The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (35 page)

“Lilly, Maggie, you come here now,” she ordered them.

The girls approached the woman, but Jack didn’t notice or care. His mind and his heart were in agony. Fanny was gone. All that time, he hadn’t known. She’d been only sixteen, just like him. He remembered trying to work up the nerve to kiss her, but it felt wrong. They’d grown up together, they’d played together often, as slave children and white children did. He knew it was his right to claim a kiss. As the owner’s son, he could have demanded one but didn’t.

However, Jack’s father had something else in mind for him.

Jack was so lost in thought he only vaguely heard Jenny address him.

“Massa Jack.”

“Yes, sorry.”

“You need to meet them.” She pulled over the first girl. “This is Lilly, and this one,” she pulled over the other girl, “is Maggie. They’re Fanny’s girls.” She waited.

The two looked identical. Their skin was lighter than he remembered Fanny’s being, their hair a coppery hue. But it was their eyes that riveted him. Green. Pale green.

Staring back at him were his own eyes, a physical reminder of the depravity his father had thrust on him.

“They’re your daughters, massa.”

Hell
.

#

Emma pulled on the ties of her corset again. She was determined to get into her yellow silk dress that day, come hell or high water. A giggle escaped her at the thought. She shouldn’t think such things. Inhaling deeply, she tugged again and tied them. The corset held, though she could barely breathe. At four months along, she found her clothes barely fit now. Outwardly, she hardly looked in the family way, and Marie and Francois constantly reminded her she was too thin–Marie, perhaps, somewhat worried about that. But she couldn’t ignore her growing middle and neither could her corset. She inhaled again. One last time…

Tilly sighed as she hooked the crinoline. “Yessum, that’s it.”

The slave slipped the silk gown over Emma’s head and started buttoning the bodice. “We needs to get you other dresses soon.” She muttered.

Emma frowned. “Not today. I can still wear this.”

Tilly
harrumphed
as she hooked the sash.

Emma dismissed her and walked out on the veranda. She looked down at the yard, waiting for a moment before getting Nathan. Most of the slaves were busily at their tasks, but she noticed someone in the slave row emerging from a shanty, dressed in fine clothes. She frowned. The man was only in his shirtsleeves and had to adjust his waistcoat. He smoothed back his dark hair, except for an errant lock that broke free to settle across his forehead.

Francois.

Whatever is he doing in the slave row at this time of day?
The field hands and house slaves continued in their work, not even glancing up. She wanted to turn away, pretend she never saw him there but couldn’t take her eyes from him. Within minutes, he had entered the house and reached Emma.

“Good morning, my darlin’,” he drawled. “You look so lovely.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

He usually hugged her but not this time. In fact, his forehead glistened, and his shirt clung to his arms with sweat.

“Please excuse me.” He said sweetly. “Had some business to take care of. I’ll go bathe before the guests arrive. Are you taking Nathan to play?”

Business? In slave row? Her skin prickled. Vacantly, she nodded.

He gave her one of his dazzling smiles and kissed her. “Then I’ll be on my way—”

“What were you doing in the slave quarters?” she blurted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I saw you leaving; I think it was Lizzie’s shanty. What were you doing?”

He stared at her. She could see the emotions flickering in his eyes. His jaw tightened. “I had matters to attend.” He turned to leave.

“Did your business involve wearing clothing or not?” Her question surprised even her. It was a humid morning, as always near the bayou, but not enough for a gentleman of leisure to be so wet with perspiration that early.

He stopped but didn’t turn. “Darlin’, I think your condition is making you a touch mad.”

Anger flared in her. How dare he use such an excuse to dismiss her inquiry? “Francois.”

Turning, he sighed with exasperation. “You know I’m right,” he smiled, tilting her chin up. He was so confident, so intense that she was nearly convinced he spoke the truth. At her nod, he kissed her lips gently. “Let me get a bath, sweetling. If you’re still upset, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” With a quick smile, he walked away.

I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.

—Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant, USA, Dispatch, May 11, 1864

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bellefountaine Plantation

St. Francisville, Louisiana

Jack heard his little boy giggling before he saw him. Then came Emma’s sweet laugh, which was like a salve to his injured soul.

After meeting the twin daughters he never knew he had, Jack needed some time to control his emotions. One question remained. Why hadn’t he been told? Why? But a voice in his head made it clear. He’d fled. Left for The Point and never returned. Bellefountaine’s secret had haunted him for years, and now there was no denying it.

Pierre Fontaine had continued a practice begun generations before but under different circumstances. Interracial liaisons had not been a new concept. The French and Spanish practiced it, freely and openly without ridicule. Some even married and had children. But under American laws, with the import of new slaves from Africa, interracial relationships had been banned at the turn of the century. Copulation between the races was allowed only to increase the slave population. Slave children fathered by white men were believed to be superior. And slaves they would be, for any babe born of a slave woman was considered a slave, period.

Such couplings also were ideal for sexually initiating white men without dishonoring the virginal young ladies of Society.

