Adam cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure that if you check your, er, patron's pockets you will find enough to satisfy you. In his present condition, I doubt he will object."
The two men looked at each other and grinned. "Why, that's right generous of you!" Like the scavengers they were, ignoring Adam, they fell upon Charles and proceeded to strip him of anything valuable.
Betsey could stand it no longer, and stepping out into the glow of the lantern, she cried, "Stop it, you monsters! Leave him alone! Stop it this instant!"
It proved to be a horrible mistake on her part. The hood of her cloak had fallen back and the lantern light fell full on her gleaming blond hair and lovely face. The two men, who had been busily lifting Charles of anything of value, turned to stare at her, their mouths going slack at the sight of this vision of loveliness here in this sordid, wretched little alley. Avarice faded from their eyes as they stared at her, lust clearly overtaking them.
One of them rose to his feet and murmured, "Well, well, what have we here? As plump and pretty a little dove as I have ever seen."
Betsey realized her error and shrank back, but it was too late. The other man stood, too, and began to advance upon her. "Now, I think that a piece of this little dolly would go a long way to making me resigned to what happened." He stopped uncertainly and glanced back at Adam. "That's if you don't have any objections?"
Adam looked at Betsey , the knowledge that this woman had murdered his child burning hotly, brightly, in his mind. The memory of Savanna's white face as he had sat by her bed last night fearing that she would die was also in his thoughts, and he said, "No, I have no objections."
The two thugs snickered lewdly. One of them reached out with a grimy paw and touched Betsey's breast. "Not here," the other said roughly. "Let's take her where we can enjoy her all night."
Betsey gasped, her eyes wide with outrage.
"And where would that be?" Adam asked, only faintly curious.
"We have a boat, the Merry Madam, docked not far from the Broken Sword."
Looking at the brutish, grimy faces of his onetime assailants, Adam could imagine just what sort of squalid vessel they owned. After all she had done to those he loved most, it seemed a fitting place for Betsey Asher. Sending Betsey one last indifferent glance, Adam shrugged and, turning on his heel, began to walk away. "Just don't kill her," he said calmly. "I want her to live a long time."
A ludicrous expression on her face, Betsey stared after his departing figure. Slapping away the hands that reached for her, she stamped her foot and cried angrily, "Adam! You can't possibly leave me here with these filthy oafs!"
Adam stopped and turned around. The brilliant blue eyes surveyed her coldly. He smiled, a tiger's deadly smile. "Oh, but I can, sweetheart," he said softly. He bowed with insulting disdain and began once more to walk away. Ignoring Betsey's outraged shriek, his mind full of thoughts of his wife and his dead child, he never faltered in his steps or slowed as he left the alley.
It was only when he had reached the safety of his rooms that the iron hold he had kept on himself was allowed to crack, and ignoring Jake's and Dooley's horrified exclamations, he collapsed with a groan on the sofa, every bone and muscle in his body screaming in agony. Briefly he explained what had happened, and after assuring them he would live, dismissed them.
Not wanting Savanna to find him in this condition, he staggered into the dressing room. It was too late to order a bath, but wincing from the effort, he stripped off his fouled and filthy clothing, and after pouring some tepid water from the china ewer into a matching bowl, he began to gingerly clean his cuts and bruises.
Savanna found him thus and her heart contracted painfully as she caught sight of his poor, ruined face and the ugly black-and-blue bruises that were springing up all over his body. Fear in her lovely eyes, she rushed to him. "Jake gave me your note—it was a trap, wasn't it?" she demanded anxiously. Taking the cloth from his limp hand, she tenderly took over the job that he had abandoned.
Sinking down onto a stool nearby, Adam said wearily, "Oh, yes, it was a trap—sprung by our dear friends, Charles and Betsey Asher!"
Savanna's lips thinned and in a low, vicious voice she said, "I think I shall pay a call on Miss Asher tomorrow and tear every hair from her head—and then throw her down the stairs!"
Adam smiled faintly. "After tonight, I doubt that Miss Asher will want to come within a hundred miles of either one of us. Put her from your mind."
Though she was full of curiosity, it was only when he was lying beside her in the soothing darkness that Savanna ventured to question him further. "What happened, Adam? Tell me. Everything."
Adam sighed and succinctly he told her what had transpired. She was silent for a long minute when he finished speaking. Then she touched him lightly, a butterfly's caress on his battered cheek. "I'm glad you left her. It's what she deserved."
Adam yawned, flinching from the pain of his split lip. Drowsily he murmured, "My thoughts precisely."
The next morning Adam's face was enough to make strong men shudder, and viewing his swollen eye, puffed upper lip and scraped cheekbone, he grimaced. Sourly he viewed the many bruises on his body. Not even a hot bath had lessened his many aches, but he wanted to leave for Campo de Verde as soon as possible and, wincing , he struggled into his clothes.
Concern on her face, Savanna stared at him as he walked into the sitting room. Despite his elegant clothes and powerful body, he looked terrible, but he smiled when he saw her and Savanna felt a glowing warmth spread through her.
