The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  Despite having learned that women were at least capable of giving physical pleasure, Brett still would have stopped his father from committing what he was certain was folly. There was nothing spiteful in his motives; they sprang from love of his father and his wish to save Hugh the pain of further betrayal. But he was also dimly aware that Hugh, oddly enough, wanted this marriage to Sofia Aguilar, and not wishing to cause his father distress, Brett grimly held his tongue. But he didn't have to like it, he told himself unhappily. Or her.

  While Brett didn't like Sofia, he didn't dislike her either. He merely refused to let her slip under his guard as she had his father's, having decided long ago, as he had sat terrified by his father's bedside, watching Hugh's desperate battle to live after the duel Gillian had precipitated, that no woman was to be trusted. In time that feeling might have lessened, but there was a constant reminder—every time he saw Hugh's silver-headed cane and watched his father's slow, careful steps, he was reminded. That cane had become a symbol, a constant painful, bitter reminder of the trouble a woman could create.

  Certainly he was never going to be so foolish as to marry, nor would he ever let any woman mean anything to him. Women were made to be used, he decided cynically, and use them he would! But then, as if to remind him that his actions did not always follow the cold dictates of his brain, his gaze moved irresistibly across the aisle to meet Sabrina's troubled look.

  Suddenly his brooding expression faded and the young hard face softened. Of course, Sabrina wasn't to be included with women—she was only a child. An adorable minx, he decided fondly, and wishing to dispel his own unhappy thoughts as well as erase the troubled look from the amber-gold eyes, Brett grinned and winked audaciously at her across the aisle.

  Instantly Sabrina's worries fled, and she flashed him a sunny little smile, content now that Brett no longer seemed unhappy. She would never want Senor Brett to be unhappy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Immediately following the wedding ceremony, everyone retired to the Dangermond estate, Riverview, so named for its commanding view of the roiling, turbulent Mississippi River below the bluff upon which it sat. It was a beautiful home built nearly sixty years earlier in 1730 by a reformed English freebooter.

  At that time, Riverview had been little more than a charming cottage, the city of Natchez only a huddle of wooden buildings in the middle of a vast, unexplored wilderness. The wilderness was still mostly unexplored, but like Natchez, Riverview had grown until, in this spring of 1789, it was an elegant, imposing house that the very new Sofia Dangermond would now call home.

  Since she and the del Torres family had been living at Riverview these last few days before the wedding, it already had a feeling of home for her. Her personal belongings were scattered throughout the house as if she had always lived there. Knowing that Elena and Alejandro would be staying at Riverview to keep an eye on Brett and Martin while she and Hugh took a brief wedding journey to New Orlesms lifted every care from her mind. Her face radiant, the love she shared with Hugh obvious, Sofia moved happily among those who had come to wish them well.

  A feast had been laid out for the many guests. There were punches in silver bowls, wines, and lemonade; flaky pastries filled with ham, shrimp, and chicken were piled high on ornate silver trays; but best of all to Sabrina's way of thinking were the cream cakes and syllabubs. Seeing where her eyes strayed so often, Brett laughed at such open greed.

  Sabrina was the only child present—and she was included only because she was staying at Riverview with her parents. Being an only child, she was used to the exclusive company of adults and was quite happy to remain at her mother's side watching the ladies and gentlemen in their fine clothing. But Brett, moved by an emotion he didn't recognize, made it his duty to entertain her. His mouth curved in rueful amusement at his own actions; he held her small hand in his and manfully ignored Morgan's cocked eyebrow and Martin's unkind snicker as he escorted her about and saw that her plate was heaped with the delicacies that would appeal to the stomach of a seven-year-old.

  Naturally Brett was teased unmercifully for his odd behavior. After the guests had departed, he and Morgan had appropriated a few bottles of Hugh's best wines and had stolen away to a grassy spot at the bluffs edge. Sprawled comfortably beneath a spreading oak tree, they had settled down to enjoy themselves and the wine. Which they did until, a few minutes later, Brett heard some suspicious rustling in a nearby bush.

