"It's called Windward Plantation and was once a home to someone I knew. It is deserted now, and no one will mind if we pass the night here."
"No one lives here?" he asked in amazement, wondering why anyone would desert such a beautiful plantation.
She pointed to the end of the lane, where the trees fell away to a rolling lawn that was overgrown and neglected. "There is all that is left of the manor house."
He gave a low gasp when he saw the two charred chimneys rising ghostlike out of the blackened ruins—all that remained of what must have once been a magnificent residence.
"It is a pity. Were you close to the family that lived here?"
He had been watching her eyes, and he saw incredible sadness reflected there.
"Yes. I knew them very well."
Suddenly jealousy tugged at his heart and suspicion crept through his thoughts. "Someone you loved?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Why did they not rebuild? Surely it is shameful to abandon such a magnificent plantation."
She dropped her pack and stood there, trying not to cry. The last time she had seen her home it had been on fire. It hurt to stand there while memories of the happy times she had spent with her family wove their way through her mind.
At last she could find her voice to answer him. "The master of the plantation died as a result of the fire. His grandson cannot be located."
"You love the grandson?" Judah asked with painful understanding.
"I love a man called Valcour." She shouldered her pack and walked down the lane. "We shall stay tonight in the overseer's cabin."
Judah walked beside her, sensing her troubled thoughts. He resented any man who could make her feel so deeply. He said nothing as she stopped before the ruins of the house, her eyes tracing the skeleton of the once magnificent stairway.
Then she nodded toward an overgrown path that led away from the ruins. "We should not stand in the open; someone may see us."
Judah's lip curled in contempt as they walked past a row of deserted cabins. "It would seem the slaves took the opportunity to run away."
Dominique glanced at the scowl on his face. "Surely you do not believe in slavery?"
"No, I don't. Do you?"
"Of course I do not believe in such an atrocity, and neither did . . . the master of Windward. He engaged only paid laborers to work his fields. When he died, the laborers obviously moved on to another plantation."
"I am not a farmer," Judah said, glancing toward the sugarcane fields that were being reclaimed by the encroaching vegetation. "But I can see this land is going to ruin."
Dominique gave a deep sigh. "There is no help for that." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and glowed with affection. "Perhaps one day Valcour will return and—" She shook her head. "Let us find out the condition of the overseer's cabin."
Valcour, Judah said to himself. The name of the man Dominique loved. Yet they had not been lovers, that he knew. He did not want to ask, but he could not help himself. "Where is this Valcour?"
They had reached a cabin larger and finer than the others; this one even had a front porch.
"I do not know," she answered, looking up at him. "No one does."
What price it had cost him to possess her body and not her heart. He had been a fool to offer her marriage— a mistake he would not make again.
Dominique climbed the porch steps and, grasping the doorknob in her hand, threw open the door. There was a satisfied gleam in her eyes as she looked back at Judah.
"It seems my friends have been here before us and made everything ready."
He came up behind her. The one-room cabin was larger than he'd expected. It was clean and scrubbed, smelling like beeswax. There were two cots spread with clean linen, and food in abundance on the table.
"We can be thankful that you have friends who are willing to help you."
"Yes." She dropped her pack on the floor and ran her hands through her tousled hair. "You would not be here now if it were not for my friends."
Judah grasped her shoulders and turned her to him. "I would be aboard my ship, if not for you."
She pushed his hand away and moved to the table, picking up a slice of fruit. "Soon you will be back on board the Tempest and your experiences here will be no more than a vague memory, perhaps something to one day tell your grandchildren about."
"And what do I tell them about you?" he asked in a poignant voice. "Shall I tell them how we made love?"
Dominique raised her face, her eyes locking with his. "You can tell them that you once met a sea siren, and for a short space of time you listened to her sad song."
Without a backward glance, she scooped up her pack and left the cabin, walking slowly past the blackened plantation house. Happy memories went though her mind like splashes of color, like the Christmas her grandfather had given her the horse she had coveted for so long. That horse had long since died, but the memory was still sweet.
She took the path that led to the river and stood on the banks, recalling the many times she and Valcour had fished there. Valcour, her beloved brother and childhood companion—where was he? Was he safe?
She glanced down at her reflection in the mirror-bright river and gasped at what she saw. How hideous she looked with her face smeared with the repellent. Going to her knees, she doused her face in the water, rubbing until the ghastly concoction was washed away. Then she stared at her face in amazement. Ineaz had been right, the scars on her face were beginning to heal and fade. Of course they were still visible, but not nearly so noticeable as she had imagined.
On an impulse, she slipped into the river, diving deep and coming up some distance beyond shore. She loved the way the cool water soothed her skin. She floated on her back and gazed up at the darkening sky, knowing she should return to the cabin, but she didn't want to, not just yet.
