by Meg Hennessy
He threw back another long swig of the rum, waiting for the moment he’d feel it arrest his tired muscles and cloud his mind. He wished not to think tonight, not to feel anything. His entire way of life that he had grown so accustomed to over the past two years, had suddenly become antiquated and served no purpose. Besides Loul, he had a daughter, a sister, a stepmother, whom he loved dearly, and more…Aurèlie.
He threw back another swig, savoring the burn down his throat.
Aurèlie deserved to find her heart’s desire and not be bound to a man she would not have chosen for herself purely for economic and political reasons. Wanting to be the man of principle, he had done as he had promised himself, voided the contract and set her free.
Jordan drained the remainder of the rum. He stood up, wobbly at first, and clung to the furniture. He dropped his silver medallion on the table. If anything, he was a damned man of honor. He pulled free his pistols and cutlass and dropped them on the floor. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do, but he did know his pirating days were over. Maisie would have to wait no more.
Sweat ran down the sides of his face and stung his eyes as he stumbled his way through the swamp grass and back to his property. His head was swimming with liquor and the agonizing reality that his life with Aurèlie was over.
But wait…he squinted. Who was that standing on the dock?
The night’s cool breeze with a hint of rain pressed against his face as he approached. His footing was clumsy. He stumbled over a tuft of weeds and stepped into the water. The damned drink had more than poisoned his mind but had commandeered every muscle of his body. He felt weighted and stiff. Whoever stood there remained in the undulating shadows of the night.
He prodded forward, until suddenly his vision cleared and like a mirage, a British naval officer stepped forward.
Jordan blinked, fighting the effects of the liquor and wishing he had full capacity to at least feel a sense of balance. His feet stopped moving and he glanced around him wondering how many more were hidden among the cypress trees.
The officer waved toward Jordan. “Come, Mr. Kincaid, I am most anxious to speak with you. Or shall I call you, captain of Le Vengeur?”
Oh hell. “I don’t give a damn what you call me.”
“I shall dispense with civilities in my handling of you, Captain. You have something that I want.”
Jordan didn’t have time to think. Several British sailors, who had appeared behind him, grabbed both his arms and legs and carried him from the swamp. They dropped him on the soggy ground next to the dock. He groaned, rolling over to see the officer glaring down at him. His head pounded with questions that remained unanswered under the fog of rum. He cursed, bringing himself to his feet, swearing off liquor forever.
“I have nothing of yours.”
The officer stepped off the dock to stand eye to eye with Jordan.
Jordan swayed, fighting for his balance. Sailors held him steady with one whispering in his ear, “Steady what she goes, mate, or we’ll have to gaff you a bit.”
The Brit’s words rolled over and over in his mind and all he could think about was the house, Aurèlie and his family. He tried to break free but failed.
“I have nothing of yours,” Jordan shouted in hopes of warning Loul.
“You shall regret the impossibility of that. One is mistaken. One has a medallion. I want it. One has a ship. I need it. One has arms and ammunition. I will take it.”
“Can’t help you.”
Without warning, the officer punched Jordan in the gut and the pain radiated through his body. The sailors held him upright, forcing him to stand again. “Told ya, mate.”
Jordan tried to clear his eyes of the sweat that blurred his vision. His mind time-warped into images of Maisie, Colette and her new baby, and what might have happened at the house.
“The medallion, Kincaid, where is it?”
“It was lost at sea—”
The officer’s fist slammed into Jordan’s gut.
Damn
“You had it, you were wearing it, and you’re not lost at sea.”
How did he know that?
The officer paced back and forth as he plotted out his next step. Slowly, he returned to the dock and pulled a pistol from his belt.
“One will take us to the ship and give me the medallion. Without giving me the medallion, one will lose someone close to you, for we hold your family until we are certain we have retrieved all that we need tonight.”
Jordan’s knees went out from under him as images of the house and his family who he had thought to leave in safety swirled through his mind. He suspected it was Colette’s medallion they sought, but did they know there were two? “The medallion is on the ship.”
