“Perhaps after we get to St. Gabriel,” she offered, amazed that relenting could feel so good.
Emilie
Chapter Five
Emilie had just finished her third helping of breakfast when the men arrived, a joking Lorenz pulling up the rear. His smile disappeared when he caught sight of her feet dangling in a bucket of steaming water.
“What happened?” he asked, rushing to examine her.
“It’s nothing. Just blisters from the walk.”
Lorenz bent down to get a better look, his face turning serious when he investigated the shape of her feet. “Blisters? You won’t be able to walk with those sores.”
Emilie bolted to a standing position, nearly knocking the bucket over. “Of course I’ll be able to walk. Lorenz Dugas don’t you dare think you are going to leave me behind.”
Lorenz stood, crossed his arms and steadfastly met her gaze, but surprisingly he didn’t mean to argue. “We’re not going anywhere, Emilie, so sit down and give your feet a rest.” When Emilie refused to move, Lorenz placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into her seat. His large hand caressing her evoked images of the night before and a thrilling sensation ran through her before she could consciously send it away.
“What do you mean we’re not going anywhere?”
Lorenz returned to his stooped position, focusing back on her damaged feet. “Emilie, you are one stubborn female,” he said, shaking his head. “If you had stayed with your family this wouldn’t have happened.”
Emilie ignored the remark. She was tired of being female and consistently left behind. “What did you mean we’re not going anywhere?”
Lorenz raised one of her feet and contemplated the broken skin surrounding her toes. He slid his fingers over the blistered area and down the delicate curve of her arch, massaging her damaged tendons. Emilie felt the tension leave her body as his fingers rubbed the non-callused areas of her foot. It was a simple gesture, one that could easily be interpreted as medicinal, but Lorenz’s massage reminded her all too much how his touch could send sensual feelings coursing through her. She began to react as she had the night before, her pulse increasing and her breath catching. She feared a heavy sigh would soon escape her lips and reveal her passionate thoughts, so she swallowed and focused back on their conversation. “Lorenz, why did you say...?”
Lorenz looked up, his wild hair falling about his forehead, apparently a victim of the wind howling around the house. “The rain is flooding the area and it doesn’t look like it will let up anytime soon. We have to wait it out until the weather improves. With the shape your feet are in, I’d say the rain is a blessing.”
He removed her other foot from the bucket and began to massage it as well and Emilie felt her insides melt. With his head bowed over, Emilie wanted so badly to run her fingers through his soft raven hair. There were other things she wanted to do, too, which scared her even more.
When had this enormous change occurred? When had Lorenz, her best friend since childhood, suddenly become a suitor, one capable of bringing forth such wild aberrant feelings? They were buddies, confidants, not courting lovers. She wasn’t interested in him that way. She wanted friendship, not marriage, as she had explained to Anna. But despite all her logic, her emotions betrayed her, her heart reeling by his every touch. And the words Anna imparted kept echoing in her mind. She would wait until St. Gabriel. She would not refuse him. For now.
“I think she’s had enough soaking,” Anna said, waking her from her ardent thoughts and Lorenz from his sensual handling of her feet. She handed Lorenz a towel and Emilie pulled up her feet while Anna removed the bucket. Lorenz gently placed her feet on to the towel and began wiping them down.
While he sponged them dry, a large tuft of hair fell about his forehead. Emilie couldn’t resist any more. She brushed the dark lock aside letting her hand pause in the process, reveling in the feel of the thick satiny hair through her fingers.
In an instant, Lorenz captured her wrist and kissed the inside of her palm, sending a tidal wave of sensations through her. Before she had time to see if Anna was watching, Lorenz returned to his duty at her feet, but a mischievous grin played on his lips.
“Where are the men?” Anna asked. Emilie held her breath thinking that Phillip and Mathias might have seen that kiss as well.
“Most likely changing their clothes,” Lorenz answered, glancing about the cabin and finding them absent. “It’s been raining hard since daybreak.”
