Lady Vixen (85 page)

She
had him there. Reminding himself that what he had learned today would be common
knowledge within a matter of hours, he said lightly, "General Jackson is
finally on his way to New Orleans. If all goes well he should be in the city in
about a week."

"Is
that
what was bothering you?" she retorted disgustedly. "Don't
you want him here?"

"Oh,
yes, I want him and the troops he brings here. What worries me is the apathy
and fear that is in the city. Even the best general cannot fight the combined
forces of an enemy within as well as without." It was more than he had
meant to tell her, but it seemed he could keep nothing from her—not when she
was determined to force it from him.

Resting
her head on his shoulder and absently playing with the gilt buttons on his
bottle-green jacket, she asked in a small voice, "Is the city really going
to be attacked? I know the newspapers have said so, and that the governor has
called up the militia—you can see the troops drilling everyday in the Place
d'Armes. But there aren't very many of them, are there?"

"Which
question shall I answer first?" Christopher teased, suddenly more
interested in the soft strands of hair under his chin. Nicole pinched him, and
he said hastily, "All right! Yes, I do believe the city will be attacked.
I think Jackson is wrong in his belief that the British will start their
campaign at Mobile, but he is a general and I am a civilian. And yes, there
aren't many troops. But Jackson will be bringing more troops with him, so I
wouldn't let it worry you. Satisfied now?"

She
shook her head slightly. In a voice barely above a whisper she asked the
question that had been at the back of her mind for days. "Will you be in
the fighting?"

Christopher
sighed and gently smoothed the fire-dark head. "Yes, I'm afraid so,"
he said honestly. "You wouldn't expect me not to be, would you?"

Her
throat tight, she looked up at him. "You'll be careful?"

Christopher
sighed and gently smoothed the fire-dark caressing her cheek, he murmured,
"When I have such a delightful bride waiting for me, you think I'm going
to be taking any chances?" And then his mouth captured hers in a gentle
kiss. At least it began gently, but her soft body so close to him was more than
he could resist. His lips hardened with desire, and impatiently his hands
sought out the fastenings of the gown.

Nicole
responded as always to his lovemaking, yet conscious of where they were, she
asked against his mouth, "Sanderson?"

The
glitter of passion in his eyes, he promised thickly, "Anyone opens that
door and I'll break his neck!"

A
soft gurgle of laughter shook her, and without another thought she gave herself
up to Christopher's demanding body.

It
was only later, much later that night, that she recalled the conversation and a
little chill crept around her heart. Lying in her bed, Christopher's sleeping
form curved protectively next to hers, she touched him, as if reassuring
herself he was still there, that the battle everyone knew was coming had not
yet taken him from her.

This
wouldn't be the first time they had been under fire, but this time it was
different; this time he would be out there amongst the cannons and muskets, and
she would remain behind. For just a minute she considered disguising herself as
a boy to follow him, but knew it was a wistful, impractical idea. Besides, if a
British bullet didn't kill her and Christopher found out,
he
would kill
her!

Her
loyalties about the coming battle were unclear even to herself. She knew that
she wanted Christopher unharmed, but whether New Orleans was in the hands of
the British or Americans made little difference to her. She had been just a
little surprised and shocked to discover how deep Christopher's feelings were
about America, and Louisiana particularly. Feeling slightly guilty that she
could not summon up the same fierce loyalty that burned in Christopher, she
sighed unhappily. She hated this war; it was as though brothers were warring
against each other. It depressed her unbearably to know that perhaps some of
the young officers she had met and liked while in England were going to be
locked in mortal combat with her husband and her neighbors and friends.

Not
surprisingly she thought of Allen. He was in her mind frequently these days,
not only because Christopher had admitted carelessly one night last week that
Lafitte had turned him over to some British officers, but she would have liked
him to know that she and Christopher were married, that her seeming sacrifice
hadn't been such a sacrifice after all. Her mention of Allen had pointed out
how far they were from erasing the past. Christopher hadn't liked it when she
had questioned him further about it—his eyes had narrowed, and suspicion and
jealousy gleamed in the golden depths.

She
stirred uncomfortably under the quilts, thinking that while she and Christopher
were closer than they ever had been, there were still a great many pitfalls in their
path. Time after time she had seen how a thoughtless word could shatter the
peace between them.

Despite
Christopher's avowal of belief in her story of that last night in England, she
sometimes wondered if he had really accepted it. An innocent mention of
Robert's name was enough for that shuttered expression to cross his face, and
whether he still believed she was like her mother she didn't know. And while
they had loved gloriously these past weeks, they had also fought and argued
hotly, both proud, both still a little wary of this acknowledged emotion between
them.

Christopher
was the worst, she decided almost angrily. He shut her out whenever something
he didn't want to face was mentioned, and infuriatingly she was confronted once
again by the cold and sardonic Captain Saber. But then she smiled. At least it
was Christopher who made love to her, ending most arguments in the age-old
masculine manner by making violent love to her until she no longer cared what
the argument had been about or who had been right. It was only later, like now,
that all the doubts came back.

Sleepless
and bedeviled, she twitched restlessly in the bed until she accidentally woke
Christopher. Irritably he demanded, "What in the hell is wrong with you? I
feel like a wiggling puppy has invaded my bed!"

He
propped himself up on one elbow, and when Nicole saw his tousled hair tumbling
across his forehead, his muscled naked chest, she felt a wave of love sweep
over her. Christopher caught the look and his irritation vanished, and with a
smothered laugh he reached for her under the quilts. "If you wanted me to
make love to you, why didn't you say so?" he teased and proceeded to do
just that.

