Ashes and Ecstasy

by Catherine Hart

  “I have to go, Kat,” he told her.

  “But Reed, if you leave now, you will most certainly miss Christmas with the children!” she cried.

  “I have no choice. Besides, it won’t be the first Christmas I have missed,” he reflected bitterly.

  Kathleen’s face clouded over. “No, but it will be the second consecutive Christmas you will have been away,” she reminded him tartly.

  “It can’t be helped, Kat,” he repeated sharply. Then bitterness overcame him, and he taunted, “Don’t worry. I will be back in plenty of time for the baby’s birth; and if I see your old lover while I am there, I will send him your greetings.”

  “Do that!” she snapped back.

  Taking her completely by surprise, Reed caught her into his arms and kissed her. What began as a demanding brand of possession soon became a searching, longing kiss of farewell. “Take care of yourself and the children, Kat,” he murmured, prying his lips from hers.

  “Return home safely, Reed,” she whispered; and he swore that for just a moment he saw tears sparkling in her emerald eyes as he rode away.

  Chapter 24

  A week later, Reed arrived in the chaos that was New Orleans. Always a bustling port city, it was now preparing for the inevitable British attack. Jackson’s soldiers were much in evidence—and a rag-tag crew they were. Jackson had driven them hard to reach New Orleans. They were well-seasoned, but tired, some of them ill from traveling through rain and swamps, with inadequate food and rest. General Jackson himself was unwell, but the gruff military man refused to succumb to his illness, ignoring spells of dizziness and feverish chills.

  “Captain Taylor, glad you could make it,” Jackson greeted Reed.

  “Did I have much choice, sir?” Reed answered.

  “None,” Jackson replied, his eyes twinkling with humor. “But you might have arrived too late to do us any good, which would have distressed me more than I can say. How many ships did you manage to bring?” Jackson pounded a fist on his desk in agitation. “Damn! It is a shame there is no way to get them on up to New Orleans on the Mississippi, but the British have us bottled up tighter than a miser’s whiskey jug.”

  Reed frowned. “There were only four frigates in port when I got your message. The others were out on privateering missions.”

  Jackson shrugged. “That is four more than we had before. Where did you anchor?”

  “I started to put in at Barataria Bay, but after seeing the destruction there, I went on to another island nearby. What the devil went on?”

  Jackson snorted. “That fool Claiborne can’t see his nose in front of his face! He sent troops three months ago to wipe out Lafitte’s outfit. The jackass nearly had me believing that Lafitte was a British spy, as well as a pirate. It wasn’t until yesterday that I discovered Lafitte has been trying to warn Claiborne about the British for months now; and Claiborne, through some personal grudge with the Lafittes, chose to ignore him. If he had taken Lafitte’s advice, we’d now have the troops and ammunitions we need so badly.”

  “Are things that bad, General?” Reed’s eyebrows rose in question.

  “Son, if the British knew how desperate we are for men and ammunition, they would storm this place tonight and walk away with New Orleans and the entire Mississippi River in their pocket. The only breastworks we have are those we’ve managed to throw up since my troops arrived. The only stores are those I’ve ordered laid by. Only the men I brought with me are trained for battle. Hell! I’m surprised Claiborne didn’t just send the British an engraved invitation and be done with it!”

  “Shall I send one of my vessels back up the coast to collect arms? We could ferry them up the back bayous to New Orleans.”

  The general considered this. “You could try, but just send one. I doubt there will be time for them to get back before the British strike. In the meantime, I can use every pair of hands you can supply to help dig more breastworks.”

  There was a knock on the general’s door. At his answer, a lieutenant came in, saluted, and announced, “Jean Lafitte here to see you, sir.”

  Jackson nodded. “I’ve been expecting him. Send him in.”

  Reed’s immediate desire was to leave, but Jackson motioned for him to stay, and there was little he could do but obey and prepare himself to come face to face with Jean.

  Jean saluted smartly. “General Jackson,” he greeted. Then he started in surprise as he spied Reed. “Hello, Reed. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Jackson looked from Jean to Reed. “You know each other?”

  Reed hesitated, then admitted, “Yes. How are you, Jean?”

