by Meg Hennessy
How could she make Jordan understand her wants and desires when so easily dismissed by his code of honor? When the next opportunity presented itself, she’d take the risk and tell him how she felt. That momentary shot of courage quickly vanished when she thought about the house on Rampart. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t risk it. But she’d lose Jordan for certain unless she made a stand. Aurèlie halted in her thoughts as she noticed shadows moving around her.
A prickly heat rushed her skin as she heard someone coming up behind her. She had lifted her hems to run when a hand wrapped around her mouth and dragged her into the porte cochère beneath the loggia.
“Do not make a sound, Aurèlie.”
She immediately stopped her struggles as relief nearly washed her out of his arms. She turned to face her captor. “Jourdain. I am so relieved to see you.”
He smiled. “I’ve no doubt. We’ve got to get all of you out of there.”
She turned to see who was with him. Her father and Loul. Seeing her father safe, she nearly burst into tears. “Oh, I thank the Lord, I’ve been so frightened of what might happen to you.”
Jordan nodded toward the house. “How many are in there?”
“I hear voices from the back salon. The room I met you. Three for sure. One guards us, the other is an officer, and the third, Jourdain, is the consulate.”
“We need to get everyone out first.”
“Madame, where are you?” The guard had ventured out onto the loggia.
“I…I am here.” Aurèlie stepped into his view, having quickly torn off her necklace. “I had dropped my collier.”
“Come back inside.”
“Oui, monsieur.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jordan motion for her to keep talking to him. “Je serai seulement un moment.”
“I don’t speak French, Madame. Now, come inside.”
She feigned confusion, using her French she pointed to the ground to further distract him. “But, monsieur, j’ai perdu mon collier.”
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she could see Jordan quietly climb over the banister behind the guard. She closed her eyes before she heard the thump and he fell down the stairs. She swallowed hard as her father and Loul pulled the guard’s body off the stairs and into the porte cochère.
“There are two left in the rear sitting room, correct?” Jordan asked.
Aurèlie nodded. “I think so.”
“I need you to go inside and whisper to the women to come outside, quietly. If we go in, they might accidently sound an alarm.”
“My sisters are upstairs.”
“Maisie?”
“She is here with me.”
“Thank you for seeing to her.” Jordan said in a low voice for only her to hear. The warmth of his breath floated over her face and draped her with memories of his touch, his kiss.
“Jourdain—”
“Go, Aurèlie, get them out here. When we go in, your father will go up the stairs to your sisters. When they are safely out of the house, Loul and I’ll go to the salon.”
Aurèlie did as Jordan asked, approaching her mother and Colette, explaining they were to silently sneak out of the door. Hattie close behind them. Maisie was sleepy-eyed when Aurèlie picked her up and carried her outside. As soon as the child saw her father, tears filled her eyes as she opened her mouth. Aurèlie clamped her hand over the youngster’s mouth. “Very quiet, we must be secret.”
When Aurèlie let go, Maisie whispered through trembling lips as she slid to her feet, “I told you Papa would come. Papa always comes home.”
“Be very quiet, play a secret game of hide-and-seek.” Jordan picked his little girl up in his arms and hugged her tight. He turned to face Aurèlie. “I want you to follow Hattie. She will take you to a safe place that the British won’t bother with. I need you out of here in the case that ship returns, which I suspect is the plan.”
“They will not find us again. Jourdain…be careful. I do not wish to lose you.”
“I’m not easily lost.” He started toward the house.
An answer that did little to still the building pain in her heart. Why could she not make him understand how she felt?
“Jourdain…” she whispered, with a hesitant hand out to touch him, wanting him to know.
But Jordan didn’t stop.
Her heart caught in her throat, stifling further attempts, words that might have changed everything. For honesty was the only thing that would save them, their love. As he walked by her without a glance, she felt their future run through her fingers like water, washing away any chance to acknowledge their love.
Her heart had nearly stopped beating, her arm dropping in defeat when Jordan reached back and wrapped his fingers around her elbow, giving her an affectionate squeeze. As he continued to walk, his hand slid down her arm and to her wrist until silently, without words, her hand slipped through his and parted from him.
Jordan never looked back.
…
The voices from the salon were muffled but clearly one was that of the consulate. Étienne motioned he would sneak upstairs to retrieve his daughters. Jordan nodded as he and Loul crept through the large salon toward the rear sitting room.
Loul hesitated outside as Jordan approached. Peering through the door, he could see the consulate sitting at Étienne’s desk. Next to the desk, stood a British officer.
“How much longer shall we wait for their return? Something has gone wrong.” The officer paced. “Again.”
The consulate picked up a small globe from Étienne’s desk and spun it as if amused. “You assured me your men were trustworthy.”
“And you assured me of treasure.”
Jordan glanced over to Loul, who shrugged in response.
“I told you to keep Kincaid alive.” The consulate again spun the small globe as if fascinated by it.
“There was no reason to keep him alive.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” He set the globe down on the desk.
Jordan pushed the door open, as he and Loul slipped inside. “Except for my ghost.”
