Colorblind (Moonlight)

by Dubrinsky, Violette

  “How are you here?” Leon asked.

  “Perhaps it would be best discussed somewhere…more private?” His green eyes lifted briefly to a point behind Leon and Leon caught the scent of a human female. Jolie.

  As if sensing she’d been caught, Jolie stepped forward and asked in a breathy and high voice, “Is Massa wantin’ that I bring something for Mr. Hardy?”

  “No. Thank you, Jolie.”

  She nodded and retreated. When Leon turned back to Étienne, his brother was looking at the spot where Jolie had been.

  “Pretty human,” he murmured softly, caressing his smooth-shaven cheek. “Conniving, though.”

  “Come, let’s talk in my office.”

  Étienne stepped forward and then froze as if remembering something. “I should get Armand….”

  Leon blinked in surprise. “He’s here?”

  Étienne nodded, his grin growing wider. In a low voice, he said, “He thinks the humans have forgotten his face, or at least expect him to be much older.”

  Shaking his head, Leon said, “Where is he?”

  “Roaming your fields. He wanted a rough estimate of how many slaves you had in total.”

  “He could have simply asked.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Étienne replied, following his brother as he headed for the door.

  ***

  She was being watched. Penny knew it, but she couldn’t place who was doing the watching.

  Moving at a brisk pace, she headed to the slave quarters. It was yet early for the slaves to retire so she would be going back to the fields soon. A few of the older women had been complaining of stiff joints and Penny knew Old Ma had brewed a mixture that would help them. Because the mixture was under Old Ma’s bed, Penny had volunteered to go quickly and get it.

  But from the moment she’d left the fields, she’d felt eyes on her. It wasn’t Pleasant or Hollis. She knew their scents well. She sensed it was something dangerous, but couldn’t pick it up. Leon had taught her how to do it, but for some reason, this scent eluded her.

  She entered the small cabin and found Old Ma lying upon her cot, asleep. Without disturbing the woman, Penny found the mixture, poured some into a small jar, and pushed it into the large pockets of her gown. As she stepped from the cabin, she looked around cautiously, wondering if she was being paranoid. The feeling was no longer there, so she turned and headed in the direction of the fields.

  One moment she was walking along the slave quarters to the fields. The next, a man had stepped into her path, intense green eyes locked on her. Her instincts immediately kicked in. He was like her and Leon, a werewolf. In fact, he looked like Leon, but that did nothing to quell the trepidation that spiked in her heart when he took a step forward.

  Penny retreated, but still he came, his long strides eating up the distance between them easily. Penny moved back quickly, forgetting about the tree stumps located between some of the cabins, and promptly lost her balance over one.

  As she hit the ground, she let out a squeal, which turned into a pained groan as her backside came in contact with the unyielding earth. The man was over her in a second, his hands slipping under her body as he helped her to her feet.

  “I apologize,” he began in a deep baritone not unlike Leon’s. “I did not mean to frighten you. I was only surprised to find one of my kind living among slaves.”

  The wind still knocked out of her, Penny only nodded, and attempting to dust off her backside. She winced at the soreness.

  “Again, I apol—”

  A low growl hit both of their ears at the same time, and the man holding her released her as if she’d burned him. That did her no favors because she’d been leaning against him, and with his body no longer there, she was thrown off balance. The man caught her again, and Penny attempted to right herself as the growl came again, this time fiercer and more intense.

  She lifted her head and found Leon standing there. He looked to her briefly before turning his attention to the other man. She could feel his anger as if it were her own.

  Although it still hurt to move, she stepped away from the man.

  Leon?

  He didn’t acknowledge her. His attention was wholly focused on the man next to her.

  Another man, standing behind Leon and wearing a hat that seemed to obscure most of his features, attempted to touch Leon’s shoulder. He hastily withdrew the hand when Leon almost snapped it off.

  Leon!

  The pain had subsided so Penny gingerly made her way into his line of sight. He scanned her quickly, pausing on her hips as if pinpointing where her pain was. And then he began to move, long strides that drew him closer to her. His hand cupped her face and he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

  Yellow eyes darted behind her and Penny touched his chin to pull his attention back to her. “No. No, Leon. I fell over a tree stump.”

