Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  "What is it?"

  "It is a special scent that I made for you several months ago. I thought I might leave it for you to find in the swamp, but decided against it. You must use it to wash your hair and put it in your bath. It is a scent that will be distinctly you. No one else will ever match it."

  "How can I thank you for your kindness?"

  "There is no need to thank me. We are friends, you and I, Liberty."

  Liberty was having such a good time she was reluctant to leave. "I must go now. Thank you for rescuing me, and thank you for the lovely ring. I am glad you shared your beautiful story with me."

  Zippora turned toward the door and nodded. "Go, Liberty. You must be home before dark."

  Liberty was almost light-hearted as she skipped down the path on the way to the bayou where she had left her skiff. Deep inside she knew that, after meeting Zippora, her life would never be the same. She had found a friend in the most unexpected place. She could not wait to show Bandera the wondrous ring the old voodoo woman had given her.

  3

  Briar Oaks Plantation

  The afternoon was hot and steamy as Liberty dragged her boat up on the grassy slope and ran toward the stately, old plantation house. She was so accustomed to the house, that she did not notice the chipped and cracking paint on the barns and outbuildings, or the shutters and doors that needed repairing at the main house. As to the inside, many of the valuable paintings and rugs had been discreetly sold, but even though the furniture was in need of covering, there was still an elegance about the rooms, a hint of the bygone luxury that had been enjoyed by long-dead Boudreaux ancestors.

  Liberty saw an all too familiar buggy pull out of the driveway, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She did not like Sebastian Montesquieu, who was becoming a frequent visitor at Briar Oaks. Though he was not to Liberty's taste, her mother seemed to have singled him out as a prospective husband for Liberty's sister, Bandera. Sebastian was the nephew of Gustave Montesquieu, and the only heir, to the vast Bend of the River Plantation. Yet something about Sebastian made Liberty's skin crawl. She did not know how Bandera could endure the thought of having him as her husband.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped behind a pine tree and watched Sebastian depart. At least she would not have to face him today. She hastily ran her fingers through her tangled curls, then tried to press the creases out of her muddy gown by running her hands down the skirt. She was glad that Zippora had mended the tear—it hardly showed at all. If only she could make it to her room without being discovered. Neither her mother nor Bandera would have been pleased if Sebastian had seen her in this bedraggled condition.

  She rushed toward the house, deciding to use the back stairs. Automatically her eyes went to the bell tower as silver tones vibrated in the breeze. Liberty always loved the sound of the bell when it tolled the beginning of the workday or called the workers from the fields in the evening. She stopped momentarily to gauge the time by the white marble sundial. Here, surrounded by the beautiful grounds of the proud old manor, people did not often measure time by a clock, but rather by the rising and the setting of the sun, the starting and the ending of the workday. Here, the Boudreaux family had lived and died for four generations. Like her father, Liberty loved this land. It was her home—a part of her very life and soul. She was sorely grieved that it had fallen on hard times.

  A grassy slope meandered down to the brown waters of the Mississippi. The river's wide avenue was often crowded with barges filled with indigo, and the newcomer, sugar cane. The ageless waters flowed past lazy bayous toward New Orleans, the heart and lifeblood of the Orleans Territory.

  Huge oak trees and delicately scented magnolias dominated the air she breathed as Liberty moved past a pine grove, glancing at the house where she had been born. The south side of the red brick mansion was covered with climbing ivy and wisteria, whereas a full-length veranda ran the length of the front of the house and around the north side. Now, as always in the heat of the day, the green shutters were closed because Liberty's mother claimed that the sun faded the already threadbare carpets.

  Behind the house Liberty could see the whitewashed slave cabins, and beyond them, the rich meadowlands where cattle grazed. Pride flowed through her veins like a hearty tonic as she neared the house. She was so caught up in her warm feeling of tranquility that she forgot it had been her intention to use the back entrance to the house.

  "Liberty, what you done to yourself, ma chere!" Oralee chided, her hands on her hips, her black face drawn up in a disapproving frown. "If your mother sees you looking like an urchin, she will skin you and me both."

