sirenssong_132-Xe3.htm

by Siren's Song (lit)

  The hallway seemed as silent as death itself. There was not a sound, then she remembered his words. He had dismissed the servants. Luck was on her side. There was no one here, not even Gourville. She ran down the back staircase into the kitchen. They had taken Marie below stairs. She glanced behind her then took a deep breath. No matter how great her fear, she could not leave her friend. There was a knife on the table next to a loaf of bread and she reached for it. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely pick it up. She took another deep breath, and found a door standing partially open. She peaked inside. It was dark, only two small candles lit the way as she descended. Chills raced up her bare arms as it brushed against a cobweb. She was in the wine cellar, there were dusty bottles against the far wall. She took the last candle and carried it with her.

  She stood quietly, listening for a moment, but heard nothing. No, there were voices, barely discernible, but she heard a woman’s voice. She followed the sound, finding a dimly lit room nearly at the end of a long passageway. She nearly reached it when a man opened the door, then stood in the doorway with his back facing her. Nicolette doused the candle she held, backed against the wall, and then squeezed into a darkened doorway.

  She waited until she heard his boots clattering loudly on the steps, and the door above closed. As the sounds diminished Nicolette started toward the room.

  A large wooden bar kept the door locked. She quietly lifted the brace, pulled the door open slightly, then stepped inside. Marie sat on her bed with her eyes wide. Her hands were bound behind and her legs were tied together and anchored to the leg of the bed.

  "Nicolette," her voice was loud with surprise.

  "Quiet! Do you want to bring the whole household."

  "Mon Dieu, what have they done to you?" Marie whispered.

  "What did they try to do, you mean," Nicolette cut the ropes.

  "Who was with you just now Marie."

  Marie rubbed her wrists then her ankles, "Gourville. He has been kind, but he would not release me."

  "Gourville! We must leave before he finds us. My uncle lies in a heap upstairs, I think I killed him."

  She grabbed Marie’s hand and they ran up the stairs pausing at the door. Nicolette heard nothing and they moved silently into the room. "I must go to the dining room. I have thought of a way to save Jamie and Laurent, but we must find Lafayette." They silently moved along the wall. Nicolette found the room immediately. The white marble floor had a pink tinge. She gasped at the sight.

  ~ * ~

  The clatter of horse’s hooves echoed loudly on the cobblestone streets, as Jamie rode into the dark Paris night. He wore a black flowing cape that rippled in the wind behind him. Beneath, a plaid was thrown across his shoulder, with his kilt below. His knee high boots glistened in the moonlight. He looked every inch like an avenging angel.

  He smiled when he thought of his appearance. Anyone who saw him would think he was going to war. He was well prepared for battle. A brace of pistols were tucked into his waistband, along with a broadsword and rapier that were strapped to his side. A dagger was tucked inside his boot.

  Jamie slowed his horse, as he looked for the landmarks Rauol had given him. He rounded the corner and saw the house at the far end of the lane. He dismounted, then quietly moved toward the chateau, considering how he would breach the house. He decided to take their measure first. He quietly moved from window to window, but saw no activity, there were no guards, and it seemed strangely empty. A window was cracked, just enough for him to put his hand through. He raised the window higher, then climbed the library. Moonlight gave enough light for him to make it to the door, and then he found the center hallway. He clutched the banister for a moment. Fear touched his heart as he wondered if John Pierre had taken Nicolette elsewhere. He quietly started up the stairs. Suddenly he heard a gasp from below.

  "Halt and turn around. Immediately!"

  Jamie stopped. God’s teeth! He had been discovered, yet he had heard no one coming. He looked over the side. Nicolette was pressed close against the wall, with Marie behind her.

  Her clothing hung from her body in tatters. The bodice of her dress fell away in ragged shreds and the gossamer chemise beneath left little to the imagination. Half of her skirt had been torn away, leaving the length of her shapely limb clearly exposed.

  Her fear permeated the room with a dark foreboding so intense Jamie could feel its presence. He expected to see the terror, instead, pride swelled within when he noted the mutinous flame of defiance as she waved a pitiful kitchen knife in front of her.

  "Come no closer, Gourville."

