The Siren’s Song
A feeling of danger swept through her as he slowly approached. Step by threatening step, the predator stalked his prey. He moved with the grace of a cat. Slowly, stealthy, each step measured, until he was nearly upon her.
She refused to move until his thighs brushed her skirt. When he once more stepped forward, she was forced to retreat, until she was pressed into the corner between the fireplace and the wall. His hands moved to either side of her shoulders and he leaned forward until she was held firmly in place.
Heat rushed through her and she stammered, "Monsieur, this is not acceptable. What do you think we are doing? Laurent will not like this! This is not the lake, I am not alone here."
"Nay Lass, but it matters not."
His hand moved to the top of her shoulders, gently caressing.
"Do not touch me!" Nicolette began to tremble and pushed against him.
It had little effect. He moved even closer, his thighs on either side, pushing her to the corner until she could barely move. She looked up and found his gaze on her mouth.
One hand moved to her cheek and traced her lips with his thumb. His other hand moved slowly to circle her waist. He roughly pulled her up against him until her feet no longer touched the floor.
The blue depths of his eyes seemed to flame with passion as his gaze searched hers. He glanced at her lips again, and she felt the butterflies deep within, just as in the early dawn and the desire to have just one more kiss overwhelmed her.
"I must taste you."
Wings
The Siren’s Song
by
Tonya Sue Harms
A Wings ePress, Inc.
Historical Romance Novel
Wings ePress, Inc.
Edited by: Crystal Laver
Copy Edited by: Gina Marie Cadorette
Senior Editor: Crystal Laver
Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens
Cover Artist: Tonya Sue Harms and Crystal Laver
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Wings ePress Books
http://www.wings-press.com
Copyright © 2002 by Tonya Sue Harms
ISBN 1-59088-132-X
Published In the United States Of America
December 2002
Wings ePress Inc.
403 Wallace Court
Richmond, KY 40475
Dedication
I dedicate this book to so many people.
First, my husband of 32 years,
George,
who is still ready to fight dragons for me
after all this time,
and to my children
George, Amy and Jeff,
my greatest friends,
and supporters in this endeavor.
To my mother and father,
Brad and Libby,
whose love is salve to my soul.
Finally, to my critique partners,
Carrie, Debbie, and Rosina,
the best writing buddies in the world.
Prologue
Defiantly, Jamie raised his gaze to look at his captor. The whip cracked behind him, and he felt the lightning strike of the leather as pain pierced deep into his ribs once more.
He drifted into unconsciousness. A cruel image of the bloody battlefield came, and he saw the brutal Englishman. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his soul he heard the chant again, "it’s not over, never over," those dreaded words that haunted his dreams.
Struggling once more to remain lucid, he raised his head. Forester! The English knave ran him to ground in the Colonies. He closed his eyes and drifted back into darkness. America, I am in America. Safe! I’m only dreaming.
Frigid water hit him in the face, sodden, icy streams ran down his shoulders, and fire blazed across his back as fierce spasms racked his body. Nausea rushed over him, like ocean waves breaking on the shore.
His face jerked to the side from a vicious slap. The blows came again and again, each hit more forceful than the last. Then cold water doused him from head to foot. Agony rippled, bringing him to full consciousness. His eyes flew open, and he shook his head to clear his mind. His gaze lifted slowly and he found himself surrounded by a sea of red uniforms.
"He’s waking!"
Jamie heard one lone, benevolent voice, as the savagery of what the man witnessed became clearly disturbing.
"I see no sport in this, old boy. He’s helpless, nearly beaten to death and still you continue. Bad form, I must say."
"Lieutenant Strathington, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself, or I will have your rank, Sir."
Jamie stirred. The voice from the meadow, Forester’s voice, this was no dream, only grisly reality. Awareness sharpened his wits.
He noticed the tiny shafts of light that crisscrossed the dirt floor. "The barn," he whispered, as memory slowly returned. His gaze traveled upward. His hands were bound together and held above his head by a rope thrown over a rafter. His legs were spread wide, and the ropes at his ankles staked to the ground. He hung defenseless, like a slab of meat on a hook.
Fire consumed him, and he realized it was the excruciating pain from being whipped until his back was little more than shredded flesh that made him ache so.
Jamie closed his eyes again. Those many years ago, Forester had been right, and although not yet over, perhaps it would be soon.
Hatred pulsed through him, just as strongly as the blood flowing through his veins. He cursed his stupidity for not anticipating the man’s hunger for revenge. He should have realized his sworn enemy would follow him to America. Here, as at home, they fought on opposite sides, perhaps destiny decreed them to do battle forever.
He should have been on his guard, but no matter. Alec would come. His cousin would search the depths of hell if necessary. Desperation seeped into his soul when he suddenly admitted the truth. No one had heard, or seen, his capture. No one knew, and no help would come. How could Alec track a ghost?
He heard the youthful voice speak again. Clearly, the lad did not recognize that the devil reincarnate lived in Forester.
"Your threat is vein, Sir. Remember I have connections. Highly placed connections."