She smiled, remembering her grandfather. He was so much a part of Windward Plantation that she could still feel his presence. He had cleared the land and built the house, then raised a family here. This land was in her blood, and she was sure it was in Valcour's as well. But she could not stay because the French had probably already been here searching for her, and they would surely return.
She swam to the bank and pulled on her clothing. It was almost dark and there was still something she must do. When she was dressed, she took her pack and walked down a well-worn path that led away from the river to the back of the stables. She paused at the flower garden that was choked with weeds and picked a bouquet of white orchids, her grandfather's favorite.
When she reached the place where so many of her family had been buried, she knelt beside the grave that had been so recently dug. Laying the flowers on the gently sloping mound, she lowered her head and clasped her hands, allowing the tears to flow freely. Seeing her grandfather's grave made his death seem so real. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had not admitted that he was really dead. Now she would have to accept the truth.
"Oh, Grandpapa," she lapsed back into French as she always did when speaking to him. "I miss you so desperately. I am sorely in need of your guidance."
She stayed beside her grandfather's grave for a long time, and then she finely stood, saying her last good-bye.
She hurried in the direction of the cabin. There was no telling what Judah might do if he thought she'd left him.
Judah had paced the floor, gone out to sit on the porch steps and finally, in frustration, had thrown himself onto one of the cots, fully clothed.
Where was that woman?
Dominique was concerned when she found the cabin dark. "Judah!" she cried frantically, fearing that something had happened to him. Oh, why had she ever left him alone? "Judah, where are you?"
She felt hands grip her in the dark. "It's all right, I am here," he told her soothingly, his earlier impatience all but gone.
"I thought . . . that . . . Well, when the cabin was dark, I thought they had captured you again."
"I was going to ask where you have been,
but I can feel you are wet, and I would say you bathed."
"Yes." She turned from him and fumbled in the dark until she reached the table. She then lit a candle and stepped away from it so he would not be able to see her face.
"We should rest."
He was staring at the way her dark, wet hair clung to the sides of her lovely face. Then against his will, his eyes dropped to her wet shirt, where he could clearly see her breasts through the thin material. He felt a stirring deep inside and took a step toward her.
Dominique was busy deciding what to pack for the trip tomorrow and was totally unaware that she was torturing Judah.
"We will be parting tomorrow, will we not?" he asked, taking another step toward her.
"You will rejoin your ship, and then you must leave these waters as quickly as possible." She turned to find him standing just behind her, his eyes, oh so mesmerizing. She quickly raised her hand to her face, fearing he had seen her scars, but apparently he had not because he made no mention of them.
"I know you said you would never let me touch you again, Dominique." His voice sounded hesitant, unsure. "Could I.. . hold you just this last time?"
With a strangled cry, she went into his arms and closed her eyes as they wrapped tightly about her. She pressed her cheek to his rough shirt and wished she could freeze this moment in time.
"Tomorrow I shall never look upon your face again," he whispered against her ear. "And there is something I want to say to you. You have drawn a veil across your life that I cannot see past. You have given me nothing to hold on to."
She didn't answer; she could not have spoken at that moment for the lump that had formed in her throat.
"To say that meeting you has been a pleasure is not exactly accurate," Judah continued.
"I know I have been trouble to you."
She could feel him shake with silent laughter. "An accurate statement."
"What did you want to tell me?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe, and hoping he would say that he still loved her.
"It's merely this: I know you tried to convince me that you had been with other men, Dominique, but I know I was the first."
She was still in his arms and she clung to him, partly because she wanted to be there, and partly because she could not have looked into his eyes at that moment. "How did you know?"
Oh God, he wanted to be with her at that moment, but he stood rigid and tried not to think about how desirable she was. "A man knows these things, Dominique."
"How can that be?"
He hooked his index finger and raised her chin, his probing eyes somehow gentle. "It is impossible for a man not to know, Dominique."
She pulled back and looked at him in bewilderment. "You let me go on pretending and making a fool of myself? Why did you do that?"
"You should ask yourself why you tried so hard to convince me that you were a soiled dove. I have never been sure why you came to my ship in the first place."
"That no longer matters. It is in the past; let it remain there."
Dominique did not know how it happened. One moment she was looking into his eyes, wishing he would kiss her, and then with a throaty sigh, his lips crushed hers.
His hands ran roughly up and down her back, then he pulled her shirt from her trousers, gently touching her breasts. She did not pull away when his hand jerked at the belt to her trousers and his hand slipped inside, touching and caressing her into submission.
"Just once more," he said, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to his cot, where he came down beside her. He did not leave her as he flung off his clothing, but continued to kiss her mouth, neck, breasts until she quivered for more of him.
"I did not mean for this to happen," she said in a trembling voice.
"I have had to fight my desires to keep from ravishing you," he admitted.
He slid his hand down her leg to the inside of her thigh and softly spread her legs. "Say no and I will stop."
She shook her head and offered him her lips.
His breath caught in his throat, and he entered her with just the tip of his hardness and looked into her eyes, which were blazing with passion.
