Patricia Rice (46 page)

* * *

Within a week, the women were grating on each other's nerves, particularly when Gabriella rambled on about Raphael while Jeannette sat at her feet. With the child's dark eyes fixed solemnly on her, Gabriella still remained oblivious of the resemblance.

Eavin listened in disbelief as Gabriella blithely revealed that Nicholas had gone to see the priest and to sign the annulment papers. Didn't the girl have any idea how difficult that had been for a proud man? Yet there was not one word of praise for Nicholas's patience and understanding, only acclaim for the man who had made a mockery of her marriage. Perhaps the ignorance of youth could serve as excuse, but Eavin thought a thick skin and selfish soul the more likely culprits.

She fretted over the fact that the papers still had to go to the archbishop for approval. The American church hierarchy was engaged in open warfare with the Creole priests, and the archbishop chose to reside elsewhere than in the decadent domain of New Orleans. With the British blockade, it could take months for those papers to be received and returned, and they could be as easily rejected as approved. The annulment didn't seem as certain a thing as Gabriella would like it to be.

But at least Raphael had the sense to stay out of the way. Either that, or he preferred the Christmas celebrations in the city to the relative quiet of the countryside, Eavin thought cynically. Even with the British camping on their doorsteps, the inhabitants of New Orleans still danced until dawn. Eavin sincerely hoped Nicholas was among them, because the alternative was for him to be in the miserable army camps or the swamps with the pirates, and she didn't want to wish that on anybody at this time of the year.

* * *

Unfortunately, the British had grandiose dreams of spending Christmas in New Orleans themselves. Nicholas was with Jackson at noon when Gabriel Villeré
 
arrived, his usually immaculate clothes torn and muddied from his escape through the swamps.

"They have landed! They are like ants swarming over the fields. They are flying their flag on my lawn!"

Jackson swore an oath Nicholas wished he had thought of. The small command post soon erupted with people and orders, and there was no time to be wasted on curses.

By early evening, the motley army Jackson had pounded together out of inexperienced volunteers from Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Louisiana marched through the Vieux Carre in an organized show of strength on their way to meet the British. Crowds cheered from the banquettes and galleries, and women waved handkerchiefs at the army singing their way through the streets, armed only with the rifles and squirrel guns they had brought with them.

The Kentucky volunteers had not yet arrived and the pirates were still digging in their artillery, but the small band of men and boys confidently paraded out to meet the strongest enemy the world had ever produced. It was a brave show, but Nicholas knew it was just that. The British had the manpower and the weaponry to decimate them. Still, he walked with the others, his sword joined with others like his, side by side with fresh-faced farmers and merchants, Choctaws and free men of color, determined to fight for the American flag that had flown over this land for almost exactly ten years.

Under cover of darkness Lafitte's pirates were finally given their freedom. They sailed a small schooner toward the British encampment while Jackson's troops marched in through the swamps. Surprising the exhausted, frozen British with a cannonade from land and water, Jackson's attack devolved into a wild melee that no one could win in the blackness of the bayous.
 

Retreating as quickly as they arrived, the small American army began digging in on a strategic strip of solid ground between the Chalmette and Rodriguez plantations. The British, understandably, decided to wait for the rest of their army and postponed their Christmas plans for the city.

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief. Time was on their side. The Kentucky troops could arrive at any minute. Now that Jackson and Claiborne had finally condescended to allow the pirates into their ranks, the cannon could be brought in from what remained of Barataria. Their troops were swelling with every day that passed, while the British troops would begin to lose numbers to the fevers and dysentery and other maladies that plagued the bayous.

But even those differences were scarcely sufficient to close the enormous gap between the trained and experienced British troops and the rowdy, rebellious volunteers under Jackson.

As the days passed and ship after ship arrived to spill out still more redcoats and ammunition and stores, the city of New Orleans watched fearfully. Their only source of supply was the Mississippi River now that the gulf had been cut off. British proclamations declaring the reasons why New Orleanians should rise up and join their cause against the intrusive Americans had coffee shops open until midnight. The city was rife with gossip as men argued and drew swords and tempers grew short.

As unofficial liaison between Jackson and the pirates, Nicholas could only curse the nature of mankind and continue preparations for war. He assigned Michael a different shift from his own so the Irishman's lilting accents wouldn't remind him so frequently of a similar voice at home. He stayed out of the city so he didn't have to be reminded of Raphael and his ilk lounging about the cafes asking why they should care whose flag flew overhead. The problem of Gabriella ached at the back of Nicholas's head, but he couldn't pursue it in the line of duty. He could only direct wagon loads of cannon through the bayous to the battements that grew stronger with every passing day.

Chapter 39

"
Regardez
! See there, the standard of the
canailles
?" Kerchief pulled tight to hold his hair from his eyes, the pirate aimed his cannon, set the fuse, and stood back as the powder exploded. A moment later, the British flag that had flown so proudly over the advancing troops disappeared in splinters of wood and silk. The pirate glanced triumphantly at the gentleman behind him.

Unimpressed by the showy but useless cannon fire, Nicholas observed the battlefield grimly. All around them artillery pounded. The pirates' amazing accuracy from both land and water were driving the British backward, away from the battlements. The day was turning into a triumph for the Americans, but he didn't feel triumphant.
 

The British army was still camped on American soil, and there was no way in hell that Jackson's troops could drive them off. The frustration of that knowledge compounded his other frustrations, and Nicholas clenched his teeth to hide his temper. He needed to get home, to untangle his private life, to know that he was fighting for the future he craved, but he was trapped by duty and honor into standing in this mud hole behind a cotton bale, waiting to die.

