Rebel

by Heather Graham

  “I imagine it is Jerome,” Alaina agreed. “He sent a note with the last soldier who came through that he’d probably be by today. He’s going to sail to St. Augustine soon, then up to Charleston, and he’s going to bring some of my father’s fruit with him for the markets there. I’m so glad he’s almost here. My father is quite fond of your brother—and masculine conversation! I may even get him up here to eat!”

  “Hmm,” Jennifer murmured. She frowned. “Looks like lots of company, maybe. Can you see—there, coming around those mangroves. There’s another little boat coming in. Look, it’s even closer. No sails flying—it seems to have come around into the bay from the little inlet there.”

  “Maybe a couple of army men or sailors, heading down to an outpost in the Keys or down to Fort Taylor,” Alaina guessed. “Maybe a letter from…” She paused, glancing at Jennifer. “Maybe a letter from Ian,” she said lightly. “Perhaps we should arrange for more settings and warn Lilly and Bella that we may be feeding more mouths than originally intended.” Bella was their cook, a wonderful Creole woman who had been with Alaina and her father as long as she could remember. Lilly had asked to accompany Alaina south from Cimarron. Being so fond of the young woman who had been so quick to champion her, Alaina had agreed that she would be a wonderful help to her and her household—as long as Lilly didn’t mind the isolation.

  Lilly didn’t mind—in fact, she didn’t feel isolated at all. She had been befriended by one of the families of Seminoles living nearby, and she felt as if she had come to the height of civilization.

  “Maybe you should hurry your father in, then,” Jennifer said. “I think I’ll get his spyglass and see if I can’t discover who’s coming.”

  “What’s the matter? You sound uneasy,” Alaina said.

  Jennifer glanced at her and gave her a rueful smile. “There’s nothing the matter—not that I can see. I just got a chill, that’s all.”

  Sighing with affectionate irritation, Alaina started down the porch steps. Her father! Indeed, he did take some care and concern! The renowned Theodore McMann was behaving just like a small child. Give him a new tree, and he forgot all about the fact that he needed to eat to survive.

  And Alaina was ravenous herself. A wonder—since she’d scarcely been able to endure eating at all as of late. But then, recently her hunger patterns had been in nearly as great a maelstrom as her emotions. At first she had simply been unable to believe what was becoming more and more obvious. Then she had been incredulous, fearful, excited, resentful; then fearful, excited, incredulous, and resentful all over again. Jennifer had guessed what Alaina had been unable to believe.

  And today it was time to talk to her father. He’d be excited beyond belief, ecstatic. Since she didn’t know what she herself felt yet, she could at least be grateful to know that her father would be delighted.

  She hurried across the spit of lawn between the house and the grove where Teddy worked so intently with his new limes. As always, when she watched him, her love for him welled deep inside her, and she was glad to be with him. He did need her, no matter how restless she felt now.

  Coming home from Cimarron had at first been very strange. In a way, life had been so much the same; she had worked with Teddy, as she had wanted. Taken care of him. Things should have been just the same.

  But they weren’t. Things would never be the same again. She had married Ian. Still, so much time seemed to have passed now. She should feel as if it had never been.

  But most annoyingly, she still lay awake at night, remembering her brief week of marriage. And when she fell asleep, to her horror, she dreamed. Vividly. Dreamed of his touch, his eyes scorching as they swept her, his hands … so talented.

  To her absolute amazement, she missed Ian. She missed the sound of his voice, the feel of his eyes, when they burned into her, or raked over her. At times she actually ached for him, and it was torture to wonder what he was doing.

  Everything she had felt for Peter O’Neill had died that day at Cimarron. Everything. It was as if she had worn blinders and they had been taken away. But with Ian, things were certainly quite different. He remained in Washington, where the woman he had intended to marry lived.

  She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t jealous, that it didn’t matter. Society allowed men… to be men. It wasn’t just acceptable that they did what they wished; it was expected.

  So why did she spend her days in torment, seething, wondering? Was it so frustrating simply because she had no power whatsoever? And worse…

  He might be anywhere. And she might be incredibly far from his thoughts, a nonentity to him. While the life they had created together grew within her.

  He could forget her, but she couldn’t forget him. The situation was almost laughable. She’d thought she’d had some kind of influenza at first; in fact, she’d thought for quite some time that she’d caught hold of some strange stomach malady she couldn’t quite shake. It had actually taken a full two months for her to realize that she was sadly naive and almost incredibly stupid—her week with her husband might have been brief, but apparently quite timely.

  There had been a time when all she thought she wanted was to come home here, unencumbered, and live the life she had led before. Well, she had what she wanted. But life had twisted on her. She wanted more. She had never thought of herself as isolated before. Now she felt as if the world were spinning away without her.

  Ian hadn’t been back in Florida in over four months. But for each month she’d received a letter from him, delivered by a different military man in transit to Fort Taylor at Key West.

  But Ian’s letters had been distant; polite and courteous—but nonetheless, distant. It was as if he had realized the folly of what he had done. Being Ian McKenzie, naturally, he wouldn’t think of backing out of it.

