“Love does conquer all, Lord.” She gazed into the dark void, allowing the night breeze to trickle through her hair, warm and soothing. “And good does conquer evil.” For some people anyway. Aside from those few precious moments nearly two weeks ago, Blake had remained at a distance, speaking to her only when forced. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of his behavior. Hadn’t he almost kissed her in the sick bay? He’d seemed so kind then, so interested in hearing her side of things. Then, as quickly as donning a uniform, he had switched from warm, loving Blake to cold, impervious Colonel Wallace.
Even so, during the past weeks, she’d caught him looking at her more than once from across the deck. Sometimes he gazed at her with such intense admiration it seemed they were the only two people on board. Other times, anger—no, confusion—shadowed his stormy eyes before he looked away.
Frustration soured in her belly. If he wished to hate her, then hate her, but the occasional moments of interest, the glimpses of affection, and the flickers of hope they lit in her heart would be her undoing. No doubt that was another reason she stood staring into the darkness instead of lying fast asleep in her hammock.
Yet she was the one who had married a Yankee general. Against her father’s wishes. Against her entire family’s wishes. And if she admitted it, against her own conscience. She hadn’t loved Stanton. Not really. She’d been enamored with him. With his position, his power, his commanding presence. The way he made her feel like an adult, not like the child her father always reduced her to. Under her father’s roof, she was told what to wear, what to eat, whom to associate with, where to go. But with Stanton, she’d been given the run of her own house. Stanton was her ticket to freedom, her road to living life by her own rules. That was, until the war began and he was called away and she moved into his family’s home in Pennsylvania with his parents and siblings. They had never accepted Stanton’s marriage to Eliza and made no excuse for their cold behavior. Nor did they hesitate to monitor her every word, correspondence, and movement. As if she were a Southern spy!
The brig rose over a swell, and Eliza braced her slippers on the deck. She’d gotten so used to the rolling of the ship, she hardly had to think about steadying herself anymore. In fact, she’d grown to love the sea for all its wildness and passion and unpredictability. She felt free on these waters—more than she had anywhere else. Her chest grew heavy at the thought of being forced to disembark back in Charleston—back to a land where she didn’t belong.
Clutching her locket, she rubbed a thumb over the fine silver. “Why am I so rebellious, God? I’m so sorry. Why don’t I ask for Your wisdom before I jump into things? Why don’t I listen to Your voice and obey?”
No answer came, save the rush of water against the hull and flap of sail. She breathed in the warm, briny air and then released it in a long sigh. Her rebellion had cost her everything. And now it would cost her the chance at a new life and the love of a man she adored.
Closing her eyes, she gripped the railing. When would she ever learn?
“Well lookee what we gots here.” The male voice gave Eliza a start, and she looked up to find Max leaning on the railing beside her, a gleam in his eyes that sent terror slithering up her spine.
“What do you want?” Eliza inched away from him, casting a glance over her shoulder at the helmsman. He was no longer at the wheel.
Max snorted, a maniacal, lethal sort of snort that tightened the noose around her heart. “I’m thinkin’ you should be nicer to yer enemies, Mrs. Watts.”
“I’ve been more than polite to you, Max. Now if you please.” She clutched her skirts and turned to leave.
He yanked her arm. Pain spiked into her fingers, numbing them beneath his squeeze. “Yankees like you killed me wife and me only son. Took everything from me.”
“You’re hurting me.” She attempted a calm tone. He gripped her harder, drawing her close until his mouth hovered over her ear.
“Yer goin’ to pay for what your husband did, Yankee whore. An’ when I’m done with you, I’ll feed you to the sharks.”
A line of bluecoats emerged from the trees like garish devils. Another row appeared behind them. Then another and another as the first line spread out and took their positions, rifles at the ready. At the sight of so many troops, gasps and moans spilled from Blake’s men while others merely stared in numb horror. The young private standing next to Blake swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each nervous swallow. Henry Swanson had just turned seventeen last week. The camp cook had made him a small cake of cornmeal and molasses, and his company had thrown a celebration, complete with fiddle and harmonica. He was the same age Jeremy would have been. Had he lived. Which made Blake’s need to protect Henry all the more desperate. Blake gave the lad a reassuring nod, which had no effect on the terror flashing in the boy’s eyes.
