by Connie Mason
Her heart beating wildly in her ribcage, Gabby closed her eyes, preferring not to witness what she could not understand, praying for this horrible nightmare to end. Suddenly, a great hush fell over the thong and Amalie’s voice filled the silence. The slaves responded to her words with much yelling and waving of arms, their eyes glued to Gabby’s nude form, glowing like pale alabaster in the moonlight. Their chant became like thunder in Gabby’s ears. “Damballa! Damballa! Damballa!”
She was driven to the brink of insanity, violet eyes glazed over as Amalie, the fer-de-lance now draped about her neck, approached the altar and drew a razor sharp fingernail between Gabby’s breasts, drawing a thin line of blood all the was to her navel. Gabby blinked at the sudden pain, but Amalie was not yet finished with her. A collective sigh arose from the crowd as Amalie pulled the gag from Gabby’s mouth and proceeded to paint her lips with the blood she had just drawn. Screaming, fighting against the leather thongs that bound her to the altar, Gabby knew death was at hand when Amalie placed the fer-de-lance on her stomach, then stood back, a sardonic smile distorting her beautiful face. An icy rivulet of fear ran along her spine and cold trickles spread through her body until her breath came fast and ragged, almost in a sob.
A prayer for her immortal soul on her lips, Gabby stared at the snake slithering across her quivering stomach. Amalie’s cat’s eyes gleamed malevolently as her body moved seductively to the tempo of the drumbeat, joyfully anticipating the death of the woman who stood between her and the man she loved. A huge muscular slave whose black skin glistened wetly in the firelight seized her around the waist and threw her to the ground, straddling her. With eager hands she grasped his engorged organ and drew him down, into her writhing body.
Immobilized by fear, Gabby felt the snake inch downward along her prone form. Then she screamed… and screamed… and screamed, on the verge of madness, the fer-de-lance now entangled amid the curling strands of the silky triangle at the juncture of her thighs. Through her madness appeared the vision of a huge form weaving around the tangle of copulating bodies and frenzied dancers, his booming voice casting a pall upon the pleasure-seeking group of slaves. The drums stopped, and all eyes turned toward Gerard, but he had eyes only for Gabby as his gigantic hand fearlessly grasped the snake by its neck and tossed it aside as if it were a toy. Enraged, he turned to Amalie, dragging the still pumping body from atop her and pulled her roughly to her feet. One by one the slaves began melting into the surrounding jungle. The last thing Gabby saw before she blacked out was Gerard’s huge fist drawn back to strike his daughter.
Chapter Thirteen
Gabby struggled into consciousness aware of the bright sun warming her face and of two people gazing at her with grave concern. Tame Louise and Gerard breathed a collective sigh of relief when Gabby regarded them through eyes that held none of the madness of the night before.
“How do you feel, ma petite?” asked Tante Louise, a worried frown creasing her careworn face.
“Amalie! The fer-de-lance!” Gabby cried, reliving in her mind the horror of the Obeah ceremony. Tremors shook her slim body as she moaned softly.
“It’s over. Nothing or no one will harm you again,” soothed Tame Louise, brushing strands of silver hair away from Gabby’s damp brow. “Amalie may be my daughter but this time she went too far. I don’t know what Monsieur Philippe would do if anything happened to you.” She rolled her black eyes to better emphasize her words.
Gabby looked skeptical. She was certain Philippe cared more for his mistress than he did her. But no matter, never again would she allow Amalie to harm her, she promised herself. She would put herself as far away as possible from Philippe’s cold brutality and Amalie’s hatred. She doubted if she could ever be the same after what had happened to her last night at the altar of Damballa. During that diabolical ceremony a different woman had been born; one who would live her own life; one who would not, could not live under the domination of Philippe St. Cyr! Accordingly she made her plans.
It took several days for Gabby to recuperate from her harrowing experience, but when she did she informed Tante Louise and Gerard that she planned to attend Linette’s wedding at St. Pierre, and remain several weeks as houseguest of Honore. With hooded eyes and clacking tongue Tante Louise made known her disapproval. But neither she nor Gerard had the authority to stop their mistress from doing as she pleased in Philippe’s absence. Philippe’s explicit orders had been to protect and care for her, nothing more.