So Pierre simply followed the established tradition. He encouraged, even forced his sons to sow their wild oats on slave women rather than seducing innocents or visiting brothels. Jack had been told that slave women by nature were debased, and, therefore, there was no sin in bedding them. They wanted it. Desired it. The problem was that his father had paired him with Fanny. It was to be her initiation also, so that she could service her master in any way he wanted. She had no idea what that meant.

At fifteen, almost sixteen, Jack’s lust took control of him. The girl he’d fantasized about was naked before him. And although his conscience protested, his body would not be denied. At first, Fanny had screamed, and he lost his nerve as well as his erection, but his father slapped her into submission and she stopped fighting. She obediently placed the head of Jack’s manhood at her slit and locked her legs around his hips.

Afterward, he figured Fanny hated him. Jenny assured him she hadn’t. But how could she not? He had left her carrying his twins and died after delivering them into the hell of Bellefountaine. His remorse knew no bounds.

Only three things kept Jack from fleeing again. There were his twin daughters, who he had to prevent from sharing their mother’s fate. There was his son, who he had to protect from his father. And there was Emma.

She would never be his if he left. She’d marry his brother and would have to tolerate life on the plantation with a husband who would carry on the family tradition. Jack felt as though he’d be ill.

After pulling himself together, he’d gone to the house, where he’d heard his son and Emma. He breathed deeply in an effort to calm himself. How could he convince the woman he had entrusted with his son’s care that he loved her more than life? Their past had been mottled with hate, fear and distrust, and she undoubtedly thought him dead as well.

Past the trees, in the clearing surrounded by flowering bushes and magnolias, Emma sat on a large blanket. His mouth went dry. She looked beautiful. Her brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. The yellow silk pooled around her, shining like a halo. She’d gained some weight and no longer looked gaunt and tired. On the contrary, she glowed, like an angel. His angel. The one he’d fight for. The one he’d die for.

Her laughter filled the air as Nathan fell to his knees after taking a step. The cherub chirped and giggled as he tried again, stretching for a toy she held just out of his reach, encouraging him. They were his. Just seeing them, hearing them, made him feel whole.

Nathan gave up on the toy but threw himself at Emma and she fell back gracefully, tickling his sides. When Jack stepped closer, a twig snapped under his boot. Nathan looked up and cried out, crawling over Emma toward his father.

She turned, a smile still on her face until she saw him. Her expression froze.

Time stood still. The only noise came from Nathan, who grunted as he chugged closer.

“Emma.”

“Jack?” She blinked rapidly and he watched her face drain of color.

He raced forward, picking up his son and was at Emma’s side, fearing she’d faint. His legs nearly buckled under Nathan’s weight and seeing Emma’s wide-eyed look. Kissing Nathan’s cheek, he put the child down.

“Emma.”

Unnerved and tangled in her clothing, she struggled to stand.

“No!” With one hand holding her skirts and the other over her mouth, she turn to run, but he grabbed her, his arm around her middle. “No!” she gasped again as she began to panic.

“Shush, shush,” he whispered in her ear, hoping he sounded more calm than he felt. “It’s all right. Shhhh.”

“Nothing’s all right.” She turned in his arm. Despite herself, she cradled his face. “They killed you.”

He said nothing.

“Your betrayal made my father so upset, so angry, so confused,” she whispered.

He watched, dreading the accusation in her eyes. “No, Emma…”

“You and this war, this awful war, killed my father!”

He shook his head. “Emma, he wasn’t right for a long time. You told me he had been hurt, an injury to his head. Between that and losing his home and most of his family, plus all the traveling and hardship, I reckon it was too much for him. His heart just gave out.”

Her eyes widened, making her look like a trapped animal. Afraid she’d hurt herself, or more likely run from him, he cupped the back of her head, a stupid attempt to keep her from fleeing. “He was right about some things I suppose. I am a traitor. A deserter. And I have killed. Spying–there was that is too.” He looked deep into her brown eyes, hoping. “But the truth is this. I’ve come back for you. Emma. For you.”

She began to shake her head. “No, no…” She broke away from him and stepped back, almost stumbled. Gathering her skirts, she yelled “no” again and ran to the house.

He stood, watching her, and glanced back at Nathan. The child sat on the blanket, no longer interested in the adults but playing with a set of wooden blocks.

As Jack swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts, he looked back at Emma. She was still going toward the house when she suddenly stopped. He watched in horror as she clutched her middle. Fear seized him and he ran to her as she fell to the ground.

“Emma!” He scooped her up in his arms.

Barrett, the house slave, opened the door for them and quickly moved aside as Jack walked past him and up the stairway.

“Tilly!” He yelled. For the love of God, he had no idea where Emma’s room was.

The slave peeked out a door halfway down the hall. He moved quickly, following her into the bedroom. He set Emma down and Tilly reached under her skirts to undo her crinoline, letting it fall to the floor. Jack lifted Emma again to gently lower her to the bed. Her breathing was shallow, her face still pale.

“Get a doctor,” he ordered Tilly. “And get Nathan.” He started unbuttoning her bodice. Swiftly, he unsnapped the busk of her corset. “Come on, Emma, breathe. Breathe!”