  Eighteen

  Jamie suddenly became aware of the man advancing on Nicolette.

  "What have you done with the Marquis?"

  Nicolette only shook her head.

  "Come, you cannot win. Give me the knife."

  "I would rather die."

  Jamie untied his cape, throwing it from his shoulders. It fluttered across the room, like the black wing of a raven, startling those below. He followed the cape, jumping over the railing, and landing on the floor below.

  "Jamie!" Nicolette screamed.

  The man turned and rushed to him., "Who are you, Monsieur, and why are you here?"

  Jamie took the stranger’s measure. He was dressed all in black, a brilliant contrast to the white silk covered walls and marble floors. The only relief to his somber attire was the sword at his hip, the hilt splashed with blood red rubies. He was slender and tall, his complexion pale against his dark hair. A black cape was thrown over his arm, and he held his hat and gloves in his hands.

  Jamie gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then asked, "John Pierre’s personal guard?"

  "Indeed. Although I am no servant, I serve in that function as well." The man’s long mustache curled upward at the ends, and he smiled as if completely at ease. "Again Monsieur, why are you here?"

  "I have come for my betrothed."

  "Ah, I am afraid that is an impossible task. I cannot allow you to interfere with the Marquis pleasure this night for there would be hell to pay."

  "The Marquis, Laurent...? Ah, has John Pierre taken the title so soon?"

  "Just so," his dark hair shimmered in the candlelight. "I believe I can guess your identity." Amusement struck and he smiled, "You, my friend, are supposed to be dead. A difficult man to kill I see."

  "Aye," Jamie smiled back. "My death has been greatly exaggerated on more than one occasion.

  "I am pleased to hear it, yet perhaps you will not be so, Monsieur," he bowed slightly, placed his things on a nearby table and withdrew his rapier. "You have come prepared for battle," the man laughed, as he pointed to Jamie’s arsenal with the tip of his sword. "I warn you that I am quite good with this," his sword sliced through the air. "I have heard you Highlanders are renowned for your fearlessness, so if you wish to leave now I will not think you a coward."

  "I thank you, but I must regretfully decline."

  "Then I salute you. At least you have courage."

  Jamie glanced at Nicolette, "You would be safer above stairs."

  She grabbed Marie’s hand and they rushed away. Nicolette led her back to the bedroom she had left only minutes before. She entered quietly and found her uncle on the floor where she had left him. She stood quite still for a moment then pushed Marie against the wall near the door. "Wait here, I must dress, I can hardly leave like this."

  "Is he dead?" Marie pointed toward John Pierre.

  "I think so, but I do not know for sure. If he moves scream." She tore a pillow from the bed and stripped the case, then took it with her into the dressing room.

  As soon she left, Jamie nodded, "Let’s settle it then, I have business yet this night." He unbuckled his broad sword and it clattered loudly against the marble floor. He pulled out his rapier and saluted, "On guard!"

  The other man began to unbutton his waistcoat, when Jamie became impatient and sliced the black silk down the front, it gapped open, "Ready now?"

  The man’s face f
lushed a bright red. He took off his coat and in one fluid movement threw it into the corner of the room in a rage, then raised his sword.

  Jamie smiled, "Monsieur, may I have your name? I prefer not to kill a complete stranger."

  "By all means, it’s Gourville."

  "Simple and direct. I admire a man of few words," Jamie smiled.

  "Merci," he saluted with a flourish then advanced rapidly.

  Gourville looked as though he thought this but a schoolboy’s lesson, but the smile was soon wiped from his face as Jamie attacked.

  His sword cut downward with such force that Gourville gasped and stepped back. It was but a momentary loss for Jamie’s next blow was met with an upward swing of equal strength. The sound of metal crashing against metal echoed in the empty hallway.

  For the next few minutes their swords clashed against one another, first a strike up, then a counter-strike downward, as each man took the others measure. Jamie found Gourville quite good and for a few minutes the fight between them was evenly matched. Gourville sliced and Jamie jumped back deflecting his blow, then advanced with rapid stokes. Gourville thrust forward quickly and Jamie’s entire body arched backward to avoid the hit, then swept the sword upward with his own.

