Bride of the Night (20 page)

“I was thinking that this fowl we are dining on is quite fine, Mrs. Lincoln,” the president said. “And I wish that I knew that our men in the field ate so well.”

“Stand your course, Mr. Lincoln, stand your course,” Tara said.

“Rest assured, my child, this evening all is well. As you can see,” he added, coming closer to Tara and whispering as if they were conspirators in a joke, “the door is guarded by two gentlemen from the Pinkerton agency, and there are lieutenants and officers abounding at the bar. I am praying that this is the spring of good hope for the nation. One nation, under God. Indivisible, as it's said.”

He leaned closer to her again. “There can be sweet life and better times ahead. Look at my poor Mary. Some think that she is unbalanced, and God help me, the death of our little Willie certainly made us both so. But there could be no better wife. Her family members fight for the South, and she stands by my side, supporting me with her whole heart. Be kind to her when you meet—those around me can't always see clearly. She is my support. We lean on each other.” He eased back. “All is well this night,” he told her.

The restaurant, with its sounds of chatter, clinking silverware and the soft strains of the violin began to grow dim.

After some moments of unbodied colors and sound, Tara awoke.

When she did so, she saw that light was coming through the church windows in a splendid palette of pinks and yellows and oranges and golds.

She blinked and realized that she had been sleeping on Finn's shoulder, and that he was looking at the colors of the sun himself.

Father Timothy was at the door. He opened it, and the light burst brilliantly into the church.

“It's morning, and all is well. We have passed through the night. Hallelujah!” Father Timothy said. “What a beautiful day.” It
was
a beautiful day. All the more so because the night had been uneventful.

Finn felt all the better when they'd left the church and gotten the tub out over at Pete's tavern, and he'd had a good freshwater bath. He'd readied himself hurriedly despite the longing to savor the water, and he'd headed out to speak with Captain Calloway and Captain Tremblay at the fort, regarding their sailing plans, while leaving Tara to gather a few more belongings, and indulge in a bath herself.

Tara was enjoying her last time with Pete before heading north, uncertain of when she would return. Richard had been escorted to Pete's tavern to say his own goodbyes. Had Finn sovereign power over the situation, he would have seen to it that Richard was released. But he didn't; no real ill would come to the man.
He would be imprisoned for the remainder of the war, but Finn could arrange things so that he was kept in Washington, D.C., where he and others could see to his welfare.

Adding to his hopeful mood, Finn believed what the elderly Haitian woman had told him. Once they left, the island would be safe. At least, as safe as it was before.

The evil was waiting. And the evil would set sail with them.

Still, despite that fact, there was always the possibility that a diseased person had escaped their notice, and so he stood with Father Timothy again, going over everything that the people needed to know—how they must look out for anyone who fell sick, and how they must deal with the dead in the next weeks, even in the case of an accident witnessed by a dozen persons. He knew he repeated himself, but he had to make things clear to Father Timothy.

Father Timothy listened.

And when he was done, Father Timothy said, “You've taught me and our people well, Agent Dunne. We will do all you say. Pete will be here, my mainstay who knows and understands. The war continues, so I doubt that the soldiers and the civilians will maintain a real friendship, but they touched hands when the need arose. We are all, as I've said, children under God.”

Father Timothy seemed to have his flock well in hand. Finn bid him farewell and headed to Seminole Pete's to collect Tara and Richard.

Tara hugged Pete for a long time. Pete and Richard solemnly shook hands.

“Until we meet again,” Richard said.

“The Great Father will watch over you,” Pete assured him.

They embraced.

Pete looked at Finn. “Protect her well.”

“With my life,” he promised.

Pete nodded.

They all mounted up and returned to the fort. The men were assembled—all those who had previously sailed with them and two new seamen, Andrew Fletcher and Bjorn Gustafson. Bjorn had landed in the United States Navy within a year of arriving in the United States. Andrew Fletcher hailed from Tennessee, but believed passionately in the Union—and in the abolishment of slavery. Finn was glad to have them along.

It was still early morning when the tenders sailed out to the new ship they would take north, the
USS Freedom,
a three-mast steam clipper. She was equipped with twelve guns, and ready to take on a fight.

