Oath Of Honor

Chapter Two

Blair stepped into the hall with her father just as Cam and Cam’s mother came out of the room opposite. Cam looked even more handsome than ever—which was saying a lot. Blair’s stomach tightened as their eyes met. She’d seen Cam just the night before when they’d had a late-night supper with Tanner and Adrienne at Whitley Manor. She and Cam had slept apart the night before the wedding, agreeing the tradition added to the specialness of the occasion. Twelve hours or twelve days made no difference—every time they met after being apart, she was struck with the force of their connection. The air around her came alive and her heart beat faster. Cam’s gaze held hers for an instant, as firmly and certainly as a caress, before moving to her father.

“Sir.” Cam nodded to the president.

Blair’s father said, “Morning, Cameron,” and moved a few feet away to greet Cam’s mother.

“Hello, darling,” Blair said softly, sliding her hand down Cam’s arm to clasp her fingers. They were warm and strong, fitting hers perfectly. Like Cam.

“Hi, baby,” Cam murmured, stepping close.

“Any second thoughts?” Blair asked playfully, but some tiny part of her was still amazed Cam wanted her, body and soul, forever. Her head might have little niggling insecurities. But her heart never did. Cam always made her feel completely and totally loved.

“Not a one.” Cam answered with absolute conviction and gave her a look that said she wanted to kiss her. For a fleeting second, Blair wondered if it wasn’t too late to elope. When Cam got that smoky look in her eyes, all Blair wanted was Cam inside her. She supposed there was no way off the island without being noticed, though, and tried not to sigh in frustration. Cam’s eyes sparkled with amusement and a promise. Blair smiled. Cam knew her too well.

“Okay—it was just a passing thought,” Blair said. “I really am looking forward to this.”

“You look beautiful.” Cam lifted her hand to kiss her fingers.

“So do you.” Blair was surprised to hear her voice shaking. The wedding was important for a lot of reasons, not all of them personal. She loved Cam and wanted to say so to the whole world. She wanted to wear Cam’s ring and put hers on Cam’s hand. But more was at stake today than just their private celebration. Even today, she was not just any woman. All her life she’d been her father’s daughter, and she wouldn’t change that no matter how hard the public scrutiny had been at times or how often she’d chafed under the restrictions. He was the president of the United States and his daughter was about to marry another woman—with his blessing. Their wedding was historic. Blair squeezed Cam’s hand, putting everything but Cam from her mind. “Just to be clear, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I’m yours, forever. Count on it.”

“I do.”

“I do too,” Cam said.

“I’ll see you downstairs, then, and we can say it again for the whole world to hear.” Blair released Cam’s hand and rejoined her father. “Ready, Daddy?”

“Absolutely,” her father said.

Blair glanced back at Cam and raised her brow. “Commander?”

“Anything you say, Ms. Powell,” Cam called after her.

Her steps as light as her heart, Blair laughed.

*

“Wes!”

Wes spun around, caught sight of Emory Constantine hurrying toward her, and opened her arms. “Hi, Em.”

“Hi yourself!” Emory’s arms went around her neck and warm lips brushed her cheek. Emory hugged her hard.

“It’s great to see you,” Wes said gruffly, her throat tightening. Why was it so hard to keep in touch with the most important people in her life? She hadn’t seen Emory for months, about as long as it had been since she’d been home. She missed Emory like family. Emory was family. Wes had acquaintances at work, colleagues she liked and respected, people she talked with every day. But no one she shared with. Emory, and her mother and her sisters, were the ones she trusted. “You look beautiful.”

