Chapter 9

Every girl dreamed of the day she would marry her first love. Cassie had started dreaming about marrying Drew when he had carried a slingshot instead of a cavalry pistol and stolen ribbons from her hair. Now that Drew had asked her to marry him, every one of those girlish fancies came rushing back.

She had seen too much of life to imagine Drew still cared for her. Years had passed. He had been married to someone else. She had changed in ways that neither of them wanted to face. Though he might still feel the pull of that old attraction, Drew's decision to make her his wife was a practical one—based in reason not romance. Yet when she took her place before the minister in the McGarritys' tiny parlor, Cassie felt a reckless surge of hope.

She wanted this marriage to work. She needed to find a bit of peace by being part of this man's life, and she hoped by some stray miracle they could find a way to love each other.

"Dearly beloved," the parson began. "We are gathered together in the sight of God and this company to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

The members of "this company" were decidedly sparse. Because Drew had been concerned that Meggie might not behave in an appropriate fashion, he had gone ahead and made arrangements for her to spend today and tonight with Lila Wilcox. Cassandra had asked Sally to send a note to Hunter Jalbert, thinking he might relent and come to befriend her. But word came back through one of the corporals that Jalbert had ridden out again on army business.

So it was that when Cassie and Drew stood up before the minister to pledge their lives, Major and Mrs. McGarrity were the only witnesses.

"Will you, Andrew Scott Reynolds," the parson intoned, "have this woman, Cassandra Claire Morgan, to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and keep thee only unto her, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Drew responded.

The minister turned his gaze on Cassie.

As she repeated the words, she stared at the handsome man she was taking as her husband. In his full-dress uniform, Drew was all buffed and brushed and shiny, all serious and intent. All closed up tight within himself. She wished she could find some hint of emotion in his eyes. Instead they were as cool and impenetrable as silver mirrors, reflecting back her own fragile hopes and towering uncertainties.

As Drew repeated the rest of his vows, she wondered if he understood how much she wanted to please him. To that end she'd packed all of Sweet Grass Woman's belongings in a battered trunk. She had dressed for her wedding in a white woman's full regalia—a borrowed gown of watered silk, a laced-up corset and horsehair hoops, stockings and ribbon garters, and the excruciatingly pointed, shin-high boots. She was as proper—and as uncomfortable—as she had ever been in her life. She just hoped that the changes she was making in herself would mark today as a new beginning.

Once Drew had spoken his vows, Cassie clasped his fingers tightly in her own and pledged to love and honor and obey him, to care for and comfort him for the rest of his days.

Then Drew produced a plain gold band from his pocket. He turned one of his rare, sun-bright smiles on her and eased the circlet of gold onto Cassie's finger. "With this ring I thee wed," he whispered.

Cassie went warm all over.

But the ring caught at Cassie's knuckle. Drew wiggled and turned the narrow band, trying to force it on.

"Oh merciful heavens!" the parson breathed.

She could sense Sally's dismay and Ben McGarrity's growing impatience. But most of all Cassie saw Drew scowling down at her as if he were only now seeing in those strong, capable hands, who she was and what she had become.

Cassie pulled her finger out of his grasp and twisted the ring in place. "We can proceed now," she suggested pointedly.

The parson mumbled his way through the final blessing and declared Drew and Cassandra man and wife. Sally rushed over to envelope Cassandra in a hug. The major reached across and shook Drew's hand.

It wasn't until McGarrity and his wife had turned to sign the marriage certificate that Drew approached Cassandra. "I suppose it's time I kissed my bride."

The kiss he gave her was perfunctory, but his mouth clung to hers just long enough to remind her that she would be lying with him tonight, that they would be making love. The thought of that spawned a tight, fluttery anticipation in Cassie's throat.

Major McGarrity's striker and Sergeant Goodwin had contrived to provide the couple with a wedding cake and a few glasses of punch. Still, without the toasts and music and dancing, the celebration didn't last long.

Drew and Cassie took their leave and made the walk down Officers' Row just as the sun was melting away. If word of the captain's wedding had gotten out, there was no sign of it. Men returning from afternoon assembly brushed past them, but no one stopped to offer congratulations. Cassie knew that most of the people in the fort disapproved of her, but she had hoped that someone would wish Drew well.

Once they reached his quarters, Drew set about the business of lighting the lamps and replenishing the fires. While he was busy, Cassie took more careful note of her new home. The layout of the cabin was more or less the same as the McGarritys', with the front door opening into the parlor, a bedroom through a curtained doorway to the left, and the kitchen attached at the back of the house.

