Laurie McBain

by Tears of Gold

  Nicholas smiled down at Paddy’s dark head and then glanced over at Alain. “Did we used to get so much pleasure out of so small a treat?”

  “Anytime I got the chance to get on the back of one of the master’s fine riding horses I thought that was something special,” Alain returned, then added seriously, “but do you think it wise to bring the little boy? This weather is not good for one who catches colds easily, as I am told he does.”

  Nicholas frowned. “I forgot about that. Maybe I should take him back.”

  “Oh, no, Uncle Nicholas!” Paddy cried. “You promised. I want to see the river. I’m all bundled up, Jamie made sure I had my scarf wrapped around my throat. Please,” Paddy entreated, the big, hopeful eyes flashing the O’Flynn charm.

  “I don’t suppose it will hurt this once, eh, Alain?” Nicholas smiled.

  Alain grinned good-naturedly. “Be a pity to disappoint him.”

  The horses’ hooves pounded through the muddy road, sending thick clumps of mud flying in all directions. They splashed through puddles of water still filling the low places along the road and running rapidly through the ditches on each side.

  As they neared the river, Nicholas sent Sorcier into a gallop, a frown crossing his face as he saw the trickling streams of water winding their way from the high bank and into the fields beyond. No additional water could be absorbed by the rain-soaked earth.

  “Looks like the river’s risen another foot since yesterday,” Nicholas said grimly as he steered the big bay farther along the bank to where the land seemed firmer.

  Alain urged his mount alongside the stallion, his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the river. “It’ll go down soon,” he predicted even as a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead.

  “Eventually, yes.” Nicholas brought Sorcier to a halt at the crest of the bank. As he surveyed the wide, swiftly moving river beyond, he asked, “But will the levee hold that long?”

  Alain stared up and down the banks for a long moment, his eyes unfocused for a second as he searched his memory. “It’ll hold, it always has,” he said on a note of confidence.

  Nicholas had been staring at him curiously, watching the play of emotion crossing his face. “This is where my father fell into the river, isn’t it?”

  Alain shook his dark head as he pointed upriver a short distance. “By the big oak with the drooping limbs that are almost under water.”

  He suddenly became aware of Nicholas’s steady gaze and shifted uneasily in the saddle. “Is there something wrong?”

  “How would you know exactly where he fell in?”

  Alain smiled sadly. “You forget that I have lived here almost all my life, Nicholas. I know this river, my friend. I know the way it eddies and flows without reason, the sand bars it will leave where one does not expect them. Yes,” Alain said with a loving look at the muddy expanse of water, “I would know where Monsieur Philippe fell into the river because of where they found his body.”

  “I see,” Nicholas said, but Alain thought he did not quite understand.

  “Also,” Alain added modestly, “he told one of the stableboys he was coming this way.”

  Nicholas’s gaze sharpened with interest. “Did he say why?”

  Alain shook his head regretfully. “I do not think so, but the slave who knew has been sold with so many others. When the stables were diminished, well, there was no need for so many stable hands.”

  Nicholas’s lips tightened. “So many unanswered questions,” he said to himself before turning his horse around and descending the bank. “We’d better head back. I think I’ll go ahead and send the rest of the horses to Sandrose, as well as clear out some more valuables from the house.” He took a last look at the river.

  “Very well. But I think you’re going to a lot of unnecessary trouble, Nicholas,” Alain advised him.

  “I’d rather go to the trouble now than see my father’s portrait being washed downriver when the house is flooded,” Nicholas said grimly.

  “Will we get washed downriver too?” Paddy demanded, his eyes round with wonder. “Where’s our boat? I didn’t see one.”

  Nicholas sighed, chastising himself for having spoken unguardedly before the little boy. “You don’t need to worry. We won’t be taking any boat rides downriver for a while. And I don’t want you saying anything about this to Mara, do you understand me, Paddy?” he warned.

  It was a long day, busy with the activity of moving valuables from the house and loading them up in wagons to be taken to Sandrose. All the while it continued to thunder ominously in the distance. Jagged lightning struck through the black rain clouds time and time again until Mara expected to see the bottom ripped out of them and a deluge fall.

