Rebel

  Jerome stared ahead at the water again. “It wouldn’t matter if I was or wasn’t—Florida is rearing at the bit to secede—I think that half the politicians in this state are hoping that we’ll be forced to secede. I can promise you this—Florida may not be the first state out of the union if it comes to a division, but she’ll follow the first cotton state out as quickly as she can manage.”

  “I didn’t ask you about the state,” Ian said “I want to know your feelings in the matter.”

  Jerome hesitated a long moment, looking out on the water. “Am I for secession? No, I’m not. I think that the founding fathers worked hard to create a new country, and both our independence and our growth made us strong. I think that the industries of the North support the agriculture of the South, and that our many diverse qualities and peoples are what make us unique. So am I for secession? No. I don’t own slaves, and I don’t think one of us could have possibly grown to adulthood without having the lesson of the importance of personal freedoms taught to us. I am Seminole, remember. I have always respected your choice to join the military, Ian, and even my father has very good friends among the army. But in my house, and among my grandmother’s people, it’s hard to forget that it was men wearing that Federal blue uniform who slaughtered the Seminoles so ruthlessly, considering them savages—lesser people than themselves. My heart is with my state. If Florida secedes, I am with her. If there is war, then I am on the side of my state.”

  Ian nodded slowly, watching the sun glint off the water, watching as his cousin expertly drew the sail to bring them closer to the shoreline.

  “Julian?” he said to his brother.

  “Ah, well,” Julian said softly, “I’m not ready to decide the issue as of yet. Sometimes I feel like Jerome; my heart is with my state. Then I think about Father, and how firmly he has always stood for the belief that good and bad men come in all colors and races. I won’t support slavery.”

  “I don’t support slavery,” Jerome argued, “but I do support the South.”

  “How can you do both?” Ian demanded.

  Jerome shook his head, staring out at the water. “Gentlemen, supposedly the issue isn’t slavery. The issue is a state’s own right to make choices. Slavery isn’t economical in the North—naturally, then, it is easy for Northerners to think that the ‘peculiar institution’ can be thrown right over. Believe me, Ian, I see all sides. I wish sometimes that I did not.”

  “If Florida secedes, she will have a rough road ahead,” Ian murmured.

  “In what way?” Jerome asked.

  “You know as well as I—there is so much coastline! She will be vulnerable to attack, and her fellow cotton states—”

  “Her fellow cotton states will need her support,” Jerome said fiercely. “Florida is a food basket, with the amount of cattle we raise. And then there is salt—my God, salt will be invaluable in the event of war. There are important Federal forts in the state, which I imagine the state would take over immediately if Florida secedes. Personally, I’d like to see someone take charge of the remains of Fort Dallas.”

  Ian glanced at Jerome. “Has there been trouble?” he asked worriedly.

  “No real trouble. But I imagine it’s a matter of time. Drifters, riffraff, army deserters, all make their way there. The English owners seem to have no plans for the property, and so it is an open invitation to cutthroats and thieves. The army comes in now and then to attempt a clean-out. I dragged out three men I’m certain caused the wreck of a schooner they took salvage from. It creates a danger, that’s certain.”

  “Maybe I should force Alaina to return to Washington with me,” Ian murmured.

  “Jennifer is almost always with her; Lawrence works the waters right off Belamar. We’re close, and yet… well, Teddy has help on the islet, of course. They’ve rifles, a few handguns… but Teddy always expects the best out of people. He’s only recently started loading the weapons he keeps in the house.”

  “Why has he done so recently?” Ian asked.

  Jerome looked at him. “I suggested he do so.”

  “Teddy is a bit of a dreamer, but he’s not a fool,” Julian murmured assuringly. “Look, Belamar is coming into view.”

  Ian looked out across the shimmering water. He could see Belamar ahead of them now. The northeastern section of Teddy’s pleasantly sprawling wooden house was clearly visible from their angle.

  Someone was on the porch. Someone dark-haired. His cousin Jennifer, he thought.

