Triumph (30 page)

“Uh—no. This just happened after Olustee!” she said very softly.

Her brother’s palm touched her cheek with real affection. “They’ll be glad, Tia, trust me, they’ll be glad, I think. Glad of your choice. I think Father was afraid that you were becoming too involved with Ray Weir, and that would have been disaster. Taylor, welcome to the family. Well, you are family to part of the family, but I’m damned happy to have you as a brother-in-law. Good lord, though, I’ve come at a bad time—”

“No, no! There’s no bad time to see you, Ian!” Tia cried out.

“I didn’t even imagine that I’d be able to see you at all this trip, Tia. I thought you’d be in the woods with Julian and the wounded.”

“No. Here I am,” she said lamely.

“Here you are, a married woman, little sister!” he exclaimed. “My congratulations! To you both. I’ll go for the wine, and make other arrangements for my sleeping quarters this evening. Tia, get dressed. We will drink a red wine toast. It should be champagne. If only I’d known ...”

Ian turned and slipped beneath the tent flap, leaving them alone. Tia was suddenly shaking so hard she thought she was going to fall—except that Taylor was holding her with an iron grip. He turned her in his arms. Stared down into her eyes. “Now that was clever. Really clever.”

“What should I have told him?” she whispered desperately. The blanket didn’t seem like enough of a barrier between them.

“How about the truth?” he queried hotly.

She closed her eyes, opened them, met his gaze again, seeking understanding. “I—I couldn’t.”

“So you came up with one really damning lie!”

“I’ll think of a way out of it.”

“Oh, no. I’ve had it with your fabrications.”

He pushed her back against the rear of the tent and walked to the flap, lifting it and exiting. She heard him calling to his sergeant, speaking softly, then, as he reentered the tent, he gave a few last instructions. “Sergeant Henson, tell Father Raphael he must come immediately. And bring Private Allen as well; we’ll need another witness. It must all be done very quickly.”

“Yes, sir!” Henson called from beyond.

Clutching the covers to her breast like a lifeline, Tia stared at him. “Father ... Raphael?”

His eyes seemed like knives, cutting into her with irritation and fury. “We’re getting married.”

“Oh, no, we can’t possibly. I can’t marry you.”

“Oh? You’re the one who created this disaster.”

“Marriage would be a worse disaster—”

“Well, guess what, my sweet? Your brother is coming back to celebrate. He expects you to be staying with
your husband
through the night. Did you want to become my mistress and continue to pretend to be married?”

“No, of course not—”

“Ian is staying at this camp. You will not be leaving this tent tonight.”

“But marriage is a bit drastic—”

“So is death—even in warfare.”

“There has to be a way—”

“There is a way, and damn you, I’m offering it to you. This was your lie, not mine. I assure you, I haven’t the least desire in the world to marry you.”

She couldn’t help but take offense. She lifted her chin. “Then why do it?”

He shrugged. She still felt the razor’s slash of his eyes. “I have no desire to marry again ever. So ... since you have begun this charade, we’ll carry it through. I don’t really give a damn what commitment I make on paper.”

She didn’t know why she felt so hurt. The situation was a catastrophe she had created herself. She started shaking again, standing at the rear of the tent. Her eyes stung with tears. The truth. She could tell Ian the truth rather than do this. This was serious, awful, forever. If she told Ian the truth about what she had been doing ... that she was the woman gaining fame as “Godiva,” and given credit for far more excursions than she had ever taken ...

She couldn’t do it. She was desperate to find a way out. He seemed to have it for her. Calculated perfectly. But it couldn’t work.

“But ... what about the rest of your camp? They’ll know ... that I wasn’t here before. You’re in a scouting and foraging situation—what will your superiors say to the sudden arrival of a Rebel bride?”

“There are no superiors here. Colonel Bryer has equal rank but I’m the command officer, in full charge of the camp. Colonel Bryer has a daughter here, and there are two young women of excellent reputation working with him in the hospital tent as well, not to mention the laundresses, who also perform other duties for the men. Those with money and inclination. I’m sure you know what I mean. Henson will never breathe a word of when this wedding took place, neither will Father Raphael.”

“But ...”

Outside the tent, a throat was cleared, and there was a call from Henson. “Colonel! I’m out here with Father Raphael.”

Taylor threw her the white shirt. “Put it on.”

