Tainted Lilies

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Nicolette launched herself off the bed, grabbing his elbow to spin him around. “If you have something to say to me, say it to my face. What is all this about? You never even came to bed last night, as far as I know. So how could I possibly have disturbed you?”

  He offered her a mocking grin to match the tone of his voice. “Oh, so that’s the way you plan to play out this scene. The total innocent. Can’t remember a thing, eh?” His voice deepened to a growl. “Nicolette, at least give me credit for a smattering of intelligence. Don’t patronize me!” He paused, stepped back a bit, and almost smiled. “I’ll make this easier for you. You don’t have to say a word. Just nod your head if you want me to forgive you and I will.”

  She stood staring at him, speechless, furious beyond words. Finally, she found her voice. “Now who’s patronizing whom? I haven’t the vaguest notion what you’re talking about, Monsieur Laffite, but if you will notice, I am not nodding my head. Nor do I intend to… ever!”

  He bowed curtly. His face, when he looked at her, was drawn tight with rage. He fired his words at her like so many shots from a pistol, while she stood before him, at point blank range, shuddering in pain at each direct hit, but too proud and defiant to let him see how he was hurting her.

  “Very well, madame! I see now that I’ve been wrong about you all along. My first hint came when you forced me to buy that miserable little slave. But I couldn’t believe that woman was the real you. Now I see that I’ve been in love with an imposter all along. Why don’t you go back where you belong? Perhaps some friend of yours will come from New Orleans to the auction and escort you back to your family.” He paused to note her reaction. She said nothing. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

  Nicolette didn’t want that. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg for his forgiveness for her transgressions—real or imagined. But she couldn’t. Her voice had deserted her and her body seemed made of wood.

  “If that’s your answer then, I’ll leave you. I’d advise you to keep to the cabin. Slave auctions aren’t pleasant sights.”

  Laffite turned on his heel and strode out, banging the door after him.

  Nicolette was left standing in the middle of the room, her mouth open to speak words that never came. Slowly, tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. All the love she felt for Jean Laffite seemed to have been turned into a heavy lead weight now crushing her heart.

  What had she done wrong? Why was he so angry?

  One of the boats arriving from the city carried a passenger whose mission was not to purchase slaves. He had a plantation upriver from New Orleans and his bride-to-be owned a townhouse in Bourbon Street, but he already had more than enough servants to staff both. The tall, lean man with hair and eyes as coal-black as his finely tailored suit and polished boots, was one of the first to arrive at The Temple.

  “Bermudez!” Jean Laffite said when he saw he couldn’t avoid greeting the new customer. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. You missed a good poker game at Grande Terre a few weeks back. You know I’m always happy to relieve you of some of your hard-earned cash.”

  Peculiar flames seemed to leap in the man’s cold, dark eyes at the mention of his favorite sport—more than a sport, a passion with Diego Bermudez.

  “My loss, I’m afraid, Captain Laffite. I was out of the city and didn’t hear about the game until after the fact. But remember me the next time you organize a high-stakes game.”

  “I will! I will!” Laffite answered, ticking off in his mind the fabulous sums he’d won from the arrogant Spanish Creole, whose wealth was far greater than his caution or his ability to bluff. “You’re here to add to your stock today? We have some prime bucks—good studs, I’d say, from the number of pregnant wenches in the lot.”

  Bermudez laughed quietly, a controlled, ugly sound. “Bucks I don’t need, monsieur. I pride myself in servicing my own females well enough. I prefer high yellows on my place. Black studs are trouble. However, if you happen to have some comely wenches… say, twelve or thirteen… who haven’t dropped suckers yet, I might be interested.”

  Laffite had difficulty hiding his disgust for the man’s carnal habits, but managed to control his already ragged temper long enough to show Bermudez to the bar that Dominique had set up for their customers. “We have anything your heart desires, monsieur.”

  Diego Bermudez bowed curtly as Laffite walked away.

