He shrugged, opening the gate, and allowing her to enter.
This time Dominique had no escort, but went straight to Colonel Marceau's office, and to her relief, no one tried to stop her.
The colonel was not present, but Corporal Parinaud was there, and he was seated in his commanding officer's chair with his boots propped on the desk. When he saw Dominique, he quickly came to his feet, with a wide grin.
"I see you got my message," he said, doffing his hat and dipping into a mock bow. "If you are looking for the colonel, he's in Capesterre on important business for the governor."
"Is General Richepance here?" Dominique asked, thinking she might at last be able to see the governor without interference from Colonel Marceau.
"He is in Paris and has left Colonel Marceau with complete authority to govern the island in his absence. There's been some rioting in the south, or else the colonel would be here to greet you himself."
Dominique glared at the man she disliked almost as much as his cruel superior. "When will Colonel Marceau return?" she asked coldly.
The aide scratched his head and then clamped his bicorne hat back in place. "I do not know for certain. But he said I should tell you, if you happened to come here, that your grandfather has been escorted home."
Dominique watched the man carefully, hardly daring to believe what she had heard. "And my brother?"
"You know," he said with a smirk. "That is the humorous part in all this. You see, your brother was never actually here. It seems he had friends who got him off the island before we could arrest him."
Dominique felt her legs go weak, first from relief that Valcour was safe and her grandfather was at Windward Plantation, and then because of all she had suffered from the machinations of Colonel Marceau.
She could sense there was more that Corporal Parinaud had not told her. He was taking particular delight in forcing her to drag information out of him.
"Then my grandfather is safe, and did not suffer from his imprisonment?"
"He was taken away in a coach this very day."
"Unharmed?" she pressed.
"Mademoiselle, the officers do not tell me everything, since I am beneath their notice. However, I did hear some of my friends mention that when the old man was escorted home, the plantation house was to be burned as punishment for your brother's crimes against France."
Dominique gasped and took a hurried step backward. "What are you saying?"
"If I was you, I'd get to Windward Plantation with all haste." His laughter was tinged with amusement. "The troops cannot be more than a few minutes ahead of you, so perhaps you may be able to save a few of your possessions."
She looked about her frantically, wondering how she would get to her grandfather in time. She must find a horse so she could take the shortcut and arrive ahead of the soldiers.
Fear for her grandfather gave wings to her feet as she ran out of the fort, unmindful of the curious glances that followed her. She must go to Bartrand Dubeau; he would help her.
She burst into Bartrand's office at the Exchange, grateful to find him there.
It took the startled Bartrand a moment to recognize the granddaughter of his old friend.
"Help me, please!" she cried, gripping his shirtfront frantically.
"In God's name, what has happened to you, Dominique?" he asked, slipping a supporting arm about her frail shoulders. "I have been looking for you."
"Bartrand, Colonel Marceau has been holding my grandfather prisoner."
"I know," he said sorrowfully. "When I found out, I tried to get Jean Louis free, but they would not even admit me to the garrison. Then, I went to Windward Plantation looking for you, but no one could tell me where you were. I searched everywhere, but without success."
"Bartrand, I have no time to explain, but I need a horse and I need it now!"
He nodded. "Come, I will saddle two horses. I am coming with you."
She looked at him gratefully. "We must hurry!"
19
As they rode along, Dominique told Bartrand some of what had happened to her since the night of Valcour's birthday party, of course leaving out the most intimate parts. She saw his anger flash, but he made no comment. There was little opportunity for conversation because they were now riding single file through the swamp, the quickest way to Windward Plantation.
At last, coming out of the swamp, they galloped past the dense forest as if time were the enemy. Dominique was frantic to reach her grandfather, and just at sunset they were within sight of the plantation. Her heart lightened—the house still stood, rising majestically above the treetops.
Their harried trek had brought them to the back of the house. "We are ahead of them," Dominique said as they slowed their weary mounts to a walk. By the time they reached the front of the house, a coach had arrived with an escort of six soldiers.
Dominique jumped from her mount and ran to the coach, clawing at the door to open it, only to find it was empty. "Grandpapa! Grandpapa, where are you?!" she cried, unable to locate him.
She watched in horror as several of the soldiers began lighting torches and tossing them into the house. Voracious flames were licking at the structure, igniting it like a tinderbox.
Dominique cried out when she saw her grandfather stumble up the steps and enter the burning house. She could not remember running, stumbling, falling, and clambering to her feet. She only knew that she had to reach him ahead of the fire.
"Come back, imbecile," one of the soldiers yelled at Jean Louis. "Are you crazed?"
Bartrand was just behind her, but when he tried to grab her arm, Dominique pushed him away.
When she entered the house, the soldiers took no interest. They mounted their horses and rode away, having accomplished what they had been ordered to do.
Dominique felt the heat of the fire on her face when she dashed through the burning door. She realized at once where her grandfather would go—to his bedroom, where the portrait of her grandmother hung on the wall.
The bottom floor was so smoke-filled that she could not find her way, but instinct guided her to the stairs. The flames were leaping higher, singeing her clothing and making it difficult to breathe; but that did not stop her.
