The Tiger Lily (60 page)

He
took a cautious step forward, but Carlos said sharply, "No! Stay where you
are!" Motioning the pistol backward, he added, "Get away from
her!"

Brett
hesitated, but seeing Carlos's fingers tighten on the trigger, he moved.

Sabrina's
motionless body seemed to afford Carlos great satisfaction, and he growled,
"She should have married me. I should have been the master of the Rancho
del Torres!"

"Is
that why you killed Alejandro?" Brett asked quietly, stalling for time yet
desperate to get aid for Sabrina.

"Si!"
Carlos answered
proudly. "He would not give me more money after my father died. And when I
wanted to marry Sabrina, he proved stubborn. After you left, he could have
forced her to accept me, but he wouldn't." His lip curled. "He was
soft and foolish, and one day I finally decided that he would have to die if I
was ever to gain the
rancho
. "

Carlos's
eyes went again to Sabrina's body, and Brett felt a thrill of pure fright.
Frantic to divert his attention, Brett drawled infuriatingly, "You are a
fool, Carlos! You're not man enough to run the
rancho
—you're too weak
and stupid. You're not even man enough to meet me in a fair fight—you're a
coward who has to hide behind a pistol."

Brett's
taunting words had their effect. Everything was forgotten, and nearly choking
on blind rage, Carlos uttered furiously, "We shall see, gringo, we shall
see." He motioned toward the door that led to the foyer. "Let us walk
outside and see if you crow so loudly after I prove to you that you are the
fool."

Brett
almost sagged with relief. If he could get Carlos outside, away from Sabrina,
there was a chance he could goad him into making a mistake.

Forcing
himself to walk casually, Brett made for the door, his body tense, ready to
spring into attack if an opportunity offered itself. None did. The hair on his
neck prickling, he was conscious of Carlos following directly behind him, of
the pistol jabbed in the middle of his back. At the doorway, Carlos stopped
long enough to pick up the oil lamp that Sabrina had lit earlier. He carried it
with him as they walked out onto the portico.

Brett
stopped and looked at him, but Carlos motioned him down the steps. Reluctantly
Brett went down, an uneasiness growing within him. The two men stopped a few
yards from the house.

There
was an odd smile on Carlos's face, the flickering light from the lamp giving
his features a diabolical cast. "Are you ready,
gringo
?" he
breathed gleefully.

Not
certain what he was getting at, Brett slowly nodded his head. At least Sabrina
was out of his clutches.

"Then
watch your wife die!" Carlos screamed, and madness giving him added
strength, with a powerful movement he flung the oil lamp against the front door
of the house.

The
lamp shattered with a tinkling crash, the oil spilling across the portico, the
fire igniting instantly, and Brett went crazy himself as he realized what
Carlos had planned. Sabrina was to die and he was to be forced to watch it
happen, and then Carlos would kill him, too. He could face his own death, but
not hers, and with helpless horror he watched as the flames grew brighter, the
fire spreading rapidly across the front of the house. The house was primarily
wood, and the fire could ravage the entire structure in no time. It would be
only a few minutes before the flames would reach Sabrina on the floor in the
salon.

It
suddenly didn't matter whether he lived or died, he couldn't helplessly stand
by and watch his wife—his love and his unborn child—die in those flames, and
with a snarl of rage, the jade-green eyes black with a deadly fury, oblivious
of the pistol pointed directly at him, he lunged savagely for Carlos, his hands
clawing for the pistol.

Carlos
had been feverishly watching the fire, and Brett's crazed attack caught him
totally by surprise. Frenziedly he struggled to escape Brett's vicious hold on
his wrist. They fell to the ground, rolling over and over as they fought with a
deadly determination to win this last vital battle between them.

The
flames from the burning house danced over their twisting bodies, their breath
coming in ugly, rasping sounds as they battled to gain control of the pistol.
The pistol was between their bodies now, Carlos trying furiously to position it
against Brett's body. But Brett was driven by an even greater fury than Carlos
could imagine, and inexorably, he slowly, coldly, forced the pistol over
Carlos's heart. Like steel talons, Brett's fingers closed over the trigger, and
with a violent jerk the pistol went off, Carlos giving one great leap beneath
Brett.