The supplies were loaded; barrels were filled with salted beef, fish and pork, beans, potatoes, limes and fresh produce from the island. There were barrels of rum, sugar and fresh water, canvas sacks of fresh coconuts, and fishing poles. They were also well supplied with munitions, matches and gunpowder—just in case they should be lured into battle.

Finn made a point of speaking with every member
of the crew, largely to see if he might sense which one might be a traitor. Captain Tremblay now knew of his suspicions, and Finn had impressed upon him that while they were at sea, they had to discover the truth of each man in the command.

Finn wanted to believe that the vampire who had caused the infection had died in the many battles that had taken place—on the deserted island, and Key West.

But he knew that it wasn't true. And even if he did, he couldn't possibly take that kind of a risk.

And so, an order had been proclaimed: no man was to do anything without two other men nearby. It would be groups of threes, always. They were not even to sleep alone; even on a quiet night, there would be three awake watching over the bunks while three slept. With Captain Tremblay enforcing it, the men didn't question the order.

Dr. MacKay listened quietly, arms crossed over his shoulders, grave as these boarding orders were given. “And I had thought,” he said wryly, once the men were dismissed and sent to stations, “that it was difficult being called upon to perform amputations on the battlefield. I'd not thought it possible to face something worse.”

“It could be precaution for nothing,” Finn said.

MacKay looked at him with skeptical eyes. “Perhaps. But I, like the others, intend to be nowhere unless it is in a group of three. What I don't understand, Pinkerton agent, is how you haven't fathomed who this person
is. You seemed to have a grasp on the disease earlier. You've guided us in the way to survive its threat.”

Finn didn't want to tell him that the creature causing the problems was probably extremely old—perhaps hundreds of years old—and a full-blooded vampire. He didn't think it would help the doctor's concern to know that they were up against a combatant likely much stronger than Finn himself.

Fortunately, as a Pinkerton, he knew enough to be confident that strength alone didn't win fights. Much more important was an agility of tactics, and the intelligence to wield strategy. He hoped this meant that
he
held the advantage.

“Perhaps the instigator is dead!” the old doctor said.

“Perhaps,” Finn replied. “But we don't know that.”

Further questions from MacKay would be put off; the captain was shouting orders and men were hoisting the sails. A cool, crisp winter's breeze meant that they were going to catch the wind. Richard Anderson worked the sails with the other men, and none seemed to be displeased that their prisoner was such an excellent seaman. The
USS Freedom
had once been the
Mary Jane,
carrying passengers on transatlantic voyages. She had been overhauled to become a warship, but she still offered certain amenities not found on other ships, such as grand or master cabins both stern and midship on the top deck. One, of course, had been granted to the only woman aboard.

As they got under sail, Finn walked along toward the cabin door. He knocked, and Tara threw the door open. He entered and closed the door behind him, leaning against it.

“I'm not beholden to the ‘three together anywhere at any time' rule?” Tara asked him.

“Not so long as you're in your cabin. With the door locked, of course,” he said.

She smiled at him, but her face grew solemn. “Do you still think that he's among us?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“But one slip, one mistake, and this creature infects one man, and then another and then—”

He set his fingers gently on her lips. “We couldn't leave a man behind, not when there is a civilian population on Key West.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“It wasn't just for you. I think that the man is a traitor—he hasn't been caught or noted because he's been biding his time. He's known about the Union movement, and he managed to get the correspondence to the man we're holding in Washington, and made it
appear
that he was a Confederate blockade runner.”

Tara walked to the cabin's elegant little windows. Drapes closed securely to keep out the sun—and the view of the sailors working on the ship. But Tara drew them aside.

“Richard is out there,” she said worriedly.

“And Richard is intelligent and wary,” Finn assured her.

“You should let him go,” Tara said softly.

“I can't, and you know it. You're technically my prisoner still, yourself, but it definitely appears that neither of you is Gator, and therefore, as a blockade runner, Richard is Captain Tremblay's prisoner.”

“He's
fought next to you.
”

Finn took a deep breath. “Tara, it's nearly spring. God help us, but this war can't last much longer. He'll be safer in prison.”

She bit her lip, and didn't reply, looking out the window.

He felt awkward. “Well, 'tis bright sunlight, and there's a day to be sailed.”

