Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  "Now that we're alone," Belle prompted, "tell me what you really think of Etienne."

  "I don't think anything," Dominique sighed. "I just want to go back to bed and stay there for a year or two."

  Dominique had encouraged Belle's hopes when she had feared Falcon was lost to her forever, but Belle couldn't find the words to comfort her. Sean O'Keefe had been shunted off to a prison camp, and even if the war were to end tomorrow, both he and Dominique would still feel betrayed by the other and be unlikely to reconcile. She had rather liked Etienne, but clearly Dominique didn't or wouldn't. Belle was sorry that Dominique had not been drawn to the Frenchman, but life had not been easy for her of late. Their mother would say love would come in its own time, but now that she was secure in Falcon's love, she felt very sorry for Dominique, who was all alone.

  "I have money to pay for a horse," Etienne confided, "but these animals are much too fine to ride into battle."

  Falcon and Etienne had walked through the stable and stopped at Nails's stall. Falcon rubbed his stallion's muzzle and spoke to him softly in the Seneca tongue he swore the horse understood. "I've promised Belle not to take this mount, so I need a new horse, too. I've always fought from cover rather than charging the British, but no horse is too fine for war if men must fight."

  "I had not thought of it that way."

  Falcon leaned back against the stall door and folded his arms across his chest. "Beau must trust you or he wouldn't have brought you home. I don't make friends as easily as he, and if you disappoint me in any way, I'll leave you right where you stand. You must understand that now."

  Insulted, Etienne straightened up and replied in kind. "Your father is Seneca, and they are British allies. Why should I trust you?"

  Falcon regarded the Frenchman with a dark, piercing gaze, but didn't intimidate him into looking away. "If what you've seen of the Barclays, and my family, isn't enough to inspire trust, then nothing will. I'm leaving at dawn. I'll have a horse here for you if you want to come with me. If not, follow the road into Williamsburg, buy a mount there, and make your way south on your own."

  Etienne had gotten along so well with Beau, he did not understand why everything was going so poorly now. "You shoot very well," he said, "and I've proven that I can, too. Perhaps respect is as important as trust, and I can easily respect a man with your skill with a rifle. All I ask is the chance to fight."

  Because the Patriots needed every man willing to bear arms, Falcon nodded. "Fine. We'll leave together then. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?"

  None had been offered, and Etienne was much to proud to ask for a bed. "I will sleep here. It is clean and dry."

  Falcon had an excellent reason for wanting the stable all to himself that night, but couldn't refuse such a small request. "As you wish. Do you have a hunting shirt, or buckskins?"

  Etienne shrugged and spread his arms. "I have little more than what you see, but I do own a fine rifle."

  The Frenchman was thinner than he was, but Falcon thought they were near enough in size to wear the same clothes. "I have buckskins you can wear. Come, I'll intro-

  duce you to the cook and she'll gather our provisions. I never take much, as the added weight would just slow me down. I hope you'll not mind living off the land."

  Etienne wanted to make certain he understood. "Are you talking about fishing and shooting small game, or eating bugs?"

  Falcon made a face. "Do the French eat bugs?" he asked.

  "No, but—"

  "Well, the Seneca don't, either." Falcon led the way to the kitchen and waved as they passed the cooper's shed where barrels for that year's harvest were already being made. "You didn't come to dinner. Do you want to eat with us tonight?"

  Etienne knew Dominique would ignore him, and without a smile from her, it would be a wretched meal. "No. Beau was my friend and he is gone."

  Falcon paused on the path between the scullery and dairy. "Have you given up on Dominique so soon?"

  "My English is not good," he replied.

  "What's wrong with her French?"

  Etienne had forgotten Dominique spoke his native tongue and realized too late how ridiculous his excuse had sounded. "What I mean is, my English is not good enough to explain what happened to you. She does not like me, and I do not think I like her, either."

  Falcon could not believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you don't like her? Men always like her, or at least they always have. You do like women, don't you?"

  "Of course!" Etienne ran his thumbs down his lapels. "Look at me," he chided. "The Barclays are rich, and what do I have to offer a woman like Dominique except amusing company? She does not want my company, so I have nothing to give her."

  "My sister wed a man who wandered up the road seeking work. Who you are will be more important than what you own to Dominique as well. You must be more patient with

  her. She's been very unhappy. Perhaps what she needs is sympathy rather than to be amused."

  Etienne would not delude himself with false hopes. "Out. I know. There was another man, and the war frightens her."

  "I have tracked men for days," Falcon confided, "rather than allow a quarry to escape. Do you always give up so easily?"

  Etienne looked up toward the house. The brick structure was magnificent, but his own family's home was as modest as the outbuildings here. "I may not be able to track as well as you, but I have never run from a battle. Dominique is not a battle, though. She is a woman who needs more than I can ever give. Do not torture me with questions about her. It is bad enough that I failed to please her for Beau's sake. Let's see to the provisions. I can live a long while on bread and cheese if the cook can spare us some."