  “Because he frightened you,” he added in a menacing voice.

  “It was unintentional,” she said hastily, sensing Leon was preparing to do something quite irrational on her behalf.

  Leon stared at her for long moments, and then he nodded once and his hands dropped from her face. He looked over her head and snarled, “Armand.”

  His brother, Penny thought. The man behind her was his brother.

  “Leon.”

  The man behind Leon spoke up, his voice unnaturally cheerful. “Étienne.” He looked directly at her and she noticed his eyes were the same color as Leon’s. His bone structure was similar as well. The only difference was that he was thinner and had an air of devilment about him, while Leon was more stoic. “And you are?”

  “Penny. I’m Penny.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Penny,” Étienne murmured, dipping his head in respect.

  The sound of shuffling footsteps touched their ears. Someone was approaching.

  “Armand. Étienne. My office,” Leon said, his voice still sharp, his shoulders still tense.

  His eyes traveled her face and then slid down her body once more as if making sure she wasn’t seriously injured, and then spoke one word directly into her mind. Tonight.

  She understood. A little smile touched her lips as she responded.

  Yes.

  Chapter Seven

  Armand winced as his back collided with the unyielding oak door he was slammed against. Leon’s face pushed close to his, as if he’d been waiting to get Armand away from prying eyes for this reason. Étienne headed for them but Armand stopped him with a quick shake of his head. Their brother had been mated, recently so, and as such, he was unpredictable, especially as he’d just encountered Armand all over his mate.

  “Leon,” he began calmly, resisting the urge to defend himself. “I had no intention of frightening her—”

  “You hurt her,” Leon retorted, slamming him into the door again. There was an audible crack, as if the door would come unhinged. Armand grit his teeth as his brother’s aggression triggered his own. Werewolves didn’t take kindly to being pushed around.

  “It was unintentional. I was surprised to find a were living as a slave on your plantation. Even more, I was surprised to find your scent all over her.” Armand paused before adding, “You didn’t mention that you’d taken a mate, brother.”

  A snarl curled Leon’s lips upward, but his grip on Armand’s shirt loosened, and he stepped away, pacing over to the other side of the room and remaining there.

  Armand fixed his shirt. Étienne removed his hat, took a seat, and waited. Two pairs of green eyes remained locked on Leon.

  Minutes passed before Leon released a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and looked to them. He addressed Armand first.

  “I thought you were sending your slaver-drivers for the slaves?”

  “We are the slavers,” Armand replied drolly, indicating his and Étienne’s outfits. Leon had wondered at their attire. Now, he understood.

  Nodding, he turned to Étienne. “And you? I thought you were still in Paris.”

  “I couldn�
��t let you two have all of the glory, now could I?” Étienne replied easily, an easy smile curving his lips.

  Leon nodded, knowing his brother had come because, like Leon, he wanted to help. He refocused his attention on Armand. “When will you leaving with them?”

  “Tomorrow, if possible. The sooner we leave, the better.”

  Reaching into his desk, Leon withdrew a sheaf of slips from the drawer.

  “Are those the records of ownership?” Armand asked, taking a step toward him.

  Leon nodded, placing them at the edge of the desk. “Some of the names were changed from the originals, but Penny has drafted a new and updated list, and these are the records for each of them.”

  Armand picked them up and quickly rifled through them, nodding as he did so.

  “I’ll send you word when they’re in New York—”

  “Both of you are escorting them?” Leon asked.

  Étienne nodded, but Armand spoke. “Étienne does not know the route yet. The next time, he will come alone, and I will take them from Virginia to New York.”

  “How soon will you send for the next batch?” Leon wondered aloud.

  “A few months,” Armand said, rolling the sheets of paper up and slipping them into a cylindrical leather container he’d removed from the pouch at his hip. “As soon as I return to Virginia, which should be a few weeks after the slaves are in New York and on their way to Canada, I will write requesting another shipment. Of course, to keep suspicion at bay, it would be best to wait some more weeks before—”

  Armand broke off and from the thoughtful look in his eyes, Leon decided his brother had thought up something genius. He waited to find out what it was.

