Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (42 page)

David flushed,
one of the few times in his life Sophie had ever seen him do so, and glanced
across the patio at Fairfax's second.
 
"He's waiting for me so we can pace out the field and draw
lots.
 
I'll be back."
 
He left them.

Jacques took
Sophie's hand.
 
"You know Fairfax
is broken inside his head.
 
The monster
should not be suffered to live and visit terror on people.
 
None will dispute me killing him here."

She blinked
back tears.
 
"That's why you
challenged him."

"
Oui
.
 
I have been waiting on a clear shot at the
animal.
 
If I fail, you and David must
find a way to extinguish him."

"I?
 
Kill Fairfax?"
 
Her hands began trembling.
 
"It's far more likely to snow in Havana
this moment!"

"Find a
way, or you will live to regret it."
 
He gripped her hand.
 
"You
never told us what happened to you in Cow Ford, but it will seem miniscule in
comparison."

She tensed,
grateful again for Lila and that bucket.
 
Don Antonio's slave returned with powder, balls, and an ornate case
containing dueling pistols.
 
By then,
David and the marine had measured ten full paces and cast lots.
 
David would give the order to fire, but Fairfax
had won the right to fire first.

Determination
etched Jacques's face.
 
He drew a purse
from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it into her hand.
 
"In the event that I fail to
exterminate that English pig, Don Antonio should have no difficulty giving me a
decent burial with this."

"Oh,
no," she whispered.
 
Having endured
the death and resurrection of her father, she couldn't bear to lose
Jacques.
 
"No, Uncle Jacques!"

He leaned
closer, his voice almost inaudible.
 
"I love Mathias as
hopwiwa
, son of my sister.
 
Tell him so."

Panic stormed
through her soul.
 
"No,
you
tell him so!"

"It has
done my old heart much good to know you two have finally found your way back
together."
 
He stroked her cheek
and walked over to load his weapon.

Tears closed
her throat.
 
Pale-faced, her brother
returned to her side after embracing Jacques.
 
She shoved the purse at him.
 
"Here.
 
He wants a decent
burial."

David
compressed his lips and fit Jacques's purse inside his waistcoat.
 
Then he guided her off the patio near one of
the marines.
 
"Wait here until it's
over."
 
She nodded, voice gone.

Pistols cocked,
Jacques and Fairfax took their stations.
 
David, at the edge of the patio equidistant from them, cleared his
throat.
 
"Gentlemen, are you
prepared?"

"
Oui
."

"Yes."

David took a
deep breath.
 
"Present!"

Both pistols
came up and aimed.
 
Jacques's fire
answered Fairfax's with but a half-second delay, yet through clearing smoke,
Sophie saw only Jacques collapse.

Denial ripped
from her throat.
 
"No!"
 
She flew from the gallery and knelt at the
Frenchman's side, David crouching opposite her.

Crimson heart
blood seared through the hole in the left upper section of Jacques's
waistcoat.
 
His eyes searched the sky
through the clear green of overhead leaves, and his voice emerged raspy.
 
"
Est-ce que le Québec est le nôtre
?"

Sophie didn't
know how David kept his voice steady for the response: "
Oui, mon ami,
le Québec est le nôtre
."
  
Yes,
my friend, Quebec is ours.

Joy buoyed
Jacques's expression.
 
His gaze still
fixed on the sky, he took a deep breath, as if reaching for something.
 
Then his entire body relaxed, and his eyes
glazed over.
 
Clear green and burning
crimson.

Sophie bowed
her head, closed her eyes, and pressed the heels of her hands against her
eyelids.
 
Too soon, she heard the
scraping of multiple boot soles around them on the stones of the patio.
 
When she opened her eyes to look at
Jacques's peaceful expression, her peripheral vision encompassed that ominous
pair of cleaned, black boots.
 
Fleeting
impulse urged her to dull the shine with her own spittle.

David rose, his
voice detached and firm.
 
"
Monsieur
le Coeuvre requested that he receive a decent burial with this."

Coins
jingled.
 
"Of course,
Señor
,"
said Don Antonio.

David walked
around Jacques's body and assisted Sophie to her feet.
 
The marines encircled them again, Don
Alejandro standing aside with Don Antonio.
 
Fairfax turned to Don Alejandro.
 
"If you and your attendants will proceed to your
volanta
, it
will be my great honor to escort you safely to your meeting with Mr. St. James
and
le Comte
Dusseau."

"
Gracias,
capitán
."
 
Fanatics, the
Rightful Blood.
 
Even surrounded by
Britons, they'd attempt to kill alliance members.

"Don
Antonio, I thank you again and regret that this action has delayed our
departure.
 
We shall leave now, that you
may mourn your nephew in peace."

Fed up with the
sham, Sophie glared at Don Antonio.
 
"
Mourn
?
 
I doubt
you'll shed one tear for your nephew.
 
He disappointed you.
 
He bungled
an ambush on a rebel and French spy so badly, your own assassin had to kill
him."
 
The Spaniard's face
blanched.
 
Fairfax gazed at her in
amazement, then with an intensity she didn't want to consider.

"The
overall scheme was brilliant.
 
Use the
Gálvez name to lure alliance members to Havana and execute them.
 
But then these Britons showed up."
 
Fairfax stiffened, and the Spaniard worked
his mouth in rage.
 
"To preserve
your cover as a loyal Spaniard, dedicated to the alliance with France, you
pretend to believe Lieutenant Fairfax's story and hand us over to them so
they
can execute us.
 
Do the Gálvez support
Casa
de la Sangre Legítima
, or did you merely steal their name for your
purposes?"

