Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  "This is no time for a dinner party."

  Dominique yanked her hand from his. She picked up her combs and cap and quickly restored her hair to its proper modest style. "A party is the very last thing I have planned. I've known Falcon my whole life, and you've known him only a few weeks. Don't you dare mistake my need to keep busy for indifference."

  Dominique rose and started down the stairs in a purposeful flutter of peach muslin, leaving Etienne seated in a dejected slump. He rose slowly, and still feeling sick with fear for his friend, ran his hand along the wall as he returned to his room. He grabbed the clean clothes and threw them on the bed. He knew it was important to eat; he had not meant to be short with Dominique, but he did not think he could swallow a spoonful of soup or even a crust of bread.

  He was too anxious to stay in his room, however, and began sorting through the clothes. The shirt was of fine linen, and there was a pair of cotton drawers that tied at the knee. The suit was dark grey and the vest white. There were brand new stockings, but no shoes and he did not think the suit would look good with the pair of moccasins Falcon had given him. Forced to compromise, he pulled the shirt on over his head, tucked it into his buckskins, and left the room.

  When he walked into the dining room, he found Byron seated at the head of the table, absently tearing a piece of bread into tiny bits. Jean was at his left, scooping up his soup with deep dips. Dominique was at her father's right, staring into an untasted bowl of soup, and the couple he recalled as Falcon's sister and her husband were leaning back in their chairs, apparently finished eating. Dominique looked up at him and gestured to the chair beside her. As soon as he had slid into it, a young woman entered and

  served him a steaming bowl of vegetable soup from the tureen at the center of the table.

  Etienne glanced toward the empty places and wondered if everyone else had had as little appetite as he and simply refused to come for the evening meal. He thought he should apologize for not wearing the suit, but it was obvious his companions were too distracted to care what he wore. The strained silence reminded him too much of home when his father was present, but he took a piece of bread from the plate Dominique passed him and tore off a bite.

  "I should be with the other soldiers," he said with sudden insight.

  "They're all asleep," Johanna assured him. "They won't miss you."

  "And we will," Dominique added softly.

  Etienne knew that was a lie, but did not call her on it. The bread was still warm from the oven, and so delicious he ate the whole slice before he recalled he wasn't hungry. He spread butter on a second piece, and then tasted the soup. It was almost as good as his mother's recipe, and he had to force himself not to gulp it down as rapidly as Jean was consuming his.

  "Please let me help," he urged Dominique.

  Dominique finally picked up her spoon. "There's nothing to do except pray. Are you good at that?"

  It had been a long while since Etienne had been to church, but he remembered how to pray. "Yes," he assured her. He noticed the tremor in her hand as she raised the spoon to her lips and wanted to guide it for her but she managed a sip without dribbling hot soup down her bodice. He felt Johanna watching him and tried to smile.

  "Falcon has been a good friend to me." Falcon had mentioned Christian more often than his sister, but Etienne still felt as though he knew her. She favored her mother, and he thought her exceptionally pretty. "He mentioned your sons, his nephews. He said they were fine boys."

  "Thank you," Johanna replied.

  David moved closer to his wife. "I want you to stay here. I'll go home and see they got to bed."

  While he had three younger sisters, Etienne had never looked after them and knew nothing about minding small children or he would have volunteered to go instead. He wanted so badly to be useful, but did not know how. David left, and no one else spoke. At least no one had blamed him for the severity of Falcon's illness, but he did not truly feel welcome at the table. He waited until Dominique pushed her bowl aside and then suggested they take a walk.

  "Go on," Byron urged. "We'll be up all night, and it would be good for you to get away for a while now if you can."

  Dominique paused to kiss her father's cheek. She sensed without having to ask that he was remembering the members of their family whom they had already lost to death, and praying Falcon would not join them. She had not known his brother, Elliott, or sister, Melissa. Her grandfather was also deceased before she was born, and her dear grandmother was gone now, too. The Barclays had enjoyed excellent health for so long, Falcon's horrible wound was doubly terrifying for surely they were due for a loss.

