by Beth White
She squeezed Bonnie’s sides with her heels.
Charlie spoke not another word all the way back to Mobile.
NAVY COVE
“Just get him out of here, Léon. I don’t care what you do with him.” Fiona watched Charlie, dehydrated and barely conscious, slide down from the horse into the waiting arms of her clearly astonished brother and uncle. She tossed Bonnie’s reins to Oliver and dragged herself out of the saddle. “But don’t let him die—I went to a lot of trouble to get him back. I’m going to tend to Washington.”
“First you’re going to tell us what happened.” Léon, supporting Charlie’s sagging body on one side with Uncle Luc on the other, gave Fiona his patented chin-out glare. “Starting with what possessed you to abscond with my gun in the middle of the night!”
Fortunately, Desi stepped between them before Fiona could either burst into tears or brain her brother with the butt of the rifle still in her hand. “How about if Oliver and I help with the horses, while you two take care of the . . . prisoner. We’ll debrief later.” He scanned Charlie’s pale face and bloody leg with interest.
“That’s a good plan, son,” said Uncle Luc. Without giving Léon another chance to object, he started for the house, drawing Charlie and Léon with him.
Léon gave Desi a resentful look over his shoulder. “I’ll be back out as soon as we get him settled.”
Desi nodded and took Washington’s reins. But the moment they were inside the barn, he sent Oliver to unsaddle and brush Bonnie, then pointed to a feed sack leaning against a wall. “Fiona, sit down before you fall down. I’ve got Washington.”
Too tired to argue, she sank onto the feed sack and watched Desi remove the stallion’s saddle, blanket, and tack.
Once all that was put away, Desi picked up a currycomb and went to work loosening the dirt in Washington’s coat. “He was limping. Is that how you caught him?”
“Yes. And that’s why I went after him. See that right fetlock? Swollen. I just hope I can . . .” Unable to finish the sentence, she took off her hat and laid her head back against the wall.
“Is there some good reason you declined to wake any of the rest of us to go with you?”
“I was so angry, I just didn’t think beyond catching Charlie before he destroyed my horse. I’m surprised Sehoy didn’t raise the house.”
“Luc-Antoine was the first one up. He found her hiding out here in the barn, petrified somebody would send her off to Indian territory.” He gave Fiona an amused look over Washington’s back. “She seemed more afraid of you than Léon.”
“I wasn’t very nice to her when I discovered it was her fault Charlie got away.” She observed Desi for a moment in silence. “You’re really good at that. And thank you for being so kind and reasonable.”
He laughed. “As your father would say, I don’t have a dog in this hunt—I can afford to be kind. And your uncle Rafa is quite a fine horseman. He made sure I learned.”
“Are you going to marry Maddy?”
He blinked at the non sequitur. “I hope so.”
“I was just thinking, you know, that it would be really helpful to know someone your whole life before you fall in love with them. Like my parents did. Then you’re not surprised and disappointed by things you discover about them.”
Desi didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words were careful. “I’m not sure it’s possible to completely know another human being. We’ve all got secrets that we hide from everyone but God himself.”
“Even you?”
He gave her a grin that reminded her of Uncle Rafa at his most rakish. “Especially me.”
“Ooh, Maddy had better watch out.”
“Indeed.” He tossed the comb to Fiona and picked up a handful of straw to wisp Washington’s coat.
“So what do you think we should do with Charlie now?”
“Since it didn’t work out so well, keeping him here—” he winked at her—“I think it would be best if I escort him back to Fort Charlotte. General Jackson and General Coffee have already left for Pensacola, so I’ll use the time to write to authorities in New Orleans to see if we can speed up the prisoner exchange.”
She sat up eagerly. “Oh, Desi, I would be so grateful!”
“Don’t get your hopes too high,” he said with a cautioning look. “These things take time. Speaking of which, I encourage you to think twice when you’re tempted to act on your quite natural impatience with the situation. You frightened your poor Uncle Luc-Antoine more than you know.”
