20
Ineaz had removed all Dominique's bandages, but for the one on her leg. She held a mirror out to Dominique so she could study her image. "It is a blessing that there is almost no scarring, Mademoiselle Charbonneau, which is a wonder since you were so badly burned."
Dominique pushed aside the mirror, sickened by the red scars on her face. "Please tell me that I shall not always look like this, Ineaz."
The woman looked at her assessingly. "I vow to you that the scars on your face and hands will fade with time and hardly be noticeable. But the burn on your leg is deep, and that is the one that troubles me the most. It has not yet healed, and will still be very painful for a time. I fear that scar will always be a reminder of that horrible day."
"I need no reminder—it was the day grandfather died." A despondent Dominique lay back against her pillow. "I do not really care about myself; my life is over. But I wonder every day about my brother and where he could be. I pray that Valcour is safe."
The old woman frowned. "I believe he is, or you would have heard. And one day, you will want to live again—I tell you this because it is true."
Dominique looked at the kind-hearted woman who had been her faithful nurse for many weeks. "I have not the words to thank you for your care. What would I have done without you, Ineaz?"
"I am only repaying a kindness that your grandfather once gave me. Monsieur Jean Louis Charbonneau saved me and my five children from starvation. He also encouraged Monsieur Dubeau to give my husband work. That was more than twenty years ago. Since that time, my children have grown up, never knowing another hungry day, and neither have my grandchildren."
Dominique's eyes filled with tears. "My grandfather was an exceptional man."
Ineaz nodded. "Now, I believe Monsieur Dubeau has arrived. Shall I send him in?"
"Oui," Dominique said, pulling a soft shawl about her shoulders.
Bartrand handed Dominique a bouquet of blue-red orchids, and for a moment their aroma took her back to the night she had lain beneath the moon with Judah.
"Thank you, dear friend, for all you have done," she said, raising her hand to Bartrand.
"Hush now, there is no need for thanks between us. We are like family, are we not?"
"I have always thought so, as did Grand . . . my grandfather. Thank you all the same."
He dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand. "I want to speak to you of other matters. You must leave Guadeloupe as soon as possible. In the absence of General Richepance, that madman, Colonel Marceau, becomes daily more bold in tormenting our people."
Dominique shivered. Colonel Marceau was capable of extreme cruelty. "What has he done now?"
"He prepares a great celebration to his genius, a garish display where he brags that he will march a notorious pirate down the streets of Basse-Terre as an example to all those who would flout his authority."
She stared at Bartrand a moment, fearing to ask, but needing to know. "Who is the pirate?"
"The American called Judah Gallant. I thought you knew. It is said that you were instrumental in his capture."
Dominique frantically grabbed his hand. "Oh, Bartrand, please tell me it is not Judah? Can there be a mistake?"
He looked at her strangely. "There is no mistake. The American is the colonel's prisoner. It is said that he was captured when he came ashore at Tobago. Marceau apparently believes you helped in some way."
"But you know I had nothing to do with it." She shook her head. "You must help me find Captain Gallant's ship, the Tempest."
"What are you saying?" Bartrand asked, vigorously shaking his head. "I will not help you in this."
"You don't understand. I must get to Tobago as soon as possible!"
"What nonsense is this?" Bartrand said, standing up and moving away from her in agitation. "I will not hear of such a thing! You are still too weak to even leave your bed."
"Help me in this, Bartrand. And do not ask questions that I cannot answer. All I can say to you is that Captain Gallant is not a pirate, and I will help him escape, with your assistance or without it."
Ineaz, who had come into the room, added her opinion. "You should listen to her, Monsieur Dubeau. I believe she will do this alone if you do not help her."
"You are hardly fit to travel," Bartrand reasoned, hoping to thwart her foolhardy scheme.
Dominique slid off the bed and stood, allowing the long shawl to drop about her. "I am well enough for this," she said with determination. "Please leave so I may dress."
At last, Bartrand nodded reluctantly. He had followed Dominique into a burning building, so he knew that when she was intent on doing something, she would do it. "I will see what I can arrange," he said with a resigned sigh. "I shall return in the morning."
Dominique nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in her throat.
Ineaz went to a chest beside the bed and fumbled about until she found what she had been seeking. She held a jar out for Dominique's inspection. "If artfully applied, this will hide the scars on your face."
Suddenly Dominique did care about her appearance. She had found vanity because of her love for Judah, only in as much as she wanted to be beautiful for him. "I will wear the cream until the scars heal, and I thank you for understanding how I feel, Ineaz." Dominique dropped onto the bed, still feeling weak.
"I only hope that the man is worthy of your sacrifice, Mademoiselle."
In the noisy, smoked-filled taproom of the Blue Dog Tavern, Dominique went from table to table, speaking to each man. "I am a friend of Judah Gallant's, are you?"
Although she wore the clothing of a man, she fooled no one. There were hoots and several lewd suggestions, but no one admitted to being Judah's friend. Then she saw a man sitting at the back of the room, and she recognized him as the one who had met with Judah the first day she had seen him.