It was then Emilie noticed Lorenz’s soaked shirt, vest and trousers. “Don’t bother with my feet,” she admonished him. “Go warm yourself.”
Lorenz looked up with a sly smile. “I am warming myself,” he said in a heated whisper.
Anna placed a cup of coffee on the table beside them and cleared her throat. “This will help,” she said to Lorenz. “I’ll go see about Mathias.”
“Merci,” Lorenz said, and Emilie wondered if he knew Anna was allowing them their privacy.
When Anna entered her bedroom and pulled the curtain across the threshold behind her, Lorenz met Emilie’s eyes. The familiar light sparkled there in the depths of the blackness, like sunlight shining on obsidian. He leaned forward so that his hands were on the arms of her chair, pinning her in her seat, the devilish glow still glistening in his black irises. “Did you sleep well, Em?” he said so seductively, a wave of goosebumps traveled up her arms.
Emilie wanted to punch him hard, the way she used to when they played as children and he claimed she wasn’t as strong as the boys. “Of course I didn’t sleep well, thanks to you.” The response only fueled the fiendish look he was sending. “Did you?”
With that remark, Lorenz pulled back slightly. “Hardly,” he said and for a moment she believed he suffered as much as she did.
“Why did you leave so suddenly?”
The glint disappeared, replaced by the desirous stare he had delivered the night before. “Because if I hadn’t I might never have.”
Emilie swallowed hard, recalling her careless actions in his arms. Even though the thought of sharing a bed with Lorenz send a bolt of desire racing up her spine, she knew things would never have gone that far. It was absurd to think of such a thing; two friends experimenting with kissing was one thing but serious lovemaking? Despite her promise to Anna, Lorenz was still her best friend. And only her best friend. Until they reached the others, she was not going to think otherwise.
“You assume a lot, don’t you?” she finally said, raising her chin in defiance.
Lorenz wasted no time placing a thumb on her chin and bringing her face level with his. Before Emilie could object, he kissed her. It wasn’t insistent, wild and passionate like the night before, but gentle and delectable like warm cream on ripe, sweet strawberries. He lingered at her mouth too, brushing his lips softly against hers, teasing her with tiny nips on her lower lip. Emilie could have sworn hours had passed before Lorenz finally backed away and their eyes met. If her expression mirrored the desire reflected in his eyes, they were in deep trouble.
“Emilie,” Lorenz whispered, and Emilie leaned forward hoping to have his lips back where they belonged. Instead, Lorenz slid his hand against her cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Darling,” he said so seductively Emilie quivered. “What can I do to convince you to marry me?”
There it was again. That horrid word. Emilie cringed and shut her eyes to remove the vision of Lorenz asking for more than she was able to give. She heard him expel air and opened her eyes to see the familiar pain shining in the dark recesses of his eyes.
“Please Lorenz. Please stop asking me.”
“Why?” he asked, the anger emerging in his voice. “Can you at least tell me why?”
It was Emilie’s turn to place her hands on his face, to caress the rough skin marred by cold, windy weather and a poor razor. Funny, she thought. She loved that face, dreamed of holding it just that way since her first confirmation, when Lorenz had teased her about her new clothes and pulled her hair
in church and called her names in front of his friends. She had vowed she would marry him that day, to follow him for the rest of his life. Now the tide had changed, and Emilie couldn’t fathom how to explain it.
“Will you wait until St. Gabriel? Will you promise not to ask me until then?”
“Why...?” he began earnestly.
“Please. Give me some time. At least until St. Gabriel and our search for Papa is over.”
Lorenz covered her hands with his and kissed them both. “As long as you promise not to say no until then.”
Emilie smiled and rested her forehead against his, reveling in the comfort that only Lorenz could offer. He smelled of leather, manly perspiration and wet wool. He felt like home.
A deep shiver began in Emilie’s gut and traveled outward through her. Home, or the lack of it, was not a welcome thought. Anna was right. She was scared of marrying Lorenz, and it would take a lot of convincing to change her mind.
