“A wonderful place to have arranged to meet my wife,” Ian said unhappily as he and Brent wedged their way to the old oak bar. Brent had apparently become well acquainted with the bartender in the last months, because he did nothing more than lift a hand and shots of whiskey were set before the men.
“Actually,” Brent said with a trace of amusement, “she’s enjoying it tremendously.”
“She’s here?” Ian said startled. “But her ship wasn’t due in until tomorrow afternoon!”
“It seems they had favorable winds,” Brent said, lifting his whiskey. “Cheers. Alaina disembarked last evening; but don’t worry. Sydney and I were there when the ship came in, and your wife wasn’t alone anyway. She was accompanied by Lilly and and a man of mixed blood called Samson.”
“One of Teddy’s laborers,” Ian murmured, glad that Samson had traveled with his wife. Julian’s doing, no doubt. Samson’s Indian blood was strong, but his mother had been a mulatto slave in St. Augustine. Teddy had purchased both mother and son years ago and freed them, and the family had worked for Teddy on Belamar ever since. “So where is Alaina now?”
Brent grinned, looking past Ian. “Coming down the stairs with Sydney right now.”
Ian turned toward the elegant stairway that led to the second floor of the establishment and the guest rooms there. Sydney was first, very lovely and quite proper in a deep lavender taffeta day dress, laced at the bodice in both black and white trim. She saw Ian, smiled, waved, and turned to Alaina, who was just behind her.
Alaina remained in mourning, wearing black from head to toe. Against the severe ebony of her gown and the black velvet of the cloak she wore atop it, her hair— swept into a chignon with only a few tendrils artfully escaping—seemed to burn like the rays of the sun, a true gold. Her face held a trace of new maturity that somehow added to her extraordinary beauty. Though she was pale, she was obviously well, smiling in response to a passerby on the stairs, then turning in Ian’s direction.
Her eyes met his, as gold as her hair, glittering with pleasure and warmth. Her lips curled into a slow, only slightly hesitant smile, and she held very still, watching him.
The buzz of revelry in the room seemed to fade, and he made his way quickly through the throng of people to reach the foot of the stairs. He offered Sydney a quick smile, kissing her cheek, then reached for Alaina’s hand, drawing her into the fold of his embrace.
It was only then he realized that despite the slender appearance of her face, she was…
Quite simply huge.
He frowned, instinctively worried that such a small woman should be carrying such a large child. He quickly readjusted his stance, slipping an arm about her shoulders and kissing her cheek almost as chastely as he done with his cousin. Crowds seemed to press around them, even as he led the two women back toward Brent’s position at the bar. “I’m sorry!” he shouted to Alaina. “Had I known of all this mayhem, I’d never have had you come here!”
She turned slightly in his arms, face alight with laughter. “Ian, I’m fine. It’s fascinating! There’s so much going on! South Carolina’s secession is going to be announced today, there are going be bands playing, parades all over the city—fireworks. Ian, it’s quite amazing to be here for this!”
He was irritated with her enthusiasm. He didn’t know why no one was worried about the loss of what had been the great experiment of the United States. And in truth, he wasn’t at all certain she should be up and about in her condition.
“Amazing,” he agreed dryly, studying her.
She had made enormous progress the last two months. Though she was pale, she did have a touch of color to her cheeks. Her lips were as deep as wine, her vibrance gave her an enchanting appeal. She seemed truly pleased to see him—unless she was simply so pleased to be here to see the states begin to secede.
“Ah, ladies!” Brent said as they reached his side. “Now that you have maneuvered all that… perhaps we should go back up. We’ve a balcony room overlooking the streets. We’ll see most of the festivities from there.”
“Quite right,” Ian heard himself saying firmly. “Brent, as a physician, advise Alaina that this mob is not good for her condition.”
Brent ever so slightly arched a brow; in his practice, he’d noted that women who went best to childbirth were those who had kept active up to their time of confinement. But he went along with Ian’s ploy.