Two days later, a scowling Gerard handed Gabby into the carriage and they set out for St. Pierre. Gabby thought back to the last time she had traveled along the breathtakingly beautiful roads as Philippe’s happily pregnant bride. She wondered how she could have been duped by Philippe’s empty promises and false words of love. She sighed, bitterness a hard knot in her breast. She had allowed the dictates of her body to cloud her thinking and she had paid dearly for it. Never again would she be that naive girl who thought her love for her husband could conquer all.
The trip was long and exhausting and Gabby had plenty of time to think carefully about what she planned to do with her future. When St. Pierre loomed ahead of her, she still had not deviated one iota from her original decision. In her heart she knew she could no longer live with Philippe!
According to Gabby’s instructions, Gerard drove directly to Marcel’s townhouse, stiff disapproval mirrored in his dark eyes and in the firm line of his broad shoulders. As fate would have it, Marcel was arriving home from his office at the same moment Gabby alit from the carriage in front of his gate.
“Gabby, cherie!” he exclaimed as he rushed to help her. “Linette will be so pleased that you decided to attend her wedding.” Marcel’s warmth spread over Gabby like a cheerful fire on a damp night, and she felt as if she had come home.
“When should I return for you, Madame Gabby?” Gerard asked, flashing Marcel a scathing glance.
Marcel faced Gerard’s grim face with composure. “I shall see Madame St. Cyr back to Bellefontaine myself when she is ready to return,” he replied haughtily, forestalling Gabby’s answer. “Leave her trunk at the gate and my man will carry it in.” Then, as he offered Gabby his arm they entered the house while a disgruntled Gerard looked helplessly on. He knew Philippe would be far from pleased by the turn of events, but deep in his heart he could not fault Gabby for fleeing from a situation that had caused her so much grief and terror. He blamed his own beautiful daughter for attempting to harm his mistress and his master for leaving his young wife unprotected.
Inside the house, Gabby was so happy to be away from Bellefontaine and danger that she nearly collapsed with relief.
“What is it, cherie?” Marcel asked when he noticed her pallor and violent trembling. “What has happened? More than the wedding has brought you here. Do you wish to tell me about it?”
Unable to contain her emotions for a minute longer, Gabby burst into tears, whereupon Marcel gently drew her into his arms and led her to a sofa, letting her cry out her frustrations into his chest.
“Is it Philippe?” he asked, his jaw tightening. “Has he hurt you? I thought he was still aboard the Windward.”
Clinging to Marcel, Gabby gasped out, between sobs, the events that sent her from Bellefontaine in fear of her life. When she finished Marcel’s mouth was agape with shock and his hard, emerald eyes wide with distress.
“I would not have thought Amalie would go to such lengths to rid herself of a rival,” he muttered darkly. “To think that St. Cyr would leave you at the mercy of that witch is inconceivable. You poor child,” he consoled, barely able to contain his anger at Amalie for putting Gabby through an ordeal that might have damaged her mind had she been a weak woman. “You need never return to Bellefontaine if that is your wish. My home is yours for as long as you care to remain. Amalie cannot harm you here and Honore will remain in St. Pierre after the wedding to forestall any gossip attached to your visit. It is well known that you and my sisters are great friends.”
“No ma
tter what Philippe thinks about you, Marcel, you have been a true friend to me and I shall never forget it,” Gabby said gratefully. “I have no desire to return to Bellefontaine and I’m afraid to stay at Philippe’s townhouse where either he or Amalie can easily find me. As long as it is agreeable to you I will stay here until I decide where my future lies.”
“What do you have in mind, cherie?” Marcel asked, searching her violet eyes hopefully.
“I can no longer live with Philippe,” Gabby declared firmly, her small chin thrust forward, eyes unwavering. “I intend to leave him. Will you help me?”
“Ask anything of me, Gabby,” Marcel said fervently.