“Of course,” she murmured stiffly.

He wanted to walk to the window. He wanted to draw her to him, and God help him, he wanted to make love again, feel the life of her beneath him, and the passion and moments of beauty that seemed to make breathing worthwhile.

It didn't seem at all appropriate while he could hear the men scurrying about, Captain Tremblay's orders on the air and the shouts of compliance and organization.

“I'll come back,” he told her softly.

“Ah, well, I'm not one to sit in a cabin all day, you know. I'll come out soon, as well,” she said, still looking out at the action.

He hesitated. She looked beautiful as she gazed out the window, her eyes bright as they caught the sunlight, her hair gleaming red and gold and her chin held high.
He longed to walk over to her, just to touch her shoulders. He wished he knew her thoughts, and he wished that she would turn to him and just smile.

“What if there's more than one man?” she whispered.

“There's one, just one. Of that, I'm certain. One very old, very accomplished and very calculating…monster. But if the men hold to the rule, if he tries to act again, we'll know immediately.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“He will,” Finn told her. “He will, of that I'm certain. And I will be ready for him.”

D
ESPITE
F
INN'S CERTAINTY
that they sailed with a traitor, their first day at sea proved to be uneventful. The wind kept up, so they didn't have to rely on steam. The sky remained bright and blue, Richard's expertise on the waters allowing them a shorter route through the islands, shoals and reefs than Captain Tremblay might have dared on his own.

Richard stood by the captain at the helm, pointing out their location, and Tremblay nodded gravely, and complimented him on his knowledge of the sea.

Finn asked him curiously, “What will you do, Richard, when the war ends?”

Richard smiled. “Get a new ship, first. I plan to be a merchant again, and sail the seas where I choose, and when I choose. And hopefully buy a home in Key West. There is a house on Whitehead, not far from Pete's place, that I plan to purchase, and each time I return from the sea, I will go there. I will love that I have such a home, among the banyans, and am able to awaken each morning to feel the sun and smell the sea air. And you?” he asked Finn in return.

“Strange. I barely remember a time when there was
peace. I imagine I will stay with the Pinkerton agency, and go where I am sent.”

“Maybe it will end soon,” Richard said quietly. He looked at Finn. “There has been a rumor that President Davis and President Lincoln have corresponded. There has been talk of a peace conference between the two leaders.”

“I know that it was in the planning stage when I left Washington. But I don't know how far the plans went.”

“I need to pray that conference takes place, don't I?”

Finn was quiet. “I will see that you are treated fairly. I believe you know that.”

“Aye, I do.”

“Richard! Mr. Anderson, sir!” Tremblay yelled from the helm. “Tell me, how close do I dare to hug the coastline here?”

Richard went to stand by Tremblay again, pointing out features of the land—and a ragged shoal that they needed to avoid.

Finn went to work among the men. Some tended the sails; some sat about at their leisure, and some were taking the precious time to sleep, all in groups of three or more.

He talked to the men, and there was an amiable air amongst them all. There were no clues as to their adversary to be found there. While the day began with a certain tension, by the afternoon, the comfort of the men seemed to be growing.

By nightfall, a sense of camaraderie had arisen
among the crew, and a sense of well-being settled over the ship. Rum rations and the evening meal were enjoyed, but as they moved through the velvet darkness of night, Finn maintained a constant watch. He didn't worry about Tara; she had stayed on deck during the day, reading in the sunlight and the breeze, talking with Dr. MacKay and the captain, or Richard and himself while they ate their evening meal.

As they eased through the night, Finn suggested that Tara go ahead and get some sleep. But she looked at him and told him, “I'll rest by morning, as I'm assuming you will.”

Morning came. At the first light of dawn, Finn was both relieved and disappointed. He had been so certain something would happen, something that would at last unmask the traitor among them, that he began to fear that Tara might well be right: the monster would hide in the guise of peaceful patriotism until they reached D.C.

To get close to the president.

Captain Tremblay came from a few hours' sleep to stand watch over the day and the helm. MacKay, who had also slept, joined him. At that point, Finn thought that he dared sleep.

“I'll find Richard,” he told Tara. “And I'll have him keep watch over you.”

She looked at him with her beautiful hazel eyes and smiled, taking his hand. “You will not,” she told him.