Though it hardly seemed possible, Drew's accommodations were even more spartan than the major's. There was nothing in the parlor but a chair, a china mantel clock, and a scarred campaign desk. Having no desire to inventory the furnishings in the bedchamber, Cassie wandered into the kitchen and set the remains of their wedding cake on the table.

She sensed Drew's entry into the room in the same way a compass knows which way is north. She turned and watched as he tended the fire, seeing how the orange glow of the flames threaded his hair with copper and gold. Cassie stood watching Drew and felt as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Only when he turned away from the fireplace did Drew seem to realize she was there. "You haven't taken off your cloak," he said, coming toward her.

"I—I've hardly had a chance."

"Then why don't you let me help you?"

Cassie's fingers stumbled over the braided fastener at the throat. Drew waited in silence then swept the heavy garment from around her shoulders. He dropped it onto the bench beside them, where it pooled and shifted, sliding to the floor with a whisper of silk.

It was the only sound in the quiet room, the only movement.

Cassie stood with her heart beating high in her throat, more aware of Drew than she had ever been of anyone. He stood over her, tall and broad and vital, smelling of bootblack and tobacco, of wool and cedar and cold winter air. Of strength and assurance and security.

She wanted to reach out to him, but she didn't have the courage. It had been years since she'd made love, years since she had truly given herself. She wasn't sure she remembered how to do that, no matter what she'd promised. Could she respond to Drew? Would she reveal too much about her past as they made love? Would she know how to please him?

As if sensing her doubts, Drew breached the distance between them. He curled his hands around her shoulders. He whispered her name, as if he were calling her back to a time when life was simple and their love was all that mattered.

He lowered his mouth and kissed her, brushing her lips as if she were a giddy girl, and he a shy, inexperienced boy. He kissed her as he had that day down by the creek, as if they had all the time in the world to explore what they'd discovered together.

He drew her closer with nothing more than the invitation of his mouth. Their kisses flowed one into the next with only a slow withdrawal and a gradual deepening to mark the completion of one and the beginning of another. He raised his hands to cup her face, his palms broad and warm against her.

But beneath the brush of his fingertips the tattoo throbbed, reminding her of who she was and what she'd been, reminding her that she was ugly when she wanted to be beautiful.

Drew must have sensed her uneasiness, for when he raised his head, his eyes were dark with confusion. "Cassie?" he murmured. "What is it, Cassie?"

A cold, deep sadness spread inside her. Things weren't the way they should have been. Yet for this one night she wanted to pretend they were.

She longed to imagine that they had been married with their families looking on, that they had come home to a house Drew and his brothers had built, that they were looking to a future blessed with love and joy and children.

For this one night she needed that.

Cassie reached for Drew and gave herself up to pretending. As if he understood, as if he needed the pretending as much as she, Drew swept her up in his arms and carried her off to the bedchamber.

The room was small and chill, with the colors of sunset spilling across the foot of the bed. By that faint roseate glow, Cassie could see that the pillows had been fluffed, that the sheets had been turned back and sprinkled with lavender. Two fat beeswax candles, a bottle of wine, and two stemmed glasses sat on the rickety nightstand. Someone—probably Sally—had done her best to turn this barren room and this rusty iron bed into Cassie's bridal bower.

Seeing that, Cass went still inside. Once, she might have dreamed that her life with Drew would begin with soft, smooth sheets that smelled of lavender, with candles and wine, but she wasn't sure she could pretend she deserved all this.

When Drew lowered her to the edge of the bed and stepped away, she was afraid he meant to leave her there.

Instead he began to remove the intricate trappings of his uniform. The rasp of leather and the faint jingle of buckles as he unfastened his sword belt and scabbard set Cassie's nerves on edge. It seemed to take forever for him to unwind the red mesh sash that encircled his waist. It took longer still for him to tug off his cavalry boots.

When he was done, he paused to look at her with puzzlement in his eyes, almost as if she was a gift he'd asked for long ago and didn't know what to do with now.

Though she was quaking inside, Cassie lifted one hand in invitation.

Drew smiled and padded toward her.

"Oh Drew," Cassandra whispered. "I—I want to thank you for agreeing to this. For marrying me in spite of everything."

He laid his palm against her cheek, against the tattoo as if he were blocking out that part of her life.

"Oh, Cassie, no," he said on a sigh. "After all you've been through, you should have whatever you need. I only did what was right by taking you as my wife."

Cassie swallowed hard. She had wanted to be more than a responsibility, more than an obligation to the man she'd loved for as long as she could remember.