“Convenient.” The officer stepped off the dock and pointed a flintlock to Jordan’s head. “Lead us, Captain, lead us if you wish to see your family again.”
“You would harm women and children?”
“Don’t let this uniform deceive you, Captain, for I have no interest in your country or mine. I do have an interest in your medallion.”
“You’re not under orders,” Jordan said more to himself, realizing he was dealing with a group of rogue sailors, pirates, and not true men of Britain.
The men dragged Jordan behind as the small party pushed through the thick jungle foliage toward the shallow end of the swale as directed by Jordan. Barely visible in the dark night and shrouded by thick oaks, cypress, gum trees, and willow, the shape of a ship appeared. The men had flintlocks ready as they approached.
“I see the ship.” The officer looked around them. “But no one here.”
“They saw us coming. They’re gone,” Jordan said.
The officer strode forward and kicked Jordan in the gut.
“Oh, shit.” His face hit the dirt. Would this night ever end?
“Where is the medallion?”
“In the map room, on the table.”
“How do you get out of here?”
“Sweeps.”
The officer smiled with twisted sardonic victory. “Don’t kill him, in case we need him.”
The men roughly dragged Jordan back to the water and hung him by his arms from an oak over the swamp. The black sleeping liquid reached his shoulders. “Tol’ ya, mate, we don’t be comin’ back if ya tol’ us right, if not…we be back to kill ya, mate.”
The officer and his men disappeared into the frothy night toward the ship, leaving Jordan alone, dangling from the low-hanging branch.
Through the darkness, he could see the ship and a flurry of activity as other sailors joined them. Soon the sweeps were out, sails were cracked, and the ship slid out of the inlet. The medallion had been left in plain sight. They must have found it.
He needed to get to the house. Frustration exploded from his lungs. He fought to get loose, only to dangle helplessly on the end of the thick branch when suddenly the ropes moved.
“Jordan,” Loul whispered. “I have a knife to cut you free. Be ready.”
“They were at the house.”
“I know, I heard them.” Loul sawed on the ropes.
When the rope broke, Jordan went under, then pushed for the surface. Once on shore, he looked at Loul. “Did you hear everything?”
Loul nodded. “We have to approach with caution, brother.”
“We do. Why the medallion?”
“Why the ship? Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty
The night grew colder as the December rain turned to sleet. The night sky appeared in flames from repeated cannonading and responding long-arm fire. Jordan and Loul trudged through the deepening swales. Nearly knee high in water, they pushed through the tall marsh grass to get back to Liberty Oak, not wanting to use pirogues and perhaps tip off any remaining soldiers.
Each step brought him closer to Liberty Oak and his family. Having spent nearly three years in search of Colette, could something happen within hours of being reunited? He shook his head, unable to think about it. Mais
ie, Aurèlie, his mother Hattie. He glanced over at Loul, who trudged along next to him in a brooding silence. Could they have lost with such a short victory?
He thought about Aurèlie and their last discussion in the study. Why in the hell couldn’t she tell him how she felt? Why couldn’t she give him a commitment? This wasn’t his issue. It was hers, for he didn’t care about her color, never had. But him being white had stopped her at the door. He knew how she felt, but damn it, she would have to say it. Without that, he’d forever feel the pirate who bought his mistress. Besides, he didn’t want that for Maisie. These plaçages were never meant to be long term and usually ended when the man found a wife.
But he wasn’t looking for a wife.
Yes, he had reunited his family, but his little family was now fraying at the ends. He and Aurèlie were through and Donato de la Roche was still an unknown factor. If they got through this, he’d have to move Colette somewhere safe, at least for a while, until certain la Roche had let her go.
Loul motioned for him to stop, as if hearing something near the house. Together they crept up to the jardin français and cut across to the back door. The house was dark with no sign of life. That thought brought his heart to a stop. He looked over at Loul, who had the same idea. Their sense of victory over recovering Colette soured and churned into defeat. What would they find in the house?