  The following morning Nicholas awoke early, listening intently for the sound of rain. All that met his ears was silence. He reluctantly left the warmth of his bed and Mara’s soft body and, walking to the window, stared out into the darkness that would lighten within the hour. He tapped his fingers against the pane thoughtfully, hardly daring to give rise to his hopes. They had gotten through the night, the levee holding firm. He glanced back at the dim outline of the canopied bed and felt a second’s desire to climb back in and seek the inviting warmth of the woman who slept beside him each night.

  He heard the stirrings of the house servants, however, and he shrugged into his robe. He’d have time for a quick breakfast before riding out to the levee. He wanted to be there with the first light of morning, to see how it had weathered the long night and swollen river.

  When Mara awakened, the coldness of the room was being chased away by a bright fire crackling in the fireplace. Mara stretched luxuriantly, lazily snuggling beneath the satin quilt as she eyed Belle, who was just entering with a tray.

  “That Miss Jamie, if she isn’t the one,” Belle exclaimed as she placed the tray on a small table drawn up close to the bed, then helped Mara into her bed jacket. “Did you know, Miss Mara, that she’s got all her bags packed, as well as your clothes and the young master’s?”

  Mara stared up into Belle’s indignant face. “She’s packed everything?” she asked in confusion.

  “Mumbling about the end coming,” Belle told her as she placed the tray across Mara’s lap, “and crossing herself. I swear I’ve never seen such a mournful face, even on an old hound dog.”

  Mara smiled. “Don’t let her bother you. Jamie’s always been one to see the darkest side of things. It’s just her way,” Mara explained, unconcerned.

  “’Tis me way of staying alive, that it is,” Jamie retorted sourly from the doorway. “Wouldn’t be as old and wrinkled as I am today if I’d shrugged me shoulders at me feelings,” she said as she pounded her thin chest with a tightly clenched fist.

  Belle raised her eyes heavenward. She gave wide space to the little Irishwoman and left the room.

  “You’re going to have half the servants thinking you’re a witch, Jamie,” Mara commented as she sipped her tea and waited for the inevitable morning sickness.

  “Can’t help what folks are thinkin’ about me,” Jamie muttered irritably as she began to set out Mara’s clothes. “I’ve got hot water comin’ so ye’d best get yourself out of bed and into the tub, or ye’ll be washin’ yourself in river water instead of scented,” she predicted with a black scowl.

  Mara gave an exasperated sigh, but hurried to finish her breakfast, pleased that the nausea had not come. She laughed at some of Jamie’s superstitious antics, but in the back of her mind was the thought that Jamie was often right.

  ***

  Nicholas sat astride Sorcier, looking down on the muddy Mississippi, cold dread spreading through him. The levee had held through the night, but it wouldn’t through the day. Already huge chunks of earth were crumbling beneath the continual pressure of the tons of water surging against it.

  Nicholas glanced around at Alain who was sitting barely an arm’s reach away on his right side. Etienne sat silently on Nicholas’s left, staring at the banks. Water was lapping gently over the
tops.

  “I wish now you had not persuaded me to accompany you, Nicholas, for this is a most distressing sight. Mon Dieu, but it is,” Etienne said, shaking his white head in dismay.

  Suddenly Sorcier jumped forward and came precariously close to the edge, his hooves slipping in the mud as his hind legs slid down into the muddy water. Nicholas fought mightily to pull the big bay’s head up, his knees tightening against the heaving belly of the frightened horse. It dug its hooves into the slippery mud and tried to fight its way up the bank. A less powerful horse would never have managed to pull itself up, but Sorcier—and Nicholas was later to think he did it out of pure meanness—reached the top with a mighty leap, his coat muddied and dripping, while Nicholas’s boots, thighs, and chest were soaked.

  “My god, Nicholas,” Etienne breathed, his face white. He stared in horror at his nephew. “You could have drowned.”

  “Are you all right?” Alain demanded as he moved between Nicholas and the dangerous edge of the riverbank. “That damned horse. I always thought he should be shot. He’s a killer.”

