The priest cleared his throat. The ceremony was over.
“You may now kiss the bride, Colonel McCauley.”
Jeremy’s lips barely touched her forehead. Yet where his lips touched her, her flesh seemed to burn. And where his hands held her, she felt a riddling tension and a frightening pulse.
The wedding certificate was produced. Her fingers trembled so, she could barely write. McCauley. For the moment, her name was McCauley. She had given up the Cameron name to save her Cameron birthright.
The priest’s wife managed to produce a little glass of sherry for them each. She chatted. She wanted to believe that it was a love match.
Jeremy tossed down the sherry, tipped his hat, paid the priest, and grabbed Christa’s hand. They mounted their horses and raced like the wind into the town and down the street to the courthouse.
There, Jeremy produced their wedding certificate with the ink scarcely dry. He paid the hundred and fifty dollars and signed his name. A harried clerk assured them that the property could not be touched. Jeremy had gained a certain reputation as a cavalry commander. No one could deny that he was a stalwart Yankee.
Christa stood by his side tensely waiting as he filled out several documents.
Then he straightened.
It was over. Christa turned and hurried out of the courthouse into the yard, Jeremy following.
They stood in the yard and he stared at Christa, his silver eyes hard and enigmatic.
“Are you happy now?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve lied under oath.” Why were those eyes of his so damned condemning?
She tossed back her hair. “I would have wed the devil for the Hall,” she told him coolly. “And I am going to hell when I die. You’ve already told me so.”
He shook his head, his lip curling into a small, mocking smile. “Oh, no, Christa. I didn’t say a thing about death. You’re going to live in hell right now. But let’s see, you would have married the devil—or old fur-faced Bobby-boy,” he reminded her. “But I think fur-face
might have been preferable to me. In your eyes, madam, you have married the devil, haven’t you?”
“A Yankee devil,” she agreed. It was already done. Why was he torturing her now?
“A Yankee devil,” he repeated smoothly.
She lowered her lashes quickly, reminding herself that she was supposed to be grateful.
“I—I’m sorry,” she managed to mutter. “I truly appreciate your help.”
Her gaze was lowered, but she felt his, silver and steel, burning over her.
“My, my!” he murmured. “You’re sorry that you called me a devil—or you’re sorry that you married one?”
Her gaze rose quickly to his. He laughed with true amusement. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Well then, let’s see, the wedding is over and done with. Cameron Hall is free and clear from all liens, and cannot be sold to anyone for any reason. No one can torch it. So, where does that leave us? Dinner, I think.”
“I’m not—really hungry,” she murmured. She wanted to get home. To Cameron Hall—and away from him.
“I am. I’m starved.”
She looked down at the ground. All right. They were here, he was hungry. She’d have to have dinner with him.
“Fine. Let’s find somewhere to eat,” she said, attempting to be gracious.
Her impatience was still clear in her voice. Jeremy seemed amused. He didn’t give a damn if she was impatient or not.
There was a small inn down the street. Jeremy was determined to annoy her, telling their waiter that they were newlyweds, ordering champagne and the chef’s special roast beef.
Christa forced herself to keep a dry smile on her lips. She wasn’t going to let Jeremy’s mockery disturb her.
“Let’s see. To you—Mrs. McCauley.” He hadn’t addressed her so as yet. He rolled the words on his tongue bitterly. Still, he raised his glass to hers.
She lifted her glass in return. “To Cameron Hall,” she retorted sweetly.
He tossed back his champagne. “And to all that we have done in its sacred honor!”
“Be that way, then!” she whispered fiercely across the table. “I don’t care!”
“Just so long as I came in the nick of time, right?” he asked her, pouring more champagne.
She arched a brow to him. For the first time in the long day, she was suddenly curious as to how he had happened to be there at just the right time.
“What are you doing in Virginia?” she asked him, trying to sound polite and interested.
He set his glass down, watching her. “I came to say good-bye to Callie.”
“Good-bye?” she said. “Where are you going?”
He waved a hand in the air. “West,” he said simply.
