Underground Captive (8 page)

"Why,
Monsieur
Fleming, you sound offended," Nicki said, his contempt taking her aback.  "The work doesn't bother the Negroes.  They do it with great ease.  And when they're finished with their work in the sugarhouses, they get to eat many sweet treats.  They get to butcher hogs and PaPa gives them enough rum for each man and woman to have a cupful.  It's a time they look forward to!  Like Christmas, the end of a harvest is like a holiday for them."

    
             
"Ye seem too smart to sound so bloody naive, Nicollette.  Ye can't really believe that the Negroes enjoy working in the fields just for a paltry bit of sugar treats, a nip of rum, and a few other rations?"

    
             
She frowned, eyeing him sharply.  "
Monsieur
, you sound like the Abolitionists who are causing this country so much grief."

    
             
"Does being sympathetic to the plight of the slaves make me an Abolitionist?" Jared growled, his gold-green eyes unfathomable.

    
             
Nicollette shrugged with studied casualness.  "
Non
,
Monsieur
Fleming, you are entitled to your opinion."

Jared swept her with a cold look and urged King George on.

"
Monsieur
is angry?" she persisted, pressing her silver steed forward

to keep in time with him.  "I can see that you don't like plantations."

    
             
"I don't like plantations, Nicollette," Jared confessed.  "More to the point, I don't like slave owners!"

    
             
"The two cannot be separated," Nicollette snapped, pierced with a startled hurt.  "One cannot exist without the other."

"Typical nonsense from the daughter of a bloody plantation owner."  Jared laughed scornfully.   "With yer aristocratic elegance and pompous arrogance."

             
"How dare you stand in judgement on us!" Nicollette spat, hurt quickly

turning to seething rage.  "You know nothing of our way of life.”

    
             
"I know that ye're living in a fool's paradise.  A paradise that's kept alive by the sweat and blood of other human beings.  Can't ye see that this cannot last forever?  Don't ye see the derision?  I know ye hear and read of the mounting tensions between the states.  Ye're one of those women that takes an interest in  politics, so ye must see that yer world as ye know it may soon come crashing down about yer heads.  Think of the outcry last year over Justice Taney's decision.  Surely ye know that hostilities such as those can only lead to bloodshed."  Jared glared at her, into eyes flashing with anger and saw that she was not at all moved by what he said.  "For God's sake, Nicollette.  Open yer eyes and look around ye.  Blacks have died to preserve yer way of life," he finished in hopeless frustration.

    
             
"Does PaPa know of your feelings for slave owners?" she sneered.

    
             
"Nay, Nicollette.  Unlike ye, he's never asked my opinion.  I suppose, like all slave owners, he assumes everyone is in accord with one philosophy."

She glowered at him.  "And that is?"

    
             
"That it is all right to own slaves.  After all, the Southern gentry want to live like bloody royalty and they need the Negroes to perpetuate it.  Since the Negroes didn't volunteer to come to America to do the job, they were kidnapped and brought here and forced to do the white man's bidding."

What could Nicki say to Jared’s bristling resentment?

    
             
He sat, tall and angry, astride his palomino.   How could she rebuke him  when she knew another with similar views?

Suddenly weary, she looked him squarely in the eye.  "You sound as

sympathetic as my brother, Ricard."

"Do I?  How is that, Nicollette?" 

    
             
"Ricard always spoke of the wrongs of slavery, the inhumanity of it.  Unlike Ricard, you have nothing to lose if the South ever lost its way of life."

    
             
"But ye do.  And as sympathetic as yer dear brother may be, I doubt he would jeopardize his pampered lifestyle."

   
             
Nicollette narrowed her gaze at him.  "I laugh each time I hear talk of the South losing its aristocracy.  That will never happen."

    
             
"How do ye know?  I tell ye, yer bloody way of life is bound to come crashing down about yer heads--"

    
             
"You don't know what you speak of, Jared," Nicollette interrupted icily.  "If only people like you would leave us in peace.  This is our way.  You're an outsider and it's none of your damned business how we live.  If you don't like it, you can just go the hell back where you came from!"

    
             
Jared arched an eyebrow, ignoring her tirade.  "Are ye one of those radicals who would want secession if yer beloved South is not left to do as it pleases?"

"
Oui
, but we are not radicals--"

    
             
"I'd expect such from a man, but for ye to be so radical and a female--"

    
             
"Are you one of those men who expect a woman not to have an opinion?"

    
             
"Nay, Nicollette," Jared assured her, his tone thawing.  "To the contrary, I think a woman should speak her mind.  I especially know that ye will and I admire that."

    
             
Nicki thought of
Monsieur
Lincoln.  He made a lot of people recognize him with that rousing acceptance speech he gave when he was nominated as the Republican candidate in the Senate race.  "A house divided against itself cannot stand...." he'd said.

    
             
If Northern interference didn't cease, the wisest move for the South would be withdrawing from the Union.  Nicollette agreed with one of
Monsieur
Lincoln's assumptions.  The nation couldn't continue to be half-slave and half-free.  But Nicollette was sure the South could stand alone.

