No Greater Glory Page 7

  Her hand covered her smile.

  As one man dipped, the other clumsily sashayed and she forgot her issues with the colonel in the face of such comical antics. A small giggle escaped and the harmonica’s pleasing notes stopped. A dozen pairs of eyes turned her way. Emaline clasped her hands in a plea for forgiveness. “I’m sorry for intruding. Please don’t stop.” The soldiers sheepishly grinned at one another.

  Two men approached her.

  “Please don’t leave, Mrs. McDaniels. Come join us,” one soldier begged.

  Another lad added, “Yes, come show these clumsy fools how to dance proper.” A chorus of other pleas joined in and seconds later, Emaline found herself pulled into the room.

  “Goodness no, I can’t dance with…you men,” she sputtered, attempting to disengage from their strong clasp. The men ignored her as another round of persuasive petitions flooded the room.

  “Please, ma’am, one dance won’t hurt you none. Will it? And we could all use a lesson, don’t you think?” They shoved aside supply boxes to make additional space, their boyish enthusiasm more than contagious.

  Emaline allowed them to lead her into the room. “For heaven sakes, you men should all be resting,” she chastised, but the scolding never quite reached her voice.

  “If’n you show us how to dance properly today, ma’am,” proclaimed the young private from Cleveland she’d just met yesterday. “Then we’ll promise to rest all day tomorrow.”

  A dozen affirmations joined his fervent pledge, and another soldier—this one from somewhere called Cincinnati—pushed forward, adding his declaration. “Absolutely, ma’am. I promise.”

  “And we promise too.” Three more stepped up. “Please, ma’am. It’s been so long since we’ve danced with a real lady.”

  Two more chimed in. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”

  Emaline exhaled in a long sigh. “Well, I suppose I could maybe offer just a few moments of instruction.”

  “Me first,” the closest one announced, jostling nearer and lifting his arms into position. She tentatively stepped into his embrace. The music resumed and they whisked off into a waltz. Around and around they turned, and with every spin, Emaline noticed more men filling the room. At what point a small guitar, a banjo and a makeshift drum joined the musical ensemble, she couldn’t quite say. She only knew she was twirling while clapping hands offered a strong tempo. When one dance ended, another soldier stepped up to start the whole process again, and the dancing continued long past a few instructional moments.

  Emaline changed partner after partner, and as the music moved from a lively jig, to a waltz, to a fast-paced reel, all the churning disorder inside her from the colonel’s stolen kiss seeped right out of her body.

  Flushed from exertion, her hair loosened from its stern chignon at the base of her neck, Emaline smiled up at the next partner to step in place. He politely bowed then slipped his arm around her waist. She laughed, and off again they went, twirling to the harmony of the musical notes. I haven’t moved this way in years! Yet each step flooded back into recall. Breathless from the frolic, she knew she would dance with every one of these homesick men until they all either had their turn or she dropped to the floor from exhaustion. For more than an hour, the music and laughter encompassed her afternoon, and Emaline’s smile widened when old Doctor Evans stepped forward to claim the next spin. Still spry in spite of his years, the surgeon waltzed her around and around the dance floor.

  Music?

  Reece pushed aside the map and climbed to his feet.

  Yes. It was definitely music, and not just the simple tunes common throughout camp—this music was organized and accompanied by raucous laughter. And hand clapping. He swept open the tent flap and stepped out. Scanning across the encampment, he searched for the source.

  The manor house? Reece crossed the rutted ground, climbed the front stairs in two steps and entered the house. Soldiers filled the entire foyer. He could barely get through the crush of men.

  Within seconds, they recognized him and immediately stepped aside to allow him room to pass. He moved through the crowd, nodding to acknowledge their salutes. A wide space was created for him at the entrance of the dining room. Music pulsated around him and he spotted several members of his regimental band clustered near the fireplace. And then Reece saw Emaline twirling past in the embrace of one of his young privates. Her hair cascaded down her back in a tangle of riotous dark curls. She swept past, her laughter spilling over him like a much-needed breeze on a sultry summer day.