  Where was Alaina?

  Near. Very near.

  He narrowed his eyes, startled by the strange heat and quickening that seized his muscles, spread through his torso and limbs.

  He was anxious to see her. It had been a very long time. A long, uneasy, tormented time for him. Days when he wished that Risa would rage and condemn him. Nights when it seemed she hinted she still loved him, nights when it seemed almost inevitable that they would be together. Nights when he would go to bed thinking of Risa, her laughter, her convictions, eyes, voice, scent…

  Yet he would sleep.

  And in sleep, he found himself dreaming of being hotly entwined with another woman, the one he had come to know. His wife. He was damned anxious to hold her again—all but desperate for the night.

  He frowned suddenly as their course veered them into a more northerly angle, allowing them a better view of the breadth of Belamar Isle. A small boat was drawn up to the beachhead.

  A sudden barrage of gunfire exploded so loudly that they could hear it clear as day, even at their distance.

  “Jesus!” Julian breathed.

  More gunfire

  Then…

  A woman’s high-pitched scream, carrying out to them over the water.

  Chapter 12

  “What in hell?” Ian demanded, balancing on the balls of his feet. He stood watching as the soldiers advanced, still firing. “Sweet Jesus, what in hell is going on there?”

  “I don’t know. On Belamar itself, it’s been quiet as a cemetery. Ian, Julian, take the sail; we’ll let her out all the way. We can be on the islet in a matter of minutes,” Jerome said.

  Ian and his brother took control of the sail while Jerome sat back against the aft of the boat, his full weight on the tiller to bring them into the wind. They seemed to skim above the water.

  The scream echoed in Ian’s head. Dread filled him, along with a desperate anxiety to reach Belamar. He shouldn’t have left her here!

  He had to reach the isle, had to reach it now, this second, had to stop whatever was going on.

  An inner voice mocked him. Oh, he had to reach it now? He’d been away for months! His heart seemed to be in his throat.

  “There’s surely some explanation; the military can’t be shooting at Teddy,” Jerome said.

  “Right,” Ian agreed. They were nearing the sandy shore side of the islet. They had reached the area with incredible speed, because the three of them needed no commands; they worked in silence. How often they had sailed together, worked together. Played together. In days gone past, as kids, they’d played soldiers and Indians, stalking one another. Escaping, discovering. Battling. Sometimes winning, sometimes not. Sometimes arguing, with Ian and Julian wanting to play the Indians, while Jerome and Brent had to be the soldiers. And upon occasion the girls, being headstrong creatures, would insist on being part of the games as well. Searching each other out in hidden lairs, letting out their war cries on the air. Arguing, exploring, playing…

  Banding together when it was necessary.

  “Anyone have weapons?” Jerome asked.

  “I have my medical bag,” Julian said.

  “My Colts, there, with my jacket,” Ian said.

  “Colts—two of them? Toss one over—I only have my rifle.”

  “Give me the rifle,” Julian said.

  Jerome tossed him the rifle. Ian went for the Colts, tossing one to Jerome as they beached the sailboat.

  There was another barrage of gunfire as the three of them leaped from the boat into the
water and began running to the beach and then across the scraggly, sand-spurred lawn to the groves that grew toward the mainland.

  “Alaina! Get down, Alaina!” Teddy shouted to her.

  She met her father’s eyes across the distance that still separated them. They were clear and blue and sharply on her; she had his undivided attention now. “Down, Alaina, get down now!” he repeated.

  “Papa!” she shrieked back. “You get down, do you hear me? Get down.”

  The army men were running toward them.

  The chained men were closer.

  “The old man! Get the old man as a shield!” one of the convicts called. He was darker, ruddier than his companion, older perhaps.

  “Papa, run to me, we’ve got to get out of the line of fire!” Alaina cried.

  Teddy tried to run.

  He wasn’t fast enough.

  The younger man came hobbling up quickly behind her father and locked an arm around his throat. He dragged Teddy against him, then stared at Alaina, his eyes growing wider. She realized that the men hadn’t seen her until that moment; her father had blocked their view of her.