  Resignedly he grumbled, "You might as well come out, Martin. I know you're there."

  Brett grimaced and Morgan rolled his eyes heavenward as Martin showed himself and began to threaten. "I saw you take the bottles from the cellar! If Father hadn't left for his honeymoon, I'd tell on you!"

  When Brett remained unmoved and merely looked at him contemptuously, Martin whined, "I won't tell, though, if you let me have some. I'm almost as old as you, and I don't see why I can't do the things that you do ... or why you never let me come with you but you let that brat, Sabrina, follow you about!"

  Brett fixed him with a cool look and said icily, "Leave your tongue off Sabrina! As for telling—Father gave me permission to use the wine cellar as I wished when I turned sixteen."

  His blackmail having failed, Martin scowled and started to turn away, but Brett, feeling guilty because he really didn't like his brother, called out, "Stay and join us, if you like." Martin liked, and he threw himself down on the grass near the other two.

  There was a companionable silence for a while until Morgan said dulcetly to Brett, "You were quite the gallant this afternoon with your new cousin." His blue eyes opening very wide, he asked innocently, "Do I sense a romance? Has the family betrothed you to the young lady? Seven does seem a bit, er, soon, but I suspect you know your own mind. I wonder though—suppose she grows up to have spots and no bosom!"

  Brett shot him a speaking look. "Cut line! She's only a child!" Somewhat defensively he added, "I . . .I felt sorry for her."

  Morgan snorted, and Brett flushed. But unwilling to let his friend get off so easily, Morgan, a teasing slant to his full mouth, complained mournfully, "But you feel sorry for her all the time! I cannot think of any time during the past fortnight that Sabrina has been far from your side." Mockery dancing in his eyes, Morgan breathed in shocked accents, "Never tell me you've changed your mind about women? My God, can it be that you think to snaffle her young and train her to be the perfect bride?"

  Brett's flush increased, and he appeared much younger than a few weeks away from eighteen. Martin, who had been listening avidly to the exchange, smiled maliciously at his older brother's discomfort. Deciding to contribute to the discomfort, Martin said slyly, "Oh, no, it isn't that, let me assure you! It's simply that he enjoys having a little slave running behind him. He can do no wrong in her eyes, and he finds playing god to an adoring audience a novel situation."

  "That's not true!" Brett returned hotly, willing to let Morgan roast him but unable to bear Martin's making disparaging remarks about Sabrina. Growing more uncomfortable and defensive, he suddenly realized just how much time he had spent with the girl. Under his breath he muttered, "She's only a child. I was only being polite—anyone would have done the same thing."

  Morgan smiled. "Of course . . . if you say so."

  Throwing his companion a look of utter loathing, Brett said savagely, "Haven't you anything else to talk about? I wonder if you aren't nourishing a passion for her the way you go on!"

  Morgan laughed, and the subject lapsed. They finished off the wine, and once they had escaped from Martin's company, Morgan and Brett found themselves irresistibly drawn to Silver Street. They were young and their blood was running hot, and it really wasn't surprising that Brett spent the remainder of the night discovering again the pleasure a woman could give a man.

  Peculiarly, Sabrina was very much on his mind when he woke the next morning with a pounding head and an odd distaste for his actions the previous evening. Morgan's teasing, innocent though it had been, had flicked Brett on the raw. Gri
mly he made a vow that he would have nothing more to do with his young stepcousin.

  That resolve lasted for ail of two days. The hurt, confused expression on Sabrina's face when he curtly told her she couldn't come cat-fishing with him, the quivering lip when she learned that he didn't want her company on his morning rides any longer, and the pained shadows he detected in the usually bright eyes when he sharply reprimanded her for hanging over his shoulder in the evening while he played piquet with Morgan couldn't be borne any longer.

  Rising the morning of the third day since the wedding, he deliberately sought out Sabrina. He found her sitting listlessly under one of the magnolia trees. When Brett saw the forlorn droop of her bottom lip and guessed the reason, his heart twisted painfully.

