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  Ian mounted his horse. “I’m not running the war, Julian.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Julian said, patting the head of his brother’s roan. The animal was well fed, with sleek fur. He looked over at the gray mare he was riding. His horse showed more rib than flesh. Maybe he and the gray belonged together. He looked up and offered Ian his hand. “Thanks, brother. It was damned good seeing you. Take care.”

  “Stay out of the line of fire, Julian, for the love of God.” He hesitated. “When Jerome reaches you, get word to Risa somehow. She’ll want to be with him.”

  “Naturally, I’ll get word to his wife—and to you, through Alaina. You keep your head down, Ian.”

  Ian nodded. He turned his roan and started back toward the house in the pines.

  Julian leaned against the oak tree and watched his brother go. Then he turned toward the plantation house set deep in the overgrown foliage.

  Maybe Rhiannon Tremaine would manage to rouse herself enough to accompany Ian and set her talents to the healing of wounded Union soldiers.

  And maybe not.

  She was stubborn. Pigheaded.

  She might turn Ian down, determined that she was going to stay at her home.

  Perhaps she really was a witch, a white witch, with the power to heal. Maybe she had the gifts of a true natural healer.

  He leaned against the tree, watching the house for a long, long while ...

  Maybe ...

  Maybe he needed her himself. Well, fate was in her hands right now. She could go with Ian, or ...

  He’d damned well go back for her himself.

  Chapter 5

  BY THE TIME IAN McKenzie returned to the house, Rhiannon had regained her composure. She was also prepared for his resemblance to her earlier Rebel visitor, though she still found it uncanny and unnerving.

  Coffee and food were served, and she sat in the dining room with Colonel Ian McKenzie, listening to his suggestion that she either come into St. Augustine for the duration of the war, or find work with one of the hospitals.

  “I tried to become a nurse when Richard was first given his commission,” she told Ian. “They wouldn’t allow me in.”

  Ian grimaced. “Yes, I know, at the beginning nurses were only accepted if they were old and homely. But I assure you, things have changed. The sheer load of casualties in this war has forced changes. If you decide you want work in a hospital—even in the field, I’m sure I can arrange it.”

  She nodded, watching him. “If Rachel is willing, I think I would love to work with the soldiers.”

  “It’s hard work, grueling work. But sometimes a soldier makes it because enough care is given.”

  “And that is surely worth the effort. To save just one life would be ... gratifying,” Rhiannon mused.

  “So ... will you come back with me to St. Augustine today?”

  “I ...” she faltered. She wasn’t quite ready yet. “I need a little time.”

  “Time ... time to what?” Ian inquired politely.

  “Oh, well ...” she said, and waved a hand in the air, then shrugged. “To pack, for one. To give instructions to Angus and Mammy Nor. To see to it that my home is secured the best I can leave it in my absence.

  “That sounds reasonable. But you will come?” he persisted.

  “I believe so.”

  “I’ll return in a few days,” he told her. “You really must come with me then. I think that leaving this house—for now—is your only course of action. Think on this—it might be dangerous for you to remain here.”

  “Why?”

  “The Rebels will consider you a traitor.”

  “They were not—vicious men.”

  “No—but others might return.”

  Rhiannon nodded after a moment. She could be in danger. She had known that before she had betrayed the Rebels.

  “I’ll give the matter deep thought, sir,” she assured him. “And I will probably accompany you when you return for me. I agree that it makes sense.”

  “I wish that you would come with me now.”

  She smiled and said, “Honestly, I do need time. That’s all. And ... thank you.”

  The Yanks departed soon after their conversation. Rhiannon watched them ride away, then fled to her room, reading Richard’s letter over and over.

  She couldn’t simply have left that day.

  Absolutely not. Not when he had brought her such touching words from Richard.

  She had needed this time. Yet as she read, she looked around her room and felt again a great distress at not knowing what she had done in the night.

  She had to do something. She couldn’t stay on here, the way she had been going. If she was now allowed to be a nurse in a Union hospital, she wanted to be one. If she could help save a soldier’s life, spare anyone this agony, it would make life itself ...

  Worthwhile once again.

  She set the letter on her mantel and launched into a flurry of activity. It was a good afternoon for cleaning.

  She stripped her bed, telling herself that the sheets needed a good washing. The sheets, herself, her nightgown, her mourning clothing ...

  Everything needed to be fresh.

  She was going to start over.

  After tonight.

  Julian proceeded carefully, moving closer to the house but keeping a certain distance. He watched the Yankees depart, his brother riding in the lead, then watched a while longer, to make certain that the enemy had all ridden away.

  Rhiannon Tremaine had not ridden with them.

  He watched as Angus rolled a tub out into the back, and the household prepared for an afternoon of laundry—mainly sheets, some clothing. He wondered if she had made an agreement to leave with the Yanks at a later time.

  He didn’t intend to approach the house himself until dark. He didn’t want to steal from anyone, but he needed the poppies she had grown and many of the potions she had created. And he was equally determined that he needed her. Forcing her to accompany him wouldn’t really be an act of abduction—she was simply too valuable to be left to her own devices. But old Angus was one big son of a gun, and he wanted to be careful moving around her property. He had no intention of being captured.