“I imagine I did.” She sighed, twirling her hat around her hand. “I never used to be such a hothead.”
“Oh yes, you were. Which is why you were sent to England with Maddy all those years ago.”
“Huh. I suppose you’re right.” She sat back again, despondent.
When was she going to learn?
NOVEMBER 5, 1814
MOBILE BAY
Charlie sat in the bow of Nardo Smith’s single-masted pirogue, facing aft, as the free colored man sailed them up the western shore of Mobile Bay, skillfully avoiding shoals and sandbars and crab traps that would have waylaid a less experienced bar pilot. Since there was a brisk wind blowing up from the gulf, they were making good time.
He didn’t much care how long it took. The weather was cold and raw, and as Fiona had predicted, his leg ached like the dickens. But since all he had to look forward to was incarceration in the Fort Charlotte guardhouse, he felt he could put up with a bit of discomfort on the open water.
At least his hands were free. Palomo treated Charlie with a compassion that he’d mistrusted at first—until he observed the courtesy with which the American spoke to Smith. Free blacks held a rather amorphous position in southern slave culture. They could own property—slaves of their own, in fact—but could not vote, hold firearms, or testify in court. The international slave trade had been banned by law for several years and had become illegal within the United States, particularly new territories in the northwest. That didn’t mean the institution itself ceased to exist. The cotton, sugarcane, and tobacco industries all depended on slave labor, and any colored person had to carry documentation while traveling, or he could find himself in chains without recourse.
This pilot, Smith, carried on a lively, educated conversation with Palomo. They appeared to be friends of long standing, and the translator cheerfully took orders from Smith, helping him manage sails and pole the boat away from hidden sandbars in the water.
About an hour into the trip, Palomo made his way forward. “How are you feeling?” He laid the back of his hand against Charlie’s forehead. “No fever. That’s a good sign.”
“I feel like I’ve been shot in the leg.” Charlie glanced at the loose breeches he’d been given to replace the ones Fiona had ruined. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. She could have killed me.”
“Someone should have warned you, she’s acknowledged hereabouts to be quite a good shot.” The latent twinkle in Palomo’s dark eyes surfaced. “And I should also warn you that I have finally realized why you look so familiar.”
The hair stood up on the back of Charlie’s neck. “Have you indeed?”
“Yes. You seem to have an uncanny control over that Scots burr, but I also have a very good memory. There’s a tavern in the New Orleans French quarter where I used to go when I wanted certain information. Sailors from all over the world would find their way there.”
“Ah. And you saw someone there whom I remind you of.”
“No, I heard your voice there. I am a musician and a trained linguist, Lieutenant Kincaid. I do not forget voices.”
“And I am not stupid enough to think that refuting this absurd charge will change your mind.”
“No, you are far from stupid.” Palomo smiled. “But you did underestimate the strength of our family’s loyalty. Sehoy was able to draw with a fair bit of accuracy the cipher she held in her possession, and I’m certain I shall be able to decode it eventually.”
Charlie held Palomo’
s gaze. “What sort of spy would I be to commit anything of value to paper?”
“We shall see. I would not have warned you, except for the great esteem in which I, because of my foster father, personally hold your grandfather, Lord St. Clair.”
“Your foster father—”
“Rafael Gonzales, Fiona’s uncle by marriage.”
Charlie sighed. “I confess, the twisted connections of this family are enough to drive one mad.”
Palomo grinned. “Indeed they are. Just be warned, Kincaid—you will not escape again until you are traded for someone of much more value to us. And if you go near our Fiona again, I will personally find you and eliminate your sorry existence.” The cultured drawl became silky. “Are we quite clear, sir?”
“Crystal.”
NOVEMBER 6, 1814
MOBILE
The city of Mobile being predominantly Catholic, the Protestant church was little more than a home gathering. A handful of Methodist Episcopals, Moravians, and other varieties of Reformism met every Sunday morning in Maddy’s parlor to sing hymns, read Scripture aloud, and pray together. Stephen had been Congregationalist, but after his death, she’d returned to her mother’s Presbyterian training, learned at the knee of her paternal grandmother.