  Oralee was a tall femme de couleur, who spoke Haitian French. She was the sovereign voice at Briar Oaks, but though she ran the house with authority, she rarely chided Liberty, who was her favorite.

  "Get up the stairs at once before your mother learns you are home." Oralee swung her bandanna-wrapped head toward the stairs. "Get! And do not come down until you are dressed to receive guests. M'sieu Montesquieu will be returning for dinner."

  "Again? Does he never dine at his own home?"

  Oralee raised her hand and pointed up the stairs. Seeing the determined light in her eyes, Liberty lost no time in bounding up those stairs. When she reached the wide landing, she tiptoed past her mother's room, and then dashed through her own bedroom door. Feeling safe, she leaned against the closed door, drawing in a deep sigh of relief.

  Suddenly her eyes were drawn to the window, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw her mother staring at her. Ursula was impatiently tapping the toe of her shoe, and her mouth was drawn up in anger.

  "Where have you been, Liberty? What in God's name have you done to yourself?"

  Liberty swallowed a lump in her throat, knowing she had again displeased her mother. "I took the boat into the swamp, Maman. I would have been home sooner but—"

  Ursula abruptly raised her hand. "Spare me the details of your mundane adventure. I swear, you will be the death of me yet, Liberty. One can only guess what our neighbors say about your unladylike conduct. You have ever been a trial to me. Why can you not be more like your sister?"

  Liberty ducked her head in shame. "I am sorry, Maman. I try to be good, honestly I do. I always seem to do the wrong thing."

  Ursula Boudreaux raised her dark brows in exasperation. Liberty looked so pathetic, with her woebegone expression and the damp gown clinging to her slender body, that her mother's heart softened. "Do not distress yourself. I do not have the time to go into this with you at the moment. Sebastian Montesquieu will be dining with us tonight, and I want you to make a passable impression on him. I will set your punishment at a later time."

  Liberty was flooded with relief, for her mother would be so caught up in helping Bandera impress Sebastian that she would soon forget her displeasure. This was the way it always ended, her mother showing disapproval and then letting the matter drop until Liberty disgraced herself again.

  Sometimes Liberty wished her mother would punish her, that at least would mean she was aware that Liberty was alive. She would have liked to have told her mother all that had happened today, but she feared her mother would never again allow her to go into the swamps.

  She watched her mother advance toward her. Ursula Boudreaux owed her black hair and striking good looks to her Spanish blood. Her soft classic features set her apart from most other women. She had been married to an impoverished young Spaniard in her youth, but he had died of the flux shortly before Bandera was born, leaving his young wife destitute. When Bandera was six years old, Ursula had met and married Louis Boudreaux, and Liberty was the issue from their union.

  "Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death," her mother scolded, brushing Liberty aside and stepping out the door. "I'll send Oralee up with hot water for your bath," she called over her shoulder, before disappearing down the hallway.

  Liberty wished she could tell someone about her exciting afternoon, about meeting Zippora. She glanced down at the
ring that sparkled on her finger. She would tell Bandera about her adventure!

  She bolted out of her room, and paused before her sister's bedroom. Hearing her mother's voice, she realized Ursula must have gone directly to Bandera's room. When Liberty heard her name spoken, she knew her mother and sister were discussing her. She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to hear what was being said, and yet, she was unable to shut out their voices.

  "I simply do not know what you are going to do about Liberty, Maman. She is becoming a constant embarrassment to us all. Why do you not send her away to a school for young ladies and see if they can smooth off the rough edges? Something has got to be done . . . and soon. She goes abroad heedless of her toilette. Even if she is a homely little mouse, she would be more presentable if she would take more time with her appearance."

  Liberty backed away, but not before she heard her mother's reply. "You should not speak unkindly of your sister. Besides, Louis has forbidden me to punish her. He says she is a lively child and I am not to crush her spirit."