As she sat silent, wondering if she could tell him that, Drew's hands found their way into her hair. He plucked the pins from her chignon one by one and let the thick, buttery-brown coils spill down her back. He tangled his fingers in those loosened strands and sought her mouth. He closed his eyes and nibbled at her. He sipped and tasted. He lingered and savored, and when he raised his head, Cassandra could hear the uneven cadence of his breathing.

Drew came to sit beside her on the bed and reached for the row of glass-domed buttons at the front of her bodice. His knuckles grazed her skin as he worked over them. Cassie shivered with a strange, anticipatory heat.

As her gown fell open, a swath of skin, her corset and chemise lay revealed in the widening vee.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, tracing his fingertips along a line from the hollow of her throat to the gathers at the top of her chemise. "More beautiful than I remembered."

In response to those whispered words, Cassie lifted one hand to his cheek and guided his mouth to hers again.

As their kisses deepened, Drew slipped his hand through the opening at the front of her gown and cupped her breast. The possessive way he held her, the slow, gentle kneading, the sweet, melting sensation as he circled her nipple with the pad of his thumb turned Cassie soft with longing. Something warm and fluid pooled down deep in her loins, something she dimly recognized as feelings of eagerness and pleasure.

It had been years since she had responded to any man, since she had done more than lie with her eyes closed and her fists knotted at her sides when a man thrust into her. She had wondered if she would ever feel the slow, sweet seep of need, the hard-driving hunger of desire. Now that she knew Drew could make her feel what a woman felt, Cassandra gave herself to him, mind and body, soul and spirit.

Trembling a little with her own daring, Cassie sought the buttons down the front of his uniform tunic and the ones on the well-worn shirt beneath. When she had freed them all the way to his waist, Drew pulled her to her feet beside the bed.

They stood for one long moment staring into each other's eyes. There was still the gulf of time and pain and the past between them. But there was also the bridge of their mutual desire. Drew hesitated for a moment then moved to span it.

He eased the sleeves of her opened bodice down her arms. Cass helped him shrug off his tunic and shirt. He loosened the tapes at her waist and pushed her skirts and petticoats to the floor. She splayed her fingers against his chest, aware of his breadth, his warmth. He ran his palms along the stiff-boned corset and spanned her waist with his hands.

He pulled her hard against him. The thrust of his arousal prodded her, and she lifted her hips against him.

Drew sucked in his breath as if he weren't sure he'd have another chance. "Oh Cassie," he moaned. "How could I have forgotten the way it was between us?"

He took her mouth again, ravenous and devouring. Together they fought the laces down the back of her stays and fumbled with the buttons on the front of his pants. Drew released his hold on her only long enough to slide the trousers down his hips and shuck his knitted underdrawers.

Cassie loosened the ties at the neck and dropped her chemise to the floor.

The last, lingering hues of daylight highlighted his broad shoulders and the long, hard-muscled contours of his flanks. They pinked the swell of her breasts and the gentle curve of her belly.

Drew ran one palm from her throat to her hips as if to reacquaint himself with every curve. Cassie let her hands stray over him, discovering a new manliness to him, a wondrous solidity and strength. She skimmed over the smooth, pale flesh where he'd been burned, sensed the echo of pain in his old wounds.

The touching was a ritual of renewal that neither of them questioned. Gradually the brush of hands became less a rediscovery and more a seduction. A strong, compelling eagerness drew them together. Their hips aligned, their bellies brushed. That contact was harsh and elemental, basic and irresistible.

Cass breathed his name.

Drew bound her to him as if he never meant to let her go. His mouth took hers with a swift, rough passion that blotted out everything but the scalding desire boiling up between them.

They fumbled toward the bed and sank down on it together. He rolled above her, his body hovering, sheltering hers. She trailed her hand along his side, closed her fingers on the jut of his hip, and pulled him nearer.

He lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

Cassie arched against him, twisting and crying out as sweet, white heat melted through her. Tendrils of pleasure unfurled along her limbs. Deep at the core, her body throbbed.

Drew skimmed his big work-roughened hand down her body, across the smooth pale flesh of her belly to the nest of soft, damp curls between her thighs. The hot, wet suction of his mouth on her breast, the slow, rhythmic pressure of his fingers dipping inside her sent her senses spiraling. Her world dissolved around her. She was lost, adrift in sensation, moving restlessly beneath him.

She reached for him. "Please," she whispered, brushing her fingers along his shaft. "I want you. I want to be with you."

She felt the thrust of his manhood at the juncture of her legs and opened to accommodate him. He bound her to him, filling her body with his, claiming her passion, touching her soul.

She rose against him and called his name.

