Rebel (54 page)

Ian stopped in his tracks, looking at Alaina. He stood watching, keeping his eyes on Alaina’s, as Peter dragged his wife away.

Peter stepped over the body of his own dead man as he backed the entire way out of the copse.

“Not a word,” Peter warned Alaina. She was mounted in front of him on a small gray mare. A good, sturdy, surefooted mount. Peter wasn’t a fool. He did know how to navigate this terrain. His men followed behind them, silent—and in pain, she was certain. “One word, and I slit your throat.”

She ignored him. “You can’t kill me. You can’t afford to kill me. Because he’s going to get up, put on his clothing, and hunt you down.”

“Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I’m less than your arrogant husband? I know the hammocks and the swamps and the rivers just like he does, Alaina. I made it all the way down here with my company to root out the Panther. And by God, I will finish him!”

She turned slightly and saw that his mouth was in a
grim line. He was a dangerous man. Not the spoiled rich boy she used to know. He was honed and tight, and had been living a life, fighting. Always fighting.

She was suddenly afraid.

“Peter, ride to the rest of your men. I’ll accompany you to them. I’ll say that I am the Moccasin and that you did rescue me. You will be a tremendous hero in the South.”

He smiled.

“I will take you to the rest of my men, Alaina. Tomorrow. Right now we have Privates Jarvis and Tatum. They’ll stand guard, and tonight you spend with me. Before anything else can happen, my dear, I’m going to take what should have been mine.”

Ian dressed in seconds flat. He whistled for Pye and leaped up on his mount.

He warned himself that he had to follow carefully. He had to let Peter O’Neill think he had a good lead on him.

Which, at the moment, he did.

The sun rose, yet Alaina was shaking.

They’d been riding for hours. Hours. She felt ill, nauseated.

The sun had begun to beat down cruelly; hot, sticky dampness was all around them. Her bare legs had been ripped by sawgrass and gnawed by mosquitoes.

Which didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Ian hadn’t come.

They had paused once by a freshwater stream. Tatum’s wrist was shattered, and he was moaning and complaining that he had to get to a surgeon. Jarvis, as it turned out, had only sustained a flesh wound. He kept telling Tatum to be a man.

And still, Ian didn’t appear.

It was a dangerous time, Alaina thought. Ian must know how volatile Peter was, how the thought of revenge had eaten away at his mind. Ian was surely being careful, very careful, tracking them until the time was right.

Unless…

Unless he believed that she had betrayed him one
time too many. She had seen his eyes when he had realized someone was there, watching them….

“Keep an eye out, boys, keep an eye out!” Peter commanded his men.

“Hell, Captain, I think we’ve lost him!” Jarvis said happily.

Alaina began to worry.

If Ian didn’t come before nightfall…

Peter O’Neill had picked a deserted Seminole outpost as his camp.

There were several chikees in the overgrown encampment, all built off the ground with thatched roofs and no walls. It was a decent choice, Ian admitted, watching the party from the cover of a stand of oaks. Peter and his men were elevated, able to see anyone or anything coming at them.

There was open space between the trees and the chikee they chose. It was going to be damned difficult to surprise the party.

Still, Ian waited. He couldn’t take chances. He was afraid that Peter would gladly kill Alaina before allowing her to escape.

He leaned against the oak, trying to plan his strategy.

But then… Alaina screamed. Ian whirled to see her struggling with Peter, and before he knew it, he had let out his own Yankee brand of Rebel yell and gone charging for the chikee.

She had tried to be rational. She had reminded herself that she had once thought she was in love with Peter. She told herself that he wouldn’t really hurt her, that she couldn’t cry out. If she screamed, and Ian was following her, she could endanger his life, because he would certainly come after her. Throughout the day, she had known Peter’s intent to rape her, and she had tried to tell herself she could endure such an event. She had to endure—she was carrying another child. And she had Sean.

Perhaps she even had Ian.

She had wanted to be rational. Brave and so stoic she could perhaps dissuade Peter by her total disinterest.

But when he had dragged her to the rear of the chikee
and thrown her down while his men kept watch by the fire they had built…

She screamed.

And all hell broke loose.

Ian came running out from the trees, yelling in a manner that rivaled a Seminole war cry. He started firing his guns and hit Jarvis again.