  But perhaps that couldn’t stop him from regretting it. Especially now, with events across the country moving so fast and furiously. Alaina had received letters from Sydney, who remained in Charleston, where South Carolina politicians broadcast their intent to draw their state from the tyrannical hold of the Union should that upstart Lincoln be elected. President Buchanan, it seemed, was doing little to lessen the strain in the election year, and he seemed to be straddling the fence regarding the oh-so-touchy slavery question. Alaina had even received a pleasant letter from her brother-in-law Julian McKenzie, who entertained her with stories about St. Augustine’s volunteer militia forces and with the lyrics to new songs being written. It was quite true that a good percentage of the officers who had come out of West Point and other military schools were Southerners—men who could ride exceptionally well and handle their arms with expertise, while Northerners were finding work more and more often in factories and offices. But according to Julian, Florida citizens were arming themselves for whatever should come. Indeed, the country was spinning rapidly into exciting and revolutionary times.

  Teddy claimed they were lucky to be so far from all that was happening. While most people believed the country would split apart and both sides would accept it as inevitable since they could not agree on certain issues, Teddy thought there would definitely be war. He said it was the realistic view.

  It seemed strange to Alaina that her father should be so certain—and realistic. Teddy was a dreamer. A scientist, but a dreamer, and his fruit trees were the center of all his work. He’d been experimenting with them for many years now, but his new little lime trees were his darlings. As she walked toward her father, Alaina reflected with a certain amount of humor that she was rather like one child competing with many others for Teddy’s attention.

  As she neared her father, she was startled by the sudden searing cry of a bird. Maybe it was the way it sounded against the crystal-clear summer’s day; maybe it was the simple, sharp loneliness of the cry. But something within that sound suddenly chilled her despite the piercing heat of the day. She stopped walking and stared up at the sky, alarmed by the sudden sense of foreboding that filled her.

  Jerom
e had warned them to be watchful. And they were careful. Her father posted two men on guard every night. But his workers were in the field now and the heat made them less alert. Even the household staff was moving slowly these days.

  There were loaded rifles in the cabinet in the den. Alaina’s French fencing swords were across from it. But she didn’t dare take the time to return to the house. If there was trouble, Jennifer would go for the guns. Jennifer—who could aim like a sharpshooter.

  The bird let out a shriek again. The breeze seemed to go still, then crackle with an air of danger.

  “Papa?” she cried. It seemed critical that she reach him. She started running.

  Someone else was running. Birds suddenly burst into flight above Teddy’s lime grove, and two men bolted from the shelter of the trees, racing south toward the shallows between themselves and the mainland. Their movement was awkward and ungainly. They were dressed in dark, filthy, ragged clothing, and both had long hair and rough, scraggly beards.

  Alaina stared at them in horror, realizing that their flight was made so very difficult because they were in chains. They’d been chained at the wrists and ankles, but had shattered the links in the center, allowing them a certain freedom while they still dragged the weight. The chains clanged and grated as they ran, making a noise that was as threatening as the shattering cry of the birds. Alaina realized suddenly that she had come to a dead halt, staring at the men.

  Then she heard shouts, coming from the direction of the bay. She spun around. The small launch she and Jennifer had seen coming toward the islet had made it in. Three soldiers stepped out of it, splashing into the shallow water, racing onto the land.

  “Halt!” one of them cried.

  She turned again. They were shouting at the convicts.

  The men ignored the command and kept running.

  “What in God’s name—” Teddy McMann shouted out in a loud and angry voice.

  But his words were cut off by a startling explosion of gunfire as the soldiers shot at the men in chains, who were armed as well. They instinctively ducked at the sound of the gunfire, then turned back and exchanged fire.

  “Wait!” Alaina cried, incredulous. “Stop!”

  But the soldiers kept firing. They were so intent in their pursuit, it seemed that they ignored the fact that she and her father were there in the middle of their cross-fire.

  “What a perfect day,” Ian said.

  He’d stripped down to his breeches and stretched out in the rear of Jerome’s small sailboat, Windrunner. The sky was cloudless. The breeze was just enough to fill the sails and caress his sun-heated cheeks without making the water choppy. They seemed to skate across the water.

  Jerome was manning the tiller and guiding the sail. Ian had nothing to do but laze where he sprawled so comfortably. He’d made the trip from the Capital to Charleston via government packet, then taken a ride with a merchantman from Charleston to St. Augustine, where he’d looked up his brother, coerced him into a trip south, and found naval transportation for them both down to his uncle’s dock. Like Ian, Julian was stripped down pirate style to breeches alone, and stretched out on the other side of the tiller.

  “Perfect day,” Julian agreed. He grinned at his brother and glanced at Jerome, who shook his head tolerantly. “Indeed, perfect,” Jerome said wryly.

  “You can stretch out and we can work for a while,” Julian offered guiltily.

  “Yes, it should work that way, shouldn’t it?” Jerome said. “Stay where you are. The Windrunner is still new enough to me that I enjoy the feel of taking her through the water.”

  “She’s your best work yet,” Ian said, stating a fact rather than complimenting his cousin. The speed with which they were slicing through the water was truly impressive.

