Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance

by Patricia Hagan

  "We don't seek to destroy anything, Claudia," Hembree said calmly, "We're merely looking for what's ours. And I can assure you, your hospitality has been appreciated. But be that as it may, the Union army won't be imposing in the future. Like my wife, General Butler feels it's not a good image to patronize the home of a man who would steal from the government."

  "And what about my slaves?" Claudia asked. "Everybody knows the slaves in all the parishes below New Orleans are getting more and more rebellious. Why, gangs from other plantations are roaming the countryside, urging rebellion. I've lost count of the numbers slipping away during the night. If you withdraw your men, I'll have no protection. There's no way I can keep BelleClair operating."

  Major Hembree was unmoved. "We have our own problems with the Negroes. Just last week, a large group marched into the city, complaining of overwork and short rations. They were armed with clubs, scythe blades, and knives. When we tried to stop them, one was killed and several wounded."

  "I'm afraid your situation is of no concern to the Union army, Claudia." He clicked the heels of his polished boots and gave a mock salute, then went down the steps to his waiting horse. Without a backward glance, he mounted and rode away, leaving the soldiers to commit mayhem upon the once glorious plantation.

  Turning her fury on Raymond, she yelled, "Oh, you're enjoying all this, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. You're enjoying every goddamn minute of it. You want to see BelleClair destroyed. You'd like to see me destroyed, too. I know you hate me, but not half as much as I hate you, you spineless ninny."

  She slumped into a rocker and began to sob wildly, beating at the wooden arms with her fists and stamping her feet. She did not dare go into the house, for fear of losing control and picking up the first thing she could get her hands on and attacking the soldiers who were tearing her world apart.

  Raymond shrugged. He had ceased to be hurt by her vicious tongue because he just didn't care anymore.

  Sitting down beside her, he began to rock to and fro, humming absently, knowing he was irritating her, which is what he wanted to do.

  "Will you stop it?" She glared at him, eyes bulging. "Goddamn you, Raymond, I was such a fool to think I ever loved you."

  He looked at her as though he was sure she'd lost her mind. "You never loved me, and we both know it. The only reason you wanted to marry me was to keep Anjele from having me. You always were a selfish bitch, Claudia," he added with an arrogant sniff.

  She was on her feet, towering over him, swinging her hands back and forth across his face, slapping him again and again, till he managed to swing his cane in defense. When it struck her shoulder, she cried out, stumbling backward.

  "You worthless, hopeless cripple," she shrieked. "One day you'll pay, and so will Anjele. I'll see her dead if she ever comes back here, and you, too, if you get in my way."

  Lifting her skirts, she ran down the steps and disappeared around the corner of the house, angry sobs echoing.

  Raymond leaned back, closed his eyes, and slowly began rocking again. His cheeks were smarting. She had slapped him pretty hard. But it wouldn't hurt long. As soon as the Yankees finished what they were doing and got out of the way, he was going to the sugarhouse and find his stash of home-brewed rum.

  And then the whole world could go to hell, for all he cared.

  Brett moved mostly by night, for two reasons—there was less chance of anyone seeing them and remembering them, but perhaps more importantly, he also wanted to avoid the intimacy of darkness. Awareness since he'd dared kiss Anjele was almost a tangible thing, hovering between them to make them tense, edgy. Despite wanting her so much it hurt, he vowed not to take advantage of either her vulnerability or the precarious situation they were in. Foremost in his mind was the chilling fact that someone was out to kill her, and he wanted to get her to sanctuary.

  By day, if the weather was good, he found refuge in the woods and dense growth on the banks of the Wolf River. It had not taken long to realize it would be dangerous to try to navigate a raft blindly so all he could do was follow the river's course north on foot as far as Lumberton. Doing so slowed them considerably, yet it was easier to forage for food.

  They happened upon a friendly fisherman, too old and decrepit to be involved in the war but eager to share news he'd heard in Lumberton. General Stonewall Jackson, he was happy to report, had led an attack on Harper's Ferry in Virginia, and it was being said nearly twelve thousand Union soldiers had been captured.

