by Beth White
“Charlie, no! It’s me, Fiona!” Her heart thumped hard under his chest, and his face was so close she could see the striations in his mismatched eyes. His face was pale, so pale that the scar stood out like blood on a white sheet. “Charlie, look at me—don’t you know me?”
He stared at her for several heartbeats, body rigid, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Then his mouth softened, the wild look in his eyes fading to confusion. “Fiona?” He released her wrist to touch her face. “What happened? Why are you . . .”
She knew she should push him away. Words would not form in her brain, let alone leave her mouth, and as his eyes went smoky with longing, she realized he thought she’d come to his room. And he was going to kiss her and she was going to let him, because she wanted it too. Sure enough his lips brushed hers softly, and she kissed him back even though she didn’t really know how. Of course he was a good teacher, Charlie did everything well, and by the time her delinquent morals began to clamor for attention, her lips were bruised and her insides were melting, and things were beginning to get out of hand.
What had her brother been thinking, leaving her alone in here with him? Even knocked more than halfway into the next world and bleeding from the ear, Charlie Kincaid was a dangerous man.
She shoved at his chest and wrenched her mouth from his. “Charlie, stop it! I mean it! Léon could come back any minute!”
He grunted and kissed her under the ear. “I knew you’d be good at this.”
And that made her want to laugh. “I assure you it’s beginner’s luck. Would you please get off me? I can’t breathe.”
He put a fraction of an inch between them. “Better?”
“Not much. Move!” She got a hand free and whopped the side of his head.
He yelped and rolled to his back. “That hurts!”
She sat up, yanking her skirt out from under his hip. “If you weren’t already sufficiently injured, I’d grab somebody’s rifle and put another crack in your skull.”
“Now that’s just plain mean.”
“And you’re a wretch, taking advantage of me like that.”
“Clearly you can take care of yourself. My ears are still ringing.” He put a hand to his head. “What happened to Oliver? I think I got him out of the way in time.”
“You did. Canister shot caught him, but just a flesh wound. He’ll not lose the leg.”
“Leg, Fiona?” He smirked at her. “I didn’t think ladies used that word.”
She sighed and put her head in her hands. “I never claimed to be a real lady. As I have just demonstrated. You will please forget that disgraceful episode.”
“I never make stupid promises. In fact, I plan to go to sleep thinking about it every night henceforth.” He sat up carefully, but his grin was cocky. “And I wager you will remember it as well.”
“I’ll remember a lot more than that.” She opened her hand to show him the roll of parchment. “I want you to tell me what this is and what it means. No more games, Charlie. What are you doing here?”
SEPTEMBER 13, 1814
MOBILE
Maddy had begun her day like any other, rising early to feed the chickens, sending Elijah to collect the eggs and take a few next door to the Laniers. Once the household chores were done, she and Elijah had sat down to lunch. By midafternoon, she couldn’t help wondering what had happened to Desi, who had developed the daily habit of dropping by for a short visit between errands for General Jackson. Not that Desi was required to inform her of his every move. Still, slightly uneasy, she sent Elijah to play with his older cousins and walked toward the waterfront for news. If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Brigitte Guillory, who helped her husband Armand run the old tavern and inn called Burelle’s.
Royal Street was aswarm with foot and carriage traffic this afternoon, an unusually long streak of dry, temperate weather bringing shoppers and merchants out in droves. Maddy hurried along the uneven sidewalk, past the old Spanish hospital and the schoolhouse where Aunt Daisy used to teach, to fetch up in front of the inn’s deep front porch. Fortunately, Brigitte herself came outside just then, carrying a tray of drinks, and began to serve a group of gentlemen gathered around the table closest to the door.
Maddy hurried up the steps. “Brigitte! Could I talk to you for a moment, please?”
“Maddy! Good day to you, dearie!” Brigitte lowered the empty tray and caught Maddy in a brief hug. “Have you heard from your mama recently? I do wish she and Rafael would come for a visit again.”