His mouth took hers with rough desire that denied memory and obligation and identity. It blotted out everything but the scalding need boiling up between them. Then there was only the wildness and the passion and this man. The heat, the frenzy, and the delight. And when their world came apart in a sweet-hot swirl of completion, they spun away into the bliss of the rosy dark.

* * *

It was late when Cassie finally stirred. There was cold, fresh moonlight spilling through the window. The air in the room tasted crisp and thin. She felt fragile, newly born, as if she might find the husk of who she'd been discarded on the floor among their crumpled clothes. The husk of Cassie Morgan. The husk of Sweet Grass Woman. The remnants of her past.

She was Cassandra Reynolds now. Cassandra Reynolds, the captain's lady. She was the woman she'd been born to be.

She looked across at Drew. His hair was tousled with sleep, his mouth bowed and soft, his face breathlessly compelling in repose. He had been the source of her rebirth. He was the one who had given her this new beginning. In the wonder of their joining, she had found the essence of a self she thought she'd lost. With his love and his passion, Drew had given her the means to reconcile the years of torment and move ahead.

She nestled against him, feeling grateful and contented.

But even the slight movement of her body against him jerked Drew awake. He grabbed her hard, rolling over her, pinning her to the bed. His eyes were bright and hostile.

"Drew?" she breathed. "Drew?"

"Cassie?"

He loosened his hold on her and lay staring into her face as if he couldn't quite believe that she was there with him.

"I'm sorry, Drew. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right."

She felt the tension in his muscles ease, felt his weight shift against her.

"It's just that I've learned," he continued as if he felt compelled to explain, "never to sleep too soundly. Soldiers who do don't live long."

She nodded and reached up to stroke his cheek. "I won't hurt you, Drew," she promised. "You can sleep safe with me."

"Can I, Cassie?"

"Yes," she whispered and reached up to seek his mouth. She let her lips glide over his.

It was a slow, provocative seduction, hazy and languorous, blurred by the silent, sleepy hour and the moonlight. Her hands skimmed down his back, fingertips trailing, palms gathering in his texture and his heat. Her flesh slid beneath his, sleek satin against the hair-roughened skin of his chest and legs. Soft, sinuous curves and hard, taut muscles.

With a whisper of invitation, she opened to him, welcoming his power and his vitality deep into herself. His weight bore her down into the feather tick as they moved together, prolonging each moment, sharing each sigh.

Drew closed his eyes and breathed her name as if he were invoking other times and other places. Cassie lying in the grass beside the stream. Offering herself in the darkened hayloft. Whispering that she loved him.

"Cassie. Cassie," he cried out.

And she came to him without reserve. Rising against him.

Sobbing with joy, shivering with elation. Humbled by the power of the bond between them.

He found his delight in her and, locked in each other's arms, they drifted away.

The moon was down when they stirred again, shifting together as if the contact skin to skin was something precious. Cassie smiled with new contentment, new security. If tonight were any indication, she'd found a home at last. She sighed and nestled against Drew, resting her palm above his heart.

"Oh Drew," she whispered, pliant and elated, and secure within herself for the first time in years. "I'm so glad you were the man who made me a woman, the man who showed me what loving could be."

At her words, he went stiff and still beside her. So stiff and still, she wasn't even sure he was breathing.

Cassie raised her head. "Drew?" Her aura of well-being evaporated.

"Drew?"

He shrugged away and moved to the edge of the bed.

"Drew, please."

He rummaged through the clothing on the littered floor.

She trembled, realizing suddenly what she'd done. She had told him the truth, let reality intrude when both of them had been pretending.

"Oh, Drew, I didn't mean—"

But she had. She had wanted him to know how important it was for her to have experienced the wonder of making love before she'd learned about the humiliation and the pain. And Drew had taught her very well about the wonder.

Beside her, he pushed to his feet and jerked on his trousers. He threw on a shirt and left the room without a word.

Cassie wrapped a sheet around her and trailed her husband through the house.

She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as he snatched a tin cup and a pewter pitcher from the shelf of the makeshift pantry. Without once looking in her direction, he took them to the table and sat down on the bench.

Her discarded cloak lay pooled beneath his bare feet, crushed and forgotten.

He took a whiskey bottle from the pitcher, uncorked it, and poured a dram into the cup. He corked the bottle up again and downed the contents in a single draught.

"Drew," Cassie pleaded, fear crushing the air from her throat. She had wanted this to be their new beginning, and now she'd ruined everything.

"Go to bed, Cassie," he all but snarled at her. "I don't want you here."

There was such cold finality in his voice that Cassie went.