  “Anything my heart desires, eh?” He laughed his low, nasty laugh again. “Indeed, you have, Captain Laffite!” the man said to himself as he sauntered over to the board between two wine barrels, where Dominique Youx was doling out the rum, brandy, Kentucky whiskey, and bière du pays, the local pineapple ale brewed with brown sugar, cloves, and rice.

  “Ah, Monsieur Bermudez! Name your poison,” Dominique said cheerily. “My guess is brandy, the Creole water of life!”

  “Your guess is correct.”

  Diego Bermudez accepted the drink and strolled about the clearing as if looking for friends from New Orleans. He wandered over to the stock pen where the slaves were chained and manicled awaiting the block. Though he made a pretense of examining a ripe young girl in her early teens, his jet eyes darted from her bare breasts to the cottage a few yards away.

  “She must be in there,” he said to himself as he pulled the whimpering slave girl’s shift back up to cover her.

  When he was sure no one was watching, he wandered over to the house and around the back to the bedroom window. Peering in, he spotted Nicolette at once. Though time was of the essence, he couldn’t make his presence known to her just yet. This opportunity to watch her bathing was too delicious to pass up.

  He leaned against the rough cypress boards and let his eyes devour the rosiness of her breast buds peeking through the froth of bubbles, the smoothness of her flat belly, the enticing patch of fuzz between her thighs. When she turned, his mouth watered at the perfect, white roundness of her buttocks. His palms itched for the feel of that bare flesh and other parts of him throbbed to know her more intimately.

  “All in good time!” he told himself quietly.

  After Nicolette slipped into her calico skirt and cotton blouse, Diego rapped on the windowsill. She turned, her surprise evident.

  She recognized her father’s partner and hurried to the window. Surely Diego Bermudez would have recent news of her family. Her heart ached from the long separation she’d endured. She missed New Orleans, her friends, her family. She longed for their placid company more than ever after her stormy confrontation with Laffite.

  “Monsieur Bermudez!” she cried. “How good to see you!”

  “And you, mademoiselle. You look well.” He hesitated, as if trying to decide if he should go on with what he was about to say. A pained expression crossed his face.

  “What is it, Monsieur Bermudez?”

  “Your papa sent me to bring you home, Nicolette. But it isn’t going to be as easy as I’d thought. This whole chenière is crawling with thugs and pirates. Perhaps I should have let Monsieur Vernet go ahead with his plan—to bring troops and storm the area to rescue you.”

  “Rescue me? From what?”

  “Why, from that damned pirate, Laffite, of course! We’ve all feared the worst for you since we found out he was holding you.”

  “He’s not a pirate!” she snapped. “Don’t ever call him that!”

  Bermudez narrowed his eyes and gazed at her unnervingly. “A quick defense of the man who’s holding you prisoner, mademoiselle.”

  “I’m not his prisoner, I’m his…” Nicolette cut the sentence off. What business was it of his, anyway?

  “I shudder to think what this attitude of yours toward the man would do to your poor father! It’s bad enough, his knowing that you’re so near, but can’t come home to him. Had he the slightest notion that you stayed away of your own free will and not by force… well, I’m not at all sure he could stand the shock.”

  Nicolette eyed him suspiciously. She remembered his arrogant behavior at their one othe
r meeting—the night Octave died. What was he up to now?

  “I hate to have to spring this on you so abruptly, but your father fell ill while trying to raise a band of men to come down here after you. He swears he’ll rise from his bed at any moment to lead the expedition. But, of course, that would be out of the question. That would certainly kill him.”

  “Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me he was sick? What’s wrong with him?”

  Tears blurred Nicolette’s vision so that the barely suppressed smile on Bermudez’s face looked to her like a grimace of concern.