  ‘I’ve been better,” Jean replied, “but today I have come to offer General Jackson my aid.”

  “What sort of aid, Lafitte?” Jackson asked.

  “I offer you my services, and that of my men. Unlike the sheltered citizens of New Orleans, my men know how to fight. They know the area around New Orleans, and the routes through the swamps. They want a chance to prove their loyalty to America, as do I.”

  A speculative gleam entered the general’s eyes. “How many men are you talking about?”

  Jean gave an eloquent shrug. “Fifty—eighty—perhaps a hundred. It depends on how many I need to maintain my new base and my ships. Naturally, I would gladly offer the use of a few of my vessels also, but only with my own crews in charge.”

  While the general mulled this over, Reed put in, “Why would you do this, Jean, after Claiborne routed you out of Grande Terre?”

  Jean leveled his hazel gaze at Reed. “Because I am an American,” he declared proudly, “and I want to help defend my adopted country. Once before in my life, I have had to flee my home, leaving all I cherished behind. Never again do I want to see that happen. Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “you know how I have always detested the English.”

  “Your men would have to supply their own guns and ammunition,” Jackson said.

  Jean chuckled. “Yes, I have heard your arms depot is sadly lacking. Perhaps I could be of assistance there, also.”

  Fully alert now, Jackson leaned forward. “Sit down, Lafitte, and let’s get down to particulars.”

  In the end, both Jackson and Jean were well pleased. The same could not be said of Reed. Jean had agreed to provide much-needed arms and ammunition from his private warehouses and stockpiles on his island retreat. The U.S. government would later repay him in full, General Jackson had promised. Jean and his men would help fight against the British, lending the use of ships and crews, if needed. He would also aid in drawing up maps of waterways through the swamps, and oversee lines of defense in these areas. In return, Jackson would see that Claiborne sent a letter to the President, asking for amnesty for the Lafittes and any of Jean’s men who had been declared pirates.

  For his part, Jackson had ordered Reed to help govern all of Jean’s projects, as well as a few others, and to report back to the general on the progress made. While Reed might have objected to the assignment, Jackson said, “Time is short, Captain Taylor, and while I get the feeling you and Lafitte are not on the best of terms, personal animosities must be set aside. You have admitted to knowing those swamps nearly as well as he, and that makes you the best man for the job. You are the only one qualified to maintain order between his men and the regulars. I know I can depend on you to do what is needed.”

  There was no way Reed could refuse, though the thought of having to work hand-in-glove with Jean set his teeth on edge. Of all the idiotic turns of events! To find himself forced into close association with his rival, the very man whose child Kat might be carrying! If he and Jean did not manage to kill one another before this war was over, it would be a miracle!

  As Reed and Jean left Jackson’s office together, Jean commented, “Well, mon ami, it will be like old times fighting together again, eh?”

  “We are no longer friends, Jean, and not likely to be again, Reed snarled. “If not for General Jackson, I would call you out.”

  Jean looked amused. “Yo
u would challenge me to a duel?”

  Reed nodded. “With none of your crew there to knife me in the back after I’d killed you,” he sneered.

  Jean’s eyes saddened. “I am sorry it has come to this between two friends such as we. I bear you no ill will Reed.”

  “I can not say the same for you, and I am surprised you can feel that way,” Reed said sarcastically. “Have you found you did not really love my wife after all?”

  Jean sighed. “I love Kathleen very much. I always shall, but she belonged to you first, and it is you she loves above all else. Knowing this, what chance did I have to claim her?”

  Reed stopped walking, shooting a glare at Jean. “You would have done well to recall that sooner, Jean. As it is, I would sooner shoot you than look at you. Only circumstances and the general’s orders may prevent it.”

  The warnings of British attack took on fresh meaning when the English entered Lake Borgne the next day. General Jackson immediately declared New Orleans under martial law. No one entered or left the city without his approval, and under his watchful eye, defense measures were stepped up to a feverish pace. All available men labored day and night digging entrenchments outside the city. The women were busy, rolling lengths of bandages and readying food and supplies in case of a long seige.