  And being on the water was a good feeling for Ian. The wind against his face, the sun burning down on his flesh, the sky endless above him. It was good to be with his brother and cousin, good to sail, good to have the day. He missed the water when he was away, missed the sun. Summer’s heat was already fading in the north, but here, the slightest cooling was just beginning to come at night. It was a beautiful day. The ocean breeze kept them from feeling the dead heat of late summer. There was nothing like the water on a crystal-clear day when the sun was bearing down in all its glory. The warmth seemed to ease out all the kinks and crimps in his joints and bones. More. It seemed to ease away the turmoil that continued to plague the world.

  The presidential elections were just three days away, and the entire country seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting.

  Returning to Washington after his leave, Ian had found himself working part-time with the army cartographers and part-time with young recruits, drilling, training, teaching.

  The nation was sluggishly preparing for war. For the most part, no one wanted to believe that there could be a war. To those hotheads on either side eager for the excitement, if there was a fracas, it would be dealt with swiftly.

  Still, most military men waited. Waited for the elec- tions, waited to see what their individual states would do.

  Ian had worked hard, since work itself could be a tonic, exhausting him by nightfall so that he didn’t dwell on the many situations that plagued his mind.

  He’d seen Risa his first night back. She had come running down the steps from her father’s house to throw her arms around him and kiss him. She’d smelled cleanly and sweetly of lavender, her dark hair soft as silk, her violet eyes shimmering with tears of happiness as she greeted him. Her kiss held a more evocative seduction than he had ever felt from her. A promise of passion that was sweetly tempting.

  Somehow, he’d broken that kiss. And he’d tried to explain.

  Naturally, she’d been shocked.

  She never cried. Not in front of him. She had far too much pride. She told him that she understood—did she really?—and she said that she was glad that she’d never mentioned a word to her father, that she’d been waiting for Ian to do so. This way, she said with calm, rational control, no one else was involved, no one was hurt.

  But she had been hurt, and he knew it. And he found that he was hurt himself in a way he had never imagined possible. The world had been so sane before. She had been his future. There had been a difference between love and lust. His casual affairs would have naturally ended once they were married, and he and Risa would have been all things to one another, friend, confidant, lover…

  Except that it wasn’t to be.

  Risa really was the perfect partner for him. She was Colonel Magee’s daughter, dignified, beautiful, knowledgeable, admired by the colonel’s friends—and foes. Ian was afraid to analyze his feelings for her. Social situations continually threw them together, and it was difficult to keep his distance. He cared far too much for Risa to dishonor her in any way, or hurt her any more than he could avoid.

  His affair with Lavinia now seemed such a petty, worthless enterprise, and though he could blame Alaina for what had happened, he was just as guilty. When Risa had rushed to him with such sweet passion, he wondered why, other than foolish male lust and ego, he had risked a future with Risa in so fanciful a form of play. He realized, seeing Risa, just how much he had come to love her, and yet oddly, at the same time, he realized that his feelings for Alaina left him in a tempest as well. He desired his wife; he felt responsible for her… and possessive. And though he was glad to have time alone with Risa to explain what had happened—truthfully, the whole truth, including his part in the affair—he was sorry that he had allowed Alaina to return home.

  Risa was near him far too often, so beautiful and so impeccably well mannered. Speaking so intelligently in any company. Charming everyone near and far. And still attempting to be his friend despite the way her beautiful violet eyes clouded each time they met.

  And all of it made worse by the temper of the country.

  Drinking with friends at night in D.C. could quickly become far more nightmare than pleasure. Many men were quiet, waiting, worrying, wo
ndering what they’d do when “the time came.” Many still swore that there would be compromise. But longtime military men were already resigning. A number of states were arranging emergency legislative sessions to deal with the situation, should a situation arise, after the elections. Militia groups were forming right and left. Many men were brash and arrogant, swearing that they would “whoop” the other side in a single battle. It would be fun, it would be glorious.

  It would all be over so quickly….

  “You commented that it was a perfect day,” Jerome told him, eyeing the sail as he brought it down just a hair. Then he looked at Ian. “And not that I’m not glad to serve, but when we started out, you were smiling and content. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here doing all the work while you scowl and brood.”

  Ian sat up, shrugging, then shaking his head.

  “You’re thinking about the elections?” Julian asked.

  “I am.”

  Jerome stared ahead at the water. “There’s a very good chance that an acceptable candidate will be elected.”

  Julian added, “No one thinks that Lincoln can possibly win. He isn’t even on our state ballot.”

  “But,” Ian said, “everyone is talking about secession and war anyway.”

  “There’s nothing like being prepared,” Jerome murmured.

  “The towns are all forming militia units,” Julian said. “I’ve already been asked to serve as a surgeon with a group of the St. Augustine boys. Retired commanders are becoming officers, and half the state drills constantly.”

  “If secession comes, there will probably be no shortage of able commanders in the South,” Jerome said, staring at Ian again. “They’ll resign from the Federal military and take up new positions. And they’ll come in with nice high ranks. You could be Colonel McKenzie— hell, you could make up your own brigade with little effort and become a general in no time.”

  “So… you’re for secession?” Ian asked him.