And One Rode West (18 page)

He knew, from the feel of her, that she longed to tell him he didn’t begin to know what sorry was—not yet. She’d see to it that he did.

But she was quiet for a long while. Then words seemed to explode from her.

“I’ll best you yet, you Yank!”

“Ah, yes!” He pushed her from him. When she spun around quickly to face him again, he swept her a low bow. “You’re a Cameron! God has nothing on you, my love!”

“How dare you—”

“How dare I? I’ve no choice, do I? I’ve wed into the Holy Family.”

“That’s blasphemous as well as despicable. Leave it to a—”

“Yankee bastard. Yes. Well, I do apologize for disturbing your peace. Jesse intends to accompany you into Richmond to see me off, but we don’t need to start until sometime tomorrow. I’m interested in some of the books in your brothers’ library, so, should you find yourself pining for me, you’ll know where I’ll be. You can have hours and hours to yourself to go cry over your tombstones. Enjoy yourself!”

With another exaggerated and courtly bow—certainly as well executed as any given her by a prewar beau—he left her.

But as he walked toward the house, his shoulders squared, a tempest of anguish seethed within him.

Jesu! He was sorry. Sometimes it seemed that the war was all that he had ever lived. He had despised the fighting of it, he had hated seeing his family, friends, and neighbors die, no matter which side they had fought for! It had been agonizing to watch the fall of Vicksburg.

A Marylander, he understood Christa, understood her pain and all that she had lost. But understanding hurt too. He didn’t want to be crude with her. Or cruel.
He kept finding himself wanting to put his arms around her. Soothe her.

And she would just as soon be soothed by a rattlesnake, he was certain.

He stood still, suddenly wincing. Damn her! Her pride, and her courage, and her beauty, and all the fire that spilled from her soul! Even before the strange day of their wedding, he had been touched by that fire. But he’d been able to keep his distance then, avoiding the fact that most of his hostility stemmed from desire.

Even now, he wanted to go back. Take her into his arms. Tell her that things would work out.

But no, because then she’d want her own way again!

He had to take care. He couldn’t let her know just how much he understood all that she felt. Couldn’t let her know how he dreamed of her, wanted her.

Damn! He stiffened and gave himself a mental shake. Yankee fool! he accused himself.

He would not weaken. And he wouldn’t fall in love with her.

Unless it was too late already.

Eight

“They’re vast lands out there,” Christa heard Jesse saying when she came to the house at last. She didn’t know where her sisters-in-law were, but she had heard the murmur of male voices coming from the parlor, and she moved toward the doorway, hesitating as she listened to the men speak. “It can be dangerous territory,” he said.

“Especially approaching the Comanche and the Apache tribes,” Daniel added.

Christa looked silently through the doorway. The three of them stood in the center of the room with a map spread out on the table before them.

“Up around Little Rock, the Indians are all fairly civilized,” Jeremy was pointing out.

“Some more so than some of the white folk I know,” Daniel agreed, grinning.

“If you’re referring to Yankees, remember that you’re outnumbered,” Jesse teased.

“Only some Yankees,” Daniel responded easily enough. Christa leaned back against the wall, biting her lower lip. Daniel was coming to grips with the fact that they had lost. Maybe it was easier for him. He’d told her once that by the time it had come to the end,
he just hadn’t given a damn. All that he’d wanted was for the dying to stop.

Jeremy was speaking. Because of his words Christa imagined that he was pointing at the map again.

“Once you enter the Great Plains, you’re in the hunting grounds, and you can come across just about anyone there. Southern Cheyenne, their allies, the Shoshone, or the Snakes. Here we’ve got Kiowa, Kiowa Apache—”

“And Comanche,” Jesse said softly.

“Is Christa going to be safe? Daniel demanded. Jesu, Jeremy, I’m not at all sure you’ve any right to be taking her out there.” Christa smiled. Daniel was so blunt. Jesse would be far more diplomatic.

“Military wives often follow their husbands,” Jesse said. “But Jeremy, it is a frightening thought. And if Christa is expecting a baby, it’s more dangerous still.”

“All right, Jesse, you tell me. Just from that standpoint. Do you think it would be dangerous to take her?”

Jesse hesitated. “No,” he said at last. “I have always found that women who are more active during pregnancy do much better in labor.”

“Will there be a company surgeon?” Daniel asked.

A match was struck. Someone was lighting a cheroot. Christa held her breath.

“Major John Weland,” Jeremy said.

“John?” Jesse’s pleasure at the name was obvious.

“You’ve served with him?”

“He was with me until the last year of the war. He is an excellent physician and surgeon.”

Well, Jesse was not going to be worried about her medical welfare, Christa decided bitterly.

“It’s still dangerous territory!” Daniel insisted. “You know that, Jeremy—you were just reading to us from Colonel Cralton’s letter to you.” She heard a rustle of paper, and then Daniel’s deep voice as he began to
read. “ ‘The twelve men were apparently attacked by hundreds of Sioux. Each had been pierced by at least fifty arrows. Their ears and genitals had been lopped off; the genitals were found stuffed into the men’s mouths.’ ” The paper floated down. “Jesu!” Daniel exploded.

Christa swallowed hard, leaning against the wall. She felt as if she were going to pass out. No, she never passed out. She never even pretended to do such things. But the pictures Daniel’s reading had evoked in her mind … She clamped her hand to her mouth. A wild panic seized her.

“And those men were on a search mission,” Jeremy said. Christa heard the clink of glass. Obviously, everyone had seen mental images of the twelve unfortunate soldiers. “Sent out by a fool to look for a fool,” Jeremy commented. “I intend to keep my regiment together.”