  Reece swallowed. Spellbound, he could only stare in fascination.

  From nearby a voice hollered out, “Step up there, Colonel, and catch her on the next spin!” Several amiable pats on the back followed. The dancers stopped directly in front of Reece, and Emaline’s partner dropped his hold and melted back into the crowd. Crimson flags blazed high across Emaline’s cheeks as she gasped for breath.

  Her eyes lifted, then widened. The smile disappeared from her face.

  The crowd urged him onward. “Reach on out there, Colonel, and take her in your arms.” And another bellowed, “You remember how to hold a woman, don’t you?”

  His men roared with laughter.

  Reece hadn’t seen her in days and the memory of their kiss seared straight through him. His earlier guise of indifference vanished along with her smile. He took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding like a repeated volley from the most accurate marksman.

  “Step lively, sir, or you’ll be losing your chance. Everyone has had a turn.” The thundering pulse of the music overwhelmed the raucous roar of the crowd. “Take her in your arms.”

  More than anything, he wanted to draw this woman into his embrace again. He leaned forward, the muscles in his arms tightening as he started to raise them upward. Then, above the music and laughter, Reece heard her gasp, the timbre brittle and overwhelming.

  Sanity pushed into place. What the hell was he doing? He stepped backward, bumping into several soldiers. A half-dozen hands clapped him on the shoulder to stop him. “Whoa there, you’re going the wrong way, Colonel. She’s the other direction!”

  Everyone exploded in laughter.

  Except Emaline.

  And him.

  Reece swallowed. Hard. Yet the lump inside his throat refused to budge. The music vibrated as her sweet, intoxicating fragrance drifted over him. Her dewy skin glowed. The silky curls a tousled frame outlining her face. He spun and shoved back through the crowd. It didn’t matter that it was only a dance. Even that innocent gesture was more than he could allow.

  He didn’t dare touch her again.

  Emaline stared at the back of the broad-shouldered man as he pushed his way through the crowd. He soared above the others. A leader who had no equal. The music vibrated around her, yet the joy inside her died.

  The music lost its luster.

  “I must go back to work now,” she mumbled.

  Turning, she worked her way through the crowd in the opposite direction, a wobbly smile propped into place.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she repeated—a dozen times or more to the soldiers who clapped and cheered her on her way. “An enjoyable afternoon, for sure.” And, “You’re more than welcome, indeed.” She nodded to some, shook hands with dozens more, yet inside she could barely function, and the ache continued to grow. Don’t think about him. Keep moving. Emaline placed one foot in front of the other, over and over again, until finally she stumbled into the winter kitchen and the door thumped closed behind her.

  Her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

  She willed her mind to forget the warmth of his mouth on hers. Still, the emptiness inside her blossomed. What did it matter that he’d cut her in front of everyone by refusing a dance?

  Would she have even allowed one?

  Yes, her heartstrings vibrated.

  Absolutely not, her sanity proclaimed.

  The burning behind her lashes dulled as the enormous lump in her throat lessened. Her eyes slowly opened
and mercifully, the need to weep slipped away to join the myriad of other unshed tears locked deep inside her soul.

  Emaline bent over the soldier and found him dead. She sighed, and bit her lower lip to stop its tremble. When had she become such a staunch advocate for peace over any kind of conflict? The fear of losing those she loved escalated inside her. Her brother’s face filled her mind. Brennen, please be careful.

  She settled the woolen blanket over the dead man’s face. A little girl in Mariah Hill, Ohio, was now fatherless. Misery swelled inside Emaline. More deaths had occurred in the past three weeks than she’d known from a lifetime of living. The broken promises made to her husband upon his deathbed in regards to the plantation paled beneath such tragedy. Tears pooled in her eyes, years’ worth of unspent emotions threatening.

  Doc rested his hand on her shoulder. “I see the Anders boy finally died. God rest his soul.”

  She nodded. “I sent the picture case h-home to his wife last week.” A tear slipped unchecked down her cheek. “But the mail service is s-so bad now, I don’t even know if she’ll get it.”