After church, she and Elijah usually joined the Lanier family next door for a giant meal, followed by a nap and quiet activities like reading or correspondence. Today, however, when Desi offered to take her for a drive while Elijah played with his cousins, she accepted with alacrity. Bundled in her warmest dress and cloak, she let him hand her up into Uncle Rémy’s open chaise and settled her skirts while he went round to unhitch the horse.
Once they were under way at a gentle trot, she glanced at him, not sure how to take his rather sober mien. “Welcome home. I hear you brought the prisoner with you.”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “I’m going to tell you what happened—it’s quite the dramatic story—but you’ll understand why it must go no further than us.”
Alarm climbed up her back, but she nodded. “Of course.”
“Your cousin Fiona has turned out to be quite the intrepid horsewoman—not to mention, a crack shot with a rifle.”
“Oh, Desi. What has she done?”
“The worst thing she did is fall in love with a British naval officer.”
“Well, we already knew—”
“Yes, but I fear he returns the sentiment, and if we don’t get him out of here very soon and returned to his command, he will figure out a way to carry her off, or she will change her mind and disgrace us all.”
“But he’s in the guardhouse, isn’t he? And she’s still at Navy Cove?”
He nodded. “For the time being.”
“What happened?”
“When we got there, I questioned Kincaid, of course, but he pretended to be stupid—or, rather, pretended to think I’m stupid—and admitted nothing beyond his name and rank. The next morning, we all woke up to find that our little Indian maiden had taken food to the prisoner after everyone was asleep. He had gotten himself out of his chains somehow, locked Sehoy in the tack room, and stolen Fiona’s big black stallion. But Fiona chanced to wake up shortly thereafter and went in pursuit.”
Speechless with horror, Maddy grabbed his arm. “Desi, no!”
“Oh, yes. By the time we discovered what had happened, the two of them were more than a quarter of the way to Pensacola, and we had no way to go after them. I thought Léon might set out on foot, but Luc-Antoine and I persuaded him to wait. Sure enough, that evening just before sundown, Fiona came riding in on her mare, with Kincaid—shot quite neatly in the thigh—up behind. They were leading the stallion—unfortunately for Kincaid, gone lame.”
“They were alone together all that time?”
“Well, yes.” Desi gave her a quizzical glance. “You find that more astonishing than the fact that she chased after and shot a man?”
“Of course that’s outrageous.” Maddy shook his arm in her indignation. “But her reputation! She will never be respectable again!”
Desi’s mouth quirked. “Which is why you and I are going to keep this to ourselves. Remember?”
“Oh. Oh, yes, of course.”
“I told you because Fiona is going to need wise feminine counsel, and she has nobody there but that birdwitted little Sehoy. Léon is more like to lock her in her room for the foreseeable future. For now, she seems to be so angry with Kincaid for ruining her horse, she’s satisfied to see him thrown into the guardhouse. But I don’t rely on that rage persisting for long.”
“She needs her mother. Or failing that, my mother.”
“Since she has neither, you are going to have to step in, Maddy.”
She regarded him for a moment, objections bursting to her tongue. Finally she swallowed. “I suppose I am.”
“Good girl.” He nodded in warm approval. “And as I said, I am going to do everything in my power to see that Kincaid is removed from this vicinity with all speed.”
12
NOVEMBER 11, 1814
MOBILE
Sometimes, Fiona thought, staring resentfully across the quilt stretched over braces hung from Aunt Giselle’s ballroom ceiling, her family treated her like a baby. A particularly toothless, stupid baby.
Hauling her back and forth between Navy Cove and Mobile at their whim. Expecting her wounded heart to heal on command.