“Does your sister in New Orleans still need a governess for her children? If so, I would like to apply for the position.”
“The job is yours, cherie, and I will be happy to see you to New Orleans personally if you are still determined to leave your husband,” he quickly replied.
“I have no choice. I am afraid of Philippe and fear Amalie even more.”
“After the wedding…” But Marcel got no further. Honore and Linette burst into the room throwing themselves upon Gabby.
“Gabby!” exclaimed the volatile Honore. “You’ve come!”
“We were afraid you would not come to the wedding,” explained the less dramatic but nevertheless sincere Linette. Then, being a very perceptive young lady, she noticed Gabby’s red-rimmed eyes and immediately voiced her concern. “Why have you been crying, ma chere? Is something amiss?”
Almost immediately she realized her blunder, remembering the recent loss of Gabby’s child, and blushed furiously.
But it was Honore who surprisingly voiced Linette’s feelings. “You dunce, Linette,” she rounded, “Gabby has a right to be sad, but now that she is here we will keep her too occupied to have sad thoughts.”
“Gabby has consented to stay with us for a while,” interposed Marcel, “so you will have plenty of time for gossip. Right now she must be exhausted after the long, hot ride from Bellefontaine so why don’t you two take her to her room so that she may bathe and nap before dinner. Don’t tire her with your jabber,” he warned with mock severity.
Gabby glanced around appreciatively at the handsomely appointed room to which the Duvall sisters had taken her. She noticed that her trunk had already been unpacked and a change of clothing laid out on the bed. A tub of steaming water sat upon the hearth. Gabby had so many reasons to be grateful to Marcel. Honore and Linette made to leave but Gabby urged them to stay and talk while she bathed.
“Tell me about your husband-to-be, Monsieur Bonnard. What is he like?” Gabby asked Linette while she undressed. She could not help but think of her own hastily arranged marriage and how she had railed against becoming the bride of the cold, aloof stranger her parents had chosen for her.
The radiant smile on Linette’s face told Gabby volumes about the bride-to-be’s feelings. “He is so handsome, Gabby,” enthused Linette happily. “Although Marcel told me I would find Monsieur Bonnard pleasing I somehow pictured him anything but handsome.”
“She nearly swooned when they met,” giggled Honore.
After a sharp, albeit fond look at her sister, Linette continued shyly, “I… I think he found me attractive, also.” Her cheeks flushed becomingly.
“Of course he did,” Gabby smiled indulgently, feeling more like a mother to Linette than someone her own age.
“He would be a fool not to. But tell me more. Have you had an opportunity to be alone with him?”
“We… we… had a few moments in private,” admitted Linette, flashing a grateful glance at her beaming sister.
“And?” prompted Gabby, rising from the tub and wrapping herself in a large bath towel.
“He said… he said he loved me already and hoped I would come to love him. He promised to treat me gently. I think… I think… I love him, too,” whispered Linette awestruck by her temerity.
Remembering their brother’s warning not to tire Gabby with their chatter, the girls soon left, and Gabby sank gratefully into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. The dreams that marred her rest began the moment she closed her eyes. She saw, as if from a great distance, her own nude body stretched upon a cold, stone slab, a fer-de-lance resting across her stomach. She writhed and twisted, dislodging the bath towel from around her body even though she did not awaken. Disembodied faces floated around her, laughing and leering evilly. And Amalie was there! A seductive smile curving red lips dripping with blood. She felt as if her soul had left her body as she watched the snake move lower on the body bound to the altar, seeking the secret opening. Suddenly, in her dreams, Philippe appeared and flung the snake aside, taking its place between her trembling thighs. His kisses and caresses nearly drove her mad. Then she awoke, sweating profusely yet strangely chilled.
Marcel was holding her quivering form in her arms, soothing her, speaking to her gently as she came to her senses. It took her some minutes to realize that Marcel was moving his hands intimately over her nude breasts and stomach. With a cry of dismay she pulled away and desperately sought to cover herself with the sweat-drenched towel she had cast aside during her nightmare. Though every nerve ending seemed to strain toward Marcel’s arousing hands, Gabby realized that her relationship with Marcel must never go beyond friendship. She had no desire to further complicate her life by taking a lover.
