She fought it, swinging out, kicking, screaming, slamming hard again and again against the blackness and the hard bulk as panic overwhelmed her.
“Kiernan!”
At last, her name penetrated her terrified senses. She went rigidly still.
“Kiernan!”
Jesse! It was Jesse. She should have known. She should have recognized the angle of his hat, even in a distorted silhouette. She should have known the feel of him, the scent of him.…
But when she had left the house, he was in his room! He had just finished surgery, he’d probably received messages from Washington, and he should have been involved in all that was going on in his hospital.
How had he reached the oak ahead of her?
“Jesse!” Sanity was returning to her. The wind was high, and it whistled and rustled through the trees like something alive. The moonlight came down upon them fully now, and his face was clear above her own. It was a handsome face with clear, defined features, a rugged face, with fine character lines around his eyes. It was a face she knew so well.
Suddenly, she worried that somebody might be in the area—Angus or T. J. or one of their neighbors. If they saw Jesse straddled over her like this, they might …
Kill him.
“Jesse, get off me, you fool!”
“Why, Kiernan?” he demanded. His voice was harsh, his eyes were nearly obsidian in the night. His touch was steel.
“Why?” she repeated, incredulous. “Because you’ve got me pinned to the ground! Because you just scared me half to death. Because I hate, loathe, and despise you. Because you’re the enemy. Because you’re goddamned wearing blue!”
His eyes glittered in the darkness. His hands pinned her wrists above her head. He was so close to her. She felt the warmth of his breath, sensed the heat and tension in him, felt the rippling of his muscles. It didn’t matter what she said. He ignored her.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
“What the hell is it to you?” she spat. She stiffened in agony beneath him, praying that he would move, and quickly. He wasn’t hurting her; he was just holding her with his thighs, with his weight, with the taut ring of his fingers around her wrists.
“What are you doing out here?” he thundered again.
“I came for a ride!”
“At night?”
“Yes, it’s night, isn’t it? Bright boy. That must be why you Yanks do so well in battle.”
“Stop it!” he commanded her.
“Stop what?”
“Stop acting like that!”
“Acting! I’m not acting, Captain. This is war, remember?” She stared up at him, growing very cold against the damp earth, hating him, and suddenly afraid as she saw a ruthless glimmer in his eyes that was as cold as the night. Had his grasp slackened just a bit? She strived with all her strength to kick him. He swore, and she gasped out, rolling hard to elude his touch.
But he was right with her. Before she had moved six inches, he was on top of her again, splayed over her this time. He held her wrists together with one hand and lifted her chin with his free thumb. “I’ll ask you again. What are you doing out here?”
“I came for a ride. What are you doing out here?”
“Following you.”
“Jesse, I’m not going to tell you anything—”
“Kiernan, they shoot spies!”
“Go to hell, Jesse. I’m not a spy! And if I—”
“Bitch!” he swore suddenly. He rose to his feet, drawing her up before him. His hands were so tight on hers that she almost cried out with the pain. He pulled her so tautly against him that she could scarcely bear it. His fingers wound into her hair, tight and painful. She met his gaze.
“You used my men. You acted like an angel of mercy, but you didn’t care in the least that they suffered. You’d just as soon see them dead, right? But you moved among them from that very first night for whatever little tidbit you might pick up from them—men so very grateful for the least little bounty that you offered!”
He was snaking, trembling with his rage. He had her pulled so flush against him that she could feel the beat of his heart. The heat of his words and his anger touched her lips, almost like a kiss.
“Jesse, damn you, I didn’t—”
“Damn you! Don’t lie to me!”
“Fine, fine!” she cried out. Tears stung her eyes from the pressure of his fingers upon her hair. She could not look away. “I’d use them anytime, Jesse, and I’d use you. You’re the enemy. My God, how many times do you have to be told that? I hate you, Jesse, and I hate them! They’re invading my land! They’ve taken over my house! They’ve killed my friends and my people! What the hell do you want from me?”
He was dead silent as the wind rustled through the trees again and as the night drifted all around him. He swore an oath, still furious, still shaking, his fingers curling around her shoulders. “What do I want out of you?” he repeated savagely. He teeth flashed white in the moonlight. “What do I want out of you? I want to curl my fingers around your throat. I want—”
He became still again. But only a second passed before his lips were suddenly on hers, hard and nearly as savage as her words. His mouth formed, hot and demanding upon hers, igniting an instant blaze within her, a combustion that rocketed the night, that seized hold of all her senses and left her powerless to resist.
It had been so long …
So long since he had held her so, so long since she had felt the world tremble beneath her feet, felt joy erupt in her heart and in her limbs and in the deepest, inner core of her body. She could not resist, for she was melded to his form, so tight against him that they might have been one. His arms were so powerful around her. His tongue ringed her lips and forced entry to the sweetest depths of her mouth.
He held her and kissed her. With each passing second the hot, sultry seduction of his mouth and tongue took her deeper and deeper into a no man’s land of longing and memory. Bright tears flooded her eyes as the thing that she could never deny to herself sprang into her thoughts.
