She could be the most exasperating human being Ian had ever come in contact with: willing to fight when all hope of any purpose was gone, and never, never willing to accept defeat in any way, shape, or form.
And yet…
If he weren’t still plagued with guilt regarding Risa, he wouldn’t be entirely displeased. And if he didn’t remain quite so infuriated with Alaina regarding the entire Peter O’Neill incident…
Then what?
She was beautiful. Gathering herself against the bedstead, looking up at him warily, Alaina was beautiful. With her cat-gold eyes, sun-silk hair, and slim yet curvacious form, she was stunning. He had married her with a prayer that she wasn’t carrying O’Neill’s child; he’d been almost ridiculously pleased to discover that she had been as innocent as any young woman in their society who might have been brought up in the strictest home under a careful mama’s ever-watchful eye. And still…
She was accustomed to doing whatever she pleased, however dangerous it might be. And he was sick to death of hearing that she’d been in love with a swaggering, useless braggart like O’Neill. He still wanted to tear Peter O’Neill to shreds.
Perhaps it had been rude to stay away the entire day. But a streak of pained nostalgia had seized hold of him, and it had seemed important to spend the time with his kin—and away from the bride who played such havoc with both his temper and his passions.
Admittedly, he had spent a fair amount of time consumed with guilt because of Risa.
He was going to have to face her. What would he tell her? How would he explain?
Alaina. Who was in love with Peter and ready to fight her new husband to the death for the honor he had fought to preserve!
They’d spent the day out in one of the old Indian cabins near Cimarron—Ian, James, Julian, Jerome, and Brent. Ian’s father had joined them eventually and they had drunk brandy and talked and laughed about the old days. James and Jarrett had reminisced about the war; they had all laughed about fishing incidents, Ian’s first encounter with a gator, the beauty of everything around them. The day had been good; but Ian still felt a strange pain, and it didn’t help to have this shrew he had acquired—no matter how beautiful—telling him to go sleep in the hay.
Yet as he watched her, she intrigued him, for she began playing a new act. She scrambled up and sat rigidly as she stared at him, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, hair billowing freely down her back in long, thick waves the color of a brilliant sun. That angelic shade framed her delicate face; her small chin was lifted high.
“Ian?”
“No.”
“No, what?” she flared. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”
“No, I’m not leaving. You can fight from here until the peninsula sinks.”
“You don’t understand. I’m really, really tired.”
“Oh?” he queried with some amusement, turning away from her and sitting at his desk to pull off his boots. Her voice was no longer defiant. It definitely carried a note of hauteur, but it was somewhat pleading as well.
She nodded earnestly. “I mean, you must admit, it’s been an eventful two days. Tired can’t begin to describe how I feel. I’m actually exhausted….” her voice trailed off with a slight catch as she watched him rise, doff jacket and shirt, and then breeches. Her eyes rose to his, faltering only once to take in the length of his naked body, widening, riveting back to his face. She was beautifully flushed against the pure white cotton of the embroidered nightgown she wore tonight, and he knew that she had ascertained in her quick sweep of his anatomy that he had come in definitely intending to keep her awake awhile.
And tonight, maybe she hoped not to have to fight him because she knew she couldn’t win. She meant to use other tactics now—appealing to his sensibilities as a gentleman?
“Ian, you’re not listening to me. Really, I’m so desperately tired,” she informed him.
“Ah… vigorous physical activity helps sleep,” he told her.
“I’ve had sufficient vigorous physical activity already, thank you!” she snapped.
He couldn’t help but smile. Nor did he intend to let her off the hook in the least. “You’re a newlywed, my love. Newly weds never sleep until dawn.”
If he hadn’t seen the swift calculations going on in her mind, he might have been swayed by her sudden tears.