No, ma chere,” Marcel whispered when he felt her stiffen and pull away. “Let me love you. Allow me to show you the meaning of gentleness and tenderness.” His hand moved to explore the tender skin of her inner thigh, his lips teasing an already erect nipple.
“No, Marcel,” gasped Gabby raggedly, pushing Marcel’s hands and lips aside. “You take unfair advantage of me. I am too vulnerable, too fresh from hurt. Too much has happened to me and my mind is in a turmoil. I implore you to stop. I am too exhausted in mind and spirit to commit myself. I have no desire at this time to take a lover, but your friendship means more to me than anything in the world at this time. If… if that is not enough for you I shall be forced to leave.”
“You want me, cherie, I can feel it in every fiber of your delightful body,” Marcel insisted, refusing to give up.
“My body could not help but respond to your caresses, Marcel, but my mind and heart tell me otherwise. You would not take me against my will, would you, Marcel?”
The pleading in her wide, violet eyes was too much for Marcel. Never had he felt such tenderness toward a woman, never had he wanted to make love to a woman as he did Gabby. He found it difficult to admit, but the lovely, very hurt young woman he held in his arms meant as much to him as did his own sisters. Reluctantly he allowed Gabby to slide from his embrace and even surprised himself by helping her to refasten the towel about her slim body. “Will you be all right?” he asked as he made to leave.
“ Oui, I’m fine… now,” replied Gabby shyly.
“Nothing or no one will harm you while I am here to protect you,” promised Marcel gravely. And he never meant anything more in his whole life. He would kill anyone, even Philippe, who obviously cared little for his lovely wife and appreciated her even less.
Linette’s wedding was a delightful affair, the affection displayed between bride and groom touching. Linette was enchanting, her bright beauty a perfect foil for Pierre Bonnard’s dark handsomeness. Gabby’s high regard for Marcel increased each time Pierre Bonnard leaned protectively toward his radiant bride throughout the long nuptial mass. Marcel could have chosen someone old and ugly or someone cold and possessive, like Philippe, for his shy, reserved sister. But instead he had picked a man who seemed to appreciate Linette’s many qualities. If only Philippe had been half as devoted as Pierre Bonnard, Gabby thought bitterly. Nothing remained of the tender, caring man Philippe had become when he first learned she carried his child. Had it all been a charade?
Gabby appeared but briefly at the wedding reception. Linette and Pierre had already left to board a ship that would carry them to their new home in France and Gab
by did not linger once she had wished the young couple a long, happy life.
During the following days, Honore thanked Gabby time and again for remaining with her and taking up the void left in her life by the departed Linette. Honore could not know that she too was like a balm to Gabby’s deflated spirits. Honore’s youth and exuberance helped greatly to dispel Gabby’s recurring nightmares of sacrificial altars and snakes.
Finally the day came when Gabby could no longer delay her departure from Martinique. The passionate, beseeching looks aimed in her direction by Marcel left little doubt in her mind that he would not long be satisfied with their relationship based on friendship alone. She also began to fear that Philippe would appear and demand her return to Bellefontaine. That thought alone made her decision for her.
Accordingly, she voiced her wishes to Marcel. “You have been content here, haven’t you, ma chere?” asked Marcel, unhappy with her decision.
Gabby stared thoughtfully at Mt. Pelee before answering. She sensed in it a sleeping giant, ready to erupt at any time, just like Philippe. Sighing hugely, she finally replied, “Too happy, Marcel. In fact, so content that I had nearly forgotten that Philippe could return at any time and force me to return to Bellefontaine, just as he did Cecily so long ago. I am convinced he will never send Amalie away and I could never be a wife to him under those conditions.” Gabby’s violet eyes turned dark as she fought back tears of remorse. “Don’t you see, Marcel? It’s imperative that I leave Martinique before Philippe returns. I’m afraid that the next time Amalie will succeed in her diabolical plan to do away with me. Will you help me, Marcel?” she beseeched.
