by Meg Hennessy
“I’ll tell him.” Jordan turned to leave when his sister called out to him.
“I never would have believed you to indulge in such a life. Si vous plaît, tell me I have not left one den of pirates for another?”
“You haven’t.”
“Do you still have Liberty Oak? I so want to see it.”
“I do, and it’s time we get there.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Le Vengeur, weighted with prize, sliced through the dark, rolling waves as nightfall silenced the angst of the seas. Having gone back and relieved the warship of their cargo, Jordan had hoped the British rescue would garner answers as to why they would follow him across the gulf, but he had learned nothing.
The officer claimed he was supposed to take Le Vengeur and prevent Jordan from going to Florida. Which made little sense, since he had never intended to go to Florida. The officer seemed sincere in his mission, confusing Jordan further. Stripped of his ship, Jordan set the Brits afloat on their clipper, knowing they’d be picked up within hours.
Minus weapons, food, or water, the men of Donato de la Roche had rowed their polly boat with vigor to return to their island. The sea was opening up with large swells and deep hollows. The polly boat might be swamped but with the luck of Donato de la Roche, he’d make it.
A cool northerly wind chilled the air and gave rise to thick water-smoke that curled around the massive masts and hovered over the main deck. Most of the men were sleeping, either in their hammocks above deck or swinging below in the wardroom. For the first time in forty-eight hours, the crew had peace.
Jordan stood at the helm, needing the time for himself. Loul had checked on him occasionally and the usual shift of helmsmen had been canceled. Jordan needed to feel the breeze of the ocean to help clear his head that had been badly muddled since the moment he’d found Colette.
He pulled off the black silk scarf that had served as his mask and wiped his forehead. Was Colette’s situation the same as he and Aurèlie, minus the baby? From the moment he had taken Aurèlie aboard and she had played the game of cat and mouse while he was masked, he had wanted to ask, if given the choice, the freedom to choose her own love, would she choose him? But he had resisted, knowing the answer.
He was the wrong color.
“Jourdain?”
Jordan started, turning to see Aurèlie standing on the main deck. She appeared a vision rather than mortal, as the moonlight reflected within the misty night to surround her in a hazy yellow light. “Aurèlie, can’t you sleep?”
“Non.” She climbed the helm and stood next to him. “I cannot.”
Her long silky black hair fluttered in the wind. Her dark eyes, draped in unfathomable lashes, watched the open seas as the bowsprit dipped and rose over the horizon. The waves crashed against the hull and washed a spray over the deck, lacing the air with a salty taste.
Dressed in his clothes, she looked small, frail, and delicate. But Jordan had learned one thing about Aurèlie, she was strong-willed and courageous, yet sensitive, and loving.
“Is Colette asleep?” he asked, trying to distract himself from her sultry eyes.
“Oui, her and the little bébé,” Aurèlie said barely above a whisper. “What you did today, Donato, letting him go, it was good, n’est ce pas?”
“It did not feel good but it was not my choice.” He shook his head trying to sort through his sister’s decision. “She wanted no revenge. Why, Aurèlie? I don’t understand.”
“Because you look at la Roche with your eyes.” Aurèlie brushed the hair from her face and moistened her lips, lips that tasted damn good. “A woman sees with her heart.”
“Many would share my view of him.”
“She believes he has been wronged in the past and that he, too, like you, is a man of vengeance. She sees la Roche as a man of passion. There is good and bad in all men of passion, non?”
The flying jib dove into the swallows of the waves and rose with a wild spray of ocean water, dampening their faces as they stood with gazes locked. He wondered in all of her wisdom regarding Colette, what Aurèlie knew of herself.
The breeze worked through her shirt, exposing the soft, slender line of her throat. He ached to touch her, run his fingers over her skin that shimmered like warm firelight in the misty night. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to her, gliding his fingers over the side of her face.
“Is that how you see me, Aurèlie, as a man of passion?”
“You are, I think.”
“I am good and bad?”