“Ian… it’s been a difficult day. I’m… I’m hurt…” she said, forcing two liquid tears to pool in her eyes. “Last night was new to me, you must understand—”
He strode to the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at her. “You’re in no physical pain— I’d say that’s quite evident. And as far as your delicate emotional state, I thought you were suffering last night when I saw those sweet little tears on your cheeks. The next thing I knew—despite my warnings—you were crawling down a rose trellis to meet Peter O’Neill.”
“I didn’t go to meet him!” she cried.
“Right. You went to escape me—and this room.”
She let out an oath of irritation, then met his eyes. He saw a pulse ticking wildly at her throat, and he was both startled and aroused to realize that she was fighting both him—and herself. She was afraid—not so much of what he would do, but of what she might feel. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “There’s an old expression, my love, and I’ve told you it will hold true. You make your bed, you lie in it. Well, Mrs. McKenzie, this is the bed.”
“And I’m a small pleasure.”
He started to laugh, coming to another realization. He had offended her. He tilted her chin upward. “Mmm…
well, as you said, it was all rather new for you. I imagine you’ll be an excessive pleasure this time.”
She jerked her chin free from his touch. “Ian—”
“Alaina, you’re not going to talk me out of sleeping with you tonight.”
She scowled furiously, keeping her eyes averted from the length of him at her side. “There’s a whiskey bottle on your desk,” she said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to summon your kin up here for a few more drunken toasts to start off the night?”
“Are you sure you’re not wishing I could summon Peter O’Neill up here?”
“Perhaps it would be better to have an adoring married lover than a bitter autocrat of a husband!” she told him, and made a move to leap from the bed.
He caught her wrist. “You have what you’re getting,” he told her warningly.
“I’m just getting the whiskey bottle.”
“I don’t need any whiskey. And I think it only fair to warn you that I am heartily sick of hearing about your mad devotion to Peter O’Neill.”
“And I am heartily sick of you thinking that you can— that you have the right to walk in here whenever you so please and make demands. Let me go! Fair is fair. I need quite a bit of whiskey!”
He shook his head firmly. “What you need is to be very aware of the fact that you have married me.”
She wrenched free from him and started to spring from the bed. She was very fast. So was he. He lunged across the bed and caught the sleeve of her gown. He heard the rending of fabric and became entangled in the gown as it tore from her torso and held fast against her limbs. He straddled her as she lay trapped, breathing far too quickly, her pulse hammering against her throat. A tiny blue vein was just barely visible in the ivory flesh of her breast. Her eyes were brilliantly gold in the room’s dying firelight as they met his; like a cat it seemed she flexed her claws as her hands and nails pressed against his chest.
“Must we do this again?” she whispered.
He laughed softly. “We must.”
“Why?” she demanded, eyes wide and flashing.
“Why?” The question gave him pause; she had voiced it in earnest.
“Because… making love is what husbands and wives do.”
“Making love is more frequently what husbands and mistresses do, so it appears in life!” she exclaimed.
She was angry, he thought. Angry—because he had wounded her tremendous pride today. He hadn’t done so intentionally, yet the fire burning in her now made her all the more tempting. He wanted her; he’d married her.
He’d be damned if he’d ever be such a fool as to sleep in the hay again.
He shook his head, and gently curled a tendril of her hair around his finger. “Sex is one reason men marry; it is a craving, a hunger, and I promise you, you will realize that it is so for your fairer—if not gentler—sex just as it is for us.”
Her eyes clouded. “Ian, your hunger is not for me.”
“You’re quite mistaken. What goes on between men and women, husbands and wives, can be exceptionally beautiful. And yet … a weapon as well. We’ll not use it so.”
She shook her head, but stared at him and must have seen both the amusement and determination in his eyes. She threw her arms out to her sides with exasperation, eyes furiously defying his. “Fine. Fine. Just do whatever you so choose!” she cried out dramatically.
His smile deepened. “I intend to,” he assured her.
Yet staring down at her, he suddenly remembered words Peter had used to describe her: ripe, lush. It galled him to think of Peter and Alaina.
