With you? Isabelle, overcome with emotion, threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him on both cheeks. She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with happiness.
“How can I ever thank you? You’ve done so much for me and I...”
She couldn’t tell him what was in her heart. He was her friend, had been Pierre’s best friend, and she couldn’t risk spoiling the relationship they had. It felt so right to be held in his arms, just once without tears, as if she belonged there.
Guy raised his hand and gently touched her face.
“Izzy?” He uttered her name hesitantly.
Looking up at him, she watched mesmerized as he bent his head and dropped a kiss on her brow, but the chaste action changed.
With a groan, his mouth rained tender kisses from her forehead down the side of her face, nuzzling the lobe of her ear, and continuing down her neck where her pulse hammered. His lips caressed her heated skin creating a yearning, kindling a fire within her.
She should pull away, but she couldn’t. From her neck, his mouth returned to her jaw and kissed its way to her mouth. At first, the touch of his lips was feather light, and then the pressure deepened. The kiss was soft and warm, but with an intensity that spoke of banked desire.
His tongue stole along her mouth inviting admission, and she opened to him. Need, primitive and out of control, a desire she’d felt only once before, ignited within her. Only he had ever kissed her this way, and she revelled in the liquid heat coursing through her veins. Their tongues duelled, both opponents and yet winners of the battle.
Her heart raced, and her breathing became labored. She flamed when he pulled her closer, moving his hands along her body, cradling the side of her breast, her taut nipples straining towards him, glorying in the feel of his manhood pressed against her abdomen. She thought she’d die of pleasure.
Never had she hungered after anything as badly as she craved Guy’s touch. The thirst started with his feathery kisses grew unquenchable. Kisses weren’t enough; she wanted more, something just out of reach only he could give her. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs had them springing apart as if a bucket of sea water had been thrown at them.
“Now, I understand why you two enjoy your evenings on the stern deck.” Sophie giggled.
Mortified, Isabelle looked away from Guy. She’d felt the evidence of his arousal against her and knew the flush of her own desire still coated her face. What might have happened if Sophie hadn’t interrupted them?
“I was just thanking Guy for the lovely presents,” she said quickly producing the scroll for Sophie to see. “Look, Sophie.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s created a baptismal record for me. Now, I have proof I’m who I say I am. I might have been a little too exuberant with my thanks. Did you need something?”
Sophie looked from Guy to Isabelle and back again.
“I wanted to give you this,” Sophie said. “I found it in my trunk when I went to get the locket. I thought the chevalier had taken it, but Murielle must have switched rings on him.” She handed Isabelle a small wooden box.
Isabelle opened the box to find her wedding ring, the one the chevalier had removed and replaced with the d’Angrignon emerald.
“I didn’t want to give it to you while we were with the others. Murielle must have put it there for you. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it. Good night, Guy. Happy birthday, Izzy. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Sophie turned and left the deck as quickly as she could.
The silence between herself and Guy was deafening.
Isabelle stood still, holding the small box so tightly it hurt. What had she almost done?
“Izzy, I’m so sorry. I should never have let things get out of hand like that, but I’m only human, and you were so desirable...” He stopped speaking and looked away.
Surprise and guilt pierced her.
He covered his eyes and shook his head, reaching for her.
She pulled away.
“Izzy, I didn’t mean it like that. It was all my fault. I took advantage of the situation. Blame it on night madness, if you like.”
Isabelle felt as if she’d been slapped, and the embarrassment she’d experienced when Sophie had interrupted them, was nothing compared to the humiliation she endured now. Guy! Always the gentleman! Of course, he’d take the blame for her brazen behavior.
“I think I’ll go in now,” she stated as she moved toward the stairs. “Thank you for the gifts.”
Before he could stop her, she fled below and through the companionway.