Brett
didn't even wait to see what damage had been inflicted upon Carlos. He was
already rolling away, rising to his feet and running toward the house, before
the sound of the shot died away. His heart thudding rampantly in his breast, he
stared with unmitigated terror at the sight before him. The entire front of the
house was on fire, greedy yellow and orange flames already attacking the roof.

The
smell of smoke had awakened the servants, and Brett was suddenly conscious of
them moving about just out of range of the terrific heat that the fire
generated. In the confusion, no one had noticed the two men struggling in the
flickering shadows, but they had all heard the sound of the shot, and as Brett
reached them, Ollie cried out, "What happened? Where's the missus?"

Brett
had eyes for nothing but the house, and harshly he snapped, "Get me a
blanket—wet it down with a bucket of water and
hurry
!"

Ollie's
face with white with horror. "Guvnor, you ain't—"

"Get
me that blanket, damn you!" Brett thundered.

A
second later, the dripping blanket covering his body, Brett raced around the
side of the house, and taking a deep breath, he plunged through the door where
Carlos had entered such a short time before. A wall of heat blasted him,
knocking him backward, but doggedly Brett struggled on, trying frantically to
reach the place where he knew Sabrina had fallen. Thick smoke billowed through
the breath-stealing air, obscuring his vision, but unerringly Brett found
Sabrina. Bending down, oblivious to the falling, flaming debris, he cradled her
close to him, fearful that she was already dead from the smoke and fire. Her
soft faint breath touched his cheek, and with something between a sob and a
shout, he lifted her up and stumbled back the way he had come, unaware of a
huge, burning timber crashing down where Sabrina had lain only a second ago.
His body screamed with exhaustion, and for one wild, despairing moment he
didn't think he was going to get them out of the house. But then, with a final,
instinctive lurch, Sabrina unconscious in his arms, he staggered out of the
house, into the night, the cool air that rushed to meet them a balm and a
benediction.

EPILOGUE

SWEET
SPRING

Spring,
1807

Doubt
thou the stars are fire;

  Doubt
that the sun doth move;

Doubt
truth to be a liar;

  But
never doubt I love.

William
Shakespeare

Hamlet

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

It
was late May, and the weather was serene and unruffled, brilliant blue sky
overhead and not a sign of a cloud in sight. The dappled rays of sunlight were
warm on Sabrina's face as she gazed dreamily at the men moving about the rising
structure that would one day be her new home. She was lying on a puffy yellow
quilt some distance away from the construction, enjoying the intermittent shade
provided by the spreading leaves of the towering oak tree behind her. Discarded
slippers lay nearby, and with pleasure she wiggled her toes into the softness
of the quilt, very glad to be alive and here once again at Fox's Lair, watching
the new house rising from the ashes of the old.

The
original house had burned completely to the ground that terrible December
night, but Sabrina hadn't known of it for days. Hadn't know of Carlos's death,
of Brett's frantic journey with her into New Orleans, of the anxious days that
had followed as she had lain unconscious, unmoving; hadn't known of the anguish
that had been undisguised in Brett's eyes. But three days later, she had
regained consciousness, and though she had been weak and disorientated, she had
gradually recovered.

All
through the winter they had remained cozily immured in the house in New
Orleans, planning the new home they would build, for the love that would be theirs.
Love surrounded them, and during the long winter nights as they lay wrapped in
each other's arms, they spoke freely of the past and of the things that only
lovers do.

Wilkinson's
"Reign of Terror," as the General's descent upon the city had been called,
had ended ignobly when no sign of the rabble led by Aaron Burr had appeared on
the horizon. And poor Burr, whatever his plans may have been, was arrested on
February 19, 1807, on charges of treason. His trial was set for summer.

But
those events meant little to Brett and Sabrina—there were too many other more
wonderful things in their lives these days. And when their child was born in
late March, Sabrina had known what real happiness was—her husband and her
strong, healthy baby.

For
a second her eyes strayed to where their child lay sleeping in a reed cradle at
the edge of the quilt. Unable to help herself, she leaned over and peeked down
at him. Alejandro Dangermond. What a handsome baby he was, she thought with a
mother's pride, and wonderingly she stroked his soft cheek. Only two months
old, he slept soundly, his extraordinarily long lashes like dark fans under his
closed lids, his perfect little mouth moving gently as he breathed.