“Much goodness, a little of the other, I think. I see your love for Maisie, your family, this ship, the sea, and—” She looked at him as if she expected him to finish the sentence with a declaration of love for her, but he couldn’t; guilt knotted up his throat and locked the words of love deep inside of him. If she declared her love for him, would it be real? Or would she have fallen in love with him in the same way Colette had fallen for Donato de la Roche, losing sight of the injustice?
“I’ve grown tired of the sea.” He looked at her, tension rose within the fog that swirled around them. “I long for something else.”
Before she could respond, he changed the direction of the conversation, not wanting to analyze more of himself. “What can I get you, to help you sleep? The Brits had some fine rum, we off-loaded.”
She shook her head, the sides of her hair had been braided and tied back over the long silky ends. He recalled the way she had looked in the formfitting dress given to her by the natives. Dressed in his clothes, he still hungered to have her.
“I need nothing.” She turned and searched his face with the depth of her dark eyes. “Something has changed, oui?”
Jordan forced a slight smile, feeling the pain of her question pierce his heart. Yes, so much has changed. All of his sins had risen to the surface at once and though he thought to be a man on a mission of mercy, he was now unsure of what he’d done or accomplished.
“The time is late. You need sleep to endure the journey.”
“And you, Jourdain.” She ran gentle fingers along the course stubble of his face, resting a moment at the corner of his mouth. Her exploration continued down his neck and slowly she wrapped her fingers about his medallion. “What do you see me as?”
“A woman of the most beautiful kind.” He brushed her hand away from the medallion. “Not this time, Aurèlie. You will not see into my heart tonight. What is there is private, I do not wish the voyeurism of your powers.”
She dropped the silver medal that bobbed slightly against his chest, reminding him of the plight that had taken him prisoner three years before. Odd that with his quest ending, he held no sense of relief, no sense of freedom, only a tightening knot in his gut that he couldn’t untie with any rational thought. Before him stood the center of his anguish, not his sister, nor the pirate whose son Jordan had stolen, only Aurèlie…because he had bought her.
He tried not to react to her exploring touch but his body leaped into action without permission, sending all the signals to ready for her. He swelled with desire, and no reasoning would stop him from wanting her. He caught her hand in his, his eyes engaged with hers until he nearly fell into them. He kissed her fingers, the palm of her hand, her wrist.
A slight moan escaped her lips as she stepped into him. He opened the collar of her shirt and kissed the throbbing hollow of her throat. He felt her body yielding to his touch, her heart beating in a frenzy against his chest.
Aurèlie shifted her head and met his lips with hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she swayed with the motion of the ship against his body. Desire burned his veins and swelled his muscles.
He tied off the tiller, grabbed her in his arms, and kissed her hard, parting her lips to accept him. He wanted to lose himself in that kiss, her body, sink deep inside of her, but he couldn’t. To have one last kiss of something that never should have been. It was the world in which they lived, but hell, he had been a part of it. A part of what his sister had suffered.
/> Her tongue met his exploration with a hot, moist caress, draining all resistance. His heart matched the hammering beat of hers. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and stroked her breast, like warm butter on a summer day, soft and tender against the roughness of his hands.
In rhythmic passion, her breasts rose and pressed against his chest. Her hips meshed with his and she moved ever so slowly. He slid his hand downward, into the breeches, to dip into her most sacred place. She arched against him, her hands splayed across his shoulders.
“I am ready,” she whispered. “There is no one around.”
He smiled. “Only the crow’s nest.”
“It is dark, non?” Her voice sultry—impassioned—exciting him all the more.
Jordan glanced about the deck. Yes, it was dark. It was quiet. The men slept. He started to ache with an unforgiving need to have her. He held her against the binnacle and lowered his breeches enough to meet her needs. She hung on to his shoulders as he rose up under her.
He fell into the rhythm of her breathing. Back and forth he glided inside of her. Gloved by her warm, accepting body, he tried not to think about how or why she was here with him, but that she simply was. He peaked as she did, both clutching one another as if riding the rough seas without a ship.