  “The doctors don’t know. He had an attack of some sort after he heard Laffite was holding you captive. They think it’s his heart. Any strain or further shock and he might go like that.” Bermudez snapped his fingers, making Nicolette jump. “I’ve done all I can. I’ve taken as much of the burden as possible off his shoulders, and more important, I’ve found you and told you of his plight. The rest is up to you, mademoiselle. If he doesn’t get to see you soon and hear from your own lips that you’re all right, he won’t last much longer.”

  “What can I do?” she asked through her tears.

  “Return to New Orleans with me now and reassure him. Once you’ve put his mind at ease, it’s entirely up to you if you want to stay in your father’s home where you belong or resume this sordid existence among thieves and murderers.”

  “Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do. I’ll have to talk to Jean… see what he thinks. “

  “You actually mean to ask Laffite’s permission to leave? I thought you were a free woman. If you beg him to let you go and he refuses, then you’ve sentenced your father to death. Is that What you want?”

  Pain twisted Nicolette’s heart. Of course she didn’t want that. But how could she leave Jean now—specially with bitter words between them? Wouldn’t he take such a move as her admission that their love was a mistake?

  “You know Laffite will never allow you to leave without him, not even for your father’s sake. He’s a jealous, possessive man. If he’s holding you, but not by force, I can only assume that I know his methods. And he’ll never let you out of his clutches.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nicolette snapped. “Jean’s not at all like that!”

  Bermudez laughed dryly. “How typical of an innocent young girl, to fall in love with the first handsome rogue to come along! It won’t last, you know. Men like Laffite never stay long with one woman.”

  “Are you speaking from experience, Monsieur Bermudez?” Nicolette hissed. But his words hurt. Was Jean even now trying to drive her away? Could he have tired of her so quickly?

  “Go ahead! Act childish and defend him all you like. Maybe you can even persuade him to come to New Orleans with you. That’s the only way he’ll allow you to leave. And once he gets there, Governor Claiborne will use the warrant he’s issued to arrest Laffite for piracy. Within a week, Laffite will be in chains in the Cabildo, or possibly swinging from a rope in the Place d’Armes. Would that make you happy?”

  “Of course not!” Nicolette cried, horrified at the mental picture Diego’s words conjured up.

  “Then come with me now, before anyone sees us. You can write a note and tell Laffite you’ll be back soon, if your heart is so set on returning. Even Laffite must have had a father, though some in New Orleans swear it was the devil himself. But surely he will understand your distress and your need to leave quickly and without him.”

  “Certainly he’ll understand!” she answered defensively. “He’s a man of compassion, a gentle man.”

  Bermudez smiled crookedly and nodded. “Whatever you wish to believe, my dear. Please hurry now. We haven’t much time.”

  Taking the pen and paper that Diego Bermudez offered, Nicolette sat down to write. She thought out her message carefully before she began. She had to make Jean understand that she was not leaving because of their disagreement and that she would be back as soon as possible.

  My darling Jean,

  If you were here with me right now, you would see me nodding—as if my very life depended on your forgiveness. I don’t know how I have failed you, but be assured it was not out of any lack of love. I do love you so, my darling. Please believe me.

  Now I must leave you for a time. Diego Bermudez has brought word that my father is desperately ill. So I’m taking Daniel and returning to New Orleans. I couldn’t tell you this in person because of my fears for your safety. Had I spoken to you. I’m sure you would have insisted on seeing me to the city. It’s too dangerous, Jean. Please don’t follow me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.

  This morning is no longer a part of my memory. I’ve wiped the entire misunderstanding from my mind. Until we are together again, my husband, I will remember our night of love—the taste of your lips, the feel of your hands, our bodies pressing, and the sweet, glorious new world you gave to me.

  Please believe me when I say I will never love another the way I love you, Jean!

  Forever and ever,

  Your Nikki

  Nicolette reread the note, folded it, then summoned Gator-Bait, who had been taunting the cabin’s resident chameleon, to take it to Laffite.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Bermudez demanded, grabbing the little slave and snatching the paper from him.