Chapter Thirteen
Filled with guilt and remorse, Isabelle lay on her cot, the blanket pulled up to her chin. The small table beside the bed held Guy’s rose and the box with Pierre’s ring. She’d placed her baptismal certificate in the wooden chest with the other birthday gifts, all the joy of the day sucked out of her by the reality of the night.
Shame ate at her. Six weeks had passed since she’d cried for Pierre or Papa. Tears threatened now, but they weren’t tears of sorrow. These were tears for herself—tears of mortification, self-reproach, and regret. What was wrong with her?
She hadn’t given a thought to her husband, her father, or the injustice and fear that had precipitated her flight from France. Instead, without a thought to the danger in which she’d placed everyone, she’d buried her reasons for being aboard this ship deep within her, living for the moment and enjoying her new life, content to let the days blend one into the other, pretending she was someone she wasn’t.
Tonight, she’d committed a grave error in judgement by giving in to her wayward emotions. How could she have let her body betray her like that? In her heart she knew she still loved Pierre, but it wasn’t, nor had it ever been, the all-consuming passion she felt for Guy now.
Had she been wrong to marry him? Would he still be alive if she hadn’t? The day Pierre had placed that ring on her finger, she’d been happy, and its simplicity had underscored the love and respect she’d had for him, but there had been no passion—never any passion.
Guy was such a gentleman he’d forgiven her for throwing herself at him, forgiven her for desecrating the memory of the man she’d married. He’d blamed himself, but the sin was hers and hers alone. As he’d said, he was only a man. What man wouldn’t take what a woman freely offered?
She sat up, reached for the box, and took out her wedding band. Pierre didn’t deserve such a fickle woman, one who could so easily thrust his memory aside to enjoy the kisses of another. In her haste to embrace her new life, she’d set aside all of her vows and responsibilities. No more! If her heart couldn’t remain true to the man she’d married, the least she could do was remain true to her vow she’d made at his graveside.
She reached for the rose Guy had given her, and with it in one hand and Pierre’s ring in the other, she prayed God would show her the way. He’d endorsed her flight from Caen by smoothing the obstacles in her path, now she needed His help to know what to do next.
There was no denying her yearning for Guy, and his response to her proved he wasn’t immune to her, but was this what God wanted? Wasn’t lust the devil’s weapon? Until she knew what to do, despite how much she would miss being with him, she wouldn’t put either of them in that position again.
Placing the ring back in its box, she put it on the table next to the rose. Her past and her present. Where would her future lie?
Please God, send me a sign. Show me the way.
Slipping back under the covers, she turned to face the wall, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Guy stood on the deck, gazing at the silvered water, replaying the events of the past half-hour in his head.
You’re an ass, Guy Poirier, possibly the biggest ass in the entire world. How could you behave like such a scoundrel? Are you really any better than the chevalier? All she wanted to do was give you a simple thank you kiss, and you had to ravish her out on the deck where anyone could have seen you ... did see you, and instead of accepting the consequenc
es of your ungentlemanly behavior, you blame her by saying you’re just a man and she’s desirable?
He slammed his fist into the top of the gunwale and cursed at the sharp pain.
He could still feel the heat of her body pressed against his, taste the honey of her mouth, and feel the throbbing in his loins. Six weeks he’d worked to earn her friendship, trust, and admiration, and he’d thrown it all away because he couldn’t control himself long enough to accept a simple kiss. No, he’d wanted more, and now, he had nothing, not even the easy-going friendship they’d shared. How could he have been such a fool?
The sound of his mother’s voice brought him down to the main deck. Stepping into the companionway, he nodded at his mother and the cook, Henri Rigaud.
“Good evening, Monsieur Rigaud,” he said. “Did you enjoy your card games?”
“My lord. It was a pleasant evening as always,” Henri replied. “Your mother beat me at Bone Ace again. Her presence has made this crossing a memorable one. Aline, I’ll leave you to your son.”
“Bonsoir, Henri,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The cook nodded and returned below decks.
Guy noted the shrewd look on his mother’s face as she examined his. Did nothing get by her?
