He sank down at the foot of the bed, running his fingers through his hair.
Damn Callie! Damn her.
No. Damn Lincoln. And damn the war.
If Callie had been born in the South, she might be on a different side. She had never lied to him. She had never pretended to be a southern sympathizer. She hadn’t even tried to fight him. She had simply refused to back down.
He frowned suddenly, thinking he heard something from outside. He rose and looked out the window. It must have been Callie. If he wouldn’t leave her house, then maybe she was planning on leaving it herself.
He shouldn’t be so distracted, he thought vaguely. On the battlefield, it would be deadly to lose oneself so completely to emotion.
He was going to leave now, he decided. He rose and reached for his scabbard and buckled it around his hip. He pulled on his boots and clenched his teeth against the sudden onslaught of pain that assailed him.
He was in love with her. With the beauty in her dove-gray eyes, with the fire in hair, and in her voice. With the passion of her heart.
The past half hour had proven them enemies. He had no right to stay longer. He was needed at home. And he had probably just cost them any chance of a tender good-bye with his irrational display of temper.
Walk away, he told himself. Make it easy on both of us, and walk away!
But as he started down the stairs he knew that he could not just walk away.
She waited in the parlor, her fingers wound into her palms, her palms held tautly at her sides, for what seemed like forever. Daniel didn’t reappear. Tears stung her eyes. She refused to shed them.
He was angry, she realized, because he was losing his grasp upon his world. He was fighting with all of his heart and with all of his strength. He could ride, and he could wage battle, and he could best his enemy. But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t be brave enough, he couldn’t be daring enough, and he couldn’t be loyal enough. The numbers were against him.
She knew then that she understood him, maybe better than he did himself. If she knew Daniel—and dear Lord, yes, she had come to know him—he would realize it all soon enough.
He had to go. He had to go back to his damnable dying cause, because if he didn’t, he’d never be able to live with himself. But he’d never, never admit—not even now—that his precious Confederacy might really lose the war.
She moistened her lips and fought the tears that stung her eyes. She turned on her heels and walked through the house to the kitchen, and then out the door to the back. She walked down the steps, not knowing exactly where she was going, except that she was leaving the house—and Daniel—behind her.
But she did have a direction in mind, she discovered. Her footsteps took her past the barn, and far out back to the little family graveyard. She plucked a wildflower from a thicket and dropped it atop the new mound of dirt over the Yankee soldier they had buried just the night before. She stared down at the tombstones that honored her father and Gregory, and she felt as if a rain of tears suddenly fell upon her soul. How many? How many would have to perish in this awful contest? What price this honor that all the fool men of her acquaintance seemed so desperate to shed their blood for?
She sat down atop the grass that had grown over her husband’s grave and closed her eyes, remembering. It seemed as if they had loved and laughed in another world. He had not died very long ago, but it seemed like forever since she had seen him. He had held her, laughing, in his arms. The war would be over in just a few weeks, he had told her, and he would be back. He had seemed invincible then with blond hair curling over his collar and his blue-green eyes solemn with both his cause and his duty. But he had been so certain. All that they had to do was give the surly Rebs a good lickin’, and they’d come marching home.
Instead she’d met his body in the railway station, a lonely figure clad in black, awaiting a coffin.
She’d been so much younger before that day.
She started, hearing something by the house. She shaded her eyes and looked toward it. There was no one.
Sighing, she moved her fingers over her husband’s tombstone. It was then that she heard a soft voice, Daniel’s voice, coming to her gently from across the graveyard.
“ ‘He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.’”
Callie stood, dusting off her hands on her skirt, touched by the sad, haunting quality in Daniel’s voice.
He seemed so far away, so distant from her. His temper had faded. Just as he had seemed to mourn the life of the boy who had died in the barn, he seemed to mourn her husband’s life too.
“I’m sorry, Callie.”
But she wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for their argument, or if he was saying he was sorry Gregory had died.
He was ready to leave, she saw. His scabbard was buckled over his hips, and his fine cavalry sword with its menacing edge was situated in that scabbard. He was still in her father’s breeches and cotton shirt, but he was clad in his high black boots once again, and curiously, he looked every inch the soldier. His ebony dark hair fell low on his brow, but his eyes were unobscured, and they were filled with a breath-stealing tenderness as they fell upon her.
“Shakespeare,” she murmured softly.
“Hamlet,” he agreed.
“Ophelia’s words,” she said.
“Yes.”
She tried to smile. “You read fairly well, for a Rebel.”
His smile deepened. “Yes.”
She stared at him, over Gregory’s grave, as the breeze rose between them, lifting her hem, playing a bit of havoc with the stray tendrils of her hair. The sky was blue, the day was pleasantly cool, the sun touched down upon them over a cloudless sky.
The scent of death was gone. There seemed to be just a hint of wildflowers on the air.
It was a beautiful day. Such a beautiful day to say good-bye.
She wanted to say his name, but no sound would come. A ragged little sound escaped her, and he stepped across Gregory’s grave and took her into his arms.