Lush…
The valley between her breasts. He lowered his head and brushed her flesh there with his lips first, then the tip of his tongue, drawing a hot, liquid line between them.
Ripe…
Her breasts themselves. His mouth traveled to cover a dusky rose nipple, tongue sweeping around it, flicking the peak. His head against her chest, he could feel the thunder of her heart. She lay so perfectly still, not protesting, not moving. He rose slightly above her. Her eyes were squeezed shut; her face was pale, her lips just slightly parted, her breath sweeping quickly in and out. He smiled, pressed his lips to her throat. Cupped her breast into his palm, caressed it again with his tongue and the gentle edge of his teeth. He drew his hand down the length of her, so sensually enticed that he forgot for a moment who she was, and even that she was his wife. He savored the slim and so beautifully curved length of her, stroking, touching, moving against her. Her flesh burned as soft as silk against his own; he felt her vibrantly with his fingertips and limbs, felt each curve with the fullness of his body. He rose above her again, taking her lips. Her eyes were still clenched, but her mouth parted to his coaxing, and he hesitated just a moment as humor tempered the fever within him. He moved his mouth seductively upon hers; he eased his weight to her side to allow him the freedom to know her, kissing her all the while with a deceptively soft, slow, tender thoroughness while the questing touch of his fingers roamed as lightly over her body. His mouth grew bolder, tongue delving, raking, plundering, drawing a little whimper from her throat. His touch became far more invasive as well, palm rotating over the soft blond triangle between her thighs. A needful throbbing began within his own flesh. He slipped his hand between her thighs; she started to clench them together. He shifted his weight, forcing her limbs apart with the weight of his own body. His sex, fully erect, teased the tender flesh of her femininity and he heard a sudden, wild intake of her breath. Her eyes flew open with sudden awareness and defiance; she trembled fiercely, staring at him, then closed her eyes again, going rigid.
The dutiful wife. She didn’t fight; she endured.
He smiled, watching her for long seconds. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow. She lay so perfectly still….
He inched lower, once again creating liquid trails of kisses against her throat and breasts. Fondling her flesh, suckling it. Inching still lower, cradling her breasts while drawing his mouth against her ribs, waist, and navel. Inching still. Lying directly between her thighs. Staring at her pale face briefly before parting her with his fingers and plunging into the most intimate kiss with the seductive caress of his mouth and the searing liquid impalement of his tongue.
Her eyes flew open; a desperate, stunned gasp escaped her. She wriggled to free herself, and did nothing but bring herself more tightly against him. He caught her hands, his fingers curling against them as he continued to caress and seduce, feeling the wild trembling and surge within her that created an explosive fire in himself. Her every twist and buck further inflamed him until he throbbed with an agonizing pain; still he persisted, drawing her as high as he dared.
He rose over her at last, thrusting into her with fevered passion. A choked sobbing sound escaped her; her eyes were open, dazed, unfocused upon his. Her palms fell against his chest, then her fingers curled into his shoulders. She lay shaking, then clinging to him as he wrapped her tightly against him, pressing ever more deeply into her. The sight, feel, and scent of her was intoxicating, scarcely bearable. He fought to control his pace until…
Her body tightened, constricted. Face pressed to his shoulder, she cried out and her limbs went limp; searing, liquid warmth gloved his sex as he moved deeply within her.
He thrust and shuddered violently, amazed at the explosive force her climax had drawn from him in turn. Wickedly delicious heat seared throughout him and he finished, moving again, and again, more gently within her, until she, too, was filled with the mercury of their lovemaking. He eased himself to her side, drawing her against him. She stiffened; he persisted. He inhaled the rich scent of her hair.
And remembered with sudden raw clarity that he had told Teddy he could take his daughter home when Ian’s leave was done.
Could he leave her? Could he endure to do so, now, when he had just discovered the ferocity of the heat she could create in him? He stroked her hair. She tried to pull away, and he realized she was sobbing softly.
