The Last Cavalier

by Heather Graham

  Her fingers tugged into his hair, streaking over it, through it. She raked her nails gently over the rippled muscles of his shoulders and back, then allowed them to dig in slightly for a moment as a blinding wave of sensation seized her once again. “Please,” she whispered, and she had no idea at all what she was asking him for—if she wanted him to move or to stay.

  His hand slid low over her abdomen, pushing down the bunched fabric of her dress. He found the long slip she was wearing, yet shoved it easily enough along with the dress, never missing a beat in his lovemaking. His lips trailed down the deep valley between her breasts and farther, touching her hip, her belly. She felt his fingers upon the lace of the sexy panties that matched her bra. And suddenly he was very still.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, praying that he wouldn’t stop, that he wouldn’t force her to think. Then she opened her eyes, and met his gaze. A sweep of fire rose to her cheeks and fanned out through the length of her body in a giant flush.

  “You’re—” he began, and he shook his head. “You’re beautiful,” he told her quietly. His eyes swept the length of her, pausing at the bikini panties. Then his hands were on her once again, sweeping her hips toward him. He leaned his face against her belly and her breath caught. He touched her. Drawing imaginary lines over the design in the lace. His knuckles brushed her thighs. His breath was hot against very sensitive flesh. He teased the rim of the panties with the tip of his tongue, and she cried out suddenly, thinking that she couldn’t bear such exquisite teasing one second more.

  His fingers curled around the band of the panties, and they were suddenly stripped away. And she gasped again with sheer pleasure at the warmth of his body as she felt the fullness of it against her own. His fingers curled into hers, his gaze locked with hers. She felt his hair-roughened legs against her own, felt the angle of his hips, the tantalizing brush of his chest and the fascinating, hot, protruding thrust of his sex. Against her. Against her thighs. Against the acutely sensitive petals of her sex. He held there for a moment, watching her eyes. His right hand released hers and came between them. Brushed her thigh. Touched her. Lightly. More deeply. Entering her. Stoking, Coaxing. Urging her beyond the limits of sensations she’d ever known.

  She cried out softly, closing her eyes, burying her face against his shoulder. She felt him shift his weight. His touch was gone. Then it was with her again. She shuddered fiercely as he swept into her with the fullness of himself, seeming to enter her like molten steel, filling every void, touching the very depths of her. Her hands fell upon his back and her fingers dug into his hard muscles. She felt the ripple of muscle as he began to move. Slowly. Just seeming to slip more incredibly deeply into her with each enticing thrust. She would split, she would die, she thought. She did neither. She felt the sweetest rush of fire begin. Bursting from an inner core, streaking like lightning to totally fill her.

  Her arms tightened around his back. Her hands moved wildly against him. And in just moments, she felt enveloped in a tempest of unimaginable pleasure, of hunger and magic. Wild streaks of fire, more radiant than lightning, bolted through her again and again. She arched with the wonder of him, writhed to his rhythm.

  Aware of the hard earth beneath her, she barely felt it. She knew only the certainty of the force and power of the man, the wild reckless energy that now ruled his desire. He had been so careful at first, so patient and arousing a lover. Yet now he was a hungry one, demanding in each movement, drawing her with him to new heights of magic, receding, lifting her once again. She forgot everything except for the need to rise with him to the sweet blinding pinnacle they both sought. She clung to him, and felt the ragged tension in him as his hands slipped about her hips, holding her tightly as he thrust hard and deeply and held himself within her. A swiftly simmering heat seemed to explode within her, bringing a burst of stars to sweep the streaks of lightning from her world. Diamonds seemed to lay against velvet black. Perhaps she lost touch with this plane of existence for a moment. But she came to, with the hot sweet nectar of release sweeping wildly through her. She felt him moving again, once, shuddering violently, and a greater heat seemed to fill her. Then they were both still.

  Slowly, slowly, she felt the earth beneath her once again. Felt the hard ground, the pillow of his cavalry shirt.

  Slowly she heard the wild cry of the wind.

  Yet it, too, was dying down.

  He was damp and slick, lying atop her, then easing his weight from her, but keeping her within the confines of his arms. His fingers moved tenderly over her hair. His lips brushed her forehead.

  “Ill fortune,” he mused softly. “Yet you are the best thing to happen to me in all these long and bitter months of war.”

  She moved slightly, amazed now that he could still be there, that he could be holding her. She gritted her teeth, suddenly fighting tears. She wasn’t sorry in the least for what she had done. She was amazed once again that he still lay here, that he was not a dream.

  Sated now, she took the time to covertly admire her lover, allowing her gaze a leisurely journey over the length of him. There were scars upon his shoulder and back, which she had missed. They caused her to swallow, but they were all that marred his perfection. He was lean, but very well and tightly muscled, his hips so trim, legs so long, thighs so hard.

  He lifted her chin suddenly, determined to meet her eyes. She found herself flushing again when she discovered that he was very aware of her scrutiny.

  “Isn’t it a little late to decide if I pass muster?” he asked lightly.

