'Oh?' Jon arched a raven-dark brow.
'Is that so?' He inclined his head toward Jamie.
'Your fingers are still all tied up in her hair, Lieutenant. All tied
up.
Silken webs maybe, but seems to me that you're all tied up.'
Jamie gazed at his hand. His fingers were still hovering over her hair.
It was truly the color of honey just kissed by the sun. Much deeper than
blond.
Too touched by light to be brunette.
Golden red.
He pulled his hand away and turned toward Jori with a denial. But Jon,
smiling serenely, had already turned away.
'Doe Peters should be free by now,' he said quietly, then he was gone.
Jamie stared at the girl. Silken webs. He clenched down hard on his jaw
because Jori was right about one thing. Someone would have to discover
the truth about her accusations. He didn't believe them. He couldn't
believe them.
And yet. If they were true, to leave her alone in the town of Wiltshire
might very well be to sign her death warrant.
He swore softly and leaped from the wagon. His leg still hurt from where
she had kicked him, and his chin still ached. He could feel it bleeding.
Damn her. She was as quick as a sidewinder, as ornery as a mean bear. He
could still remember her fury. He paused, for he could remember more.
The alluring fullness of her breast beneath his fingers, the softness of
her hair, the warmth of her legs entangled with his. He clenched his
fists at his sides and unclenched them, knowing Jon was right, that he
was going to have to somehow stick beside her until he could find the
truth. She was a hostile little witch. And he already wanted her. Craved
her. Ached to touch her, feel more of her.
He swore softly, determined to behave like an officer and a Southern
gentleman and solve this dilemma with no more thought for his unwilling
companion.
Then he heard her. weeping, crying very, very softly as if she were
muffling the sound in her pillow. She had come back to consciousness,
and it seemed to be a bitter awakening. She cried and cried. He felt her
agony, felt it rip and tear into him, and it was terrible. The horror
of, it reached inside him and touched his heart as it had not been
touched in years.
He had thought his emotions were stripped away by war.
The girl's wrenching sobs brought them back. He started to turn, to go
to her. He stopped himself.
No. She would not want him.
He stiffened his shoulders and walked on.
Chapter Two.
By dusk, all the graves had been dug. By the light of lanterns and camp
fires, Reverend Thorne Dryer of Company B read services over the graves.
Tess Stuart stood near the reverend'. Her eyes were dry now, and she was
silent. Something about her very quietness touched Jamie deeply; she was
small, but so very straight, her shoulders square, her lustrous hair
hidden beneath a black hat and sweeping V 'll, her fornl encompassed in