At a complete loss, he firmly pressed her to her back so that he could meet her eyes. “What? By God, I know that I didn’t hurt you.”
“Ian, please!” she whispered, cat-gold eyes shimmering. The sound of her voice was earnest; no playacting now. “Please, just—”
He touched her cheek. “Alaina, I’m not a fool, and I’m not stupid, and I do admit to a certain amount of experience! I caused you no pain. In fact, I dare say that you enjoyed what passed between us.”
“Oh, you will never understand!” she cried.
Puzzled, he allowed her to turn away from him. He leaned up on an elbow, stroking the length of her spine with the back of his hand. She trembled at his touch.
“You just take… everything!” she whispered to him.
He smiled, feeling the budding of a new tenderness for her rising within him. She wouldn’t have been angry or hurt now if she hadn’t responded to him.
“Alaina, you’re my wife.”
“It’s still wrong; you don’t… love me.”
“Ah, and there it is! Well, dear wife, you don’t love me, either,” he murmured. He felt his body tighten with irritation, wondering if she hadn’t dreamed of such feelings in the arms of a different man. That thorn in his side.
But she wasn’t trying to be hateful; she was just young, and new to the games of love.
He rolled her back to him determinedly. For once, her gold eyes were open and vulnerable, her delicate face was simply beautiful, her cheeks were damp with tears. “We have married, Alaina, for better or worse. You are my wife. Circumstances were not, perhaps, what they should have been, but I am frankly pleased to have discovered what I have in this bed of mine you do so detest. Marriage is a commitment, and you are married to me. So I beg you, find peace with it. I have done so already.”
Her lashes fell upon her cheeks. “Tell, me, was your peace found here—or in the hay?” she whispered miserably.
He hesitated, wondering how much power he dared give this woman over him. He touched her cheek, brushing her silken flesh ever so softly. “I slept with no companion other than Pye; most uncomfortably so. And I have spent this day with my kin, and my kin alone. Does that make what we’ve done any more acceptable?” Her eyes opened to his again. “I…”
“Well?”
Her lashes fluttered again. “Yes,” she said very softly.
Ian smiled, easing down beside her. He drew her close. The fire burned low; the night air cooled them. She reached for the covers. He warmed her again with his body. Touched her, stroked her.
Made love again. Rested, sated, for a time.
In sleep, she shifted against him. He cupped her buttocks with his hands, curved to her length. The feel of her brought him to a full hard erection again, and he slipped in her. Made love.
Dawn came, and with it, a heavy sleep at last. Full daylight filled the room when he awoke. She was just rising. He caught her sleepy gold gaze, shook his head, pulled her back. “Not yet,” he whispered.
“Ian, it’s late in the day!”
But her protest was weak.
And he did not allow her to rise.
James and Teela McKenzie, along with Brent Land Sydney, left that afternoon. James had business in Tampa, then they’d be leaving for Charleston.
Jarrett McKenzie was sorry to see his brother, sister-in-law, nephew, and niece leave. It was a difficult parting.
Somehow, when they had been younger—half-brothers, one white, one Indian—they had managed to fight the rest of the world. Through the long years of the Second Seminole War, they had remained close. Not even the new flare-up of trouble in ’58 had caused the least difficulty between them.
Now Jarrett discovered either himself or James growing quiet when discussions regarding the possibility of war arose.
And as they said good-bye on the river that day, they looked into one another’s eyes. Oddly, James, the Seminole son, had their father’s deep blue eyes. Jarrett’s own were his mother’s—as nearly black as those of any full-blooded Indian in the country.
Jarrett felt his heart slam against his chest. He was getting old. In his fifties. Much of life spent. Funny, he didn’t feel old. The world changed around him, but he didn’t feel old. And certainly they didn’t look old. James hadn’t seemed to change a bit in all these years. Not in appearance. His bronzed face showed little signs of age. Just a trace of silver was beginning to touch his temples. Only James’s eyes were old, and Jarrett was certain that same sense of age was reflected in his own.