“I’m making you wet,” Lorenz said, moving away and standing. He held out his hand to raise her from her seat, which Emilie gratefully accepted considering her injuries. She stumbled slightly and grabbed Lorenz’s wet sleeve for support.
“You’re going to catch cold in those clothes,” she told him. “You must go change into dry things.”
Lorenz never moved, still staring at her with those fathomless eyes. Emilie feared another serious conversation about marriage and home was eminent. Then the customary twinkle appeared.
“Proposals are one thing. But does this mean kisses are forbidden too?”
Emilie couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt she enjoyed his lovemaking. “I suppose a kiss now and then...”
Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were back on hers, this time more urgent and pressing. She meant to push him away, to remind him that although he tasted like heaven itself, there were other people in the cabin, ones who would not think much of two unmarried, uncommitted people embracing in their living room. But Lorenz retreated as fast as he had kissed her, raised one of her hands to his lips, bowed, then departed for the back room.
Watching his tall, robust figure walk through the back door, Emilie knew it was going to be a long road to St. Gabriel.
Piernas held the bottle of prized rum in his hands and felt his spirits lift. Civilized luxuries were hard to find on the frontier and alcohol a rarity. Thank God for neighbors. Even English ones.
“Got it from that damned pirate Bouclaire,” Coleman Thorpe said. “Charged me a pretty piastre for them.”
Piernas smiled and threw Coleman a box of his finest cigars. “He would be kinder if you weren’t English.”
Coleman raised the box of cigars to his nose and smiled. Despite what cost he incurred for the rum, the Spanish cigars made it an equal exchange.
“I hope you will grant me another wish,” Piernas said. “The English governor of West Florida is at your fort on the other side of the river. He wrote to me, asking to visit our garrison.”
“All in good friendship, I’m sure,” Coleman said.
“Yes, I do believe he is sincere in that regards.” Piernas placed the bottle in a secret compartment of his desk, then closed and locked its door. “What I was hoping is that you would accompany me three nights hence and help translate at the dinner I’m giving in his honor.”
An apprehensive look crossed the Englishman’s face as he considered this request. “Pedro, I don’t mind doing business with you, but you must have realized by now that my father is a devout English patriot.”
“An English spy, you mean?” When the young man’s eyes grew bright with worry, Piernas wondered how involved Coleman was in his father’s espionage. Richard Thorpe was a notorious English patriot, plantation owner and first-class bastard. He couldn’t imagine a man as honest and kind as Coleman following in such footsteps. If Coleman was helping to spy for the English, he wouldn’t have admitted as such about his father; he would have gladly accepted the invitation to dinner and hoped to gain as much knowledge from the Spanish as possible.
“There is no love lost between my father and myself,” Coleman said, as if reading Piernas’s thoughts. “I do not share his politics either.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you here for dinner?”
Coleman rose and extended his hand, which Piernas accepted. The Englishman’s eyes were direct, his handshake firm. Piernas couldn’t help gaining satisfaction that, despite the trouble makers, loyalist spies, government bureaucrats and complaining settlers he dealt with each day, there was always a person or two who stood out above the rest and offered comfort in the thick of chaos. The empty cup of birch tea sitting on his desk was another prime example.
“There is something else you can do for me,” Piernas said, thinking back on the angel who visited twice a day to bring him his tea. “There is a family here who has been separated from their patriarch. Perhaps you can help them.”
The young man frowned at the suggestion. “You want me to help one of the French families?”
“One of their daughters,” Piernas began, thinking of the way Rose had not hesitated offering her hand on his in comfort that afternoon, “is remarkable. She brings me tea for my headaches.”
Coleman glanced at the cup before him, his smile broadening. “Are you sure it’s not laced with poison?”
Piernas laughed. “I assure you, this woman has a heart of gold. She reminds me of you, señor, which is why I’m asking.”
The smile lingering on Coleman’s lips faded fast. “I assure you, sir, I have no heart of gold.”
