Ashes in the Wind (17 page)

No matte
r, she smiled smugly.
Daddy will take care of that.

She put out the light and cast her gown carelessly to the floor. She snuggled against Cole’s firm chest. He did not rouse, and Roberta’s eyes gleamed over her own shrewdness. Alaina had solved all her problems, even to the point of leaving evidence of departed purity.

A
N
enraged bellow shattered Cole’s slumber. He blinked red-rimmed eyes at the dimly lit room, then suddenly meaty fists were pummeling about his head. More than a little stunned at this attack and completely disoriented, he threw up his arms to protect himself lest the blinding pain within his brain split it asunder. All manner of vile names and curses were hurled down upon him, and through the epithets, he could hear a shrill, discordant screeching of a woman. The whole of it was most effective in jangling the raw ends of his nerves. But that was not the end of his torture, for the man’s fingers clawed feverishly at his throat and began to squeeze.

“Daddy! Don’t!” the woman’s voice wailed and grew more piercing. “Listen to me, Daddy! Please!”

Of a sudden, Cole was fed up with this nonsense. With the back of his arm, he flung off his assailant. Angus, being not well known as a teetotaler and having imbibed considerably at the rally, tottered halfway across the room before he regained his balance. He stared in wide-eyed rage, yet some ray of reason penetrated his brain. He gave up the idea of killing the Yankee with his bare hands. By damned, he would get his gun!

Cole watched the man dash from the room,
then slumped wearily against the pillows, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples as he sought to ease the throbbing ache that bloomed there. Gingerly he felt at the long lump on his head, wincing as he touched a particularly tender spot. From beneath sandpaper lids, his eyes came upon Roberta who clutched nothing more than a quilt over her nakedness. It was a full moment before everything began to dawn.

Muttering a curse, he sat up and glanced about him. The stained sheet caught his eyes, and his mind rebeled. What the hell had he done?

He had no time to find a logical explanation, for Angus Craighugh came charging through the door, clutching an oversize Colt revolver. The man stopped a pace away from the bed and, seizing the piece in both hands, struggled to pull back the heavy hammer.

“Say your prayers!” Angus bellowed, his dewlap aflap. “You—you child molester!”

“Just a damn moment!” Cole barked, his own rage mounting. He came to his feet, the sheet snarled around his hips. He didn’t have any idea how all this had happened, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get shot lying down. He couldn’t very well deny what he had done during the night; the blood on the sheets gave evidence of that, and from his muddled memory came the remembrance of a woman warm and vibrant beneath him. But there his confusion mushroomed. He found difficulty fitting the shape to Roberta. Her dark eyes lowered shyly before the onslaught of his stare, and the evidence was overwhelming even to him.

“Angus, no! You can’t!” Leala pleaded. “Think of our daughter’s reputation! The Yankees will have it spread abroad before light. And they’ll hang you besides.”

Roberta struggled with the blanket in an effort to maintain her modesty, but finally made herself heard. “He promised to marry me, Daddy. And I love him.”

Cole looked at her sharply, wondering what stupidity he had babbled in the night, but Angus’s frenzy was renewed.

“A Yankee!”

“Angus, calm down,” the usually flustered Leala cautioned. “Remember your dyspepsia! You’ll be in bed for a week.”

“A Yankee!” Angus moaned and waved the pistol precariously.

“I love him, Daddy, and I want to marry him.”

Both men stared at Roberta, much agog. But the father, never having denied his child before, could only consider that this was the least he could do for her, to see the marriage performed posthaste.

“Get your pants on.” Angus commanded sharply, pointing the pistol at Cole threateningly. “Make yourself decent for the parson.”

Cole glanced about him, and the pandemonium in his head burgeoned. No sign of his uniform! “It seems I am without proper attire.”

Angus’s reddened face darkened to a raging purple. “Where have you hidden them?”

“Ask your daughter,” Cole suggested calmly.

The older man’s eyes seemed to protrude as he strangled on several combined curses. He had to mightily restrain himself from falling on the Yankee
and beating him to a pulp. The strong uncertainty of whether he could accomplish this was all that held him at bay. Irately he looked to his daughter who stammered and shrugged in confusion.

“Al’s britches are in the pantry,” Leala stated as her husband turned to her for wisdom. “Otherwise, there are no other clothes but yours.”

“Never!” It was more a reluctance to have the girth of his belly and the shortness of his stout legs contrasted to the Yankee’s tall, lean torso that made Angus voice a strenuous objection.