"You can still stop me."
She arched her hips upward and forced him inside her.
He trembled and quaked, grabbing her to him. "I cannot stop now, little siren."
Together they rode the waves of passion, each knowing this was the last night they would have together. And when he finally did withdraw from her, they were both exhausted and emotionally drained,
"Stay with me," he said, kissing her swollen lips.
"Do not ask it of me." She sat up and pushed her tumbled hair from her face. "I cannot."
"You are the most unpredictable and maddening woman it has been my misfortune to meet. The mystery of you grows and nettles me more profoundly with each passing day. Does anyone know the real you?"
"Only Valcour."
The ache he felt at her words was like a raw wound. "Oh yes, the man you love," he said with mockery and an edge of anger to his voice. "What would he feel if he knew you had given yourself to me?"
There were parts of her life she must keep secret, even though that seemed to annoy him.
"Would you like me to put medicine on your injuries?" she asked, changing the subject.
"No, I would not."
"Very well. Tomorrow night you will be aboard the Tempest and Ethan can continue your treatment." She dropped down on the other cot and closed her eyes, wishing her leg did not ache so badly. She feared it was getting worse.
"Good night, Judah," she said sleepily.
He walked outside, deciding it was best to put some distance between them. There was very little light from the moon, but he found his way to the burned manor house, where his eyes swept over the grotesque shadows it cast against the night sky. There was a story here and it involved Dominique, but he would probably never learn the details.
After a while, a light rain started to fall and he walked back to the cabin.
Tomorrow he was going to sail for home, and he was different from the man he'd been when he started on this adventure.
His life had been changed forever by an aqua-eyed little siren who had given him back his soul. How could he leave her when she was so much a part of him?
Did she not feel it too?
27
The first streaks of sunlight seemed to strain to invade the land through the heavy mist. Dominique silently crept down the porch steps and hid in the shadow of a climbing vine that wound itself around the drainpipe.
She had heard a noise and wondered why it had not awakened Judah. Perhaps it was because she slept lightly, knowing the danger that stalked them until she could get him safely on board his ship.
She saw the outline of a man and slammed herself against the house, wishing she had had the foresight to bring her pistol. It was too late to go back and get it, and besides, the intruder might hear her if she moved.
"Dominique."
She heard the man call her name softly.
"Dominique, where are you—answer me."
Drawing in an impatient breath, she stepped from her hiding place. "Philippe, what are you doing here? It isn't safe for you to be seen with me."
He watched her approach, and she could see the horror on his face. It took her a moment to realize that it was the sight of her in trousers that had shocked him.
"What in God's name are you doing dressed like that? Have you no notion what the neighbors would say if they-"
She held up her hand and silenced him. "I am fighting for my life, Philippe, and all you can think about is the way I'm dressed. Let us just say I have a flawed character and leave it there."
He still looked at her with displeasure. "If you do not care what others think, I do."
The fire of anger surged through Dominique's veins and she was fast losing patience. Bartrand had been right: Philippe was a bore. "Did you come here this morning, Philippe, to instruct me in the proper way to dress?"
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He looked momentarily ashamed. "No, you know that's not why I am here. I have been concerned about you."
"How did you know where to find me?"
Unknown to them, Judah had come out of the cabin and was moving toward them with his pistol primed and ready. He had been awakened by voices, not knowing if they were friend or foe.
Philippe walked to Dominique and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. "I knew if I came to Windward often enough you would be here sooner or later. I have been out of my mind with worry about you. I heard about your home burning and how you rushed inside to save your grandfather and were burned."
Judah now knew how Dominique had gotten the scars on her hands. She had been burned, and it was somehow connected with the tragedy at this plantation. This must have been her home. Why had she not told him? he wondered.
By now a soft rain was falling, and Dominique felt a rush of tenderness for Philippe. He was, after all, an old friend, and he was there out of concern for her. "You can see for yourself that I have not suffered any lasting harm."
"I am sorry about your grandfather," he said softly, pulling her to him.
Dominique laid her head against his shoulder, needing his comfort. "1 miss him so much," she cried as Philippe's arms tightened about her.
Judah felt as if he were eavesdropping and would have left, but for some reason he seemed rooted to the spot. At last some of the mystery from Dominique's past was lifting. He surmised that the man who held her in his arms would be Valcour, the man she said she loved. That thought was like a stab at his heart.
"It was foolhardy to come back here. Colonel Marceau has had men watching the roads. He expects you to return to Windward."
"I know that. That's why I came by the swamp."
"Are you crazed, Dominique? You know how dangerous the swamp is."
"As you can see, I made it without any disasters." She placed her hand on his arm. "You should leave now. I have other things to do."
He grasped her arm and pulled her to him. "No, you don't. You are coming home with me so I can take care of you—although I cannot imagine what mother will think of your outrageous behavior."
Siren's Song Page 21
