Rebel (36 page)

Alaina thought that he was slipping away from her in some intangible way; she knew that he didn’t talk to her about the country’s schism because he had determined that he wasn’t going to fight with her. In order not to fight, he avoided her. He left the house frequently at night. He kept his distance, barely touching her. Impatience and anger simmered within her, and it was more frustrating to know that she had to control her temper— or hear that she was distraught because of her advanced condition. She longed to lash out with fury, and at the same time, she was afraid.

She didn’t want to lose Ian. In truth, she didn’t know if she’d ever really had him, but there had been times when she had felt as if all was well, as long as he held her. She’d never intended it; she had fallen in love with him. And now he had picked her up and set her as far away from him as he could manage, so it seemed, and it was unnerving to her not to know how to fight. Once, when she had wanted something, she had known the way to go about getting it. Now she was quite uncertain.

She didn’t dare give vent to her feelings. She tried to keep her distance—and maintain a fierce hold on her temper.

She’d been in Washington a little more than a week when Henry brought her a message from Ian saying that he wouldn’t be home for dinner, he was going to attend a social they’d been invited to at the home of a Mrs. Rose Greenhow.

“Though, naturally, I had previously declined,” Ian wrote,

“Would you like dinner in your room, perhaps, Mrs. McKenzie?” Henry suggested.

Alaina tapped Ian’s message thoughtfully against her chin, then said, “No, I think not, Henry. I think I will go out for a while myself.”

Henry wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise. “But Mrs. McKenzie—”

“Yes, Henry?”

He looked like a very unhappy Ichabod Crane. She smiled sweetly.

“Mrs. McKenzie, the baby…”

“The baby needs air,” she assured him.

“But—”

“Send Lilly up, please, will you, Henry?”

Henry clamped his mouth shut. When he had left her room, Alaina hurried to her dressing table. The invitation from Mrs. Greenhow had come addressed to her; she had opened it and told Ian about it at dinner, but he had brought up the baby, the severe weather—which
she wasn’t accustomed to in the least—and her own recent bout with fever.

Despite the fact that she’d grown up in the wilderness, her wilderness had been in the South, and she was very aware of the proprieties and the fact that women did avoid social commitment when they were so near their confinement.

But she couldn’t bear being locked in the house anymore. She avidly read the newspaper from front to back, but the news was biased, and she was anxious to hear what people were saying. Washington remained filled with diverse opinions and she was quite certain she could find a Southerner more willing to talk about the state of affairs than her husband.

And she could no longer bear waiting to meet Colonel Magee’s daughter.

Lilly, usually her staunchest supporter, helped her dress with blatant disapproval. “It simply isn’t proper,” Lilly informed her. “Your first concern must be—”

“My baby. My baby is very well.”

“If you fall—”

“I won’t fall. Lilly, I’m going mad. I’m locked up in the North all alone—”

“You’re not locked up.”

“Fine, then, if I’m not in prison—”

“He might well be furious.” Lilly was referring to Ian.

Alaina met Lilly’s eyes in the mirror. “I imagine so. But he will have to live with it, as I have learned to do,” she said simply. “Lilly, you can’t argue me out of this, so please, make my hair look as attractive as you can.”

Lilly let out a loud sniff, but went to work on Alaina’s hair.

Thirty minutes later, Alaina was ready.

She studied herself worriedly in the mirror. She had gained some weight back; but it refused to fill out her cheeks and the hollows about her collarbone. She gnawed lightly on her lower lip, wishing she dared try a corset. Her gown was black, for no matter how much she longed to make her best possible appearance, she remained in mourning for her father. She told herself that black in itself somewhat concealed her size. Jennifer had helped her adjust the gown, and it had an old-fashioned look to it, with a moderately low bodice, ribboned just below the
breasts so that the gown streamed out in a soft, full line beneath. She told herself with a sigh that she simply wasn’t going to look at all alluring, but she was, at the very least, quite decent.

As she came downstairs, slipping her encompassing cloak around her shoulders, and asked Henry to call the carriage, she felt a moment’s panic. Ian was going to be furious. What if he was there with Risa Magee?

She bit into her lower lip. The invitation had been addressed to her. And she was going, she determined.

The hell with all else.

Risa Magee sipped sherry and pretended to laugh and smile and pay heed to her father’s good friend Colonel Montgomery as the old man went on and on about an Indian attack in the West.

She wished that she were in the West herself—or even in the wretched South, for that matter. Anywhere but here. But Risa’s upbringing had entailed the military all the way. Her father had wanted her here, and she was here—because it was her duty. She could hide the unpleasantness of almost any task. Not that the gathering should have been unpleasant; the room was filled with glittering, intelligent, fascinating people. People who would surely play important roles in the unfolding drama of the country. Colonels were plentiful, as were majors—and there were even a few generals, as well as politicians, writers, businessmen, and clergy.

But among the majors was Ian McKenzie, and as hard as she tried, Risa found it almost impossible to pretend that there had been nothing between them, that she hadn’t assumed she’d be engaged to him by now, perhaps married already, or at the very least contemplating marriage. But then …

Ian had married elsewhere.

Naturally, he had come straight to her with the fact, even though rumor had reached her before she had heard the awful truth from his own lips. And she knew how it had hurt him to come to her; she believed with all her heart that it had been incredibly painful for him. And she knew, as well, when she felt his eyes on her, that he still found her more than attractive, and she had felt at times that he actually wanted her…. Naturally
his wife was back somewhere in the jungle frontier of Florida, and, she convinced herself, there was nothing between him and his wife except for their marriage—a forced marriage, which propriety and circumstance had demanded. She’d convinced herself as well that Ian had married a pathetic, leathered crone of a girl, completely ruined by the heat of the tropics, undoubtedly ugly as sin. And to her dismay, she wished that she hadn’t spent nearly so long flirting—nor been anywhere near so sure of herself. But growing up in a sea of men, she’d matured with a great deal of confidence in herself. She’d naturally had numerous suitors and been exposed to the most intelligent, courageous, and intriguing men in the nation. She’d dissuaded a number of fascinating young men before determining on Ian. Except that she’d done so too late. And now, to her horror, she found herself wishing upon occasion that she’d had the good sense to seduce the man without delay. Then she could be the one with him now, expecting his child—and supporting him in his love for the Union, rather than bringing that pained expression of mixed loyalties to his eyes she saw there now! There had to be so much bitterness between Ian and his wife.

