The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "Surely you're not in sympathy with the abolitionists?"

  "No. They've claimed ownership over the morality of other men. There's no freedom in that either."

  "Then, what do you believe, Adam?"

  He sighed, letting out the breath with a soft laugh. "I don't know what I believe, only what I don't believe. I don't believe in slavery. The black man was brought here against his will, and yet we have kept him so long, through so many generations, he can no longer return to his own land. Now we must find a place for him where there is no place."

  "But there is—you bring so many North. You find places for them."

  "I help them make free because God never meant a man to wear another man's yoke. But to what do I send them? Freedom? All the North offers is hunger for freedom intensified, but no reality of it. It doesn't exist, Dulcie. Not here. Not yet." She looked up into the strong planes of his face, at the bright blue eyes that blazed with the visions in his mind. "You can feel their hunger, can see it. It isn't just the darkies, Dulcie. It's us as well. When one man pains, even if I don't recognize the ache in my own belly, his pain is mine."

  "Adam, I don't know you," she said in wonderment. "I've lain by your side, slept in your arms, carried your child within me, but I don't know you."

  His eyes burned deep into her.

  "Then learn to know me, Dulcie. Where I am is a lonely place. I don't know where I'm going, and I have nothing to offer you but long years of uncertainty and searching for answers when I barely understand the questions. Love me, Dulcie, because I need you, because I can't stop trying. We're a nation massacring ourselves trying to find the truth. Somewhere, sometime, there must be a healing. God, Dulcie, I long for that. I long for you."

  Dulcie looked at him through a mist of tears. "You'll find what you seek, Adam, and you won't be alone. Never, not as long as I live."

  He leaned over her, his fingers touching the tears that stood in the comers of her eyes. He kissed each eye, his hand seeking the softness of her flesh beneath her nightgown. "I want you," he whispered.

  "Yes, yes. Now. Love me, Adam, love me."

  He removed her gown. It slithered off the bed in a whisper of silk. Her breath quickened as he looked upon her with such new tenderness it seemed a living thing. She parted her lips to receive his kiss and placed her hand on his as he moved over her breast and down to her belly. His hand looked dark resting warm against her skin. She pressed it harder against her softness, feeling the faint memory of a child stirring within her.

  She caressed the inside of his thigh, until her hand closed around him. She trembled at his sharply indrawn breath, her body arching to meet him, her hand still pressing his into her abdomen. She opened her legs as he

  moved over her. He leaned down to kiss her, his lips barely touching hers, lingering moist with the intermingling of their breath. He entered her slowly, filling her, pressing deeper, heating her body until she cried out. He kissed her deeply, filling her mouth with his tongue, seeking, driving, consuming her.

  Adam thrust against her arching body again and again, his mouth seeking hers, as he touched the depths of her. She clung to him, pressing herself against him, gasping and whimpering in the joy of release.

  They lay exhausted in each other's arms. He kissed her eyes and cheeks, tasting the light, salty tang of her perspiration, then he fell back, his breath still coming heavy and deep. He laughed softly. "I love you." Then he said it loudly so it echoed in the room. "I love you!"

  At noon Bridget knocked at the door and poked her head inside before Dulcie could answer. She grabbed the sheet, pulling it over Adam and herself.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am. Saints preserve us! I didn't know. Welcome home, sir! I'm ever so sorry." She hastily backed out of the room.

  "Bridget!" yelled Adam.

  "Yes, sir!"

  "I'm starving."

  "Bridget, please bring Captain Tremain and me some-thin' to eat—oh, and the letter from Captain West."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  Dulcie got out of bed, humming as she searched through her wardrobe.

  "What do you think you are doing?" Adam asked.

  "Pickin' out my prettiest dress to please you. Captain."

  "The prettiest dress you own is the one you were bom in."

  She switched her hips at him, smiling wickedly. "But dah-lin', it's hardly suitable foah daytime weah."

  "Then pull the drapes and make it night again."

  Dulcie dropped her teasing pose. She stood still, watching him, feeling suddenly self-conscious and unfulfilled. She ran across the room, throwing herself into his open arms. "Oh, Adam, I want a baby. Our baby."

  He buried his face in her neck, his hand moving down to her thigh, his voice a low caress in her ear.

  Bridget knocked tentatively at the door, her ear pressed to the panel. She waited, then knocked again. She shifted

  the heavy tray to her other hand, inching down the hall. Undecided, she stepped back in front of the door. She glanced at it, then down at the huge dish of scrambled eggs she had prepared for Adam.

  A sly grin crossed her face, then she looked furtively down the empty hall and scooped a jBngerful of eggs into her mouth. A small giggle escaped. She knocked softly again, then walked downstairs humming dreamily between bites of Adam's breakfast.