“I had a letter from her a few weeks ago, after they made a trip to New York. I doubt they’ll make it down here before next year . . . With so much harassment from the British and their Indian allies, it’s not safe to travel.”
“My stars, that’s true.” Brigitte pulled a towel off her shoulder to flick dust off the swing hung at one end of the porch. “Here, sit down and tell me what brings you to town. I need a break from all these men and their tobacco spitting and coffee spilling.”
Maddy sat, smoothing her skirts. “Unusual number of people in town today,” she said, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt. “I can’t help wondering what is brewing.”
“Trouble, I’m afraid.” Brigitte’s face creased with worry. “Last night the general sailed down to inspect progress at Fort Bowyer. On the way, he met a boat coming up from the Point, bringing a message that the fort had just come under siege by four British warships. A party of Indians and marines had landed for an attack.”
Maddy felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. In all likelihood, Desi had gone with the general. She closed her eyes. She could not go through this again. And what about her cousins and Uncle Luc-Antoine, down at Navy Cove? They would be in peril as well.
Brigitte gripped Maddy’s clenched hands. “Now, the general is no fool. He turned right around and returned to Mobile. He and his staff pulled together a company of infantry and sent them to reinforce the poor fellows down at Fort Bowyer.”
Maddy forced her eyes open. A soldier’s widow knew how to face bad news. “There’s something else, isn’t there? What are you not telling me?”
Brigitte looked away. “Well . . . the relief force came back this morning, saying there was a great explosion just before dawn. The fort is in trouble. In fact, it’s almost certainly lost. People say the British may attack Mobile next.”
FORT BOWYER
Fiona spent the entire day after the battle helping to dress wounds. As she and Sehoy followed the surgeon from soldier to soldier in the little infirmary, the conversation with Charlie kept rolling about in her head like marbles on a crooked table.
She held up a young infantryman’s head to take a sip of water from the ladle in her hand, all the while trying to convince herself Charlie had been telling the truth. He claimed he didn’t know what the cipher meant. If he’d written it, he’d done so during one of the blanks in his memory. Yes, he admitted he was a British sailor, probably an officer, judging by the hallucinations he’d experienced during the battle last night. But he was in no shape to leave Mobile Point now, had no way to do so, even should he so desire.
Closing her eyes, she pictured his face when she’d confronted him with the coded message. Bland inquiry. He’d plucked it from her fingers, scanned it, handed it back to her with a smile, as if it were a shopping list. What? What does that have to do with me?
Angrily she’d snatched the pouch lying against his chest and stuffed the parchment into it. You carried this around all this time and never wondered why?
Of course he wondered why, but trying to force memory was useless. He would remember when he remembered and not a moment sooner.
Did you tell your brother or your uncle about the cipher? he’d wanted to know without a trace of anxiety.
She hadn’t, of course, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. She needed someone with a wiser head than her own to tell her what to do. Just because Charlie kissed like an angel didn’t mean he wasn’t a snake in her bosom. And if that imagery
gave her the shivers, it was only what she deserved.
“Thank you, miss,” the young soldier whispered as she gently lowered his head and returned the ladle to the bucket.
She smiled at him and rose. “Rest, now. The doctor will check on you in a bit.” She located Sehoy, kneeling beside another soldier, feeding him a thin seafood soup. “Will you be all right by yourself if I stretch my legs for a bit?”
Sehoy smiled. “Of course. I’ll join you when Private Jepson is finished with his supper.”
Fiona went to the infirmary doorway and looked about for Léon. The soldiers had cleared away the debris, leaving scorched ruts in the sandy ground and blackened walls to testify to the fierceness of the battle. The odor of sulfur still lingered, probably on her own clothes, which were soiled from her nursing duties. She longed for a bath, but that wasn’t going to happen until she could return home.
Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the shallow drill ground between the infirmary and the main gate and approached the sentry on guard.
The soldier straightened and grinned. “Evening, miss.”
“Hello. Have you seen my brother, Léon Lanier?” she asked him. “Tall civilian with black hair and a pair of frightening eyebrows?”
