Emerald Embrace by Shannon Drake Page B

Virginians, and like your husband, madam, he decided to make their war his own.” He turned from her to study his sister, and his voice softened. “For Elaina, it has been worse. Her fiancé, Niall MacNeill, was with Bryan. Neither has returned.”
    “Oh!” Martise said.
    It was sad—and frightening. Had this Bryan Creeghan had any correspondence with Mary’s sister, Margaret St. James, during the war? How easily this could jeopardize her position!
    “I’m so sorry!” she said to Elaina.
    “As we are,” Bruce said, “for you. After all, Lady St. James, you were there through the hardships, were you not?”
    “Yes, but not to know!” Martise said. “And to miss both brother and beloved to a war that was not really your concern—”
    “But that was your same circumstance,” Bruce Creeghan reminded her politely.
    “What?” Martise said.
    He leaned across the table toward her. “Your husband was an Englishman, Lady St. James. And you lost him to a war that was not his own, or your own.”
    She lowered her eyes swiftly. “Yes, yes, of course.”
    “It often sounds as if you embraced the Southern cause yourself. As if you had been born a true daughter of the Confederacy,” Bruce said politely.
    “’Twas easy to become involved,” she said. “I was there through so much, you see.”
    “Of course. The exploding shells, the land ravaged. No matter where you were, how could you have missed involvement? The Shenandoah Valley ravished, the Peninsula campaigns, two battles at Manassas, Cold Harbor, the Wilderness, Chancellorsville, the Siege of Petersburg, the evacuation of Richmond—the war must have come very close to you.”
    She stared at him, wondering how in hell he could be so informed on all the different battles.
    His brother. His brother had probably written home. That had to be it.
    “I was living outside of Richmond,” she said smoothly, “so naturally I heard the roar of the cannons and saw the soldiers passing by often enough. And we tended the wounded from many battles, Lord Creeghan.”
    He nodded, and took a sip from the mug of ale that Hogarth brought him. “A hard life, I dare say, yet the time that Lord St. James spent in Africa must have prepared you for it well.”
    Africa, again! Damn him. Well, his little brother couldn’t have served in Africa, too.
    “Of course. But then the war among the tribesmen was quite different. The fighting seemed far away. We tended wounded, of course,” she lied, “but this was different. The enemy spoke the same language, worshiped the same God.”
    She thought that Creeghan was smiling, and it was unnerving. He didn’t seem to believe a single word she was saying.
    And she was actually lying damned well.
    “Well,” Bruce murmured. He looked at Elaina, then squeezed her hand where it lay upon the table. “We will keep waiting. But I tell my sister that she must live for the present, and not wait for the past forever.”
    He stood, pushing back his chair. “I am riding into the village, Lady St. James. If you wish to accompany me, please be ready within the half hour. If you haven’t the proper clothing, I’m sure that there must be something of Mary’s that will suit you well enough.”
    He didn’t wait for her reply, but turned around and left the hall.
    Martise finished the meal with Elaina, then hurried for the steps behind Bruce.
    She didn’t need to take any of Mary’s clothing—she had ridden all of her life and was a capable horsewoman and her wardrobe still consisted of several fine riding habits. But when she would have chosen one of her own, she paused, and delved into Mary’s trunk.
    It would be interesting to see Lord Creeghan’s reaction to her in Mary’s clothing.
    She chose a beautiful, rich, kelly-green habit with a tailored jacket and smart matching hat with a pert dyed plume. The hat pulled slightly over one eye, and she was startled by her own appearance in the garment. Her hair seemed as rich as fire against the