Jordan had no weapons. He had left them on the ship. Loul pulled out his flintlock and motioned they would work their way up to the loggia in the rear of the house. Jordan nodded in agreement.
The sounds of battle raged around them. The sky lit up every few seconds with cannon fire. He suspected the British had wormed their way up the Pearl River and lobbied their balls from there. Every second or two, he’d hear voices, not close by, carried on the wind. The air that surrounded Liberty Oak was deathly silent.
He and Loul crawled beyond the cover of the sugarcane field and reached the house. Loul waited outside on watch while Jordan went inside. He raced the loggia and climbed the back stairs. Within minutes, he had searched the entire house to find no one.
Maisie’s bed, the one he had tucked her in for the night, was empty. Hattie was gone. There was no sign of Colette or her baby. Aurèlie’s room, empty. Jordan raced to the study and restocked himself with flintlocks, long arms, and a lot of powder and cartridges. He returned to the outside.
“No one there, Loul.”
Loul’s eyes widened, reflecting Jordan’s every concern. “Where could they be, Jordan?”
“I have an idea.” He nodded to indicate the Fentonot place.
They started to head out across the back gardens when movement along the water caught Jordan’s attention. He motioned for Loul to follow. Together they ducked down behind the high weeds watching as two well-manned pirogues push along the waterline. He could make out the British soldiers with their brilliant red uniforms, but the man who stood in the lead, he recognized.
Étienne Fentonot.
Jordan’s blood came to a boil as he watched Aurèlie’s father lead the British through the swamp toward the American encampment. Jordan motioned for Loul to keep pace with the small entourage.
They snaked through the grass alongside the water. Moonlight reflected off the ripples made by the small square crafts as each pole pushed them farther into the convoluted swamp. There was something in the movement of these soldiers that seemed odd. They were not on British transports but hijacked pirogues. The air was heavy with rain, smelled of salt, and on occasion, in spite of the battle, he’d hear the soothing hoot of the barred owl.
Jordan leaned down and peered through a tuft of marsh grass as they shored to concur. Several men jumped from the craft to shore, leaving Étienne Fentonot on the pirogue alone. Étienne glanced around, then eased himself over the side, attempting escape, but he was too slow and easily seen.
“Halt!” A Brit hollered as he grabbed Aurèlie’s father by the collar of his coat and pulled him aboard. “If’n we didn’t need ya alive, mate…”
The first soldier on the pirogue raised a fist but never swung. Jordan took aim and finished him off. He fell backward into the water. Gunfire exploded from all sides. Fentonot dove back into the water as the Brits fired at random into the weeds, not knowing their enemy.
“Retreat!” Came the call as the British disappeared into the swampy mire they had just pushed through.
“Keep them on the run,” Jordan whispered to Loul. “I’ll get Fentonot.”
As the skirmish worked its way over land, Loul raced back and forth, firing as if there were more than just he. The Brits ran.
Jordan pulled the older man from the dark waters and set him up against a cypress tree. He was breathing hard, soaked, and a shiver had set in. He looked up at his rescuer. The color fled his face.
“They say you are dead. The last person I expect to meet tonight, non?”
Jordan ignored the obvious. “Why were you with them?”
“I have no choice. They are at my house. They have my wife, my daughters, and yours as well.”
“What are you talking about? They stole my ship. What more do they want?”
“Your cache.”
Jordan slowly stood, unable to shake that little hint of suspicion. “And how would you do that?”
“I do not know, but they think I do.”
“Why would they?”
“They find barrels with my insignia. Barrels you lost filled with anything but wine. My daughter is your mistress. They believe we work together. I only pretend to know. Otherwise, I fear what might happen to my family. How many men have you? We do something before they are harmed, oui?”
“Get up.” Jordan helped the older Fentonot to his feet. “There are rumors about you, Étienne. That you are a British sympathizer. How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
Fentonot steadied himself on his feet.