  With a brief smile, she told him that he did. She liked his face even more now, the handsome planes, the gravity in his eyes. She liked the curve of his smile, the tone of his voice. And the tenderness with which he held her now.

  “You are wall-to-wall scars,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She drew a finger delicately over one of the pale white and jagged lines on his shoulder.

  “As I said, it’s been a long and bitter war,” he murmured.

  A long and bitter war….

  No. Not this war. This war was just a game. It was history. It was something for Gramps and his cronies to hash over and argue into the wee hours of the night. It couldn’t be real.

  But to this man, it was.

  His thumb and forefinger moved over her cheek. “You are nearly perfection,” he said, studying her eyes. “I—”

  He broke off suddenly, into a dead silence. His eyes narrowed at her. Then she heard something outside the cave. A rustling that wasn’t the wind.

  He thrust her from him suddenly and leapt to his feet. Naked and agile. Bronzed muscles flexed and tensed.

  “You know where we are, eh?” he roughly demanded.

  “What?” she murmured.

  “You definitely know how to take a man off guard, Miss Victoria,” he drawled in a whisper. His gray eyes, so warm moments ago, were now cold with suspicion.

  “Off guard?” she repeated. Then she heard it again. A sound that wasn’t the storm, wasn’t the wind. Something creeping up to the cave. Furtively.

  She leapt up, heedless of her own state of undress. “Of all the nerve!” she whispered back to him, fingers clenching into fists at her side. Then she realized that she was undressed. She snatched up her gown, holding it in front of her. “How dare you! How dare you!”

  “Shh!”

  In seconds he was behind her, drawing her against him, clamping a hand over her mouth. And holding her so, he urged her along with him until he could slip his sword from his scabbard that lay on the earthen floor.

  She saw the glistening steel held out inches from her face.

  Raw panic filled her as the sound came again. Closer. Someone was out there; something was out there. She clenched her teeth together, trying not to let them chatter. She suddenly felt cold, as cold as ice, wondering. What was it, what strange forces had been borne upon the breeze, what unearthly power had touched her? And she knew, knew in her heart, that she had traveled through some strange void, perhaps a place
where only God should tread himself. And now, no matter how she tried to deny these thoughts, she was so very terrified….

  “Behind me!”

  Her mouth was dry, she was frozen as he suddenly thrust her behind him again, ready to meet the danger that came their way.

  Nearer, nearer, coming to the entrance of the cave.

  Did he feel it? Had he known the same sensations? If he was afraid, he did not betray it, but stood ready, his sword glittering.

  She braced behind him, and the rustling sound came louder.

  Closer.

  Louder…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sound stopped at last. They heard a dull clicking. She realized that it was the slow movement of a horse’s hooves, the animal approaching with care.

  Vickie started to tremble, feeling the tension of the man before her.

  Then it eased. Quickly, suddenly, completely.

  “It’s Max,” he said, starting forward.

  “Max?” Who the hell was Max? And how could Jason be so sure?

  “I’ll just get him.”

  “Don’t you dare bring anyone in here!” Vickie cried, scrambling to get back into her clothing. But he had already stepped out—still stark naked—and he whistled, and then began to return.

  “Jason—” she cried in fury and dismay.

  “It’s just my horse!” he assured her at last.

  She had stumbled into her undergarments and had her dress over her head. In a second, helping hands were there along with her own. As her head came through the top of her dress, the first thing she saw was a handsome bay cavalry horse staring straight at her.

  Max appeared just as authentic as his master, from his bridle to saddle pack. She’d seen dozens of horses that looked just like this one, in Gramps’s old pictures of the war. Max was the exact replica of a Confederate cavalry horse.

  Or else, he actually was one.

  It seemed that the ever-faithful mount with the keen sense of smell had once again found his master—this time through time!

  Which made her wonder again if she might be the one losing her mind. Was this her world—or his? Could there really be a difference?

  She didn’t realize how long she had been staring at the horse, pondering the question, until she saw that Jason was dressed. His boots were on, and he was just buckling his scabbard onto his hips. He was watching her so intently that she inadvertently took a step back.

  He strode over to her, capturing her hands, sweeping her back into his arms. He kissed her with a deep passion so reminiscent of their lovemaking that she found herself shuddering again, and remembering. She barely knew him. Nine out of ten, he wasn’t all there. And she had just made love with him. And she should be astounded with herself, horrified, and all she knew was that…

  His kiss made her long to lie down with him all over again. The tension in his arms around her assured her that he longed for the same. But his eyes, when they rose over hers, were filled with pain.

  “I have to find my brother,” he said. “I have to.”

  She nodded. She refrained from telling him that it had already been some time since he had found her, and so it had been quite some time since he had left his brother. If the man had been caught in the fire of a battle, he had probably been discovered by someone else. Or—he was dead.

  “The rain—” she murmured.

  “Has all but stopped. There’s a bit of mist, that’s all,” he said.

  She nodded again. He caught her hand again and led her, along with Max, out of the cave. The rain was a mist again. Delightfully cool against her face, when the days had been so atrociously hot.