In the distance, she could hear Bartrand calling out to her, but she made no attempt to answer him. Her only thought was to save her grandfather.
The heat was so oppressive that it scorched her face, but she had reached the stairs and was ascending them while flames passed hungrily over the aged wood. She could hear the sound of glass windows exploding from the inferno, and the once beautiful red curtains at the front window were crumbling to flying bits of black ash.
"Grandpapa!" she cried, hoping she could reach his room ahead of the fire. "I am coming, Grandpapa!"
She tripped and fell, then dragged herself upright, thinking it was impossible to get past the wall of flames that stood between her and her grandfather—but that would not stop her from trying.
Heat such as she had never known parched her throat with each breath she took. She suddenly felt the floor give way beneath her and she was falling downward.
"Grandpapa!!" she screamed, and her last thought was of falling into the raging flames below.
Bartrand, who could see nothing in the smoke that was as thick and hot as the breath of hell, heard Dominique scream and ran in her direction. He saw at once that the stairs had collapsed beneath her. He scooped her up into his arms, praying that God would give him the strength to carry her to safety.
Once he had her outside, he lay her on the grass near the fountain, and he could see that she was still breathing. With dread in his heart, he returned to the house. He had to try to save his friend, and it just might be possible because the east wing had not yet caught fire.
Bartrand hurried inside and made his way up the stairway at the back of the house, rushing down the smoky corridor to Jean Louis's bedchamber.
Surprisingly, this part of the house had not yet been touched by flames, and Bartr
and found his friend lying beneath the portrait of his dead wife, his unblinking eyes resting lovingly on her face.
Using all his strength, Bartrand lifted Jean Louis in his arms and discovered that the wasted body weighed little more than a child's.
The inferno was coming closer now, ravaging and destroying everything in its path as it grew in intensity.
Bartrand hurried to the back stairs and made his way outside. He lay his old friend on the grass beside Dominique, not knowing if either one of them would live.
Helplessly, he glanced up and watched the grand old plantation house burn, the red flames lighting the dark sky. In the distance, Bartrand could hear the thundering of horses' hooves—the neighbors must have seen the fire and were coming to help.
Reluctantly, he placed his hand on the pulse point at Jean Louis's throat and discovered that he was dead. With a heavy heart, he lowered his old friend's eyelids. There was no time to grieve—not yet. He had to hide Dominique, and he had to do it quickly because he did not trust Colonel Marceau—not after all he had done to this family.
Lifting Dominique in his arms, Bartrand mounted his horse and rode away into the night. Others would see to Jean Louis.
Bartrand took Dominique to his hunting lodge, and placed her in the care of his gamekeeper's wife, Ineaz. The woman was wise in the ways of herbs and healing, and he trusted her more than most doctors.
"Take care of her," he instructed the old woman.
Ineaz merely nodded absently. Already her hands were dipping a clean strip of linen into a pail of water. Then she turned sagacious eyes on the young girl. "I will do what I can."
It was dark by the time Bartrand returned to Windward Plantation. By now the house was little more than charred and glowing embers. The neighbors were walking around as if in a daze. They had many questions that Bartrand did not feel inclined to answer.
He stood over the body of Jean Louis, feeling sorrow in his heart. He had been a good man, and many would mourn his passing, but none more than Bartrand.
It was much later that he returned to the lodge to find Dominique's hands and most of her face bound with clean white cloths. He was concerned because she was still unconscious.
"How is she, Ineaz?"
"She has burns on her face and hands, and a bad one on her leg. Beyond this I do not know."
For two days, Dominique languished in a shadowy world filled with horrors, real and imagined. Hurtful hands tortured her, making her drink foul-tasting mixtures, and rubbing equally foul-smelling salves and creams on her burns.
Wildflowers bloomed in profusion outside her window and colorful butterflies fluttered fancifully on the warming sea breeze, but Dominique did not know or care in her twilight world. Somewhere in her subconscious, she knew that to take notice of life would bring unbearable pain.
Was it only her imagination, or was Judah beside her, his eyes accusing and unloving?
Someone—a woman—was urging her to fight to live. But to do as she asked required too much effort. It was far more peaceful in her quiet, dark world.
Judah heard the anchor grinding downward, the ship now merely riding the restless waves, rather than being swept along by them. He had no notion where he was because in his darkened hell he could not gauge night from day or discern the passing hours.
Somewhere above him a door opened, emitting light so bright that he felt as if his eyes had been stabbed with tiny needles. He heard someone descend the wooden ladder and braced himself against the wall to await whatever came.
Rough hands gripped Judah's shoulders and flung him forward. It took all his strength to keep his balance.
"Climb the ladder," came a crisp French order.
Judah had no choice but to do as he was told. He had not known how weak he was until he reached the top step and found himself panting for breath. He had been given nothing to eat but watery gruel, which he had refused. Now he wished he had eaten the disgusting concoction.
When he stood on deck, he weaved with each pitch of the ship, so he planted his feet wide and tried to focus on his surroundings. Although it was an overcast day, his eyes burned and watered from the meager light.