* * *

The Christmas festivities had given the plantation household a brief respite from escalating tension, but with the gifts unwrapped and the parties over, the undercurrent of sniping and complaining returned.

To give Isabel and
 
Hélène credit, their complaints were subtle and exceedingly polite, but Eavin was unable to deal with even the softest of voices. Her head ached and the ceaseless chatter left her so tired she was certain she must be a hundred years old. Holding a scented handkerchief to her nose, Eavin eased out of the
petite
salle
to find some peace.

In the hall, Hattie ran up to her to complain about one of the kitchen maids, and Annie came downstairs to say that Jeannette was fretful. Eavin closed her eyes and swayed helplessly. It was the most dismaying feeling, but she couldn't make her muscles move forward. Her head spun and she knew she was going to fall and she could do nothing to stop it.

When she came to, she was lying on the sofa in Nicholas's study, and Belle was berating a clamoring crowd of voices on the other side of the door. It took a minute for Eavin to realize where she was and that Belle had actually condescended to come upstairs, but the dizziness returned and she closed her eyes again.

Slamming the bolt into place, Belle crossed the room to stand over her. Eavin kept her eyes shut, but the image of Nicholas's sister seemed to be imprinted on her lids. She could see the challenge in Belle's eyes, the arrogant tilt of her head, and the triumph on her lips.

"You win," Eavin murmured.

"Did you have doubts?" Efficiently, Belle wrung a cloth in a basin of water and placed it over her patient's brow. "Now you must take care of yourself. No more catering to the prima donnas. You will rest and they will take care of you, or I shall feed them all to the gators."

Eavin smiled at the certainty in Belle's usually languid tone. She took the cloth from Belle's hands and held it to her own head. "I don't think Nicholas would appreciate your feeding the animals."

Belle gave a very Gallic gesture to indicate her opinion of what Nicholas thought, then floated to the nearest chair and sat down. "You have what you wish," she announced arrogantly. "Now, what do you intend to do about it?"

Eavin allowed her hand to drift down and cover her abdomen. She had denied the possibility for weeks now. She still didn't believe it. She and Nicholas had spent months of summer in each other's arms without making a baby. It wasn't possible that one night could change all that. Not now, not when it was too late.

Belle gave her a look of disgust. "Even now you do not believe. You have been too much with Nicholas. But you will believe soon enough when your belly grows round with his child. The whole world must scorn you when they find out, but you will have the child you craved. Before I return to the city, I must know what you mean to do about it."

Never wish for what you don't have or you just may get it. The cliche flitted through Eavin's mind as she waited for some sense of the child growing within her. Instead she smelled a waft of jasmine and imagined a ghostly laugh. Even Francine found her predicament amusing.

She was being overly superstitious. She would decide what to do when she was certain the pregnancy would hold, and not before. Glaring determinedly at Belle, Eavin replied, "I will call her Isabel
Hélène."

Belle broke out in chimes of laughter, filling the house and momentarily easing the fears of the people waiting outside.

* * *

"Something's wrong," Michael insisted, staring out at the drifts of gray fog clouding the street outside the window.

"Undoubtedly the stench of a Spaniard approaching," Nicholas replied idly, keeping his back to the loud party celebrating the coming of the new year. He hadn't seen Raphael in the crowd, but he kept hoping the bastard would try to sneak up on him so he could turn and punch him in the gut. Swords were no longer his weapon of choice.

"No, not here. At the plantation. I've got to go back." Michael frowned with as much puzzlement as determination.

Nicholas raised a cynical eyebrow. "Belle sending you messages through the fog? Or does your cock just ache?"

Temper flared in eyes too similar to Eavin's to give him ease. Nicholas held up a placating hand just as the music crashed to a halt and a voice in the front of the room yelled, "The British are advancing!"

Nicholas calmly turned to set aside his wineglass. When he turned back, Michael was gone.

Not until then had Nicholas felt fear. Not for himself, but for his family and home. It took all the willpower he possessed to follow the other officers out the door, instead of out the window and in the direction of the river. He had to believe that fighting the British was more important than running home.

Still, when an officer came looking for Michael, Nicholas reported him sick and sent his prayers racing through the bayou after him.

* * *

"You cannot go back to New Orleans now!" Holding a candle over her head, Eavin stood in the doorway of the room next to hers and watched Belle wrapping the heavy cloak around herself,

"I must. There is grave danger, and Nicholas will not see it until it is too late. I stayed only to see that you understand and will take care of yourself. Now it is time to go."

"At least wait until daylight when someone can drive you in. There are too many strangers in the swamps these days. It isn't safe."

Belle granted her a look of scorn. "They'd best beware of me. You still do not understand all, do you? But there will be time. I gave Annie something to put in your tea to keep you and the babe strong. Drink it, or I will tell Nicholas of the babe and you will have no choices left."

Pulling the cloak closed, she waited for Eavin to stand aside. There seemed no other alternative, and Eavin stepped away, giving her room to leave. Belle's words had been a promise of a sort. She would not tell Nicholas of the babe unless necessary.

Without a word Eavin handed the gun she kept in her pocket to Belle. She looked at it, looked up at Eavin, then with a nod accepted the gift. A bond stronger than words was forged between them. Belle pocketed the weapon and swept down the stairs, leaving Eavin to stare into the nighttime loneliness with faltering hopes.

* * *

Belle drew her knife through the crude trap line, severing the rope that would have sent some poor unsuspecting wayfarer pitching forward into the grips of whatever fiend had set it. Snakes hid in the trees and beneath rotted logs, alligators imitated cypress knees, but only mankind was crude enough to set such easily seen traps. Belle preferred the animals.