Allegiance Page 9

  When he flashed a concerned glance in her direction, she smiled brightly to show that her spirits had lifted. His answering smile warmed her insides. For a moment, she got lost in it and forgot what she was about. It struck her again how unbelievable it was that a man of his importance would make time for a poor merchant's daughter.

  He accepted a plate of food and began to eat heartily, which pleased her. In her nervousness, she spilled juice on her skirt, then brushed it off without thinking to remove her gloves first.

  "Would you care for another slice of bread?” she asked, tucking her soiled gloves into the food basket out of sight.

  "In a moment, perhaps.” He looked pointedly at her untouched plate. “Aren't you hungry?"

  "Yes, of course.” Gripping her utensils, she sliced into the chicken breast skidding around on her plate. Carrying a bite to her lips, she smiled blithely, pretending that she shared meals with statesmen all the time. And pretended that her new slippers didn't pinch her toes, and that a hair pin was not stabbing her scalp.

  After she nearly choked on a bite of chicken—and thinking she would have to lie back and die quietly to keep from embarrassing herself by gagging—she took tiny bites and chewed each one slowly for a long time so she wouldn't do anything unladylike, such as cough or make an unsightly bulge in her cheek.

  To his credit, Tyler tried to keep a polite conversation going, inquiring about her pastimes and what she'd learned at the boarding school. But she dreaded shattering any good impressions he may have developed of her, and managed to steer the subject away from personal topics.

  "Have you been to St. Louis, Tyler?"

  "No, I haven't had the pleasure. Fur capital of the world, isn't it? I hear it's growing fast."

  "People are swarming in from everywhere—Germans and Irishmen, mostly. With all those foreign languages, it sounds like the Tower of Babel on Fourth Street anymore.” She winced inwardly, wondering whether her own chatter sounded like the Tower of Babel, then forced herself to continue more slowly. “It's growing, all right. They just built a new public school, and plan to put up a big theater building next year."

  "I look forward to visiting there.” Tyler set aside his empty plate and, with a contented sigh, lay back on the lap robe. He laced his fingers together over his middle and closed his eyes. The shade dappled his body.

  She took the opportunity to steal long glances at him and marvel at his wondrous build. Had he fallen asleep? She felt more than a little guilty inspecting him so closely, as though she were stealing something she had no right to.

  When she was fairly certain he was, in fact, sleeping, she tucked her feet under her ruffled skirt and kicked off her slippers in the interest of comfort. She tossed aside her wide-brimmed straw hat to withdraw the rigid pins that anchored her hair in a tight bun. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it, massaging her scalp. A small breeze cooled the perspiration on her neck. Breathing deeply, she felt the tension ease in her muscles.

  Amazing that Tyler could fall asleep so effortlessly. She would never be able to do that—not in public, and certainly not in the company of a man like him.

  As she was twisting her hair up into a new coil, she glanced up to find his languid gaze following her motions. Experiencing a flutter of alarm, she lowered her arms. Her hair cascaded back down over her shoulders. “I'm sorry. Do you think me ... too bold?"

  "Too bold? Not at all. I like a sensible woman. Make yourself comfortable.” His appraising glance made her think that her good sense was not all he admired.

  "Do you think—Am I awful not to bring a chaperone when I go out with you?"

  "Why would you need one—unless you were afraid of me?” Something in his eyes made her wonder if she had a reason to be. Was there a chance she meant more to him than Jeb Baker's pathetic little sister? In that unguarded moment, she thought she caught a flicker of what could have been carnal interest.

  A delicious shiver traveled through her body. If only he truly found her appealing. She placed the last of the dishes in the basket and set it off the edge of the blanket. “I just hope you don't think me peculiar. I don't care enough about proper deportment—my teachers always told me so."

  Tyler grunted and closed his eyes again. “You don't know what peculiar is. I've met some strange people in the last few days. Ever heard of The Swamp?"

  "No."

  "I'll have to tell you about it sometime."