His kiss was long and deep. It was filled with tenderness and with anguish, and it seemed that it lasted forever. When he raised his lips from hers, it seemed that it had lasted not at all.
He stared into her eyes as endless seconds ticked by. He was waiting for her to speak, but words would not come.
Maybe there were no words that could be said. He had to go. They both knew it.
Maybe he would return. And maybe he would not.
He touched her cheek with his knuckles.
“Once I mocked a man for words that I heard him whisper to you. No more. For Callie, I, too, will love you until my dying day!” he told her quietly.
She tried to blink away the sheen of moisture in her eyes. Despite his words, he was building a wall between them, holding himself from her.
“And still I remain your enemy!” she cried softly.
“And I, yours,” he reminded her.
“It isn’t dark yet,” she said stiffly.
“No, it isn’t dark. Damn you, Callie, I can’t wait for the dark. Lord in heaven, I’m trying hard for just a bit of nobility here….” He pulled her close against his heart. She stiffened. No, she could not beg him to stay, she had to let him go! She could not plead, or seduce, for he was right, they had to part. God! Give her strength, give her pride!
“Ah, Callie!” he murmured.
He released her, then turned around and began to walk.
He skirted around the house, and she stared after him, unable to believe that he had really left so easily. Yes, he had to go. But not yet, oh not yet! They had to be together, they had to have their last moment.
She had to tell him.
Damn strength, and damn pride.
She had to tell him that she loved him.
“Daniel!”
She cried out his name and started to race after him. He was already around the house,
starting out across the field, she thought.
“Daniel!”
She raced around the back porch and had nearly turned around the back corner of the house when suddenly fingers wound tightly around her arm, jerking her back.
She spun around astounded, gasping.
Her eyes widened with horror and alarm and she opened her mouth to call out a warning.
She came flying forward, jerked hard against her assailant. She choked and gasped, trying anew to scream, but she was swirled around and a hand clamped down hard on her mouth.
Her cry became a silent scream of anguish.
A whisper, furious, harsh, touched her ear.
“So you’ve been harboring the enemy right to your bosom, Callie Michaelson. And right over Gregory’s grave! Traitor, witch!”
He paused, so furious that words failed him. “Whore! Well, you’re going to pay for it, lady. Because you’re going to get your lover back here for me, Callie, and you’re going to render him vulnerable and harmless, or else you’re going to watch him die!”
———— Ten ————
“Eric!”
Callie tried to fight his hold upon her. He held her tight, his fingers trembling with emotion. He didn’t intend to let her go. She looked around wildly, trying to understand how he had managed to arrive at the house, with neither she nor Daniel aware of his presence.
She realized that he had probably come upon them very easily. He had probably ridden near and heard the argument ensuing in the house. Daniel was usually so wary. But he had not been so careful after Rudy Weiss had appeared and after he had read about Lincoln’s emancipating the slaves. Neither had paid heed to anything around them once they had begun to argue. They had allowed Eric the perfect opportunity to approach the house.
And he wasn’t alone, she saw quickly. Three of his men were flattened against the wall of the house.
Eric and his men had only had to dismount and leave their horses down the slope. Then all they’d had to do was slip around the house while she was out and Daniel was upstairs.
Why hadn’t they attacked him already, she wondered? Chills sped over her spine. Why hadn’t they just drawn their swords or attempted to shoot him down?
She opened her mouth to scream out a warning again, but was jerked back hard against Eric.
“Don’t do it, Callie. I don’t want to have to try to shoot him down.”
“Why not?” she demanded, fighting his hold.
“Because I want him alive.”
“So why haven’t you taken him?”
Eric hesitated. She heard the grinding of his teeth. “Because he’s carrying that sword of his.”
“There are four of you.”
Eric’s lashes fell over his eyes, and when his gaze fell upon her fully again, it was bitter. “I guess maybe you didn’t know just who you were entertaining, Callie. That’s Daniel Cameron.”
“I know his name.”
“I’ll just bet. I’ll bet you know lots more about the man too.”
She didn’t want to flush or falter, but she felt the warm red coloring suffusing her cheeks despite her best efforts. Eric’s fingers tightened over her arms like a vise. She bit down hard on her teeth to keep from crying out with the pain.
Meeting his eyes, she realized that he hated her. As much as he might have once coveted her, he hated her now. It wasn’t because Daniel was a Confederate, she thought. It was because she had turned Eric down, and because she hadn’t been able to stay away from Daniel.
She lifted her chin. For every second that they spoke, Daniel gained some advantage. But Eric knew that. A ragged fear swept over her. Seconds were ticking by quickly now. What did he want of her?
“Get him back here,” Eric commanded, his eyes on hers.
She shook her head. “I can’t get him back. He’s gone. You saw the way that he left.”
“Yes, I saw every poignant moment of it—you wretched little whore,” he added softly.
She broke free from him, her fury stronger than his hold. She struck him, swiftly and hard. His face reddened where her fingers had touched it, and she heard the quick intake of breath by one of his men.