  Nicholas was breathing heavily as he patted a soothing hand against Sorcier’s wet neck. “He saved my life,” Nicholas said in a cold voice. “Something startled him, and if he weren’t such a big brute we would both have been swept downstream,” he said as he glanced between the two men sitting on either side of him. He was about to say more when there was a sickening sound and all three men turned. Along the bank, only a few hundred yards away, the levee was giving way. A rush of water poured through it.

  “It’s gone!” Nicholas yelled above the roar of the water coming through the break in the levee. “The whole damned bank will go within half an hour or less.”

  He turned his mount around and began to gallop back toward the trees that surrounded Beaumarais. He could see the line of oaks guarding the drive as he raced toward the great house, knowing that he didn’t have much time to get everyone out safely. He glanced around to see Alain and Etienne not far behind him as their horses ate up the distance between the waters of the river and the house.

  When Etienne and Alain caught up with him, Nicholas was issuing orders from Sorcier’s back for the carriage and wagons to be hitched up.

  Etienne stared across at Nicholas, dismay written across his aristocratic features. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I’m getting everyone out of here,” Nicholas answered shortly.

  “But why? The fields may be flooded, but we’ll be safe enough in the top floor of the house.”

  Nicholas barely glanced at him as he swung down from Sorcier’s back. “We’ve never had the levee go completely before, and I don’t intend to be stranded here at Beaumarais until the waters go back down. I don’t know how long that will be. Nor do I know how much higher the water will rise. I can’t take the chance, Etienne,” Nicholas told him. Pausing at the front door, he said, “You’d better get what things you’ll be needing for a while because we’re going to Sandrose. Just be thankful that you decided to remove some of your treasures yesterday while you had the chance. The carriage will be here at the front of the house.

  Jamie was putting the finishing touches on Mara’s hair when Nicholas burst into the room. Mara stared at him in incredulous silence for a second as her eyes went over his muddied boots and breeches.

  “Get your cloak on, and anything else you need. We’re leaving Beaumarais right now,” he ordered abruptly as he walked on through to the gallery. “I’ll get Paddy. A couple of stableboys will be up to get your trunks, but we haven’t much time, the levee’s gone.”

  “I warned ye,” Jamie grumbled as she grabbed Mara’s cape. “A foolish old woman am I? Why, ye’d be without a stitch to wear if I hadn’t already packed up all your clothes.”

  Nicholas returned a minute later with Paddy holding his hand. “Ready?” he called into their room as he entered. Taking Mara by the elbow, he guided her out and down the stairs. They were near the foot of the staircase when Etienne entered the front of the house, a small leather bag gripped in one hand, a pile of books tucked beneath his arm. He glanced up as he heard them on the stairs and pointed to the study. “I just remembered some other books I want.”

  Nicholas watched impatiently as Etienne’s dapper figure disappeared into the study. “Damn! We haven’t time for searching through the library,” Nicholas swore.

  They waited for a minute, stepping aside as their trunks were carried down the stairs and to the waiting wagons. But when Etienne didn’t reappear and they heard voices coming from the study, Nicholas followed, Mara and Paddy still with him.

  “Etienne, hurry up, we haven’t time for—” Nicholas began. He stopped as he saw Etienne standing rigid in the center of the room, two books held forgotten in his hand. The old man stared at the occupant of the big, leather chair beside the fire.

  “Alain, what the devil?” Nicholas demanded. The fire had only recently been lit. Alain held a glass of brandy negligently in his hand. There was a gun placed within easy reach on the table beside his elbow.

  “I’m not leaving Beaumarais,” Alain spoke quietly, his hazel eyes staring boldly for once and without any show of deference.

  “My God, Alain,” Nicholas said incredulously, “the river’s going to flood this floor under at least five feet of water.”

  A smile flickered briefly and humorlessly across Alain’s handsome face before he took a sip of brandy. “How like the old man you look and sound,” Alain spoke softly. “He was so damned arrogant. He feared nothing. Yet here you are, his son, fleeing Beaumarais with your tail between your legs. The great Nicholas de Montaigne-Chantale a coward. But then, only a coward would have shot his brother. Eh, Nicholas?”