A shout rang out, "He is an animal, a Scottish dog, and not worthy of your concern! I owe this man a debt that is long outstanding. Stay out of this, I warn you, or you shall suffer along with him."
He heard the creaking of the heavy door. Jamie squinted to keep from being blinded as brilliant light spilled into the barn. Several of the redcoats moved outside, and he realized his last hope for mercy just vanished into the hot, dusty air.
Someone roughly grabbed his hair, yanking his head backward. "Wake up you animal." The hideous, shrill voice rang out again. Animal. Animal. The word echoed in his mind. Suddenly, another slap across his face nearly broke his neck with its intensity. His eyes adjusted slowly, finally focusing on his nemesis.
Forester sneered with yellowed, decaying teeth exposed; his piercing black eyes burned brightly with a demonic hatred as he walked, tripping, and nearly falling. "Damn you! Why did you leave me like this? I would have killed you after the battle, not just maim you as you did me. You mutilated me in that meadow!"
Now, fully awake, Jamie used all of h
is remaining strength to fight. He jerked his body forward with fury and desperation, hoping to break free, only to be snapped back by the tightly strung ropes.
A feeble titter of laughter crossed the room, along with a few groans of those tired of the sadistic entertainment. Jamie watched as others walked toward the door.
"Well boy, remember what I said? It is not over, but soon, Scottish bastard, it will be."
Loud, harsh laughter came from every corner, and he watched several men move closer, waiting for the kill.
Jamie raised his head high, determined that if he were to die, he would do so with dignity. He looked into the nearly black gaze of the devil. He didn’t speak, afraid that he would scream in anguish. His strength drained slowly, like wine from an overturned bottle, yet despite that he raised his head and spit into the Englishman’s face.
"Agghhh!"
Forester’s scream of fury made Jamie smile. He looked back into the man’s eyes and struggled to take a deep breath. "Aye, it isn’t over and I swear to you it won’t end here. If I die, Alec will avenge me."
The shrill, insane shriek echoed, then the room grew still as Forester next spoke in an eerily, quiet voice.
"You think not, boy? You think it is not over?" He stepped forward, then whispered, "Die now brother."
Confused, Jamie repeated the word, "Brother?"
The whip snapped, and he jerked forward with such force he felt as if his arms would tear from their sockets. The thunderbolt from the whip struck again, and again, and Jamie felt himself held firm in the rhythm of death. Waves of excruciating agony were more than he could bear.
Strangely, the pain ceased as a blinding white light suddenly surrounded him. He could still hear the sound of his flesh ripping, yet it seemed as if someone else hung helplessly from the beams.
Jamie smiled. His head dropped forward and his eyes rolled back. As he drifted away everything grew dark, filled with complete silence, then finally peace.
One
France, 1789
Jamie stood at the bow of the ship, with his legs braced wide. Both hands gripped the rail, as the spray caused by the breaking waves blew into his face. The fresh cool breeze cleared the cobwebs from his mind.
He could see France on the horizon, and took a deep ragged breath. The voyage had been three long days, filled with rough seas, and it would be a great relief to have firm ground beneath him.
"I’m glad ta see ye survived the journey too." Alec stood beside him, his hand resting on Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie laughed, "So you’re back with the living? For a while there I wondered if any of you would make it. How are the others?"
Alec shrugged. "I’m happy ta be alive, but I dinna’ know about them. They looked close ta dead when I roused them, but they felt much better when they learned we were near land."
Jamie laughed again. "If they think they are ill now what will they do when we take the clan to America? Remember how rough the North Atlantic can be!"
"It’s nay so kind of ye ta remind me of how ill I felt! That memory makes the last few days seem like a picnic."
Jamie leaned down, his elbows resting on the rail. "I don’t understand why I did not come down with the sickness, the crossing was that rough."
"It’s because yer so stubborn." They hit a high wave, and Alec clutched the rail.
"You look a bit green cousin. Aye, you rival the color of those trees in the far distance."
"That’s nay so very funny, Jamie. I feel more than a little ill, and I thought I was over the worst of it." Alec leaned down and put his head in his hands.
Jamie pulled him to the bow. "Stand here." They traded places, and Alec held the railing with both hands. "You’ll feel better when the spray and wind hits you square in the face."
They stood quietly for a few minutes.
"Aye, it’s passing again, but ta answer yer earlier question, I dinna know if I’ll survive that trip again. I’ve barely survived this one. I can tell you that without a doubt, Iain and Murtagh will nay live through it."
They both laughed.
"I’ve never seen anyone so sick as those two have been. To look at them now you’d think they’d been tortured by the English."
Jamie suddenly grew more pensive. "This journey has brought back memories of America."
Alec sighed. "Aye, I thought as much. The nightmare has returned, I can see it in yer eyes."
Jamie turned away, his knuckles turning white as they clutched the railing.
After a moment of silence Alec smiled. "Tell me, Jamie boy, are ye ready ta meet yer future wife?"
