Shaelyn rested her head against his shoulder and entwined her fingers with his. He rubbed his chin against the softness of her hair, so thankful she hadn’t been hurt…or worse.
The Sweet Sassy and the Lady Shae came into view, moonlight illuminating the smokestacks and pilothouses, while lantern light glowed intermittently along the railing. Men crowded against the balustrade and along the landing stage, ready to lend a helping hand.
Beckett tugged on the reins. The wagon rolled to a stop at the river’s edge.
“Take him to one of the cabins and lock him in.” Remy gave his orders as he climbed down from the wagon seat and then reached up to help Shaelyn. “We’ll hand him over to the military authorities when we reach New Orleans.”
Jock and Beckett did as they were told, leading the Gray Ghost to the upper deck, each man taking an arm. Remy followed, leading a complacent Davenport toward the same steps, while Shaelyn and Brenna trailed behind. He planned to hand his prisoner over to someone else, realizing his ever-present, worsening pain would prevent him from climbing the stairs. He signaled to Daniel and Cory.
“What will happen now?” Shaelyn asked, her nose wrinkling as she glanced from Captain Davenport to the other two men who would take over from here.
“He’ll be handed over to the authorities as well. He’s a traitor and will be judged as such.” Remy looked upon the man who’d been his second in command. He shook his head and realized he’d never understand what had driven Davenport to do what he did. Perhaps he’d simply been hypnotized by promises of power. There was no sign of remorse, even now. Given the chance, Remy thought the captain would do the same again.
The man didn’t beg for forgiveness. Davenport stood on the cargo deck of the Lady Shae, his hands tied behind his back, arrogant and defiant. “You may think you’ve won, but you haven’t,” he said, his voice cold and calm. “You might have the Gray Ghost, but there will be more to take his place.”
“That may be true, but he will stand trial for his crimes. As will you, Vincent.”
“I think not, Remy,” he said, then with a nod and a grin, Vincent Davenport threw himself over the railing into the swirling waters of the mighty Mississippi. “The South will rise again,” he yelled, then quickly sank out of sight.
“Get him!” Remy yelled, and someone grabbed a grappling hook, intending to save the man, but it was too late. He was gone. “Aw, hell!”
He felt a hand touch his sleeve and glanced at Shaelyn beside him. “It wasn’t your fault.” She squeezed his hand. “He couldn’t face the future, knowing he’d hang for his crimes. Let the Mississippi have him and let’s go home.”
Slowly, he nodded. “Yes, my love, let’s go home.”
They started walking along the Lady Shae’s railing before she stopped and turned to stare at him, her brows drawn in question. “Did you just call me ‘my love’?”
“I did.” He grinned at her, despite the pain it caused his swollen lip. “Do you not wish for me to call you that?”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Her eyes twinkled with doubt…and hope. “Why? Why would you call me your love?”
“Because you are my love, Shae. Didn’t you know? Haven’t I shown you?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But you’ve never told me.”
She was right. For all the passion they shared, he had never uttered those three simple words, had never told her what had been in his heart for so long. “I love you, Shae. I think I’ve loved you from the moment you flew into my arms and nearly knocked me over. I haven’t been the same since.”
Tears made her eyes luminous as the doubt shining in them disappeared in a flash. Once more, she fell into his arms and pressed her face against the buttons on his chest, like she had the first time they’d met. “And I love you, Remy.”
Epilogue
“Are you all right?” Remy asked with a smile as Jock paced the confines of the parlor. Sweat beaded on the Scotsman’s forehead and his normally ruddy skin seemed a bit pasty and white, making his ginger mustache stand out in stark relief. He looked like he’d have an apoplexy if his bride-to-be and the man who would marry them didn’t show up soon.
“Ye don’t think she’s had second thoughts, do ye?” Jock paused in his pacing and slumped into one of the chairs, which had been set up to create an aisle down the center of the room. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to marry me after all.”
