Laurie McBain

by Tears of Gold

  “But François died, and Nicholas was dishonored,” Alain said with a slight smile.

  “And did you plan that, Alain?” Etienne suddenly demanded, his voice startling Nicholas. Never had he heard Etienne’s voice raised in anger. If evil could come to life, then Alain was its personification as he sat staring at them, gloating. Mara stepped away from him, shivering with revulsion.

  “All these years you have known the truth? You have waited patiently for the right time to make your identity known. When did you find out? How? Philippe and I never spoke of it.”

  “Once, you did,” Alain told Etienne with a knowing look. “You and my father were discussing, no, arguing about my education, and whether or not I should stay in Paris any longer or return to New Orleans. Philippe wanted to make me manager of one of his other plantations, and eventually owner of it. Remember the argument, Papa?” Alain sneered. “Philippe said, ‘After all, he is my son, a de Montaigne-Chantale. He should own land. It’s in the blood, Etienne.’ Mon Dieu, can you imagine how I felt? To know that I was his son, that I could have been master here except for François and Nicholas?”

  “I remember that conversation very well,” Etienne spoke, his voice thick with tears. He turned accusing eyes on Alain. “It was just a few days before Nicholas was accused of shooting François in the duel.”

  Nicholas took a step forward, stopping when he saw Alain’s hand move to the butt of the gun. “You? You shot François, didn’t you? My God, I never thought of you. Never.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, for I was beneath the notice of the great de Montaigne-Chantales, wasn’t I? Especially François. He was the worst. Never a word to me, always riding with his nose in the air, his blond curls gleaming with the sunlight. But he was a fool, a hothead. Both of you played into my hands so easily, so gullibly that I still laugh to think of it. I saw you that day when you played your silly game. I stood behind the big oak and waited, and when you aimed your pistol, I aimed mine. When you pulled the trigger, so did I. Only I didn’t aim to the side of François, I aimed for his heart.”

  Nicholas’s lips thinned and whitened.

  “I had everything then, for François was dead, you were ruined and sent away, and who was there but me for him to turn to? Everything went so well at first and we became very close…at least we were until that bitch gave birth to le petit Jean-Louis,” Alain spat out the name on a wave of violent hate. “A son! A son after so many barren years. I could not believe it. I had dreaded the other two births, but they were girls. Then, suddenly, she gives him a son with the name de Montaigne-Chantale.

  “He had made me his heir before that little bastard was born. I’d found it in his desk, my rights to Beaumarais.” Alain spoke with the eagerness that he must have felt when he’d first found the will.

  “But then he sent for his lawyer one day, and I knew he was going to change the will in favor of his new son. I confronted him with it. I told him that he couldn’t write me out of it, that I was his son too. Hadn’t I sweated over this land more than any of his other sons? He was shocked that I would demand my rights. I saw everything I had worked for slipping away. I think he suspected then that I had killed François, and he asked me so suddenly that I couldn’t deny it. The look on his face…mon Dieu, but I shall never forget it. That look,” Alain mumbled, his eyes glazing over in memory. “He struck me across the face, then ordered me from his presence. The next day, down at the levee, he told me to get off his land, that if I didn’t he would shoot me down like the dog I was.”

  Nicholas and Etienne exchanged glances, neither having missed the pulse beating rapidly in Alain’s throat, the cords standing out painfully as he struggled, against all the years of silence, to tell his story at last.

  “I—I couldn’t believe it! I hated him then, hated him for everything he’d stolen from me. I told him that I should be master of Beaumarais and that he couldn’t drive me away like he did Nicholas. At the mention of your name he seemed to go crazy. He charged me, hitting me with his whip again and again, as if I were some field slave to grovel at his feet. He was so strong. I couldn’t believe he would have such overwhelming strength, and so I hit him,” Alain confessed, blinking. “I hit him hard across the face and he staggered backward, hitting his head on the oak tree. Then he rolled into the river. He floated for an instant, then he disappeared beneath the surface. That was the last I saw of him—until a few days later.”

  Nicholas’s eyes never left Alain’s face. He took a step forward.

