Patricia Rice (51 page)

But the confidence Eavin had talked herself into dissolved when Isabel hurried in to announce that Alphonso and his father had arrived with Father Antoine. They were to be married by a priest, in the eyes of God, and Eavin's stomach turned inside out again and the small breakfast she had managed to get down spewed up again.

Isabel was in near hysterics. Annie had Belle carried from the
garçonnière
up the back stairs to Eavin's bedside, but even Belle couldn't find a potion that would settle Eavin's seething insides. She sent the other women out of the room and leaning on a cane, slammed the door after him.

"What is wrong with you, girl?" Belle demanded when they were alone.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. It's just the babe." Gray-faced, Eavin stood up and steadied herself next to the vanity. Unsteadily she wrung out a cloth in the basin and bathed her face.

"The babe, nothing. That child hasn't caused you one instant's grief since it was conceived. It's something else. You haven't buried Nicholas, have you?"

Holding the cloth to her head, Eavin turned to meet Belle's eyes, playing the words in her mind. Belle was right She hadn't buried Nicholas. She felt as if she were about to commit adultery. She stared into those knowing dark eyes and felt all her certainties unravel. "I have to go to New Orleans," she answered.

Belle set her mouth, but her eyes turned thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. But how will you tell those people down there? If you go to New Orleans now, you could be throwing away any chance you have of giving that child a name."

"Will it be safe for me to travel? Really safe? I can't bear the thought of losing..."

Belle narrowed her eyes and studied Eavin carefully. "I don't know. Once I could have told you. Once I could have told you when Nicholas's soul departed his body. Now I can't even feel his absence. I keep waiting for him to come home like I wait for your dog of a heartless brother. I don't know how people live like this, not ever knowing. I can't tell you."

Eavin sighed and set the cloth back in the bowl. "Welcome to the real world, Belle. Being human is a scary business."

Belle considered this a moment. Her beautiful oval face had regained some of its color, and her black hair was brushed to a liquid shine. Pulled back in a severe chignon, it still had the power to draw attention. She held herself with the same stately grace as before, even if it was slightly off balance from the awkwardness of the wrappings hidden beneath her skirt. Her eyes drifted to somewhere beyond this room as she spoke.

"Being beyond human is even scarier. You can't really touch someone, you can't feel his arms around you, hear his heart beat, for fear that he will get too close. Everyone must be kept at arm's length for the magic to work. And it had to work. So many people depended on it. And now there is no one for them to turn to. The power is in the hands of people with money and position. The power will be yours now. You must learn to wield it well."

Once Belle's words would have cast an enchantment of conviction. Now they merely reflected the loneliness of a woman cast outside society for too long. Eavin touched Belle's hand gently.

"Michael will come back. He's never been interested in just one woman before. He's ready to settle down now, and you have the power to hold him. It doesn't take magic to love."

Belle smiled wryly. "I am supposed to be comforting you. Do not look at me so. I have been raped before, many times. My body has not been my own for longer than I can remember. Michael will never understand that. He will only see me with pity. He will leave New Orleans shortly. I do not need my magic to know that. You had better decide what you will do before then."

Setting aside magic and superstition and a broken heart that kept dreaming the impossible, Eavin could see what had to be done. Without stopping to check her hair in the mirror or to adjust her gown, she gestured toward the door.

"Call Isabel. It's time I quit crying in my beer."

Chapter 43

Eavin made it as far as the stairway leading down to the wide hall full of impatient guests. Her stomach roiled as she saw the sea of upturned faces. She clasped the banister and forced her feet to take another step. A murmur rose from the crowd, and she saw the concern on Jeremy's face as she faltered. At his nod, his sister took the first step up to meet her. Mrs. Howell's expression formed into a frown.