Sabrina
sighed happily and leaned back against the tree. How fortunate she was! she
thought gratefully, as her eyes moved unerringly to where Brett stood
supervising the construction of the new Fox's Lair. He looked tall and very
powerful as he stood there, hands on his hips, the white shirt revealing his
wide shoulders and lean waist, the black breeches displaying the long length of
his muscular legs. A faint breeze stirred the thick black hair, and impatiently
he brushed aside a lock that fell forward onto his forehead.

The
house was being built at an unusual speed, Brett determined that they would be
living in at least a part of it by the end of summer. They were currently
enjoying the hospitality of a gregarious planter who lived a few miles down the
road, and of course there were always the house in New Orleans and the hacienda
in Nacogdoches. For a while they had considered moving to the hacienda, but
then they had discarded the idea—this was a new beginning, and neither wanted
any reminders of the past.

There
was one reminder, Sabrina mused sadly, that she would have treasured—her
father's betrothal bracelet. Weeks after the fire, searching through the rubble
of the destroyed house, Brett had found it, but the heat had twisted and melted
it into a hardly recognizable mass. Sabrina had wept pitifully when he had placed
it in her hand. Through tear-drenched eyes, she had looked at him and murmured,
"It was his most cherished possession." Gently Brett had enfolded her
into his arms, comforting her as best he was able. He had taken the ruined
bracelet away with him, not wanting her to look at it as it was and be reminded
of that tragic night.

As
if becoming aware of her gaze, Brett turned a little and glanced at her. She
waved lightly, and he began to walk toward her. Reaching the quilt, he flung
himself down on it, lying full length, his head resting in her lap.

With
a soft smile, she looked down at him, loving him so much she thought she would
burst with it. A little shadow crossed her face, though, as she wondered how
they could ever have let suspicion and mistrust come between them.

Brett
saw that expression, and concern in his eyes, he sat up and demanded,
"What is it? Why do you look like that?"

"I
was just thinking about how foolish we were—neither of us willing to trust in
our love for the other," she answered simply.

He
drew her into his arms. His eyes on hers, he said roughly, "Sabrina, I
can't undo the past—oh, but sweet tiger lily, I
do
love you! I've loved
you since you were a big-eyed enchantress, all of seven years old, and you've
had my heart in your keeping ever since." Regretfully he confessed, "I
just didn't want to admit it, and like a fool, I did everything in my power to
deny it. But I think I've been well and truly punished for it—we've lost six
years because of it." Pain in his voice, he muttered, "I've berated
myself a thousand times, suffered a thousand deaths, every time I think of how
stupidly we let our doubts and fears keep us apart all that time. However, I
like to think that we have learned from it—that our love is stronger and more
enduring because of it."

Sabrina
felt hot tears prickle behind her lids, and she nodded dumbly, positive that if
she tried to speak, she would burst into tears. Happy tears. Joyous tears.
Their love was stronger, more powerful, because of what they had suffered.

Seeing
the tears but recognizing them for what they were, he kissed her, and then he
reached over to where his jacket lay on the quilt. The expression on his face
somber, he handed Sabrina a slim, narrow package. At her look of surprise, he
said with difficulty, "I had originally planned to give you this on our
first anniversary, but I want you to have it now."

For
a long time Sabrina stared down at the package in her hands, premonition
telling her what it must be. With trembling fingers she slowly unwrapped it,
savoring each moment, and then, when at last the contents were revealed, her
heart shook within her breast.

Two
slim, intricately fashioned bracelets of silver and turquoise lay on a bed of
white satin. They were identical, except that one was obviously for a man, the
other for a woman.

Her
eyes shining like stars, she stared at him, and Brett said huskily, "I
thought that these would be a symbol to both of us, a symbol of your parents'
love for each other, and a symbol to remind us never to forget the past or what
we have gained."

Gently
Brett fastened one of the bracelets around her wrist, and solemnly she did the
same to him. Her throat tight with all the love and rapture she felt, tears of
happiness sliding unheeded down her cheeks, she looked down at their two
wrists, the sunlight glinting on the silver and turquoise bracelets. Mistily
her gaze traveled over Brett, her baby asleep nearby, and the framework of
their new home. Her heart ached with a sweet joy, and suddenly, as if from a
great distance, yet quite clearly, she heard her father's voice say warmly,
"You see,
chica
? It is good, and it will be good . . .
forever!"