  “It’s my note for Jean,” Nicolette explained.

  “Have you lost your mind? He’ll read this immediately and we’ll never get away. Put it on the bed. He’ll find it.”

  Nicolette turned away from Diego long enough to press a kiss to the paper. Then she smoothed the counterpane over the pillow and placed her note there with trembling hands. She said a silent prayer that Jean would read her words and understand.

  “Will you please come along?” Diego said. “We haven’t got all day!”

  Nicolette gave the little bedroom one last glance. Dingy and uninviting as it was, she hated to leave it. If she remained here, Jean Laffite would soon return to her.

  She closed her eyes a moment and visualized that reunion. Jean would be tired after the auction, but not too tired to make up. She would run to him, hug him, kiss him, make him know the full measure of her love. There on the bed, where a soft breeze was even now teasing the edges of her farewell note, the two of them would lie down together. They would undress each other slowly, taking their time with the wondrous act, expanding their love to the full height and breadth of emotional limits…

  “Nicolette!”

  “I’m coming, Diego,” she called, giving the note a parting glance.

  Outside the cabin, she realized that the wind was rising. They would have rough sailing.

  In a lightless crack in the wall behind the bed, the object of Gator-Bait’s recent abuse wriggled his green body to test it for injuries. The tip of his tail was gone—dropped to effect his escape. But that would grow back. Satisfied with his self-examination, the chameleon thrust his head out in a lightning-quick motion.

  He sensed two things immediately—one good, one bad. He took advantage of the good—having the cabin to himself again—to further explore the bad. A storm was brewing. Every primal sensor in his body twitched with warning when he sniffed the air. But he’d have to make the climb to see for himself how bad it was going to be.

  The mountain of a bed lay in his path. Once that height was scaled the worst would be over. A strong leap to the sunny windowsill and he’d know whether he’d have to take to the rafters for the night to avoid high water.

  He was breathing hard by the time he had climbed high enough for one yellow eye to peer over the edge. What he saw all but stopped his heart. A white thing lay, fluttering threateningly, on the bed. He darted his head down, out of sight, and listened. The thing made a crackling noise—not like any animal he had ever heard. He eased higher, balancing precariously with his stump of a tail. He cocked his head this way and that, eyes unblinking, as he examined Nicolette’s note.

  His alarm system sh
ut down suddenly. He knew there was no danger. Quickly skirting the flapping white thing as he crossed the bed, he reached the windowsill in a magnificent leap. He peered out, waiting for his eyes to adjust for distance, much like a telescope lens. Far off now he could see the three who had been in his room, but their scent was very faint. Good! He would have the place all to himself again.

  He smelled the wind coming before the gust hit him, and instinctively dug his claws into the wood of the sill. At the same time, he flattened his body to protect it, squeezing his eyes shut against the bite of blowing sand. While he lay there, he could feel the green draining from his skin, turning him a brownish-gray the same as the cypress wood of the sill. The change wasn’t painful, but always came as a shock—the cool dullness replacing familiar warmth.

  He heard the fluttering sound, but dared not look. The wind slackened. Cautiously, he opened one eye.

  The white thing—whatever it was—could fly! It took off from the bed, spiraled downward in a graceful sweep, then disappeared beneath the bed. The chameleon waited and watched—eyes blinking, head moving up and down. The motion of the thing looked like a mating dance. The very thought made him puff up the pink sacks beneath his neck—just in case.

  Excited now, with no time for fear, the chameleon scurried down and under the bed.

  His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. He saw it—sleeping now against the far wall. Away from the light, it changed colors—from brilliant white to a dull gray. They had that much in common.

  He advanced, sidestepped, then went straight ahead, but cautiously. When it made no threatening moves, he approached it head-on. He touched a corner of it. It didn’t run away. He lay down next to it.

  Soon the chameleon and the white thing slept—far back in the dark, beyond the reach of prying eyes.