As the last wave rippled outward, she whispered, “I sleep well now, I think.”
Jordan remained silent, not wanting to think beyond this moment, having fallen so deeply in love with Aurèlie. But there was no need for the plaçage now. She had never been his to have and he’d have to let her go.
…
Jordan squinted through his spyglass as Le Vengeur rounded the Southwest Pass of Louisiana. The stolen Devil ship, having arrived earlier, had been lying-to west of Grand Terre. A small island of nearly twenty square miles of damp, if not swampy land, had served as Lafitte’s operations. There had been a ridge of large oak trees offering dappled shade over the beach area and an unusual amount of driftwood trimmed the riverside, but all of it stood charred and smoldering. A dark haze drifted over the island and from his distance, Jordan could see the large two-story brick house of Jean Lafitte in ruins.
Slowly Le Vengeur came to shore. Scanning the island, he noted the damaged docks and the sunken vessels. All the palmetto-thatched huts that were once so numerous along the sandy shoreline had been burned to the ground.
“Loul, stay on the alert. I’ll see if I can find Lafitte.” Jordan and three of his men climbed into the polly and rowed ashore. In less than an hour, Jordan was again aboard Le Vengeur.
“It was the Americans who destroyed Barataria. Though paid politicians are handy. Lafitte had been forewarned and lost little.” Jordan glanced around at their passengers, who had lined the main deck, taking in the destruction, then whispered to Loul. “He warned that the swamps are crawling with British and the battle for New Orleans is looming.”
“Have they burned the plantations along the water?”
“I don’t think so but General Jackson’s engineer officer, Arsene Latour, had bartered immunity for all privateers who fight for the United States. They’re forming three companies to reinforce the city at forts Petit Coquilles, St. Philip, and St. John. Lafitte wants us to meet him at the Temple and join the fight.”
“The news is not so good.”
“No. We’ll beach the sloop here. Time to get home.”
Again Jordan scanned the faces of his family, not sharing the one tidbit of information that concerned him the most. Lafitte had informed him that Donato de la Roche knew the true identity of the captain of Le Vengeur, Jordan Kincaid.
…
“Papa and Miss Aurèlie!” Little Maisie stood on the edge of the dock, jumping with excitement. She waved her hand and raced back down the dock toward the house.
“How did she get here?” Aurèlie watched as the child disappeared from sight.
“Hattie retrieved her. I’m glad as hell to see her.” A lump rushed his throat. He swallowed away the mist that wanted to cloud his vision. Never had he thought he’d be as glad to see that little girl as he was right now.
He knew in his heart that he had to let Aurèlie go. That the contract was no longer needed and having bought her under fraudulent purposes, he had no right to consider that she would choose him, give her heart to him. He simply couldn’t. Losing Aurèlie would be hard for Maisie, but besides gaining an aunt, she had reclaimed her father. He’d never lose sight of her again.
“Just in time for le réveiller. Two days to prepare but it will be of the most joyous for your family, oui?” Aurèlie rose and stood next to him. She wrapped her hand around the crook of his arm to steady herself as the pirogue skimmed the water toward the dock.
Jordan couldn’t help but put a steady hand over hers, her skin so warm and delicate beneath his weatherworn hand, but a natural fit. Her small frame leaned against his, comfortable within the contours of his body.
Hattie had reached the dock with Maisie tagging at her heels. As they floated into shore, Hattie’s expression widened into surprise then—shock. She gasped, her hand pressed to her bosom as tears filled her eyes. “Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, is it—”
“Yes.” Jordan cut her off as he offered an assist to his sister, reliving the thrill of finding Colette. “We have found her.”
“Oh my Lord, my Lord, my Lord. Ain’t you a beautiful sight, my sweet thing, Colette.” Her hands twitching to swing around Colette as the tears raced her face. “And a baby, a little baby. Look, Maisie.”
Maisie jumped up to see the baby in Colette’s arms.