“Tara, we're aboard ship, and your cabin is in plain view, and—”

“And this is not like any other ship, and I don't care whether people speculate, or what they have to say, though I doubt that these men will think ill of me. We have been through too much together. Not that I haven't been the object of scorn or ridicule at any other point in my life. I am suddenly respected for my ability to stand my own ground and slay a common enemy. I have no illusions that society will change, but you're not leaving me alone.”

He smiled. “I'll warn Richard that we are resting.”

Tara went to her cabin. Finn found Richard near Tremblay; he had been describing some of the dangers of the northern Florida coast. Drawing him aside, Finn warned him to shout out like a banshee if there should be any trouble.

Richard looked at him gravely. “You'll be with Tara?”

He nodded. He was surprised when Richard lowered his head, his smile deepening.

“She'll be safe,” Finn said.

Richard looked at him. “Yes.”

“I mean her no harm.”

“I don't believe that harm is what you intend,” Richard said. “Of course, I suppose I should say here that, if you were to hurt her in any way, no matter what your strength, no matter that I'm a prisoner and you hold the power, I would find a way to call you out—to challenge you, kill you or die in the effort.”

“I mean her no harm,” Finn repeated.

“So, I guess at this point my question is, just what are your intentions?” Richard challenged him.

From what he knew of Tara's friendship with the man, Finn shouldn't have been startled by the question, but he was. And for a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. “At the moment? My intentions are survival, and ferreting out the man I came to find.”

“And when this is all accomplished?”

“When it's over,” Finn said softly, “well, that will depend on Tara.” He took a deep breath, and realized that he did know his intentions. “Tara began her voyage with you because of her dreams regarding President Lincoln. I intend to introduce the two of them. I believe that two of her father's children—two more like her—are still in Washington, D.C. I intend to find them for her, and see that they are able to meet. And then…then, as I've said, it's up to Tara.”

“Am I to assume that means your intentions are honorable?” Richard asked.

Finn hadn't thought out the future; the present had been far too pressing.

But Richard's words forced him to put his life into perspective. No, they forced him to think about his feelings for Tara, and they were actually easy to discern. “I have never met anyone before who could seduce me from any direct goal, who could look at me and distract me from the business at hand.”

Richard laughed, and Finn was taken aback.

“You're going to have to do much better than that, Agent Dunne,” Richard told him. “Are you going to tell Tara that she's a lovely distraction?”

Finn was amazed to feel a flush of color come to his cheeks.

“No, of course not!”

“Then?”

“Let's survive, then we'll think of pretty words,” Finn said. He gritted his teeth, aware that Richard was chuckling as he walked away.

He tapped on Tara's cabin door. She bid him to come in.

The cabin was dark. His eyes adjusted almost instantly and he saw her stretched out on the bunk beneath the covers. She leaned upon an elbow and patted the side of the bed. “That took a bit of time.”

He walked over to the bunk and sat down awkwardly.

“What is it?” she asked him. He found himself mesmerized by the hazel brilliance of her eyes, shining even in the poor light that made its way through the draperies covering the little cabin windows. It was dawn's light, touched by a shadowed palette of colors, and her hair gleamed sleek and entrancing.

“I have just had a lecture that's given me a bit of pause,” he told her.

She laughed. “Richard?”

“Indeed,” he said, and he felt a throaty rasp in his voice.

She eased up, and he realized that she had stripped
naked. When she slipped her arms around him, he was instantly aware of her bare flesh against him, and he burned inwardly.

“Richard is my friend, and my brother,” she said softly. “But he is not my keeper.”

He wanted to speak again, but he couldn't. Her lips teased his ear with liquid heat, and he drew her harder against him, finding her mouth. Her kiss at first was a tease, a featherlight touch against his lips, and then it seemed that she was fused to him, and his tongue was in her mouth and each second of time passing seemed to ignite something harder and more urgent and desperate within him. They eased down to the bed together and the caress of his lips and tongue moved down the length of her silken nakedness. He knew that one thing was true; he had never felt like this, never felt about a woman as he did Tara.