  He spent the latter part of the afternoon resting beneath the shade of a large pine. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and was alarmed when he awoke, realizing he had dozed when he sensed someone near him. A noise had awakened him; her man, Angus, was preparing to chop wood not fifty feet from where he rested.

  Julian rose quickly, scolding himself for his carelessness. He was damned lucky he hadn’t been captured.

  When the tall, heavily muscled black man turned and saw him, he was standing. He hadn’t pulled his gun, having no intention of shooting the man.

  Angus, staring at him, froze. “You gonna shoot me, Reb?” he asked quietly.

  “Are you planning on killing me?”

  Angus slowly grinned and shook his head. “So what are you doing back here, Doctor, sir?”

  “I need some healing potions,” he said, staring straight into Angus’s black eyes. “And a healer.”

  Angus looked back at him steadily. “Oh?”

  “What do you think?”

  Angus leaned back, watching him carefully. “I think Miz Rhiannon has been in some powerful poor way as of late. She set such a store by her man, she did.”

  “I thought she might leave with the Yanks. Did she say anything about doing so?”

  Angus shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “With all the washing, I thought she might be getting ready for a long trip.

  Angus shook his head once again. “Sheets, sheets, more sheets, her clothing, her room, herself. She was even scrubbing the bedroom walls before she tucked into a hot tub herself for a good hour or so.”

  “Angus, I know you think I’m wrong in this war, but I need to take her with me. I won’t let any harm come to her, I give you my word. When she’s helped out with my wounded cousin, I swear I’ll give her safe passage into
St. Augustine.”

  Angus stared at him for so long that he wondered if he was going to have to give up his quest and ride away—or shoot and kill an innocent man to achieve his purpose.

  “What do you want me to do?” Angus asked him after a minute.

  Julian hadn’t known that he was holding his breath until he expelled it at Angus’s reply. “I want to ride out of here in darkness, but before it grows too late so that I can cover some fair territory before morning.”

  “I’ll see that you’re all set.” Angus set his hands upon his hips then. “But you’ll have some mean convincing to do, Doctor.”

  “I can persuade her.”

  “If you can’t talk her into going?”

  “I’ll carry her.”

  She’d whirred through the afternoon with a burst of action. By early evening the bedding they had washed was sun-dried and back in place, her clothing and undergarments were washed and pressed, her hair was shampooed, and she smelled faintly of roses herself.

  With new resolve, she picked up Richard’s letter one more time. She was going to get her life back in order. She would learn to live with Richard’s loss in a more responsible and mature way, no matter how painful.

  No more drugs. Ever.

  She left her room quickly, anxious to be alone for a few hours.

  Richard was buried in the small family plot across the lawn and just up the very small roll of a Florida hill. She did love the state, and she would be loath to leave it for any length of time. So much to the far south was flat swampland, but here the land did roll—just slightly, and there were some wonderful acres of pine forest, and acres of rich red clay. Despite the summer, it was cooler here than in other places in the deep South. But home wasn’t a place to hide. It was a place to love and to cherish, and she would always do so now ... no matter what the war brought.

  The sun was setting as she left the house and walked the distance to the graveyard with its wrought iron gate and fencing. Golden rays of the dying light streaked through the leaves of the oaks and pines scattered throughout the burial ground, casting a soft haze upon the dying day and giving just enough illumination so that she could clearly read the markers. Her parents were to the left, with handsome granite markers ordered from Philadelphia, along with a baby brother who had died at birth. Her father’s cousin, Hampton, was a few feet from her folks, and behind him lay a number of the men who had been employed at the salt works, and Jimmy Lake, the traveling teacher who had been killed at Shiloh. Richard was to the right of a great oak.

  She drew his letter from the pocket of her skirt, and again felt tears sting her eyes. She knelt on the ground before his marker. The breeze picked up, strangely cool for summer, touching her face, her hair. Rain, she thought distractedly. It didn’t matter. She reached out and ran her fingers over the engraving of his name. She could almost see his face, his smile, hear his voice. When contemplating dying, he had thought of her, had wanted nothing but life for her.

  She leaned forward, her face in her hands.

  The wind whipped up higher. Darkness and rain were on their way. It seemed only fitting.

  A strange unease suddenly ripped through her. She raised her head, wiped her eyes, and looked around anxiously. Then she froze.

  He was back. Colonel McKenzie. Not the Yankee colonel—the Rebel one.

  He leaned against the nearby sprawling old oak, arms crossed over his chest as if he had stood there a while. He watched her with cool blue eyes that were both disdainful and dispassionate. Tremors washed through her, and she gritted her teeth, staring back at him. She thought that she had washed away all dreams, fears, and memories. Yet had she been dreaming about Richard?

  What had she done last night?

  “What are you doing back here, Colonel?”

  “You didn’t leave with the Yanks,” he said.

  “No. Was I supposed to have done so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” she inquired. Then she remembered Ian McKenzie’s persistence that she come with him, and she thought that she’d been a fool to think otherwise—the McKenzies had met that day, no matter what lies they told her or their troops. She also remembered Ian’s warning that the Rebs might want retribution against her.