  “Don’t!” Alain warned as he grabbed the pistol and aimed it at Nicholas’s chest. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. You can’t prove anything against me, there is no proof, and I have the will. Everyone still believes you guilty of François’s murder. You are the stranger here now, I’m not,” he taunted him, an anticipatory gleam in his eye as Nicholas came closer. “Stop, Nicholas, I’m warning you, I don’t want to have to kill you. I actually am grateful to you for returning in time to keep Celeste from selling Beaumarais to Amaryllis. I never thought I’d be glad to see you, but I was, especially when you turned out to be wealthy. I was worried at first that perhaps you knew something, but when you said nothing, and then started searching, well, I knew Philippe had told you nothing. I would prefer not having to put a bullet in you, mon frère,” Alain repeated as Nicholas continued to tower over him.

  “Damn you to hell,” Nicholas whispered as he took another step, oblivious to the danger.

  But Mara was aware of it. She pushed herself in front of him before he could take another step, and at the same instant, Alain pulled the trigger.

  The loud report reverberated through the room and mingled with Paddy’s scream of terror as he saw the blood spurting from Mara’s arm.

  Nicholas felt Mara recoil against him and caught her in his arms. He glanced down at her face, his heart stopping. She managed a shaky smile, leaning against him.

  “Mon Dieu, Alain,” Etienne cried, his tears of shame and despair falling freely.

  “The next bullet will go through you. I’m sorry, Mademoiselle O’Flynn, I didn’t mean to shoot you. But I will shoot Nicholas,” Alain promised.

  “Master Nicholas! Master Nicholas!” the butler called frantically as he came rushing to the study door. “The river’s comin’, and comin’ fast, sir!”

  Nicholas glanced from the butler’s black face, his fears clearly written across it, to Mara’s pale one, then to the red of her blood dripping onto the rug.

  Alain was watching, the gun still pointed directly at them.

  “It’s not over, Alain. And you’re a fool if you think it is. Or that I’ll let you live after what you’ve done,” Nicholas promised.

  He scooped Mara up into his arms, Looking at Etienne, he hesitated for one more moment. “Are you coming, Etienne?”

  Nodding in confusion, Etienne turned around, stumbling slightly. With a nod from Nicholas the butler came forward, his eyes widening as they caught the flash of the gun. He gently took hold of Etienne’s arm and guided him from the room.

  Paddy clung to Nicholas’s coattails as Nicholas walked from the room, leaving a triumphant Alain in sole possession of Beaumarais.

  Nicholas lifted Mara into the coach, then Paddy. Looking around while Etienne was assisted inside, he assured himself that no one had been left behind, saw Sorcier tied to the back of the carriage, the wagons loaded with people and possessions. He signaled to the coachman and they pulled away from the house.

  Nicholas sat down inside next to Mara, who was being fussed over by Jamie, and watched the little Irishwoman’s professional administerings with a critical eye before asking, “How is she?”

  “I’m fine, Nicholas, truly I am,” Mara reassured him. She grimaced slightly under Jamie’s probing fingers.

  “’Tis just a scratch,” Jamie diagnosed as she tied a clean, linen handkerchief around the fleshy part of Mara’s upper arm. “But what I can’t understand is why anyone would want to shoot Mara.”

  Nicholas
looked at Mara for a long minute before saying quietly, “He was aiming at me until Mara stepped in front of me, shielding me with her body.” Nicholas’s palm gently cupped Mara’s chin. “That was a damned foolish thing to do,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” Mara replied softly as she stared out the window, avoiding Nicholas’s gaze.

  Etienne moved slightly in the corner of the coach where he had been huddled and looked around him despondently, as if becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time.

  “Etienne,” Nicholas spoke quietly, “can you tell me why all this happened? Why my father didn’t claim Alain as his son?”

  Etienne nodded, his eyes brimming. His lips trembled as he fought for control. “It was so long ago, and yet at times it seems as if it were only yesterday that Olivia was living here. How many years?” he mumbled, frowning. He was trying to recall events of well over a quarter century ago.