“Nonsense! Brenna Cavanaugh’s love for you is as wide as the Mississippi.” A knock sounded on the front door, interrupting the words of encouragement he’d been about to say. “Ah, that must be the preacher.”
Jock jumped to his feet, a bundle of nerves. His hands shook as he pulled the high collar of his uniform jacket away from his Adam’s apple, which bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, answer the door, man.”
“Of course.” Remy gave a slight bow then motioned to his parents, who had arrived just last night to witness the marriage of their dear friend and the woman he’d loved for as long as they’d known him. “See if you can’t calm him down,” he whispered as his mother and father drew closer.
Melissande Harte moved past him. “Come now, Jock, I’ve never seen you so nervous. Everything will be fine. The preacher will arrive in time and your lovely bride-to-be will walk down this very aisle soon.” She soothed the man with her gentle tone and almost singsong cadence.
“It’s not every day a man gets married, ye know,” Jock admitted, then let out a long sigh.
“I know,” she commiserated, “and you’ve waited a long time for this day.”
Remy smiled as he limped from the parlor where the wedding would take place. He smiled quite often these days, despite the pain in his leg. His life, such as he’d known it, had changed for the better. Three weeks had come and gone from the moment Shaelyn had attempted to rescue him from certain death at the hands of Davenport and the Gray Ghost. He was now secure in the knowledge that his wife loved him. She had proven it by coming to his aid and kept proving it every day.
Dr. Shaughnessy at the hospital where Shaelyn had once again taken up her volunteer duties seemed to think he could ease some of Remy’s pain with one final operation. It was an option Remy would seriously consider.
EJ, General Sumner’s son, was now safely in Natchez, recuperating from his injuries, and the prisoner exchange the general had been working on was about to commence.
Remy had many reasons to be happy as he opened the door to find Ewell Sumner standing on the steps, the medals on his uniform shining in the midday sun. “General!”
“Are we late?” Sumner stepped aside and allowed his wife to enter Magnolia House before him. “We would have been here sooner, but Honor couldn’t quite decide what to wear.”
“Oh hush, you old goat.” Honor Sumner waved away her husband’s comment and kissed Remy on the cheek as she swept into the foyer with a swirl of violet and gold skirt and a hint of lemon verbena perfume. “Don’t believe a word he says. I wasn’t the reason we were late.” She stepped aside so their son could come into the house as well, his crutches tapping on the marble tile.
“EJ!” Remy exclaimed and heartily pumped the young man’s hand. “I didn’t expect you to be up and about so soon.”
“I’m feeling so much better. Dr. Shaughnessy thinks I’m healing very well.” EJ blushed as he shook Remy’s hand. “I’m not the reason we’re late, either.” He grinned. “He is.”
A young man, one Remy had never seen before, but who reminded him very much of his wife, came into the foyer and held out his hand. “I understand you are my brother-in-law.”
• • •
“Mama?” Shaelyn knocked on her mother’s bedroom door. She could hear the guests in the formal parlor making themselves comfortable, the buzz of conversation rising up to the second floor. Remy’s parents had arrived just last night and welcomed her into the Harte family with warmth and not a few tears of happiness. Remy’s officers were here as well, all to witness the wedding of Brenna and Jock.<
br />
“Come in, dear.”
Shaelyn opened the door. Brenna sat at her dressing table in her chemise, corset, and pantalets, her hair a gleaming mass of pure mahogany flowing down her back. “Mama, you’re not dressed. Is everything all right?” She noticed the picture of Sean Cavanaugh in her mother’s hands.
“I was thinking about your father and the wonderful life we had together and how much I’ve missed him these past two years.” She looked up with a sad smile on her face. Tears shimmered in her eyes, making them more luminous. “Do you think he would approve of Jock and me?”
“Of course he would. Papa loved Uncle Jock like a brother.” Shae knelt down beside her mother, removed the picture, then took Brenna’s cold hands into her own. “He would want you to be happy, as you deserve to be. He’d want you to find love again.” She kissed her mother’s long, slender fingers. “I’m sure Papa is up in heaven looking down at you right now and I know he is smiling.”