However, she’d had to accept, of course, that there was some kind of a relationship between the two, once she’d learned that Alaina was with child.

Naturally, she’d offered her most heartfelt congratulations. Naturally.

She was living on pride.

When Risa and Ian had first spoken once he’d reported back to her father after his leave back home, she’d been disturbed to realize that she hadn’t managed to fall out of love with him. He had stood in her parlor, so tall and handsome in his blue coat and plumed hat, staring into the flames that burned within the grate. He had appeared weary and thoughtful, his handsome features taut, his eyes betraying the depths of his feelings. She knew he had been deeply concerned for some time. He had anticipated Lincoln’s election when everyone— not just the slaveholding Southerners—had thought of him as nothing more than a country bumpkin of a lawyer. Ian had told her once that south Carolina was itch-
ing to secede, and that many more cotton states would follow suit.

And he predicted war.

Not that they were anywhere near anything so serious. Tonight, men who argued in Congress were laughing and congratulating one another on marriages, births, and promotions. Soldiers from the far reaches of the country were pouring drinks for one another. It was a wonderful place to get together. Mrs. Greenhow was considered to be one of—if not
the
—finest hostesses in Washington. She had a sympathetic ear for everyone. President Buchanan had come and gone, preaching peace, assuring men and women from both sides that time would heal the wounds between them. Risa was aware that many men were condemning the president for not taking action, but what could the man do? Lincoln would become president next month, and the world would change anyway. Buchanan fought just to hold a steady course—and keep the hotheads from firing upon one another.

A few feet to her left, Risa saw Ian. He looked exceptionally striking tonight, in full dress uniform, the cobalt of his eyes so grave and enhanced by the color of his uniform. She felt a new twist in her heart as she watched him. His every movement held a natural grace. His shoulders were so broad, his hair so sleekly dark.

He was at her father’s side, conversing with one of the generals who reported directly to Winfield Scott. If there was war, the Union might well be in trouble. Winfield Scott had served his country very well. He had the ability to listen to the commanding officers beneath him, and because of that, he had brought a brilliant victory in the Mexican War. But he was getting very old now. And looking around the room, Risa wondered to whom the Union would look to guide an army into battle now against their own friends and kin should shots be fired.

A young man with frazzled brown hair and angry eyes approached Ian suddenly. Risa strained to hear the conversation and realized that the man was a Alabamian who had just resigned his commission to go home in anticipation of Alabama leaving the Union. He was annoyed that Ian hadn’t done so yet as well. Ian replied to him in an even, well-modulated voice, not arguing— and not agreeing. Standing his ground.

Risa decided that she could actually go to Ian and touch him.

Rescue him.

She had a good excuse for doing so.

“Colonel, if you’ll pardon me?” she inquired of her father’s friend, watching his white brows shoot high on his forehead. “I believe a friend is in distress,” she continued, flashing the older man a brilliant smile.

“Of course, dear, of course!”

Risa set her punch cup into his hand and quickly turned toward Ian. The musicians had just started playing a waltz, which aided her nicely.

“Gentlemen!” she said, sweeping in among the men with a vibrant enthusiasm. “Will you be so good as to indulge me? Ian, I know that I shall make a poor substitute for your wife, but perhaps you’ll allow me this waltz?”

His eyes met hers with amusement, relief—and, as always, something just a little bit pained and uncomfortable. But he responded quickly and gallantly.

“Miss Magee,” Ian murmured, “I’m quite sure that you could never be a poor substitute for anyone; indeed, I believe you must be aware that your beauty surpasses itself with each new day.”

“Father, you do manage to draw the very best from your officers!” she exclaimed in return, addressing the colonel but smiling at Ian. The light banter drew laughter from around them. And Ian took her arm, leading her to the polished floor, where they began immediately to move to the music.

His eyes touched hers. There always seemed to be a brush of blue fire to them. Despite herself, she felt a vicious pounding in her head. She wished again that she’d defied convention and propriety and seduced him when she’d had the chance.

“Thank you for the rescue. It was brilliantly achieved.”

“Was it?”

“You did seek to rescue me?”

“I did.”

“I wonder how much longer you will be able to do so,” he mused, affection in his voice.

Well, they had long been friends. They had seen so
many things that were important the same way; they knew the games in Washington, and in the military. They both loved life, new places, adventures, and…

She loved the warmth of him. Dancing. What a wonderful idea. She could come close, feel him, feel his strength, his breath, his scent…

Twist ever harder on her heart.

“Mmmm … why do you say that?” she asked, forcing herself to remember that to all outward appearances, she had simply asked an old friend to dance—a married friend.

“At any time, we will hear that Florida has seceded.”

“Perhaps they’ll vote against—”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“What will you do?” Risa asked.

“I still don’t know,” he said, then his eyes touched hers again. “Yes, I do. I’m not resigning. I think secession is insane and slavery is wrong. If the country splits peacefully enough, maybe I’ll eventually resign and return home and be a proper planter. That’s my ultimate plan. But if war breaks out, I suppose I’ll become a complete outcast.”

“Not here, Ian!” she assured him in a fierce whisper. “You’ll never be an outcast here.”