  “Can it be forty years? So long ago it is hard to see it clearly anymore, except for the face of my Olivia,” he said, the name a caress. “She was so beautiful, so exquisite, and so very much in love with Philippe. He saw her at one of the Quadroon Balls and set her up as his placée. They were happy for a while, but then he wed Danielle, my sister. She was also a great beauty, and the woman that Philippe genuinely loved. He was wild about her, the way he’d never been about another woman.

  “But Danielle was delicate and very sensitive to her surroundings. She often brooded, and I think it was only Philippe’s great love for her that kept her happy. She was very possessive of Philippe and it drove her mad to think of him with another woman. As every wife expected her husband to have a mistress in New Orleans, Danielle knew that Philippe would too. She begged him to give the woman up, and for Philippe, loving her as he did, that was easy.

  “He set Olivia up in her own boardinghouse in the city where she would have a decent living, and he never saw her again after that—at least for some time. But I think sometimes that Danielle never believed he gave her up. It preyed upon her mind.

  “For a while things were good between them. Then Danielle lost her first baby. She couldn’t carry him the full time and she was very ill. After that she wanted a child so badly. I think she suspected she would lose Philippe if she didn’t give him a son, and so she thought this was the only way of keeping him. Well, she tried,” Etienne said sadly, “and lost yet another child, this time a son that she had prayed for. She was inconsolable, and thought she had been cursed by voodoo. She became a woman possessed, and for a couple of years she would not let anyone near her, especially Philippe. So, Philippe, he was no saint, he was a very virile man. And he was hurt. It was only natural that he would turn to someone who could give him the companionship he needed, and so he sought out Olivia again. For several years after that they were lovers, and Olivia gave Philippe a son. He was named Alain. Olivia satisfied Philippe’s lusts, but it was still Danielle whom he loved so deeply, and gradually Danielle began to recover. Perhaps she sensed that if much more time passed she would lose Philippe forever. She became pregnant again, and because she had been so ill, she stayed in bed the whole time. Perhaps this is why she was able to give birth.

  “That baby was Denise, your sister, and although it was not the son she wanted to give Philippe, it gave her hope that she could bear more children. She changed miraculously after that and was a completely different woman. Gone were the depressions that had seemed to drive her wild at times, and she and Philippe were very happy. But there were those who would tell her rumors of Olivia and Philippe, and he did not wish to have his happiness destroyed a second time—especially as Danielle was once again pregnant.”

  Etienne looked around at the silent occupants of the carriage. Then he took a deep breath and resumed.

  “Philippe came to me for help. Please do not think that I am as self-sacrificing as this might lead you to believe. I took the responsibility of Olivia and Alain. It allayed Danielle’s fears as nothing else would have, and it gave Alain a name. But you see, it was no great sacrifice for me, for I loved Olivia too, and I always had,” Etienne admitted. “But Philippe had seen her first, and, well, next to his commanding and handsome figure I didn’t seem like much. She had always had eyes only for Philippe.”

  “Françoise?” Nicholas spoke for the first time, his voice hoarse. “Is she my sister too?”

  Etienne shook his head. “No, Françoise is my daughter. I think I made Olivia happy, and I think that she eventually came to be fond of me. But I know I never replaced Philippe in her heart. He was much as you, Nicholas, and I think once a woman has given her heart to you, it will never again be hers. It was that way with Olivia. But I was grateful for even a small piece of her heart, and she was faithful to me and kind.”

  “But Alain never knew that Philippe was his father?” Nicholas asked, touched by Etienne’s confession.

  “No, he was too young to remember Philippe. And after that I was always there. So I became his father,” Etienne explained. “After Danielle died, there was no purpose in revealing it, for he had grown up knowing me. By then, you and François were Philippe’s sons. Forgive me, Nicholas,” Etienne said unhappily, “for believing you guilty of murdering François. Never did I imagine the truth.” He put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes clear of tears as he glanced up with a ravaged face. “Never did I believe it was Alain. Mon Dieu, but I never knew he had the slightest knowledge of his birth. Maybe if I’d given him more love…I don’t know, but I suppose I always saw him as Philippe’s son, and maybe I resented him. All those years he knew—and waited. How it must have panicked him when Celeste gave birth to a son and he saw all he had worked for slipping away from him. He must have been desperate. And so, one last time, he decided to do something about it.”

