The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (4 page)

With a cry, I dropped my hatbox and raised my arms in an attempt to hail it down. But it did not slow.

A scream caught silently in my throat as snorting horses passed just inches to my right. They were so close that I could feel their clouded breath, see their glistening sweat, hear the swift, winging motion of their damp bodies as they brushed past. I raised my hands protectively to my face. The wheels of the carriage splattered thick Louisiana mud across my arms, my face, my dress. I cried out in utter despair as the carriage whipped past, giving me only a fleeting glimpse of a dark-clad driver.

Then, before my startled eyes, the carriage began to slow. I watched the horses pivot about on the too-narrow road, then a deep voice called out as the rig came back around to where I stood, shivering and waiting.

“Mademoiselle?” I heard him jump down from the height of the carriage seat. Strong hands clutched my shoulders, forcing me to face a dark-clad stranger. “Are you hurt?
Mon Dieu!”

“Ed-Edward?” I cried out hopefully over the howl of the wind’

“No! Not Edward,” replied the man. All I could see in the darkness were his eyes and hair—both so black that they shone like dark reflections from a glass mirror. He was a tall man, and handsome; certainly not fitting the description of my uncle Edward.

“Good God, I could have run you down! What are you doing out here in this cursed rain?”

“I—I came in on the
Swamp Prince.
My—my uncle was to meet me at the dock....” I began to explain between shivers. “No one came.”

“Get in. You’re soaked!” I collected my hatbox, relieved that the contents hadn’t spilled upon the ground. Then he pulled me swiftly up into the carriage. With a rather disarming smile, he took in my bedraggled condition. I was aware of white teeth sparkling against dark skin. I thought about the Cajuns with their dark hair and eyes. Was he one of them, the exiled Acadians who lived in the backlands and swamps?

“Your gown!” The stranger pulled a creased cloth from his pocket and, as if I were a small child, began to dab at the moisture that dripped from my hair to my shoulders. His hand stopped suddenly, inches from my breast.

A sudden streak of light from the sky gave me a better glimpse of him; the smile was still there, reflected in those coal black eyes as he handed the cloth to me. “Perhaps that is a job better left to you, yes? I will rescue the luggage you left drowning upon the dock “

I watched him wrestle my large trunk, then the smaller one to the top of the carriage as if they had no weight at all. My eyes slipped away to search for some sign of the voodoo man. In all the commotion, he had vanished. I could imagine him slipping silently as a water snake down one of the paths that led into the swamps. His disappearance gave me a dizzy feeling of relief, as if some heavy burden had been lifted. My plan of hailing the carriage had worked. I was safe!

The owner of the carriage seemed kind. Something about his gentle voice and quiet strength commanded trust. “I am Louise Moreland,” I introduced myself as he climbed back up beside me. The drum of the rain beat an uneven tattoo upon the roof.

He offered no name in return. Instead, he said, “Well, if I’ve almost run you over, I’ve also come to your rescue. Now, where are you bound? The MontClairs? The St. James’s?”

“Mr. Edward Dereux is my uncle” I explained, still dabbing at the spots of mud that clung stubbornly to the lace of my bodice. “Have you heard of Royal Oaks?”

“Of course I’ve heard of Royal Oaks!” he assured me. His voice remained calm and even, but I noticed that his hands had grown tight upon the reins. The mention of Royal Oaks had disturbed him in some way.

“I don’t want to put you to trouble. If there is an inn nearby—”

The horses slowed to clip-clop down a single street where a few eerie gaslights burned. I suddenly caught sight of an inn among the few wooden houses and taverns. “You can let me off here.”

Did he not hear me? The blur of lights faded into a terrible darkness as the carriage began to slip down a primitive path that led sharply away from those faint, welcoming signs of civilization.

“The inn—” I said in a shaky voice.

He shook his head. “It’s not suitable. I’ll take you on to Royal Oaks.”

“If it’s not far.”

“Not far—” The unfinished sentence hung between us, insinuating something sinister. The last of the gaslights illuminated his face. I glanced over at him, alarmed to see that the charming smile had vanished. Through the darkness, I could see his lips curve and tighten into a look of—anger.