Don Antonio's
voice hissed.
 
"How dare you speak
to me that way!"

Fairfax shoved
David.
 
"Take them outside!"

Marines closed
around Sophie and David and marched them to where the
volantas
parked in
the street.
 
While everyone waited for
Don Alejandro and his four bodyguards to situate themselves in their
volanta
,
Sophie looked across the street to the mariners' church.

The front door
opened.
 
Out walked Miguel de
Arriaga.
 
The commotion piqued his
curiosity, and upon closer attention, he made eye contact with both Sophie and
her brother.
 
She watched the way his
gaze landed on the proximity of the soldiers.
 
From his initial expression, he realized that they had been taken
prisoner.
 
From the subsequent emotion
on his face, she could almost read his thoughts:
None of my business.
 
Portugal is neutral
.

Damn.

Arriaga's eyes
bulged at the sight of Fairfax, and his gaze clambered over the lieutenant's
Continental uniform.
 
The last time the
capitão
had seen Dunstan Fairfax, he'd been a redcoat standing on the deck of the
Zealot
,
anchored off St. Augustine.
 
Once again,
Arriaga's expression composed into, "No, Portugal is neutral."
 
However it took more of a struggle getting
there that time.

Damn.

Fairfax jutted
his jaw toward the Spaniard's
volanta
.
 
"Habersham, ride in the third carriage with Don Alejandro for his
protection.
 
Jones, McDonald, McCoy,
ride with Mr. St. James in the second carriage.
 
Mrs. Barton and I shall ride in her carriage up front. The rest
of you bring up the rear."

Panic sliced
frost through Sophie.
 
Fairfax planned
to be alone with her in the
volanta
.
 
Jacques's reminder about the incident at Cow Ford spun through her head,
and she knew it was time to play the card she possessed.
 
She allowed cold fury to elevate her
voice.
 
"You have lost your wits if
you think I will willingly ride alone with you in that carriage.
 
You tried to force me in Cow Ford!"

Wrath congested
David's face.
 
He took a step toward
Fairfax.
 
"Why, you son of a dog
—"

"Gag
him," snapped Fairfax.
 
"No —
bind and gag both of them."
 
He
rubbed his temple as if a headache brewed there.
 
Then he produced a conciliatory smile that made Sophie wonder
whether his lip muscles had ever attempted such a gesture.
 
"Mr. St. James, I assure you that I'm
of entirely human stock."

David snarled
when the gag came around his mouth.
 
"If you touch my sistmmmflngmth —"

"And I
also assure you that I've never harmed your sister."

Two marines
half-dragged and half-shoved a glaring David toward one of the
volantas
.
 
Fairfax pushed the lace veil off Sophie's
head and onto her shoulders to make room for her gag, which he whisked from the
marine in attendance and wrapped and knotted himself.
 
Then he snatched rope from the marine and yanked her arms behind
her back.

With her voice
silenced and her hands being tied behind her, she watched honor and
determination flood Arriaga's face.
 
No
longer was the predicament about Portugal's neutrality in the American War.

Just before
Fairfax propelled her toward their
volanta
, she had the satisfaction of
seeing the Portuguese slip away to the east.
 
Silent.
 
Sneaky.

Chapter Thirty-Three

FAIRFAX JERKED
OPEN the door to the
volanta
, whamming it into the carriage body.
 
The driver yelled imaginative conjectures
about Fairfax's parentage, accompanied with hand gestures guaranteed to
transcend the language barrier.
 
Fairfax
shoved Sophie.
 
"In
there."
 
She stumbled.
 
Scowling, he heaved her in.

Her impact on
the floor shook loose her left garter and popped open her jacket, exposing her
shift.
 
Since the irate driver consumed
Fairfax's attention, she squirmed and attempted to make her bosom look less
inviting while being treated to Fairfax's communication skills: "
No
hablo Español bueno.
 
Vamos
— what's
that you say?
 
See here, I don't give a
damn what your mother eats with sailors.
 
Vamos
to the harbor — uh,
la puerto
, no, damnation, it's
el
puerto
, you lazy lump, you know exactly what I mean, so make it so!
 
And
rápidamente
!"

He leaped in
and slammed the door.
 
"Imbeciles."
 
The
volanta
swung into the street, pitching him atop her, his face in her petticoat, his
hat knocked off.

When he
struggled up and assessed her disarray, she focused on loose trim above the
door.
 
Quiet descended on her.
 
The ride to Havana harbor could take ten
minutes, more than enough time for Fairfax to finish what he'd started in Cow
Ford.
 
Bound and gagged, she saw no
point in exhausting herself with struggle.

He pushed up
and slid the veil off her shoulders.
 
After taking a seat and peering out the window, he replaced his
hat.
 
Then he studied her, snaking lace
between his fingers.
 
"How
courageous you look lying there half-naked.
 
From the expression on your face, you're resigned to the inevitability
of violation."
 
He brushed lace on
his lips and cheek.
 
"Many
goodwives approach the marital bed with the same attitude."
 
He silkened his voice.
 
"Does that make it truly rape,
then?"

His gift for
contorting reality went with his broken head.
 
A pothole jolted the
volanta
, jamming her jaws together.

In her
peripheral vision, he cocked his head.
 
"What the devil are you staring at?
 
Ah, that loose piece of trim.
 
Come now, I
must
be more interesting to look at."
 
With his forefinger, he prodded the hat into
a jaunty angle.
 
"Don't I make a
dashing rebel?
 
Oh, pardon me, you're
patriots
,
not rebels.
 
That makes us the
oppressive, tyrannical brutes — never mind that we represent the lawful
government."