Triumph (37 page)

She turned against him, burrowing her face against his chest, breathing in the memory of him. His hand smoothed her hair; she inched closer. And then, in a few minutes, she heard his breath quicken, and she knew that she had been seducing him, her knuckles running against his chest, then the hardness of his belly, grazing her sex ... just barely, again and again. A hint, a tease ...

Soon, she was in his arms again, and he made love very slowly then, so, so slowly, and she didn’t even know just how thoroughly she had been seduced in return until she found him kissing her suddenly to silence the cry that was escaping her ...

Then the reality of night was with her again. The night, the darkness, the camp beyond the intimacy of the Yankee tent. And again he repeated to her, “There is nothing I want less than to go.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I must.”

“You are
ordered
.”

“Because I believe in what I’m doing.”

“And so do I,” she whispered passionately. “So do I!”

Then she wished that she had not said the words, for she realized that though he didn’t answer her, and though he held her, he lay there awake. Thinking that she did believe in what she was doing. And that made her dangerous.

“Taylor, if I swear to you—”

“You’ve lied too many times!”

“But—”

“You’ll go to St. Augustine. And you’ll be there when I come for you.”

“Good morning.”

One very strange fact of marriage seemed to be that she awoke far more tired than she had been when she went to bed. Yet, this morning, the voice that greeted Tia was a startling one. She had barely opened her eyes, but at the sound of these words, they flew open. Gathering her covers around her, she twisted, and to her amazement she saw Risa, her cousin Jerome’s wife, seated comfortably in Taylor’s camp chair before his folding desk. She looked wonderful—fresh, beautiful, relaxed, out of place and time in the camp, elegant and composed. Her auburn hair was neatly bound at her nape; her eyes, green as the pine forests, were bright and amused. Risa was the daughter of Union General Magee; once, before the war, she had very nearly married Ian. The war made for strange bedfellows, most certainly, because Ian had married Alaina, an absolute paragon of the virtues of the old South, and Risa, who was very nearly a walking, breathing image of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” had married Jerome—a blockade runner still doing just that, running circles around the Union navy.

“Risa!”

“Tia McKenzie—excuse me, Douglas. My, my, what will this war come to next!” Risa teased.

Tia longed to hop up and hug her cousin-in-law; but in her state of undress, she did not. Risa looked at the book she had been reading. “I admit, I should have been
reading Shoals and Sandbars off the Florida Coast
! she told Tia. “But your husband does have some wonderful literature here, beautifully bound Shakespeare, Bacon, Defoe ... I wonder if he ever has the time to read for pleasure, though I’ve heard that many of the men most responsible for the war do find that reading is what allows them to keep their sanity.”

“Risa, I’m so pleased to see you ... but what ...” Tia began, and then her voice trailed away. She drew the covers to her chest and sat up. “I was about to ask you what you’re doing here, but I think I know. Either my brother or my husband sent for you—to keep me under control.”

Risa smiled. “Something like that. An escort party arrived for me yesterday. I felt a wee bit guilty myself, leaving a new doctor in St. Augustine with many wounded coming in. But there are a number of male military nurses there to help him at the moment, what with the situation at Olustee Station being recent and so many men from the army still in the state ...” She broke off, shrugging. “Were you in some kind of trouble?”

“Who sent for you, Taylor or Ian?” Tia asked, rather than reply to the question.

Risa hesitated, but then apparently decided to tell her the truth. “Taylor sent for me. Ian knew about it, but I don’t think he was overly concerned. He still sees you as his little sister, and despite your wrong-headed opinions, he assumes you will listen to him. He can’t begin to imagine that you would disobey him or your new husband if what they asked was surely for your own safety.”

Tia looked away for a moment. “Then, I’m sorry to say it, but my brother is a fool, and he should have learned better dealing with his own wife!”

“But his wife didn’t love him at first, did she?” Risa reminded her. “While now ... they share everything. And he assumes, of course, that you love him.”

“I love both my brothers, and they know it. I’ve been with Julian through the majority of the war and Ian has known it.”

“But that was before you married a Federal officer, wasn’t it? And then again, Ian has no idea what else you may be doing.”

