Surrender (26 page)

The realization that he was bound to come to blood with his own family had caused him to ask for a transfer to serve once more on the battlefields in Virginia. Lincoln had summoned him back, determining that he was far better utilized doing what he had been doing before—waging small scale war in his home peninsula. What it boiled down to, Ian reckoned, was that he and other Yanks stole supplies from the Rebs—and the Rebs stole them back from them. But with the fighting continuing at such a brutal pace, each side had its objective. To the South, supplies were a lifeline that must be kept open. To the North, the lack of supplies was a way to send the Rebs down to their knees.

Still, he was glad to be preparing for his trip homeward when a messenger came from General Angus A. Magee, requesting his presence. Ian left his Washington town home, glad to see his old commanding officer and friend before setting off.

But he had barely entered Magee’s residence before his host came striding into the parlor.

“General—” Ian began, only to have the old fellow catch him squarely in the jaw with a solid punch.

Stunned—and dampening down the instinct to strike back—Ian worked his jaw.

“Sir—”

“Don’t you ‘sir’ me, McKenzie! You were like my own boy, the son I never had! I embraced you to my heart; I assumed you meant to marry Risa, and it would have done my heart good. You married elsewhere, sir, and that is a man’s choice, but how dare you do so and then use my daughter so cruelly!”

“General,” Ian said, tenderly rubbing his chin. “Sir, I would gladly answer these accusations. But I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about! It was my most recent understanding that Risa had set sail to visit friends in England—”

“Indeed! Without so much as sharing her troubled condition with me!”

“Her troubled condition…”

“I do have my ways of learning the truth!” Magee exploded, still stiff and straight as a statue, soft blue eyes emitting powdery sparks.

Risa was…expecting? Ian wondered. The situation was quite incredible. It wasn’t his child, so…

“You may hit me again, sir, if it will make you feel any better,” Ian offered politely. “But I’m afraid…”

He paused. His cousin was no rapist, no debaucher of innocents. No matter what the newspapers had claimed, he knew damned well that Jerome would have never forcefully raped Risa Magee, or any other woman. In fact, women flocked to him.

So…what the hell had happened?

Apparently, General Magee’s mind was moving in a like direction. “I shall kill him! That half-breed wretched red savage kin of yours! I will personally find him, and tear his heart out!” Magee said, his voice shaking.

“Sir, I know my kin, and under normal circumstances, you yourself are the first to understand how others have chosen to fight for their home states. My cousin returned Risa safely as soon as was strategically possible—”

“His heart! I will skewer it through, roast it, and feed it to the dogs.”

“Sir,” Ian protested politely, “I cannot believe Jerome is responsible. I’ve recently heard rumors that he met a young woman in Charleston, and there was talk of an engagement. I understand she’s quite the belle, from a prominent Southern family. Risa was angry with him, but she’d have been honest with us. My cousin did nothing brutal or cruel to her. I know that. Perhaps…”

“Perhaps what? Are you making insinuations against my daughter?”

“No, sir, you know that I love her—”

“So you do love her!”

Ian inhaled deeply—wanting to cut out Jerome’s heart himself at that moment. “Risa is my friend, sir, one of the best I have ever had. But perhaps she has simply fallen in love elsewhere, and neither of us knows anything about it.”

“Hmmph!” Magee snorted, narrowing his eyes. Then they misted. “She’s left me, Ian. Without a word about her situation. Didn’t she trust me? Doesn’t she know how I love her?” he demanded, sounding a little lost.

“She wouldn’t want to hurt you, or your position, sir.” And maybe she was just a little afraid that he would
want to cut someone’s heart out! Ian thought wryly. “Sir, will you trust me to do my best to find the truth of the situation?”

Magee stared at him a long time. He was furious, and deeply hurt. “Ian, Risa is on her way to London, and I am on my way back to battle. The Lord knows where you will wind up. Yes, I will trust you. But if that wretched half-breed—”

“Actually, Jerome’s blood is a little thin. My uncle is the half-breed,” Ian corrected, the trace of resentment in his tone eluding Magee in his distraught state.

“If he has harmed her in any way, I will slice him to ribbons!” Magee vowed.