She did so, shaking, managing badly, feeling his hard gaze on her all the while. The shirt was a dress on her. She didn’t need trousers.

“This is it. The moment of truth,” he said.

“Can it ...”

“Save you?” he inquired sharply. “Yes.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean, can it work, can it be believed ...”

He was silent for a minute. “Oh, yes. It can work, and be believed. And it will be legal,” he added softly, as if in afterthought. “Time, however, is of the essence.”

“Call them in,” she said.

He stepped beneath the flap of the tent. For a wild moment, she was tempted to crawl beneath the canvas and disappear. But her hands were frozen; she was frozen ...

He entered again through the flap. Alone. He stared at her. She felt the rage of anger behind the sharp gold glitter of his eyes. “We’re just waiting for Private Allen. A few seconds’ reprieve! Time to reflect! And I’m really doing you one hell of a service, Miss McKenzie.”

Her teeth were chattering. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, you see, that’s the point—I do. Yet bear in mind that you trapped me into this. And I haven’t forgotten that you broke your promise. Marry me, and I swear, I’ll halfway kill you if you break it again.”

She felt flushed. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean to—”

“No excuses, or conditions. Marry me, and it isn’t a game.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You’re lying; you do.”

She shook her head with sudden anger and passion. “I came up with the lie, yes, but you came up with this solution. We don’t have to do this.”

“We do, unless you want your brother’s blood on your hands.”

“Ian is damned fine swordsman—”

“You can try to tell him the truth. He still found his sister naked in my tent. His sense of honor and duty will call for him to demand satisfaction from me. He may be a damned fine swordsman, but so am I. You take your chances. It’s a pity that any man should die for your recklessness, but there it is.”

She felt the gold sting of his eyes a moment longer. Then he turned and moved quickly. He stepped out of the tent and returned with Henson, another soldier, and a man in a white collar. If they were in any way surprised or nonplussed about the strange situation, they gave no sign. “Father Raphael, Tia McKenzie, Ian’s sister. Tia, Father Raphael. And these gentlemen are Sergeant Henson and Private Allen. They’re two of my best men, discreet in every matter.”

“Ma’am!” Henson said, offering her an awkward smile. “We’re glad to have you. Mighty glad the Colonel’s to have a wife again.”

“Thank you, Henson,” Taylor said, his voice grating.

Private Allen was a very lean fellow who looked as if he had been called out of an accounting office to serve in the war. He didn’t speak, but he smiled at her.

“Father Raphael?” Taylor said.

Father Raphael was a white-haired Frenchman. “You both enter this willingly?”

“Yes, Father,” Taylor said.

She would burn in hell, Tia thought. “Yes, Father,” she echoed.

“Father, if you please, we need to do this quickly,” Taylor reminded him.

The priest cleared his throat. He began to speak. Taylor came to stand beside Tia.

A white cotton man’s shirt. This was to be her wedding gown! She was marrying the enemy in the enemy’s own shirt ...

There was no elegant ring for her finger; just Taylor’s West Point class ring, made to fit her with a piece of string.

The words were all said; she signed the papers the priest carried. He made a hasty exit along with the officers who had stood as witnesses to the event.

When they were gone, she still stood barefoot, shivering, looking down at the ground. “My God, I could die ...” she breathed. “Just die!”

He didn’t intend to let her be at all. He jerked her chin up angrily, staring at her. “Lord no, my love, you’re not going to die. You’re not going to be allowed to die. There’s plenty of torture in store for you before I would begin to let you escape into death! Ian is coming back. You have to play the loving, dutiful wife. You didn’t just happen to bring clothing, did you?”

“I told you—”

“Oddly enough, he’ll now be expecting you to be dressed. That he interrupted a passionate encounter with us as having been recently married is something he’ll accept—he sees his own wife infrequently enough. But now, with you knowing that he is returning, he’ll rather naturally be expecting to find you respectably clothed,” he told her, then shook his head. “I’ll go see if I can find a fairly slim camp follower.”

“A camp follower!” she said with dismay.

“Yes, a good, loyal camp follower! One who probably wouldn’t dream of doing anything so wanton and dangerous as running around the woods naked.”

“You bastard!” she whispered.