  “I’m sure she will. And he was blessed to have your caring friendship.” Doc gestured toward the door. “Go on. I’ll take care of this.”

  Emaline nodded as every ounce of her being fought to stay in control. She wouldn’t cry in front of this brave and self-sacrificing man. Her chin rose. She inhaled and straightened her shoulders, then headed for the front door.

  The winter wind nipped at her face when she stepped onto the veranda.

  A courier pushed past her, clunking down the front steps. He headed across the rutted ground toward the command tent, the current list of casualties clutched in his hand. The overcast sky above him held the grim threat of snow.

  Her thoughts turned to Reece. She’d not spoken to him in well over a week and he’d made no attempt to see her. Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard. Dear God, how much more could she endure? She was slowly losing her mind…bewildered by a man who wanted nothing to do with her.

  Tears gathered. Emaline blinked faster and faster, yet they spilled down her cheeks anyway.

  Clamping a hand over her quivering mouth, she stumbled down the front steps and headed for the stable.

  Another soldier’s name added to my growing bivouac of the dead.

  Reece dismissed the courier and passed the medical report over to Jackson, who sat close by writing dispatches. He watched in silence while his friend scanned the report, then reached for the Dead Ledger to enter Anders’s name beside the others. Eighty-nine men had died in the regiment this past year alone. Eighty-nine. Good God, how much longer could this war last? How many more good men would he lose?

  He raked his hands through his hair. “I’m sick to death of waiting.”

  Jackson closed the ledger. “Things are bound to happen soon. Go get something to eat. And while you’re at it, try to rustle up a bottle of whiskey on your way back.”

  Reece snorted. A hell of a lot more than whiskey would be required to remove the taste of Emaline from his lips. “We’re officers, you idiot. We have to set good examples.”

  Jackson stretched his legs and stacked one booted foot atop the other. “I know. That’s why I’m sending you. Hey, if nobody sees then nobody knows.”

  “You need help.” Reece looked back to the house and saw Emaline disappear around the side of the mansion. Abruptly, he straightened from his leaning position against a tree.

  “What the hell are you up to now?” he mumbled, before tossing the words, “I’ll be back,” over his shoulder toward Jackson.

  Reece headed across the clearing after her.

  A week… He’d purposefully avoided her for an entire week and not dancing with her only added fuel to an already stoked fire. He owed her an apology for his crude behavior in the library. Of course, he’d been upset at her attempt to cross the river and concerned for her safety. But that other part he’d thrown at her…the suffering part? His lips tightened. She wasn’t selfish or shallow and he’d no right to say her misery was any less severe. And the kiss? Well, he charged that to his damnable temper, a quick reaction to her slap.

  His stride widened. She deserved an apology and now was as good a time as any to give it. A grin wobbled near the corner of his mouth. She’ll probably tell me in so many words to go straight to hell again.

  At the stable door an unexpected sound reached his ears. Muffled. Sorrowful. Reece stopped and braced his hands on the wooden frame.

  My God, she’s crying.

  Should he turn around? Should he go in?

  She sobbed again and his chest tightened around a shielding resistance.

  Seconds ticked by, her pain pummeling against his resolve. His anguish grew alongside hers. His hold tightened upon the doorframe, fingers digging into the weathered wood. Acceptance and denial warred within Reece. One more sob and his decision was made.

  He stepped across the threshold and the smell of hay hit him full on. Tack eerily hung above the empty stalls. Empty because he’d taken her horses. Empty because of another insufferable loss in her life. He scanned the area, then stopped at the sight of her hugging a wooden post near the mare’s stall, her horse, the only one left behind.

  Fragile shoulders shook from the force of muffled tears. Misery twisted his heart. She needed comfort, deserved comfort, and although he was the reason for her torment, Reece longed to relieve her distress. He knew the hollowness of loss. He’d lived it…and had somehow survived.