Something in my stomach clenched and knotted. Had I unwittingly stumbled into an old enemy of my uncle’s? No, surely my imagination was running wild again. Yet, I remembered the same look on Ian Winters’s face when I had mentioned my uncle to him. Edward, evidently, was not a well-liked man.

Swampy fingers of bayou followed on either side of the narrow trail. I could see the reflection of twisted cypress stumps in patches of water, could hear the sucking sound of mud clutching at the huge carriage wheels. Spanish moss made sketchy outlines and bearded tangles against a sky streaked with pearl. The shrill sounds of night birds and water creatures made me aware that the swampland was teeming with hidden life. Were there alligators lurking in that dismal, brackish water?

Cypress woods lay thick and dark on either side of us, cloaked in their veils of witch’s hair. If not for the rattling of the swift carriage, there would be no sign of civilization.

Fear wrapped and coiled itself around my heart. I was at the mercy of this total stranger. I knew nothing about him—not even his name. Shivering, I stole a glance at the driver of the carriage. The disturbing thought came to me that this attractive stranger with his dark eyes, strong hands, and shuttered expression might pose more of a threat to me than the voodoo man!

Through the bleak drizzle of rain, the ground ahead seemed gray and full of reflections. Water! We were surrounded by water! Now the wooden rails of a bridge shone ghostlike in the darkness. Rails but no bottom. Before I had a chance to cry out, the man had pulled the reins in.

The carriage stopped with such a violent jolt that I would have fallen hard against the door. Instead, I found myself suddenly in the stranger’s arms as he reached out swiftly to break my fall. The quickness of the stop, the suddenness of this forced embrace, left me breathless. “What—what has happened?”

“Bridge is flooded! No wonder they didn’t come for you.” He indicated the narrow, flimsy structure that was half submerged in mucky water.

“A sudden stop, to be sure! But better than a swim on a wretched night like this, eh?”

Eerie swamp lights illuminated the saturnine face of the stranger. The smile had returned, dark and devilish upon his face.

“That may be a matter of opinion.” I pulled hastily away from strong arms, which seemed reluctant to release me.

He arched one dark brow. “You’d prefer a ‘gator’s embrace to mine?” he asked, the smile growing playful, if not downright wicked.

“Who—who are you?” I demanded.

“My friends call me Nick,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

Nick. The name had a familiar sound. But where had I heard it before?

“Don’t worry. I’ll see what I can do.”

He leaped down suddenly from the carriage and stood for a moment in the drizzle of the rain, inspecting the flooded bridge. When he came back inside, his coarse white shirt was plastered to his sinewy arms and chest. Droplets of water shone in his jet-black hair. He shook back his head making the raindrops scatter. I watched, fascinated by his savage appearance; he seemed suddenly untamed, uncivilized despite the cultured voice and fine carriage.

“The only other way to Royal Oaks is probably standing under three feet of water by now,” he said calmly.

“Then we must return to town!”

He shook his head, and I thought I saw a trace of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t. The roads are flooding already.” As if to himself, he added, “Better to wait until daylight.”

A feeling of despair washed over me. “We—we can’t stay here!”

“I know of a place where there’s shelter. But we’ll have to abandon the carriage.” He reached for the dark cloak draped upon the carriage seat and flung it over his damp clothing. “Come on.” He climbed down and unhitched the horse from the traces so he could be led by the reins.

Cold rain fell upon my hair as I climbed from the carriage, clutching my precious hatbox to my chest.

“If you have a hat, you should put it on,” he suggested.

“There’s no hat in here ...” My voice trailed off. I feared I had already said too much.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? Are all your worldly possessions in a hatbox?”

I ignored his question. “Where—where are you taking me?” He began to plunge down a long, snakelike trail of wooden planks that rose from the sea of damp foliage along the bayou’s edge. I kept my eyes trained to the damp, boggy earth, afraid of losing my footing on the slick boards. Though the rain was now little more than a drizzle, the air was damp and my clothing soggy where the hem of my dress brushed the ground.

“This way.” The handsome, dark-haired man slowed to wait for me. The rain began to pour again. “Here, take my cloak.” The dark wrap was still warm from the heat of his body, but a chill brushed my shoulder where his strong hands touched my flesh as he placed it around me. Another shiver passed through me, but this time it was not the cold. Nick—My frightened mind had suddenly made the connection.