“How easy to blame a Creole, n’est pas? I do not like the Americans but they fight for us, for my country. You have a daughter, who is now in danger because of you. My family is in danger because of you.”
Jordan exploded, pushing Étienne against the trunk of the thick damp cypress. The flustered man gasped for air with Jordan’s arm tight across his neck.
“Do not blame me. You knew all along who I was, as you so implicated in your blackmail scheme forcing me to marry Aurèlie. You engaged in dialogue with the British to have them sniff out my cache. You intended to rob me all along.”
He stepped back, releasing the older man, who slumped to the ground. “Betray you, I did not. I admit, I needed you, eh? I tell you there is an American. He wanted your cache searched for something, I did not hear. Please, our families are in danger.”
Gunfire sounded about a half mile away. Jordan knew Loul would return soon. He glanced around them, mapping his route. They had little time before the Brits would make their way back and relay Étienne’s escape.
“Do you know how to shoot, Étienne?”
“I haven’t in much time, but if I have gun, I shoot, oui?”
Jordan tossed him a pistol, ready to take on the entire British Navy. “Let’s go.”
…
Aurèlie held Maisie on her lap, cradling her in her arms. The child trembled and whispered several times that she wanted her papa. But her papa and her uncle had left to join the American battle against the very men who held them hostage.
The light in the window, a signal from Hattie to Aurèlie’s parents, had alerted the British to Jordan’s return. These men weren’t just any British, but a group of rogues, thieves, working with the man Aurèlie had warned Jordan about, the consulate. They wanted Colette’s medallion and more, they were in need of weapons for their planned escape, Jordan’s ship, and wanted Jordan’s hidden stash of gold.
They threatened Hattie if she did not give them the medallion. They threatened the children. The Brits believed her father and Jordan were partners and were quick to believe her father’s tale of knowing where Jordan had a hidden s
tash of both weapons and gold. It was a ploy to lead them away from the family. But three remained, a guard, an officer, and the consulate.
An hour or so after Aurèlie’s father left, Maisie had cried herself to sleep. Aurèlie gently laid the little girl down on a settee and stood up, needing to stretch her back. Their guard said nothing as she moved about the room.
Down the hall in the small salon, the same room her father had negotiated her contract with Jordan, she could hear the consulate and British officer speaking in hushed voices. They were concerned over the delayed return of her father and the other men with the ship. The delay concerned her as well, for she knew her father had no knowledge of Jordan’s hidden prize.
In spite of the cold winter night, the room seemed stuffy and each breath dragged in more worry. She needed fresh air to think and plan their escape. “I step outside for a breath, oui? I not run, there is no place to go and I not leave my child, n’est pas?”
The soldier shrugged. “A moment only.”
Aurèlie pushed open the door to the side loggia. Looking out over the fields, smelling the salty ocean waters mixed with swamp grass, she felt the desperation that had suddenly gripped her country. She loved Louisiana. Even with the new American owners, she called it home and would want to live nowhere else because this was as close to heaven as a person could get.
She glanced up at the starlit sky, remembering many a night, as a young girl growing up, wishing upon a star to have what her mother had. Jordan was an American. His French heritage did not change that. He was also English. He was right, she’d never be more than a concubine in the eyes of the law, never a legal wife.
Her chest felt heavy as she drew a deep knowing breath. She loved Jordan, in spite of his color. She loved him with all her heart. She’d be his concubine, his mistress, his slave, for color no longer mattered and had never seemed to matter to Jordan. He had proved that through his love for Loul, Hattie, and for her.
But was it enough to think these things without giving her thoughts voice? Did it matter at all what or how she felt, if she was forever muted by fear? Jordan hadn’t offered her a choice, instead he wanted to simply end the contract between them. She had won Yellow Sun, which should have brought an extra beat of happiness to her heart. But instead of a triumphant beat, she felt as if an arrow had not found its mark, but wounded her heart.