The Tiger Lily
Page 50
Forcing himself to walk casually, Brett made for the door, his body tense, ready to spring into attack if an opportunity offered itself. None did. The hair on his neck prickling, he was conscious of Carlos following directly behind him, of the pistol jabbed in the middle of his back. At the doorway, Carlos stopped long enough to pick up the oil lamp that Sabrina had lit earlier. He carried it with him as they walked out onto the portico.
Brett stopped and looked at him, but Carlos motioned him down the steps. Reluctantly Brett went down, an uneasiness growing within him. The two men stopped a few yards from the house.
There was an odd smile on Carlos's face, the flickering light from the lamp giving his features a diabolical cast. "Are you ready, gringo?" he breathed gleefully.
Not certain what he was getting at, Brett slowly nodded his head. At least Sabrina was out of his clutches.
"Then watch your wife die!" Carlos screamed, and madness giving him added strength, with a powerful movement he flung the oil lamp against the front door of the house.
The lamp shattered with a tinkling crash, the oil spilling across the portico, the fire igniting instantly, and Brett went crazy himself as he realized what Carlos had planned. Sabrina was to die and he was to be forced to watch it happen, and then Carlos would kill him, too. He could face his own death, but not hers, and with helpless horror he watched as the flames grew brighter, the fire spreading rapidly across the front of the house. The house was primarily wood, and the fire could ravage the entire structure in no time. It would be only a few minutes before the flames would reach Sabrina on the floor in the salon.
It suddenly didn't matter whether he lived or died, he couldn't helplessly stand by and watch his wife—his love and his unborn child—die in those flames, and with a snarl of rage, the jade-green eyes black with a deadly fury, oblivious of the pistol pointed directly at him, he lunged savagely for Carlos, his hands clawing for the pistol.
Carlos had been feverishly watching the fire, and Brett's crazed attack caught him totally by surprise. Frenziedly he struggled to escape Brett's vicious hold on his wrist. They fell to the ground, rolling over and over as they fought with a deadly determination to win this last vital battle between them.
The flames from the burning house danced over their twisting bodies, their breath coming in ugly, rasping sounds as they battled to gain control of the pistol. The pistol was between their bodies now, Carlos trying furiously to position it against Brett's body. But Brett was driven by an even greater fury than Carlos could imagine, and inexorably, he slowly, coldly, forced the pistol over Carlos's heart. Like steel talons, Brett's fingers closed over the trigger, and with a violent jerk the pistol went off, Carlos giving one great leap beneath Brett.
Brett didn't even wait to see what damage had been inflicted upon Carlos. He was already rolling away, rising to his feet and running toward the house, before the sound of the shot died away. His heart thudding rampantly in his breast, he stared with unmitigated terror at the sight before him. The entire front of the house was on fire, greedy yellow and orange flames already attacking the roof.
The smell of smoke had awakened the servants, and Brett was suddenly conscious of them moving about just out of range of the terrific heat that the fire generated. In the confusion, no one had noticed the two men struggling in the flickering shadows, but they had all heard the sound of the shot, and as Brett reached them, Ollie cried out, "What happened? Where's the missus?"
Brett had eyes for nothing but the house, and harshly he snapped, "Get me a blanket—wet it down with a bucket of water and hurry!"
Ollie's face with white with horror. "Guvnor, you ain't—"
"Get me that blanket, damn you!" Brett thundered.
A second later, the dripping blanket covering his body, Brett raced around the side of the house, and taking a deep breath, he plunged through the door where Carlos had entered such a short time before. A wall of heat blasted him, knocking him backward, but doggedly Brett struggled on, trying frantically to reach the place where he knew Sabrina had fallen. Thick smoke billowed through the breath-stealing air, obscuring his vision, but unerringly Brett found Sabrina. Bending down, oblivious to the falling, flaming debris, he cradled her close to him, fearful that she was already dead from the smoke and fire. Her soft faint breath touched his cheek, and with something between a sob and a shout, he lifted her up and stumbled back the way he had come, unaware of a huge, burning timber crashing down where Sabrina had lain only a second ago. His body screamed with exhaustion, and for one wild, despairing moment he didn't think he was going to get them out of the house. But then, with a final, instinctive lurch, Sabrina unconscious in his arms, he staggered out of the house, into the night, the cool air that rushed to meet them a balm and a benediction.
EPILOGUE
SWEET SPRING
Spring, 1807
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
William Shakespeare
Hamlet
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was late May, and the weather was serene and unruffled, brilliant blue sky overhead and not a sign of a cloud in sight. The dappled rays of sunlight were warm on Sabrina's face as she gazed dreamily at the men moving about the rising structure that would one day be her new home. She was lying on a puffy yellow quilt some distance away from the construction, enjoying the intermittent shade provided by the spreading leaves of the towering oak tree behind her. Discarded slippers lay nearby, and with pleasure she wiggled her toes into the softness of the quilt, very glad to be alive and here once again at Fox's Lair, watching the new house rising from the ashes of the old.
The original house had burned completely to the ground that terrible December night, but Sabrina hadn't known of it for days. Hadn't know of Carlos's death, of Brett's frantic journey with her into New Orleans, of the anxious days that had followed as she had lain unconscious, unmoving; hadn't known of the anguish that had been undisguised in Brett's eyes. But three days later, she had regained consciousness, and though she had been weak and disorientated, she had gradually recovered.