She wondered if Sehoy had felt that way when she first came to Navy Cove. Seated next to her, tongue between her teeth, Sehoy plied her needle with a great deal more determination than skill. She’d been caught in the maelstrom of events along with Fiona. Maddy’s letter, inviting—no, all but demanding—the two girls to return to Mobile and remain for the winter, had arrived on Wednesday. The courier, Nardo Smith, stayed visiting with Uncle Luc-Antoine until they were packed and ready to go—which didn’t take long, as they’d barely unpacked from their previous visit. He’d been given specific instructions not to take no for an answer.
So here they sat, along with a cadre of female neighbors, involved in the womanly but boring pursuit of quilting. She glanced at Maddy, who effortlessly carried on a lively conversation and created trails of stitches so small and neat they seemed made by a machine. Fiona couldn’t quite get the hang of the thimble, which kept falling off her finger and rolling onto the floor. And her eyes crossed trying to thread the tiny needle—which she had to do over and over because she kept accidentally yanking the thread loose.
Oh, how she wanted to be back at Navy Cove with her horses and dressed in comfortable clothes.
Inevitably, unwillingly, she thought of Charlie, stuck in the Fort Charlotte guardhouse just a few blocks away. She wouldn’t allow herself to ask Maddy about him, but she couldn’t help listening to the women’s gossip. One young matron had already forgotten Fiona was there and mentioned the handsome young British prisoner—until Maddy shushed her, cutting a warning glance at Fiona.
Apparently Charlie was making out just fine, awash in charitable donations of tea, baked goods, and books.
“Ow!” She’d pricked her finger again. Scowling, she stuck the offending digit in her mouth to keep from dripping blood on the quilt—the unpardonable sin amongst this clucking brood.
“Fiona,” Maddy sighed, “that’s what your thimble is for, darling. Here, let me show you again—”
“Thank you, but I need some air.” Fiona pushed back her chair, stuck her needle into the closest pincushion, and went to find her cloak, hanging on the hall tree in the foyer at the front of the house. The weather had been nasty since her arrival in Mobile, but she couldn’t stand another moment in that stuffy room.
Maddy followed her. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“I told Desi this was a bad idea to bring you to Mobile. You can’t go see Charlie.”
Fiona whirled, the cloak in her arms. “I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”
“I could tell you’re thinking about him.” Maddy looked doubtful. “I�
�m sorry Clarice brought him up. She didn’t mean any harm. You know I don’t approve of—” she waved a hand—“chasing him on horseback and shooting him, but you did the right thing to bring him back and send him to prison.”
“I’d like to know how I’d have gotten him back to prison without chasing and shooting him!” Shaking her head in exasperation, Fiona flung her cloak about her shoulders. “But don’t worry, I haven’t told anybody that’s how he was caught. I don’t want to run into anyone, so I’m going out the back door.” Leaving Maddy to wander back to her quilt party, she headed for the kitchen. There she came upon her second brother, seated at the table with Uncle Rémy, dressed as always in one of his fine business suits. “Judah!” She launched herself at him.
Grinning his big Lanier grin, he rose and caught her in a fierce hug. “Hello, little duchess!”
She kissed his cheek. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you! When did you get in? What are you doing here?”
“I would ask you the same question, but Uncle Rémy has been filling me in on the drama.” Judah released Fiona and dropped back into his chair.
Fiona made a face. “I hate drama, but it seems to follow me of late.”
Uncle Rémy smiled. “Are you running away from the quilt party, my dear? Judah and I made coffee. Would you like to join us?”
“If you made it, I’ll wager it’ll take the skin off the roof of my mouth.” But she went to the cupboard anyway and sat down with a cup of coffee to eye her brother over its rim. “We haven’t heard from you since September. What happened when you got back to Laffite?”
“By the time I got back, Federal troops had cleaned out Barataria, confiscated everything in our—their warehouses, and chased Laffite and his men to the four winds. I’ve been back and forth between New Orleans and the Villeré plantation, helping prepare for the British invasion.”
Fiona exchanged glances with Uncle Rémy. “Why on earth would Laffite help the Americans, after they destroyed his lair?”