  Gourville sliced again. Jamie dropped to one knee, then jumped quickly up to fend off downward strikes as he slowly backed up the stairs. Gourville continued the attack advancing quickly, his sword sliced through the air toward Jamie’s thigh. Jamie took two more steps up the stairs then lunged. Gourville parried, then jumped over the railing to the side of the stairs and Jamie followed, striking downward. Soon, Jamie gained the upper hand, thrusting forward, cutting deeply into Gourville’s left arm, the moment marked by a tiny stream of bright red blood that oozed from the sleeve of his shirt.

  Gourville gazed down, surprised, "You amaze me Monsieur, but no more. Now I am aware of your expertise." He began to fight with renewed fervor, thrusting forward, but Jamie parried, driving his sword in a circular motion, then pushing it up and away.

  "Strangely, I do not understand your interest. You look more a gentleman than a servant, yet you helped take Nicolette." Jamie gazed intensely into his eyes, "To what end?"

  "To a dishonorable end, Monsieur, I assure you I have no choice in the matter, and I must do as he requests."

  Gourville sliced through Jamie’s sleeve as he spoke, a mere prick, but red trickled across the white of Jamie’s shirt. Jamie deflected the next blow, then cut over and thrust. Gourville arched backward.

  "The young woman is his niece," Jamie received some satisfaction when he noted the look of surprise on Gourville’s face. He caught him across the cheek in a vicious scratch. "Tell me why you must do as he asks."

  Gourville said nothing. They continued across the floor, one strike, and one retreat only to be followed by the next advance, "I believed you were a worthy opponent, and I am not disappointed."

  Soon, the only sound to be heard was Gourville’s labored breathing. Jamie’s great strength, coupled with his expertise with the sword, gave him the advantage. He countered Gourville’s every move, weakening him with each passing minute.

  "Why do you serve him?" Jamie whispered.

  Gourville grimaced and sweat began to bead on his brow. "My younger years were wild, and a disgrace to my family. I committed a grave error, one which ruined..." he grimaced. "No, one which destroyed another, and made me a slave to John Pierre because of my own depravity."

  Jamie shook his head, "Then why commit the sin twice? Stop this insanity now." His sword sliced through Gourville’s thigh and the man groaned.

  "As I said before, I have no choice," he looked down and smiled.

  Jamie’s sword plunged into Gourville’s shoulder.

  "Not to worry, just a pinprick," Gourville rasped, as he pulled himself away.

  Jamie’s eyes widened, as he watched Gourville take a deep breath then ready himself for the next blow.

  "I have no real quarrel with you, man. Do not make me kill you."

  "Ah, but it is what I wish."

  Jamie sliced into his upper arm once more, and he could see the pain in his eyes, "This has nothing to do with you." His next move sent Gourville’s sword flying through the air.

  Gourville took a deep breath. He could barely stand and his shoulders slumped. He moved his hand to the table to hold his weight.

  "I will take Nicolette and leave," Jamie began up the stairs. A loud explosion rent the air, and he turned. Gourville threw the used pistol to the ground then extracted another from his cape.

  "I must take Nicolette from here."

  Gourville shrugged, "As I have already said, I cannot allow that, Monsieur. You should have killed me when you had the opportunity."

  "Why must you serve such evil."

  "I must safeguard my family’s honor. I would protect them at all cost and nothing but my death will settle the account with John Pierre. If I do not honor my word, he will take everything I love and crush it beneath his feet."

  Jamie nodded. He could understand that family came before everything else. Except love, except Nicolette.

  "John Pierre has planned his revenge for many years and will have this young woman tonight."

  "Aye, but John Pierre’s temper is nothing compared to a Highlander’s. I cannot allow you to stop me," Jamie’s left hand reached into his waistband.

  "I assure you Monsieur, I will kill you before that pistol leaves your belt," Gourville’s deep voice echoed.

  Jamie’s gaze suddenly riveted to the foyer as a dark shadow appeared.

  "You were one of them! You helped to kill my Madeleine," a high thin voice screamed and Philippe limped forward.

  A blood-curdling scream echoed through the house. Nicolette had reappeared on the landing and Jamie realized he had no more time to waste. He had to get her away from her uncle at all costs! He found the other man distracted.