Tia stared at Risa again. “Are you implying—”

Risa leaned toward her. “Yes. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m implying. There’s a rumor out about a new Southern spy, the likes of whom rival Belle Boyd and Rose Greenhow.”

“Oh, that’s preposterous.”

“If you know nothing about it, how can you deny the rumors so quickly?”

“What did Taylor tell you?”

“Taylor told me nothing. I simply know the war rather well—and I know you.”

“I never spied on anyone,” Tia said angrily.

“Rumor does have a tendency to become exaggerated,” Risa agreed. “You don’t have to answer me, but I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here. I think that you are this ‘Godiva’ they talk about—I admit, I’ve never met anyone else with the hair to create such a disguise, and I’m amazed more people haven’t figured it out.”

“Now that’s ridiculous! Many, many women have very long hair.”

“Very long, sleek, raven-black hair, and the form and figure of a Circe! And it has to be someone very, very familiar with the area. Then, I’ve actually had Godiva described to me. You see, I’ve met a few of the men led astray by Godiva.”

“Risa, I never—”

She broke off, alarmed by the sudden sound of gunfire and a barrage of shouts. Her eyes met Risa’s. Risa, she saw, was as startled as she by the commotion.

“My God, what—”

Tia leapt up in alarm, dragging the covers with her like a cloak. Both Taylor and her brother were out there. She had to find out what had happened.

“Tia, wait—you don’t go running out when you hear gunfire!” Risa, always the general’s daughter, called. But Tia was already heading out, her heart in her throat. Men were running everywhere. Risa caught hold of her.

“You can’t run out like this! At least get dressed.”

Torn, Tia wasted several precious seconds thinking that someone may lie dying while she was taking the time for concessions to society. She was totally encompassed in the covers.

“This might not even involve Taylor or Ian!” Risa insisted.

“But it does. I know it. Help me! I haven’t anything—”

“Tia, but you do. I brought you all kinds of clothing.”

“Then give me something quickly, please!” Tia said.

“All right. I’ll help.”

Tia stepped back into the tent. Risa was as good as her word, ready with a cotton print day dress to slip right over Tia’s shoulders as she let the covers fall.

Tia muttered a quick “Thank you,” eschewed the concept of looking for shoes, and went tearing outside. By then she could see that the men were gathering around a large circle by the hospital tent. She wedged her way into the circle, felt hands upon her shoulders, and knew that Risa was there. She became aware that there was a pileup of men in the center of the circle. All around the circumference, the men were cheering—and throwing out suggestions.

“What’s going on?”

“Fight—big fight!” one of the soldiers said cheerfully, then he looked at her. “Oh! Mrs. Douglas, it’s ... um ...”

Taylor.

Taylor was in the midst of it all. As she watched, she saw that there were actually three other men in the circle, and that the three of them were coming at him. One of the men she recognized. Private Long. The soldier who had talked about killing Rebel injured.

Taylor was in his navy trousers and cavalry boots; his jacket and shirt—and weapons—were gone.

“There are three of them against him!” she said indignantly. “There were shots ... and now this! What’s going on?”

The soldier looked at her again uncomfortably.

“There was an incident ... with some Rebs,” he said uncomfortably.

“Get him, Colonel, get him!” someone cried, and the soldier turned from her again. “That’s it, Colonel, damn, sir, but that’s a good right hook.”

Tia saw her brother then, on the opposite side of the circle. She tried to break through the men.

“Ma’am, you mustn’t interfere now,” one soldier said politely, stopping her.

She tried to break in elsewhere. A graying sergeant stopped her. “Why, Mrs. Douglas, we couldn’t let no harm come to you, ma’am!”

“Tia, calm down, wait!” Risa called to her.

“They’ll kill him! And Ian is just standing there!” Tia said indignantly, escaping Risa’s touch upon her arm.

Wrenching furiously from the next man who tried to stop her, she made it around the circle to where Ian stood. At that point, one of the men lay on the ground. Two of them were making a calculated and coordinated running leap for her husband.

“Ian! What’s happening? Stop this! My God—”

She tried to rush past her brother, but there was no way to do so. He grabbed her back, not in the least afraid of using force with her, as any other man might have been.