Jordan laughed at the huge, boisterous hug both Colette and child received from Hattie and enjoyed watching his newly reunited family follow the path to the house and file in, one by one, into the small dining room. Maisie ran circles around the troupe as they walked.
“Hattie, bring us something to drink.”
“The best?”
“The best.” Jordan laughed as she disappeared into the storage room. “Pucker up folks, that means sour rum in her mind.”
Maisie raced over and hugged her father before making her way over to Aurèlie. After offering up a small little kiss on her cheek, Maisie wrapped her arms around Aurèlie’s neck. “I missed you, Miss Aurèlie, and so did your mama and papa. They worried about where you went, but I told them my papa goes away a lot but always comes back.”
Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, reliving the perilous journey they had just survived. Many times, he had feared he would not make it back and had risked Aurèlie as well. Maisie would have waited endlessly on that dock. Her confidence that he’d always come back sank his heart into the deep pit of his stomach, reminding him of the absentee father he had been and his carelessness with her already injured little heart. Colette was home. He had made the ultimate bet and won. Now…what would he do? Boston no longer looked attractive.
Hattie had reappeared with a small spiked demijohn in hand. She filled a crystal goblet for each recipient. “I told your parents not to fret, I’d place a light in your bedroom window the moment I saw you and I did.”
“Merci, Hattie.”
Jordan sighed, having no desire to explain anything, especially to Étienne. He had greatly orchestrated the entire situation by throwing his daughter into the mix of what he knew was a nest of pirates. “That could have waited until morn.”
Hattie shook her head. “I was wantin’ to tell them right away. They’ve been soulfully scared. They helped clean up the house, what a mess it was, and again, nothing stolen, just broken.”
“I am pleased, Hattie, merci.” Aurèlie smiled. “I could not imagine what must have gone through their minds with my disappearance.”
“Panic,” Hattie answered.
Maisie climbed up on Jordan’s lap, forcing him to erase his expression of frustration. He held her close and hugged her with more enthusiasm than perhaps she’d ever experienced.
“I missed my little lady.”
Maisie beamed. “I did, too, Papa, and my new ma
ma.”
Jordan’s gaze shot up to meet Aurèlie’s. The weight in his gut just got heavier. He should be happy, here with his family together again, but Aurèlie…Aurèlie had had no choice in their relationship, but now, a choice she must make. He couldn’t give her what she wanted most, a real marriage to a man of her own color.
Hattie filled all the goblets, including one for herself. Jordan turned toward Colette and raised his glass in a toast. “To you, dear sister. We have searched long and wide and now we are blessed with your return.”
Colette smiled and delicately placed her glass atop the table. Adjusting her baby son in her arms, she looked around at the others. “To see all of you again. It is a dream, n’est pas? I am happy.”
“Did you remember me, Colette?” Loul’s face broke into a large, crinkly smile, contrasting sharply with his dark skin. “It has been a long, long time.”
Tears forming in her eyes, Colette leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Of course, I did, Loul, you were just a boy when I left, non? But forget you, never, and maman. I thank you, all of you, for never giving up. Merci.”
Jordan pointed to his little girl in his lap who had fallen sound asleep in his arms. “My daughter, Maisie.”
“A beautiful daughter, Jourdain, looks like you, oui?”
“God, I hope not.”
Everyone laughed, the lighthearted sounds rose to the overhead lantern, bringing up the flame a bit. Though a foreign sound to the house, a welcomed sound. Jordan didn’t introduce Aurèlie, at least formally. She had met Colette on the journey. She watched him, waiting, expecting an introduction but damned if he knew what to say. If that weight in his gut got any heavier, he’d be flat out on the floor with no hope of getting up.
He rose from his chair and motioned to his daughter as she slowly came to life with a huge yawn. “It is time she goes to bed.”
“I will help you, Jourdain.” Aurèlie rose to her feet.
Jordan shook his head, not wanting to continue a charade that would only confuse Maisie all the more. “That won’t be necessary.”