilty for loving Adam.
Surely it harmed no one for her to love Adam — Jordan did not want her love, and she would never see Adam again. One day her husband would return, and Honor wondered if he would force her to move to Green Rivers with him. She would always feel fear when she remembered her wedding night. Would Jordan wish to repeat the things he had done to her that night? Were all men like Jordan? Was Adam?
Honor tried to push her troubled thoughts out of her mind. There were enough troubles facing her right at the moment without her speculating on the future. There was the problem of putting food on the table. Meat was nonexistent, and the vegetables from the summer garden were all they had to eat.
Her mind returned to Adam. She c
ompared the feelings she had for him to the way she had once felt about Jordan, and she realized there was no comparison. What she had felt for Jordan had been the hero worship of a young girl. What she felt for Adam was the love of a woman's heart.
She sighed and turned over on her back. One thing was sure —if she had known what married life would be like she would never have married at all. She would have been like her Aunt Amanda and remained single. She could not be sorry for the birth of Aaron, however. He was the one good thing that had come from that awful night with Jordan.
Honor turned on her side and stared out the window. It had stopped snowing and the clouds were moving away. She could see the bright moonlight filtering into her bedroom window.
Maybe Jordan had not written her because he was a prisoner, or even dead. She could not bear that thought. Even if they did not love each other, he was Aaron's father. Sometimes she would think of him as he had been while she was growing up. He had always been good to her then. She was sure that when he married her he had done it partly out of kindness. No matter what the future held, she was his wife, and she would do all that was expected of a wife, with the exception of sharing his bed. She would never allow him to hurt and humiliate her as he had on their wedding night. She would always have the love she felt for Adam locked away in her heart, and it would get her through the uncertain future.
Honor heard a noise outside the room. It seemed to come from the hallway. She slipped out of bed and went to the nursery to check on Aaron. Seeing he was sleeping soundly, she noticed that one of his toy soldiers had fallen from the top of his wardrobe. Most probably that had been the noise she had heard. Honor pulled the covers tightly about Aaron and returned to her bedroom.
Getting under the covers quickly, she closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when she felt a hand cover her mouth. Her eyes flew open as she tried to see who the intruder was. She saw the dark figure of a man bending over her, and she tried to pull free from him.
Rebel Temptress (Historical Romance) Page 12