As he slowly regained consciousness, Cole realized he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, but he'd probably lost a lot of blood, and it seemed as if he had been out for hours, for it was no longer daylight. Night had fallen. An oil lamp glowed softly at his side.
He was in the bedroom they had shared, the bedroom with the sleigh bed. Everything was blurred. He blinked, and the room began to come into focus. He could see the windows and a trickle of moonlight. He touched his head and discovered that it had been bandaged. He drew his fingers away. At least he couldn't feel any blood. Someone had stripped off his uniform and bathed the dust of the road from him and tucked him between cool, clean sheets.
Someone. His wife. No, not his wife. Kristin. Yes, his wife. He had married her. She was his wife now.
She had stopped him from killing the man.
But she had stopped the man from killing him, too.
A sudden pain streaked through him. He was going to have one terrible headache, he realized. But he was alive, and he was certain that the bullet wasn't embedded in his skull. It had just grazed him.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then on the floor outside his door. He closed his eyes quickly as someone came into the room. It was Delilah. She spoke in a whisper. 'Dat boy is still out cold.' She touched his throat, then his chest. 'But he's living, all right. He's still living, and he don't seem to have no fever.'
'Thank God!' came in a whisper. Kristin. Cole could smell the faint scent of her subtle perfume. He felt her fingers, cool and gentle, against his face. Then he heard the man's voice again. Matthew. She had called him Matthew. Of course. The brother. The one he had told her to write to just so that this wouldn't happen.
'A Reb, Kristin? After everything that happened —'
'Yes, damn you! After everything that happened!' Kristin whispered harshly. 'Matthew, don't you dare preach to me! You left, you got to go off and join up with the army! Shannon and I didn't have that luxury. And Zeke came back —'
'Moreau came back?' Matthew roared.
'Shut up, will you, Matthew?' Kristin said wearily. She sounded so tired. So worn, so weary. Cole wanted to open his eyes, wanted to take her into his arms, wanted to soothe away all the terrible things that the war had done to her. He could not, and he knew it.
She probably didn't want him to, anyway. She would probably never forgive him for his time
with Quantrill. Well, he didn't owe anyone any apologies for it, and he'd be damned if he'd explain himself to her. And yet…
'Kristin,' Matthew was saying huskily, 'what happened?'
'Nothing happened, Matthew. Oh, it almost did. Zeke was going to rape me, and let every man with him rape me, and then he was probably going to shoot me. He was going to sell Samson and Delilah. But nothing happened because of this man. He's a better shot than Shannon or me. He's even a better shot than you. He happened by and it was all over for Zeke.'
'Zeke is dead?'
'No. Zeke rode away.' A curious note came into her voice. 'You see, Matthew, he won't murder a man in cold blood. I wanted him to, but he wouldn't. And after that, well, it's a long story. But since he's married me, none of them will harm me, or this place. They're — they're afraid of him.'
'Damn, Kristin —' He broke off. Cole heard a strangled sound, and then he knew that brother and sister were in one another's arms. Kristin was crying softly, and Matthew was comforting her. Cole gritted his teeth, for the sound of her weeping was more painful to him than his wound. I will never be able to touch her like that, he thought. He opened his eyes a fraction and took a good look at Matthew McCahy. He was a tall man with tawny hair and blue eyes like his sisters. He was lean, too, and probably very strong, Cole thought. He was probably a young man to be reckoned with.
He shifted and opened his eyes wider. Sister and brother broke apart. Kristin bent down by him and touched his forehead. Her hair was loose, and it teased the bare flesh of his chest. 'Cole?'
He didn't speak. He nodded, and he saw that her brow was furrowed with worry, and he was glad of that. She hated him for his past, but at least she didn't want him dead.
'Cole, this is Matthew. My brother. I wrote him, but the letter never reached him. He didn't know that — he didn't know that we were married.'
Cole nodded again and looked over at Matthew. He was still in full-dress uniform — navy-blue full-dress uniform. As his gaze swept over Matthew, Cole couldn't help noticing that Matthew McCahy's uniform was in far better shape than his own, and in much better condition than that of the majority of the uniforms worn by the men of the South. The blockade was tightening. The South was running short of everything — medicine, clothing, ammunition, food. Everything. He smiled bitterly. The South had brilliance. Lee was brilliant, Jackson was brilliant, Stuart was brilliant. But when a Southerner fell in battle, he could not be replaced. Men were the most precious commodity in war, and the Confederacy did not have nearly enough.
The Union, however, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of soldiers, volunteers and mercenaries.
Cole knew a sudden, bleak flash of insight. The South could not win the war.
'Reb — Sorry, your name is Cole, right? Cole Slater.' Matthew came around and sat at the foot of the bed. He swallowed uncomfortably. 'You saved my sisters' lives, and I'm grateful to you. I wouldn't have shot you if I'd known. It was the uniform. I'm with the North.' He said it defensively. It was not easy for a Missourian to fight for the North.
'You had just cause,' Cole said. His voice was raspy, his throat dry. His mouth tasted of blood.
Matthew nodded. 'Yes. I had just cause.' He hesitated. 'Well, I'm home on leave, and I guess that you are, too.'
'Something like that,' Cole said. Kristin made a little sound of distress, but she quickly swallowed it down. Cole didn't glance her way. He smiled at Matthew and reached for her hand. She was playing the loving wife for her brother, he knew, and he wondered how far she would go. She let him take her hand, let him pull her down beside him.
'We'll have to manage while we're both here,' Matthew said. He stretched out a hand to Cole, and Cole released Kristin's long enough to take it. 'Does that sound fair to you, Reb?'
'It sounds fine to me, Yankee.'
Matthew flushed suddenly. 'Well, maybe I'd best leave the two of you alone.' He rose quickly.
Kristin was on her feet instantly. 'No! I'm coming with you!'
Matthew's brow furrowed suspiciously. 'Kristin —'
'Sweetheart…' Cole murmured plaintively.
'Darling!' Kristin replied sweetly, syrup dripping from her tone, 'I wouldn't dream of disturbing you now. You must rest!'
She gave him a peck on the forehead, and then she was gone, practically running out of the room.
Matthew smiled at Cole. 'Too bad there's a war on, ain't it?'
'Yeah. It's too damn bad,' Cole agreed.
'She's stubborn,' Matthew said.
'Yeah. I've noticed.'
'Just like a mule.'
'Well, I guess I agree with you there, Yankee.'
Matthew laughed, then left and closed the door behind him.
Three days later. Cole was feeling damned good, and damned frustrated. Kristin had managed to elude him ever since his return, sweetly pleading his weakened condition. She had spent her nights in her own room, leaving him to lie there alone. But as night fell on his third day back, Cole jerked awake from a doze to realize that Kristin had come into the room.
He heard her breathing in the darkness, each breath coming in a little pant. Her back was against the door, and she seemed to be listening. She thought he was sleeping, he realized.
Cole rose silently and moved toward her in the dark. He clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her against the length of his naked body. She gave a muffled gasp and stiffened, then began to struggle to free herself.
'Shush!' he warned her.