Ian saluted. He didn’t want to tell Magee that if it came down to a contest of strength, Jerome would easily tear him to shreds.

But then again, Jerome would never behave so
savagely
.

T
he decision to leave America had been difficult, but she felt she’d had no choice. She meant to come back as soon as possible. She couldn’t bear hurting her father by leaving, but neither could she hurt him with her situation. She’d actually considered writing Jerome McKenzie about the child, but their last encounter had been such a whirlwind tempest, so swiftly come and gone that she did, at times, doubt her own sanity. It didn’t matter. He had made it clear, as perhaps she had herself, that they were enemies. England began to look better and better to her. She had close friends in London with whom she’d gone to school, and she could make arrangements for a discreet delivery somewhere in Scotland perhaps. And when the war was over…

What then? How would she explain her babe when she went home? And could she wait for the war to end if it dragged on? Her father loved her, and needed her. She supposed she could claim she had adopted a war orphan. But would her father believe her? Could she live with the charade? The conflict within her was great, because she did so adore her father. But she didn’t want him upset now. He needed to concentrate on the business of war—not worry about his daughter!

So she had set sail. England, a season in London with friends. She would take charge of her life, and she would do it on her own.

But God, it seemed, was a trickster.

The moment she had seen the
Lady Varina
on the horizon, she had known that Jerome McKenzie would seize her ship. Captain Briggs had been warned that he was taking on far too much cargo—he had no speed left to him, and no maneuverability. Lieutenant Waylon,
who had become somewhat smitten with her, had talked more than he should have. He was sorry to be serving beneath Briggs, whom he considered to be an old war-horse who should have been put out to pasture.

But Waylon had read the newspapers as well, and he knew, when they saw the Rebel ship on the horizon, that it was the demon of the seas himself, Jerome McKenzie, hard on their heels. He had quickly seen to it that she was kept hidden in the captain’s cabin, and he assured her he’d do everything in his power to see her safely from the ship.

And, the demon that he was, Jerome had behaved with chivalry, honoring every code of warfare, when he took the ship. The officers were courteously escorted to the captain’s cabin to remain under guard. The cabin was inspected once for arms. She kept her head cloaked, her eyes upon some needlework, while pretending to be Lieutenant Waylon’s wife as Michael O’Hara inspected the cabin. Small arms were taken, but the officers were invited to dine with officers from the
Lady Varina
, and the capture was respectfully carried out.

But Waylon did not forget his promise.

“The ships are disengaged. The hour after midnight, Miss Magee, we slip out. We release the port side longboat and take her—there is but one latch remaining upon it, for the men have prepared for your escape. Briggs and I will accompany you, and see to your safety. We are in the shipping lanes. I promise you that we’ll be picked up by morning.”

“Lieutenant Waylon, I see no need to take such a risk. If you’ve surrendered, you could sacrifice all by attempting an escape,” Risa argued.

“Oh, but, Miss Magee! If Captain McKenzie seized you again, your father would murder us with his own bare hands!”

She actually longed to escape this ship without Jerome managing to discover her. Under the circumstances, she certainly didn’t want him finding out about her condition.

“All right, as you suggest, Lieutenant,” she agreed.

A half-moon rode high against a clear star-spangled sky. It was a perfect night on the Atlantic. The waves rolled gently.

The Yankee ship and the
Lady Varina
rode parallel across the waves, moving slowly. Michael O’Hara was at the helm of the Yank while Mr. Douglas himself guided the
Lady Varina
.

Cloaked in the darkness, Jerome stood vigil at the bow of the
Lady Varina
. It was late; the sailors had been given a measure of rum for their efforts that day, and now slept in the lazy glory of a solid victory. The surgeons had long since patched up the last of the wounded.

The dead had gone to their watery graves.

Night, and all was quiet.

Except that he had taken a ship of deeply disgruntled enlisted men, and Hal Smith, the lad whose leg had been saved, had been allowed a visit from his friend, Sully. Sully not only knew that there was a plot afoot for the captain, first officer, and a lady passenger to escape, he knew that the attempt would be made that night.

Sure enough. Jerome had stood, still as a great heron, for hours. Then he saw the dark figures moving along the bow to the longboat.

