Rebel (24 page)

“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, wondering 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.

Jerome stared ahead at the water again. “It wouldn’t matter if I was or wasn’t—Florida is rearing at the bit to secede—I think that half the politicians in this state are hoping that we’ll be forced to secede. I can promise you this—Florida may not be the first state out of the union if it comes to a division, but she’ll follow the first cotton state out as quickly as she can manage.”

“I didn’t ask you about the state,” Ian said “I want to know your feelings in the matter.”

Jerome hesitated a long moment, looking out on the water. “Am I for secession? No, I’m not. I think that the founding fathers worked hard to create a new country, and both our independence and our growth made us strong. I think that the industries of the North support the agriculture of the South, and that our many diverse qualities and peoples are what make us unique. So am I for secession? No. I don’t own slaves, and I don’t think one of us could have possibly grown to adulthood without having the lesson of the importance of personal freedoms taught to us. I am Seminole, remember. I have always respected your choice to join the military, Ian, and even my father has very good friends among the army. But in my house, and among my grandmother’s people, it’s hard to forget that it was men wearing that Federal blue uniform who slaughtered the Seminoles so ruthlessly, considering them savages—
lesser
people than
themselves. My heart is with my state. If Florida secedes, I am with her. If there is war, then I am on the side of my state.”

Ian nodded slowly, watching the sun glint off the water, watching as his cousin expertly drew the sail to bring them closer to the shoreline.

“Julian?” he said to his brother.

“Ah, well,” Julian said softly, “I’m not ready to decide the issue as of yet. Sometimes I feel like Jerome; my heart is with my state. Then I think about Father, and how firmly he has always stood for the belief that good and bad men come in all colors and races. I won’t support slavery.”

“I don’t support slavery,” Jerome argued, “but I do support the South.”

“How can you do both?” Ian demanded.

Jerome shook his head, staring out at the water. “Gentlemen, supposedly the issue isn’t slavery. The issue is a state’s own right to make choices. Slavery isn’t economical in the North—naturally, then, it is easy for Northerners to think that the ‘peculiar institution’ can be thrown right over. Believe me, Ian, I see all sides. I wish sometimes that I did not.”

“If Florida secedes, she will have a rough road ahead,” Ian murmured.

“In what way?” Jerome asked.

“You know as well as I—there is so much coastline! She will be vulnerable to attack, and her fellow cotton states—”

“Her fellow cotton states will need her support,” Jerome said fiercely. “Florida is a food basket, with the amount of cattle we raise. And then there is salt—my God, salt will be invaluable in the event of war. There are important Federal forts in the state, which I imagine the state would take over immediately if Florida secedes. Personally, I’d like to see someone take charge of the remains of Fort Dallas.”

Ian glanced at Jerome. “Has there been trouble?” he asked worriedly.

“No real trouble. But I imagine it’s a matter of time. Drifters, riffraff, army deserters, all make their way there. The English owners seem to have no plans for the property, and so it is an open invitation to cutthroats
and thieves. The army comes in now and then to attempt a clean-out. I dragged out three men I’m certain caused the wreck of a schooner they took salvage from. It creates a danger, that’s certain.”

“Maybe I should force Alaina to return to Washington with me,” Ian murmured.

“Jennifer is almost always with her; Lawrence works the waters right off Belamar. We’re close, and yet… well, Teddy has help on the islet, of course. They’ve rifles, a few handguns… but Teddy always expects the best out of people. He’s only recently started loading the weapons he keeps in the house.”

“Why has he done so recently?” Ian asked.

Jerome looked at him. “I suggested he do so.”

“Teddy is a bit of a dreamer, but he’s not a fool,” Julian murmured assuringly. “Look, Belamar is coming into view.”

Ian looked out across the shimmering water. He could see Belamar ahead of them now. The northeastern section of Teddy’s pleasantly sprawling wooden house was clearly visible from their angle.

Someone was on the porch. Someone dark-haired. His cousin Jennifer, he thought.

Where was Alaina?

Near. Very near.

He narrowed his eyes, startled by the strange heat and quickening that seized his muscles, spread through his torso and limbs.

He was anxious to see her. It had been a very long time. A long, uneasy, tormented time for him. Days when he wished that Risa would rage and condemn him. Nights when it seemed she hinted she still loved him, nights when it seemed almost inevitable that they would be together. Nights when he would go to bed thinking of Risa, her laughter, her convictions, eyes, voice, scent…

Yet he would sleep.

And in sleep, he found himself dreaming of being hotly entwined with another woman, the one he had come to know. His wife. He was damned anxious to hold her again—all but desperate for the night.

He frowned suddenly as their course veered them into a more northerly angle, allowing them a better view of
the breadth of Belamar Isle. A small boat was drawn up to the beachhead.

A sudden barrage of gunfire exploded so loudly that they could hear it clear as day, even at their distance.

“Jesus!” Julian breathed.

More gunfire

Then…

A woman’s high-pitched scream, carrying out to them over the water.

“W
hat in hell?” Ian demanded, balancing on the balls of his feet. He stood watching as the soldiers advanced, still firing. “Sweet Jesus, what in hell is going on there?”