All through the winter they had remained cozily immured in the house in New Orleans, planning the new home they would build, for the love that would be theirs. Love surrounded them, and during the long winter nights as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, they spoke freely of the past and of the things that only lovers do.
Wilkinson's "Reign of Terror," as the General's descent upon the city had been called, had ended ignobly when no sign of the rabble led by Aaron Burr had appeared on the horizon. And poor Burr, whatever his plans may have been, was arrested on February 19, 1807, on charges of treason. His trial was set for summer.
But those events meant little to Brett and Sabrina—there were too many other more wonderful things in their lives these days. And when their child was born in late March, Sabrina had known what real happiness was—her husband and her strong, healthy baby.
For a second her eyes strayed to where their child lay sleeping in a reed cradle at the edge of the quilt. Unable to help herself, she leaned over and peeked down at him. Alejandro Dangermond. What a handsome baby he was, she thought with a mother's pride, and wonderingly she stroked his soft cheek. Only two months old, he slept soundly, his extraordinarily long lashes like dark fans under his closed lids, his perfect little mouth moving gently as he breathed.
Sabrina sighed happily and leaned back against the tree. How fortunate she was! she thought gratefully, as her eyes moved unerringly to where Brett stood supervising the construction of the new Fox's Lair. He looked tall and very powerful as he stood there, hands on his hips, the white shirt revealing his wide shoulders and lean waist, the black breeches displaying the long length of his muscular legs. A faint breeze stirred the thick black hair, and impatiently he brushed aside a lock that fell forward onto his forehead.
The house was being built at
an unusual speed, Brett determined that they would be living in at least a part of it by the end of summer. They were currently enjoying the hospitality of a gregarious planter who lived a few miles down the road, and of course there were always the house in New Orleans and the hacienda in Nacogdoches. For a while they had considered moving to the hacienda, but then they had discarded the idea—this was a new beginning, and neither wanted any reminders of the past.
There was one reminder, Sabrina mused sadly, that she would have treasured—her father's betrothal bracelet. Weeks after the fire, searching through the rubble of the destroyed house, Brett had found it, but the heat had twisted and melted it into a hardly recognizable mass. Sabrina had wept pitifully when he had placed it in her hand. Through tear-drenched eyes, she had looked at him and murmured, "It was his most cherished possession." Gently Brett had enfolded her into his arms, comforting her as best he was able. He had taken the ruined bracelet away with him, not wanting her to look at it as it was and be reminded of that tragic night.
As if becoming aware of her gaze, Brett turned a little and glanced at her. She waved lightly, and he began to walk toward her. Reaching the quilt, he flung himself down on it, lying full length, his head resting in her lap.
With a soft smile, she looked down at him, loving him so much she thought she would burst with it. A little shadow crossed her face, though, as she wondered how they could ever have let suspicion and mistrust come between them.
Brett saw that expression, and concern in his eyes, he sat up and demanded, "What is it? Why do you look like that?"
"I was just thinking about how foolish we were—neither of us willing to trust in our love for the other," she answered simply.
He drew her into his arms. His eyes on hers, he said roughly, "Sabrina, I can't undo the past—oh, but sweet tiger lily, I do love you! I've loved you since you were a big-eyed enchantress, all of seven years old, and you've had my heart in your keeping ever since." Regretfully he confessed, "I just didn't want to admit it, and like a fool, I did everything in my power to deny it. But I think I've been well and truly punished for it—we've lost six years because of it." Pain in his voice, he muttered, "I've berated myself a thousand times, suffered a thousand deaths, every time I think of how stupidly we let our doubts and fears keep us apart all that time. However, I like to think that we have learned from it—that our love is stronger and more enduring because of it."
Sabrina felt hot tears prickle behind her lids, and she nodded dumbly, positive that if she tried to speak, she would burst into tears. Happy tears. Joyous tears. Their love was stronger, more powerful, because of what they had suffered.
Seeing the tears but recognizing them for what they were, he kissed her, and then he reached over to where his jacket lay on the quilt. The expression on his face somber, he handed Sabrina a slim, narrow package. At her look of surprise, he said with difficulty, "I had originally planned to give you this on our first anniversary, but I want you to have it now."
For a long time Sabrina stared down at the package in her hands, premonition telling her what it must be. With trembling fingers she slowly unwrapped it, savoring each moment, and then, when at last the contents were revealed, her heart shook within her breast.
Two slim, intricately fashioned bracelets of silver and turquoise lay on a bed of white satin. They were identical, except that one was obviously for a man, the other for a woman.
Her eyes shining like stars, she stared at him, and Brett said huskily, "I thought that these would be a symbol to both of us, a symbol of your parents' love for each other, and a symbol to remind us never to forget the past or what we have gained."
Gently Brett fastened one of the bracelets around her wrist, and solemnly she did the same to him. Her throat tight with all the love and rapture she felt, tears of happiness sliding unheeded down her cheeks, she looked down at their two wrists, the sunlight glinting on the silver and turquoise bracelets. Mistily her gaze traveled over Brett, her baby asleep nearby, and the framework of their new home. Her heart ached with a sweet joy, and suddenly, as if from a great distance, yet quite clearly, she heard her father's voice say warmly, "You see, chica? It is good, and it will be good . . . forever!"