  “Have you come back to burn down my house?” she asked.

  He arched a brow, gazing past her to the house. “It’s a fine structure, handsome, sound. Why would I want to burn it down?”

  “Because this is a Confederate state, and I’m a traitor to it. Isn’t that the way you see it?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t come to burn down your house.”

  “Then why are you back?”

  “You, Mrs. Tremaine. I have come for you,” he told her lightly.

  “Me!” she repeated, startled. She stared at him, certain he was taunting her.

  “Yes, Mrs. Tremaine. You should have gone with the Yankees. Now you’ll have to come with me.”

  She shook her head, eyeing him warily. Carefully, she came to her feet. Was he so angry that she had summoned the Yanks? Did he mean her serious harm for what he saw as betrayal?

  “I’m not coming with you anywhere!” she whispered.

  “But you are.” He took a step toward her.

  She turned and ran.

  He might look weary and gaunt, but he was faster than a cheetah and upon her in a matter of seconds. He caught her by the shoulders and she spun around, tripping over a root. She fell, and he was caught up with her motion, and they crashed down to the ground together.

  With the air knocked from her lungs, she gasped for breath. He was far quicker to recover, rolling her over, pinning her down as he straddled her.

  “Oh, come now, Mrs. Tremaine, I cannot believe that you’re so afraid of me. After what happened last night—”

  “Nothing happened last night!” she cried.

  “Deny what you will. That’s not the point here.”

  “The point, sir? There is no point! You’re a Rebel, I’m not. You invaded my house. You weren’t welcome, but I helped you keep your friend alive. There is nothing else, I owe you nothing. Last night you broke down my door—after having invaded my house!—and you rudely took my medicine away from me.”

  “Medicine!”

  “Medicine kills pain, doesn’t it?”

  He stared down at her. “I took your opiate away, yes. And yet, if I did it so rudely, what a pity that you can’t really remember the rest of the night.”

  “I ... fell asleep.”

  “You did do that, yes.”

  “And I sent for the Yankees. I can’t be sorry for that! Well, is that it then? I’m a traitor, under arrest, to be punished, is that what it is? I still won’t go with you. Hang me, shoot me, here and now!”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? An easy out! The wretched Rebs killed your Richard and turned around and executed you as well. You’d die damned happy, wouldn’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “You wouldn’t have to kill yourself then.”

  “I’ve not tried to kill myself!” she flared furiously.

  “Fine. Then you can summon something called courage and help other people.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to have a little stroll through your personal pharmacy, Mrs. Tremaine. Through your garden. Then you’re coming with me.”

  “You can steal every plant, shrub, vial, and potion on the place, Colonel McKenzie,” she told him. “But I won’t be coming with you anywhere.”

  “Because you want to stay here and prostrate yourself on Richard’s grave daily?” he demanded sharply.

  She inhaled a long breath, staring at him, feeling the rigor of the muscles in his thighs where they clenched around her and feeling the angry heat and power within his eyes.

  “If that’s what I choose to do—”

  He leaned toward her, blue eyes as cutting as an ice fire. “Richard is dead, Mrs. Tremaine. Dead and buried and, as some believe, in a far better place. O
thers are still here. Still fighting, still bleeding. People who need you. I can swear to you, I have done surgery on both Yanks and Rebs. If you are blinded to the fact that you can help heal those who are desperate, then I will open your eyes.”

  “You can’t make me come with you—”

  “How strange. I believe that I can.”

  “You cannot mean to force me!” she said contemptuously.

  “That I do.”

  She stared at him, astonished. “That’s kidnapping.”

  “I don’t give a damn what it is.”

  “You—you can’t do any such thing!” she stuttered. “Where were you raised? Southern gentlemen do not behave this way. I will not allow you to behave this way—”

  “Oh, what will you do—shoot me yourself? Find your Southern virtue so compromised that you’ll kill yourself—with an overdose of drugs and wine?”

  His features were as hard and implacable as his words. Chills seized her and then, deep, hot frightening tremors. She wanted to twist away. She was so afraid ...

  He’d called her a coward already. She wouldn’t let him know that she was afraid of him. Afraid of herself, afraid of the void of a night that had passed.

  She raised her chin, surveying him coolly. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself! Colonel McKenzie, who do you think you are? I don’t have to go anywhere with you. You are the one in danger, the one who had best do as I say. Angus will shoot you if I tell him to.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You underestimate Angus.”

  “I’ve seen Angus. He doesn’t look like a cold-blooded killer to me.”

  “He’d kill you instantly if he thought you were threatening my life.”

  “But I’m willing to bet he knows I’m trying to save it.”

  “Will you stop that! I am not suicidal—”

  “Only accidentally suicidal.”

  She gritted down hard on her teeth, staring at him. She remembered him standing in the middle of her bedroom. She had been—on the balcony? He’d been wearing a towel and a gun, no more. What then? He’d tried to take the vial from her, and they’d argued, and she thought she remembered losing the argument, crying ... And then?

  Sleeping.

  Dreaming.