The rat-tat-tat of drums and the eerie sound of a flute filled the air. Why were battles always accompanied by music? As if a patriotic tune could somehow rebuild the morale of a troop of dejected, defeated boys. Boys who should be back home on their farms helping with chores and courting pretty girls instead of facing an early death.
Grabbing the saddle horn, Blake planted his boot in the stirrup and mounted his thoroughbred. He stroked the horse’s sweaty neck. “That a boy, Reliance.” The steed pawed the muddy ground. Steam blasted from his nostrils. In over twenty major battles and thrice as many skirmishes, Blake had not once been injured while he rode atop Reliance.
Sensing the upcoming battle, horses pawed the ground and snorted while men muttered prayers. Officers bellowed commands. Cannons fired, shaking the ground. Smoke filled the air. Blake drew his sword, leveled it before him, and gave the order to charge.
If there was a hell, it surfaced on that field near Richmond, Virginia, on that cold October day in 1864. A barrage of smoke and fire and terrifying screams surrounded Blake. He slashed his way through the enemy ranks, dispatching Union soldiers left and right. Cannon fire pounded his ears—sent tremors through his body. Sparks from muskets lit up the smoke-filled air like fireflies at dusk. Blake gasped for a breath. Sweat stung his eyes. He swerved Reliance around to check on his men when fire ignited his leg. Reliance let out a pain-filled screech and started to fall. Blake tried to jump from the tumbling beast, but a Yankee soldier thrust a blade into Blake’s side. Gripping the wound, he toppled to the ground. Reliance dropped on top of his leg.
Sounds of battle faded into the distance as his own heartbeat thumped in his chest. Thump, thuuump thuuuump. The beat slowed, grew dimmer. He was going to die. He could no longer feel his leg. One glance told him that Reliance was dead. Pressing a hand over the blood oozing from his side, Blake turned his head in search of help. The vacant eyes of Henry Swanson stared back at him, a bullet in his forehead.
“No!” Blake screamed, unable to stop the tears flooding his eyes—unable to stop the vision of his brother, Jeremy, lying in a field like this poor lad, dying all alone.
“No! Jeremy! Jeremy!” Blake leaped from his hammock and landed on the deck on all fours. The brig rocked gently beneath his hands. Sweat dripped onto his fingers. He gasped for a breath. An ache rose in his leg. He rubbed it, struggling to rise. The bullet had struck an artery. If not for Reliance’s weight upon it, Blake would have bled out on that field.
“Jeremy?” James’s groggy voice sifted through the air.
Blake rose and leaned his hands on his legs, gathering his breath and settling his heart. “Go back to sleep.” Rubbing grief from his eyes, he pulled on his trousers, tossed a shirt over his head, and left the cabin before James could say another word. Blake didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like thinking. All he wanted was some peace. Yet before he even made it above, thoughts of Eliza flooded his mind. After a nightmare like the one he’d just had, he would expect to feel nothing but fury toward her, yet all he found was an affection that, if she returned, promised to soothe away his bad dreams forever.
He’d been avoiding her for just that reas
on. After the incident with the birds and the tender moments they’d shared in the sick bay, Blake’s mind and heart had taken up arms and once again engaged in a fierce battle on the field of confusion. The worst of it was they often switched sides. One minute his mind wanted her to stay, but his heart demanded justice for his family. The next, his heart ached to be with her, but his mind refused entrance to a Yankee. At one point, the fighting became so intense, Blake believed he was going mad. Still, he had no idea what to do. But he did know one thing. Every day he spent on this brig, watching her care for everyone and forgive everyone who’d wanted her dead, both his heart and mind seemed ready to forfeit the battle.