  He paused just outside the entrance to the cave. He touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger, raising it gently. She met the steady, silver-gray light of his eyes. She trembled slightly, afraid to close her own, afraid to be overtaken by a vision of his supple power, when he had held her, when he had made love to her.

  The subtle curl of his lips was rueful. “I took you prisoner. I accused you of all manner of things.”

  “Yes, you did,” she murmured in return.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Well, you’re free now, you know.”

  Free? To her amazement, her heart did a double take. She couldn’t possibly leave him. He could…

  He could get hurt, she determined.

  He was watching her so intently once again. She took a breath. Then she tossed back her hair and stared him down. “I’ll help you find your brother,” she said.

  He was starting to mount his horse. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  “And I don’t want you arrested!” she sharply replied. “If you go stumbling around on this mountain and run into a twentieth-century cop, you’re going to be in trouble!”

  He had mounted his horse and was looking down at her. And she realized suddenly that she was furious. She’d been such a fool! Falling for this man, and now, insane or not, he was leaving her in the middle of nowhere after he’d imprisoned her for the night and…

  And even managed to capture her heart.

  “Oh! Go to hell!” she cried. “Surely that is the same for all worlds!”

  She started to turn, but was amazed at the speed with which he leapt down, amazed at the vehemence with which he turned her to face him. “No!” she cried, finding herself in his arms once again, ready to beat against his chest. “No!” But the protest suddenly died on her lips as he held her and met her eyes. There was humor in his, and more. A myriad emotions she couldn’t begin to determine, but she realized at last that one was concern.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t…forcing you into being with me. But you’re right. I can’t let you go. You could stumble into real trouble.”

  “Me?”

  “Into the midst of skirmishing,” he told her.

  “But—” She wanted to tell him that it hadn’t been real. But how could she tell him that? She didn’t want to believe, couldn’t believe, but she had felt the whistle of that bullet passing her cheek. She had felt it! And it hadn’t been just the bullets. It had been the blackness, the mist, the awful sense of fear, of the unknown.

  They couldn’t walk in and out of time! It was impossible. She closed her eyes, trying to remember exactly where they had been. The wind had been so fierce….

  All she could remember was a strangely bowed arbor of trees. And she couldn’t quite remember where they had been.

  No, they had stumbled upon reenactors, men taking the game just a bit too seriously.

  His lips touched her forehead and he was setting her up on his horse, and leaping up behind her.

  “Which way shall we try?” he murmured softly.

  “South,” she said, trying to rethink the battle. She should have known every phase of it. Blackfield’s Mountain hadn’t been nearly as big a battle as some of the others that the historians had really concentrated on—not like Gettysburg, Sharpsburg or Shiloh. And though the reenactment centered around the pasture where the main action had taken place, the battle had been in sets and maneuvers and skirmishes over a period of three days. She knew almost hourly day by day what had occurred. Gramps and his friends had written a guidebook for the interested tourist, and she had been enlisted to do much of the typing. The book was a very good one, she had heard from some of her military friends.

  And if her memory wasn’t failing her, there had been some troop movements south of the main mountain. There would be men displaying some cavalry skills today, women in costumes, all manner of activity.

  Or else…

  There might be a real battle.

  “I think we should try straight south,” she murmured. But the sky was still gray. She shook her head ruefully. “I really do have a sense of direction, and I do know this mountain, but—”

  “South is that way,” he said, pointing. He nudged Max. She rested her head back against his chest, and they started to ride. For
a moment, neither of them spoke. There was a startling comfort in being together now, feeling the easy movement of Jason’s horse carrying them down the mountain. There was warmth. A sense of belonging.

  “So you say it’s all over,” he murmured suddenly. There was a light tone to his voice, but she was also convinced that there was deeper feeling there, too. Just as she was believing in him against all good sense, he was believing in her. His voice was suddenly pained and very husky. “And we lost, huh?”

  She nodded, suddenly loath to say more.

  “When does it end?”

  “Well, there were still some troops in the field after, but most historians agree that it ended at Appomattox Courthouse, April of 1865.”

  “In 1865? Dear God, there’s going to be that much more of this?”

  The anguish in his voice touched her heart as nothing had before. There was so much else that would surely rip into his soul, once he knew the truth.

  What was the truth?

  “I wonder if I’ll survive it,” he mused suddenly. “And John. And so many others. Stonewall, Stuart, Lee—” He broke off suddenly. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.

  “Lee comes through magnificently,” she said quickly, loath to tell him about the others. “History has celebrated him as one of the greatest American generals—”

  “Even though he lost?”

  “Even though he lost. The children supposedly ran out into the streets to see him at Gettysburg. He was always a gentleman. He hated the bloodshed, and he was such an incredible military man, except for a very few mistakes. Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg—”

  “Gettysburg?” he said, puzzled.

  Of course. The action at Blackfield’s Mountain had taken place in late summer, 1862. Gettysburg had taken place in July, 1863. To Jason, at this moment, Gettysburg was just an unknown tiny town in the North.