“And you have a certain rapport with the Comanche, so I’ve heard,” Jesse commented.

“No one really knows the Comanche,” Jeremy said. “There are dozens of bands. But yes, I know Buffalo Run, and he does exert some influence.”

“Enough to save Christa?”

“I don’t intend to lose her.” Jeremy sighed. “Listen, it isn’t a perfect life. But I’ll be in command of Fort Jacobson, we’ll be just north of Texas, and I’ll also be receiving a thousand acres of land. Yes, I chose to go west. Just like I chose to fight on the western front when I was given the option at the beginning of the war. I didn’t want to fight my Reb friends from Maryland and Virginia. And now—well, hell, now we’ve won. And I’ve seen Johnson’s idea of his great Reconstruction! Crooked politics, carpetbaggers, swindlers, and chaos. That’s what’s here for Christa if she stays. I chose the West before, and I’m choosing to go farther west now. Hell, yes! I prefer the Indians!”

Christa closed her eyes, bracing herself against the
wall. There was silence for a moment. Then she heard her brother speaking softly. “Well, maybe you’ve got a point,” he murmured. “Still, I wonder what Christa will think. Will she be afraid of the Indians?”

Yes! Terrified! She wanted to cry out. But she didn’t.

Maybe Jeremy sensed that she was at the doorway listening. Maybe he even realized that she might be enjoying a moment of feeling just a little bit smug. “If I know Christa, she’ll do well enough,” he said. “It’s the Comanche we’ll have to worry about, I think.”

“What—” Jesse began, but by then Christa was swirling into the room, her skirts rustling around her as she entered, her chin high. She smiled, although it felt like her smile was chiseled of plaster. Jeremy had seen her skirt, she realized, from his vantage point behind the map. He had known that she was there.

No matter.

She headed straight to the whiskey decanter, determined to ignore Jeremy if he should give her a look that insinuated she was being in the least improper.

So much for manners and mores. She poured out two fingers of whiskey, then stared at Jeremy. He didn’t appear shocked. He seemed amused.

So that was to be her fate in life. To amuse him at every turn! She pushed the whiskey aside. Her stomach was churning. She didn’t want it anymore.

“Well, what do you think, Christa?” Daniel asked her.

“You should think about this, seriously,” Jesse said.

It was her opportunity. Her golden opportunity to tell Jeremy to play cowboys and Indians all on his own. She’d stay home. Her brothers would protect her.

But her brothers were, at long last, getting a chance to lead normal lives with their families. And, yes, she could stay. They loved her. She would have a place …

A place on the fringe of life.

Jeremy moved around the table, away from the map, fingering his whiskey glass. He strode over to Christa and added a new shot to his glass, his eyes probing hers, silver and steel.

“They’re really fascinating, you know. We whites, especially here on the eastern seaboard, have a habit of grouping Indians together. Their societies are so unique. Take the Choctaw and the Cherokee. Christa, you’ll meet several. They have excellent systems of justice, and their tribal laws are impressive. The Arikara, along the Missouri, tolerate such curious practices that their neighbors on the Missouri have moved away. They choose to live in earth lodges, keeping all their garbage between them. They practice incest, and spend the winter chasing one another’s wives. The Cheyenne are famous for their chastity. The wives often belong to guilds, and brag about their domestic abilities with greater pride than the bucks brag about their hunting prowess.”

“Then there are the Sioux, the Apache, and the Comanche,” Jesse reminded him.

Jeremy was intending to shock her, she realized. Did he suspect what she had already heard? She wouldn’t show him that she was afraid. Ever.

She smiled, determined that she would not crack.

“Tell me about the Comanche,” she said pleasantly.

“Christa, maybe you shouldn’t—” Daniel began.

“Oh, no! I’m just dying to hear anything that Jeremy can tell me!”

“They tend to be small and bandy-legged. They are the horsemen of the plains—no man rides better than a Comanche. They are inordinately proud of their stealth.” He walked around her, his voice coming husky. “They say that a fellow named Walking Bear stole a Texan’s wife away while he was sleeping right beside her. They are fond of taking captives, and sometimes they are fond of torturing them. At night, if their
cries are too loud, they are fond of cutting their tongues out.”

“Good Lord, Jeremy—” Jesse started to protest.

“Jesse, it’s quite all right,” Christa said quickly. “This is going to be my life. I should know about these things.”

“You’ll start a new life frightened and miserable!” Daniel warned her. “Perhaps you should stay home. Until the baby is born, until Jeremy is established, at the very least.”

Here it was again—her golden opportunity.

“But Christa is never frightened, are you, my love?” Jeremy queried.

She spun around. His eyes were sizzling out a challenge. Or maybe he was goading her into doing his will. One or the other, it didn’t matter. He was going to win.

She spun around to smile broadly at her brothers again. “My, my! I’ve married a Yank. How on earth could I ever be frightened of a short, little Comanche?”

“They tend to be short,” Jeremy said suddenly. She spun around. His fingers were now tense around his glass, and his eyes seemed to blaze into hers. “Some are tall. And smart. And great forces to be reckoned with. They can be passionate, and very fierce. Perhaps you should stay home.”

Even Jeremy was saying it now. All she had to do was speak.

But she didn’t speak, and the moment was swiftly gone. He lifted his glass to her. “But Christa Cameron, the great Rebel, is coming west. I say that the Comanche, Apache, Kiowa—all—had best take care. Right, my love?”