She frowned. “But the war is over—”
“Yes, the war is over,” he said, leaning back. “And my neighbors are all maimed, my fields are filled with decaying corpses in blue and gray. Your brothers fought on different sides. You should understand. Maryland’s loyalties were split in two. Maybe some people can go home. I can’t. Not yet, anyway.”
She was startled to feel a certain empathy. Just how well did she know the man? It had been a long war. Like Jesse and Daniel, he had been in the first fighting, and in the last. He sounded bone weary. For a moment, she understood.
She picked up her champagne glass again. She suddenly determined that they could, at the very least, manage to get through one dinner together.
“You’ll stay in the military?” she asked him.
“I was always regular army, so I’m retaining my rank. Some promotions were only valid while the war was going on, but I’ll remain a colonel. So for the time being, I have determined I’ll stay, yes. I’m bringing a regiment to one of the forts in the western territories. There’s a lot of land to be had in the West.”
“Indian territory?”
He nodded.
“You’ll be going to war again.”
“I hope not.”
“But the Indians are all savages.”
“Not all of them. Some of them are quite civilized. Especially when compared with …”
His voice trailed away.
“With Rebels?” she inquired icily.
His gaze settled on her. “No, Christa, that’s not what I was about to say.”
“What were you about to say, then?”
“That they are quite civilized when compared with some white men—and I wasn’t thinking white northern men or white southern men—just white men.”
She looked down at her plate. She had hardly eaten. Actually, she was hungry. She had been hungry a long time.
“You need to eat more,” he commented, his gaze steadily on her as he poured more champagne.
For some reason, the comment hurt. Was she that gaunt? Was he implying that she was a skinny shell of an old maid? She smiled. “Maybe I do. But we southerners are accustomed to starving. Just as you Feds are accustomed to wolfing down our food,” she said politely.
He set down the champagne bottle. Something that had begun to glow warm in his eyes turned chill once again. “Truly, Lord, I have been blessed!” he stated,
and continued, “Starve then, Christa, if that’s your pleasure.”
She lowered her lashes again. She didn’t mean to strike out with so much venom so quickly. She had been fighting too long. She had spent too many years fearing all blue uniforms other than Jesse’s.
“I—”
“What?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry.”
He was silent for a moment. Again, she felt him watching her. Currents of lightning seemed to riddle the air between them again. She had to quit being so antagonistic. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to help her, but he had done so.
She was startled when his fingers curled over hers. “It was a damned long war, wasn’t it?”
There was gentleness in his tone. She didn’t want to hear it. She snatched back her hand.
“I would really love to get back to the house,” she murmured uneasily. “I’m exhausted.”
“It’s a long ride back. We should stay here.”
“No! Well, you can stay, Jeremy. I can’t. I’ve got to go home. To make sure—to make sure it’s still standing.”
She felt Jeremy looking at her. He made no comment. He called for their bill and paid it. Christa watched in silence as he doled out the Yankee bills.
Dear God, but the world had changed quickly! Not so very long ago they had all mocked the Yankees.
Now even the southerners were scrambling for Yankee money, using their Confederate bills for the fodder and tinder they were worth!
She rose when he pulled back her chair, straightening her shoulders. “If you’d rather stay in Williamsburg for the night, I’ll understand.”
“No.”
“I’m perfectably capable of riding home—”
“No.”
“Really—”
“Christa, dammit, if you were a bare acquaintance, I’d see you home. And you’re not a bare acquaintance. I’d hardly let my wife travel the night road alone.”
She thought that she might be safer alone than with him. She wasn’t quite sure what she had done to start his temper seething, but his mood seemed to be growing darker.
“Suit yourself,” she told him.
He led the way back home. It was a long, hard ride. They rode it in near silence.
Halfway along the trail Jeremy glanced back, wondering with some concern if she had fallen asleep, if she was in danger of falling from her mount.
But Christa was in no danger. They raised horses at Cameron Hall. She’d probably ridden before she had walked and she was an excellent horsewoman. She sat easily in her saddle, but her lashes were low.