  Falcon considered Etienne's English exceptionally good, but he was talking in circles rather than reveal what had really happened between him and Dominique. Because Falcon had once believed he had nothing to offer Belle, he did not press him any further, but he thought him a fool for not trying harder. "Dominique is not really herself now," he explained. "The next time we come home, maybe you'll like each other better."

  "She could not like me any less," Etienne exclaimed, and he forced himself to think of the journey that lay ahead rather than the maddeningly aloof blonde.

  At supper that evening, everyone was rather subdued, for while they had all enjoyed Beau's visit, they knew how dangerous it had been for him. His schooner was far more swift than the British warships patrolling the coast, but he had had a long run of luck, and no one wanted it to end. Although distracted by thoughts of her brother, Belle could not help but notice the light sparkling in Falcon's eyes.

  She knew precisely what he was thinking, and wanted to make love again, too. She did not rush her meal, but it was an effort not to bolt from the table when she finished the last bite. When everyone at last left the table, she took Falcon's hand, but he pulled her away from the parlor.

  "We're going for a walk down by the river," he announced loudly enough for everyone to hear, then ushered Belle out the front door. They crossed the lawn and hurried down to the path along the shore. "Let's borrow the Scotts' house for tonight," Falcon suggested.

  "The whole house, or merely a feather bed?"

  Falcon chuckled at her insight. He could not have told her what they had just eaten for supper. He had been too lost in thoughts of what the night would bring. As they crossed onto Scott land, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  "I'm sorry for the awful things I said to you the last time I was home. You didn't deserve any of it. I should never have mentioned whores either, because being with them is nothing like being with you, Belle. You needn't worry I'll ever go back to them. I mean to be a faithful husband."

  Belle wasn't certain how to respond. "Thank you for saying you're sorry, but I knew you couldn't have been sincere. At least I hoped you weren't. As for your being faithful, I wouldn't accept anything less. You do consider us already married, don't you?"

  Falcon stopped and pulled her around to face him. "Well, y
es. Don't you?"

  There was so much love reflected in his eyes, but Belle wanted to have their union blessed in a church, and have a gold ring on her finger. "If we were truly wed, we'd not have to sneak off to the Scotts' house, would we?"

  "We'll have a wedding," he promised, "but they take time to plan and I can't stay home that long, Belle. I've already been here too long."

  Belle reached up to kiss him. "I wasn't complaining, Fal-

  con, merely stating fact. I'm very proud of you, and I want everyone to know it."

  Falcon looped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet in an exuberant hug. "I've always loved you." He kissed her as he lowered her back to her feet. "When I left my room this morning, my parents were standing in their doorway kissing. It wasn't a light kiss, either, but so passionate neither noticed they were being observed. I want us to be like them and always feel as much love for each other as we do tonight."

  "I think every day I love you more," Belle replied, and she took his hand to coax him on down the path.

  Amused that she was as eager for his loving as he was for hers, Falcon did not lag behind. When they reached the house, he carried her up the back steps and down the long hallway. The house was silent and dark, so he put her down to find a candle, and then took her hand to lead her up the stairs.

  "I came over here today," he confided softly. "There are four bedrooms on the second floor, just as we have at home. From the looks of them, the two on the rear belonged to Liana's brothers, while those at the front belonged to her and her parents. Do you want to use her room or theirs?"

  Belle remembered the Scotts well. Ian had been tall and red-haired, and his wife a petite brunette. Liana and her brothers had inherited their father's vivid coloring, but only the boys shared his political views. "I think we ought to use Ian's bed. It's more fitting, don't you think?"

  "Definitely." Falcon opened the door and led her into the room. The candle's light flickered over the gold walls, and illuminated a four-poster bed made up with fresh linens. "I'd hoped you'd pick this room so I didn't have to make another bed."

  "I would have helped you."

  "Yes, but I didn't want you to have to."

  "Then why did you give me a choice?"

  Falcon set the candle on the nightstand and pulled her down across the bed. "I was simply curious to see if your choice would be the same as mine."

  "Always," Belle breathed against his throat.

  Between deep kisses, their clothes came off in lazy waves and soon lay scattered about the floor. Falcon tossed away Belle's lacy cap and combs to free her curls and she pulled away the thong to loose his hair. Playful, passionate, they teased and satisfied, made love with devotion and dipped into an ageless thrill. Their loving was as natural as their rhythmic breathing, and just as necessary to sustain life. Born to be mates, they remained together long after the time a walk along the shore would have taken, yet neither cared if they were late returning home.

  Falcon sifted Belle's glossy curls through his fingers. The candle was burning low, but her hair caught the fading light with a bright sheen. "I have to go," he confessed sadly, "but I can't wait for the day we'll never have to be parted again. You provide all the excitement I'll ever need, and I'll do my very best to see you never grow bored with me."

  Belle licked a dark nipple and felt him shiver. She spread a light trail of kisses over his chest, and he wound his fingers in her hair to encourage more. "Tomorrow?" she breathed against his navel.