He climbed on deck to a gentle night breeze and the smell of salt and damp wood. Scents he’d grown quite fond of these past months. A muffled squeal brought his gaze toward the foredeck. He peered into the darkness, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Thump. Groan. Blake limped toward the sound.
A woman’s moan made him charge around the capstan. “Who’s there?”
A bulky shadow spun around. Lantern light reflected off the blade of a knife. “None of yer business, Colonel.” Max spit to the side.
“Blake.” The voice emerged as a pleading squeak, barely audible above the rush of the sea, but it grabbed his heart and wouldn’t let go.
The brig shifted and moonlight shimmered over maple-colored hair. Eliza.
Fury tightened every nerve, every muscle within Blake. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Run along, now, Colonel.” Max pointed the knife at Blake. “The Yankee strumpet’s gettin’ what’s comin’ to her, that’s all.”
Blake studied the lecherous fool, weighing his choices. He could reason with the man, threaten to tell the captain, and have him locked below. Or …
With lightning speed, he clutched Max’s wrist and tightened his grip like a vise. Surprise turned to anger and then fear and finally pain in the sailor’s eyes. Blake squeezed harder, feeling the crack of bone.
Max released the knife. It clanked to the deck by Blake’s bare feet. Before Max could react, Blake slammed a fist across his jaw then slugged him in the gut. The sailor bent over with a groan. One final pounding of Blake’s fists on Max’s back sent him toppling to the deck.
Eliza stepped into the light. A cascade of hair tumbled around a pale face and trembling lips. Her gaze took in Max lying on the deck then shifted to Blake as if she didn’t believe he was real.
“Are you all right, Eliza? Did he hurt you?” Blake reached for her. She hesitated. Not waiting for her to respond, Blake gathered her in his arms.
Eliza sat on the cot in the sick bay, already missing the feel of Blake’s arms around her. Like steel bands of armor, they did much to assuage her trembling. A trembling that still racked her body.
Sitting on a chair beside her, he handed her a glass of stale water. The mug quivered in her hand, spilling water over the side. He cupped his hands around hers and helped her take a sip. That was when Eliza knew she must be dreaming. The tender way he held her hands, the lines of concern furrowing his brow, the look of adoration in his eyes. Yes, she was surely dreaming. No man who had ignored her for nearly two weeks would be looking at her like that. “Thank you.”
Setting down the cup, he eased strands of hair from her face. His eyes widened, and horror claimed his expression. “You’re cut.”
“I am?” Eliza pressed fingers over her neck. She touched something warm and wet. And painful.
Blake headed for the side table, returning in a moment with a damp cloth.
“Here, let me.” He tugged her hand away and dabbed the wound, his warm breath filling the air between them.
“I didn’t feel the knife.”
“You were in shock.”
In truth, she felt like she still was.
She reached up to stop him. “No need to do that.”
“Let me care for you. Lord knows you’ve tended to me enough times.” His commanding tone stopped her from further complaints. It had been a long time since someone had cared for her.
After he cleaned and bandaged her wound, he retrieved a blanket from a drawer and flung it over her shoulders. Her breath heightened as memories of the attack assailed her. “Thank God you came when you did.”
Blake’s jaw knotted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave her a look of reprimand. “What were you doing on deck alone at night?”
She lowered her gaze. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t sl—” He stood and took up a pace. “There are still those on board who wish you harm.”
Eliza kept silent—both elated and confused at his display of emotion on her behalf. “Why should you care?”
He halted and studied her. “I do not wish you harm, Mrs. Watts.”
“Then stop calling me that. It hurts me every time you do.”
He huffed. “Would you prefer, Mrs. Crawford?”
Ah, there was the bitterness she’d come to expect. Eliza drew a shuddering breath.
He knelt beside her. “Forgive me, Eliza. You’re trembling.” Thick, rough fingers swallowed her hands. His eyes never left hers, searching, caressing her with his gaze. “You’ve been so kind to everyone on board, even those who have been cruel to you. Why?”