If war came, they’d be on opposite sides. And Jarrett knew then with a sinking heart he’d be on the wrong side, according to most of his own people. “Take care on your trip,” Jarrett told James. James stepped away from him, slipping an arm around Teela’s shoulders. Jarrett thought that there was a trace of tears in his sister-in-law’s beautiful emerald eyes. Teela was a strong woman; she’d been willing to brave any danger to be with James. After difficult beginnings for them all—he and Tara, James and Teela—they’d been blessed. For over twenty years, their lives had been good. They’d had children, and their children were healthy and strong. Friendships had formed between them to augment the closeness of their blood ties. No family had ever been more supportive of one another.
And yet…
The future loomed before them in a frightening manner.
“For once, brother,” James told him with a trace of amusement, “I think that I can say I’m going to be all right. Jarrett, you have to be careful about voicing your philosophies.”
Jarrett might have replied, but he chose not to in front of so many people. “As father liked to say: I’ll do my best to behave—as honorably as I may.”
Despite the fact that the family laughed and joked easily while they awaited the barge by the river, a strange pall seemed to lie over them all. Jarrett and James discussed the roads that had been cut through the northern portion of the state, making transportation in that region so much better than it had been when they had first been blazing their own paths via old Indian trails. While the south remained a wilderness—still mainly inhabited by Indians and gators—northern Florida was gaining quite a population and all the amenities of any civilized state. The McKenzies exchanged embraces before the barge left, and those remaining behind watched and waved until it disappeared into the sunlit day.
That afternoon, Jarrett McKenzie had at last the opportunity for a long talk alone with his eldest son. With the barge gone, the remaining group split up. Teddy McMann drew his daughter along the river, excitedly studying the plants there. Jerome and Julian went walking down the quay, discussing the merits of Brent having taken up a practice near Charleston. Jarrett suggested Ian might indulge him and take a walk out to the pool.
They strode out together, speaking of casual things until they reached the fallen log by the pool. Jarrett drew a silver brandy flask from his frock coat pocket and offered it to his son. Then he took a seat on the log, folding his arms across his chest in a determined manner. “It’s definitely time we talked,” Jarrett said, and watched his son as Ian sipped from the flask, studying the crystal ripples of the water.
“As you say, Father.”
He was proud of his son. Jarrett had served in the military himself as a very young man, until Andy Jackson’s Indian policies had driven him to a stand on his own. But throughout his life, he’d had close ties with many military men. A good friend, Tyler Argosy, promoted last year to lieutenant general, had seen to lan’s entry to West Point, and served as lan’s mentor for years. It had been difficult for Jarrett to watch his son struggle with his conscience and his duty. Ian was against the military’s treatment of the Indians and would have resigned his newly gained commission if he had been assigned to Florida during the fighting of ’58; thankfully, he’d been assigned elsewhere. It was only in the last few months that he’d received the rank of major and been given a position as a guide and liaison for the army cartographers and surveying teams in the south of the state.
Yet Jarrett was damned well aware that though his son might have spent a fair amount of time with his uncle James recently, he hadn’t been near McMann’s daughter—until his arrival home. Now, in civilian clothing, standing very tall and dark in breeches, shirt and frock coat, Ian was a striking figure, his features strong, combining the best of both himself and Tara, Jarrett thought. He awaited his father’s questions with quiet dignity.
“I do believe that your mother and I are worthy of the truth—the complete truth,” Jarrett said firmly.
“The truth is that we were caught in a compromising position,” Ian said, then added quietly, ‘and so went immediately to the Reverend Dowd’s and were married.”
“A compromising position?”