Jarvis dropped. Dead.

But Tatum, despite his injury, was an adept shot with his left hand, and he started firing back even as Peter drew his rifle and fired shots off wildly into the night.

Then there was silence.

Peter, half atop Alaina, rose slightly.

“McKenzie!”

There was no sound at first.

“Fight me for her, O’Neill. Fight me for her!”

Peter started to laugh. “I don’t have to fight you for her, McKenzie. There’s my man and me. And you, out there alone.”

But there was suddenly another blast of gunfire—from a totally different direction.

Alaina felt Peter’s sudden convulsion as he dragged her around with him. She stared into the night, praying for some kind of salvation.

Then she saw a man riding forward.

And her heart sank.

For he was in gray. A handsome gray uniform, with a plumed hat.

Yet even as her heart sank, she saw that Ian had slipped out from around the pole where he had taken refuge from a hail of bullets.

And as she turned again, she recognized the rider herself.

Jerome McKenzie.

Jerome rode straight into the camp, into the firelight.

“You!” Peter raged, looking at Jerome. “You’ll hang! You’re a Confederate officer, by God! And you’re supposed to be on a ship somewhere. You’ll hang from the highest tree, betraying your country for your kin.”

“I wonder what your penalty would be for rape, Peter,” Jerome said coolly. “And you—you’re a disgrace,” he said contemptuously, looking at Tatum.

“She’s the Moccasin—” Tatum began.

“I was afraid of that,” Jerome said quietly. “Hello, Ian.”

“Jerome,” Ian responded.

“He’s got to die,” Peter said to Jerome. “And if the two of you think you’re going to join McKenzie blood against me, remember we’re in the middle of a war.”

“This war is between you and me, Peter,” Ian said flatly.

“Shoot him! Shoot him!” Peter commanded Tatum in a sudden frenzy.

But no one moved.

Ian walked forward then, determined. He walked right past Tatum, who seemed too stunned to waylay him. He leaped up to the platform of the chikee, striding toward Peter.

He threw his gun down and drew his sword.

“This particular war is ours, Peter. Let’s finish it— without killing anyone else.”

Peter hesitated. He still had Alaina.

He looked at Jerome. “If I kill him, you ride away.”

“You kill him, and I ride away,” Jerome agreed.

Peter smiled. He reached down, ostensibly for his sword.

He picked up his Colt six-shooter instead, but before he could shoot Ian point-blank, Alaina screamed.

She threw herself at Peter.

The gun went off.

“No!” Ian bellowed, bringing his sword down with a crushing blow against the butt of the gun.

Alaina fell; the gun went flying. Peter grasped for his sword then.

And Ian felt fear for his wife tear into his limbs, but he couldn’t reach her. Peter was coming at him with his sword like a madman.

Ian fought the fear and saw red.

The war had improved Peter’s abilities. He fought back with vigor and strength. But Ian was incensed, desperate to get to Alaina.

God!

He’d fought so hard.

He’d won so many times.

He was the Panther.

Yet this battle would mean nothing if she wasn’t all right.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that Jerome had come to the platform of the chikee and was gently lifting Alaina into his arms. She wasn’t moving.

Peter’s sword tip flicked Ian’s forehead. He felt a drop of blood fall into his eye, and he blinked furiously against the stinging sensation.

And fought back with a vengeance.

Peter made a wild lunge.

Ian was ready.

He didn’t have to slay his enemy; Peter impaled himself on Ian’s sword.

For once, he couldn’t regret the blood spilled, the life lost. Heedless of Tatum, he rushed to where Jerome knelt beside Alaina.

“He nicked her temple. She’s out cold. Let’s get her to Belamar,” Jerome said.

He rose, handing Ian his wife. “We’re thirty minutes away. She needs help. Teela, my father, and Jen are at Belamar.”

Ian nodded. But then he stopped, facing Tatum, who was staring at Ian and Jerome nervously, looking from man to man, licking his lips as he aimed his gun at them.

“This ain’t right!” Tatum said. “You’re both my prisoners.”

Ian looked at Jerome, then handed Alaina back to him. He drew his bloodied sword.