He tried to tell himself that the act of making love was a natural one and craved by those who were living and able, but he knew that this was different. He wasn't sure if this was because they were essentially the same, but he knew somewhere inside that it had nothing to do with their bloodlines, that it had everything to do with her as a woman. Her flesh was different, so sleek and soft. Her eyes were different with their hazel fire. Her hair was like tendrils of flame that had taken root within him. And there were those things that tore at his heart—the loyalty until death she showed those she loved, the desperation to save a man she had never met,
her vision on the world and those around her. She had seeped inside of him, not just into his natural needs and desires, but into his mind and his soul.

Then he thought no more.

She smelled of sweet cleanliness and of herself; her flesh eased and moved against him, and each light brush was like a pinpoint of lightning and fire. He rose, anxious to rid himself of boots and hose and clothing, and desperate to lie down beside her again with the length of him feeling the vibrant energy within her limbs, the erotic feel of her bare breasts and the twine of her limbs. She kissed him in turn, and moved along his length, the press of her mouth on him like bolts of fire ripping down his flesh. She tormented him, lips here and there and everywhere, teasing around his growing erection, centering upon him until he thought that the world would explode.

And then he could bear no more. He swept her high against him, met the copper glow of her eyes and rolled with her upon the bed. She gave him a gaze of triumph and wonder, and he smiled, kissed her lips. When she would have welcomed him with open arms and limbs, he kissed her again, and ran his kisses down her length. He heard a muffled cry escape her and felt the tug of her fingers in his hair, and his mouth found hers again as he thrust into her at last. They looked into each other's eyes as they slowly melded into one, and then began to move with hunger and urgency until there was nothing but the two of them and the erotic and carnal ecstasy of
soaring toward the point of climax when the world itself exploded with a burst of light so shocking they might have been drowned in the light of the sun.

Shuddering, shaken by spasms of aftermath, he eased down beside her, and he could hear their hearts, like thunder, almost in beat, and the ragged expulsion of their breath. The cabin came back into view, the damp sheets clung to their flesh and he drew her close, lest she feel the chill that seeped in, now that the explosive fire of their movement had ceased.

He lay in silence, and she moved against him, rising slightly on an elbow to search out his eyes. He touched her face, and he smiled slowly, admiring the line of her jaw and, as ever, the exquisite green and gold and fire within her eyes.

“Richard actually likes you, you know,” she told him.

He eased to his back, and heard a slight edge to his voice. “And I actually admire your Mr. Anderson, but I'd just as soon not be discussing him here.”

She didn't take affront at his tone. She studied him gravely. “I don't know what Richard said to you. But whatever it was, remember that it didn't come from me. We're here, now. And I do nothing that I don't choose to do, but don't let any thoughts of the future disturb you. You're not beholden to me. I make my own choices.”

He shook his head, surprised that he was oddly shaken by guilt, and irritated by it. “Miss Fox, none of us really makes our own choices in life. A great deal
is handed down to us, and there are always matters at hand that are far greater than you and me.”

“And I do believe we're both trying to deal with those
matters at hand,
” she told him. She started to rise. He caught her arm, pulling her back to him.

“I didn't mean to anger you,” he said.

“You didn't anger me. I am my own person, and that is all.”

“Tara, we do live in this world, and even if we're at war, and even if we face an insidious enemy, the world will go on, and eventually, God help us, the war will end, and—”

“Don't you listen!”
she said angrily.

“I'm trying to say—”

“Well, there's the difficulty right there. I believe you should cease talking!”

“Tara—”

She started to pull away again.

“Where do you think you're going?” he demanded.

“I'm getting up—it's day.”

“You haven't slept.”

“I don't need much sleep.”

“You need some…?.”

“The cabin is feeling quite crowded at this moment!”

He held her tight; she struggled against him for a moment. “Please, take this time, get some rest,” he told her.

She stared at him with anger still flashing in her eyes. Again, he felt the rise of desire that she could so
easily inflame. Her eyes touched his, and he knew that she felt it, too.

“Stay, please,” he said softly.

“On one condition,” she said primly.

“And that is?”

“You stop talking!” she told him.

He smiled slowly. “What if I were just to say something like…I believe I would die if you were to leave me in this moment. The tiniest streaks of golden sun are slipping through, and slight as they are, they make spun flames of your hair, and create emeralds and rubies in your eyes, and you feel like the most precious satin against me, and—”