  “It wouldn’t hurt if in a few weeks, you began a slave-trading business. You could register it in New Orleans, and myself and a few others who are aware of the true nature of the company would be your clients.”

  Leon stared at his brother for long moments before the hint of a smile softened his lips. “I’m presuming this company will be of private interest and by invitation only.”

  “Of course,” Armand replied. “Such a business has never been illegal.”

  ***

  “So tha’s wha’ you mean by he different.”

  Penny jumped a bit at the sound of Old Ma’s voice, and turned in the direction of the slave quarters. Hyacinth stood there, braced against the door frame for support as a little grin curved her lips up. She wondered how long the older woman had been there.

  “I been standin’ here long ’nough to see why you say he different,” she retorted, reading the question in Penny’s eyes.

  Easily crossing the distance between them, Penny led her back to her cot, chastising her for getting up as she did so. Because she was growing older, Hyacinth tended to need more rest than ever.

  “Girl, I raised you from baby days ’til you old ’nough to handle you’self and now you tellin’ me what to do?”

  It was asked with incredulity as well as humor. Penny smiled and gently placed her onto the cot. It was packed with the scraps of torn clothes and material that had been tossed out from the big house, and aided with Hyacinth’s comfort.

  “Do you want me to rub some ointment on your knees and ankles?” Penny remembered the ointment in her satchel. Like most of the older slaves on the plantation, Hyacinth had joint problems, particularly in her knees. Sometimes, she used a stick to help her get around.

  “Psshaah!” Hyacinth said. “I want to talk about that white man tha’s so smitten with you he look ready to kill his own just for frightenin’ you.”

  A little smile curved Penny’s lips as she reached for the ointment. She dipped two fingers into the minty-smelling goo and placed it into the center of her palm. Rubbing her hands together, she applied it to Hyacinth’s knees.

  Hyacinth watched her for long seconds, grimacing as the ointment, which went on cool and then grew warm to the point of hot water. She spoke in a serious voice. “You be careful, hear me? Don’t matter how differen’ ’e is, ‘e still white and you still colored. Best you could hope for is a nice townhouse in the negro district in New Orleans where you raise ’is colored kids and serve ’im in bed.”

  “Old Ma—”

  “No, you hear me out.” Hyacinth took Penny’s hands in her wrinkled and gnarled ones. “I don’ have a doubt in my mind tha’ this Massa is better than both of ’em twisted Thorns that rottin’ in hell. Not one doubt. From what I just seen, he seem to care ’bout you. I ain’t gonna ask what you doin’ for him that make him care so much…”

  Penny felt herself blush from the roots of her hair to the bottoms of her feet. Old Ma didn’t understand, and while she couldn’t fully explain it to her, she could bring her just a bit closer to such an understanding. Well, she could try.

  “Old Ma, it’s not—”

  The hand holding hers tightened. “’Cause I don’ wanna know. You a grown woman, and I proud of the woman you grow into. I just don’ wan’ you hurt. You got to go into things like these wit’ your eyes open.” Hyacinth’s grip loosened a bit and she smiled a sad, knowing smile. “The plight of the negro in this world is heartbreaking, child. No matter if that white man love you more than he love hisself, best you could hope for is being his colored mistress, and givin’ him a set of colored children while ’is white wife gives him ’is heirs.”

  Even as her heart denied it, Penny knew Hyacinth was right. Even if she and Leon were mated, they would not be allowed to marry in any state, even the northern ones. The closest she could get to wife was the title of mistress.

  But you are his mate, a voice said from inside. Even if she was, she still wanted the option of becoming Mrs. Leon Arnaud, of doing something as simple as walking among other people and not having to call him “Massa”.