Black cloak—Fearfully, I stole a glance at his throat, searching for a glimpse of red silk. There was none. The women on the steamboat with their tales of ghosts and murderers had made my imagination run wild. Nick ... Nicholas ... No doubt both common names in these parts, I assured myself.

“Warmer now?” The stranger flung one arm about my shoulder, as if to shield me from the rain. Even as I shrank from the closeness, I felt a strange pounding in my chest, a fluttery, unfamiliar feeling in my heart. He was so dark, so handsome, like the prince from my childhood fairy tales.

Soon we reached the end of the plankings where a gloomy shack waited. “Here’s where we’ll stay.” He tied the horse to a tree, then checked to make sure the reins were securely knotted.

“Here?” My heart sank. At first sight, the cabin looked deserted. My eyes darted to the rooftop, amazed to see thin puffs of smoke spiraling from the tiny chimney. No—not deserted, but what manner of person might live within?

“Who—who lives here?”

“A friend.” Nick pounded upon the door, calling out in French phrases, strangely voiced and accented. I doubted that I could have understood even if I had known more French.

I stole a glance at the man beside me, searching his rugged features for a twitching of the lips or some other telltale sign of madness. I saw only a tinge of irritation, a sense of determination about the strong line of his jaw as he continued to bang upon the door. Now, in English, he called out, “It’s I. Nicholas!”

A scuffling sound came from within; someone was coming toward the door. “At long last!” He glanced down at me in surprise. “Why, you’re still shivering! Don’t worry. Well be inside soon, basking beside a cozy fireplace.”

Before I knew what was happening, I felt strong fingers touching my face, tilting my chin ever so gently toward him. “I still haven’t gotten a good look at you,” he explained. With curiosity, he peered into my eyes. “Why, I’ll wager you’re quite pretty when you’re not dripping wet!”

I stared up into his face, and felt my blood slowly turning to ice. A tiny black fleck, barely visible, danced in the corner of his left eye. The devil’s mark! It
was
he. In my haste to get away from the voodoo man, I had hailed down Mad Nicholas. All this time, we had been out here alone together!

Chapter Four

The door swung open and I turned from Nicholas to the brightly lit entrance of the cabin. A startled cry escaped my lips. I caught my breath sharply, steeling myself to keep from swooning. As if from the heart of some nightmare, a familiar face grinned out at me, longish teeth parted in greeting. It was the voodoo man!

“Good evening, Brule.” Undaunted, Nick burst his way into the room.

Still numb with shock and surprise I lingered at the doorway, clutching my hatbox.  “Welcome,” he said. For a moment, the voodoo man remained grinning at me, black eyes sparkling with what almost seemed humor. Then he stepped back, flowing robes swirling silently about him as he disappeared into the dark side of the room.

I glanced further into the cabin. Near the fire, a small, bent Negro woman with long white braids tended a bubbling pot. With my luck, she was probably a witch, I thought, my exhaustion laced with a sense of irony.

“Well, aren’t you coming in?” Nicholas demanded from the hearth. He was already rubbing his hands over the licking flames.

“Don’t worry. No one here is going to harm you.” I suppressed the urge to laugh. Here I was, in a cabin God knew where, with Mad Nicholas, a voodoo man, and a witch. The dampness had seeped from my dress into my very bones. A foolish need to be warm and dry suddenly overcame all fear for physical safety. Drawn to the warming fire like a moth to bright flame, I stepped in and closed the door behind me, sealing my fate. I was going to get warm! A band of demons from hell could not keep me from that fireplace now.

The bent little Negro woman moved closer, curiously looking me over. Her leathery hand touched the edge of Nicholas’s damp cloak, which I still clutched tightly about me. Nick watched with obvious amusement as, much to my discomfort, the old woman began to fuss over me. She insisted that I remove the cloak, offering in its place a heavy, homemade quilt from her own bed in the corner. After a moment’s hesitation, I wrapped it gratefully around my damp dress. Moments later I was settled, not uncomfortably, in a large, rough-hewn chair by the fireplace.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, replying in that strange, garbled language that sounded a little like French, but wasn’t. She ended with a phrase that sounded almost like “good morning, ya?”