Ian smiled, shaking his head. He suddenly reminded Jarrett of James. “I didn’t seduce her, Father. It was accidental…” He hesitated, then shrugged, aware that whatever he said to his father would go no further. “She is Teddy’s daughter, raised a bit wild in the wilderness. She decided to go swimming at the pool.”
“Lots of people have found themselves swimming in that pool. Swimming, in itself—”
“She was swimming naked.”
Jarrett stared at his son. “Ah. You were naked as well.”
Ian hesitated, but didn’t lie or make excuses for himself. “I was.”
“Looking for Mrs. Trehorn?”
“Father, I know that you never particularly approved of that liaison—”
“Indeed, I did not. But you’re a grown man. Certainly old enough to choose your relationships. And to suffer the consequences they create. Thank God, however, that you didn’t march to the Reverend Dowd’s with Lavinia. I might have become immortal just to assure myself she never became mistress of Cimarron! And thank God that Alaina didn’t march there with Peter O’Neill.”
Ian arched a brow to him. “Lavinia would have thumbed her nose at scandal. She’s quite fond of me, but much more fond of her money. And as to Alaina and Peter… she did think rather highly of him at one time, I believe,” Ian said lightly. Jarrett was slightly amused. Ian had never had patience for Peter O’Neill. He considered him a blustery pretty-boy braggart who created hard times for others. But now, it seemed, Ian sounded just a bit jealous. And maybe it was well. Ian was far too accustomed to having women listen to him, pay him heed—and fall for his rugged good looks. Naturally, Jarrett was of the opinion that Theodore McMann should have taken his daughter over his knee years ago—but there was little to be done about that now.
Jarrett liked Alaina; she was a bewitching, vibrant little bit of baggage. But he was sorry for the marriage when another woman—who seemed so ideal—awaited.
Jarrett sighed. “Alaina might have thought herself in love with Peter, but I’ve lived a long time, son, and I’ve studied human nature. The most unlikely people can make magnificent matches—because they understand and respect one another, as was the case with your uncle James and aunt Teela. Alaina would have seen through Peter’s stories very quickly; she would have realized that his words were nothing more than wind, and she would have hated him. Their marriage would have been hell.”
“Well, Father, I pray you foresee something better for the two of us, then,” Jarrett said, smiling wryly.
Jarrett shook his head, noting the grave look that came into his son’s eyes. “Were things as they were ten years ago, I would have wished you every happiness. I haven’t seen Alaina in quite some time myself, but she was always an enchanting child. She has grown into a vital woman, full of life, beautiful, intelligent.”
Ian listened quietly. “Sir, it sounds as if you approve— those are wonderful qualities in a wife.”
“Usually. But what of Colonel Magee’s daughter?”
“Risa?” Ian murmured.
“You wrote as if you two had already discussed an engagement.”
“There was nothing that we had actually discussed, Father. We spent time together; we were falling in love—we liked one another very much.”
“You made no promises to her?”
“Not because I didn’t intend to, only because I hadn’t had the chance. I meant to talk with you and Mother while I was here, speak with Risa when I reached Washington this time, then ask her father for her hand. I had thought we’d make a good pair; we are excellent companions, she is accustomed to the military, and she is…”
“Young, lovely, and intelligent as well?”
“Yes,” Ian said simply.
“She will be hurt in this.”
“Yes,” he said again. “I will see her when I go to Washington.”
“There is no way I can help you there, son.”
“Father, I’m a full-grown man who has faced some serious fighting in the West. I accept responsibility for all my actions, and will face them on my own.”
“With honor,” Jarrett said softly. “But I imagine you’d rather go back and fight a skirmish in the West than explain this to Miss Magee.”
Ian inclined his head slightly. Jarrett studied his son, aware that Ian seldom let his emotions show.
“Well,” Jarrett murmured, “under the circumstances that occurred here, I can understand you felt you must act. Teddy is a good man, and disgracing his daughter— with or without intent—would have shattered him. So you are now a married man. The deed is done. As your father, I congratulate you. And as your father, I also give you these words of advice: Bear in mind that Alaina is a passionate, independent woman who grew up creating her own rules as she went along. She can be strong, and willful as well.”
