Oath of Honor - Radclyffe

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

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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.

v

“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.

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“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

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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

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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

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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

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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