  But the old man was sad to have to report a battle in the northeast corner of the state, up at luka, near the Tennessee and Alabama lines. Union General Rosecrans had soundly beaten back Confederates and taken control of the town.

  Anjele was anxious to hear how things were going in Louisiana, particularly New Orleans, but the fisherman said all he heard from that area were continued horror stories of General Butler's tyranny.

  Farther along, they encountered a grief-stricken father taking the body of his Confederate son home for burial. He said there had been intense fighting at Corinth, and even though Rosecrans's Federal troops were hit hard by General Van Dorn,Van Dorn had finally had to retreat.

  Brett hated pushing Anjele so hard but knew it was only a matter of time till the war moved deeper into Mississippi.

  On a chilly morning in late October, he was grateful to stumble across the remains of a log cabin. Positioning rotting boards, he was able to put together hastily a lean-to for shelter against the cool, brisk wind.

  He then built a fire and began to roast the rabbit he'd caught in a snare. Mostly their diet was raw vegetables he managed to scrounge and steal from gardens along the way. Meat was a rare treat. "A few more weeks," he told her. "The Pearl River goes right into Jackson, and once we get there, I'll feel safe enough to get a couple of horses for the rest of the way."

  "And then what?"

  He knew she was restless, knew how terrible it must be, eternally trapped in darkness, trudging mile after mile, stumbling and falling now and then, despite his best efforts to keep her going. His heart went out to her, and God knows he hated driving her as he did, but he had no choice. "A few more weeks, at least. I wish we could move faster, but—"

  "I can't," she was quick to let him know. "In case you haven't noticed, my feet are blistered, and I can't remember the last time we had a decent meal, or..." her voice cracked, and she bit back the tears as she apologized, "I'm sorry. I know you're doing the best you can, but why do we have to go on this way? Surely we could find a Confederate patrol, and they'd protect us. Why do we have to keep running like criminals?"

  Why, indeed? Brett frowned. Contact with the Rebel army would result in exposure of his lie about being a spy. And he didn't dare risk letting the Union army get hold of Anjele, because he didn't know who was out to kill her, didn't know who to trust, and was taking no chances.

  "It's best," he finally told her, once more hedging. "You can rest up without having to answer a lot of questions, and maybe then your memory will come back, and—"

  "And maybe it won't!" She suddenly burst into tears.

  Brett could only stare, speechless. They'd been through some extremely hard times in the past weeks, and he had marveled over how she never complained, impressed by her fortitude, and when called upon, courage as well. A woman with good eyesight could not have done better, he knew. Yet now it looked like she was finally breaking.

  Propping the green stick with the roasting rabbit so it wouldn't burn, he turned to take her in his arms to comfort her.

  Feeling his hands upon her arms, Anjele slapped at them, twisting from side to side as she exploded, "No, don't touch me. I don't want your pity, damn it. Just leave me alone...." She scrambled to her feet, ashamed by her weakness. Ever disoriented in the clinging web of darkness, she stumbled, righted herself, cursing her helplessness.

  "Anjele, wait. You're going to hurt yourself." Brett was up and right behind her to grab her by her waist and whirl her around to face him. "What the hell is wrong with yo
u? I've never seen you this way."

  She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "I've never seen you at all, Brett Cody, so you have the advantage."

  Bewildered, he gave her a gentle shake. "Damn it, Anjele, what is wrong? Tell me. We've a ways to go, yet. I can't have you giving up now, feeling sorry for yourself."

  The tenseness in her face relaxed. "Oh, no, that's not it at all. It's... it's..." She shook her head, unable to come right out and say she couldn't stand being with him any longer. To be so close to a man, so dependent, loving him more and more with each passing day was unbearable. If only he hadn't kissed her back in Biloxi, perhaps she could have denied what she was starting to feel, but since then, nothing was the same. And she had tried. Oh, dear God in heaven, she had tried. Pretending to be jolly, keeping her chin up, friendly and warm. Yet it had been agony, for so many times she'd wanted to throw herself into his arms and lift her mouth for his wonderful kiss and let the tide of unbridled passion sweep them away. Had he given her any encouragement at all, Anjele was sure that's what she'd have done, tossing propriety aside. But he hadn't, and what stung was how he could pretend it had never happened. That was the final insult.

