Virginia struck her hand away, the cup and saucer falling to the floor. "Where is Devlin?"

More tears fell down Tillie's face. "He went mad when he saw those men grab you. He killed them both, then went after the man holding me. He killed him, too. I never saw so much rage, honey, and he did it all in a single moment," Tillie whispered.

She seized Tillie's wrist. "Is he alive?"

The tears became a flood. "I don't know," Tillie wept. "Someone shot him from behind-and I didn't see anymore-I had you to take away!"

Virginia somehow sat up. Her heart pounded with sickening force. The baby chose that moment to kick. She clutched her belly, trying to calm herself for the child's sake, but it was impossible. Devlin could not be dead. "It was Tom Hughes," she said hoa.r.s.ely, in horror. "I saw him, I saw him shoot Devlin from behind. He wanted to murder him in cold blood!" And she began, finally, to cry.

Was this how Devlin's obsession with his father's murderer would end? With his own murder, as well?

Virginia closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She demanded composure and self-control of herself. Grief and fear would not serve her now. If Devlin were alive, she had to find him; she had to find him even if he were dead. But he could not be dead!

"Help me get dressed," she said, and threw her legs over the bed.

"You're supposed to stay in bed until the child is born," Tillie shouted at her.

"My husband may be dead," Virginia said quietly. She stood, holding on to the bed for support. Grief and fear continued to rack her, but she fought them both. How calm she sounded. "You can come with me or you can stay here. But I am going to find my husband, one way or the other."

IT WAS A BRIGHT, HOT AFTERNOON and the town stank of death. Buzzards flew in the skies overhead, circling with deadly intent. The British were gone, of course, and the inlet and bay were blandly vacant except for a bobbing fishing ship. The American army had arrived and had set up a makeshift fort with a prison camp and field hospital on the perimeter of town.

Virginia was weak with fear and exhaustion and she walked with Tillie holding her under one arm. Frank trailed behind them, ever vigilant, as if expecting the hordes of British to descend upon them once again. A soldier at the camp's gates had pointed out Captain Lewis, the camp's commander, and she approached him now slowly from behind. She continued to hang on to her composure with every ounce of strength she had left, as it was all she had.

She burned with determination now. She would find Devlin, and she would find him alive.

But she was so afraid, because she knew Tom Hughes had shot him with murder in his mind.

Lewis was in a fierce conversation with several officers, all of whom turned and strode swiftly off as Virginia paused before him. He was not much older than she was, with bright blond hair and blue eyes, his cheeks sunburned, and his expression turned weary as he faced her. "Let me guess," he said heavily. "You are missing a husband, brother or father. Here's the list. It is incomplete."

Virginia accepted a sheaf of papers he lifted from the table he was apparently using as a field desk. "My husband is a British officer, sir. Perhaps you would know if he were captured or killed." She remained amazed at her calm tone. She felt as if she floated outside of her body, completely detached, watching a magnificent performance.

For she dared not feel.

If she felt, she would come apart, she would become crazed, and she would never be able to locate Devlin.

The stakes were so high.

His brows lifted and his eyes showed some interest now.

"His name is Captain Devlin O'Neill." She held her head with pride.

His jaw tightened. "O'Neill? The captain of the Defiance? The one who did this?" He gestured toward the hospital just beyond them, a sea of tents, with the wounded lying on pallets and blankets, b.l.o.o.d.y, bandaged, moaning and crying for help. A few doctors and staff were trying to attend to the hundreds needing attention.

"My husband would never condone such an attack."

"No?" His jaw was hard, his skepticism obvious. "I have not seen his name on either list."

She glanced down. One page was for the dead, another for the wounded. "You said these lists are incomplete?"

"They are."

"And what about prisoners of war?"

He made a mocking sound. "There are only two dozen."

She swallowed. "I'd like to tour the dead, the wounded and the prisoners, Captain."

He shrugged. "If you find O'Neill in our control, I shall be a very happy man." He turned. "Sergeant Ames! Escort Mrs. O'Neill to the morgue, then allow her to tour the hospital and the prisoners of war."

A burly, grizzled man came running. "Yes, sir." He saluted. "This way, ma'am."

Virginia followed with Tillie still holding her arm, the sergeant shortening his stride to accommodate her slower steps. "The hospital's right here," he said, "morgue's just outside of camp. 'Course, it ain't really a morgue, but it's what we call it."

"I am looking for a British naval officer," she said as they crossed over toward the field hospital.

"Mostly Americans here. Shouldn't be too hard to find someone British-and in blue," he said. He did not seem at all curious that her husband was British and Virginia was thankful for that small boon.

Fifteen minutes later, Virginia was exceedingly ill but certain Devlin was not among the wounded at Hampton. As if reading her thoughts, Tillie said, "He's not here, Sergeant. Can we see the prisoners?"

He nodded and led them back into the center of the camp. "Morgue's just over there," he said, pointing.