    
             
They came to a grassy clearing with a solitary oak, standing straight and majestic near the side of the road.  Dismounting, they led their horses to the shade of the tree and stood looking out beyond the clearing to the river's edge.

"From a moral standpoint, I suppose slavery
is
wrong, Jared," Nicollette

half-heartedly conceded, turning to face him.  "But it is something most people here feel strongly about. You'll find us strangely civilized.  We do care about them."

    
             
"Ye actually believe what ye're saying?"

    
             
"That is what I've been brought up to believe."

Nicollette's voice had taken on a hint of huskiness, heightening

her appeal.  Swinging around to face her, he glanced down at her.  His expression was unreadable.  "That's what ye've been brought up to believe ye say.  Ye actually believe slavers are civilized despite the immorality of it.”

    
             
Ignoring Nicollette’s reproving look. Jared looked across the land without responding right away.  Its beauty was unmatched.  Even Scotland could not compete with it.  And Scotland, especially his beloved Highlands, had some of the most beautiful landscape in the world.  He felt suddenly nostalgic.  It had been six years since he last set foot on Scottish soil--the year his father died.  He had always pictured Patricia in Scotland as mistress of Lismore Castle, but he realized she would have been out of place there.

    
             
She was a Bostonian.  A very correct and proper Boston lady.  She was no match for New Orleans, though she had put her heart and soul into the effort.  Had she stayed in Boston she would still be alive.  Perhaps his wild, beautiful, untamed Scotland would have been cause also for her early death.  But this daring, acid-tongued young Creole beauty would be bold and hearty enough to take on any challenge.

    
             
He immediately reproached himself.  How could he even think of taking

the sister of his wife's murderer to Scotland as mistress of his home?  He must not forget his quest.  He must not forget why he allowed himself to be drawn into a friendship with the Duplantiers and why he tolerated Charles Duplantier, the slave owner.  Jared admitted that Charles's genuine fondness for him, and his attraction for Nicollette, was making his mission more difficult the longer he spent in their presence.

"How far are we from the big house?" Jared asked suddenly.

    
             
"About two and a half miles.  Why?"

    
             
"Because if we are to remain civil to each other until we get back there, we had better not speak anymore of our differing views."

Nicki nodded in agreement as a gentle breeze caught her hair, causing

it to wave like the ripples in a stream.  Deep, wistful longing brimmed in his green-flecked eyes. 

"Ye should never wear yer hair any other way.  'Twas made to hang loose and untethered, to be as free as ye are."

    
             
"I suppose that's a compliment and I should thank you for your kindness,
monsieur
," she responded coolly.  Though her anger at his abrupt mood changes seeped away, her emotions toward Jared remained in a tumult.

    
             
"Ye don't have to, mademoiselle.  I was just making an observation," Jared retorted.  "I do, however, have a question." 

    
             
"What is your question?"

    
             
Jared's mouth curled into a devastating grin.  "Where did ye learn to kick a man where ye kicked Williams?"

    
             
Nicki smiled, coloring with embarrassment, the last of her anger dying a quick death.  "Oh!  Must I answer that?"

    
             
"I'm afraid so.  Ladies just don't resort to that kind of violence," Jared pointed out with a mirthful, teasing light in his eyes.

    
             
"All right, then.  I overheard PaPa describing a fight between two men.  I cannot use the words PaPa used, since they were not fit for the ears of a lady."

    
             
Jared laughed, the tension leaving his body.  "I'm sure yer father's door was opened and ye heard this in passing."

    
             
"But of course.  Would I eavesdrop?" Nicki asked coyly.

"Would ye, indeed."

The very air around Nicki seemed intensified.  Her insides somersaulted

with the excitement Jared’s nearness caused.  His overwhelming virility almost frightened her.  An invisible web of attraction delicately wove around them, gently luring them to one another; she couldn't deny the shudder of anticipation rippling through her at the thought of growing closer to Jared.

    
             
He grabbed a low hanging branch and held it.  "This day hasn't gone the way I would have liked it to go.  We have strong, opposing convictions, Nicki.  I can't apologize for feeling the way I do."

    
             
"I know, Jared," Nicki whispered.  "Ricard and I argued a lot over the same issues."

    
             
"Indulge me, Nicki.  I'd rather we didn't discuss Ricard."

    
             
Nicki regarded him with a curious light in her eyes.  "How odd."

    
             
"Not when one considers the alternatives. " Jared grinned roguishly, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

    
             
Flushing, Nicki drew in a breath, taking in the lean, litheness of his form.  She thought him the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

    
             
Jared let go of the limb and walked to his horse.  “I think we should start off."

“O-o-of course,
monsieur
."

    
             
In silence, they remounted and headed for the manor.  Before long, they reached the steps of the veranda.  Nicollette climbed down from Nur, sorry that their day had come to an end.  "I hope you enjoyed the tour,
Monsieur
Fleming.  I cannot tell you when my father will return, but you are welcome to wait."