His fingers stretched out, entwining into her hair so tightly that she cried out, but softly. Daniel wouldn’t have heard it. He would already be moving across the field by now.
Eric’s taut grip upon her hair pulled her close to him, and his heated whisper touched her ear. “You’re going to go get him right now, Callie. You’re going to say something, anything. You will convince him that he can’t leave until dark. You can promise him—” He hesitated, then lowered his voice even further to tell her exactly what she could promise. Shocked, Callie tried to whirl upon him and hurt him, but she could not. His grip upon her hair was too tight to allow her any movement.
“Bastard!” she hissed at him. “And to think that you were Gregory’s friend—”
“To think that you were his wife!” Eric retorted.
“But it would have been fine if I had chosen you, is that it?”
“Captain,” a young soldier interrupted, “Colonel Cameron is nearly across the cornfield yonder.”
“Go get him. Bring him back here. To your room.”
“Why the hell should I do it?”
“Because if you don’t, I will kill him. I’ll keep my distance from his sword, and I’ll shoot him.”
Callie swallowed hard. Eric meant it.
“You’re afraid of him!” she murmured, “You’re afraid of his sword. Four of you, and you’re afraid to do battle with one Confederate—”
“Not a Confederate, ma’am,” interrupted the young soldier who had spoken before. He cleared his throat nervously, looking at Eric. “Just that particular Confederate. We really don’t want to hurt him, ma’am. We want to capture him. If we can capture him, he won’t have to die.”
“And he will die, Callie, if you don’t go out there and get him,” Eric said.
She wrenched free from his hold. To her surprise, he let her go. His eyes continued to condemn her as he watched her.
“What if I do manage to get him, and bring him back?” Callie demanded. “He’ll still be wearing his sword.”
“I’m sure you won’t have any trouble getting that scabbard off him, will you, Callie? I don’t think that you’ll have any difficulty getting anything off him. How convenient for me.”
“I never knew that you could be so despicable, Eric,” she said icily.
“And I never knew that you could be such a hussy, but that’s rather beside the fact, Callie. This is war.”
“There’s been enough death! Just let him go!”
“You’re trying to kill time, Callie. Don’t waste too much of it. If he’s goes too far, I’ll risk any number of my best sharpshooters to take him down. He’s not just the enemy, Callie. He’s one of the most dangerous.” She still couldn’t move. They were going to try to kill Daniel, and because he had been so concerned with her, they had slipped past all his defenses.
If she didn’t go after Daniel, they would kill him. They wouldn’t give him a chance at all, because they did not dare do so. They would shoot him down, there in the field, and his blood would run with the blood of all the countless others who had perished there.
“If he’s so dangerous, let him go!” she pleaded.
Eric’s eyes narrowed on hers. His mustache quivered with the wry quirk of his mouth. “Bringing him in could give me the promotion of my career, Mrs. Michaelson. Damn you! Do you know how many Yanks he’s brought down? Or maybe it just doesn’t matter to you anymore. Maybe your father doesn’t matter, maybe your husband has ceased to matter!”
“My husband is dead and buried. And nothing will bring him back!”
“Then realize this. You’ve got three seconds, and if you don’t go racing across the field, I’ll kill him. I’ll have that field so alive with bullets that not even a blade of grass will survive. Do you understand?”
“Let me go,” she told Eric col
dly.
He released her instantly. “Run, Mrs. Michaelson,” Eric hissed to her. “Run quickly, before he is too far gone!”
She backed away, staring at Eric. She would never forgive him for what he was forcing her to do. Because Daniel would never forgive her. She couldn’t allow that to matter. As Eric had commanded her, she ran.
He had moved quickly and carefully.
There wasn’t much left standing tall in the region—full cornfields had been mown down to stubble by the barrage of canister and bullets that had clashed over the gentle slopes of the region. Still, he had found a patch of still-standing corn in which to move. It would have been much better if he had waited until dark to leave. But if he had stayed, he would have wanted to say good-bye properly.
No, it would have surely been improperly. It would have been in a way that she could not forget him. No matter how long the war raged, no matter what came between them. No matter who else entered her life, she would not be able to love again, because she would feel that imprint, that brand. And then he would come back.
What a fool. He could not guarantee that he would come back. It was a wretched, bloodly, horrible war, and no man could guarantee his life. And when it was over, what would there be to offer her? A devastated landscape? Good God, no, Cameron Hall could never fall, he could not believe that it could fall. And still, when the last shots had been fired, would they be any the less enemies? One side would win, and one side would lose. What would there be for the victor and the vanquished?
He paused in the midst of the field of corn, closing his eyes, fighting the wave of pain that assailed him. He was in love with her. More deeply in love than he had ever imagined being. The feeling was supposed to be beautiful. It was wretched. It made him want to go back, just for an hour. Just long enough to hold her, really hold her, once again.
Memories for all the lonely nights to come.
Why had he left just now? Because the hours of waiting might have become more and more painful?
“Daniel!”
The call was faint at first. It might have come from deep within his heart or mind. But then he heard her calling him again, the sound louder, even frantic.