The consulate jumped and the officer started for his pistol but held off, seeing two flintlocks aimed at him.
“Ah, Jordan Kincaid, I swear you have the lives of a cat. Three times we send men after you and three times only you return.” He glanced up at the British officer. “Your men are so incompetent they can’t even kill him. I want the medallion, Kincaid.”
“Apparently.” Jordan kept his flintlock aimed at the consulate but pulled a small leather pouch filled with Donato’s gold coin from his vest, pretending the medallion was inside of it. Obviously, they didn’t know the Brits already had his. “And I have it.”
The man’s eyes widened with greed, and his breath quickened. “Give it to me.”
“Only for information.” Jordan wrapped his hand around the gold-filled pouch. “Who killed my father?”
“Fools killed him, like they almost killed you in Port au Prince. I had the two of you put on an American merchant ship bound for New Orleans.” He reached out with his hand. “The medallion.”
Jordan ignored the request. “For what purpose did you save us?”
“Your father had the medallion before his death. We found, after your visit, a hole had been cut into the lining of his valise. I don’t know how you disposed of it since it was not on your person when I put you on that ship, but I knew you had it. The medallion?”
“Again, who killed my father?”
“Brunette. He killed your father for the same reason he tried to kill you. To cover his trail. See, Brunette was an amateur. Your father bought the medallion in Barataria and learned of the auction in Port au Prince in which some captives would be sold.”
“My sister.”
“Yes.” The consulate took a shallow breath in spite of being casual. “He tried to buy her with the medallion. But he was too late. Another had purchased her and for much more than I believed a gold pendant to be worth.”
“Do
nato de la Roche.”
Thornburg conceded with a nod. “Your father convinced me it would be in my best interest to get the woman back in exchange for the medallion but Donato de la Roche refused. Let go of the past. You have your sister, so give me the medallion and we’re finished. I’ll pay you well for it, even though I did save your life.”
Jordan stroked the trigger of his flintlock, trying with all his strength not to pull it.
“Why is it of value to you?”
“Let me educate you.” The consulate stood. “The medallion is a map, a treasure map that points to a fortune buried off the coast of Florida. Your father explained it all to me and how to read the medallion. Somehow, he transferred it to you, and the moment I caught sight of Le Vengeur, I knew you were brothers, the sons of William Kincaid, a black son and a white son. As tenacious as you have been to find your sister, I knew you’d cling to the medallion. I wasn’t in a rush. I needed to find a way to get the treasure from Florida without forcing a land route.” He motioned toward the British soldier standing next to him.
“Hence the British.” Jordan supplied the missing link. “You needed a ship.”
“That’s correct, but only after you killed Brunette. I had planned to use the Lady Tempest, but you ended that idea.”
Jordan drew a tight breath trying to keep his mind sharp while it raced in circles. “The Lady Tempest…what does that ship mean to me?”
“It was the ship that took your sister, well the main one. There were two ships that night.”
“And left me for dead.” Jordan walked over to the fireplace, wanting the light in their eyes, not his. “Why did you need the Lady Tempest if you had a warship?”
“We manipulated that warship. Those men were honest sailors and believed to be on a mission from the crown. We needed our own ship. What better choice than Le Vengeur. You moored her in the backwaters.”
“And the men who stole Le Vengeur tonight?”
“Ah, they did something right. Ours.” Thornburg nodded to indicate the British officer standing next to him.
“Did Donato de la Roche try to kill me in the ambush?”
“I…wasn’t aware you knew he was there but no, he did not. He didn’t want you to find your sister because he believed you were nothing more than a swamp pirate. But I do not speak on his behalf. He is a man I would not wish to draw attention.”
“Donato de la Roche claims that I am the pirate? Roche, the terror of the Gulf?”
“The medallion?”
“And Lafitte?”
“I’ve answered enough questions. Give me the medallion.”
“Lafitte?”
“All right…Lafitte was curious about the medallion, but not sold on its value, so he helped you, figuring you were worth more to him paying into his coffers.”
“And what of Fentonot? Why are you here, in his home?”
“We knew the two of you worked together. We had recovered several of the lost barrels, that were not only worth a heavy coin, but they alerted me to the partnership you had with the old man. You married his daughter and used his barrels to smuggle through customs. We needed a ship, arms, and the medallion. We sent some men for your ship, Fentonot is leading others to the arms, but we still need the medallion. So give me that, and we’re done. Time is short. We need the confusion of this battle to cover our tracks.”
“We’re done?” Jordan slowly pushed away from the fireplace. “My sister was abducted, my father was killed, I was ambushed, because of a piece of gold?”
“More than a piece, thousands of pieces. I could not control such events.” The consulate slowly lowered himself into the chair and sized up Jordan. “You’d be a fool to kill me, Kincaid. Instead, join forces with me and retrieve the treasure. Your father ensured me there were hundreds of thousands in gold.”
“Now who is the fool? That was nothing more than a clever story concocted by my father in his efforts to rescue his daughter, to make the medallion more valuable. They were merely a replica of my father’s family coat of arms.”