  To make her smile again was certainly worth a little teasing from his friend, wasn't it? It definitely was, he decided firmly. Approaching her, a warm smile curving his finely shaped mouth, he said coaxingly, "I spotted a quail sitting on her nest yesterday. Shall I show it to you?"

  A sparkle instantly leaped into her eyes, and Sabrina turned to stare at him. ''Oh, yes!" she breathed before she had time to think. But then, just a little wary after her inexplicable fall from grace, she added coolly, "That is, if you don't mind."

  The quail's nest was some distance from the house. They walked quietly through a tangled forest of blackberry and honeysuckle vines, wild plum trees intermingling with the pine, sycamore, oak, and chestnut trees, and eventually they came to it. Putting his finger to his lips and dropping to his haunches, Brett pointed.

  It took Sabrina several seconds to discern the quail's gray, brownish-black feathers among the mottled leaves that were scattered across the forest floor, but when she finally saw it, she sucked in her breath with clear delight. "Oh, Senor Brett!" she whispered. "How wonderful! She is very pretty, si?"

  Brett nodded, and together they stealthily crept away. The find of the quail's nest re-established their rapport, and it became part of the daily ritual to quietly inspect it. Each day Sabrina faithfully placed a handful of stale bread a short distance from the nest, the quail's bright little eyes watching her every movement.

  "She knows us!" Sabrina said sincerely one morning. "She must, Senor Brett! She never moves off her nest or flies away when we come. Do you think she would let me pet her?"

  Brett smiled gently down into her upturned face, his hand lightly caressing her bright hair. "Afraid not, sweetheart. She's a wild creature, and as soon as her eggs hatch, she'll be off with her chicks."

  Sabrina's face fell. "Oh, I do hope we can see the babies."

  "We will, don't worry," Brett promised, his dark green eyes full of affection.

  It was only as they turned away that they discovered Martin had followed them. Coming out from behind an oak tree, he glanced over at the nest and sneered, "A quail's nest! Is that what you've been sneaking off to see each day?"

  Earnestly Sabrina said, "Oh, but Senor Martin, she is not just any quail—she knows Senor Brett and me!"

  Martin looked indifferent, but Brett stared at him hard for several seconds and then said softly, "You will leave the nest undisturbed, won't you?"

  Martin reluctantly met his brother's green gaze. "Of course—why would I bother an old quail's nest?"

  It was the end of the conversation, but for several days, Brett kept an eye. out for Martin to make mischief. Brett gradually relaxed, however, for it seemed that Martin had decided a quail's nest was beneath his talents.

  Then came a morning when the little bird wasn't on her nest. Brett thought nothing of it, assuming that the bird was out hunting, and with a light comment he turned away, heading back for the house, certain Sabrina was following him.

  Sabrina had been full of anticipation this particular morning, confident that today would be the day that the eggs hatched, and consequently she didn't immediately follow Brett but crept closer to the little nest. Seeing the broken shells, she clapped her hands with excitement and glanced eagerly around, positive her quail wouldn't have left without displaying the chicks. She had just opened her mouth to call joyfully to Brett when she spied the sinister shape coiled a few feet away from the nest. A copperhead snake. A copperhead with an obscene bulge in the middle of its sinuous length that cruelly revealed the fate of the quail and her eggs.

  Horror choked Sabrina, and remembering the way the little quail had seemed to watch for her each day, she was filled with fury. A cry of half-anguish, half-rage came from her, and blindly she reached for a fallen oak branch and attacked the snake.

  Brett heard her cry and spun on his heels, swiftly returning to the nest. He found Sabrina, weeping and furious, wielding the oak branch with fatal efficiency.

  The snake was dead long before Brett could pry the oak branch from Sabrina's clenched fingers. She was still sobbing angrily, tears streaking down her cheeks, her eyes a pure gold glitter between the spiky dark lashes when she finally released her hold on the branch and flung herself into Brett's comforting arms.

