Rebel (27 page)

Manuals on fencing; histories of firearms. Alaina had always been intent on taking care of herself, and she wasn’t a simpering little fool; she was quite capable, intelligent—even cunning. She might well have escaped her attacker this afternoon whether he had made an appearance or not. She was very, very hard to break.

Yet now she seemed shattered.

Jennifer sat on the side of the bed. Alaina was curled into a ball away from her, still in nothing more than the tatters of her white clothing. The sound of her ragged breathing, punctuated here and there by a sob, could still be heard. Jennifer helplessly rubbed her shoulders, looking at Ian and Julian, shaking her head.

“I’m going to give her something,” Julian said.

Jennifer nodded, but stood up, approaching her cousins and whispering softly. “You should know…”

She broke off, looking at Ian.

“I should know what?” he asked.

“Ian, I hate to tell you this way….”

“Jen!”

“Well, I doubt if Alaina will think of it at the moment, but you two are expecting a child.”

“A child,” Ian repeated, staring at Jennifer. At first the words didn’t sink in. Then emotions twisted through him in a tempest. A child. He wanted children, had always known he wanted children, had expected children from marriage. Yet his marriage had been so brief, and he had been away so long….

And she hadn’t thought to write him. To let him know. Actually, she hadn’t written to him at all. Not a single word, not an acknowledgment of his notes to her. Anger rose swiftly within him as he wondered what
games she thought she was playing. Then a sob racked through her labored breathing again, and he was torn between his desire to shake her and his desperate wish that he could do something to ease so terrible a pain.

Julian whistled softly through his teeth. “A babe, Ian. You’re going to be a father. Congratulations.”

Ian nodded. “Indeed, a child….”

It should have been a time for celebrating. Champagne, the best cigars. Laughter, claps on the shoulder. He calculated quickly. The babe would be born at the end of January; she was very nearly halfway along. And now this.

“Julian,” he murmured uneasily, “this violent emotion can’t be good for her, but I’m afraid of what sedatives can do. When I was at Fort Taylor years ago, an officer’s wife was given a fairly large dose of laudanum for her headaches, and she had a stillborn child the following week.”

“And yet she needs something, poor dear,” Jen said.

“I’ll be very careful in dosing her,” Julian promised. He glanced at Ian. “Perhaps a brandy would be the best medicine. If she could only sleep….”

Ian nodded.

Jennifer walked across the room to the secretary, where a crystal decanter of brandy sat on a silver tray. She poured a small measure into a glass, handed it to Ian, and set a hand on his arm. “We’ll leave you,” she murmured.

His brother, too, touched his back, then the two departed. Ian stared at his wife for a moment, holding the brandy. Her soft blond hair was in wild disarray. Her back shook. He approached the bed, touching her gently on the shoulder. She shuddered, twisting away from him.

“Alaina!” he said firmly, forcing her around.

She stared at him blankly.

“Drink this,” he told her.

Her eyes flickered from him to the glass, back to him again. They filled with tears.

He sighed, set the brandy down, and reached firmly for her. She resisted. He dragged her into his arms, picked up the glass of brandy again, and brought it to her lips, forcing her to swallow. She shuddered again, then went lax in his arms.

And began to cry softly again.

He rocked with her, smoothing back her hair. They stayed together as time passed, as the night slipped away. Her clothing, after all this time, remained damp. It was the heat and humidity, Ian thought—nothing could dry. Not the seawater in her clothing; not the tears she continued to shed.

With evening, the breeze coming through was pleasant, cooling. How strange. It was a perfect night. The perfect night he had imagined on his way here. A perfect night for lying with his wife, burning in the heat of desire, cooling beneath so damp and luscious a breeze. It wasn’t to be. His father-in-law was dead, and though he needed to get his wife’s clothing off, it was only so that she could be warm and dry. How strange what the heart knew, and the body refused to accept. But she was in his arms, soft, shapely, and he realized with a rueful poignancy that he wanted her no matter what. He’d resisted the temptation of another woman he had loved for a long time; indeed, he’d resisted the temptation of Washington’s darker underside, and he hadn’t really known why himself until now. He was married. An honorable life with Risa was out of the question, and as to any other…

No one else could compare with the woman who was his wife. Who still held so very much of herself away from him.