William York watched the woman approach him and he thought she had the kind of timeless beauty that would last after she was no longer young. He did not know what she was doing in a place like this, but she was certainly not the kind of woman who would offer herself for a price.
He was surprised when she stopped at his table and further puzzled when he saw desperation in her turbulent eyes.
"Monsieur, I know you are a friend of Judah Gallant's and I need your help."
He looked at her distrustfully, having realized who she was. "You are Miss Charbonneau, are you not?"
She fell into the chair beside him in relief. "Then you know me?"
He took a long drink from his tankard of ale before answering. "I know no good of you. You are a French spy!"
She reached across the table and gripped his hand. "Listen to me, please. A hideous man, Colonel Henri Marceau, has taken Judah prisoner, and he now languishes in a cell on Guadeloupe! I cannot even guess what he might be suffering, but the colonel is capable of anything."
William had remained on Tobago even after he learned that Judah had been captured, hoping that he might discover where he had been taken. Thus far, he had learned nothing, and now this woman was trying to convince him that she wanted to help him, when he knew her for the enemy.
"Why should I believe you?" he asked in a deadly calm voice.
"Because you must! I want to help save Judah's life. You must take me to the Tempest."
"I have no reason to trust you."
She looked at him in exasperation. "You cannot save Judah without my help, so you will have to trust me."
William studied her carefully, and he could see the desperation in her turquoise eyes. "I have no choice, have I?"
"Then come," she said, standing. "We must hurry. Is the Tempest nearby?"
"It is."
She tugged at his hand. "Let us leave now!"
For the first time, William York stood aboard the Tempest, but there was not the rush of joy he had always imagined. Her captain was missing, perhaps even dead. He watched Dominique Charbonneau speak to the crew that had gathered about.
"There is no reason you
should trust me, but I hope you will. Allow me to answer all your questions before you ask them." She looked at each face in turn. "Yes, it is true that I was sent here to help the French capture your captain, but I swear to you, I had nothing to do with his eventual arrest."
"How do we know you weren't sent to lure us all into the hands of the French?" one of the men asked.
Tom Beeton shoved the man out of the way. " 'Cause she says so—that's why. Me, I'm a'going with her."
"Why should we help the cap'n and put ourselves in danger?" another man questioned.
"I'll tell you why you should help him, and I am giving away state secrets when I do," William York said. "Judah Gallant was never a pirate, as most of you thought. He was on an assignment for the United States government, and you were all helping him."
There was mumbling of disbelief, until William spoke again.
"I'll tell you something else. Captain Gallant has asked for, and obtained, a pardon for every one of you, no matter your crime. When you go home to America, because of his insistence, you can walk the streets as free men, indeed as heroes of your country."
There was a long silence while every man considered William York's words.
Tom turned to Ethan. "What do you say to this, Doctor?"
"I say we go to Guadeloupe and free our captain," Ethan replied. "I say we put our trust in Miss Charbonneau and let her lead the way."
There was a loud shout of approval as each man voiced his support.
"I did not come here without a purpose in mind," Dominique told them. "First, I will warn you that Colonel Marceau, who has jurisdiction over Guadeloupe at the moment, is vicious and dangerous. I cannot promise that we will win, and should we fall into his hands, he will be merciless."
"Tell us your plan," William urged. "We are all aware of the danger."
"1 will want you to come with me, Tom," Dominique replied, looking at the others carefully. "The fewer there are of us, the less suspicious we will be. Doctor, I would also like it if you accompanied us. Judah may be injured and need your skill."
"How can we break into the fort and rescue Judah with so few men?" Ethan questioned.
"We shall not force our way in, but go there by invitation," she said with assurance. "I shall use Colonel Marceau's own bloated sense of vainglory against him." Then she added quietly and with less bravado, "I hope."
That night, when Cornelius took the Tempest out to sea, he navigated a course for the isle of Guadeloupe. And at Dominique's direction, he sailed to an uninhabited side of the island and dropped anchor in the turbulent waves.
"You must not stay here, but lie off the shores out of sight," she told Cornelius. "Look to this beach each night, and when I am ready for you, I will build a signal fire."
A short time later, Dominique joined Ethan and Tom in a small boat, and they headed for the island.
When they reached the shore, one of Bartrand's men joined them. They were soon aboard a rickety cart that would take them to the hunting lodge, where they would plan their final strategy.
Dominique silently blessed Bartrand, for he had provided her with everything she had asked of him.
Corporal Parinaud handed the colonel a sealed letter, which he raised to his nose, inhaling the lingering scent of perfume. He glanced at the name scrawled across the envelope and smiled.
"I wondered how long it would be until Mademoiselle Charbonneau contacted me."
He broke the seal and read:
Colonel Marceau:
I hope you are as happy as I am about the capture of the notorious pirate, Captain Gallant. I wonder if my friends and I might be allowed to view the prisoner. You see, they do not believe that scoundrel is actually under your custody.
He glanced at his aide. "Most probably Mademoiselle Charbonneau wants to claim her reward. Well, it was my plan and not hers that led to his arrest."
The colonel continued to read, and then he smiled. "No, she does not want the reward, she only wants me to parade the pirate before her friends so she can gloat. Listen to what she has to say."