Wes stepped back, keeping Emory’s hands in hers. Emory’s shimmering blue dress brought out the highlights in her dark eyes and glossy shoulder-length black hair. She was, as always, utterly stunning while radiating complete confidence and self-assurance. Some people probably thought her ease, even when surrounded by some of the most influential people in the world, came from being lauded on the covers of Time and People for her lab’s stem-cell breakthroughs, but Emory had been certain about everything as long as Wes had known her. Emory never lost sight of what she wanted, where she was headed, what she would accomplish. Wes loved her single-mindedness and total confidence. Emory had always said the same thing about her, but Wes suspected she only looked self-assured on the outside as a result of her height and her athletic build and the lessons she’d learned early in life—never show fear, never show weakness, and never, ever be ashamed of who she was. Poverty had a way of creating dignity; at least it had in her house. But she knew it was camouflage. Even all these years later, she still wondered where she fit in the world and was always aware of what she had to do to secure her place. Her work was her lifeline—her security and her satisfaction.

Emory brushed her hand over the fruit salad above Wes’s heart, her fingertips making the ribbons and medals sway against the immaculate blue material a shade darker than Emory’s dress. “Look who’s talking. You’re downright dashing in this uniform, Captain. I fear I might swoon.”

Wes laughed, and a sandy-haired, sharp-eyed woman in a dark suit and coffee-colored shirt coughed discreetly at Emory’s elbow, her body language possessive without being proprietary. “I’m standing right here, babe.”

Emory’s face lit up with an expression Wes had never seen there before. Pure joy. Emory grabbed the lanky newcomer around the waist and pulled her close. “Wes, this is Dana. She’s my”—Emory glanced at Dana, an eyebrow raised—“fiancée?”

Dana laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. “Proposal accepted.” She held out her hand to Wes. “Dana Barnett. I’m with Emory.”

“Yes,” Wes said. “I believe I’ve heard your name mentioned a time or two…hundred.”

Dana grinned. “Same.”

“Wes,” Emory said, “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you had interviews and all that.”

“Circumstances are a little pressured,” Wes said obliquely. Emory was her best friend, but her new job demanded discretion of the highest order. “Things are moving a bit faster than normal.”

Emory’s expression grew somber. “I was so sorry to hear about Leonard. What a tragedy.”

“It was.” Wes hadn’t known Leonard O’Shaughnessy personally, but even though she dealt with death on a daily basis, sometimes the seeming unfairness of life defied rationalization. A sudden twist of fate could send so many lives, including her own, careening down paths never anticipated. She shook off the cloud of sadness. “My orders were to report promptly, so—”

Emory laughed. “Do they have any idea who they appointed? Dr. Punctuality herself.”

“Probably not,” Wes said, hoping someone somewhere had actually looked at her file, or this might be a very short posting.

“Well, it’s wonderful to see you, and now that you’ll be—” Emory broke off as a hushed “Oh!” escaped the crowd.

Wes followed her gaze. At the far end of the room, the wedding party descended the stairs. Oddly, no cameras flashed.

She’d been to a lot of weddings, including some extraordinarily elaborate ones. She would’ve expected the wedding of the daughter of the president of the United States to be a State affair. But then she thought about Blair Powell—despite her well-known public persona, there was very little about her private life in the public domain. Blair rarely gave interviews and avoided media glitz and paparazzi. Her romantic relationship with Cameron Roberts had created quite a bit of controversy in the national media news, but Blair had had very little to say other than to acknowledge the truth of the rumors. She might be the public face of the presidential family, but her personal life was a mystery.

The gathering today was small, considering the importance of the event, and Wes bet everyone there, with the exception of security, was a personal friend of the first family or Cameron Roberts’s family. There were few foreign dignitaries, no Hollywood stars, no political pundits. Only ordinary people gathered to celebrate the special day of someone they loved.

For a moment, Wes felt like an intruder. She was used to boundaries—clear, solid ones. She was about to witness an extremely personal moment in the lives of strangers, without even the excuse of professional involvement to excuse her presence. Then she recognized a face at the far side of the room from the briefing documents she’d been given earlier. Dr. Peter Chang, the acting head of the White House Medical Unit. A bulky black leather bag sat by his right leg—a bag that carried a defibrillator, emergency resuscitation equipment, surgical instruments, and drugs. This gathering might appear to be an ordinary wedding, but it wasn’t. Nothing about any event with the president in attendance was ordinary.