  Reed worked with a vengeance, taking out his frustrations in hard physical labor. Arms were brought from Jean’s new base, and ammunition from his private warehouses, and distributed in varied locations, so that if one was destroyed, the others would be saved. The ships were deployed to strategic areas, and lookouts posted. Jean’s men, and many of Reed’s, were deployed in and around the swamps.

  Throughout the hectic activity, Reed did his best to ignore Jean’s presence as much as possible. Whenever they could not avoid one another, the very air seemed to vibrate with the tension. Hatred and rage flared from Reed’s eyes whenever Jean passed by. Sharp words were exchanged on both sides, and it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head.

  As their captains continued to quarrel and glare at one another, the men started to choose sides. No matter that they had sailed with and known the others for years, developing mutual respect and exchanging tales over many a keg of rum; now they were adversaries, and feelings ran high.

  Dominique tried to put a stop to it. “Look at you,” he pointed out derisively to Reed and Jean, “acting like two schoolboys! Fine examples you are setting for your men! Most of them are ripe for a fight, just waiting for either of you to give the signal. We have more important things to do than fight each other!”

  “My brother is right, Reed,” Jean agreed.

  Though Reed could see the truth of Dominique’s words, he said, “Perhaps, but once this battle with the British is over, nothing would give me more pleasure than to beat you to a bloody pulp, Jean.”

  “Why don’t you challenge him to a duel of swords, Reed?” Pierre suggested sneeringly. “Or perhaps you hate to admit that Jean is the better swordsman.” Then as an added jab, he taunted, “Kathleen bested Jean once, in a test of skills. Can you do less than your wife, and still hold your head high?”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?” Reed’s eyes narrowed. “How did Kat beat Jean? When?”

  “It was on Grande Terre,” Pierre responded with spiteful glee. “None of us were supposed to be aware of it, but Dominique saw it all. Kathleen challenged Jean to a test of swords, and she was magnifique!”

  “She actually defeated Jean?” Reed was incredulous. He knew Kathleen was skilled—he had fallen prey to her expertise many times—but to defeat the renowned Jean Lafitte . . . !

  “I must admit that she did.” Jean nodded. “She is one of the most proficient swordsmen in the world.”

  “I can not refute that fact. The little Irish witch is just full of surprising unladylike talents—one of which appears to be collecting lovers!” growled Reed.

  Exploding in righteous anger, Jean leapt for Reed’s throat. “You despicable bastard!” he roared. “That woman mourned you! She wept tears of anguish! She took monumental risks with her life because she did not care to live since she thought you had died!”

  Reed’s fist flew into Jean’s face. “Yet she tumbled into your bed fast enough!” He grunted as Jean countered with a blow to Reed’s stomach.

  They broke apart momentarily, and Jean retorted, “While you were counting seashells along the shore with Miss Simpson?”

  Reed tackled Jean, and they both fell to the ground.

  “Keep your nose out of matters that do not concern you,” Reed ground out, trying to pin Jean’s body beneath his.

  For several minutes the two men wrestled, each striking telling blows, but neither gaining the advantage. At length, they pulled back and regained their footing, circling one another carefully. “If Miss Simpson is not my business,” Jean panted, “perhaps Kathleen is, if you believe the child she carries may be mine.”

  The matter was now in the open.

  “I suppose Dominique told you that,” Reed surmised, squinting malevolently at Jean and waiting for an opening in Jean’s defense.

  “He told me everything Isabel had to say of the way you have treated Kathleen,” Jean said.

  They moved at the same time, fists flying, pounding at one another mercilessly. Reed's knuckles connected with Jean’s nose, and blood spurted. Through Reed’s guard, Jean struck a blow, and Reed thought he felt one of his ribs crack. Again they fell, grappling on the ground.

  “Isabel should mind her own affairs!” Reed huffed.

  “She is right to be concerned,” Jean grated through clenched teeth. “If you do not care for Kathleen any longer, I would gladly have her back, without qualms over whose child she bears.” Jean rolled away.

  Blind with rage, Reed grabbed for Jean, flipping him to his back, and wedging a husky arm against Jean’s throat. "I’ll kill you both before I let her come to you!” he roared.