  The letter from Ben lay forgotten on the table in the entry hall until the next day. For the first time in months Adam wore his captain's uniform. He opened the letter as he waited for Dulcie, who was having a difficult time finding where she had packed her long-unused riding outfit.

  He burst out laughing as she came downstairs. "Listen to this!" He flipped her a note in Glory's scraggly handwriting, then he held up Ben's short letter: "Come home, you son of a bitch! I turned out to be the better man, but I need you to be my best man."

  Dulcie read Glory's note, "Dear Dulcie, Miss Eleanor Brooker requests your presence at her respectable transformation into Mrs. Ben West. Don't fail me, Dulcie. You just drag that handsome oaf here if you have to. You're the only weman in the world who wouldn't laugh at the idea of Glory Hallalooya wanting to be a real wife to her man. This is going to be my only wedding, so it's got to be done with the people I love."

  "I've never had a more gently spoken invitation from Ben," Adam grinned. "I don't think I can refuse."

  Dulcie squealed, her arms coiling around his neck. "We're goin'! When? How soon can we leave?"

  Adam sent one of Hans's smuggling friends after Rosebud, then began rounding up enough men to crew the Black Swan. Dulcie finished closing down the house and settling the lease. Finally, they made last-minute visits to the Raymers. Dulcie said good-bye to Jem and Patricia, this time receiving their blessings and leaving them knowing she was happy. Their last stop was at Rod and Zoe's house. As always, Zoe fussed over Adam, begging him to be careful and then wishing him well. She was used to him going. And he was used to her ritual of worry. All that was left was for Hans to pick up Dulcie's trunks of clothing and household goods.

  Adam took Dulcie to the harbor the day before they

  were to set sail. He showed her the Black Swan for the first time, finding he had competition from Rosebud, who wanted to be certain Dulcie heard of every adventure the ship had been through.

  Dulcie found herself laughing and smiling throughout the day. She'd almost forgotten the exhilaration of feeling really and thoroughly alive. Rosebud, Hans, Cateau, the crewmen—it was as though all of them were just returning from a long limbo of sleep. The air crackled with purpose and excitement. And at the very core of their renewed faith stood her husband, commanding, leading them all into something new and unknown.

  Dulcie smiled as Adam drew in deep gulps of sharp, salty air. He glanced up as a brisk breeze sent the furled sails shuddering against the spars.

  "Prepare to sail, Mr. McAllister. Lift anchor."

  "Weigh anchor!" Rosebud barked at the crew.

  He was returned to her. He was Adam as he had been when she had first seen h
im aboard the Ullah. She had entrusted Fellie and Ester and Darcy to him that day because she had instinctively known he was a man in whom authority lived beside personal integrity.

  She slipped away unnoticed into their cabin. From her own sea chest she took a pair of blue duck trousers and a Mexican peasant blouse she had bought in New York. Dressed, and pleased with the effect, she walked boldly up to the captain standing on the bridge.

  "Captain, sir! Your cabin boy reportin' for duty, sir. First mate Rosebud McAllister signed me on this mornin', sir.

  Adam leaned back against the rail, his arms folded across his chest. The wind whipped his hair forward, brushing the black curls against his cheek. The dark gray tunic fit tight across his shoulders, the dark trousers stretched taut across his narrow hips. Her mouth dry, Dulcie said, "How may I serve you, Captain?"

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth; his eyes, a deep sea-blue, darkened. Lazily he walked toward her.

  Sweeping from London to exotic Constantinople to the bloodwashed valley of Balaclava, SCARLET SHADOWS is a romance surging v/ith savage adventure and pulsing emotions. The following is an excerpt from SCARLET SHADOWS, to be published by Dell in August.

  She galloped on, knowing nothing would make her return. The wind rushing past was cold with approaching night and the grayness ahead was studded with stars. Alone out here with the great striding creature beneath her, why should she not leap from the summit of the hill right up to one of those beckoning lights? She urged the horse on with a fevered cry. Her eyes on the stars, she was aware only of her desire to escape. She did not hear the sharp challenge.

  "Who goes there? Halt!"

  Victoria gathered herself for the leap into the sky as the horse took off. There was a deafening shot and the animal stumbled as it landed on the other side of a small water-course, then slowed, flanks heaving, whinnying with pain. For a few moments she sat motionless, then slid from the saddle to bury her face in the warm glossy neck in despair. She would never get away now.

  Hooves thundered up, then someone was beside her.

  "Victoria, you are not hurt? Tell me you are not hurt!" He seized her shoulders and forced her around to face him. He was white and the hands that held her shook.

  Her heart cried out against this cruellest of blows. With a moan, she pulled free and began stumbling away. But he was after her in a second.

  "What do you mean riding out beyond the lines? Dear God, do you realize my troops could have killed you?"