  She studied his face in repose. A narrow shaft of sunlight, piercing the shady leaves, bronzed his hair from forehead to crown. A breeze disturbed the leaves overhead, and little spots of light moved across his body like a school of bright fish. He was easily the most handsome man she'd ever met. She couldn't deny her attraction, yet at the same time, a nagging uneasiness kept her from trusting him completely. His life was shrouded in mystery. Who in their right mind, for instance, ventured into swamps to meet strange people? And why bring it up if he didn't want to talk about it?

  She picked up her hat and straightened one of the little flowers that encircled the crown. “I heard what you told Senator Benton about needing muskets. You haven't been able to locate them, you said?"

  "Right."

  "They're for General Houston, aren't they? For his war?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Why does everything have to be so secretive? If the president wants to help, why doesn't he just join Texas and America? Then it would be one of our states, and he could—"

  "Jackson can't annex a country without congressional approval. He wants to wait until after we officially recognize Texas’ independence before offering overt aid."

  "But you're getting a head start by collecting the muskets Houston needs? And Jeb was supposed to haul them for you, right?"

  He didn't answer immediately, and when he did, his voice sounded sleepy. “I was hoping to work something out. But now he's in prison, the plan won't work."

  She frowned. “Why not? If he can't do it, I'll take charge of the wagons. No matter what happens to him, I have to survive. How hard can it be to load a few wagons up with muskets and head west?"

  His eyes popped open, twinkling with amusement. “All on your own?"

  "I'd join a wagon train going that way—that's what Papa and Jeb always did. I wouldn't go alone."

  "How would you drive three wagons by yourself?"

  "Hire drivers. Looking for work?"

  He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

  "What's the matter? Don't you think I can do it?"

  "I didn't say that.” A grin spread across his face.

  "If you're laughing at me—Listen, I can handle a freighting business if Jeb can."

  "I'm not sure I'd want to be there to watch.” He chuckled.

  "Why, you—” She swatted him twice with her hat. A few of the little flowers went flying.

  He shielded himself with one arm. “Miss Amy!"

  She stared at him in sudden horror at her impertinence. “I beg your pardon—"

  "I am surprised at you.” The twinkle in his eye gave him away. Suddenly, he sat up and caught her wrist. His touch set off a tremor in her belly.

  Laughing, she tugged to free herself, but his grasp held firm. “What are you doing?"

  "You're full of mischief, aren't you?” He grinned and pulled her down beside him, then rolled half atop her, pinning her on her back.

  "Sir!” A giggle erupted, and she braced her palms against his chest, but he remained as immovable as the sweet gum tree. Her heart began to race.

  His face hovered close, his gaze intent. As his smile slowly faded, the playful wrestling match ceased to be a game and changed into something earnest and sober. He rubbed his cheek against hers and nuzzled her ear with his lips. His breath was warm on her neck. “You have the softest skin..."

  She felt helpless as a wren in a hawk's talons. Even as she shrank against the earth, a part of her rejoiced in the closeness. She inhaled the male scent of him, glorying in his superior strength in spite
of herself.

  "Tyler—” An aching hunger spread like fire in her veins. Her traitorous body wanted to mold itself to his, to surrender to his will. The sudden urgency quickened her breath.

  He lifted his head to look at her. “You are so beautiful. So innocent."

  She focused on his full lower lip beneath the mustache, and wondered how a man like him would kiss a woman. This might be her only chance to find out. Impulsively, she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. Strange new feelings stirred deep within her, feelings so powerful they nearly took her breath. She drew back, appalled at her own brashness.

  "Why, Miss Amy ... You like this as much as I do, don't you?"

  He shifted weight, his muscular body pressing her into the rough texture of the ground. Winding his fingers in her hair, he kissed her cheek, chin, mouth.

  She parted her lips to lick him with her tongue—an experimental taste. His flesh was hot with a trace of salt; she explored further. Her daring act seemed to unleash a terrible force within him. As his arms tightened around her, and his kiss deepened, a door opened for her, a door to another world. Never had she dreamed that kissing a man could be so exciting. Of the few suitors who'd courted her—nearly all considerably older than she—none had prepared her for this heady moment. She squirmed against Tyler's body, thrilling to the unfamiliar sensations. She wanted more. Much more.

