Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance

by Patricia Hagan

"Of course I would." He played along with her. "I'd get a nice promotion, for sure."

  Her laugh reminded him of little silver bells, caught by a sudden breeze. Delightful. Light. Musical.

  "I'm afraid I can't help you get that promotion, Private, because the truth is, I don't know where they are. My father said something to me in his dying breath, but my memory is blocked. When I remember, maybe then I can figure it all out. Till then, it's a waste of time for your government to try and get me to tell them anything."

  Brett dared wonder if the time were right to confide his mission. Others might come who would stop at nothing to make her talk. It was imperative to get her off the island. "Anjele," he began, "there's something I have to tell you. About me, about you, and—"

  "No!"

  The word sliced into the tranquility of the moment.

  "I don't want to speak of serious things. Not ever." She swung her head slowly from side to side, hugging her knees and drawing them up beneath her chin. "I'm safe here, in my dark world, and I feel as though nobody can see me, because I can't see them. Maybe it's best I can't see into your eyes, to your very soul, because I might not like what's there.

  "So don't talk of you and me, Brett Cody," she finished, almost angrily, "because there is no us. There's just here and now, a soldier being kind to a blind lady. It's today. With no yesterday. No tomorrow."

  The sound of a bell clanging was heard in the distance. The day was ending, and it was time to get back, time to get her supper to her and say good-night. "There is a tomorrow, and we will talk, or maybe I should say, I'll talk, and you, my dear, will listen."

  Anjele wished she'd not been so abrupt. Perhaps he'd been about to confide he cared about her, for she sensed that he did. And maybe if he had, she would have admitted feeling a fondness for him, as well. She could see no harm.

  She would have to wait for the tomorrow he believed in.

  They did not speak on the way back. He left her at her door, and a short while later, Ramey brought her tray. She dared ask where Private Cody was. He told her Cody had been assigned to duty in the barn for the night.

  "We got us a real big game goin' tonight," he confided. "And you probably know, Cody, he ain't no gambler, so he said he'd take the duty. I'll probably be the one to bring your breakfast. He'll be up all night and have to sleep. He said to tell you he'd see you tomorrow afternoon, for sure."

  "For sure," she said breathlessly, pleased to anticipate the moment.

  "He sure got sweet on you," Ramey chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe when the war is over, the two of you will—"

  "Thank you, Private Ramey." Anjele dismissed him, easing the door closed to end the uncomfortable conversation.

  She ate her supper, drank the accompanying cup of milk, then lay down to lose herself in her musings. Every nuance, every word spoken between them that afternoon, danced through her mind. If he did, indeed, plan to declare his affections, how was she going to react? Did she dare let him know she was also starting to care for him in a way other than friendship?

  There was so much to think about, yet Anjele cynically told herself none of it probably mattered, anyhow, for there were differences between them that might not be overcome.

  Long ago, when she'd fancied herself in love with Gator, the contrast in their worlds had been cultural, social, and, suddenly, she could not help comparing the two men. Unlike Brett, with his husky, clipped way of talking, Gator had delighted with his easy drawl. Also, he'd been leaner from hard work in the cane fields. And never would she forget the way he wore his hair, pulled back and tied to hang like a horse's tail. Further, he'd seemed more at ease than Brett, who was always serious, as though worried about something, and...

  She gave her head a brisk shake to cast out the creeping shadows of the past. As far as she was concerned, Gator did not exist, and she was now undeniably drawn to Brett and forced to acknowledge the barrier between them was one of loyalty. She was allegiant to the South. He was a soldier for the North.

  Whether opposing viewpoints would eventually cast a shadow on their growing feelings for each other remained to be seen, and perhaps they could even find a middle ground for understanding.

  Still, there was one stark actuality that remained, one that might never change. She was blind.

