Now she had two, precious beings who still brought her to awe. She never tired of searching over their little bodies, of counting fingers and toes, of studying their eyes and their hair and their noses and chins, trying to decide just whom they resembled. “I shall show you some of your ancestors!” she promised. “There’s a huge gallery with rows and rows of Camerons! You shall see, and then we shall decide!”
They were way too young to smile, but still, she thought that Jamie, especially, watched her with very grave eyes. His father’s eyes. They already had a tendency to look cobalt at times, silver at others.
She had her infants…and she had Eric. And he had even said that he loved her, that he had always loved her. But could it be enough? He had come for her—but she was certain that he still did not trust her.
And he stayed away from her. He came to see his new son and daughter, she knew, for Danielle always informed her. But he did not wait to see her when she wakened. She didn’t know where he slept at night, but there Danielle assured her too. He was across in the comte’s room, and the comte was in his eldest son’s quarters. And Eric was not often around, Danielle continued, because he had been entrusted by Congress and General Washington to take messages to the French ministers. He also spent hours with Mr. Franklin.
They would leave for home on the first of April. Eric would arrive in time to fight during summer and fall—if the fledgling country survived so long. Sometimes it terrified her that she would be bringing her children home to a land of bloodshed.
The twins were a full two weeks old when she awoke to find Eric in her room, rocking one cradle while seriously observing Lenore. Amanda felt her eyes upon him and he turned to her. A misty shield covered any emotion, but his expression seemed as grave as Jamie’s was often wont to be.
“We still leave on the first of April. I hope that is convenient for you.”
She nodded, wishing that he had not caught her so unaware. Her hair was tousled, her gown was askew, slipping down from her shoulder. She had wished so badly that she might be more dignified, more perfect, more beautiful. He had said that he loved her. And they were so distant still, strangers who met between the explosions of cannon balls and the clash of steel.
She slipped out of bed and went to him, touching his arm. “Eric, maybe we shouldn’t go back.”
“What?” He swung around, amazed, staring at her hand where she touched his arm. Her hand fell.
“I was just thinking—maybe we should stay here. In France. We could survive. We would not need so very much—”
“Have you lost your very mind!” he asked her.
She backed away from him, shaking her head. “I am afraid! Look at the strength of the British army. They can keep sending men and more men! They have Hessians and Prussians and all other kinds of mercenaries. The colonies—”
“The United States of America,” he corrected her very softly, his jaw twisting.
“We cannot pay our own troops!” she exclaimed. “Eric, if we should lose the war—”
“We?”
“Pardon?”
“You said ‘we,’ my love. Are you part of that ‘we’? Have you changed sides, then?”
She exhaled, mistrustful of the tone of his voice. She felt at such a disadvantage, clad in the sheer silk gown, tousled by the night, barefoot. Eric towered over her in his boots. He was dressed fully in his uniform with his cockaded and plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his breeches taut about his muscled thighs, his spring cloak emphasizing the breadth of his shoulder. She trembled slightly. He would not come to her now—indeed, he did not seem interested in her—but she wished suddenly and desperately that she could sweep away the time and the anger and the hatred and rush into his arms, just to be held.
She forced a cool and rueful smile to her features. “You have called me a traitor. Well, sir, if I was for the British, then I was not a traitor at any time, unless that time should be now. Am I for the colonies now—excuse me, the United States of America? Yes, I am. And no thanks to you, Lord Cameron. You haven’t the gifts of persuasion that Mr. Franklin so amply possesses. I should very much like to see the Americans win. It’s just that—”
“That you doubt that they can, is that it?”
She flushed and lowered her head slightly. “I have never known quite what it was to love with the need to protect until these last few days. I am afraid.”
Eric was quiet for several seconds. “As far as I know, madame, the British have yet to make war on children. I have to go back. You know that. You’ve known where I stand, and just how passionately, from the very beginning.”
“And you knew where I stood,” she reminded him softly.
“I just never thought—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“What!” Amanda demanded heatedly. She knew what. He had never thought that she would take it so far as to betray her home. “I have told you that I did not—”
“Let’s not discuss it—”
“If we cannot discuss it, then we’ve nothing at all to discuss!” she cried.
He stiffened. For a brief moment she thought that his thin control upon his temper would snap, that he would wrench her into his arms, that he would demand her lips as he had been so quick to do in the past. She prayed silently that he would touch her.
He did not. He bowed deeply to her. “I leave you to the care of our children, madame. Remember that you must soon be ready to travel.”