  “Don’ you be sad now, my girl. This just the way of the world. I told you I ain’t scared of dyin’ before, but I never give you the reason. They got to be a place better than this one I spent almost ninety years on, and I lookin’ forward to it.” She patted Penny’s hand and released it. “Go take that ointment to whoever need it, and don’ let what I jus’ tell you make you upset none, you hear?”

  Penny nodded and stood, trying to find a smile but finding she could not.

  ***

  “What comfortable lodgings these are,” Étienne murmured in French, grinning wide as he sprawled out in one corner of the stable stall. His bed was a hastily pushed-together stack of hay, with a similar pillow to match.

  Armand only threw him a droll glare before settling against his own makeshift bed. It would be much more comfortable if they could shift to wolf form, but since the stables were a very public place, they could not take that risk.

  “What are the chances that Leon put us in the stables because he’s still mad at you for scaring his mate half to death?”

  “Slim,” Armand replied, knowing the reason they were in the stables and not in one of the many guestrooms the plantation had to offer was because they’d come as slavers. They were essentially the help, and you did not treat your help as guests. Even if Leon had offered lodging in the guestrooms, which he had not, Armand would have refused for both himself and Étienne.

  “I’m still surprised Leon didn’t take a chunk out of you,” Étienne said with an easy chuckle.

  “You and Sebastian are the ones who act before you think. Leon and I have more control.”

  “Ha!” Étienne barked in laughter. “He almost took off my arm, in case you forgot.”

  Armand was about to reply when the stench of sweat and rotting teeth hit him.

  Pleasant’s approaching, he said, speaking directly into Étienne’s mind.

  A more pleasant man we’ve never met, his brother muttered, sitting up and eyeing the entrance to the stall.

  “You boys gon’ be stayin’ the night?” Pleasant asked, scratching the area around his groin and spitting into hay beside him.

  “Yea. You?”

  “Being around these niggers mos’ o�
� the day is ’nuff for me. Goin’ home to wash off the stink.”

  His stink, Armand corrected, and from the veiled way Étienne watched him, he knew his brother thought it too.

  “Hollis gon’ be here though, in case y’all need some extra hands if them niggers start actin’ up.”

  “Ain’t they locked up?” Armand asked, reverting to the colloquialism that would put Pleasant at ease.

  “Yea, they is. Locked up them field niggers maself.” He paused and looked around as if he was about to share a piece of information Armand and Étienne were going to be privileged to hear. “Pity Arnaud start lockin’ up the house niggers. Got one in there look as good as white and take it better than any white woman I ever had.”

  Even as the uncontrollable urge to deliver a few solid punches to Pleasant’s smug face overcame Armand, he replied, “Shame.”

  Pleasant grinned. “If they wasn’ lock up, both y’all could have tried her. Gray eyes like you can’t imagine on a nigger, red lips, even ’er ’air don’ look like no nigger hair—reddish brown and loose down ’er back. If you ain’t kno’ better, you think she a white woman.” Lewdly, he grabbed his crotch and rearranged himself before he looked to both of them and said, “I got to get home to my old lady ’fore she start naggin’ and bitchin’ like she usually do. See y’all in the mornin’.”

  After he left, Étienne mused, “Do you think Leon would mind if a particularly angry wolf attacked his overseer as he’s heading home?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Armand replied with finality, although he fully understood where his brother was coming from. And if he didn’t, when minutes later, an almost ethereal beauty with blank gray eyes and reddish-brown hair pinned up atop her head entered their stall with a mug and a plate of biscuits, he was positive he understood.

  “Massa says I’s to bring you these ’fore I lock up for the night,” she said, looking from one brother to the other. Her gaze rested on Armand a bit longer, before she dropped her eyes, and said, “Where is you wantin’ me to put the tray?”

  Étienne was already standing when Armand spoke. “I’ll take it.” He removed the tray from her hands. He hoped to Luna that she wasn’t the slave Pleasant had been speaking of but everything about her said she was. Her face, her eyes, her hair, everything. She was exquisitely made, he decided. There was something about her that was almost heavenly. If she laughed, he imagined she would easily light up a room. Laughter was not something the woman before him indulged in, he knew. She wore her pain around her like a constant shield.