The guard laughed. “Yes, miss, he’s in conference with Major Lawrence. I wouldn’t interrupt if I were you, though. The major—oh, here they come.”
Fiona turned to see her brother, accompanied by an equally tall, rugged-faced officer in the sober blue uniform of the American Second Infantry. The major’s hat was set in the center of his head, his boots shining, the neckcloth precisely folded. Next to him, her brother stalked like some kind of pirate king in open-necked shirt and sun-faded breeches, a kerchief tied loosely about his throat. Léon had grown to look so much like their father that it made her throat ache.
The major reached her first, took her hand and kissed it. “Miss Lanier, you are a credit to your illustrious family. Thank you for your service as a nurse to our boys last night—and all day today, I understand. Please, you must rest now. I would like to offer refreshment and the use of my quarters to you and your cousin—Miss Ferguson, I believe?”
She blushed and dipped a curtsey. “Yes, sir, but we do not expect special treatment. We’re grateful for the protection of the fort during the attack. I just wondered if I could have a word with my brother.”
Léon shook his head. “Sorry, little sister, no time for that now. The major needs someone to take a report of the battle to General Jackson, and I’ve offered to go. His men need to stand guard in case the British decide to return.” Léon’s eyebrows gathered in his habitual don’t-cross-me way. “And you’re not to leave the fort under any circumstances, not even to check on the horses. Uncle Luc-Antoine has agreed to do that.”
“But, Léon—”
He cut her off with a raised hand. “Fiona, the British left over a hundred fifty marines and Indians dead on the beaches. It’s not a sight for female eyes.” His eyes softened on her face. “I know this is hard on you, but be a good girl and stay safe so that I won’t have to worry about you. Promise me.”
Fiona sighed. “Of course I promise—I’m not an idiot. But when you get back, I need to talk to you about something important.”
“Hold onto it, then, you won’t burst I’m sure.” Léon grinned and kissed her cheek. “Any message you want passed to Maddy while I’m in Mobile? I’ll drop by to see her and Uncle Rémy’s family while I’m in town.”
“Just tell her I’m safe and I’m praying for them all.”
When Léon had left, conferring with Major Lawrence about details of the report, Fiona drifted back toward the infirmary. She could tell Sehoy what she’d discovered about Charlie, but that would do no good and might only further complicate the situation. Perhaps she should ask Uncle Luc-Antoine what she should do. He clearly liked Charlie and had always been a steadying influence in the family.
But he had good reason to despise the British. And what if he decided to visit that long-standing antipathy on Charlie—especially if he thought Charlie had been lying to them all?
She had best think about it and pray about it before committing an action that couldn’t be undone. God help her.
SEPTEMBER 15, 1814
MOBILE
With her cousin Léon quartered in her sewing room, which occasionally doubled as a guest room, Maddy awoke feeling more refreshed than she had in a long time. Elijah had shoved his knees into her hip during the night. She sat up and pushed them away, patted his deceptively angelic cheek, and slid out of bed on the other side. She might claim to enjoy her independence, but there was something about the presence of a big strong man in the house that allayed the niggling anxieties she rarely allowed to surface.
With any luck, Elijah would sleep for another hour and give her a chance to prepare breakfast without a loquacious and accident-prone little person underfoot. Hurriedly she dressed, then brushed and put up her hair. Peeking at Elijah to make sure he was still snoring softly, she slipped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Léon was already at the table, reading a news sheet and sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up when she came in, his serious expression lightening to a smile. “Good morning, Maddy-Mo,” he said, using the family’s childhood name for her. “I hope you don’t mind that I made my own coffee. I might’ve been a bit growly by now without it. I’ve been up since daylight.”
“Growly, Léon? You?” She laughed and reached into the cupboard for another cup. “I’m glad you made yourself at home. Now I don’t have to wait so long for it to drip.”