  "It would not have mattered. I am nothing. I have always been nothing."

  "How dare you say that when, to me, you are everything?"

  She spun to face him. Her great need was to hurt—to break him on the wheel of her own love, to scourge him with the lash of her jealousy. He stood before her, tall and strong with the scar of courage upon his cheek, but she wanted to witness his

  Copyright © 1978 by Emma Drummond

  All rights reserved. Dell Publishing Co., Inc.,

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, New York, N.Y. 10017.

  suffering. The thickness of tears in her throat forced the words out in jerky contempt.

  "And what of her? Is she everything to you, also?"

  He covered the distance between them in two strides. Even in the gathering darkness it was clear he was ablaze with passion.

  "What do you want from me? What would you have me do? You will never be free and I am only human."

  "Then take her," she cried. "Take her into your life and your very soul. Let her diminish you until your life is colorless and your soul is no longer your own. Take her."

  "1 cannot, Victoria," he said. "You are there between us all the time."

  The very night held its breath as they exchanged their pain, their joy, their helplessness in a long glance.

  "I ... I am so sorry," she whispered.

  He took her against him in a swift movement and held her there. "No . . . no," he murmured in anguish against her mouth. "Never apologize to me."

  Sweet rioting pain beset her as she was drawn against him in crashing surrender. His mouth touched her hair, cheeks, throat, and closed her eyelids, took her lips with gentle savagery. She moaned softly. Her breasts burned beneath the pressure of his body. Her hand went up to twist his hair. Victoria found herself swung up in his arms while he began to walk into the darkness. Her fingers stroked the scar on his cheek and went on to trace the outline of his lips, until they parted and teeth gently bit against her flesh. Her hand dropped to tear open the gold-encrusted collar of his uniform to expose his throat. It was fever-warm beneath her kisses, and the pulsating thud of his heartbeat sent a wild message through her, to set her whole body throbbing.

  With a groan he brought her face up to meet his once more, letting her feet slide to the ground, crushing her against him in an embrace that washed away her subjugation to her husband and put her very life into this man's keeping forever. There was so much of her that should belong to him.

  Drugged with desire, he gathered her up in his arms once more and began walking into the cloaking darkness.

  Victoria knew there would never be another night like this when a skyful of stars witnessed their love. She was reluctant to pull herself from the soft mood of submission as she leaned back against his solid strength, his left arm encircling her as he held the reins. She was still wrapped in a joy of surrender, she could feel Hugo's tenseness in the way he held himself in the saddle. She longed to turn her face up to his and caress his mouth with hers; she dared not. Did he blame her for forcing a surrender that had made a mockery of his honor? After tonight, how could they go back? He would find it either impossible to forgive her, or resist her.

  Suddenly he pulled the horse to a standstill.

  "How can I take you back to him?" he demanded m despair.

  She said nothing, only pressing closer against him.

  In the starlit darkness his face w^s a rigid shadow. "How can I take you back to him?" he repeated in a soft groan. "It is too much to ask of any man."

  She knew he was asking the question more of himself than of her. "How can you not take me back to him?"

  Charles stood up when they entered, a flush dyeing his face darker in the pale lamp glow. For a moment there was silence, then he said, "So, you ran to him. Have you no pride?"

  "By God, Charles, if I had not been commanding the watch and recognized your charger, she could have been fired upon by every guard along the river. Do you care nothing for her safety?"

  "Get out."

  Victoria began to tremble. She could only guess what had passed between the brothers in the past, it frightened her to see such naked aggression now. It occurred to her that love and hatred were conceived in the same womb; that a caress could destroy as surely as the sword. Putting a hand on Hugo's sleeve she said, "Please go," but he was past listening.

  "Victoria is a woman, entitled to your care and protection. She is not part of your legal property."

  Charles gripped the table to steady himself. "She is my wife!" He was shouting now. "You still refuse to accept that. I shall drive the lesson home in such a way that you will . . . and I shall break you in the process. I swear it."

  There was a paralyzing moment while Hugo took the full force of the words in his face. Charles was fighting unsuccessfully for command of himself. "You shall pay for it this time, believe me."

  Victoria ran between the two men. "No, Charles. No!"

  He pushed her aside so roughly that her foot twisted and she fell across the table with a sharp cry. It grew unnaturally quiet, and she just had time to see the brothers staring in horror at her as she lay there, before Charles said, "Now will you get out?"

  "Please, for all our sakes, go," Victoria begged through a torrent of tears.

  He gave her a long look from a face grown haggard, then turned to Charles. "I swear, if you ever harm her again, I shall take her from you. I shall forfeit my future, my profession, my honor . . . but I shall take her as surely as if she had never borne your na
me." He spun on his heel and strode out, his sword swinging against his leg.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Pages

  Back Cover