  “The old man!” the young convict snorted. “By God, get the woman!” he shouted.

  Teddy’s throat was in a death lock. His face was growing crimson.

  “You let go of my father!” Alaina shouted furiously, so frightened for her father that she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of personal fear. She burst into motion.

  Her actions were foolhardy; but at that moment, all she saw was blood-red fury and the danger that threatened Teddy.

  She raced like a madwoman toward Teddy and his attacker, throwing herself against the man and hammering him furiously on the back.

  “Thayer, get her!” the young man shrieked.

  The older man grimly obeyed, clamping his arms around her. She kept fighting like a tigress, swearing. Then she heard a click and saw that the younger man had brought his gun against her father’s temple.

  The fellow wasn’t just tattered and dirty. He had a lean, starving look about him like a fox that hadn’t eaten in far too long. His teeth were broken and tobacco-stained; his eyes were a strange, pale blue, far more unsettling than his words. “Quit, bitch,” he said simply, “or I’ll splatter your pa’s brains all over your fine white dress. She’s a might pretty one, eh? Out here on this hellhole. She’s a better hostage, I’d say. Wouldn’t mind having her with me tonight at all, no, sir.”

  “You let my girl go,” Teddy said. His voice was calm. He seemed impervious to the steel against his skull. “I’ll protect you all the way back into those mangroves yonder. A hundred men could search a week and never find you there.”

  “Papa, I’m fine, and I can take care of myself,” Alaina assured her father. Could she? Against these filthy, murderous fools? Yes. She turned to the convicts. “All right, you scurvy bastards. You let him go! Can’t you see that you’re strangling him? Leave him be, and I’ll get you out of here myself,” Alaina promised, “but you step away from my father—now!”

  The pale-eyed convict smiled. The sizzle of light in his eyes made her feel ill, but it didn’t matter. She had to get the men away from Teddy. “The girl comes with us,” he said. But then the day was newly shattered by another barrage of gunfire. The convict holding her swore.

  “Damned idiot army!” he cried. “Shooting at us while we’re holding hostages! Move, girl, move!”

  “Papa—” Alaina began.

  But she didn’t see Teddy because the older convict had her elbow and viciously jerked her along with him, taking her about twenty feet toward the eastern shore.

  The water looked shallow. It seemed as if the mainland might be a walk away through thigh-high water.

  But the tide was rising. When it did so, it rose fast. Right now, a nonswimmer could walk through the shallows. Halfway across, though, the water would rise over their heads.

  Alaina was as familiar with the rise and fall of the water about their small islet as she was the rise and fall of the sun. But the convict prodding her along with his merciless grasp probably didn’t understand a thing about the isles, the reefs, or the tides.

  Alaina let him drag her to the water.

  She had little choice.

  Yet his escape route could be her best chance. She hoped that the men would decide that they didn’t need her father. And if Teddy was taken in to the water behind her, well, he was an excellent swimmer, too.

  Their captors’ accents were Northern; she prayed that they never had the opportunity to learn to swim.

  “Well, I’ve the better part of this deal,” the man shoving her along muttered. “You can show me how to disappear into those mangroves—and survive there. You might even find out you like old Ned all right, eh, little lady?”

  Ned was disgusting. She’d kill him before she ever discovered if she liked him.

  But she had to know that Teddy was safe first.

  She tried to look back and make sure that her father was all right. The convict pulled her with such a vengeance—his gun shoved hard against her ribs the whole way—that she couldn’t even twist around.

  “You don’t need to do this. If my father is safe, I’ll get you across without protest!” she cried.

  “Just keep moving. Fast. They’re right behind us.”

  They reached the water.

  The convict shoved his gun against the small of Alaina’s back. “Move! Now!” Alaina started into the water.

  They ran hard across the islet. The distance from the northeastern beachhead to the grove was no more than a quarter of a mile, with another half mile of grove crowding into an area of good growing soil before the sparse green grasses and spurs gave way to sand beach again, dipping into the cove that flooded with high tide.