  Etienne took Dominique's hand as soon as they had left the house. "Come with me down to the river. It reminds me of home."

  Unable to suggest a better alternative, Dominique went along. She knew she ought to encourage him to tell her about his home and family, but doubting she would be able to concentrate on his reply, thought better of it. The gathering dusk steeped the shore in shadows, but she guided him down to the path and without making a conscious choice, began walking toward the Scotts' land.

  "I don't mean to be rude," she said. "I know I should make the effort to converse, but I just can't tonight."

  "It is all right," Etienne assured her, but then he could

  ZA

  not stifle his frustration. "I seem always to come here at the wrong time."

  Again puzzled by his remark, Dominique pressed him to explain. "You came here once with Beau, and now to bring Falcon home. How can you consider either of those occasions 'wrong'?"

  Etienne feared he had lost all hope of impressing her, then chided himself for ever harboring such a delusion in the first place. "Perhaps I did not choose the right word," he said. "Soldiers are not always the best tutors for my English."

  The evening was cool, but it felt good to Dominique after such a trying day. Etienne's hand held a pleasing warmth, although as before, his touch was light. "We could speak French if you like, but I'm afraid I'd be no more coherent."

  "No. I want to practice my English with you so I do not make so many foolish mistakes."

  "Your accent is very charming, Etienne, and your English is excellent. You needn't worry about mistakes." When he stopped and took a step ahead to face her, she thought he meant to ask some question about grammar, but instead, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. As he dipped his head, this struck her as the most inappropriate of times for romance, but she made no attempt to avoid his kiss. Instead, she stood still, and while she gave the ardent young man a cool welcome, it was enough to inspire him to kiss her again.

  His kiss was soft, and yet insistent. He traced the shape of her lips with the tip of his tongue, and she opened her mouth without further coaxing. She heard him sigh way in the back of his throat, and almost ashamed that he found kissing her so moving, she relaxed against him. Smooth and sweet, rich and deep, each kiss created a craving for another and she raised her arms to encircle his neck to inspire more. She did not want to think, but simply to feel, and Etienne's generous affection made her feel awfully good indeed.

  With right colliding with wrong in Etienne's mind, his thoughts swirled in a painful knot. Dominique was a lady. She was precious to her family, and to him as well, but he did not want to stop their passionate kisses. Aching for more, he grabbed her hand and drew her up the riverbank to a grassy knoll. To the south, tall rushes screened the river. On the north, the windows of her stately home shone brightly in the distance, but he was certain no one would be watching them.

  He pulled Dominique down across his lap, then with enticing kisses eased her onto the grass. It still held the day's warmth, but he longed to sample her heat, and pushed her low-cut gown off her shoulders. He nuzzled the curve of her throat, and then the smooth swell of her breasts until he had freed her nipples. It was dark now, but he knew they would be pale like the blush of a peach floating in cream.

  Dominique slid her fingers through Etienne's cur
ls and pulled away the tie at his nape. His hair was soft and she grabbed a handful to press his face closer still. His tongue was doing such wonderful things to her breast and she sucked in a breathless gasp. He bit her then, lightly, but causing an exquisite pain that made her moan with desire.

  She had never moved past fevered kisses with another man, not even Sean, but she felt no sense of caution with Etienne. He began whispering to her in French, such pretty things, but she could not give him any endearing replies. She was lost in him, and yet not with him at all when her mind refused to make the choice he so clearly wanted. His mouth found hers again, but his hands were never still.

  Etienne caressed Dominique's breasts, then slipped his hand under her gown to pinch her knee. He slid his hand up her thigh, then down over her hip to pull her against him. All the while his tongue teased hers with playful jabs and slow curls. Her voluminous skirts were in his way, and he damned her petticoats with a silent curse, but he at last

  found the ribbon tie on her drawers and pulled it loose. He felt her stiffen, but whispered a hasty reassurance.