“Sorry, ladies, but Ian is correct. Shall we go on up?”
On their way back through the crowd, Ian was startled to hear his name called. He turned to see Andrew Tweed, his great-uncle. Andrew was nearly seventy, straight as a rod, with a headful of rippling white hair. Ian gladly clasped the man’s hand, greeting him warmly. “Ian, my good fellow, what are you doing here?” Andrew demanded. “I had last heard that you were working in Washington with the Army Corps of Engineers.”
“Something like that. I was actually with the cartographers for quite some time. I’m here to meet my wife.” He drew Alaina before him and introduced them.
“Wife and child, eh?” Andrew teased, greeting Alaina with a polite brushing of her hand with his lips. “Brent! Good Dr. Brent! You neglected to tell me your cousin was on the way,” Andrew accused, looking past Ian.
“Andrew, I’ve scarce had a moment these days, what with everyone fearing the smallpox.”
“Ah, of course. Well, people will be heedless of an outbreak in Columbia today. All hell has broken out on the waterfront. How intriguing it all is! As of today, it seems I will no longer be an ‘American.’ I’m not quite sure just what I shall be.”
“A Rebel!” cried a slim, dandified young drunk from the bar. “A Rebel. Watch it, ah, there’s a Yank in the crowd. Just waiting for word to damn the old eagle and take flight with the new South, eh, Major?”
Ian ignored the drunk. “We’re moving upstairs with Alaina and Sydney, sir,” he said to Andrew. “Please, come up if you’ve a mind to do so.”
“What’s the matter, Yank?” the stranger called out, irritated at Ian’s lack of response. He pushed his way between Andrew Tweed and Ian. “You’re in a free state here, so that uniform means nothing, less than nothing. You’re wearing dirt!”
He spat, aiming for Ian but hitting the floor between them. He took an angry step toward Ian then, his arm swinging.
Ian easily avoided him, and to his own dismay, he acted before thinking. He punched the man with a rapid-fire right hook, and the drunk went down on the ground. People were milling everywhere then, hooting in derision to the fallen man, hailing Ian. “It’s Major McKenzie, out of Florida! A Rebel soon enough, eh, Major?” came another cry.
To Ian’s surprise and fury, Alaina determined to answer for him. “When Florida takes action, so will my husband!” she cried out, laughing.
He could have throttled her then and there, despite her enchanting enthusiasm and beauty—and profoundly rounded abdomen—and the light in her gold eyes as they touched his.
“Uncle, forgive me,” he said simply, stepping over the drunk, securing Alaina’s elbow, and propelling her up the steps.
Alaina knew that Ian was angry, and yet she felt exasperated and at a loss.
She’d been so glad to see him. So anxious at home, gaining strength each day, sometimes so eager to see him she could scarcely bear it, and at times, so worried as to what he might be doing that she grew furious that she could allow herself such foolishness. But she had fallen in love with him; and she couldn’t help but be plagued by jealousy. And even today, her thoughts when she had dressed had spiraled in a mad fashion, for she loved the child it seemed that she had carried now almost forever—loved it deeply, sight unseen. The baby’s movements were as familiar to her as her own. Yet this morning, she wished fleetingly that the babe might be born.
Because she did resemble a house, and because…
She wanted Ian to want her.
All that had brought about their marriage failed to matter now, and all that did matter was that she loved him. She l
oved him not just for holding her, but for holding his own temper when she was hurt. She loved him for his manner with Teddy, for his pride, for his dogged determination, for his sense of honor. More. She loved the sight of him, the feel of his hands, the way he moved, the way his eyes burned when he was angry or filled with desire.