“Thank you, dear. You always know the right thing to say.” Brenna took a deep breath, grabbed a handkerchief from the top of the dressing table, and swiped at the moisture in her eyes. “Will you walk down aisle with me and give me away?”
Tears immediately sprang to Shaelyn’s eyes as well. “Of course, Mama. It would be my honor.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll help you dress,” she said as she kissed her mother on the cheek. “Jock is waiting. I think he’s waited long enough, don’t you?”
Brenna nodded and then rose from her seat and grabbed the ivory satin and lace gown from the bed. She slipped into it, adjusted the puffy sleeves, then glanced in the mirror. Her eyes met Shaelyn’s in the reflection.
“Oh, Mama, you look beautiful.”
“Button me up?” Brenna asked as she turned and presented the long line of buttons along the back of the gown.
“All done. Are you ready?”
“I need a moment.”
“Of course.” Shaelyn let herself out of her mother’s room. She strode toward the staircase and stopped at the top of the stairs. Movement below caught her eye and she looked down to see Remy standing in the hallway. He spoke with someone in deep conversation, someone she couldn’t see. Her heart swelled with love as she watched him. He glanced up and noticed her, his mouth—that kissable mouth—spreading into a grin before he gave her a slight nod and then winked, put his finger over his lips, and disappeared into the study.
Curious, Shaelyn leaned over the banister and tried to follow him with her eyes even though it was impossible. He returned in a moment, his grin wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief and again, he placed his finger over his lips, urging her to silence. A second later, a young man appeared in the hall and looked up the stairs.
Shaelyn sucked in her breath as her heart thundered in her chest. Tears instantly flooded her eyes as she gazed into the handsome, grinning, much thinner face of her brother, Ian.
He, too, put his finger against his lips, swearing her to silence and secrecy before slipping back into the study.
Remy winked and grinned, then answered the knock on the door, allowing the preacher to come into the house. “We’re ready, if you are,” he called up the staircase before leading the man into the parlor.
Shaelyn rushed to her mother’s room and knocked. “Mama, the preacher’s here.”
The door swung open and the vision that was Brenna Cavanaugh, soon to be Brenna MacPhee, stepped into the hallway.
Shaelyn enfolded her in her arms and hugged her. “Just in case I don’t have a chance to tell you later, Mama. I love you.”
Brenna returned the embrace and whispered, “I love you too.” She pulled away, then took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m ready.” She tucked her hand into the crook of her daughter’s elbow. Together, they traversed the hall and walked down the curving staircase.
“Do you have everything?” Shaelyn whispered as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. “Something old? Something new?”
Remy limped out of the parlor and strode to where they stood. He reached out, brought Brenna’s hand to his lips, and kissed her gloved knuckles. “You look lovely,” he said, then let go of her hand with a nod toward Shaelyn.
“Wait here. I forgot something,” Shaelyn said, and then quickly relinquished her hold on her mother’s arm and moved to the study doorway. She motioned to Ian, who joined her in the hall. She kissed him on the cheek, welcoming him home, then stood aside as he grasped his mother’s hand.
“What did you forget, dear?” Brenna asked while craning her neck to view the inside the parlor.
When she didn’t answer, Brenna finally looked at the hand holding hers and turned slightly. “Oh, Ian! I’m so…”
Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth opened, but no words issued forth as she hugged her son.
“I know, Mama,” he said as he held her tight. “I’m happy to be home too. And it looks like I’m just in time.” He broke the embrace and grinned at her. “I’m so sorry I never wrote. I couldn’t tell anyone where I was or what I was doing. It would have been too dangerous, but I’ve been re-assigned to Rosalie, so we have plenty of time to see each other. Right now, though, Jock is waiting, and he’s waited a long time.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Are you ready?”