A dark expression passed quickly through lan’s eyes, and Jarrett saw that he was already aware of those qualities in Alaina. “Father, I am capable of handling my wife.”
Jarrett sighed deeply, wishing he didn’t feel such a sense of doom regarding the future. “Are you capable of waging war against her?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re Unionists, Ian, you and I. The time hasn’t quite come when sides must be drawn, but we have deep-seated beliefs in the sanctity of the Union, coupled with the fact that we have been living in a slave economy without slaves. If war comes, we will be at odds with our state. Teddy and Alaina live in the far south where the Federal uniform has long been despised for all the pain wrought on the Seminoles by the army. I don’t think that Alaina will ever understand your determination to go against your state and remain with the army.”
“I haven’t made that decision yet,” Ian said unhappily. “The decision isn’t even there to be made as yet.”
“But it’s coming.”
“There is no way I could make such a decision without weighing all the risks and dangers—to myself, to my family, and to Cimarron. But whatever decision I make, my wife will have to accept.”
“I pray it’s so. You are both proud, stubborn, and very determined to have your own way.”
A sneeze suddenly sounded from a few feet away. Ian arched a brow to his father, then walked around one of the oak trees to find his brother seated at the foot of the oak, his back leaned against it. His boots, socks, and shirt were off; he’d obviously been at the pool ready to plunge in when Ian and Jarrett had reached it. Julian, so like Jarrett they might have been twins, rose unhappily. “Sorry. Truly. When you first arrived, I was about to make my appearance known, but Father’s voice had that deep tone to it, and I didn’t want to intrude. I thought I’d lie low and slink away after.”
“The whole damned world should know all my personal business,” Ian muttered darkly.
Julian stood impatiently, joining in the conversation, now that his presence had been discovered. “I’m hardly the whole damned world; I’m your one and only brother,” Julian reminded him. “And quite frankly, I don’t understand the difficulty here. In my opinion—”
“Julian, I don’t recall asking for opinions.”
“In my opinion,” Julian continued with quiet dignity, “she is absolutely stunning, a whirlwind of grace and energy. Of course, she has no money—that’s been held against her by a great many respectable families—but then we McKenzies have done very well. Naturally, of course, that is your doing, Father, though you have trained us with sound business expertise so that we are all quite good at managing property and money. We like to go against the grain—your doing as well, Father, since you taught us all that people are unique in themselves, and that society might dictate behavior, but never the honor within a man’s or woman’s, heart.”
Ian smiled at his father as his brother seemed to be warming up to his speech. Jarrett smiled in turn.
Julian went on. “And since it certainly appears to be a customary marriage—they’re obviously thoroughly enjoying their honeymoon—”
“Julian!” Ian protested, indignantly interrupting his brother. “What the hell do you know about my marital relations?”
“Well,” came a deep drawl, and Jerome stepped from around another oak, clad only in denim breeches and still wet from a dive into the pool. He paused momentarily, facing Jarrett, who looked at him expectantly. “Excuse me, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude; as you can see, I was just emerging from the pool and, like Julian, found myself awkwardly trapped here. This being the case, though…” He looked to Ian. “I believe that the entire household is aware of the pleasant normalcy of your marriage, largely due to the fact that the two of you didn’t emerge from your room until my folks were afraid they’d have to leave without saying good-bye to you.”
“Indeed?” Ian muttered darkly.
Jarrett McKenzie lowered his head, trying not to smile at his son’s exasperation. Julian and Jerome, having found themselves in the midst of the conversation, meant to torment him to some fair degree.
“It bodes for a good marriage, I think,” Julian said. “A very good relationship. Don’t you think, Jerome?”
“I would have to agree.”