  "It ate her!" she cried with furious revulsion.

  "I know, sweetheart, I know. But these things happen in the wild," Brett said helplessly. Lifting her from the ground, he gently enfolded her slender body next to his, murmuring soft, consoling sounds.

  Sabrina's arms were tightly clasped around his neck, her face buried under his chin, but suddenly she flung back her head angrily and said vehemently, "But it shouldn't have happened! Not to my quail!"

  Brett looked down at her, intending to say something to ease her hurt, but the words stuck in his throat as he stared at the little face just below his. Her eyes were bright with tears and anger; her cheeks were flushed pink. The wide, generous mouth was inches from his own, and Brett was overwhelmed by a surge of tenderness.

  Suddenly assailed by an emotion he had no business feeling for a seven-year-old girl, he instantly thrust her away from him and setting her urgently on the ground, put several feet between them. Drawing a ragged breath, he forced himself to concentrate on what she had said, and unsteadily he got out, "No, no, it shouldn't have happened, poppet, but it did. You have to realize that nature isn't always kind. Life can be cruel." Bitterly, ruthlessly ignoring the emotions that clawed through him, he said, "Life is cruel—you can't always have things the way you want them."

  After that, it was as if the death of the quail had been the death also of their re-established rapport. Brett assiduously avoided Sabrina. What he had felt for her was damnably wrong, and he convinced himself that the incident was further proof of how dangerous women could be—even very young ones.

  Sabrina suffered again at suddenly being anathema to her idol. She was bewildered, hurt, and angry at the same time to be now treated as if she had committed some unforgivable, terrible offense. As the days passed, and the time grew nearer for the del Torres family to depart for Nacogdoches, Sabrina took refuge in disliking her once beloved Senor Brett. He was a beast!

  There was one other incident in connection with the quail. Two days after the discovery of the snake, as Brett was dismounting from his morning ride, he happened to overhear one of the grooms scolding Martin. That Martin was very aware of Brett's presence was obvious from the nervous glances he kept shooting his way. But Jem, the English groom, was completely oblivious of Brett as he grumbled, "Did you get rid of that snake? I don't mind you trapping animals and such, but I'll be damned if I'll have you keeping snakes near the stables—and a bloody copperhead at that! Why you keep it and don't feed it is beyond me! If you haven't let it loose or killed it by now, do so today!"

  A dangerous gleam in the dark green eyes, Brett said silkily, ''Oh, I wouldn't scold him anymore, Jem. . . . I'm certain he let the snake go, didn't you, Martin? About two days ago?"

  Martin swallowed uncomfortably and hastily backed away from his older brother. It did him little good. Brett stalked furiously after him, and later that day and for several days thereafter, Martin's blackened eye and puffed, swollen face weren't a pretty sight.

  Sofia and
Hugh returned from their brief honeymoon in New Orleans the day before Brett's eighteenth birthday. That marriage agreed with them was apparent from the shy smile on Sofia's lips and the warmth that leaped into Hugh's eyes whenever she entered a room.

  After the initial greetings had been exchanged, Sofia noticed the estrangement between Brett and Sabrina. The next morning she asked Elena, "What in the world has happened between your daughter and my new stepson? Did she do something to enrage him?"

  Elena shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know, but I would like to box his ears! It was not kind of him to be so pleasant to her and then avoid her like she had the pox. Men! Never will I understand them!"

  Brett's birthday present from his father arrived that afternoon, and the entire family gathered at the whitewashed stables to admire it. It was a magnificent two-year-old golden chestnut stallion, a powerful, spirited animal that Brett was to tame and train himself.

  Staring at the half-wild animal as he snorted and cavorted in the paddock, for a few minutes Sabrina forgot the gulf that had grown between her and Brett. The stallion was a thoroughbred, his Arab blood evident in the small, arrogant head and the long, incredibly slender legs, and Sabrina was enchanted.