  Ben Seward told Leo he had no idea who'd paid him to take Leo to Ship Island. "All I know," he had said, "was somebody jerked one of my crew into an alley at gunpoint one night when he was leavin' a saloon. Gave him a hundred in gold to give to me, along with the message you'd be coming looking for me soon, wanting passage out to the island. If I take you, I get another hundred. If I don't, I get my throat cut. The crewman didn't get a look at his face. He stayed in the shadows. Hell, I decided if you showed up, I'd take you. Why gamble on getting killed?"

  Leo instructed Seward he wanted to sail around the island first, so he could look it over.

  "You gonna break somebody out of prison?" Seward asked, bug-eyed. "Oh, Lord, I hope you don't get me in trouble."

  "All you got to do is wait for me when you put me off. I got a job to do. It won't take long. That's all you need to know."

  "That's all I want to know. Don't get me involved, please."

  Drifting slowly, as though merely fishing the waters, Seward guided the boat around the island. Leo had stood at the bow, pulse starting to race as he saw a man in a blue uniform sitting beside a woman. He saw her hair, blazing like liquid gold in the bright sunshine and knew, beyond a doubt, it was Anjele.

  Squinting against the glare of the dazzling water, Leo strained to see everything. They rounded a little bend, and he spotted what looked like a swampy area. "Right there," he advised Seward. "Right there is where I'll jump in tonight, around midnight. Give me an hour. You drift around. Then come close as you dare and drop the anchor. I'll spot you and swim out. All you gotta do is wait.

  "If you leave me there," he warned, whipping a knife from his boot in a flash, "then you don't have to worry about that man in the alley killin' you. I'll do it for him when I find you. You understand?"

  Seward said he did, wanting only to do what he'd been ordered and get it over with. It was times like this when he hated getting involved outside the law. Obviously, word was out he dealt in contraband—goods that made it through the blockade to be sold at the highest price possible. In the future, he vowed, he'd make sure he was less notorious.

  As the hour approached midnight, it began to rain. There was little wind, however, so the ocean was not unduly choppy, and Ben Seward was not concerned by the inclement weather. Nevertheless, he asked Leo if he'd rather wait till the next night, when conditions might be better. He pointed out, "You're going to be heading in through that swampy area. I hear tell it's dangerous. Lots of trees down, roots and branches a man could get hung up on."

  Leo laughed long and loud, proudly telling him, "I was born in a swamp. I was swimmin' before you was walkin', and to go in that way is safest for me. Don't worry about it."

  Ben wasn't worried. In fact, it would suit him fine if the bastard drowned.

  Leo slid off the side of the boat, hardly making a sound. Ben and his six crewmen stood watching at the railing, but he quickly disappeared, swallowed by darkness and foaming swells.

  Leo swam in a straight line, finding himself in knee-deep water in only a few moments. He then waded to the edge of the swamp, picking his way over rotting stumps and fallen limbs. He had no difficulty, even though he could scarcely see his hand in front of his face. It didn't matter, for he knew what to feel for, grope for, knew not to step down on something merely because it seemed solid at first touch.

  He held his knife between his teeth, ready for anything, but most of all, ready to take care of Anjele Sinclair.

  At last he was able to see the outline of the shed. The back of it sank down into the thick, brackish water, the window maybe three feet above the surface. He could easily reach it from where he stood, feet mired in the muddy bottom. It was not surprising to find the shutters
closed to keep out bugs, maybe even snakes. Moving very slowly so the splashing wouldn't be heard, Leo stepped to the side onto dry ground, stealthily creeping to the door.

  He paused to glance about. Lanterns glowed in the windows of a building not far away. He could hear the sound of men talking and muted laughter. Whatever they were doing, they weren't paying any attention to anything going on outside.

  Leo felt for the door, tried to turn the knob but couldn't. It was locked, and he supposed that shouldn't have surprised him. There was nothing to do but go back to the window and work on the shutters and hope the noise didn't wake her up.

  He had not taken two steps when he froze at the sound of a sleepy voice softly calling, "Ramey, is that you? Goodness, is it morning already?"

  Anjele sat up, yawned and stretched. She hadn't even remembered falling asleep, provoked by thoughts of Brett Cody... very pleasant thoughts. But now it was morning, and she was glad, because soon he'd be there to tell her what was on his mind. "Let me find my robe. I'll let you in."