Who cried now in his arms with such desolation and despair.

“Shhh, shhh, Alaina, you must stop now,” he told her very gently, smoothing back the tangle of her hair again. “It will not be good for the babe.”

Another bout of sobbing seized her, and she was suddenly choking out words. “I—never told him. He would have been so glad. I meant to tell him. He never knew, I didn’t have a chance. I meant to tell him today … at lunch, but he wouldn’t come in, he wouldn’t come when I called. And now he is dead today….”

Ian bit into his lower lip, refraining from mentioning to her that she hadn’t seen fit to tell
him
about the child, either.

And that she’d had months to tell Teddy.

“He knows now, Alaina,” he told her. “He knows now.”

“How can you say that?” She looked up at him at last; really seeing him, her beautiful gold eyes swollen with her tears. Whatever his own anger or resentment, it would wait. He eased his knuckles over her cheek, feeling the dampness of her tears. “Because there is a heaven, and Teddy is there, and he lived his whole life as a very good man, and God has let him know that his seed will live on.”

Her eyes remained searchingly on his for a long moment, then her lashes fell. She gave off a tremendous shudder, then lay shivering—but silent—in his arms.

“Alaina,” he said after a moment, “you have to get this ruined clothing off. You’re cold.”

“This is south Florida,” she said tonelessly. “It is impossible to be cold.”

He laughed softly. “We both know that it’s damned possible to be cold. The night breeze is very chill, and you’re wet. Alaina, for the love you bore your father, cherish his grandchild and let me help you into something warmer.”

At last it seemed that something he said got through to her. She was still listless, barely movable, but he managed to strip her of the remnants of the gown, petticoats, and stockings. She hadn’t been wearing a corset, just a chemise, and when he at last slipped it over her head, he felt a new, sweeping range of emotions.

She remained beautiful. Yet there were subtle changes in that beauty. Her breasts were swollen, her nipples had enlarged and grown dusky. And what he hadn’t seen while she was dressed was that her abdomen had swollen as well. The curve of their child already rounded her stomach, if only just slightly. Her body was still incredibly sensual, perhaps even more so, and perhaps, despite her now obvious condition, it would have been all right to fulfill the functions his own body so heartily required. Yet something more powerful tamped down hard upon him. He set her gently upon the pillows. She stared into space, unaware of him, unaware or uncaring that she lay naked and shivering. He dug through drawers until he found a soft cotton nightgown, and helped her into it. He realized his own breeches were still damp, shed them, sat
back against the pillows, drawing the covers over his lap, then pulling her stiff body back against him. Again, he did nothing more than soothe her with his touch, smoothing her hair from her face in a slow, lulling motion.

She lay very still. Only occasionally did a sob rattle through her now.

“Ian?” she asked softly at last.

“I’m here.”

“Why did it happen?” she demanded, in a voice so soft and broken that he might have cried aloud himself.

“I don’t know, Alaina.”

“Why my father? Why did those wretched men have to come here? He was so good, such a good man, he tried to feed people all the time, he tried to grow plants that cured wounds and ailments, that eased boils, that helped children, that saved lives.”

“Alaina, there has never been an answer as to why, sometimes, the wretched live and the good die. He knew that there was danger here—”

“The Indians loved my father. He treated everyone like a human being, and he was scoffed at for it. Oh, God, I pray that at least he never knew that—”

She broke off suddenly.

“That what?”

Still she hesitated.

“Alaina?”

“He never had to know what Peter O’Neill told me.”

Despite himself, Ian felt his arms tightened in an angry constriction. He tried very hard to control his voice.

“And what did Peter O’Neill tell you?”

“That—that no respectable man would ever marry me, because I was the botanist’s daughter.”

Ian was silent a long time, wondering how now, in these present circumstances, he could want so badly to kill Peter O’Neill—or at least break and bloody his face.

He weighed his answer carefully.

“Peter O’Neill is an arrogant, social-climbing fool, and Teddy would have had the good sense to ignore anything he might have said.”