“Stop, Tia. Stop here, let it go.”

“Let it go! He’ll be pummeled—”

“He chose this.”

“He chose this! But he’ll be killed!”

“Tia, have faith. He knows his business.”

Shouts were going out, calls, cheers, jeers.

“Ian ...”

The men were down in the dirt on Taylor. She struggled with Ian, staring helplessly as fists and earth flew. Then, she was startled when the two soldiers on Taylor went flying. They literally seemed to soar, up and away from him, and into the dirt.

Then Taylor was standing.

Hands on his hips, he looked at the downed men. His torso was muddied; there was a long scrape down his chest. His cheeks bore evidence of the brawl as well. But the three men who had attacked him lay in the dirt without moving. For a moment, Tia thought they were dead. Astounded and confused, she listened to the roar of the men, congratulating their colonel. She could still feel Ian’s hands on her shoulders.

She twisted in her brother’s hold, anxious to see his face. “What happened?”

“What you wanted, I think.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ian’s cobalt eyes fell on hers. “They came across some Rebs, wounded at Olustee or during the skirmishing as we were chased back toward the coast.”

“And?” she breathed.

“One of them has nearly died.”

“Oh?” Her heart seemed to be in her throat. “You said I should be glad for this. Is the Rebel someone we know?”

“Not an old family friend, but if he is an acquaintance of yours, I don’t know.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We’ve been on an opposite side for years now. I don’t know who you know, Tia,” he reminded her.

“But—there was a fight in a Yankee camp over a Rebel prisoner dying?” She couldn’t help sounding skeptical. There had to be enough concern here over their own dying men.

Ian’s eyes fell sharply upon her again. “His condition has become much worse since he arrived.”

“How?”

“A bandage was ripped from him. His sutures gave; the artery was exposed. He nearly bled to death.”

“A bandage was ripped from him ...”

“Tia, you said you heard men talking about killing wounded Rebels. Taylor listened to you, more than you realized. He asked some questions among the men, found out who it might have been. The Rebs had just been found and brought in. He kept an eye on the suspects and caught them in the act of trying to kill the fellow. He took them by surprise—and they shot at him. He was furious; he dragged them out here ... and a crowd gathered.”

“They tried to shoot him! He should have shot back—”

“They claim they thought they were being attacked.”

“They tried to murder a man!” she whispered. “They shot at him—”

“If he’d shot back, he wouldn’t have missed. And he might have faced a court-martial.”

“
They
shot at
him
.”

“But they claimed to think themselves under attack by Rebels coming for their wounded. And after the fiasco at Olustee ... Taylor might have faced an inquiry at the very least. This way, the men will be sent to St. Augustine. And they’ll stand trial.”

She turned back to look for Taylor. He was gone. And the men who had grouped around him were also gone. The soldiers he had fought and beaten were being dragged away by other men.

“Where is he?” Tia asked anxiously.

“By the water, I would think,” Ian said. “He’ll want to bathe. It looked like he was wearing half the mud in Florida.”

“Ian—”

His hands fell from her shoulders. “I think it will be all right if you go to him now.”

Freed from her brother’s hold, she ran across the camp, through the men and to the pines. There was a picket on duty near their tent, but he smiled and waved her on. She ran quickly through the trees, bursting out on the copse before the pond where they had been the night before. As Ian had suggested, he was there, his back to her as he sat on a log. He used a yellow regulation-issue cavalry scarf to squeeze water over his shoulder.

She stood dead still for a moment, wondering if he would want her there. But without turning, he knew that she had come, and he talked to her.

“My love, please don’t just stand there and gape. Come over here and be helpful.”

She walked around to him, inhaling sharply as she saw the depth of the jagged wound across his chest. She’d spent so much of the war treating injuries; it was instinct and habit to fall down on her knees before him where he sat on the log, take the cloth from him, soak it, and dab carefully at the wound. “Ian told me something of what happened, but I still don’t understand ...”

He caught her hand, and still holding it, he placed his fingers under her chin, causing her face to rise, her eyes to meet his.