Jamie smiled at his cousin’s attempt to keep the memory at bay. "Aye, I’m ready. The earlier I marry the sooner we can get back to the clan, and on with our plans."
Alec pointed toward the shore, "Look, we’re getting near St. Malo. I’ll be back after I check on the others."
Jamie began to pace. This journey had been difficult, and after all these years the dream haunted him still. He hated that it never left him alone for long. It’s not over! It will never be over. The words still rang in his head.
"God’s teeth!" he whispered. Then shook his head, and moved back to the bow to feel the wind on his face again. His hair thrashed wildly about his face, and the dark thoughts of a whip hitting his back resurfaced.
His hand inadvertently moved across his chest, and came to rest on a thick scar on his shoulder. He despised his weakness for remembering. It had been seven long years, and he should have been able to forget by now. Yet, each time he thought he had conquered the beast, and usually when he least expected, it would slip back into his dreams and haunt him.
Only a moment later, Alec shook him by the shoulder, then handed him a cup of hot tea in a tin cup. The warmth seemed to reawaken his soul as he wrapped his fingers around it.
"The others will be along soon. Right now they’re ghastly white." Alec glanced at Jamie. "At it again are ye? The skirmish in the meadow will always be wi’ ye Jamie. It’s changed yer life, and the lives of the clan, but it’s over. You canna’ dwell on that memory. Let it go."
"It’s not the meadow, it’s the aftermath I can’t live with."
"Aye," Alec cleared his throat. "I only know that regardless of how difficult, ye have to let that go, as weel."
Jamie wondered if Alec had lost his mind. "Let Forester go? Never! I made the mistake that day in the meadow. It will never happen again. If Laurent hadn’t found me in that ramshackle barn I’d be dead now."
"Aye. But the Marquis did find ye, and ye aren’t dead. At least not yet," he laughed. "Weel, I still canna’ believe that he asked you ta marry his sister."
"It isn’t that bad, I did give him my word, remember? I said I would do anything that he asked of me. I can do no less than honor my pledge." Jamie put his hand on Alec’s shoulder. "Aye, some of those memories are good," he sighed. "How strange is fate! Laurent appeared from nowhere that day in America, almost as if it was our destiny."
Alec nodded. "Aye. You would have never met, you being a Highlander and Laurent a Frenchman, stranger still that you both fought with Lafayette, and for the Colonial’s freedom, and neither of you American. I always thought it uncanny that he found you when you were so close to death. God was watching over ye that day, Jamie."
"Aye, it’s true. Outside of you, Laurent is my only friend. We became inseparable from our first meeting, sharing everything, even our dreams for the future." Jamie laughed, "We had enough adventure to fill a lifetime, that’s for sure. Although we were young our friendship has proven genuine. It’s lasted through these past years, and the great distance that separated us."
Alec slapped him on the back. "Aye, ye fought, drank, and chased women together. I remember that only to well. Often was the time I had to come after ye when ye were in trouble."
Jamie laughed, then leaned down, looking into the fathomless depths of the deep blue waves as he thought about the man that he considered a brother.
"Did I tell you that when I s
topped in France on my way home from America, Laurent gave me a bag of gold coins? He secretly packed it with my things. I didn’t realize what he’d done until I was already onboard the ship. To Laurent it was nothing of any real value, but to me it seemed a miracle. His gift helped our clan through some of our bleakest moments. I will never forget his generosity."
"Aye, the Marquis is a good man, still to ask you to marry his sister is far to much!"
Jamie smiled. "Those memories of us together are among my most treasured, and our kinship will never be affected by time, or distance. I came to honor my pledge to the man who saved my life in America. I can do no less, even if it meant going to hell and back, I would do as he asked."
"Still, anything would be better than marriage," Alec laughed.
"I know your thoughts on the tradition of marriage, yet the final decision is mine. I was not forced to do this. Laurent assured me that he wanted me to accept freely, not because I felt compelled to keep my word."
"Jamie boy, he sent this ship for ye. Perhaps ye weren’t forced, but what choice did ye have? It’s a fate worse than death, I tell ye! Wouldna’ something else do just as weel?"
Jamie shook his head. "No, nothing! You know that I must honor this betrothal! Otherwise, I may never find a way to repay my debt. Laurent sent the ship because he knew I would honor my word, no matter what he requested of me."
"Aye. There is nothing else for ye ta do, but it is the timing I hate. We’ve trouble on the border again, and need ta be back in Scotland."
Iain and Murtagh joined them, and Jamie smiled at the sight.
Murtagh, was a huge man, as big as a bear, with a personality to match, normally meticulous, he now appeared disheveled with his shirt tucked half in and out of his trousers. Jamie thought he looked uncomfortable, and would rather have worn his kilt. Murtagh had been one of his father’s youngest, yet most trusted advisors, and now did the same for him.
Iain was the youngster of the group, curious and impetuous, excited to see the world. He was thrilled to leave the Highlands, at least, until he got seasick. Iain looked very ill again and grabbed the rail, hanging on as if it were life itself.
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