“Al won’t mind,” Leala said sweetly, then glanced hesitantly toward the captain. “After Jedediah fetches the parson, perhaps he might stop by the captain’s quarters for more suitable clothing. Al will be needing his clothes in the morning.”

“I fear if I am without my clothes, madam, I am without a key to my apartment.” Cole was not in the mood to be charitable or accommodating.

“Uh—I’ll take care of that, Mama,” Roberta offered. “Why don’t you go get Al’s britches, and I’ll talk to Jedediah.”

His brow furrowed, Cole watched the daughter follow her mother out. Something nagged at him about the way her long, dark hair flowed around her shoulders. He remembered a time of struggling, as if from the bottom of a dark pit, or up from a pool of water; Al—and the stable! Cole rubbed his aching head. It just wouldn’t come together. There had been a woman in the dark, then an eager body beneath his, answering his passion with a vivacity that had brought him searing, unforgettable pleasure. Why couldn’t he equate that woman with Roberta?

When Leala returned, she handed in Al’s damp britches, and disdainfully, Cole took the proffered garment.

“Now get dressed,” Angus demanded.

Despite the threatening gun, his throbbing head, and the fuzziness in his brain, Cole managed to don the pants. Besides being uncomfortably wet, they were short, snug across his hips, and blatantly flaunted his manhood.

“They’ll do,” Angus said, waving away Cole’s doubtful expression with the bore of the Colt. “Let me assure you, sir, we’re not having too many witnesses to this affair, not if I can help it.”

Jedediah was sent to rouse the parson, and even managed to beat the latter back, despite having to travel to the Pontalba Apartments and back again. But Parson Lyman had never been known as a speedy man. Indeed, he was much of a procrastinator, and had it been Angus Craighugh out to fetch him, he might have pleaded a timely wait to get himself organized. But since the message was carried by Jedediah and that one seemed somewhat in a dither, Parson Lyman thought it best not to delay too long. Still, dawn was lightening the eastern sky before he arrived to perform the service. By that time, Angus was chomping anxiously at the bit and Cole was modestly garbed in the uniform Jedediah had been sent for. It was a full-dress uniform, one Cole reserved for formal occasions or inspections. But whatever its use, it served him better than Al’s britches, which he left hanging reflectively on the urchin’s doorknob.

The ritual proceeded with rigid formality for all but Roberta who waxed gleeful and ecstatic. When
the final words were spoken, sealing them in wedlock, it was she who threw herself in Cole’s arms and presented a generous kiss upon his lips. Having gained her end, Roberta forgot the means and, in high spirits, clutched Cole’s arm and stayed close to his side.

Into the midst of her gaiety intruded the sharp, heavy rap of a fist upon the door. Dulcie, sniffling in her apron, answered the door and ushered a cavalry sergeant into the parlor. The man nodded a brief, curt greeting, then, catching sight of Cole, gave a sharp salute.

“Your hat, Sergeant,” Cole reminded him tersely. His head still hurt, and he felt in dire need of a good night’s sleep. “There are ladies present.”

The sergeant’s neck reddened above his yellow kerchief, but he swept the offending item from his head before he spoke again. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” the trooper pressed on. “We have orders to search every house we can. Confederate sympathizers, dressed in our uniforms, broke into the hospital early this morning and helped some rebels escape. No telling where they might be hiding out, sir.”

Cole’s brows raised sharply. “Was anybody hurt?”

“The C.Q. sergeant and the guard. The band was led by a man dressed as a doctor, and they took only those prisoners who could walk. It looks as if they got away clean, sir.”

“I have spent the night here, Sergeant, and I have not been accosted by any rebels. However, it would be advisable to search the carriage house and stables. Somebody might be hiding out there.”

“Yessir!” The sergeant paused a moment and grew uneasy.

“Well?” Cole demanded.

“All officers and men have been recalled and are to report at once to their duty stations, sir.”

“See to your duty, Sergeant,” Cole instructed. “And when you are ready, I’ll leave with you. I believe I am without a mount.”

The man saluted stiffly, spun on his heel, and hurried out, his saber sling slapping against his thigh.

“I think it’s just too disgusting for words!” Roberta angrily stamped her foot. “Just married! And here you are running off to that stinking old hosptal!”

Cole half turned and raised a brow at her, but said none of the things that came to mind. He excused her ire as disappointment. But there was a war going on, and she would do well to acknowledge that and remember he was not his own free man.