Brenna took a deep breath as mother and son entered the parlor and strode up the aisle where the preacher and a very nervous Jock waited. The guests rose amid oohs and aahs and comments of how beautiful the bride looked and wasn’t it wonderful that her son, whom she hadn’t seen in over two years, could be here for this occasion.
Shaelyn reached for Remy’s hand and entwined her fingers with his. She studied him for a moment, realizing how much she truly loved this man. Over the lump in her throat, she asked, “You arranged this, didn’t you?”
“No, I…” Remy blushed to the tips of his ears and gave her the crooked grin that melted her heart. “Truly, I had no idea he would show up today. Now. I had simply asked General Sumner to see if he could locate your brother. I thought it would make you happy to know he was safe.”
He drew her into his warm embrace and when he spoke, it was a whisper in her ear. “I could think of no better way to show you how much I love you.”
Emotions overwhelmed her, but Shaelyn took a deep breath and whispered in return, “I love you too, Remy. Always.”
About the Author
Marie Patrick has always had a love affair with words and books, but it wasn’t until a trip to Arizona, where she now makes her home with her husband and her furry, four-legged “girls,” that she became inspired to write about the sometimes desolate, yet beautiful landscape. Her inspiration doesn’t just come from the Wild West, though. It comes from history itself. She is fascinated with pirates and men in uniform and lawmen with shiny badges. When not writing or researching her favorite topics, she can usually be found curled up with a good book. Marie loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a note at [email protected] or visit her website at www.mariepatrick.com.
More from This Author
(From A Treasure Worth Keeping by Marie Patrick)
Charleston—1850
Music, raucous laughter, and light spilled onto the street as soon as Tristan Youngblood, captain of the Adventurer, opened the door of the Salty Dog. He stood still for a moment and let the atmosphere of his favorite tavern in Charleston wash over him.
The Adventurer’s crew filled the room with the exception of Coop, who stood watch aboard ship, and Jemmy, Tristan’s son, who was too young to join in the celebration. A more trustworthy, patient, experienced group of men he’d never find. He loved and respected them all, found comfort in their company, and trusted them with his life—and his secret. To the world, he was Captain Trey, treasure hunter. To those who shared his confidence, he was Tristan Youngblood, Lord Ravensley.
They had reason to celebrate this night, even if he did not. After months and months of searching, they’d found the legendary lost treasure of the Sierra Magdalena, a Spanish gall
eon savagely torn apart in a hurricane almost two hundred years ago off the coast of Hispaniola. Each and every one of them thought they had found heaven—or at least a little part of it.
Pockets bulging with pieces of gold, they turned, almost as one, and raised their tankards toward him. “Captain!”
“Tippy.” He signaled the tavern owner. “Drinks are on me.”
Loud cheers met his pronouncement as Tippy lined up clean tankards on the bar and proceeded to fill them one by one with thick, foamy ale.
Tristan accepted his crew’s slaps on the back and handshakes as he made his way through the crowded room to drop a small pouch of gold coins on the bar.
Graham Alcott, the Adventurer’s navigator as well as Tristan’s second in command and oldest friend, sat at a table in the corner, his arms around the two winsome barmaids perched on his knees. A cigar smoldered in the brass tray surrounded by the remains of a hearty meal.
Tristan grinned as he strode toward his friend. It never failed. No matter where in the world the Adventurer put into port, Graham found the loveliest, most willing ladies.
He cleared his throat. Graham took his eyes off the tantalizing bosoms presented to him and glanced up. His smile could have charmed the birds from the trees—or the drawers from even the most discerning young woman.
“Tristan,” Graham acknowledged as he nodded to the chair opposite him. “Sarah, my love, get the captain a glass of your finest rum.” He gave each girl a sound kiss on the cheek and a promise to meet them later, then he patted both behinds to usher them off his knees. With squeals and giggles, the women rushed to do his bidding.
Tristan dropped into the chair and stretched out his long, leather-booted legs, crossing them at the ankle. He grabbed a serrated knife and cut a piece of bread still warm from the oven, then slathered it with sweet, creamy butter and took a bite.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 27