Virginia saw where he indicated. Rows of bodies were neatly laid out, each covered with sheets. She stopped in her tracks. "I can't do this," she said, choking. Her self-control was about to disintegrate.

"I can go. I can identify the captain," Frank said quickly.

"Bless you," Virginia whispered.

He returned a half an hour later, looking green beneath his dark skin. "I looked at everyone," he said roughly. "Only one bluecoat there, but I looked at 'em all. He ain't among the dead, Miz Virginia."

Virginia had been sitting on a chair the sergeant had kindly provided her with. She felt the tears begin. "Thank G.o.d," she whispered. She fought for the composure that had thus far served her so well, trembling hard with the effort. He wasn't among the wounded here and he wasn't among the dead. There was hope and she clung to it. Even if she and Devlin never reconciled, she would never complain-not if he was alive.

"Come this way, ma'am," the sergeant said rather kindly.

At the far end of the camp, a small stockade had been erected. Virginia was allowed to enter with Sergeant Ames, who spoke with the camp's warden. She only half listened, her gaze scanning the two dozen a.s.sembled men. Half were in red coats, the other half in their shirts. Not a single blue coat was among them.

"If we had Captain O'Neill here, I would know it," the warden said. "I know these men by name."

Virginia turned away. If he wasn't dead, wounded or a prisoner of war, did that mean he was back on the Defiance? She trembled with relief. Maybe Tillie had been wrong. Maybe the shot had missed him and maybe he hadn't been seized after all.

"Virginia?" A familiar male voice called.

She slowly started to turn, stunned.

"Virginia Hughes? Is that you?"

One of the prisoners, his wrists shackled, was approaching. Her eyes widened as she recognized him. It was Jack Harvey, the man who had once been the ship's surgeon on the Defiance. "Mr. Harvey!" she cried, rushing forward.

He smiled at her as if glad to see her. "You are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Hughes."

"Mr. Harvey, are you all right? Have you survived that terrible battle?"

"I am unhurt-and I have tried to offer my services numerous times to the Americans, but no one wishes to avail themselves of my medical expertise." His dark eyes were now bleak.

She turned. "Warden! This man is a fine doctor as well as a surgeon! He must be allowed to help attend the wounded!"

The warden just grunted.

Sergeant Ames came to life. "I'll speak with Captain Lewis," he said. "We need every doctor we can get."

Harvey smiled wanly at Virginia. She smiled back and squeezed his hand.

He said, "What are you doing here, Miss Hughes?"

She was grim. "It is Mrs. O'Neill now, Mr. Harvey."

His eyes widened in real surprise. Then he shook his head, smiling just a little. "And so it all begins to make sense. I had never seen Devlin so agitated, not by anyone or anything, as he was by you."

She gripped his hand with her free one. "Have you see Devlin? I heard he was shot! I am desperately trying to find him-I am praying he is alive." And she inhaled hard, seeking to keep hold of the last shreds of her composure.

Harvey hesitated.

And Virginia saw from his eyes that he knew something. "What is it! What is it that you know and are afraid to tell me?"

"I heard he was arrested, Virginia. Arrested by Admiral c.o.c.kburn himself. Apparently he went berserk and killed his own troops." Harvey winced. "It makes no sense and obviously cannot be true, but that is the rumor around here."

"He's been arrested?" she gasped, though she rejoiced because he was alive. "Where would they send him? Where would he be?"

"I heard he's in the brig-on the Defiance," Jack Harvey said.

"I'M AFRAID YOU'LL LIVE, Captain," Paul White, his ship's most recent surgeon, grinned.

Devlin was shirtless, seated on the narrow pallet behind bars in the tiny cell that was his own brig. White had just finished bandaging his right shoulder, which hurt like h.e.l.l, but he did not give a d.a.m.n. He knew the wound was not a serious one. Fortunately, his senses honed by a dozen years of battle, he had felt the attacker behind him and had turned just in time. If he had not, he would now be dead, murdered by Tom Hughes.

He knew with every fiber of his being that Hughes had followed him to this war to a.s.sa.s.sinate him. He did not care.

Because this last battle had reduced his life to one thing, and one thing only: his wife. He kept seeing Virginia as she turned the corner and came face-to-face with him, her visage pale with exhaustion and marred with blood, her eyes huge with fear, the fear of a hunted animal. He kept seeing her as she aimed her musket at him, her hands shaking wildly. He kept seeing her as she was a.s.saulted by those soldiers, her belly swollen with his child. And even now, the memory was enough to terrify him.

If he lost her, he could not bear it. If he lost her, he knew he would never recover from his grief.

Once, long ago, powerless and afraid, he had watched the redcoats murder his father. Yesterday he had seen Virginia being a.s.saulted by the British marines, and for one moment, it had been as if he were a child of ten again. For one moment, the fear and horror had unmanned him and he had been powerless again, watching the woman he loved being a.s.saulted, about to be raped and slain.