“Mama?” The daughter pleaded, turning for support to that one.

“Captain Latimer must go, Roberta,” Leala spoke firmly.

“Daddy?” Roberta’s voice was plaintive now.

Angus would stand much relieved to see the Yankee gone and could yield his offspring no solace. “Work before pleasure, my dear,” he prattled, then bit his tongue as the parson shamed him with a look of mild reproof. Red-faced, Angus cleared his throat sharply. “Let the captain be on his way.”

“Ooooohhh!” Roberta wailed. “You’re all against me!” She whirled and fled, sobbing with such volume that even from her room, her cries could still be heard.

Alaina came sharply awake, her exhausted sleep shattered by the harsh weeping. The sounds of
masculine voices and movement in the front yard disturbed her further, and she ran to the window to look out. Several Yankee troopers had dismounted before the house, and a sergeant was gesturing about the grounds as he barked instructions. Her first frightened thought was that Cole had found out who she was and had summoned them.

Someone had thrust Al’s ragged garments in her room, and she found the britches hooked on the doorknob. She donned them quickly, smearing dirt over her face and through her hair. She hastened to the head of the stairs, but paused as Dulcie, coming into the foyer, threw a meaningful frown upward, jerking her head toward the parlor. Accepting the warning, Alaina jammed the floppy hat on her head and made a cautious descent.

On the threshold of the parlor, she leaned casually against the doorframe and tried to keep her eyes away from Cole. He was resplendent in his uniform and most handsome despite the scowl that drew his brows together. She was very curious as to how he had gotten his clothes.

“What’s all the fuss ’bout?” she asked innocently.

“Al! Don’t you ever bathe?” Cole snapped in exasperation.

Alaina snorted. “Might ketch yer kinda vermin if’n I did.”

“Mind your manners!” Angus barked, betraying his own lack of patience. “There has been enough disaster heaped upon us this morning without tempting more.”

“Disaster?” Alaina scanned the faces present, paused on Cole’s tensed features. “What disaster?
All I did was bring him here after—”

“You what?” Angus railed, coming out of his chair. “You! You brought that Yankee here? To my house? Do you know what you’ve done?”

Alaina shrugged helplessly, glancing briefly toward Cole whose attitude of stiff restraint made her all the more confused. Worry puckered her brow as she tried to explain. “He musta got hisself drunk and robbed, then dumped in the river. I jes’ fished him out. I didn’t know where else to bring him, him bein’ in his johns and all.” She looked at Cole and fussed. “Don’tcha know they’s some streets what ain’t safe? Even for a highfalutin Yankee captain?”

Angus growled in rage and stepped menacingly forward, but Leala caught her husband’s arm.

“Go easy, Angus. The child did nothing more than we might have done.”

“Bah! A Yankee?” Angus groaned. “You could have let him drown.” In his mind, Angus fixed the source of all his woes. His eyes burned with his wrath as he glared at Alaina who scuffed a foot uncertainly against the rug while he continued to berate her. “You brought that Yankee to this house the first time, too.” He fed on his own righteous rage. “If it weren’t for you, you little
tramp
, this marriage would not have—”

“Angus!” Leala gasped in horror at her husband’s conclusion. Angus mumbled in frustrated disgust and stomped out of the room, making his way with ponderous tread to his bedroom.

“Marriage?” Alaina was even more bewildered now. “What marriage? Who?—You!” She stared at Cole, a sick feeling of horror welling up within her.
Carefully she asked, “You been leadin’ some gal ’round on a string?”

“Not until this morning,” Cole muttered.

Leala’s cheeks flamed with hot color as she tried to explain. “Captain Latimer and Roberta were—ah—found—together this morning. Angus thought it his duty to send for Parson Lyman.”

“My gawd!”

The minister’s coffee cup clanked loudly as he set it down firmly on the saucer. This lad was far too young to be allowed such freedom with language. He would speak with Mrs. Craighugh on the subject of the boy’s tutelage immediately.

A sound of running feet left Leala gaping at the empty doorway where Alaina had stood only a second before. “Was there something amiss with the boy? He left so quickly.”

Parson Lyman rose. “The lad fled in much of a dither, I fear. He seemed most embarrassed by what happened here last night.”

Cole’s brows came together in confusion. He could have sworn he saw tears start in the gray eyes before the boy whirled. “Perhaps it’s time somebody told Al the facts of life,” he muttered. “He seems unusually naive.”