  "Come on," he urged, when she fell silent. "It's cold out here in this wind. Let's get back to the shelter. You're just tired and need some rest."

  She allowed him to lead her back, feeling terribly foolish. And when he helped her settle onto the blanket, she waited till she felt him take a place beside her before apologizing, "I'm really sorry. I should have known better. I'm afraid I'm acting like a child. I've been so embarrassed since you kissed me, because I guess I thought..." She paused to draw a long, steadying breath, feeling his curious eyes upon her. "I guess I thought there was something romantic growing between us, and I got mad with myself when I realized there wasn't. After all..." She gave her long hair a disdainful toss, lifted her chin in a gesture of confidence not truly felt. "I'm blind, and what else could I expect but your friendship, which I'm very grateful for. I was being silly, that's all. It won't happen again." She forced a brave little smile.

  For one frozen moment, Brett could not speak, as emotions he'd fought to keep under control were suddenly unleashed. It was not seduction, for he could see desire etched in her face, hear it in her voice.

  She wanted him.

  And he wanted her.

  This time, there was no turning back.

  Gently, so as not to startle, he drew her into his arms. He laughed softly, a rich sound from his very soul. "You little fool. Don't you know how much I've wanted this but didn't dare? You're so helpless, and I was afraid you'd think I was taking advantage. But God help me, I do want you, Anjele." He kissed her deeply, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, arms encircling his neck as she leaned back, gently taking him with her till they were lying down.

  Locked in the breathless kiss, he raised himself only enough to afford room for his fingers to find the buttons down the bodice of her dress. She did not resist, arching toward him in eagerness.

  When the buttons were undone, he peeled the dress off her shoulders and down her arms. As he moved to lower his mouth, she begged in a suffocated whisper, "Tell me what it's like, Brett. Tell me what you're feeling...."

  He caught one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, gently squeezing to hardness. "Like a cherry, my love, sweet and succulent." He touched it with his tongue, then began to roll it between his teeth, softly nibbling, then drawing as much as he could take into his mouth to suckle.

  Anjele felt imprisoned upon a sea of velvet, as needles of pleasurable sensation assaulted every nerve of her being. Her own fingers began a delightful dance of exploration, moving down his back to feel the strong, rippling muscles. "I want to take this off," she said, pulling away from his grasp to boldly maneuver out of her dress. "I can't see you, but I can feel you, and I want your naked flesh against my own...."

  Brett tore off his own clothes, felt himself hard, throbbing, his loins aching with the intense heat of his desire. Yet he knew he'd find strength to hold back, for he had no intentions of rushing the ultimate pleasure of being inside her. He'd waited too long for the ecstasy and intended to savor every tantalizing second.

  He gazed hungrily at her breasts as she lay beckoning. Full, high, rounded, and firm. The nipples were tiny, pointed, and he could not resist devouring them once more in turn.

  Anjele gasped at the feel of his hot, probing tongue. Digging her fingers into his thick hair, she held him captive, wrapping her legs around the backs of his to cling yet tighter.

  Her own hands became bolder, slipping to cup his buttocks, marveling at the firm contours. He continued to bathe her breasts with honeyed tongue, sharply gasping as her tender fingers trailed around, and down, between his legs to torment and tease.

  "Now," she throatily commanded, "Take me now, Brett."

  "Not yet, Angel. Not yet."

  He maneuvered away from her torturous touch, lest his pleasure come, then and there. Feasting on the wonders of her body, as his hands roamed at will, he was captivated by her incredibly tiny waist, smooth belly, and perfectly curved hips.

  "My God," Anjele crooned, on fire with wanting him, "I think I'll die if I don't have you."

  "And have me you shall," he huskily assured her, "again and again, till you beg me to stop."