  With a ragged sound deep in his throat, he pushed himself away, breathing hard. “I'm sorry! I never intended—"

  Her hands fell away from his shoulders as he got to his knees. “It's all right, Tyler.” The breeze robbed her of the warmth he'd left behind, and a keen sense of loss replaced the joy. “Truly it is."

  He gazed at her with an expression full of torture. “Lord in heaven—"

  Pain knifed through her chest as he turned away.

  He found his hat and coat, put them on. “Next time, you'd better bring a chaperone."

  She covered her face with her hands.

  His boots made a hollow sound on the turf as he strode toward the carriage. The horse stamped the earth and the harness jangled as he apparently made some adjustments; he spoke to the animal in a low tone.

  After what seemed an eternity, she gathered what was left of her dignity and arose, folded the robe, and carried it and the lunch basket to the carriage. She set them inside. Tyler stood on the far side of the horse, unmoving, gazing out over the river. She climbed into the carriage without waiting for his assistance. When her hem caught on the step-plate, she yanked it loose, ripping the fabric.

  Tyler got in from the opposite side. “I deeply regret touching you. It won't happen again.” He picked up the reins.

  She clenched her jaw and looked away. “It certainly won't."

  Chapter 9

  Tyler cursed his sleeplessness. Morning toned the walls with yellow light, and still he lay wide-awake staring at the ceiling. After the late-night vigil in the general's room, he'd expected to black-out instantly. But, no—he couldn't fall asleep and Houston couldn't wake up.

  Disturbing images haunted him: Houston rousing from unconsciousness just long enough to forbid the doctors to amputate his leg, Jackson ordering Tyler to buy scores of muskets in a town that offered few for sale, and Amy gazing at him in reproach. Strangely enough, her image nagged him the most persistently.

  How he hated himself for his behavior toward her! Though he knew her to be naive and susceptible, still he'd treated her like some quadroon mistress. She'd reacted as though she'd been slapped, even after his apology.

  He pummeled his feather pillow into a new shape and buried his face in it, blotting out the light. Undoubtedly, she was yet a virgin. He figured he could tell that after the women he'd known. But none of them, not even the most sophisticated, affected him as Amy did. She was a natural temptress, full of ardor, yet without guile. One kiss and she'd gone completely pliable, all resistance gone. The memory of her body squirming under his made him feverish even now.

  He rolled over, covering his head to block the sunlight from the window. How had he let her get so important to him? Any pledges or obligations were out of the question. It might be years, in fact, before his career would allow for serious courting. The yearning that had kept him half-aroused all night was nothing but lust.

  A rapping sound on the door startled him.

  "Yes? Enter."

  A servant peeked around the door. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Master Christy says to tell you the gen'ral woke up and ate a big breakfast. And when he found out you was here, the gen'ral asked for you."

  "That's wonderful! Tell him I'll be right there.” The door closed, and Tyler flung back his sheet. He sat up, waited until the brief wave of dizziness passed, then staggered to his feet. He'd get some more rest later.

  When he entered General Sam Houston's room, the invalid lay scowling down at the large bundle that was his own bandaged leg. His feet, extending well beyond the ordinary length of the mattress, lay propped on a chair piled with pillows.

  The Texan leader shook his head sadly. “Houston, what has become of you?"

  "General?” Tyler inspected him closely. The man's clear and cogent eye indicated a full possession of his faculties, notwithstanding the smell of opium on his breath. “How do you feel?"

  "I'm surprised that thing's still attached to me."

  "That's only because you threatened to kill any doctor who dared remove it."

  "Oh.” Other than his emaciation, Houston looked the same: dark auburn hair graying at the temples, thin lips, sloping eyes and brows, and a long rangy body. He ran a thumb along his stubbled jaw. “They're sending in a barber to make me presentable. Don't want to scare the women-folk, I guess. Who are you?"

  "Major Tyler O'Donnell, sir. I brought messages from President Jackson and others.” He watched for a sign of recognition as he handed over the sealed packet.

  "Presidential emissary, eh? Good. It's past time I got back to business. They tell me I've been here for several days now. It's a strange feeling to wake up and find you've lost days—weeks—never to be regained."