I have told my friends that you deserve the reward since it was your brilliant strategy that finally ended the black-hearted pirate's marauding and preying on the innocent. I beseech you to allow us to see the man so we can make certain that we have nothing more to fear from him.
Marceau laughed as he glanced up at his aide. "My little bird now sings a sweeter song. Let this be a lesson for you, Parinaud. Women respect forcefulness in a man. Oh, they may cry and moan at first, but in the end they are all the same, be they refined, like Mademoiselle Charbonneau, or a milkmaid."
"The plan was brilliant, Colonel," Parinaud said with false sincerity, "and Mademoiselle did play an important part in the capture. After all it was she who sent him to us."
Marceau waived this aside. "I will shower her with compliments before her friends, and that will appease her." He stuffed the letter in his uniform jacket. "I have decided to have a banquet for Mademoiselle Charbonneau and her companions this very evening. You will deliver the invitation to her at once."
"Colonel, the servant who brought Mademoiselle's letter said his mistress is residing with the Dubeau family, since her home burned down during her absence."
The colonel stroked his chin. "It appears she has no notion that it was by my orders that Windward Plantation was destroyed. Strange, I would have thought someone would have told her." He shrugged. "Ah, it is of little matter. What can she do, after all?"
Corporal Parinaud was too shrewd to admit that he had informed Mademoiselle Charbonneau that her plantation was to be burned.
"Yes, a banquet to show my accomplishment to these haughty islanders, who think they are superior to me," Colonel Marceau said with satisfaction. "General Richepance is anxious to remain in France, and what better man could be named as his replacement than myself?" He rocked from his heels to his toes. "I shall make a much better governor than Richepance—you will see. You will all see."
Dominique was dressed in a lovely blue silk empire gown with puffed sleeves. She had taken care to cover her face with the cream Ineaz had given her, so the scars would not show, and she wore lace gloves to hide her hands.
She had to smile at Tom, who wore yellow satin trousers and an equally bright green cutaway coat with long narrow tails. He kept tugging at the frilly shirt and grumbling about looking unmanly, and what his friends would say if they could see him so prettily dressed.
Dominique laughingly set the green beaver hat atop his head. "I can only wonder where Bartrand came by the clothing. You will certainly draw attention tonight."
Ethan, who was elegant in formal black trousers and cutaway, tilted his chin arrogantly, speaking to Dominique in perfectly enunciated French. "I only hope my friends do not learn that I am to be in the same room as that ruffian pirate, Judah Gallant."
Dominique smiled her approval. "Your French will do very well, Ethan."
"What about me?" Tom asked, staring with distaste at the lace handkerchief Dominique had handed him.
She and Ethan exchanged woeful glances. Not only did Tom not speak French, his English was also questionable.
Dominique had a sudden inspiration. "I know! You shall be mysterious, Tom." Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "I shall introduce you as an Austrian. You must act pompous and lofty, as if you are above dining with a mere colonel... and above talking to him."
Tom looked displeased as he stuffed the offensive lace handkerchief in his pocket. "I would sooner cut the man's throat."
Dominique laughed. "That you must not do."
Monsieur Dubeau, who had just entered the room, looked them over with a dubious eye. "This is bound to fail, Dominique," he said, shaking his head. "How can I convince you that your plan is too dangerous?"
"You fret too much, Bartrand." She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Have no fear, we will succeed, and we shall meet you at the appointed rendezvous."
"What will you do if Colonel Marceau becomes suspicious?"
> "He will not," she said with assurance. "I know his weaknesses. He is a vain man, and I shall provide the flattery to lull him into complacency."
"I still think I should come with you," Bartrand argued.
"I will need you on the outside should anything go wrong," Dominique told him.
She offered Ethan her hand, and Tom came to her side.
"Gentlemen," she said, attempting to disguise her feeling of trepidation. "Shall we go?"
21
As Colonel Marceau watched the door, the only thing that gave away his nervousness was the clenching and unclenching of his hands behind his back. He had waited for tonight for a very long time. To have a member of the elite willingly accept an invitation to dine with him was something even General Richepance had not been able to accomplish.
He frowned, wishing he had not been so demanding of Mademoiselle Charbonneau when they had first met. But apparently she did not blame him, or she would not be attending his dinner.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Charbonneau," the colonel said when he saw her arrive. "Such a pleasure to see you again." He looked with interest at her two companions.
"Your Grace," Dominique said, curtseying to Tom, "may I present Colonel Henri Marceau to you?"
Tom looked down his nose and fanned the air with his lace handkerchief. It was easy for him to look bored because he did not understand what they were saying in French. He acknowledged the colonel by the merest nod of his head before moving away.
"Who was that?" Marceau asked, obviously impressed with such a well-dressed gentleman. "You called him Your Grace!"
Dominique pressed closer to Colonel Marceau and whispered behind her fan, and suppressed a shudder of horror as his cold hand brushed against her arm. "I am not supposed to say," she told him, moving just out of his reach. "Think of him only as Rudolph Hapsburg."
Marceau's eyes widened. "Hapsburg, but surely that is the name of the royal family of Austria!"
Siren's Song Page 16