“Though, naturally, Jerome, being intelligent and reasonable and civilized men, we’re all aware that common ground must be found—”
Jerome set an arm about Julian’s shoulder, nodding in amused agreement. “But then, entertaining sexual relations can create some damned good common ground,” he said, his lip curled in a half smile. Then he remembered Jarrett, sitting on the log, studying them all. His bronze features flushed to a deeper shade. “Sorry, Uncle, I meant nothing, of course. Alaina is like a sister to me.” He paused again. “Ian, we’ve been as close as brothers, and we’d have been friends if no family ties existed at all, but you have acquired a wife who is near and dear to my heart. Quite frankly, what hardship can be found in marrying a woman who is young and exceedingly beautiful? Now, then, looking at this from Alaina’s point of view—”
“She’s acquired a tyrant,” Julian said with a mock sigh, eyes alight. “Trust me, I know—I came into the world a bit more than a year later, and paid the price for my tardiness!”
“So it’s good that Alaina is a bit willful,” Jerome murmured. “She’ll need to be so to survive Ian.”
“Are you both quite finished?” Jarrett inquired sternly.
“Indeed,” Julian murmured.
“Well, then—what is done is done,” Jarrett stated, rising. “Ian, we all wish you happiness.”
With that, he left his sons and his nephew behind him and started back toward Cimarron.
Jerome, watching his uncle go, felt a shiver go up his spine—someone walking over his grave, as the expression went. He turned to Ian and spoke seriously. “We do all wish you every happiness,” he said.
Ian nodded, smiling slowly. “I know.”
The exchange seemed to be growing too earnest for Julian. “Ian looks flushed, sweaty, hot. Don’t you think he looks hot?” he asked, gazing from his brother to Jerome.
“He does!” Jerome agreed gravely.
“Dammit, no—” Ian began, but he hadn’t been expecting the attack, and between the two of them, his brother and cousin brought him crashing down into the pool. In retaliation, he set out after his brother; Jerome deserted Julian, and Julian was duly dunked. He was then pleased to join Ian for an attack on Jerome. An hour later, they were all three panting, lying on the embankment, gasping for breath, laughing, sharing the last of the little silver flask of brandy.
“What are your plans, Ian?” Jerome asked.
“I have to go back to Washington. Bring some of the new maps we’ve made.”
“I can’t imagine Alaina in Washington.”
“I… won’t be bringing her. Teddy has asked me to allow her to come home with him.”
“What?” Julian demanded, rolling to his stomach to stare at his brother.
You have acquired nights of heaven and you’re going to leave your wife behind?”
“He has some explanations to make to the colonel’s daughter, remember?” Jerome said lightly.
Ian sat up, staring at his cousin. “It isn’t that. I told you, Teddy asked me if she could go home with him. I haven’t even discussed it with Alaina yet, but—”
“But you know damned well that’s exactly what she’s going to want to do?” Jerome said.
“No.” Jerome studied Ian’s eyes. “But you’re not happy about it.”
Ian hesitated. “I’m afraid.”
“My big brother, afraid? I don’t believe it,” Julian murmured, rising then.
“I do,” Jerome said quietly, coming to his feet as well. “We’re all afraid. But as to your wife, Ian, I’ll be nearby. My folks will be home soon, and Jennifer and Lawrence and their baby are even closer to Teddy’s islet than we are. I promise you, I’ll look out for her.”
Ian stood and clasped his cousin’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he said huskily. “I’ll count on that.”
They all started back to the house.
“Jerome,” Ian said.
“What?”
“If Peter O’Neill comes near her…”
“Kill him?”
“That would be illegal—and if anyone kills him, it’s going to be me. Just deck the hell out of him for me, will you?”
“It’s a promise,” Jerome assured Ian. Then a sudden shiver seized him.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.
“Nothing, a chill.”
But he wasn’t cold.
He’d felt the oddest sensation again.
Footsteps walking over his grave….