  “Does he really think he is master of Beaumarais?” Nicholas demanded.

  Etienne shrugged, despair crossing his tired face. “He knows not what he is doing, Nicholas. This sickness has been eating away at him for all these years. To have lived with the thought that you killed your brother,” Etienne said, then stopped abruptly with a look of contrition. “I’m sorry, Nicholas, for you would have lived with, that all these years.

  “But Alain knew that he’d done it, and in cold blood. For many years he had the hope of becoming the heir, but then when Philippe found out the truth, he cut Alain out of his life as he would a gangrenous leg. It was too much for Alain, and I think he must have become insane. Certainly he must have after killing his father, for that is something a man cannot live with. And what was it all for? He could not find the will, and there was no way of proving his claim. He must have gone crazy with frustration as he waited for Celeste to sell Beaumarais. I see now why he was so pleased to see you and then for you to become owner of Beaumarais. It gave him more time to find the will, and with you here, time was no obstacle anymore. You realize,” Etienne said in a shaky whisper, “that this morning near the levee he probably tried to kill you? What better way of disposing of you, Nicholas, than during the excitement of a flood, when so many tragic accidents happen. Poor Alain, I can pity him, yes,” Etienne said with a note of firmness in his tremulous voice as he saw the hard look enter Nicholas’s eyes. “I still have it in my heart to feel this, for he was my son in all but blood,” Etienne spoke wearily.

  “Don’t ask me to, Etienne,” Nicholas told him. “He destroyed my family. He destroyed Beaumarais and the life I knew. That I can never forgive,” he said coldly. Mara knew with an instinctive fear that Nicholas would go back for Alain. One of them would not leave Beaumarais alive.

  Mara gradually became aware of the carriage slowing down, moving with great reluctance along the road. Nicholas looked out at the deep mud that the carriage wheels were slicing through, noting the heavy coating of mud clinging to the rims. Suddenly the horses were halted and Nicholas opened the door and jumped out, his boots quickly disappearing beneath a foot of bright red mud.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Etienne inquired softly
, a look of deep concern on his graven face.

  Mara smiled slightly, her lips trembling with delayed reaction as she reached out and patted his blue-veined hand. “I’ll be fine, but I’m worried about you, Etienne. You’ve suffered far more than I have. I’m so sorry,” Mara told him simply.

  “Look at all the water!” Paddy cried as he craned his neck out. A light drizzle was falling and drifted into the coach as a cold, wet breeze.

  “Master Paddy,” Jamie intoned with a disapproving look, “sit back down.”

  But Paddy continued to ignore her as he watched Nicholas returning through the muddy roadway. He scurried back into the coach as Nicholas’s shoulders filled the opening.

  “The river’s flooded the low part of the road ahead. The horses won’t go through it by themselves. The wagons will follow in our wake, and I’m going to take our team’s head and guide them through. Some water will come into the coach but don’t panic, just sit still and we’ll be across in no time.” Nicholas’s green eyes met Mara’s for an instant, his look reassuring her before he slammed the door and marched off through the mud.

  Nicholas stared at the muddy torrent of water filling the hollow in the road, and with a sigh of regret that he didn’t have the Swede’s broad shoulder on the other side of the team, he plunged in, feeling the cold water swirling around his thighs as he fought against the swift current. Several times he nearly lost his footing on the slippery road bottom, his feet stepping blindly into deep holes.

  He could feel the muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening, screaming out against the weight and strain of holding onto the harness. He continued until he began to feel the water receding around his thighs and the current lessening. He led the horses up the sloping road. The water was murky and slow near the high part of the road, and it was as he neared the crest that he felt the sudden sharp pain in his thigh, and then the stinging that penetrated even the numbing cold of his wet skin. He cursed as he caught a flash of something moving quickly beneath the surface. He moved up the last stretch of flooded road and led the carriage to safety.