  "Gourville!"

  Jamie raised his pistol and fired. Gourville grabbed his chest and with a startled look at Jamie, crashed to the floor.

  Gourville’s unfired pistol clattered to a stop against the wall. Blood poured from his mouth as he looked toward Philippe, "Indeed, I was one of them." Gourville nodded to Jamie, "I thank you, Monsieur, for being so kind as to dispatch me. I have waited long to enter the very gates of hell. I have earned the eternal damnation that I shall receive. Indeed, I welcome it. I am tired of living with the shame, even death is preferable," then he was silent.

  Philippe stepped into the hallway. He held his abdomen, caked with dried blood. His other hand held an ancient broad sword taken from the armor in the foyer. It fell to the floor with a loud crash, as he weakly leaned against the doorjamb.

  Jamie was baffled for a moment, "And what happened to you? No honor among thieves?"

  "John Pierre tried to kill me, left me out back with the garbage."

  As Philippe slid slowly to the floor, Marie ran down the steps to help him.

  "He was the one who ruined Madeleine, not Laurent."

  Jamie tucked the pistol back into his belt then started up the steps and his bloody sword fell to the floor.

  "Jamie," Nicolette’s voice cracked as she smothered a sob.

  He quickly closed the space between them, pulling her roughly into his arms, "Thank God you are safe. Where is John Pierre? I have to get you away from here."

  "I…I killed him," she whispered, "I am a murderer, but he deserved to die."

  Jamie kissed her face, her eyes, her lips, in gentle feather touches, as he held her close. "I love you. I love you so much," words failed him as he realized what she had suffered.

  "I love you. I prayed you would come, but I thought you were in the Bastille or dead."

  He pulled her to him again, kissing her with all the passion in his soul, holding her to him so fiercely he feared she might break. Finally, he tore away and gazed into the sparkling emerald depths, "I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought you left me," his ragged whisper trailed away. His lips m
oved to her cheek, her lips, then rained kisses down her neck like tiny raindrops.

  Nicolette began to laugh with joy.

  Jamie laughed as well, "We will be all right now, lass. We’ll be together, every day, every minute."

  "I was so frightened."

  "Aye," Jamie, held her, as a mixture of joy, and relief, pulsed through his veins. He stroked her hair until her tears began to subside, then he eased her away and gazed into the shimmering emerald depths of her eyes, "I was afraid as well. When I found you gone I felt as though a dagger had been thrust into my heart in a wound so deep that the pain nearly drove me mad. Never leave me again, Goddess!"

  "I did not leave you, I was taken from you!" delight overflowed into laughter, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I have waited for you all my life, how could I run away? I love you so much that each moment away was agony."

  "Temptress, your love humbles me, your understanding heart, your forgiveness, is much more than I deserve." Jamie lifted her into his arms then kissed her. It was a kiss of renewal, of fear mingled with joy, of pleasure mingled with pain. Deep with emotion, his whisper sounded ragged, "Never leave me again, Nicolette."

  "Never!"

  "We must go…"

  Philippe’s eyes widened. He stood, pushed Marie aside, then cocked and pointed the pistol directly at them.

  Jamie lowered Nicolette to the steps, pushing her behind him.

  "Never again!" Philippe’s weak, high voice reverberated around them.

  Jamie felt Nicolette’s breath on his neck as she stood on her toes to look over Jamie’s shoulder.

  "Philippe, please!" she screamed.

  Jamie pulled them both to the banister, covering her protectively. Another explosion shattered the silence and John Pierre’s body rolled past them, down the steps. Jamie rose slowly and moved down to the landing.

  "I thought I killed you, Philippe," a weak smile covered John Pierre’s lips as he lay against the creamy white marble floor. His life’s blood seeped out around him, his gnarled and twisted face now a grotesque mask. The patch was missing and the strange lifeless white, scarred eye stared blankly. "Decrepit old man, eh MacQueen? Think of it, I nearly had you, but you were saved by a court fop, a coward," he laughed then coughed, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth marking his pallid face as it slid gradually to his chin. Drops of red splashed on the white marble floor in a bizarre contrast from a jagged slice across his cheek.