  Without hesitation, without arguing against the foolish impulsiveness of his actions, he crossed the distance and reached out for her. When he touched her shoulder, she instinctively whirled in surprise.

  Her eyes widened with recognition.

  He gazed into the rich green pools and his blood roared anew in his ears. Then her breath quickened beneath another swell of tears. Reece slid his hands down her arms. He couldn’t stop the madness ripping apart her world, but at least he could shield her inside this stable. As long as he stood guard, she was safe. With a gentle pull, he embraced her. And with an unforeseen surrender, she accepted, gripping the front of his coat.

  She laid her head against his chest. As she sobbed against him, Reece tightened his protection around her while inside his body hammered for more. Two minutes or two hundred years…time didn’t matter. He held her until her tears dissipated, and still she remained against his chest. Little by little, the tension drifted from her body until she relaxed against him, her hands unclenching the fabric of his coat. A single eagle-emblazed button remained clasped between her finger and thumb.

  He pulled her closer as his thoughts tumbled back to that night on the veranda. Had his desire for her begun there? Or in the library the next morning when he’d lost his sanity and kissed her. He knew he was her wicked oppressor, yet his heart told him something more.

  Strong and steady, his heartbeat thumbed where she rested. And then she shifted, her head lifting from his chest. She gazed up into his eyes.

  Reece slipped one hand from around her, and cupped her face, the pad of his thumb wiping away the moisture glistening on her cheek. Her lips trembled as her evergreen eyes widened, but not in anger. Not this time. An unspoken petition as old as Eve reflected behind her tear-spiked lashes. Reece shoved aside all caution, all logical restraints. This time, he ignored the colors of blue and gray—the opposing realities of their worlds. And at this precise moment, he didn’t give a damn about the war. She was all that mattered.

  The wall he’d carefully constructed around his heart since Jenny’s death crumbled. He wanted this woman. And he wanted her badly enough to forget the impossibility of keeping her forever. A familiar ache pushed against the hole in his heart, but he shoved it aside. Both hands slid up her back to the nape of her neck. With a soft tug, he pulled away the crocheted netting confining her tresses. Heavy curls tumbled across his hands and Reece furrowed his fingers through the silken waves.

  Slowly, he tilted her face to his.


  Without hesitation, without waiting one second longer, Reece answered her silent plea and covered her mouth with his.

  Her lips parted beneath the pressure of his and he molded them into a flawless fit. When his tongue slipped inside, teasing and stroking and branding her his, she quivered in his embrace.

  Her hands climbed over his shoulders, snagging briefly on his epaulets, before her fingers curled into the long hair at the nape of his neck. She clung to him, and just like she’d done in the library that morning, she again offered the sweet gift of her passion.

  A voice flowed in through the stable door and twisted into a maddening tangle around Reece’s bliss. “Miz Emaline, you in here? Da doctor sent me to fetch—Lord A’mighty…I…I’s sorry.”

  Tacker’s stuttering shattered the moment. Sanity returned. Reece tore apart the kiss just as Emaline pushed against his chest and broke free. She stumbled backward until she flattened against her mare’s stall.

  Reece spun to face the old man, his voice a hot rasp. “What is it?”

  Tacker’s tone spiraled down into a sporadic whisper. “Da doctor, sir…h-he needs Miz Emaline—back at da house.”

  “Tell him she’ll be there in a minute,” Reece growled. His chest rose and fell, frustration loading each breath. The servant nodded and fled.

  Reece turned back to face Emaline. When his eyes met hers, his heart lurched. He never imagined anything could be as beautiful as this woman.

  Her eyes slipped closed.

  Behind her, the sleek mare pawed the ground. The pounding echoed the tumult surging through Reece.

  “Look at me,” he said. Her gaze slowly rose and he met a storm cloud of passion radiating from her extraordinary eyes. He could drown in the depths of them. She had matched his desire with hers, yet now she shook her head in denial.

  Frustration catapulted through Reece. He swallowed, then straightened his shoulders. His lips compressed into a tight line. Without uttering another syllable, he stepped aside.