  "I will not hurt you," he breathed against her lips, then kissed her again as his fingertips brushed across the bare flesh of her stomach. Her skin was so soft, and he spread his fingers wide to feel more. He pressed gently with the heel of his hand, knowing precisely what the effect on her would be.

  Etienne spread light kisses down her throat, then laved her breast in tender adoration. Dominique arched her back to lean into him. She shuddered as he shifted position, then dipped into her wetness and coaxed forth a searing heat. His fingertips circled and stroked, delved deeper, then whispered a promise of so much more. She grasped his wrist, but to hold him, not to push him away, and he understood the urgency of her need.

  He had to fight back his own desire but he wanted to teach her what love was meant to be before he shared in her joy fully. She was ready for him, dripping a honeyed sweetness he hungered to taste, but this first time he dared not shock her with the boldness of his appetites. Instead he drew her nipple between his teeth and increased the pressure of his fingertips. He heard her breath catch in her throat as the rapture he had created reached its peak, and then with a petal-soft sigh, she went limp in his arms.

  After what Falcon had told him about her lost lover, Etienne had not expected her to be a virgin. Now that he knew that she was, he dared not push her further. Instead, he stretched out beside her and cradled her gently in his arms. He had never put a woman's pleasure before his own, but then, he had never been with Dominique before, either. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The stars were magnificent, but in his mind, they did not compare to the woman in his arms.

  Arielle had told her daughters that making love created a glorious sensation, but Dominique had not really expected

  anything more than the joy deep kissing brought. She wanted to fall asleep in Etienne's arms, but feared they had already been away from the house too long. She didn't know what to say to him. Between passionate kisses, he had praised her beauty and grace and complimented her perfume, but as his words came back to her now, there had been no mention of tender feelings for her, no promises of love. It was that alarming omission that made her sit up and hurriedly adjust the fit of her bodice.

  Startled that she had left his embrace so soon, Etienne sat up, too. "Dominique? I know I pleased you. What is wrong?"

  "Everything," she replied. She stuffed her hair up under her cap, sat up on her knees to secure the bow on her drawers, and then stood. Etienne nearly leapt to his feet, but she would not have left him lying there in the grass. "Turn around," she ordered. "We can't walk in the house with grass all over our backs."

  "The last time it was tobacco."

  Appalled that he would wish to remind her of that ridiculous encounter, Dominique brushed off his shirt with more force than necessary. He had not asked for any vow of devotion, nor made one of his own, and while her whole body still felt infused with a blissful heat, she could not have said what she thought of him. "Your hair," she suddenly exclaimed. "We've got to find the ribbon."

  Etienne knelt and felt around for it but it was black as the night and it took him a moment to find it. He stood to retie his hair. "Are you afraid you will be punished for being with me?"

  "I don't even know how to describe what we were doing, but I wasn't actually 'with' you, Etienne. At least, not in the way I think you're afraid my parents might suspect."

  "Are you ashamed then?" When Dominique took a moment to consider the question, Etienne had his answer and started off toward her house.

  She hurried to catch up with him and took his hand. He tried to pull away, but she was as stubborn as he and tightened her hold. "I'm not ashamed,'' she swore convincingly. "But I'm not sure what that meant."

  "What does it usually mean?"

  That he thought she had let other men take such shocking liberties wounded Dominique deeply, but she supposed she deserved the insult when she had not uttered even the softest word of protest No, indeed. She had shamelessly encouraged every bit of Etienne's lavish affection. She could not accuse him of taking advantage of her fears for Falcon, but as they entered the house, she went upstairs to her ailing cousin's bedroom without bidding Etienne good night.

  Etienne watched her flounce up the stairs, as aloof as he had ever seen her, and was about to go back outside when Jean appeared. "Do you still wish to hear about the Battle of King's Mountain?" Etienne asked him.

  "Yes, sir. I most certainly do." Jean looked Etienne up and down. "I forgot to bring shoes for you," he remarked absently. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

  Etienne shrugged. "I will be here only a few days."