  "Papa indulges her too much in this folly. He does not realize that Liberty is growing up. I wish he would treat me more like he does Liberty. She is his little darling. He would keep her in baby silk and pamper her shamelessly, while he hardly knows I am alive."

  "Do not say that. Your stepfather has been kind to you. Has he not been like a real father to you, Bandera?"

  "I never receive imported silks, bonnets, and shoes like all my friends. Sometimes I am embarrassed to appear in public in my pathetic rags."

  "Nonsense, you have lovely gowns. Louis is more than generous with you. Goodness knows he never denies you when you ask for something."

  Liberty could hear her sister's voice rise in volume. "We are in dire straits. There is never enough money for me to do the things my friends do."

  "There, there, ma chere. You must not cry or your eyes will be red. Your stepfather does the best he can. He cannot help it if the last five crops have failed. I have hopes that, in time, Briar Oaks will shine again."

  "I do not have time to wait for that to happen —if it ever does. I am twenty-three. Most of my friends are already married, and have children. I have wasted years waiting for Sebastian to ask for my hand in marriage."

  "It will be worth the wait. As his wife, you will be the envy of all your friends. Think of the power you will have as the mistress of Bend of the River Plantation."

  "He had better offer soon. I do not intend to wait much longer."

  "You were so sure he was getting close to asking you to marry him."

  "Oui, but when? I suppose I should be grateful that I am pretty and do not look like Liberty. When she comes of age, she will have a difficult time getting someone of worth to offer for her. She will have nothing but a dilapidated plantation, and no beauty to lure a man."

  Liberty caught the spitefulness in her sister's voice, but she did not hear her mother's reply. At the sound of footsteps approaching the door, Liberty moved quickly to the landing that led to the attic. Flattening herself against the wall, she waited until her mother passed before she allowed the tears to fall down her cheeks. She knew she was homely, but it hurt to hear it from her own mother and sister. And her heart was breaking for the trouble she caused her mother. Why could she not be a lady like Bandera? Why did she always have to displease her mother?

  Liberty sat down on the steps and buried her head in her lap. When she could cry no more, she dried her eyes and stood up. Liberty was never one to bemoan that which she could not change. She knew that no good ever came from self-pity. She was ugly, and that was all there was to it. She would accept that fact and learn to live with it.

  Liberty looked down at the pearl and diamond ring Zippora had given her. Then she stood up and went to her sister's room because she still wanted to share the day's adventure with someone. Perhaps Bandera would be impressed. Liberty rapped softly on the closed door, and waited until Bandera invited her in before turning the knob.

  Bandera was seated before the table de toilette, brushing her dark hair until it sparkled. She was beautiful, draped in a soft yellow dressing gown that showed the swell of her smooth breasts and the creamy texture of her skin. Her ebony hair shimmered like a midnight sky as it fell down her back. Bandera was a classic beauty like their mother, and men flocked to her like bees to a honey pot. Liberty wondered, for the hundredth time, why Bandera had chosen Sebastian when she could have any man she wanted.

  As Bandera coiled her hair on top of her head and secured it with an ivory comb, Liberty wished she had been blessed with lovely black hair instead of the straw-colored tresses that hung limply about her shoulders. Why were her eyes a nondescript color instead of soft brown like her sister's?

  Bandera gave her young sister a scathing glance as her eyes moved over her with disapproval. "Why must you always look like a gamin, Liberty? You never take pride in your appearance. Why could I not have had a well mannered little sister with pleasing looks? You are such an embarrassment to me."

  Liberty had heard all this before. It no longer hurt her when Bandera took her to task as it did when her mother criticized her. She merely shrugged her shoulders. "We cannot all be born beautiful like you, Bandera." Liberty smiled. "Besides you would not like it if I were beautiful. You have never liked to compete with other women."

  Bandera arched an eyebrow, looking very like their mother. "I never have to compete with other women. But . . . you could be right, ma chere. Perhaps I would not like it if you were beautiful."

  Even though Bandera had been born of Spanish parents, she chose to think of herself as French. She had never known her own father, and Louis Boudreaux had always treated her as his own flesh and blood. When she was twelve, he had even legally adopted her.