Eavin recognized her aristocratic neighbors from Carondelet. They watched her with curiosity and growing concern as she hesitated, holding her hand to her stomach as it churned. Even Mignon Dubois was pushing through the crowd, coming to stand beside Mrs. Howell and Jeremy's betrothed. Eavin felt as if the entire parish were staring at her, and her head began to spin.

Isabel rushed from the
grande salle
into the hall, followed by Alphonso and his father. She took one look at Eavin's green face and hurried to follow Lucinda up the stairs.

"Alphonso, carry her down before she falls! We cannot keep Father Antoine waiting any longer," Señor Reyes called from the doorway, encouraging Alphonso to hasten through the crowd.

Jeremy followed his sister while Mrs. Howell turned an outraged reply to the arrogant Spaniard. Eavin caught Jeremy's strong arm and ended up sitting on the stairs as Mrs. Howell's voice carried over the murmur of voices.

"It is obvious the girl is ill. You cannot force her to go through with this when she cannot even stand up." Huffily she ordered two of her neighbors to block the stairs while she ran up to sit beside Eavin.

Alphonso elbowed his way through the barricade, but Eavin was surrounded and he could do no more than hover solicitously as Isabel called from the bottom of the stairs, voicing her concern.

It would almost be funny if she didn't feel so awful. Señor Reyes was cursing in vivid Spanish while several of their French neighbors were growing irritable and replying in phrases that Eavin recognized from Nicholas's vocabulary. Easily aroused tempers were escalating over nothing, over less than nothing. Eavin thought if her stomach wasn't already empty, she might enjoy spewing its contents just to see the reaction that would follow. She needed Nicholas here to appreciate this scene.

Jeremy and Alphonso growled at each other while Isabel urged them to carry her down. Mrs. Howell demanded that they carry her back upstairs again. Belle appeared in the upper hallway, making one of her grand entrances. Eavin could hear the crowd gasp even though she didn't dare lift her head to look. She really did think she would begin to giggle hysterically soon if someone didn't get her out of here. She didn't think she was able to stand by herself.

That was when Eavin understood what she was doing. Despite all her brave, independent ideas, she was consigning herself into the hands of a man she didn't love again. It hadn't worked the first time and it certainly wouldn't work this time. She couldn't sell herself for a name.
 

Feeling her stomach settle and her strength return as she realized she had other options, that Nicholas had taught her not to fear and how to stand on her own, Eavin raised her head to gaze over the crowd of neighbors. They might be repelled by her decision, but it was her decision to make. Even now she could feel their sympathy surrounding her. She could arrange things on her own. It wouldn't be so bad. She didn't need Alphonso and his father to help her. Relieved at this discovery, Eavin woke sufficiently to pay closer attention to the happenings around her.

Alphonso forced his way through the crowd to hold out his hand to her. There were shouts from outside just as Jeremy pushed Alphonso's hand away. Alphonso's furious response was lost in the general confusion as several of the guests ran to the windows. Screams from the general direction of the servants' quarters created consternation and directed attention away from Eavin.

Her eyes widened as someone shouted "Soldiers!" and a general stampede began toward the front door. She ought to feel fear, but she only felt curiosity as people pushed and shoved into the hallway to see what was happening. Even Alphonso and Jeremy straightened with looks of concern. Señor Reyes shook his fist and shouted something, but his voice was lost in the clamor.

Some of the men had obviously found other ways onto the gallery and were lining up outside, pulling swords and pistols and whatever weapons came to hand. Eavin did giggle then. It was her wedding and the British were coming. She couldn't think of a more suitable guest roster.

She tried to hold the giggles, afraid to reveal her sudden lightheadedness as much as her earlier hysteria. Alphonso sent her a worried look, but Eavin remained seated, letting Mrs. Howell pat her hand as the men tended to their unexpected guests. The sudden explosion of voices reminded Eavin that she had heard the British had lost and gone away. What soldiers were these, then?