  Finding it right where she'd left it at the foot of the cot, Anjele wrapped it around her and padded the few feet to the door. She didn't have to feel her way, for well she knew it.

  She slid back the bolt, was about to turn the knob and open the door, when suddenly she hesitated.

  Since being blind, Anjele had endeavored to develop her other senses. Like her sense of smell. And taste.

  And sound!

  Something held her paralyzed to listen for—what? What was the sound causing such alarm?

  And then it dawned.

  What she realized she was hearing were the sounds of night. Tree frogs. Crickets. Even a hoot owl. It wasn't morning, wasn't time for breakfast, and dear God, she realized in panic, hand flying to her throat as fear began to choke her, it wasn't Ramey outside her door.

  She fumbled for the bolt but couldn't make her shaking fingers move fast enough.

  On the other side of the door, Leo heard her gasp, heard the scraping sounds as she tried to relock the bolt. Quickly he backed up, braced himself to throw all his weight.

  The door burst open. Anjele was slung backwards, stumbling and falling. Leo cursed, flinging his arms about wildly, the knife slicing through the air as he said, "Where are you, bitch? I can make it quick, easy, or I can make you hope to die. You don't give me no trouble, you hear?"

  Anjele felt as if her lungs were on fire, as she fought to stay still and hold her breath. With a faint stab of hope, she realized her attacker was, for the moment, as blind as she was. But when his eyes grew used to the darkness, he'd find her. The only advantage she had was knowing the arrangement of the tiny room. Hearing him stumble against the cot, she knew he was mere inches away. She also knew the wooden crate was right at her fingertips. Mustering all her strength, she grabbed it and sent it slamming in the direction she estimated his legs to be. He gave a sharp yelp, and she knew she was right on target.

  "I got you now," he cried, falling back against the cot.

  Anjele sprang up and dove for the door, hoping she knew exactly where it was. If she bounced off the wall, it was all over.

  But she did know, and when she hit the ground began to roll sideways, as fast and furiously as her body would carry her, straight into the swamp to lie very still amidst the brush and weeds. As she heard the man stumbling around, trying to find his way out of the shed, she dared begin to move, creeping backward, deeper into the slime and seaweed.

  Leo decided to get the hell out of there, and fast. He didn't know his way around the camp, didn't stand a chance of finding her in the dark. But he damn well knew how to find his way back into the swamp and head for the ocean and Seward's waiting boat.

  The Voice was going to have to find a better plan, he thought as he crept silently through the night. He'd have to fix it so he could get into the prison during the day, disguised as a guard, maybe. The Voice would know what to do. So there was no need for him to worry about it. He'd get another chance, for sure, and he'd make Anjele Sinclair pay for putting him to so much trouble, too. He'd just sink the knife a little deeper and twist it a little harder.

  Anjele was terrified, afraid to move, afraid to cry out. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed, knew only that every muscle in her body ached, burned. And she was cold. Despite the warmth of the mid-September night, she was submerged in water up to her chin and felt as though she were freezing. But she was helpless to do anything. That man, that fiend who wanted to kill her, was out there somewhere, watching, waiting. Sooner or later, it would be daylight. She wouldn't know, unless she could tell by sounds. The tree frogs would be silent, as well as the other nocturnal creatures that had just saved her life by reminding her it was still night time. Only then would she have any inkling of the hour. But long before then, in that mystical moment between darkness and dawn, he would be able to see her, find her.

  And God help her then.

  Ramey started from the building housing the small prison kitchen, carrying Anjele's breakfast tray. Whistling, thinking what a nice day it was going to be despite last night's rain, he did not, at first, look toward the shed. Instead, he was gazing at the sparkling ocean bleeding into the horizon.

  He turned toward the shed and the whistling stopped, replaced by a startled cry of, "What the hell—"

  The door was open. She never left the door open.

  Gripping the tray, not caring that the mug of coffee was sloshing over, he began to run, calling out as he did, "Miss Sinclair, Miss Sinclair, are you all right?"