  Ian, Julian, and Jerome moved across the distance with such speed that they arrived at the spit of lime trees along with the three uniformed soldiers.

  And Jennifer.

  “Where’s Alaina?” Ian demanded of his cousin.

  “In the grove, toward the beach, I don’t know!” Jennifer said desperately.

  Ian started to run. A shot was fired over his head. He spun back around.

  One of the soldiers had fired over his head. He felt his temper soar.

  “What in God’s name is going on?” Ian demanded. He didn’t know any of the three very green and very young men who were tentatively edging through the trees.

  “And who the hell are you to ask?” The oldest of the trio—a cocky boy with a scraggle of whiskers on his chin—demanded in return. “McKenzie. Major McKen-zie,” Ian informed them, his eyes narrowing. He strode quickly toward the boy, wrenching his gun from his hand. “Now answer me!”

  “We’re after two men,” the boy said quickly, chastised. Ian was not sure if the boy had been intimidated by his rank—or by the sight of himself, Jerome, and Julian bearing down on his awkward trio. “Two deserters; they made their way to old Fort Dallas, robbing a few good citizens in the Keys along the way. Armed, dangerous, desperate men. We have to stop them.”

  The boy himself sounded desperate then. There was something like the sound of a little sob at the end of his words.

  Ian glanced to the grove and saw why.

  One of the convicts was down.

  And Teddy atop him.

  “Oh, God!” Ian’s stomach knotted. He ran forward and knelt by his father-in-law.

  “Alaina,” Teddy whispered in a labored breath.

  “I’ll get her, I promise,” Ian said.

  He stood, his every muscle seeming to constrict with fear. “Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

  “Who?”

  “The woman!” Jerome bellowed.

  “The water,” the soldier said.

  Ian turned and ran.

  Alaina tried to take her time, allowing the water a greater chance to grow deeper.

  The convict shoved her from behind. The water became deeper and deeper as they moved across it. The convict began to swear. ??
?What’s going on here? You trying to drown me, girl?”

  “The tide is rising; I have no control over it.”

  “You knew it was going to rise!”

  “The tide always rises.”

  “You meant to drag me out—and drown me!”

  “I haven’t dragged you anywhere!”

  “If I die, you die. If I go down, you go down with me!” he promised her.

  “Bastard! I didn’t attack you, I never threatened you!”

  “Blame the bloody army, ma’am!”

  His head went down suddenly as a wave washed over them. Salt stung their eyes.

  The convict inhaled raggedly when the wave was gone. “Get me out, get me ashore, now!” he commanded her. His eyes narrowed. “I’d sure like to have you around tonight, girl, but you’d best take care. I’ll kill you if you try anything, I swear that I will!” he warned.

  His gun jammed against her ribs. Was his shot still any good? His powder would be soaked.

  She had to do it carefully, had to do it right—but it was time to take her chance and wrench free.

  For a full minute she moved along as docile as a lamb, leading him, as commanded, through the deepening water toward the mangrove-laden shore.

  Then she jerked against him with all her strength.

  He swore; he reached for her again, and lost his grip upon his gun. It went drifting down into the rock and sand and seaweed.

  “Bitch!” he roared, and though she nearly escaped him, his fingers bit into the material of her white day gown, pulling her back. They began to struggle in the water. Alaina knew that her strength lay in eluding a solid grasp by his fingers. All he had now was material; she had to find a way to rip free.

  She managed to inch back beneath the water, just avoiding his groping fingers each time.

  Then, quite suddenly, he realized he was drowning and he panicked.

  He no longer attempted to kill Alaina; he was clinging to her. She was nearly free, but he had her gown. She tried desperately to rip and tear at the fabric and make her way back up to the surface.

  She kicked him hard in the chest. His grasp eased, but she couldn’t move swiftly enough in the bulky, voluminous weight of her clothing. She needed to rid herself of the skirt before he regained his strength and grasped hold of her again.