“God commands us to love our enemies.” At least that was one thing in which she’d been obedient. “Besides, I truly do care for them.”
“I’ve never met anyone with such a kind heart.”
“Have a care, Colonel.” She gave him a coy smile. “You speak blasphemy of a Yankee.”
His eyes twinkled in amusement.
An uncontrollable shudder waved through her. No doubt mistaking it for fear, he drew her close, encasing her in the shield of his arms. “You’re safe now.”
The words dissolved in her heart like honey in tea, erasing all the pain, the rejection of the past months. She began to sob.
Nudging her back, he wiped tears from her cheeks with his thumbs—hard and calloused but they felt so wonderful against her skin. His gray eyes swirled like gentle storm clouds, not churning in their usual tempest. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze shifting between hers. His chest rose and fell. His masculine scent filled her lungs. He brushed his thumb over her lips and licked his own. Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. He was going to kiss her.
CHAPTER 29
Blake’s lips met hers.
Eliza’s heart sputtered like the flame of a candle, flooding her belly with heat. He caressed her cheeks with his fingers. His lips brushed over hers as if afraid to land.
“Eliza, sweet Eliza.”
His mouth melded with hers. He tasted of salt and man. Meaty arms swaddled her with protection and strength.
Eliza submitted, allowing him to kiss her fully, all caution, all sense, tossed overboard. How could she do anything else? She’d never been kissed with such need, such urgency, such tender yearning. Such love. She never wanted this moment to end.
The kiss was like none Blake had ever experienced. His body reacted. His mind spun with delight. He felt Eliza’s hunger, her affection in every touch of her lips across his. Pressing her close, he relished the way her curves molded against him.
But no. He withdrew. Passion glazed her eyes. She moved to kiss him again. Grabbing her arms, he pushed her back.
“Blake.” His name emerged breathless on her lips. “If that is the kiss of an enemy, then I fear I am captured.”
He chuckled. The woman never ceased to amaze him. Pulling her close, he pressed her head against his shoulder and ran his fingers through her hair. “It is I who am defeated.” Something he should have accepted a month ago.
She peered up at him with a trust he did not deserve. “I do not wish to defeat you, not ever.”
“Shhh now, get some rest. We’ll discuss terms of surrender in the morning.”
She released a heavy sigh and snuggled against him. It took every ounce of his remaining strength to resist the soft morsel in his arms, but thankfully
, she fell asleep within minutes. Easing her down onto the cot, he covered her with a blanket and slipped from the room before he tarnished her reputation forever.
Four hours later, as dawn broke in an array of glorious color, Blake stood at the bow of the brig, watching a school of dolphins play tag with the New Hope. New Hope, indeed. For the first time in weeks, he felt new hope springing within him. Not only because they were to arrive in Rio within a few days, but because he’d made up his mind about Mrs. Watts—Eliza.
Shame pinched him. He shouldn’t have kissed her without an understanding between them. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all! But she had been so sweet, so frightened, so trusting, he’d been unable to resist. He’d gotten caught up in the moment, severing the string between his heart and mind. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. Now that he had kissed her, what was he to do? Could he truly consider a courtship with a woman whose husband had killed his countrymen?
Moving to the starboard railing, he crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at the Brazilian landscape as the sun lured sand and trees out from hiding. Coconut groves and plantains popped into existence, shading lazy fishing villages—all set against a background of ominous blue mountains.
“Have you ever seen a more beautiful morning?” James appeared beside him, faced the opposite direction, and lifted a hand toward the rising sun. “With water as smooth as glass, the sun rises upon its glorious throne, trailing robes of crimson and gold.” He smiled.
“Doctor, preacher, and now poet as well. Is there no end to your talents?” Blake said.
Splashes drew their gazes to dolphins and bonitos playing in the foam coming off the bow.
“Aha, a good sign! Dolphins leading us straight to Rio’s harbor.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Though, I must say, if it’s already this warm, I fear we are in for a searing afternoon.”
Forsaken Dreams Page 27