“But I think it was true. People admired my father,
but they thought that he was an eccentric, and that he raised a young hellion.”

“He did raise a hellion.”

“Yes, but nothing bad about me was Teddy’s fault.”

“Alaina, I have told you, Peter is a fool, and Teddy never did know anything about your relationship with him. Teddy saw you married, Alaina, and safe and cared for in his eyes. Marriage might not have pleased you greatly, but you can take comfort in knowing that Teddy believed it best.”

He felt her nodding against his chest. “Yes. He thought a great deal of you.” She choked on another sob. “And at least those awful men are dead!” she whispered vehemently.

Ian winced inwardly, wondering how she would feel when she discovered that Teddy had died from army bullets.

Tonight, however, wasn’t the time to tell her.

She started to cry again.

But softly this time.

He sat in silence, still soothing her. There wasn’t much he could say. He murmured her name, assured her that Teddy had died without pain, stroked her hair, her nape.

And at long last, she slept. He lay awake much, much longer, staring at the mosquito netting cast back upon the canopy of the bed.

He’d lied to her, he thought. Oh, Teddy had liked him, he knew that. But Teddy had been worried. Alaina was like the South, Teddy had said, Rebellious, independent, proud, determined. Anxious to have her way. Well, it could not always be so. She was his wife; she was going to have his child. And under these sad new circumstances, she was going to have to see life in a new way…

His way.

He eased himself down within the bed, cradling her gently into a softly curled position against him. A shudder swept through him. He kissed her forehead, overwhelmed suddenly by the desire to shelter and protect her.

He closed his eyes, holding her.

And still he lay awake.

* * *

Waking the next morning seemed to be the hardest thing Alaina had ever done.

At first she just felt the sun on her eyelids.

Then the events from the previous day came rushing in on her.

And she tried to tell herself that it had all been a nightmare, that she could awake, run out, and find her father on the porch, drinking his coffee, perhaps chewing on his pipe stem, reading his latest botanical periodicals.

But such a prayer didn’t live long in her breast. A dull thudding seemed to fill her heart, her mind, her head. Teddy was dead. The pain was terrible. And it would never go away. She didn’t want to move; she didn’t want to get up. She wanted to go back to sleep and dream that it had never happened.

At her side, she felt Ian stirring. She kept her eyes closed as he shifted, rising very carefully, trying not to awaken her if she still slept.

She opened her eyes just barely, watching him through the shield of her lashes. She watched his naked back as he rose, observing the taut bronze ripple of muscle and flesh as he moved. He looked very good, she thought, as if from some very distant place. She felt oddly removed from herself, objective in her observations. He was long-limbed, beautifully proportioned. And oddly enough, at this of all times, she found herself jealously wondering whom he had been with since he’d left her, if other women had stroked their fingers down the length of that bronze back, if they had watched the hardness of his buttocks and the structure of his legs as he walked, moved, slipped back into breeches.

Shame filled her. Her father was dead and she was staring at her husband’s naked body, wishing she could allow herself to forget and feel something other than the pain.

Breeches back on, he turned suddenly, as if he sensed her watching him. She edged herself back against the pillows, wondering if her eyes could be anything more than slits, they felt so very swollen and sore. How strange. She didn’t feel like crying at all anymore. She felt empty. A void. Teddy was gone. She had taken her own life so seriously before. Now it seemed that her life
didn’t matter at all. Teddy had been her life, all of her life, and he was gone.

Ian walked back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes anxious as they swept over her. He touched her cheek. “How are you doing?”

She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. He’d been very kind, she thought. Whatever life he’d been living before he arrived here, he was certainly taking the role of her husband as gently as might be imagined now.

Naturally, she thought. Her father had just died.

And he knew now that she was expecting a child. Their child.

“I’m… fine,” she said. But as soon as she spoke the words, she felt tears welling back into her eyes. She blinked furiously, then lowered her head, burying it into her hands. “I’m fine, really,” she said, her voice muffled. She managed to sit up straight, her head high. “I will be fine,” she amended softly. She looked at Ian then. “Where is my father?”