“What is it, Guy?” she asked, reaching for his arm. “Something’s wrong. Don’t deny it.”
Why should he? She would see through any lie he concocted.
“I kissed Izzy tonight.”
“Finally,” she exclaimed. “It’s about time. We’re almost at the end of our journey, but why are you so glum?”
“I hadn’t planned to...” Guy explained what had happened, hanging his head in shame. “... and I’ve ruined everything,” he finished. “Now, she thinks I’m some randy fool who can’t control his impulses. All she wanted to do was thank me, and I managed to humiliate her in front of Sophie. Maman, what am I going to do?”
Aline kissed his cheek.
“Pauvre enfant. You’re too hard on yourself, Guy. I don’t believe Izzy is unaffected by you. From what you’ve described, she wasn’t fighting you off. I’ve seen her observing you when you aren’t watching. There’s a hunger on her face she can’t quite hide. She’s more than grateful to you, but that being said, I believe she’s conflicted because she feels guilty for being here, for being happy, for being alive.” She moved closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “She took a dangerous risk, one that could impact everyone on this vessel, and she knows it. Who knows how long it’ll be before we know the repercussions of her behavior? We’ve yet to figure out how to get rid of Isabelle de Caen, and we’re almost at the end of our journey. You have to believe in yourself. Don’t give up the war because you’ve lost the first battle.”
He kissed her on the cheek and opened his cabin door, escorting her inside.
“As always, you’re right, but I’ve still been an ass, and I need to apologize.”
Aline bid him goodnight and moved through the connecting doorway, closing the door behind her. He reached for the brandy bottle on his dresser and poured a glass. He lifted it to his lips and stopped when the door opened again.
“Where did this come from?” his mother whispered, holding up the small box Sophie had given Izzy.
“It’s her wedding ring,” he answered keeping his voice as low as his mother’s. “Sophie found it in the bottom of her trunk. She gave it to her when she interrupted us. Not exactly the best timing considering how I’d behaved.”
Aline shook her head. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? It’s engraved—Pierre to Isabelle and their wedding date.”
Damn. If anyone saw that...
“This could ruin everything,” his mother continued and shook her head, her mouth tight. “You’ll both have to bury this ghost before you can get on with your lives, starting with this ring. Pierre was your friend, and you know how much he loved her, but he would never have wanted her to suffer and be alone. As long as guilt and his shadow lie between you, you can’t hope for a future with her.”
She turned and went into her own room, taking the ring with her, and closing the door behind her once more.
Guy sat at the table with his brandy. Telling Isabelle she would have to throw the ring away would break her heart. Hadn’t he hurt her enough?
* * *
Izzy sat across the table from Aline, the breakfast tray the cabin boy had brought lying untouched between them. Next to the tray sat the small box containing her wedding ring. She swallowed and licked her dry lips. How could such a small item cause so much trouble?
“I realize it has great sentimental value for you, but it’s just too dangerous. Perhaps if it weren’t engraved, but those small letters could ruin us all.” Aline shook her head, lips pursed, eyes filled with sympathy. “While it’s true most people can’t read, we can’t be sure the chevalier won’t send someone to search for you—someone who can.”
“I know,” Isabelle said, nodding her head, her heart heavy.
She lifted the band from its velvet nest, allowing a tear to roll down her cheek. Was this what God wanted?
“I thought I’d already lost it,” she admitted, putting it back into the small box and closing the lid. “The chevalier took it from my finger the night of Papa’s funeral. I’d forgotten about the lettering inside. I’ll dispose of it after dark.”
“It’s for the best, child,” Aline said. “Now, let’s eat. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Isabelle spent the rest of the day working with the women and avoiding Guy without seeming to. She didn’t want to attract attention, but from the way Sophie watched her, it was unlikely she could avoid questions for too long. When night fell, she went up on deck, but not alone. She’d asked Sophie to join her.