Sipping her coffee, she went about the business of scrambling eggs and making biscuit dough, and soon had the tantalizing smell of bacon sizzling in the frying pan wafting through the kitchen. “You came in after I went to bed,” she said over her shoulder. “I presume the general was happy to hear the fort still stands and the British are gone with their tails between their legs.”
“Oh, indeed. If I were a drinking man, every man in the regiment would’ve bought me a round.” He thumped the paper. “Good news is all too rare and welcome these days.”
“I don’t suppose you saw Desi Palomo.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He asked about you too. What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
Léon let out a low whistle. “Oh. That.”
Distracted, she burnt her finger on the skillet. “Ow! Look what you made me do!” She popped the finger in her mouth and glared at her cousin.
“Don’t be a goose. It’s about time you settled down with somebody who can keep Elijah from becoming a brat. Desi’s a good man, he’ll do the job.”
“Elijah isn’t a brat!”
“Much longer without an occasional tanning and he would be.”
“Ooh—you mind your own business, Léon Lanier!”
He burst into one of his rare and infectious belly laughs. “Fine. Maybe I should warn Palomo off, then. I’m sure there are lots of belles in New Orleans would be glad if he came back.”
“Léon—”
“All right, all right. I’ll stop teasing. You’re about to burn my bacon, and we can’t have that.”
She turned her attention back to breakfast. “Since you seem to be so interested in people’s romantic connections, perhaps you need a little help with your own. Madame de Marigny’s daughter is a pretty little thing—”
“Who would be horrified at the idea of attaching herself to a scruffy bar pilot from Navy Cove.” He got up from the table and took the fork out of her hand. “You do the eggs, I’ll watch the bacon. All this jabber is making me hungry.”
A short time later, as Maddy was setting the table while Léon took the biscuits out of the oven, Elijah came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “Uncle Léon, will you take me fishing?”
“And good morning to you too, sir,” Maddy said, wagging a finger. “Wash your hands and come sit down to breakfast.” She g
lanced at Léon. “I’m sorry, he’s obsessed.”
“I’m not hungry!” Elijah’s bottom lip went out.
“See what I mean?” Léon picked Elijah up and turned him upside down to give him an affectionate swat on his bottom. “Don’t talk back to your mama, boy. Go wash your hands.”
Giggling, Elijah landed on his feet and ran back to the bedroom.
Maddy sighed as she poured another cup of coffee. Perhaps Léon was right—Elijah needed a man’s strong hand to keep his willful temperament from getting out of control. But she couldn’t get married to the first one who asked, could she? And what if the right man simply wasn’t available?
But Léon said Desi had asked about her last night. Surely he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t just a little bit interested in—
A knock on the door interrupted her mooning, and she jumped, blushing as if someone had posted her thoughts in the newspaper. “I’ll get that,” she said, jerking at the ties of her apron as she hurried to the front door and opened it. “Judah!” She flung herself at Léon and Fiona’s middle brother. “Oh, what a nice surprise! Come in, come in!”
Chuckling, Judah returned her embrace. “I heard my big brother was here, taking advantage of Aunt Lyse’s biscuit recipe. I hope he left me some!”
“You’d better hurry, if that’s what you’re after.” Laughing, Maddy took Judah’s hand and tugged him into the kitchen. “Léon, look who’s here! Doesn’t he look like a big old bear?”
The Lanier men were all tall and rangy, but Judah had inherited his father’s thick, curly black hair, broad shoulders, and arrogant nose, as well as the deep-set dark eyes. He had ever been the prankster of the three brothers. When he’d first sailed off to New Orleans as second in command of a merchant ship suspected of doing double duty in the free trade, the family kept expecting him to return and claim it was all a huge practical joke. But today was the first time in over six years that he’d been back to Mobile.
He took over the room, as he’d always done, grabbing a biscuit and devouring half of it, even as he bear-hugged Léon. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, old man.” Judah turned as little Elijah, wide-eyed with curiosity, ran back into the room. “And who is this fine young man? You wouldn’t happen to be the famous Elijah Burch, master of the high seas, would you?” Judah swooped the boy up into his arms.