“How do I explain to your brother that you haven’t any clothing?” he demanded. He didn’t expect her to answer. He started from the tent, then ducked back under the flap, tense as wire, voice a whip crack, eyes lethal fire. “Don’t leave. Do you understand me? You’ll wish you’d thrown yourself on your father’s mercy a hundred times over if you take a single step from here and I catch you.”

Again, he expected no reply. After he’d left, she sank down on the bed, staring at her ring finger. This couldn’t be. She had married hastily in a small canvas tent, wearing only a man’s white shirt.

Taylor was back almost immediately with clean clothing.

Chaste clothing. A pale-blue skirt with a blue smocked blouse to match. And a pair of shoes, thank God. He handed her the garments. “You’ll have to wear them as is. Godiva’s fashion accessories remain quite soaked,” he said, indicating her corset and pantalettes, still lying in front of his trunk.

She ignored the comment, rising to dress. Her hands continued to shake; he continued to stare at her. If only he’d leave her alone! But he wasn’t going anywhere. His arms were locked over his chest. She didn’t attempt to tell him that he was making her so nervous she could barely function; she turned away from him, slipped from the white shirt, and into the new garments. She was struggling with the back hooks when he at last came around to help her. He was fixing the last of the tiny hooks when she heard her brother hailing them again.

“Taylor, Tia!”

“Come on in, Ian,” Taylor invited.

Ian carried the wine—and long-stemmed glasses. “They belong to Colonel Bryer,” he informed them, setting everything down on the camp desk, then working with a knife to open the bottle. “He is well packed for a surgeon in the field, but a good man, I hear.”

“So it appears,” Taylor said. He accepted wine from Ian.

“Colonel Bryer had no idea that your wife was here, or even that you had married my sister,” Ian informed Taylor.

“I hadn’t told anyone she was here. Well, Sergeant Henson knows, of course, and Father Raphael. He married us. Truthfully, I don’t want the matter known. It could cause your father further difficulty with the Confederacy if it’s known that his daughter has married the enemy,” Taylor to him.

“Perhaps that’s true. Well, Tia,” Ian said to his sister, providing her with a wineglass. “It might have been far more proper had you asked Father’s blessing, or taken the time for an announcement—”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re going to tell me about being proper! If I recall, Ian, you made an appearance at a party with a bride, none of us knowing a thing about it, and rumor circulating that you had seduced your new wife in a spring on our property!”

“Sons are allowed more liberty than daughters, Tia,” Ian countered. “But I suppose you do have your point, and I’m delighted for the both of you. Very delighted. I could begin to imagine what situation I might have come upon! To your health! To your long lives, to happiness!”

“Our thanks!” Taylor lifted his glass, took a swallow of the wine. Tia did the same.

“Sirs!” Henson called from just outside the tent. “I’ve arranged for dinner to be served.”

“Please, bring it in,” Taylor told him.

Flushed, Sergeant Henson brought in an amazing display of field culinary achievement. He’d managed a snowy tablecloth, China plates, silver flatware. The camp desk became a table complete with a softly glowing candle.

Taylor seated Tia with a mocking, “My love!” whispered at her nape. She sat down to an amazingly complete and intimate meal.

Union foragers had apparently happened upon Florida cattle Tia thought, but she was resigned rather than bitter. They had done an excellent job with it—the cuisine was the finest she had ever tasted in the field. The food consisted of steaks, potatoes, okra, and wild winter berries. Tia thought that she wouldn’t be able to eat, but she was famished. And thirsty. Her wine went down quickly. Too quickly. Despite it, conversation was an effort. She had to explain to Ian that Julian had been called to serve one of General Finegan’s men, and that no, he wasn’t aware that she had left his Rebel troops to find Taylor.

“Tia, that was foolish! You don’t know who you might have encountered along the way.”

“I came straight to Taylor. Straight to him!” she protested, amazed at how easy it was to smile, then frightened because the smile threatened to turn to laughter, and if she began to laugh, she would cry and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Taylor was staring at her. He looked at Ian. “Oh, yes. She came straight to me.”

By the end of the meal, she was giddy and exhausted, worn out with her own efforts at pretense and charade. Her brother had asked about Julian’s infant son, and she had happily described him as the spitting image of his own child, Sean. “A little McKenzie pea in a pod,” Tia said. “Beautiful blue eyes, thick dark hair—a totally cherubic little face.”