“Murielle must’ve meant it to be a comfort to me,” she murmured lest they be overheard, “but engraved as it is, it’s far too dangerous to keep. Pierre would understand what must be done.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Sophie hugged her. “He would never want you in danger. Do what you must do.”
Staring down at the shimmering black water silvered by the glowing half-moon, Isabelle took the ring out of the box, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and closed her fist over it.
With Sophie’s hand in hers for strength, she dropped the tiny ring into the depths. It didn’t even plop when it entered the water. The last symbol of her past was gone, but it would never be forgotten.
With her empty hand, she swiped at her tears before handing Sophie the box.
“Keep this. It’s well made and can still be of use. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go below. I need to be alone.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer quiet conversation?” Sophie asked, indicating Guy who’d just stepped onto the deck.
Isabelle wanted to go to him, wanted to feel his lips on hers, and have him hold her in his arms, but those were selfish, sinful desires. Maybe, after she cleared Pierre’s name, she could, God willing, find comfort and happiness for herself.
“Not tonight, Sophie. Sleep well.”
She turned, acknowledged Guy with a nod of her head, and left Sophie standing with him in the moonlight.
For the next few days, true to the promise she’d made to herself, Isabelle managed to avoid being alone with Guy. Unlike the previous weeks when she’d wanted to sit alone with him, she encouraged Sophie and the other women to join them in the evening on the stern deck. The temperature had risen, and the evening breezes often brought relief from the hot, humid days.
Isabelle urged Guy to tell the women the stories he’d told her, regaling them with myths and folktales about everything from the Mohawk creation stories to voyageurs who’d given their souls to the devil for a flying canoe. She enjoyed listening to his voice and could bask in her guilty pleasure. Gerard Giroux, the gunsmith, seemed to be quite interested in Sophie and had joined the women tonight as Guy explained some of the more common Mohawk customs, some of which Isabelle thought rather noble.<
br />
“No two living Mohawk tribe members can have the same name. When a child is named, a task not undertaken lightly, the chosen name is theirs alone. Those names become part of their character and honor. When a member of the tribe dies, the closest relative must give permission for the name to be used again. If permission is given, it’s a great sign of respect on their part. Unfortunately, the priests and missionaries don’t understand this, and continue to bestow French names on the Mohawk when they’re baptized. Our culture doesn’t value identities in the same way, but to the Mohawk, names are sacred and powerful.”
“You sound as if you admire the savages,” Gerard said, standing near Sophie. “I say they can’t be trusted. Look at the way the Huron turned on Étienne Brûlé. He was a coureur de bois who lived with them for years. After he was captured by the Seneca and escaped, they didn’t believe him and killed him in cold blood. I won’t tell you what they did with his body save to say he didn’t have a Christian burial.”
Isabelle glanced at him. His voice, filled with contempt, clearly indicated he didn’t care for the native people of New France, and the scowl on his face confirmed it.
“I’m sure things are more complicated than we imagine,” Sophie said, huffing out a deep breath. “On the one hand, their culture seems very sophisticated, and yet on the other, they’re barbaric, blood-thirsty, and cruel.”
“As any man can be regardless of race or religion, given the right circumstances. People tend to judge harshly what they don’t understand,” Guy admitted. “There’ve been mistakes made on both sides. Now, we’re at peace. Perhaps we can get to know, accept, and understand one another better.”
“Let’s hope we keep our scalps long enough to do so,” Gerard said. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. I promised Father Samuel a game of chess. Goodnight.”
One by one, the women drifted back to their cabins, forcing Isabelle to do the same or break her own oath. Saying goodnight, she returned to her cabin. Aline was still below with Henry, enjoying another evening of cards.
Alone, lonelier than she’d been in months, Isabelle undressed and crawled into bed. How long would she have to suffer this way? Perhaps, if she apologized for her wanton behavior, she and Guy could go back to the easy camaraderie she missed. Turning her back to the room, she curled up on her cot, and cried herself to sleep.
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 16