"So," a venomous voice said in heavily accented English, "at last we have the elusive Captain Judah Gallant."
There was sneering laughter from the Frenchman. "What no man could accomplish was brought about by the silken arms of a woman. Tsk, tsk, Captain. You fell for the oldest game since Eve induced Adam to partake of the forbidden fruit."
The Frenchman's words stung as no torture could have.
"Who are you?" Judah asked the man, who was no more than a shadowy outline.
"Permit me to introduce myself, Captain." He flourished a bow. "I am Colonel Marceau. After word of your capture reaches Bonaparte, I shall surely be invested as one of his elite guard."
He grabbed a handful of Judah's hair and jerked his head upward. "You do not look like much at the moment, but there is a great prize on your head."
Judah's vision was beginning to clear and he could see the face of his tormentor. He had always surmised that you could tell much about a man by his manner of dress, and this one went in for the flamboyant—the elaborate, oversized epaulets and gold braid were in questionable taste. Judah guessed just how to strike at the man because he was obviously a swaggering braggart.
"1 have oft wondered about the ability of a man who must call upon a woman to do what he cannot. Is this the kind of behavior Napoleon admires in those who serve him?"
The open-handed slap came so fast that Judah had not expected it and had no time to brace himself. In his weakened condition, he fell to his knees, where the man kicked him repeatedly.
But Judah felt little of the pain inflicted by the Frenchman. He was thinking of aqua eyes and arms as soft as a dove wing, hair silken to the touch, and lips that muddled a man's reasoning while betraying him.
For what reason had Dominique lulled him into passiveness even at the cost of her own virtue? he wondered. At least he had taken something from her that no other man had had. She would remember him for that, if for nothing else.
Judah was pulled to his feet by two guards, and he soon found himself in a boat heading for the island. He was still in the Caribbean, he knew that much, but he could not identify the location.
"Do you see that great fortress perched atop the hill, there?" one of the French soldiers asked tauntingly.
Judah did not answer, but stared straight ahead as if he had not heard.
"That is where you will draw your last breath," he said, laughing at the thought. "I am sure you have heard what we French do to pirates."
Still, Judah did not answer. He forced himself to think of soft, silken lips that had so easily spoken lies.
Another soldier poked Judah in the ribs with the barrel of his pistol, disappointed when Judah did not react. "I believe Colonel Marceau will not have you executed right away. Non, you are a prize he will want to parade around as his trophy."
"What place is this?" Judah asked at last.
"As for as you are concerned, it is hell, Monsieur."
It was a week after the fire that Dominique opened her eyes and focused them for the first time. She blinked in astonishment, wondering where she was. The place was unfamiliar to her, but she felt safe.
A door opened and a gray-haired woman entered, and when she smiled, Dominique could see that her two front teeth were missing.
"Where am I?" Dominique asked.
"You are in the hunting cabin of Monsieur Dubeau, and you have been very ill, but you will recover."
Dominique raised her hands and found them bandaged. She could feel something sticky on her face, and there was questioning in her eyes as she looked at the woman.
"Do not be distressed. What you feel is my own cure for your burns."
Suddenly Dominique stared at her bandaged hands. She began to scream and tried to climb out of bed. "Grandpapa! Where are you?"
The woman rushed to Dominique, and with a
strength that took her by surprise, forced her back into bed.
"Monsieur Dubeau is just outside. I will call him for you, if you will lie still. He will answer all your questions."
Dominique nodded weakly.
It was some time before Dominique was able to stop crying. Bartrand had explained to her that her grandfather was dead and Windward Plantation had been destroyed.
She was still dazed as she put her anguished thoughts into words. "It is my fault that grandfather is dead, Bartrand. I can only think that Colonel Marceau burned Windward to punish me for not doing as he asked." She shook her head as tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "Do you understand why I could not betray Judah Gallant?"
"I understand," he said kindly, "and so would your grandfather. I knew Jean Louis better than anyone, and he would have been proud that you did not follow the dictates of a man like Colonel Marceau."
"But—"
He held up his hand to silence her. "Your grandfather raised you and Valcour not to give in to tyranny. Put your mind at rest, Dominique, and know that he would not have wanted to live to see Windward Plantation burned—it was his life."
"What will I do now?" she asked. "I dare not remain on Guadeloupe."
"It is safe for you to remain here for a time. When you are stronger, I have friends who will help you escape."
She laid her bandaged hand over his. "You have always been so good to me, Bartrand. Would that I could repay you."
"Hush and rest for now." He stood. "I shall visit you again tomorrow. Do as Ineaz tells you; she is a good nurse. And do not leave the lodge because I do not want anyone to know that you are here. Colonel Marceau has spies everywhere, and we do not know who to trust."
She nodded. The last thing she wanted was to fall victim to that monster again.
"Ineaz has told me that the scars on your face will eventually disappear because they were not severe. But she is not so certain about the scars on your hands or your leg."
"It does not matter." Dominique smiled with some of her old spirit. "I will still manage to turn a man's head." Bartrand's eyes were sad. "Rest and grow strong." He left, and Dominique felt so alone in her fathomless sorrow.
Siren's Song Page 15