  "Never." She laughed recklessly, helplessly, "I'll only beg for more."

  He moved his palm from her waist and downward, reveling in the feel of her soft, satiny skin. His mouth was doing crazy, wonderful things to hers, but she reached out to clutch his neck, bringing his face close, her lips singeing his. Anjele knew in that crystallized moment that her body and soul were his for the taking. In the weeks, months, they had been together, he had become her porthole into the world, seeing it through his eyes. There had actually been times when he made it all seem so vivid and real she could forget, for one exhilarating moment, that: she was blind. He was part of her now, for always and all times, and she wanted to be a part of him. Boldly, her hand snaked down to find his manhood and cast aside his assaulting, probing fingers and thrust it against her.

  Brett could hold back no longer and plunged inside her, as his hands deftly moved to clutch her waist and render her helpless against his assault. Control cast to the winds, he began to pump his hips against hers. She did not resist, did not indicate if there was discomfort, instead raising her legs to lock about his hips and render her all.

  He could see the rapture on her face, hear her pleasured sighs and moans, knew she was rapidly approaching her own pinnacle of ecstasy. He held back till he felt the velvet recesses of her begin to quiver against him. He set a slow, tantalizing tempo, then increasing. Her nails digging into the hard flesh of his back were like spurs, urging him onward.

  At last, he felt the final zenith approaching, the great, inward shudders, simultaneous with near-agonized cries as she burrowed her face in his neck. He took himself onward to ultimate release, gasping out loud at the sheer wonder, for never, not with any of the women in his past, had it ever been this way.

  Dizzily he slumped against her, then abruptly rolled over onto his back to take great gulps of air, for he was breathless. Was it so wonderful before, he dared wonder, all those years ago on that one special night? He knew he'd loved her then, but now loved her more. For there had been a mellowing of heart, of spirit, as he'd come to know her even better. He couldn't bear to think of ever letting her go, but knew he couldn't control the future, could only grasp the here and now.

  She rolled on her side, snuggling her head against his shoulder. His arms tightened about her protectively as she teasingly whispered, "I'm not going to let you go, Brett Cody. You might not want to be saddled with a blind woman the rest of your life, but you'll have to hide so I can't find you, because I never want to leave your side, and—"

  "You won't," he vowed fervently, fiercely, turning to jerk her roughly into his arms. Hungrily, possessively, he began to rain kisses over her face. His hands moved ov
er her as though wanting to touch all of her, savoring the feel of what he now considered his very own. "You aren't going to lose me, Anjele Sinclair. Forget the war. Forget everything but you and me, and here and now, because I want you for always and ever."

  His lips found hers, and they clung together in the cooling breezes, the dying embers of the fire before them merging with their bodies to ignite once again the carnal passion.

  Chapter 28

  "The way became increasingly familiar to Brett as they left the banks of the Pearl and moved west to the Big Black River.

  Crossing by ferry, they continued on to the Mississippi. Moving parallel, they would reach the fringes of Black Bayou a few miles south of Vicksburg.

  Pressing her head against Brett's broad back, Anjele was filled by the wondrous feeling of love. He made her feel needed, wanted. Though she hungered to see his face and drink in the precious sight of him from head to toe, she felt no less a woman in his presence. In only a short while, Claudia had made her feel inferior, useless. Yet, despite the arduous journey, wrought with misery, Brett gave her confidence in herself, lifting her spirits. Perhaps most wonderful of all, by painting with words, he had created for her a landscape into the world, and she no longer felt totally trapped by darkness.

  He had told her he was taking her to a place of shelter, where she could rest and try to get her memory back. She relished the thought of being with him, but still wished she could return home and attempt to claim what was rightfully hers. But as long as the war went on, it was impossible. To the Yankees, she was a criminal, as well as a fugitive.

  Brett was describing the forest around them, laughing over the antics of a chipmunk that seemed to be following them. He would appear every so often to peer curiously out from foliage at the edge of the trail, then scamper away to meet them farther ahead. She told him how she adored animals and found it easy to recount her nights in the bayou and the wondrous sights to behold.