He was simply entirely unreasonable, and it was his fault, not hers today. She was disappointed not to stand in the midst of things as Institute Hall was crammed to the gills at nightfall and South Carolina declared her secession from the United States of America. They did see and hear the shouting and mayhem in the streets after the proclamation was made, from the vantage point of the wrought-iron balcony that opened from the parlor of their suite. Young men from a military academy paraded to the blaring music of an able band; dancers and acrobats played in the streets. Fireworks were set off, filling the night sky. The atmosphere was electric.
Ian sat by her, watching the festivities, commenting— mostly to Brent—on the music they heard, on the youth of the men marching, on the beauty of the fireworks. He was perfectly courteous through the evening, but subdued, his cobalt eyes very dark despite the light tenor of his words, and Alaina was afraid that something was simmering in him that would eventually explode.
She refused to let his mood dampen her own evening. She watched wide-eyed, laughing and cheering with Sydney, enjoying the music and the spectacle.
It was long, long after midnight when the festivities at last died down.
And it was very late when she and Ian retired, saying good night to Sydney and Brent.
She felt awkward disrobing, and wished that she hadn’t excused Lilly to go about and enjoy the city. Her velvet cloak hid her condition; her mourning dress did not. Still, she was startled when she felt his hands upon the tiny buttons at her collar. Insecurity gripped her as she couldn’t help but wonder how she could possibly compare with another woman now.
Her buttons undone, she held the gown to her breast, murmured a thank-you, and slipped behind the dressing screen to put on her encompassing nightgown. He didn’t seem to notice. When she emerged from behind the screen, he was already in bed, hands folded behind his head, and he gave her little heed as she took her hair down, brushing it out at the dressing table.
“It’s not exactly my fault, you know,” she said softly, “that South Carolina has seceded.”
His eyes shot to her, and she froze uncomfortably, wishing she hadn’t spoken. “No, it’s not your fault. But I fail to see the joy in something being destroyed. Something that will probably mean the deaths of thousands of young men.”
Alaina sighed impatiently. “Ian, you’re being entirely unreasonable. You’re simply assuming that there will be war. Most of the North is anxious to let the ‘erring sisters’ go, if that is their choice! Ian, you can’t be so blind. I promise you, Florida will be right behind South Carolina. Our senators are already composing demands to the War Department regarding Florida officers. They are making plans to seize Federal installations—”
“Oh, really?” he demanded. “And where do you get your information, madam?”
She hesitated just slightly, recalling just where she had gotten her information.
Peter O’Neill.
Not that his letter of apology had actually changed her mind at all regarding his disdain for propriety or his total lack of honor, but he had written and had profusely apologized, and then he had gone on to describe the many important changes taking shape in the state. He wrote with passion and patriotism, and Alaina couldn’t help but think that this great divide might force out the best in Peter—and she wished heartily that she could even begin to understand how Ian failed to see which way his state was leaning.
“Ian, I read the newspapers,” she said, then added, “and I am acquainted with other people in the state— despite Belamar’s isolation.”
“So you are all eager for secession!” he said heatedly. “If it is the state’s choice, it will be a great pity. It’s an ill-advised rebellion that will cost dearly in the end.”
“Rebellion? Yes, it is rebellion! Ian, it was rebellion when the thirteen Colonies broke from England. Tyrants were dictating to the Colonies, and the Colonies refused to accept rule by others. The South is doing no less now, Ian. This is no ill-advised rebellion; it is a quest for independence and self-rule.”
“So you would be a rebel, too,” he intoned coolly.
“You’re a Southerner, Ian,” she persisted, setting down her hairbrush. “Apparently, we’re not going to come to terms on this—”
“There are no terms to come to, Alaina. We’re not negotiating anything here.”
She stood. “Ian, you don’t understand. I won’t accept remaining in the North when Florida does break with the Union.”