***

On
December second General Jackson arrived in New Orleans and the inhabitants took
heart. Some of the apathy disappeared, although the Creoles still couldn't seem
to comprehend that they were going to have to defend themselves. Besides, they
argued, New Orleans had seen so many flags flying overhead in the past, what
did one more mean?

On
December third General Jackson reviewed the gorgeously deplumed battalion of
New Orleans volunteers in the Place d'Armes. Tall, gaunt, his iron-gray hair
worn long and drawn back from his sallow hawklike face, he watched
expressionlessly the pitiful number of men that marched before him.

Christopher,
too, stared at those same pitiful troops and decided to tackle Lafitte once
more. First, though, he would have to see if Jason could put the general in a
receptive mood.

At
first Jason was skeptical. "Look, I know we need those men, but Jackson
sided with Claiborne earlier. What makes you think he'll have changed his
mind?"

"Because,"
Christopher retorted levelly, if a little heatedly, "he doesn't want New
Orleans to fall to the British and without those men, it surely will!"

Jason
regarded him sourly. "Very well. I shall talk to the general."

"Today?"

"No,"
Jason replied decisively. "The general must first see for himself that
using Lafitte's men is the only way to save the city.
Then
I will
approach him about Lafitte."

Christopher
didn't like it, but Jason was unmoved. He merely smiled and said mildly,
"Why don't you go prime Lafitte? That should satisfy your urge for
action."

Unable
to decide whether to laugh or smash his fist into Jason's sardonic features,
Christopher stormed out of the room and headed for Lafitte's cottage on the
ramparts.

"Come
in,
mon ami,"
Lafitte cried happily. "I was wondering when you
would come back to see me."

His
lips twisting disagreeably, Christopher lounged down in one of the wooden
chairs and snapped, "I suppose you know why I have come?"

Looking
seraphic, Lafitte murmured, "Let us say I hope I know why you come? The
Americans need me rather badly, don't they?"

"Goddamnit,
yes!" And forgetting all his careful arguments for convincing Lafitte to
throw his forces in with theirs, he demanded, "Are you going to join
us?"

His
eyebrows rising in mock surprise, Lafitte admitted, "But of course! Did
you doubt it?"

Narrowly
Christopher regarded him. "What is your price? Surely it is not sheer
nobility of purpose that motivates you?"

"Ah,
well, there is that, but you are right,
mon ami—
I do have my
price." Suddenly very serious, Lafitte said, "I want my men freed, I
want my goods returned, and I want no more interference by Claiborne."

"I
cannot guarantee you anything," Christopher admitted candidly. "What
I can do, I hope, is arrange a meeting between you and General Jackson—between
you, you will have to work out your differences."

Lafitte
nodded. "That is fair enough. Jackson, I have heard, is not an
unreasonable man . . . nor is he in much of a position to be particularly
high-stomached about where his ammunition and added men come from."

Christopher
could agree with that, and after confirming Lafitte's willingness to meet with
the general as soon as it could be arranged, he departed, feeling as useless as
he had to begin with.

From
that point on the New Orleans area was a hive of activity. One of the general's
first orders was for brigades of axemen to block the swamp-hemmed watercourses
that surrounded the city with fallen trees. Because Christopher was spoiling
for action and knew those areas well, due to his time with Lafitte, on
Claiborne's recommendation to Jackson he was appointed as one of the men in
charge of the hurriedly assembled army of axemen. Though the work was hard,
Christopher was pleased that at last there was a concerted effort being made to
protect the city.

On
Lake Borgne Commodore Patterson was posted with five gunboats to act as the
general's "eyes" for the defense of the eastern routes into the city.
Having decided not to attempt any defense of the river below Fort St. Philip,
Jackson inspected the fort, and on his orders the inflammable wooden barracks
were demolished and the existing cannon were augmented by the addition of a
thirty-two-pounder. Two new batteries were erected, one across the river at the
derelict old Spanish Fort Bourbon and the second a half mile upstream.

At
English Turn, below the city on the Mississippi River, he ordered the immediate
construction of batteries protected by earthworks and another battery to be mounted
at a point covering part of Bayou Terre aux Boeufs.

Jackson
was out of the city for six days during his inspections, but there was a
constant stream of orders relayed back to his engineers in New Orleans, and
demands to the governor and requisitions for troops and stores. On his order
the slaves of riverside plantations were called in to throw up earthworks and
erect batteries. With gladness he accepted Pierre Jugeat's offer to raise a
battalion of friendly Choctaw Indians and approved the request of Jean Baptiste
Savary to form a battalion of free men of color from the refugees from Santo
Domingo.

In
the city Nicole watched the activity with growing unease and dismay. She longed
desperately for Christopher and worried constantly. She cursed herself a dozen times
a day for her silliness, knowing in her heart that Christopher was enjoying
himself immensely in the swamps, and that he would have detested being a mere
spectator. She supposed it was her own restlessness that made her so inclined
to worry about him, and ruefully she admitted she envied him.

Jackson
returned to the city on the tenth, but set out again two days later to inspect
the routes from the head of Lake Borgne. And as a result of his inspection a
battery was mounted on Chef Menteur Road, and Fort St. John was strengthened
and reinforced. He had done what he could and with what he had to work with;
now there was little he could do but wait.

Jackson
had barely returned to the city again, when on December 13, the news reached
him that British ships were dropping anchor off Cat and Ship islands at the
mouth of Lake Borgne. Unwisely he wrote to Major General John Coffee at Baton
Rouge, "I expect this is a feint to draw my attention to that point when
they mean to strike at another," never realizing that the British did
intend to attack through the lake. So Jackson settled down to wait, confident
the lake was too shallow for big ships to anchor within sixty miles of New
Orleans.