  Liberty kicked off her muddy boots and curled up on the edge of Bandera's bed, tucking her feet beneath her. "I had a wonderful adventure today. Would you like to hear about it?"

  Bandera applied rouge to her cheeks, then wiped most of it off so only a trace remained, before answering in a bored voice. "From the looks of you, I would say that you tromped through the swamps. What makes you think I would be interested?"

  Liberty watched her sister's eyes as she spoke. "I met the swamp witch today, but she isn't really a witch, at least I do not believe she is." Liberty was bubbling with excitement. "I even went to her house."

  Bandera swung around, skepticism written on her face. "You did not. Even you would not dare cross Zippora's threshold."

  "I did. She invited me in, and I even ate at her table. She gave me this." Liberty extended her hand so Bandera could see the ring. "Is it not beautiful?"

  Bandera sucked in her breath as she stared at the ring. "Where did you really get that?" she demanded, standing up and crossing the room. She stared at the magnificent pearl surrounded by diamonds that caught the sunlight and sent a rainbow of color dancing across the walls. "Do not tell me that old Zippora gave you this thing, because I do not believe it."

  Liberty hesitated to tell her sister about the two slavers, fearing she would press their mother to stop the excursions into the swamps. "It's true, Bandera. Zippora gave it to me."

  Bandera held out her hand and said in a demanding voice. "Let me see it."

  Liberty readily removed the ring and dropped it into her sister's hand. Bandera turned it over and examined it closely. "This is worth a great deal of money. However you came by this, it is much too fine for you." Slipping it on her finger, Bandera held it up to the light, admiring the prisms of light that danced in the fiery depths of the diamonds.

  A devious gleam came into Bandera's eyes. "If you don't give me this ring, I will tell Maman that you went into Zippora's cabin."

  "No! It is a gift to me. Zippora said it would bring me good fortune."

  Bandera turned a poisonous gaze on her sister. "It would appear the opposite has happened, little sister, because I am the possessor now. Run along and dress for dinner, while I finish my toilette. I am weary of your company."


  "Give me the ring back!" Liberty demanded, coming to her feet and holding out her hand. "It's mine. You have no right to it."

  Bandera grabbed a handful of hair and jerked until she brought tears to Liberty's eyes. When Liberty tried to free herself, Bandera yanked so hard that she sent her sister to her knees. "The ring is mine," Bandera said through clenched teeth. "Mine, do you hear?"

  Liberty felt Bandera's hand tighten on her hair even more. Although the pain was excruciating, Liberty managed to land an elbow on Bandera's stomach. Bandera cried out in pain, and quickly loosened her grip on Liberty's hair.

  At that moment their mother chose to enter the room. Misreading the whole situation, she saw her precious Bandera doubled over in pain and assumed that Liberty was the perpetrator. "What have you done to your sister?" she cried, rushing to Bandera's side. "There, there, ma petite, what has happened?"

  Liberty saw Bandera press her knuckles into her eyes to make them tear—a trick Bandera had learned long ago, and it usually won her mother's sympathy. "Liberty is a beast, Maman. She struck me!" Tears glistened in Bandera's eyes as her mother gathered her close.

  "You will be punished for this, miss," her mother said in a cold voice. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

  Bandera raised her head and gave her young sister a malicious smile. "Oui, Liberty, what have you to say?"

  Liberty knew she was beaten, and merely shrugged her shoulders in defeat.

  "Go to your room at once, Liberty." Her mother spoke in bitterness. "You are getting out of hand. Your father will hear of this."

  Liberty slowly crossed the room, her eyes locking with Bandera's, in which a self-satisfied gleam was reflected. She knew from long experience it would do no good to tell her side of the incident, her mother always took Bandera's word as truth.

  As Liberty left the room, her mother's voice followed her. "You will come down to dinner tonight, but you will speak only when spoken to — is that clear? I will no longer tolerate your bad conduct. If your father does not punish you, I will deal with you myself."