  "Well, you need shoes for those few days at least. Let's go look and see what Beau left."

  Etienne felt as though he had imposed too much already. "His clothes are not too loose for me, but he is heavier than I am, and I do not believe his shoes will fit me."

  "Then come up to my room and we'll look through mine."

  Jean started up the stairs and Etienne followed. Most men did not own more than a single pair of shoes, but then most were not nearly as wealthy as the Barclays. A bitterness not unlike his father's perpetual ill-humor surged through him, but he struggled to overcome the envy filling his throat rather than give in to such a petty emotion.

  Jean's room was painted the same shade of pale green as the guest room, and as beautifully furnished but con-

  tained the boyish clutter Jean never found the time to put away. He crossed to the wardrobe, flung open the doors, and bent down to sort through the half-dozen pairs of shoes. Some had silver buckles and others were plain leather. There were two pairs of boots as well. Jean debated a moment, then pulled out all the shoes.

  "Try on any you like," he encouraged.

  Etienne hung back. "You make me feel like a beggar."

  Offended, Jean's eyes narrowed. "You're a hero, Etienne, a guest. I didn't mean to offend you. If you don't like my shoes, we'll find others."

  "They are very handsome shoes—magnificent, in fact." Etienne did not know which was worse, to have Jean offer his shoes so easily, or for him to find it so difficult to be gracious about the loan. He did want to wear the suit so he would be as well dressed as the Barclays, but he was sorry he owned no fine clothes of his own. He had given away the old suit he had worn the first time he had been there, and did not miss it.

  "I need my socks," he told Jean, and went to fetch them. He quickly washed his feet, then pulled on the stockings and walked back to Jean's room. He hoped the plain shoes would fit, but they were too small. One of the pairs with silver buckles was nearly as comfortable as his moccasins.

  Jean saw Etienne's smile and tossed the other shoes back into the wardrobe. "Consider those yours."

  "No. I can not keep them."

  "Then leave them here for your next visit," Jean urged. He sat down on the side of his bed and gestured toward the chair at his desk. "Sit down and tell me all about t
he battle. From what we read in the Virginia Gazette, it was completely one-sided."

  Etienne turned the chair toward the young man and sat down. "Yes. That is true," he agreed. He did his best to describe the scene as it had actually been rather than to romanticize it, but he saw from the bright glow of interest

  in Jean's eyes that the young man's imagination was painting a far more exciting picture in his mind.

  "There is always great confusion during a battle, and the noise from the gunfire is so loud there is not a second of quiet in which to think. Shooting men is not like hunting deer. The stench of death fills the air, and at King's Mountain the boulders were splattered with blood. Rivulets of gore trickled through the pine needles and dripped all the way down the hill," Etienne emphasized with appropriate disgust.

  "A battle is not an adventure that ends in a celebration. It ends instead in a silence broken by screams. Only the lucky ones are killed instantly, Jean. Some wounds are terrible, leaving torn stumps of limbs or wide gashes across faces and chests. The worst are those that rip the belly and spill a man's guts into the dirt. Look at the men who have come here with me. They suffered over every mile, and poor Falcon—his leg has caused him unbearable pain."

  The luster had left Jean's eyes, but he was still optimistic about his cousin. "Falcon will be all right."

  Etienne admired Jean's confidence, but after hearing Falcon cry out as though the Devil had sunk his claws in him, he could not share it. "I hope you are right, but how can you be so certain?"

  Jean shrugged. "My mother can cure anything, even gunshot wounds."

  Etienne nodded and sincerely hoped Jean was right. Finally recalling his promise, he rose to his feet. "You must excuse me," he said. "I want to be alone now to pray."

  "For Falcon?"

  u OuiT Etienne replied, but as he left the room, he thought he ought to say a prayer for himself as well. He was going to need a few angels on his side if he were ever going to touch Dominique's heart. Knowing she would be plunged into despair should they lose Falcon, he went to his room and got down on his knees to pray for his friend. Falcon