The light shining in the young man’s eyes disappeared and the cold tone in his voice sent a shiver through Piernas. Perhaps he was wrong about the Englishman. He hoped not.
“They have fewer luxuries than I,” Piernas continued, hoping to dispel the dark mood that had descended upon the conversation. “The angel and her mother sew shirts for extra money.” Piernas withdrew a wooden cross from beneath his shirt. “The oldest daughter creates these beautiful crosses. Since you’re a man of means, perhaps you can help.”
Coleman stared down at the cross held in Piernas’s fingertips. “I’m a Protestant, señor. What would I want with a Papal cross?”
Piernas laughed again. Englishmen and Protestants were such an intense lot. “You don’t have to convert to Catholicism. Just buy one and help the poor family. Or barter like you do with me. I’m sure you can part with some items from that vast plantation of yours.”
“That vast plantation belongs to my father,” Coleman said, the bitterness again emerging in his voice. “I have no authority there.”
Only minutes ago the young man’s eyes were full of life, his demeanor friendly and kind. Now a sadness and anger distorted his countenance. Piernas was determined to one day learn of the Englishman’s story.
“Rose will be helping with the dinner.” Piernas placed a fatherly hand on Coleman’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “I will introduce you and you can decide for yourself. Agreed?”
The shadow that had crossed the Englishman’s face departed and the Coleman Piernas knew returned. “Just make sure this Rose doesn’t serve the tea to the Englishmen. Or it may be a quick dinner.”
As Piernas watched Coleman make his way towards the waterfront, a fear crossed his heart as he considered Coleman’s final words. Perhaps having Rose help with the meal wasn’t such a good idea. Spaniards and Acadians arguing over settlements were one thing. But the differences between the English and the French were quite another.
The early morning sun bathed Rose’s cheeks as it peeked through the house’s hastily constructed walls. It wasn’t yet April and the weather had turned warm and sunny. With the change in temperature, Rose was certain Lorenz and Emilie would easily meet up with their father and be on their way north to Natchez.
Rose needed their stabilizing influence — Emilie’s take-charge attitude and Lorenz’s masculine comfort — to bring their mother out of her melancholy. Since Marianne’s vision before the fire
place more than a week before, she had refused to talk and ate very little. Even the prospect of their own home brought little comfort. If it hadn’t been for Pélagie Comeaux’s crazy superstition regarding dreams of grooms, Marianne might never have improved.
“Did you dream of him?” Gabrielle whispered.
Rose turned and found her sister equally basking in sunlight, only from a different hole in the wall. “We must do something about those walls,” Rose answered. “The next time it rains we’ll have water everywhere.”
“Mud and moss works as an insulator,” Gabrielle replied. “I heard the men discuss it. I’ll have one of them help us as soon as they’re able. Now did you dream about him or not?”
Rose turned her head and stared at the ceiling, equally spotted with holes. Dreaming of an intended on the first night in a new house was a silly superstition. “Doesn’t matter,” Rose finally said. “I didn’t see his features.”
Gabrielle leaned on her elbow and gazed down into Rose’s face. “You counted the bed’s joists, just like Pélagie said to do?”
Rose rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe Gabrielle accepted such nonsense. Still, it was amazing she had had such a vivid dream. “Yes, I counted them. And I dreamed of a fair man, one who liked to remain apart from the crowds. I never saw his face.”
“Blonde,” Gabrielle said. “Why was he away from the others?”
Rose had a good idea, but she didn’t want to give voice to it. “I don’t know. He was standing apart, as if he didn’t belong. Then the next thing I know he’s wearing ragged clothes, working a plow and singing. And quite happy to do so.”
Gabrielle sat up and propped herself against the wall. “What was he wearing before?”
“I don’t know, Gabrielle.” Rose moved to a sitting position and slide on her cotton stockings. “It’s a ridiculous superstition. The man in my dreams was most definitely not the man I am going to marry.”
At this Gabrielle smiled. “Why are you so sure? Is he someone you know?”
Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1) Page 7