  He slowed, set the tray down outside the door before warily peering inside. With a jolt, he saw the cot turned over, and the crate.

  There was no sign of Anjele anywhere.

  He turned back toward the prison, shouting for help.

  Brett was sound asleep. It had been nearly four o'clock when his replacement arrived. Exhausted, he hadn't bothered to return to his bunk, instead bedding down on straw right in the barn. But suddenly he came awake at the sound of Ramey's cries and scrambled down the ladder to rush outside.

  Hearing the news, he went at once to the shed to see for himself, silently cursing all the while. He should have already got her out of there, damn it.

  "You think she escaped?" one of the other guards cried, running up to him. "She had to have had help. I mean, she couldn't get away by herself, could she?"

  Brett gave him an impatient shove to get him out of the way, because he was right in his face, and he had no time for speculation. Anjele hadn't escaped, and he knew it. Stepping inside the shed, his blood ran cold to see the muddy footprints on the worn wooden floor. There was signs of a struggle, but no blood, thank God.

  The sound of a bugle split the stillness, signaling the call to formation. A search party was about to be formed.

  Brett pressed his fingers against his temples and turned all the way around , eyes straining for some sign, anything to give a clue of what had happened.

  And then he heard it.

  Like the soft whimper of a kitten.

  He raced towards the sound, crashing into the brush and weeds. With a cry of joy, he saw her and knelt to gather her in his arms and anxiously ask, "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

  Weary, nerves shredded raw by the anguish of the night, Anjele could barely whisper, "No... no, but he wanted to kill me."

  "You're going to be all right," he vowed, holding her yet tighter. Others were coming, and he knew he had to get his emotions under control but dared press his lips against her ear to whisper, "Nothing's going to happen to you, Angel, I swear it."

  She smiled and pressed her head against his strong shoulder as he lifted her into his arms and out of the water. Clutching fingers of sleep were reaching out for her, because now she was no longer afraid. He'd called her Angel, just as her father used to, and someone else she couldn't quite forget. Somehow, she knew she was safe.

  Brett looked down at her, saw she'd either fainted or fallen asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, for she seemed
to be all right.

  But tonight he was getting her out. There would be no time to confide anything. He'd have to move fast and explain later. That's the way it had to be, because whoever had tried to kill her would doubtless try again.

  Chapter 26

  Sergeant Bodine was livid with rage. "She wasn't any trouble till you came here. I don't know what happened to make her go wandering out by herself last night, and I don't care, just so's it don't happen again. Now, I'll let you keep an eye on her today, 'cause when she wakes up, she's going to be upset and scared, but tomorrow, you're goin' on duty elsewheres. It ain't good, your spending so much time with her. She's gettin' too dependent on you."

  "You're right, sir," Brett agreed readily, knowing neither he nor Anjele would be there tomorrow. "She probably had a nightmare."

  Bodine ordered her door locked from the outside. "If she gets hurt, I'll be in big trouble."

  Brett assured the sergeant he'd take care of it, then hurried to the shed, where Ramey had been sitting beside Anjele's cot, in case she woke up while Bodine was raising hell with him. As best they could tell, she wasn't hurt, except for a few scratches and bruises.

  When Ramey left, Brett gave her a gentle shake and softly called her name. She stirred, moaned, then suddenly lunged to sit up, wildly tossing her head about as she gasped in terror, "No, no..."

  "I'm here. It's okay." He pulled her into his arms and held her till she calmed, continuing to assure her she was safe. "Now tell me," he finally said, "everything you can remember about last night."

  As he listened to her horrifying tale of how a man had forced his way in, threatening to kill her, Brett was flooded with hot anger, as well as renewed determination to make the escape that night. Yet he knew he had to tell her a little of what was going on, so she'd understand what was happening and not be scared.

  When she had finished talking, her head leaning against his shoulder, he began. "Anjele, listen carefully. I have reason to believe what happened last night has to do with your father's murder and the missing engraving plates."