  “Alain, my son,” Etienne began, “you don’t know what you are saying.”

  Alain looked at Etienne contemptuously. “Son?” he asked.

  Etienne blanched, the books he’d tucked beneath his arm falling to the floor with a thud. “W-what do you mean?”

  “I think it’s time for a revelation of truths, eh, Papa?” Alain spoke maliciously. “After all, shouldn’t mon frère, Nicholas, know why he is going to lose Beaumarais?”

  At Alain’s words Nicholas’s eyes widened in momentary surprise.

  “Yes,” Alain said with obvious enjoyment, “you are my brother—half-brother, actually. I am Alain de Montaigne-Chantale, not Ferrare, as they would have everyone believe. Ask him,” Alain told Nicholas, nodding at Etienne, “if it is not the truth.”

  Nicholas shook his head as he looked at Alain. “You’re crazed.”

  “Am I? Look at him!” Alain yelled, pointing a finger now at Etienne.

  Nicholas slowly turned his head and stared at his uncle, seeing the truth in the painful sadness of Etienne Ferrare’s eyes.

  “Well?” Nicholas demanded.

  Etienne nodded his head just barely. “He is Philippe’s son.”

  “There! At last! After so many years of lies,” Alain laughed triumphantly.

  Nicholas continued to stare at Etienne for a moment before looking back at Alain, seeing for the first time certain similarities between Alain and himself. “So you are my half-brother? What does that prove?”

  “So cool, so arrogantly spoken, mon frère, like the de Montaigne-Chantale that you are. Well I am not just a de Montaigne-Chantale. I am the eldest. I am heir to Beaumarais, not you, Nicholas. Never you,” Alain spat.

  He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the document he had found in the secret windowsill. “A will, written by my father, Philippe, naming me heir to Beaumarais. I am master here,” he stated, his eyes daring anyone to refute the claim.

  Nicholas’s narrowed gaze met Alain’s. “Why now? Why not a year ago when my father died?” he demanded.

  Alain’s harsh laugh rang through the room. “Because that wily old fox hid it, that’s why. I’ve been searching for this damned will since the day he died. How many sleepless nights did I spend searching this room for any sign of it. Never until now
could I announce my rights to Beaumarais. And whom do I have to thank but a small boy who, while innocently playing, finds the secret panel that I’d searched for for so long,” Alain said with mixed amusement and anger.

  Nicholas and Mara both looked down at Paddy who was gaping at the overseer, his eyes round. “Me?”

  “I was in here the other night when you came sneaking in to retrieve your toy soldier. You can imagine my surprise when you marched right over to the windowsill, slid back the panel, oh so casually, then left without even knowing I was here.”

  Nicholas moved slowly toward the windowsill. At Paddy’s nod, he felt along the sill until, finding the latch, he slid it open to reveal the chamber inside. Reaching down he withdrew the diary and quickly thumbed through it as he moved back to stand in front of Alain. Nicholas’s lips thinned grimly as he ran his thumb along the rough edges where pages had been torn from the diary.

  “Oh, yes, he wrote it all down,” Alain told Nicholas with a pitying smile, “and I enjoyed reading it before I burned it. You can prove nothing, Nicholas, nothing at all. As master of Beaumarais I shall be one of the most powerful men in Louisiana.”

  Mara was developing a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared at his glazed eyes and smiling lips.

  “And what can’t I prove against you, Alain? What have you to hide?” Nicholas asked softly.

  “I have nothing to hide,” Alain denied, his eyes sliding between the two men suspiciously. “I am master of Beaumarais and that is all that need concern you.”

  Etienne shook his head sadly. “Oh, Alain, you are master of nothing.”

  “If you and my father could have had your way, then I would have nothing,” he charged. “My name and birthright were stolen from me by the two of you. I don’t know why you agreed to pretend to be my father, but I do know that you aren’t. All these years I’ve kept silent, just waiting, knowing that one day I would inherit Beaumarais. Who else could? I was his only son.”

  “But what of François and Nicholas?” Etienne asked quietly, a look of growing dread in his eyes. “They were his sons too.”