“They? As in two of them?”
“That’s right.” Noting the lost look on the consulate. “Father didn’t explain that?”
By now, the British officer was staring at the consulate in disbelief. “It was to be returned to the crown.”
“And greatly rewarded, I’m sure,” Jordan added. “My father sold you on a bogus treasure and you sold it to the British. I’m curious as to how you’ll explain the loss of a warship to your majesty? I left it at the bottom of the sea, by the way.”
The consulate’s face turned whiter than the trim on the Brit’s uniform. Ignoring the British officer, Thornburg’s breathing deepened as he spoke very softly and with such clarity, as if Jordan was beyond understanding. “The mantling, it is a map. William told me how to read it. Question is, are you more interested in revenge or treasure? It appears without me, you’ll never get it.”
“If such a treasure existed, no one will ever get it.” Jordan turned the leather pouch upside down and let the gold coins fall onto the floor. “The medallions are gone, both of them, lost at sea. So it appears you are of no value to me. I only see a man who nearly destroyed my family.”
The room fell silent as Jordan waited for the American to make a move. Sweat trickled down his face and his breathing became labored. The British officer stood frozen with his hand close to his flintlock. The mantel clock ticked and warped into the sounds of the cannons that hammered in the distance.
“Damn you.” The consulate swung his flintlock around and took aim but Jordan fired before the man pulled off a shot. With a panicked expression, the British officer fished out his weapon, but Loul’s lead ball dropped him to the floor.
Silence swirled in again as the echo of the gunshots faded and the smoke cleared, leaving two dead men on the floor. Breathing hard, Jordan turned and met Loul’s eyes and for a moment in time, the two brothers stared at each other.
“It wasn’t the land, nor a curse, but merely a man who destroyed our family.”
“It is so.” Loul lowered his pistol and swung an arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “We are done, brother, we are done.”
“No, we’re not.” Jordan glanced over at his brother. “One last thread is still untied.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Aurèlie sipped a cordial while watching through the window of the Théâtre d’Orleans, enjoying the maskers of Carnival milling through the streets. Ghostly figures of doublets and plumed hats sprinkled the street with color as cambric costumes rang with tiny bells. In spite of the crisp February night, strolling minstrels serenaded and torch bearers lit the way for the merry makers.
She turned her attention back to the ballroom, having attended a private ball for the evening of festivities before Lent. Less than a month ago, the once feared pirates of the Gulf, including Jordan and Loul, had driven the British from the shores of Louisiana, giving new meaning to the celebration at hand.
Jordan had never returned to Liberty Oak. Through numerous newsprint accounts, she knew he had survived the battle and was considered by many a war hero. But return to his home, he did not. A solicitor had presented Aurèlie with contact information should she have found herself with child, but had given her no information as to Jordan’s whereabouts.
Jordan’s family had disappeared as well. Hattie had taken them to safety that night, but Loul, Hattie, the little girl, Maisie, Colette and her child, had all disappeared a few nights after the British had tried to usurp Les Richesses du Bayou. No trace, they had simply vanished. As if the whole experience had been a mirage and Aurèlie had never so much as lived there. But she had…and she had fallen in love with Jordan Kincaid.
She forced the emotions down into her stomach, not wanting to think about it. She could no more fault Jordan than herself. Both had had self-serving needs to fill with the plaçage and having done so, it was over.
Oftentimes over the past month, she’d stood in the soul of Yellow Sun hearing no drums,
but peace. Her grandfather had come only once and had accepted her locket filled with the soil of lost souls. She had saved the man in the water and once again owned the land of her people, just as he had asked of her.
She had to go on living and with the financial resources she had gained through the plaçage; she was a wealthy woman. Though she’d consider marriage in the future, her purity, which Jordan had claimed to want to protect, would not devalue her, as she’d never again be marketed as a plaçee.
Being an independent woman, she had become fatigued with others making her decisions and would in the future make her own, especially about her heart. The house on Rampart was still for sale, for she refused to accept that as her fate.
She dried her tearing eyes, hating popping open that box of memories, so much pleasure, so much pain. Her parents had encouraged her to attend tonight’s dance. To get out a little, they’d said, but she knew the real reason. She couldn’t allow herself to be seen as retreating from society with the dissolution of the plaçage, for that would be seen as taking blame.
The gossip hounds’ tongues had wagged with speculation as to what had happened between one of the most powerful white men in New Orleans and the daughter of one of the richest Creole families, a member of the Société of Cordon Bleu…
She adjusted the flouncy sleeves of her red satin dress and the tiny bells sewn to the ruffled cuffs rang delicately with her movement. She drew the yellow plumes she wore around her shoulders closer to ward off the winter chill.
For tonight’s costume, she wore her hair long and loose down her back with ribbons of red and yellow intertwined into the length and tied off at the ends. Everyone attending the dance wore masks. Hers, made of papier-mâché, had been covered with red silk and dazzled with sparkling gems of red and yellow.
After a short break, the music once again filled the ballroom.