The longboat fell with a minimum of sound.

Jerome stepped to the rim of the bow, caught hold of a guide rope, and swung down the length of it to one of the longboats tied to the ship. He looked across the few feet of water that separated him from his men—Jeremiah Jones, David Stewart, and Jimmy Meyers—in a second boat. “Gentlemen, it’s time,” he said quietly.

And the longboats shot out into the night.

Within a matter of seconds they had come around the
Lady Varina
, and were in pursuit of the escaping Yanks.

“Dear God! The man is the Devil himself!”

Captain Briggs was the one to first shout the alarm. Turning swiftly, Risa felt her heart sink.

“It can’t be! It’s impossible!” Lieutenant Waylon sputtered.

“You, ahead there, Yanks—halt!” came a thundering command.

“Never, sir!” cried Lieutenant Waylon.

“Waylon, don’t be an idiot! The man can cut you down in a wink!” Briggs retorted in disgust.

“No! We can fight!” Waylon insisted.

“I told you, I want no more blood spilled!” Risa protested. “Lieutenant Waylon—”

But to her dismay, Waylon had jumped up. He had managed to keep a small repeating revolver, and he leapt to his feet, firing.

“Sit down, man!” Captain Briggs roared, but too late. Despite his valiant if foolhardy effort, Waylon had unbalanced the longboat. It didn’t just rock; it pitched. Waylon went flying into the blue-black of the ocean. Briggs tried to fling himself across the boat to shield Risa, but to no avail. The little boat rocked up on its side, and they were both thrown overboard. Risa felt herself instantly sinking; her clothing—chosen for the night chill in the midst of the Atlantic—was heavy. Her boots were heavy. Her cloak was laden with silver coin for her trip.

She managed to rip off her boots, and kick her way to the surface. She was worried about Captain Briggs and Lieutenant Waylon, but she discovered a more powerful instinct for self-preservation; she meant to save her child. She came to the surface, gasping, and saw the overturned boat perhaps thirty feet away from her. She paused, treading water, seeing Jerome’s men dragging Waylon into their small boat.

Jerome was perched alone in the longboat, seated in the middle at the oars, looking down at her. He wore a loose white cotton shirt, dark breeches, and boots, and looked more like a rogue pirate than a military man. He leaned upon the oars, eyes obsidian in the night.

“Swimming again?” he inquired politely.

“Go to hell, McKenzie.”

“Not a good place,” he mused, watching her tread the water. “We’re far out at sea. No place for you to swim to, actually. Water is cold here. Lots of sea creatures. Sharks, jellyfish. Ugh. Quite unpleasant.”

She stared at him, ignoring his light tone, seeing through to his eyes. She refused to reach for his boat, but she was tiring, and she knew it.

“Take my hand!” he snapped angrily, reaching out for her. “Now! Do it! I’ll be damned if I’ll let you drown—the newspapers would crucify me for that!”

She couldn’t protest further because she would die.

He caught hold of her arms, lifting her into the boat. It swayed, but didn’t pitch. She landed, seated and dripping on the floor. He stared at her, shaking his head in disgust. “This has got to be the most stupid thing you’ve done yet.”

Cold. He was right. The water had been very cold, and her teeth were chattering. “It might have worked—”

“You might have died! Considering you were in the hands of idiots. You could have floated about endlessly until you died of exposure, dehydration—”

“We would have been picked up immediately in the shipping lanes.”

“To what end?” he demanded with a shattering bellow. The force of his fury was truly frightening. “You know damned well that no harm would have come to you or anyone in my hands!”

“You might have chosen to keep the officers as prisoners—for exchange!” she reminded him swiftly.

“The men were offered the longboats, Miss Magee. So what about yourself? You were so desperate to get to England?”

“Well, sir, my own country seems to be infested with snakes who can slip in when and where they please!” she retorted. Then a fabulous lie sprang to her lips. “And if you must know, I’m due to be married.”

He sat back, a brow arched. And she knew that she had startled him.

“Really?” he inquired. “How intriguing. When did this come about?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Indeed? I’m just curious to know if this fellow is aware of what he’s getting.”

A strange panic seized her. Did he know?