  Jean kneed him in the groin, breaking Reed’s hold and leaping to his feet. “That is the trouble with you, Reed,” he wheezed, as Reed, too, labored to his feet. “You lead with your temper instead of your brain. If Kathleen truly wanted to be with me, nothing could stop her. Think about it!”

  Reed lunged, his weight carrying them both down once more. By the time Dominique and Pierre pulled them apart, they were both struggling for breath and barely conscious.

  Jean glared at Reed through a badly swelling left eye. “You are a fool, Reed! Kathleen loves you more than you deserve!”

  “That still doesn’t settle the issue of the child,” Reed muttered past a split lip, trying vainly to throw Dominique off and get at Jean once more.

  “If you loved her enough, you would see her side of things, and it would not matter!” Jean spat, trying to rid his tongue of the taste of blood. “You do not deserve that woman, Reed! Your own pride and stupidity are blinding you to her worth!”

  Reinforcements finally arrived when General Coffee and General Carroll appeared with their troops. Three days before Christmas, the British crossed Lake Borgne under cover of night, and by early dawn of December twenty-third, emerged on an evacuated plantation just eight miles below New Orleans.

  Putting aside their personal rancor, Jean and Reed united behind Jackson to lead an unexpected attack on the British before they could regroup and move further toward the city. They charged the plantation, routing the English just as the schooner, the U.S. Carolina, barraged the shore and their boats. The British beat a hasty retreat, and though everyone knew it was but a temporary reprieve, it raised their spirits.

  In the next few days, the Americans worked to finish building their entrenchments and the embankments for their cannon. Though Reed’s resentment threatened to erupt, and Jean’s animosity flared, both men managed to keep their tempers under control.

  In a tiny tent, with mud oozing beneath its sides, Reed sat on his cot and thought of home. It was Christmas Eve, and he wondered what Kathleen and the children were doing. Were they all at church,
attending Christmas Eve services? Was Kathleen staying in town for the holidays with Susan or her Aunt Barbara? Reed rubbed at his forehead wearily. Damn, he wished he was home! Even an argument with Kathleen would be preferable to this aching loneliness. How dear her sharp words and tart tongue seemed just now! He would welcome them gladly!

  As he lay back, carefully holding his taped ribs, Jean’s words echoed in Reed’s ears. Perhaps he was a blind, stupid fool, but he could not overcome his revulsion at the thought of Kathleen carrying Jean’s child within her. With an exhausted sigh, Reed closed his eyes.

  Kathleen sat staring into the flames of the dying fire. It was late, and everyone else had long since gone to bed in preparation for Christmas Day. In deference to her advanced pregnancy, the Baker and Taylor clans had all come to Emerald Hill for the holidays.

  Her gaze wandered to the pile of gifts beneath the tree. Come morning, Andrea and Katlin and their cousins would make a shambles of the orderly arrangement, flinging ribbon and wrapping across the room as they discovered the coveted prizes within the boxes. Squeals of delight would echo from the rafters, and when it was done, only Reed’s gifts would rest beneath the branches.

  Kathleen had sewn a chocolate brown smoking jacket for him and had bought house slippers to go with it. Aside from that, she had found a beautifully carved humidor and filled it with his favorite cheroots. From Katlin, he would receive a mustache cup, and Andrea had chosen a blue ascot as her gift to her papa. All would await Reed’s arrival—whenever that might be.

  There were two gifts there from Reed to Kathleen. Mary had brought them earlier in the week. Evidently, he had gotten them before he left for New Orleans. But the gifts did not make up for Reed’s absence. Kathleen would have given much to have him near now, even if he were to behave hatefully. A rousing fight might be just what she needed to jerk her out of her lethargy.

  The baby kicked, drawing Kathleen’s attention to her swollen abdomen. Placing a calming hand over the mound, she soothed it in circular motions. A few more weeks, and she would be holding the child in her arms. Kathleen was frightened, not of the birth itself, but what it might precipitate. If the babe resembled Jean, Reed would never forgive her; if it did not, Kathleen was not sure she could forgive Reed for his spiteful treatment of her. At times, she hated him as fiercely as she loved him. With a sigh, Kathleen resigned herself to the final few weeks; regardless of the outcome, she would love this child and protect it with her very life.