“Fool, I’ll shoot you,” Tatum said. And he pulled the trigger.

But his gun was empty. He drew his sword.

Ian was tired, bone weary. He didn’t want to kill. But Tatum wouldn’t let it end. With one thrust, Tatum fell.

When the battle was over, Ian stared at his cousin. “God, am I sorry. God, am I sick of the killing.”

“Some folk don’t give you a choice,” Jerome said. “At least the Moccasin can truly slip into legend now,” he added.

Ian nodded.

“I’ll hold Alaina until you’re mounted,” Jerome said.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes later, they were riding together through the swamp and hammocks.

Jerome in gray.

Ian in his Union blue.

Ian looked at his cousin curiously. “How did you happen to find us?”

Jerome turned to him, opened his mouth, closed it, and looked ahead again, a strange light in his dark blue eyes. “A friend of yours arrived.”

“A friend?”

“Miss Magee.”

“Oh?”

“It was interesting.”

“Oh. Are you going to tell me about it?”

Jerome looked at him again. “No,” he said after a moment.

Ian arched a brow, but didn’t push the point. He was becoming far too worried about his wife.

Jerome… thanks.”

Jerome smiled and nodded. “You know,” he said softly after a moment, “we are stiU at war.”

But they both knew as well that a truce had been called for the night.

She was dizzy. So dizzy.

When she opened her eyes at first, the room was spinning. Slowly, it came to a halt.

She narrowed her eyes, then blinked furiously.

She was home! Really home. In her own room.

She tried to sit up. The room spun a little, then came to a stop. Someone was there. She blinked, and the visitor came into focus.

Jen.

She cried out, reaching forward, hugging Jen, being hugged in turn.

“How do you feel?” she asked Jennifer.

“Fine.”

“But you were… hanged.”

“And you were shot.”

“I was?” Alaina said. Then she remembered. Remembered everything. “Oh, my God, Ian—”

“Is fine. He stayed awake all night, afraid that my mother was wrong, that you would stop breathing. He kept making sure that you were breathing, that your
heart was beating. Then he said he had to let his men know what had happened. He promised he’d be back.”

“Oh!” Alaina said with relief. She lay back, then sat up worriedly again.

“Your father won’t shoot him, will he?”

“Ian brought me back here. My father wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.”

Alaina smiled. “Good. Oh! Jerome—”

“Is fine as well. But he’s back at sea. With a passenger.”

“A passenger?”

“Risa Magee. She came here and found my brother somehow. That’s how he went after you and Ian. It was rather strange, but now… they’re gone.”

“Gone? Risa left here in a Rebel ship?” Alaina queried disbelievingly.

“So I was told; apparently they left at dawn.”

“Why would Risa leave now?” Alaina wondered aloud.

“Maybe she thought you and Ian needed some time alone.”

“After… helping us? And Ian isn’t even here now.”

Jennifer shrugged. “Ian will be back—and Jerome can be very persuasive—who knows?”

Alaina, frowned, still puzzled. It was her head, surely. She touched her temple, felt the bandage there. “I was shot?”

“Nicked. A flesh wound. You were lucky.” Jennifer was silent a moment. She touched the scarf she was wearing around her neck and smiled at Alaina. “We were both lucky. We’ve served, Alaina. We’ve done our part. You know… wounded men are sent home.”

“Meaning…”

“The war is over for me. I think you need to let it end as well.”

Alaina shook her head. “Jennifer, we can’t end the war.”

“We can end the wars we wage inside,” Jennifer said. She stood suddenly. “Go back to sleep; rest.”

Jennifer left her. Alaina didn’t think she’d rest; she was too anxious to see Ian.

But she did sleep.

And when she awoke again, she felt better.

More than better.

Alive.

And life was out there.

There to be taken.

He was standing on the little strip of beach that faced the mainland, looking toward shore. Out there where Alaina had nearly been drowned by the deserter the day Teddy had died. When the war hadn’t really begun.

They had chosen separate sides.

But she had been willing to die for him. Even after he suspected her of the worst kind of betrayal.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the surf. From somewhere, he heard gulls cry. This was his home. Florida, with the water, the sun, the beautiful exotic birds. He loved his homeland.

Eventually it would return to the Union.

And so would he.