She loved him.
No war could change that, no color could cover that blindness. She loved him, and she wanted him.
No! She’d never been a wife to Anthony in any sense. At the very least, she could be a decent widow.
She wrenched free from the seduction of his touch. “Jesse. No, damn you!” she cried out, and stepped back a foot, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if she could erase what had happened.
“Kiernan—”
“No! Never! Not here, not now! Not near Anthony’s house, dear Lord!”
“Kiernan!” His voice was hard and rugged and rasping as he took a step forward.
“I’m a widow, Jesse! Anthony’s widow!” she stressed.
He went dead still, his fingers knotted tightly into fists and clenched at his side. “Damn you, Kiernan,” he muttered.
“Don’t touch me again!” she whispered. “Don’t touch me. If he was ever your friend, if you ever had any respect for him. Jesse, this is his home, his land.”
“And it was his home, his land, where we first made love!” Jesse exploded.
It was like a slap in the face—because it was true.
She spun around, anxious to reach her horse. But she didn’t get very far before he caught hold of her elbow and spun her back around to face him.
“Where are your widow’s weeds, Kiernan? Where is your black, where the hell is your mourning?”
In dismay, she stared at him. She had shed her mourning colors only a few months after she had come. Black had been so hot when she had been working in the garden. They hadn’t done laundry frequently enough to clean them.
She had loved Anthony in a way, but she had never managed to feel like his widow, and it had been easy to slip.
Jesse smiled a mocking smile and took a step back. “What a love affair it must have been!” he taunted.
She took a wild swing at him. He caught her arm and wrenched her up against hi
m once more. She felt the awful thundering of her heart when she thought he was going to kiss her again.
“Let me go, Jesse.”
He held her still. She couldn’t best his strength. His lips would touch hers again, and she would be lost.
“He was your friend, Jesse. He fought you, but he always admired you.”
He was stiff, as rigid as steel. He held her in silence, his teeth grating, his jaw clenched. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. His eyes were dark upon hers, his features taut. “Damn you, Kiernan! Damn you.”
But she was free. She looked at him, quickly backing away from him, hoping that her tears would not fall and that she would not betray her own emotions.
She turned and fled and mounted her horse and galloped all the way home.
He was behind her all the way, but he did not try to catch her again. At the house, she did not dare to look at him again.
She left her horse with Jeremiah, who was worried, and who cried after her. She would not stop. She fled to the house and to her room.
Once again that night, she listened. She listened to his footsteps in the room next to her own. She listened to the creaking of his chair as he sat. She heard his boots fall, heard the very weariness as he shed his clothing and fell into his bed.
She closed her eyes tight, clenching down on her jaw. It would be so easy to rise and walk the few steps down the hall. So easy to open the door and drift in white, like the white of a bride, to his bed.
And lie down beside him.
And feel his arms and the night breeze against her naked flesh.
She buried her face in the pillow.
Trying to hate him …
And hating herself.
It was morning before she realized that she had not left her message in the oak. The information she had learned from the Yanks might save a number of lives.
She dressed in a simple gingham and brown day dress in case Jesse happened to notice her moving about the house. Very carefully, she folded her written message and slipped it low into her bodice and left her room. Knowing that she had to take grave care, she went first to the ward and spoke with the men. Corporal O’Malley was there with an assistant, speaking with the men and looking over bandages and braces and splints. Kiernan swept among them all, offering smiles and assurances, pouring water and providing what little amenities that she could to make them more comfortable.
One moment, she felt as if twin darts of fire were burning into her back, and she turned.
Jesse stood in the doorway watching her. He had accused her of caring nothing for the men, and he had said that spying was her only reason to be among them.
He’d never have believed that she wanted nothing from them that morning, that she had learned that she cared for any man’s suffering, no matter what color he wore.
But Jesse would never believe that. The look he gave her now condemned her a thousand times over. It made her shake inside and want to cry out.
She turned quickly from him and changed the cool cloth on the forehead of the soldier who had asked her assistance. When she turned back again, Jesse was gone.
She lingered with the men for another hour. She heard Corporal O’Malley say something about finding Tyne to help Jesse get ready in surgery.
It was time for her to leave.
She hurried downstairs and out of the house. Glancing back, she was certain that no one stood at a window to watch her departure. She ran to the stables.
But when she opened the door, she found two soldiers standing there, staring at her.
“Gentlemen?” she demanded.
The first, Private Yeager, shook his head. “Don’t try to sweet-talk us, Mrs. Miller.”
“Sweet-talk you, sir?” she said sharply, her brow rising.
“You’re carrying information to the Rebs,” the second soldier, Sergeant Herrington, said flatly.
“Don’t be absurd!” she lied. “Get out of my way.”
She started forward, but Yeager stood directly in front of her. “Hand it over, Mrs. Miller. You’re carrying a message.”
“Get out of my way!” She stepped around him.