Chang was present along with a flight nurse and a physician’s assistant to ensure the safety and welfare of the president of the United States—the duty Wes would be assuming within a matter of days. As the chief of the White House Medical Unit—her new posting—her charge was to ensure the health and welfare of every employee, visitor, and dignitary within the White House and grounds. But above all, her number one responsibility was to the president of the United States. In a crisis situation, he was her only patient, earning her the title of First Doctor of the United States. She’d have to get used to witnessing private moments as well as world-changing ones, since she would never be far from his side again. Where he went, she went.

Right now, President Andrew Powell looked like every other proud father she’d ever witnessed. He wore a dark blue suit, snowy white shirt, and red tie. His face still held a hint of summer tan, and his thick blond hair made him appear younger than his fifty years. Blair, her arm linked with her father’s as they descended the staircase, had the same midnight blue eyes, although her hair was a deeper gold. Her full-length cream-colored dress, with its square-cut bodice and figure-hugging design, accentuated her svelte, athletic body. Her arms were sleek and muscular, her carriage confident and graceful. She was beautiful. Cameron Roberts was just behind her, holding the hand of a beautiful woman who looked very much like her. Marcea Casells, Roberts’s mother. Roberts—tall, thick black hair brushed back from her face, intense charcoal eyes—was dressed formally in a gray morning coat, silver-gray pleated tuxedo shirt, and dark trousers with a satin stripe down the side. Her gaze followed Blair as if no one else was in the room.

At the bottom of the staircase, Blair and her father turned toward an area ringed with arrangements of wildflowers and white roses in front of the glass doors opening out onto the veranda. An army chaplain awaited them. The president moved a few steps away from his daughter, allowing Cameron Roberts to take her place by Blair’s side. The guests filled the seats set up in one half of the room.

Wes made her way around the perimeter toward Peter Chang. She wasn’t officially the head of the medical unit yet. Until her final security clearance, she was in limbo. She hadn’t felt quite so displaced since the day her mother met her at the bus stop after school one late June day when she was eight and said they were moving in with her grandmother. They couldn’t afford to live in the house she’d grown up in any longer. Wes pushed the uneasy feeling aside. She wasn’t eight anymore, and she had learned since then that destiny was hers to determine.

Chang nodded to her when she stepped up beside him. He’d obviously been briefed too, but there was no time for conversation. The chaplain’s deep voice filled the room.

Dearly beloved…

The president’s daughter and Cameron Roberts faced each other, hands lightly clasped, eyes locked.

I, Blair Allison Powell, take you, Cameron Reed Roberts, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children, and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care for and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and to stay with you, for all eternity.

A willowy blonde stepped to Blair’s side, and Blair lifted a gleaming gold band from her palm. She lifted Cam’s left hand and slid the ring securely on her third finger. With this ring, I thee wed.

Cameron Roberts’s gaze never wavered from Blair’s face, her voice ringing strong and clear. I, Cameron Reed Roberts, take you, Blair Allison Powell, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children, and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care for and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and to stay with you, for all eternity.

Roberts accepted the matching ring from a young dark-haired woman who leaned on a plain wood cane, and slipped it onto Blair’s finger. With this ring, I thee wed.

An anticipatory breath shuddered through the crowd. Six uniformed officers, the Guard of Honor, stepped in sync to form a path from the proceedings area, facing one another in a line, white-gloved hands on shining saber hilts.

By the power vested in me by the United States Army, the President of the United States, and the Commonwealth of…

The three male and three female officers drew their swords with a slick of steel, their blades raised and touching to form the Arch of Sabers.

…I pronounce you wed.

The couple kissed, the crowd clapped, and Wes turned to Peter Chang.

“I guess you know who I am.”

Chang held out his hand. “Welcome to the hot zone, Captain.”