It had been one hell of a long day, he thought. And now, to finish it. He had a day or two before reporting back in Washington. He’d wait until he could get word to Callie to say good-bye, then he’d be on his way. He was sure that Christa could manage to get a divorce or an annulment. It might take some time, but then he didn’t really care. He’d be in the West, and though Christa couldn’t possibly know it, he’d buried his own heart in the ashes of the war. She was more than welcome to take her time ending their mockery of a marriage.
Suddenly he remembered the wedding ceremony. Remembered her vows, remembered his. Why had he agreed to this? She was his wife. Legally. It was an entanglement that would take years to end. And all of his life, he had imagined that marriage would mean love and commitment for a lifetime.
He locked his jaw. She’d done it for a house. And
whether she really realized it or not, the house was Jesse’s.
It would serve her right if I held her to her vows! he thought. She was always so damned determined to have things her way.
They came upon Cameron Hall in the moonlight. He reined in absently. It was a beautiful place. The red brick and the white columns rose majestically in the glowing light. It sat atop its knoll before the James like a castle.
Maybe that’s what it had been, Jeremy speculated, before the war. Christa had ruled here like a goddess. People had attended to her every whim. Her older brothers adored her. And most certainly, young men had swarmed around her. She was probably accustomed to having her every wish obeyed. She had certainly expected
him
to do as she wished with no objection.
Marriage!
The word chilled him for a moment and he felt his temper rising. Ah, yes, Christa liked to pull strings. She’d pulled his, all right.
He didn’t know why it suddenly sat with him so poorly. She hadn’t said a word along the ride, but he had felt his temper start to grow at the restaurant.
“It’s standing!” she said with relief. Behind him, she suddenly nudged her horse, and went galloping down the drive. She rode like the wind, one with the horse. He grit his teeth, then followed her.
She had already dismounted from her horse when he reached the front of the house. Yes, the house was still standing. She twirled before him, as smooth as silk, as pleased as a cat with a bird. “Thank God!”
“Indeed.”
She didn’t seem to notice his tone. She dropped her horse’s reins. “Jeremy, why don’t you see to the
horses!” she commanded rather than asked and went tearing toward the house.
“Yes, ma’am!” he murmured. His voice was low. There was an edge to it, and she heard it.
Catching up her skirts, she suddenly turned toward him.
“The guest room is always kept ready for company,” she said hurriedly. “You know where it is, right? Third room down the hall to the left.”
“I know where it is. I stayed there several times,” he told her, dismounting from his own horse. By then, one of the stable hands had appeared, and Jeremy quickly turned the horses over to the lad.
“Rub them down good, will you? They’ve had a hard ride,” he told the boy. Christa was starting up the stairs. He realized that she intended to leave him out here in the moonlight.
Cameron Hall was standing. She seemed to have forgotten all that he had done to keep it that way.
His teeth grated. What was he going to do?
He was tired of being called a Yank and tired of being used. She could have things her way, but she was going to pay the price. He’d never forced a woman into anything, and he knew that Christa would fight him like a wildcat.
Maybe he wanted the fight tonight.
He didn’t want to take anything from her. He just wanted her to know that she couldn’t enter into any bargains—especially not with him, dirty Yank that he was—without paying some price.
“Christa!” he called after her. “I think you’d best wait a minute,” he told her. He wasn’t tired in the least. He was angry. Maybe if she had managed to be grateful he wouldn’t feel quite so irritated. He just felt as if he wanted to shake her, and the longer she looked at him as if he were the hired help, the more irritated he became.
“Jeremy, I’m very tired,” she said. It was definitely a “mistress-of-the-house” type voice she leveled at him. He had done his duty. He was dismissed.
Not so easy, Miss Cameron.
His fingers knotted into fists. Yes. Let it be that easy. Say good night.
He didn’t want to hurt her.
But neither did he want to let her walk away. Jesu! She had forced him into a marriage.
She stood regally beneath the moonlight, aware that he was watching her again, his hands on his hips.
Christa stared at him in turn, wondering at the twist of his jaw. “Oh!” she murmured. “Thank you, Jeremy. Really. And good night,” Christa said and started for the house.