To her amazement, he pulled her back. His eyes were bright. “You’re carrying a message, and I want it.”
“Don’t you dare handle me like that!” she cried imperiously.
“I’ll handle you—” he began, but then his voice broke. He was staring over her shoulder. His hold went slack, and Kiernan spun around.
Jesse stood dead set in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes implacable.
“What’s going on here, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Herrington cleared his throat. “Sir, she’s carrying notes to the Rebels. We’re convinced of it.”
Jesse arched a brow and looked at Kiernan. “Are you carrying secret missives to Rebel soldiers, Mrs. Miller?”
“No,” she lied flatly.
Jesse looked to the two men. “She denies the charge, men.”
“Well, just you let me—let me—” Herrington began.
“Let you what?” Jesse asked.
“Search her!” Herrington spat out with relish.
Kiernan gasped. “Captain! You cannot let this orangutan touch me!”
“Madam, such a comparison is insulting to orangutans.”
“Captain—”
“We are soldiers in the Union Army, gentlemen. I cannot let you search a lady. And as gentlemen, men of honor, you are obliged to accept her word. You may return to your posts.”
Herrington cast her a furious stare and walked out, the hapless Private Yeager at his heels.
Kiernan’s heart sank. She certainly couldn’t ride away now. She started after them, but Jesse slammed the door in her face before she could go.
Startled, she looked at him—and her heart began to beat hard, for there was fire in his eyes, and they were alone, very alone, in the stables.
“Are you carrying a message, Kiernan?” he quizzed her softly.
“You’ll never know, will you?” she asked sweetly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
He shook his head. “I certainly will not excuse you.” He took a step toward her, and she backed away.
“Jesse, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to find out if you’re carrying a message.”
“What?” she cried. “You can’t!” She took another step back, a step that landed her in a freshly broken bale of hay, and she fell back into it.
Jesse stood above her, his long legs straddled over her own as he stared down at her.
“Jesse, you wouldn’t dare!”
“I’ve told you before, I dare anything.”
“You just said that a gentleman in the Union Army couldn’t do such a thing! You wouldn’t allow those men—”
“Ah, but Kiernan, you told me long ago that you considered me no gentleman. And I told those men that they couldn’t.” He smiled wickedly. “I certainly didn’t say that I couldn’t … or wouldn’t.”
To Kiernan’s astonishment and rising horror, he was suddenly down upon the hay.
Upon her.
Eighteen
His knee lay at an angle over her thigh. He leaned upon one elbow at her side, while his left arm was braced around her waist. She stared at him furiously. “Jesse, I always knew you were no gentleman, but—”
“Kiernan, let’s not go through this again. I want the message.”
“There is no message.”
“There is. You can give it to me, or I can take it.”
He was serious, she decided. But she couldn’t just hand over proof that she had been using her association with the hospitalized men to aid the Confederacy. Why in the Lord’s name hadn’t she waited until she reached the tree before she wrote down her message?
Because he might have followed her, she thought dully, and she never would have had a chance to write it down.
“Jesse,” she said very softly, her eyes on his with what she hoped was open honesty, “I’m
asking you to stop this. It’s totally undignified. It dishonors all—all that we ever were to one another,” she added with a note of pathos.
“And what is that, Kiernan?” he asked softly. His knuckles brushed softly over her cheeks, and she was amazed by the warmth that filled her with that touch. The warmth spread the length and breadth of her, the rake of his knuckles was so tender. His lips were close to hers, and the weight of his body was painfully familiar.
She had to seduce him into letting her go free, she reminded herself. She reached up and brushed back a lock of his hair, a dark lock that dangled rakishly upon occasion, no matter how much she knew he tried to subdue it. She smoothed it back and allowed the tips of her fingers to stroke his face in turn.
“Jesse, let me up, please. I have to get away. There are times when I just have to ride away. Don’t you understand?”
He caught her fingers and planted a kiss upon them. He held them still, fascinated. Another kiss fell, and another. She felt the hot, sultry movement of his tongue upon them.
“Jesse …”
“I understand,” he murmured. “There are Yankees in your house. Yankees.” He repeated the word, looked into her eyes, smiled, and shivered. “Ugh.”
She almost snatched her hand away. She gritted her teeth and pouted. “Jesse, be serious, please.”
“I’m very serious,” he promised her. He eased back, curling his fingers around hers, allowing both their hands to rest upon her chest, just above the rise of her breasts. “Let’s see, you need to ride away because there are Yankees in your house.”
“That’s right, Jesse.”
“You’ve been good to those poor, sick Yankees.”
“Yes, I have. I tend to them daily.”
“And now you want to ride away with all the little goodies, tidbits of information, that those poor sick Yankees with their tongues hanging out have given you, right?”
“Right.” Her own reply stunned her—she had been so entranced by the cadence of his voice. “No—wrong! Oh, Jesse, you’re confusing me so!”
“Like hell I am!” To her great irritation, he grinned. “Ah, Mrs. Miller, it is the dramatic stage’s loss that you never tried your hand at acting.”