“You won’t?” he said heatedly. He rose suddenly, walking over to her, and she saw that he had chosen to sleep in warm long Johns that covered him from waist to ankle. He braced his arms against the dressing table, pinning her there, eyes a deep blue fire as he told her, “You won’t accept living in the North because there just might be war. But you know what, Alaina? If there is war, the South will lose. It will not be a ninety-day affair—which hawks are claiming on both sides. Let’s see, the population in the South is estimated at about eight million—there are nearly twenty million living in the North. Of the eight million living in the South, about three million are slaves. Southerners fear slave rebellions as it is, so that not only cuts the population of the South down to about five million rebels, it adds an element of danger. There are almost no machine shops, and no manufacturers in the South. What else? As of now, no government! An army must be raised, a treasury created. While this is all going on, the North will blockade the Southern ports, cutting off essential supplies.”
“They’ll never be able to blockade all of Florida.”
“Right. Neither will the South be able to defend it,” he returned quickly. “Trust me, the cause is doomed before it is born.”
“I don’t see it your way!” she cried softly.
He stared at her angrily, touched and lifted her chin. “But you’re my wife, Alaina. You’ll have to see it my way.”
“But Ian—”
“Wives support their husbands,” he informed her, his voice even harsher.
She tried very hard to control her temper, but could not.
“Not when their husbands are behaving like idiots!” she exclaimed.
He moved so swiftly that she cried out softly, expecting some violence from him.
But he did nothing other than pick her up and deposit her in bed, and she realized that he’d never offer her any real menace now.
She was carrying his child.
She was suddenly tired, and felt very keenly just how ungainly she had become. She wanted to curl up and sleep with his arm around her. She’d wanted to see him sobadly, and they were together and…
He turned down the gas lamp on the bedside table and lay down beside her.
And turned his back to her.
She curled up to sleep, turning her back to him as well.
And she lay awake forever, it seemed, completely uncomfortable, unable to find a position that allowed her any rest.
He didn’t move.
At last she tossed and turned so that she curled against his back. Almost immediately she felt the baby begin to kick. Ian felt the movement as well, for he turned to her. His long fingers extended over her abdomen, and he didn’t pull away. “Through everything, this little one has intended to survive,” he murmured softly, and with a sigh, pulled her to him at last. He was quiet then, and she was so glad to be held that she kept her peace as well. She thought that he slept, but he added after a moment, “The Union is going to survive as well, Alaina.”
She pretended she slept herself.
It wasn’t an argument she could win tonight. Time was going to tell.
And time was against him.
They had met on December 20, and since it was so close to Ch
ristmas, Ian decided that they should spend the holiday in Charleston with Brent and Sydney.
Secession excitement remained high in the air, and the city continued to surge with revelry, people coming and going.
Ian spent some time on Christmas Eve with old army friends he had come upon in the city. Men who were already planning on resigning their commissions.
He wondered how in God’s name they were all going to go to war against one another.
But it was going to happen.
After his first rather sleepless night, he managed to avoid further argument with Alaina, mainly by avoiding her, which seemed incredibly ironic. He wanted to be with her. Worse. Lying beside her night by night, even feeling his child kick and squirm, he felt the most painful urges to make love to his wife. The scent of her hair, the feel of her flesh, the entanglement of her limbs with his own … all seemed to taunt and tempt his senses, but he had sworn to himself that she was going to bear a healthy child and completely regain her own health before he touched her again. And although he respected both his brother and his cousin very much as physicians and knew that they both believed childbirth was a very natural activity and that many of the restraints put upon women came from old wives’ tales, Alaina was very far along now—so much so that he decided they must go to Washington immediately following Christmas day. No matter what he had said to her, he would have been happiest if their child could have been born at Cimarron; the house he had rented in Washington was going to have to do instead. Although she wasn’t actually due until after the middle of January, Ian didn’t want his child born on the road between North and South.
He awoke early on Christmas morning, rose quietly, dressed, and left Alaina sleeping, to wander down the battery at Charleston Harbor. It was early, very crisp and cool. Ships moved lazily on the horizon, and he could see the various forts in the harbor standing sentinel to the city. It was a beautiful scene, extremely peaceful, and Ian wondered just how long it could last.