  "I can imagine."

  "Sit down, Major.” He looked hard at Tyler. “Do I know you?"

  How much do you remember? Tyler stalled, drawing up a chair to sit on.

  "No, don't tell me. It was awhile back...” The general studied him closely. “Maybe two or three years ... West Point! You were teaching there when I went up to observe the exams, right?"

  Tyler smiled. “Jackson wanted to send someone you'd met before and could trust. He was sure you'd remember, but I wasn't so sure."

  "O'Donnell, of course!” Houston grinned. “It seems to me you're the one that sneaked me down to Benny Haven's Tavern for some flip. I can still hear the sizzle of that red-hot poker in the cup. Weren't you the one?"

  "I may have been guilty of that, sir."

  "Ah, running-it-to-Haven's. Wasn't that what the cadets called it? And you'd show up down there to round them up and chase them back to the barracks."

  "I had to enforce the rules.

  "But did you have to stay on after they'd gone and have a drink or two?"

  "Now, General.” Tyler smiled. “You know I never drank more than one. I can't hold my liquor like you can."

  "That's in the past, my boy. Houston doesn't indulge in spirits now. Say, you spot a small vial around here anywhere? Can't seem to find—"

  "This?” He picked up the vial from the night table and handed it over. “What is it?"

  "Salts of hartshorn.” The general took a pinch and dabbed it to his nostrils. “Fortifies me when I'm ailing.” He regarded Tyler through eyes sunken in a pallid face, sagacious eyes that had seen almost too much of life, yet had managed not to lose their twinkle of humor. “Lord o’ Livin', I've been away too long, boy. When did they start letting military officers keep hair on their lip? You're wearing that mustache like you're proud of it."

  Tyler straightened in his chair, trying not to smile. “And I guess I'll keep it unt
il I meet a high-ranking officer powerful enough to make me shave it off."

  "That won't be Houston, son. I'm past caring what my men look like. I consider myself lucky when an enlisted man brings his own gun and horse.” The general turned the packet over in his hands, examining the wax seal. “You do seem to get around, Major. The last we talked, you were about to go off and join in Black Hawk's War. ‘Become a man and see the West', wasn't that it?"

  Tyler grimaced. “I was young and foolish.” The decision to enlist hadn't helped his career; rather it had served to develop a hatred of bloodshed and a deep contempt for Zachary Taylor's incompetence. But maybe that was something he should not admit to a war hero.

  "I thought you were qualifying to join the Corps of Engineers.” Houston unsealed the packet with his thumbnail and scattered several letters out on his chest and stomach.

  "That's true. I got a chance to go up to Ohio with Captain Talcott to survey boundaries for awhile.” Tyler recalled the satisfaction he'd gotten out of that assignment. Establishing borders with the new zenith telescope had been infinitely more rewarding than defending them with a rifle against primitive tribes. “I learned a lot, but it only lasted a couple of years. What I really want to do is join the expedition the president's planning for next year."

  "What you ought to do is move to Texas and help us survey the boundaries on our new republic.” The general's attention focused on Jackson's letter as he opened it and read silently. After a moment, he glanced up, chuckling. “Says here you are Chargé d'Affaires. Did you volunteer to deal with Houston in order to get out of teaching at the Academy?"

  "I did, General.” Actually, he had his godfather to thank for saving him from stagnation. Not only was the man a lifelong friend of the O'Donnell family, but now he also happened to be Vice President of the United States. Remarkably, Martin Van Buren had progressed from his humble law practice in Tyler's home town of Kinderhook, New York to a candidate for the highest office in the land. The powerful statesman had arranged Tyler's admission into the academy after his father died, then got too busy with politics to notice his godson's lack of progress. Until just recently. Tyler had almost lost hope of achieving what he really wanted from the Corps of Engineers when Van Buren finally took pity on him: If Tyler would agree to carry out a certain mission in New Orleans for President Jackson, Van Buren would name Tyler chief surveyor on an expedition west of the Rocky Mountains the following year. Charting maps, marking trails, leaving footprints where no white man had trod before...