She tried to rise, but the front door burst open before she could, and she just sat there in amazement as strangers pushed through the bystanders, sending the women screaming into the salons and up the stairs toward Eavin. Mignon collapsed in a heap beside her and hugged her shoulders as a gap-toothed young man in leather jerkin and raccoon hat stared up at them, a wide grin filling his freckled face.

Convinced she was losing her mind, Eavin gazed back at the raged militiaman. "Why are you here?" she asked reasonably while the others around her stared.

The militiaman grinned and shrugged. "Captain's orders to secure the place, ma'am. Don't question the captain's orders."

"I think I have a right to question the captain's orders. This is my home. Where is he?" Eavin stood up and looked around for some figure of authority.
 

This was her home.
She could feel the knowledge seeping through her with certainty. No one was going to drive her out or take her away. This was the home Nicholas had chosen for her and Jeannette. He would want his child raised here. She would protect it with every means available, and her jaw tightened with determination.

Behind her, Jeremy cursed as he and Alphonso shoved downward toward the door and the intruders. Eavin couldn't see anything or anyone to clarify the situation. The men on the gallery had lowered their weapons in response to orders from someone outside, but they didn't seem pleased about it. She set her teeth nervously as she watched their hands rubbing hilts and handles and they muttered and grumbled between themselves.

Ready to fight the devil himself for her home, Eavin couldn't combat the chaos. The priest in his robes wandered into the hall, a look of confusion on his face. Señor Reyes waved his cane and shouted wildly, apparently ordering the service to commence. Alphonso and Jeremy argued vehemently with the grinning stranger and his squirrel gun.
 

The front door burst open again, this time with a phalanx of trained soldiers—and Nicholas in the lead.

Eavin screamed, and the apparition looked up. His expression was grim and set, but his commands were quiet as he sent his men to surround the room and restrain the guests. Eavin shook off Mignon's hold and grabbed the banister, staring in disbelief. Nicholas or his ghost didn't take his gaze from her, but he continued giving commands, setting rough-looking men with weathered faces and eyes like ice to disarming the guests, cornering Alphonso and his father, imprisoning the priest.

Eavin drank in his appearance greedily, convincing herself this was real and not the onslaught of madness. This strange Nicholas was pale, much paler than she had ever seen him, which worried her. His golden hair was uncut and straggled around his collar. He held his arm oddly, as if it pained him. When he stepped forward, it was with a limp. But when Eavin saw the flashing golden flakes of amber in his eyes, she knew he was alive, and she stepped toward him as if in a trance, not daring to acknowledge the joy filtering through the cracks of her defenses.

"Father, we'll hold the services now, with all these good people as witnesses." Gesturing to the astonished priest, Nicholas reached the bottom stair and caught Eavin's arm, dragging her down beside him. Once he had her in hand, he scarcely gave her a second look, diverting all his attention to keeping the crowd in line.

It took considerable concentration to do so. Alphonso shouted and tried to burst through the guard holding him pinned against the wall. Jeremy dodged his captor and seemed prepared to make his argument physical, but Nicholas stopped him with a glare.
 

The women were the worst. Isabel talked breathlessly in French and Spanish, pulling his arm and pleading. Mrs. Howell and Lucinda were castigating Nicholas in strident tones, urging him to allow Eavin to lie down and recover herself. A rising tide of French and English flowed through the hall, aided by the grinning, slow-talking, laconic strangers in their leathers and furs as they held out their long-barreled weapons in a barricade against the aristocratic crowd in silks and laces.

Nicholas purposefully ignored them all, drawing Eavin closer to his side, steering his way toward Father Antoine, his jaw set and his gaze fixed as he gave the command that kept the priest covered by a gun.

"Do not do this, Saint-Just!" Alphonso cried over the heads of his captor. "You are already married. Do not make a mockery of your vows."

Nicholas smiled grimly at the priest. "Tell them, Father. I want it to be perfectly understood that this marriage is legal."

Eavin swung her head to stare from Nicholas to the priest. Marriage?