  Falcon sighed sadly. "Yes." He wanted to beg her not to hate him for leaving, but as her kisses swept across the flatness of his belly, he knew she never would. Her mouth was hot, her tongue soft, and her generous kisses brought him to the brink of rapture before he shoved her down onto the feather bed to seek his release deep within her heated core. He held her tenderly as he sought the exquisite joy that now bore her name, and at last understood how love could deepen every day. Even then, he could not leave her, and kept her cradled in his arms where no spoken promise would ever mean as much as what she had already given him.

  * * *

  Unable to sleep, Etienne went for a walk down by the river. He and his father had sailed up the River Seine, and when he closed his eyes and listened to the tumbling roar of the James River, he could imagine himself in France again. He had missed his home and that night was filled with a painful longing for something more than he had found in America. Ashamed to be lonely, he strolled across the wide lawn and entered the garden. The roses reminded him of his mother, but as he bent down to pick one he heard a soft, plaintive sob.

  Not wishing to intrude upon the unhappy individual, he stood very still, and in a moment located the source of the sound. He had noticed the wooden benches when he had passed through the garden earlier in the day. He saw a woman clad in white, her nightgown perhaps, curled up on a bench near the house. She was crying very softly, as though she did not want to be discovered in such a downcast mood, but her sorrow touched him nonetheless.

  At first he thought it might be Belle, weeping because Falcon was leaving, but the pair seemed so close, he knew the brave would not leave her to cry alone. He took a single step, and then he did not need to see the young woman any more clearly to know it was Dominique. He knew it would break her parents' hearts to hear her sobbing so dejectedly, but had she wanted their comfort, she would surely have sought it.

  Instead, she had left the house and given vent to her tears in the seclusion of the well-tended garden. His first impulse was to go to her and offer the sympathy Falcon had suggested he give, but he lacked faith in the effort to succeed. He did not want to provoke another angry outburst from her, especially when he harbored the lingering suspicion that he had deserved it. He had blamed her for being cold,

  but why had he expected warmth when she had repeatedly told him she would rather be left alone?

  He hated listening to her cry. It tore at his soul and yet he stood transfixed, unable to go to her or to leave to seek his own solace elsewhere. Shadowed by the night, he remembered other young women who had wept over him and wondered what had happened between Dominique and the man she so clearly still loved. Beau had said he was unworthy of her, but Dominique plainly did not share that view. She was mourning the loss of something precious to her, and Etienne felt the depth of her sorrow with every muffled sob.

  He heard the rushing river in the distance and the crickets' lively chirp. There was jasmine on the air that he had not noticed during the day. The garden provided a romantic setting, but he felt as though miles, rather than a few yards, separated him from Dominique. He waited in a silent vigil, not even understanding why, but he could not leave the garden until, exhausted by tears, she had gotten up and gone inside.

  He picked his rose then and carried it to the stable. Falcon had given him a blanket to spread out on the straw, and he made himself comfortable. He had spent nights in worse quarters, but as he inhaled the rose's heady perfume, he knew he had never been more lonely. A tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He had come to America to fight, not to fall in love with a fair beauty who loved someone else, but the logic of that thought did not ease his pain and he wished he and Dominique could have wept together.

  him a good deal better than other men, so the difference didn't trouble me. I believe being part Indian is an advan-' tage, you see, and have never lacked for pride. Christian can wear suits as easily as buckskins, and no one will comment that he resembles a savage. I've never tried, but if I trimmed my hair to the length of yours and donned a fancy velvet suit, I think I could walk through Williamsburg and receive only admiring glances."

  "You are both handsome men," Etienne agreed absently. They had ridden hard all day, but he wasn't ready to go to sleep. He had truly enjoyed Falcon's stories, and felt compelled to offer something even if it would not be equally entertaining. "My father is also different," he revealed softly. "He could have had a good life in France, but he never overcame his bitterness with the Bri
tish for breaking Queen Anne's promises to respect the Acadians' religion and lands. Nor could he forgive the French Canadians for not defending the Acadians when the English demanded they leave.

  "I do not even know why he married my mother. She is still remarkably pretty, so perhaps she simply caught his eye, but he has always spent more time at sea than at home. My mother tends her garden and cares for my three sisters, but she deserves to have a real husband rather than a man who longs to be in Acadia instead of in France with her. He taught me how to sail and fish, but little else of value."

  "Is he still living?"

  "Yes. If you can count thriving on old hatreds being alive."

  Falcon's home had always been filled with the sound of happy laughter, and he found it difficult to imagine how empty Etienne's life must have been. With his father away at sea, he would have undoubtedly shouldered more responsibility than a young boy should.

  "Is your mother kind as well as pretty?" Falcon asked.

  Etienne smiled as he thought of her. She had taught him

  there was more to life than his father's bleak view. He had been happiest when his father was away, and his mother had read to him and his sisters and joined in their play.

  "Yes. She is as sweet as her precious flowers. She will take care to see that my sisters each make a better match than she did and be happy with her grandchildren."

  "That's good. What about you? What will it take to make you happy?"

  Etienne stared into the flames. Dressed in an old pair of Falcon's buckskins, he was comfortably warm on the autumn night, and beginning to feel sleepy. "I would like to see the same equality in France that the Patriots are fighting for here. I am a good soldier, and perhaps I will one day have the chance to fight in my country."