But the paralysis gripping him had only been for an instant-because he was not that ten-year-old boy anymore: he was a powerful man, a captain and commander. And then the rage had come, a rage that knew no bounds. To save Virginia, he would have murdered every redcoat in Hampton if that was what had to be done.

Devlin closed his eyes, trembling. But Virginia had not been raped, she had not been slain, and dear G.o.d, no man had been as foolish as he had been. He had sacrificed her love and their marriage for his d.a.m.ned revenge. He had given thanks to a G.o.d he had stopped praying to long ago a hundred times in the past twenty-four hours, and he could not be grateful enough that Virginia was alive. Before he had been arrested, he had seen Frank and Tillie carry her safely away.

He cradled his face in his hands. He desperately needed his wife. He needed her forgiveness and he needed her love and this last battle had shown him that.

His life had been one of death and hate. No more. He was choosing joy and love-if Virginia would forgive him and take him back.

"Do you want some grog for the pain, sir?"

Devlin looked at the ship's surgeon. There was so much pain, but it was in his heart, and he knew the grog would not ease it. Only Virginia could ease it, if she agreed to return to him, if she could forgive him and if she would love him again, just a little. "No."

A movement sounded. It was the hatch being opened. Both men watched as a pair of very shiny boots came into view, descending the ladder, followed by short thighs encased in bright white britches, a blue jacket, gold b.u.t.tons, numerous medals and two gold epaulets. Admiral c.o.c.kburn faced Devlin and Paul White, as a junior officer descended behind him. It was Thomas Hughes.

Devlin looked at Eastleigh's son and with some surprise realized that he felt no anger, no rage. He felt nothing at all except an odd indifference-and the intense urge to find his wife.

"How's Devlin?" c.o.c.kburn asked White.

"Got a real sore shoulder, sir, and a right fine lump on the head, but he should be able to resume duties in a few days. I mean, if he weren't in the brig," White amended, flushing.

Devlin slowly stood, reaching for his bloodstained shirt, aware of everyone's eyes upon him. How odd this indifference was, how odd and such a relief. Finally, he was done.

And he felt himself smile as he turned to face c.o.c.kburn and Hughes, b.u.t.toning up his shirt. He was choosing joy and love.

As Devlin turned, he happened to glance at Hughes. The man's hostile eyes widened in confusion and surprise when their gazes met. Devlin looked away. He was impatient now to get on with his life, but he had some loose ends to tidy up-he owed Virginia and their unborn child that.

"Release him," c.o.c.kburn said.

"But, sir," Hughes began in protest. "He murdered British troops!"

Devlin said not a word as he stepped out of the cell, followed by White.

"We'll speak on deck," c.o.c.kburn said firmly, turning and going aloft first. Ignoring Hughes, who stared, Devlin followed the admiral up to the main deck, where the breeze was gentle, the seas soft, the skies bright and blue. In fact, they had never been brighter or bluer.

He smiled and in his mind's eye he saw Virginia, her expression bright, forgiving him, wanting him, and his heart quickened. Devlin quickly took in his surroundings. He instantly recognized where they were-just outside the mouth of the Chesapeake, perhaps a mile from the Virginia sh.o.r.e. The day looked to remain pleasant and he did not feel any stronger wind coming. He saw they were tacking south at three or four knots. He could be at Sweet Briar within two hours. He could not wait.

"I am being released?" he asked as Tom Hughes joined them.

"Yes, you are. Unfortunate events occur in battle, my boy, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I am losing my best captain over some b.l.o.o.d.y frogs. Besides, any man would have acted as you did to protect his wife."

Hughes seemed to choke.

"It was a stunning triumph," the admiral continued. "I will make full reference to the part played by your marines and the Defiance. A good job, Captain, a very good job, indeed." c.o.c.kburn smiled at him.

Devlin did not want to discuss the terrible battle of Hampton. He chafed to leave. Instead, he faced his commanding officer. "I am resigning my commission, Admiral."

c.o.c.kburn gaped. So did Tom Hughes at his side. "What?" the admiral cried.

Devlin smiled. "I do believe you heard me," he said. "Excuse me. I am going home." Leaving both men staring in disbelief, he strode to his cabin, something light and joyful unfurling in his chest, like a ready sail in a fresh breeze.

He knew nothing about joy and love but surely Virginia could teach him. For she knew enough about those things for the both of them.

And he laughed.

Then, still smiling, he sat and quickly penned the resignation, blew it dry and folded it, then sealed it with wax. He returned to the deck outside, handing the notice of his resignation to c.o.c.kburn. "I would recommend turning the command of the Defiance over to Red Barlow," he said.

c.o.c.kburn was livid. "If I didn't know better, I would call you a coward, sir." He signaled his men, indicating that he wished to be taken to his flagship, stalking off.