Free of the corset’s restraints, she inhaled deeply. Color washed back into her cheeks and he sighed. He reached into her glorious sable hair, freeing the strands of their pins. Slowly she opened her eyes.

“Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” He feared he’d almost lost her. Maybe he had.

She swallowed. “Jack, I don’t understand. They told me you were dead!”

“Easy, darling. I was only wounded. I’m fine.”

“But, but, they insisted,” she panted, disbelief and anger fighting within her. “The General claimed he witnessed you die. I was so upset over daddy, I should’ve checked myself—”

“Shush,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I’m here and very much alive. Tilly’s getting the doctor. Rest.” With his fingers threaded through her hair, he bent closer, his lips meeting hers. She didn’t protest. He ran his tongue across the seam of her lips, tasting lemonade and tears. She opened her mouth and he invaded it, tasting, stroking her tongue, inhaling her breath. She returned his fervor, tentatively at first, then with more passion.

He broke free, nibbling down her jaw, her neck, to her chest. She tasted like manna to a starving man. “Jack,” she sighed.

The sound of his name on her lips ignited his passion further. His hand went to her corseted breast. She felt fuller, firmer than before or was it his faulty memory? She gasped loudly.

“Jack, please,” she pleaded.

“Brother, what the hell are you doing to my fiancé?” A drawling male voice threatened.

Jack released her, slowly pulling away to stand. Her deep brown eyes shone with desire, but he had to face another challenge. His brother and their past.

It might be harder to win her than by just admitting you love her. She can be quite stubborn. If you’re willing to fight for her, make her yours truly…
Charles’ words came back to him.

#

Francois stood there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, hair askew, jaw set and his blue eyes glittering. He looked devastatingly handsome. Emma’s breath caught in her throat. But perhaps Emma was attracted to him more because he was so accepting of her and her unborn child, Jack’s child.

Jack’s caress of her overly sensitive nub had sent tingles throughout her body, unfurling desire. It was a sensation that Francois’ kisses had never caused. Of course, he’d never ventured beyond her mouth or neck because she refused his desire to do so. She knew all too well that only Jack could ease her longing. Even though she believed he was dead, the idea of any other man being intimate with her chilled her to the bone.

Staring at Jack, Emma saw he had changed during their time apart. He was lean and muscular, like a mountain lion. She’d felt his chest and arms hard against her as he carried her inside. His face was more angular, his skin bronze from the strong spring sun. His dark brown hair was windblown, as though he had forgotten his hat in his haste to get to her. At least, that was what she hoped, what she wished and prayed for.

But she was to marry Francois and should have stopped Jack from kissing her although she couldn’t. She craved him, missed him. Loved him. Her heart skipped.
Oh God, no. Not that
. He’d left her before. To admit she loved him would make her even more vulnerable were he to do it again. Like everyone else had. Her mother, her sister, Billy and her father.
Oh please, dear Lord
.

Jack planted himself between her and Francois.

“Brother.” His voice sounded cool.

Francois smirked. “Jacques; so ghosts do exist, non?”

“In more ways than one.” Jack forced a smile. “Where is our father?”

“Away,” Francois replied.

“Gentlemen,” Emma said, trying to straighten her bodice and sit up. She motioned to Tilly to help her.

“Did he frighten you, m’aime?”

Jack growled.

“I’m fine Fran, please,” she begged. “Jack what happened?”

“They missed, so to speak. Your brother helped me escape,” he told her without looking away from Francois. “I had to find you.”

“Well, we see that you have. Now, if you want to stay for the wedding—” Francois began boldly.

“Jack, you don’t understand.”

“You’d forget me that fast?” He turned to her. “And what of my son?”

At that, Emma moved, perhaps too quickly. The room spun. Tilly grabbed her elbow. Emma inhaled deeply before saying, “I hadn’t forgotten—”

“Darlin’, don’t. Let me handle this.” Francois stepped closer.

“You?” Jack spat. “You’ll stay out of this!”

“I think not,” Francois growled.

“Gentlemen!” Emma’s patience was wearing thin, and she was concerned that they’d kill each other if she didn’t stop them.

Behind Francois, a young slave boy appeared. “Dr. Spalding said he cain’t be here til later.”

Emma swallowed. “Tommy, that’s fine. I’m okay.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Tommy, come here lad.” The slave padded slowly to the white man he didn’t recognize. When Jack tipped his head up, the boy’s eyes were wide with fright.

“So you continued, I see,” Jack uttered disgusted. “Kinda easy, isn’t it?”

“You know better, Jacques.” Francois’ voice held menace and his hands fisted at his sides. “At least I haven’t killed any of them.”

“You bastard!”

Emma was confused. “What are you two arguing about? You need to get along because…” she trailed off.

Jack turned and scowled. “Why?”

She couldn’t tell him. Not if he was going to leave her again. Although he had returned, there still were no words of love, of him staying, nothing. It seemed all he wanted was to seduce her and kill the one man who said he’d be there for her. No, she wouldn’t tell him.