She was wearing a most becoming gown of pale yellow muslin, the lace-trimmed, fashionably low neckline revealing a tempting amount of her magnificent bosom. There was more lace on the puffed sleeves and she had woven a yellow silk ribbon amongst the fiery strands of her glorious hair. She looked adorable.
Despite his many aches, Adam caught himself wishing that her condition would allow him to make love to her, but sighing regretfully, he pushed the thought away, saying instead, "I'm going to arrange to hire a comfortable carriage for us, and if all goes well, perhaps we can depart in the morning for Campo de Verde. Any objections?"
Savanna had none and Adam left on his errand. After he accomplished his task, he returned to the hotel, and it was there that he once again laid eyes on Charles Asher.
Charles, looking none the worse for his activities last night, was talking earnestly to a handsome young man when Adam entered the lobby. Blue eyes grim, Adam stalked over to the two men.
"Good morning, Charles," he said easily. "I trust that you are feeling well after last night's escapade?"
Glancing up impatiently, Charles blanched when he caught sight of Adam, and with satisfaction Adam noticed the faint bruise on his chin. A sickly expression on his handsome face, Charles swallowed painfully and, having no other choice, said nervously, "Yes. It was most pleasant."
"And did the fair Betsey also enjoy herself last night?" Adam asked silkily.
The young man beside Charles frowned. "Monsieur," he said, looking at Charles, "I thought you said that Mademoiselle Betsey has been most grievously ill and could not see me this morning."
Before Charles could answer, Adam broke in lightly. "Oh, but that could not be! Why, I saw her just last night and she appeared to be enjoying herself hugely. Wouldn't you say so, Charles?"
Paralyzed with rage and fear, Charles could only stare helplessly at Adam's battered features. Contemptuously turning his back on Charles, Adam said to the young man, "I am Adam St. Clair, and you must be Pierre Michaud?"
Pierre smiled and nodded, clearly puzzled by the situation. Glancing from one man to the other, he returned to the topic that interested him most. "Mademoiselle Betsey is not ill?" he asked anxiously. "She will see me?"
Again it was Adam who spoke first. He had no desire to hurt Pierre, but he also wasn't about to let Charles and Betsey regain any lost ground. Pity in his blue eyes, he said softly, "Yes, she'll see you. I believe that you will find her with her two, er, companions
on the Merry Madame, docked not far from the Broken Sword Tavern near Girod Street."
There was a strangled croak from Charles, and Adam turned to smile at him, that same tiger's smile that Betsey had seen last night. "I'm sure," he added, "that she will be most eager to see you."
As Adam walked away he felt regretful for the pain and disillusionment that Pierre would suffer, but also confident that when Betsey's disgrace was known, as it surely would be, she and Charles would never be able to show their faces in decent society again, and another young man like Pierre would not fall into their unscrupulous hands. Socially, the Ashers were ruined; they would be viewed as pariahs. Thinking of his wife's brush with death and his dead child, Adam was not bothered very much by the fate awaiting the Ashers....
Chapter 21
Adam's letter chronicling the recent events in his life reached Jason Savage at Terre du Coeur near the end of September. The fact that Adam had married Savanna O'Rourke came as no very great surprise to Jason, nor did the pregnancy, but the news that Savanna had lost the child disturbed him. Too well did he remember the pain he and Catherine had suffered when she lost their second child after she had escaped from Davalos.
Meditatively, Jason stared at Adam's letter as he sat in his study, late afternoon sunlight filtering through the long windows of the house. So. Adam was married, was he? A rueful smile curved Jason's full mouth. Like the scamp he was, Adam had left him with the delicate task of informing Catherine of the news.
Catherine did not take it well. Her amethyst eyes burned with indignation after she had read Adam's letter, and since the object of her wrath was safely situated at Campo de Verde, she glared impotently at Jason. "Married!" she exclaimed fumingly. "How could he! And to that, that creature's daughter!"
She took an agitated turn around Jason's study and he eyed her slender form appreciatively. Despite more than twelve years of marriage and five children, Catherine Savage was still the most bewitching woman he had ever laid eyes on, and when she was in a temper, as she was now, her cheeks becomingly flushed, her eyes flashing with purple lights, the heavy black silk hair tumbling in ringlets over her shoulders, she reminded him vividly of the little gypsy wench with whom he had first fallen in love all the years before.
Smiling, Jason drawled, "Kitten, he didn't do it to hurt you or to make you angry. He fell in love and couldn't help himself. You aren't going to hold that against him, are you?"
Catherine stopped her angry perambulations and those beautiful eyes of hers filled with tears. "Oh, Jason! You know I don't begrudge him any happiness—it is just that Mama and I have so looked forward to the day he would be respectably married to some decent young woman, and what does he do but leg-shackle himself in some hole-in-the-corner affair to Davalos's daughter!"
Getting up from his position behind the massive oak desk, Jason strolled around to the front of it, and resting one hip on the corner, he pulled Catherine into his arms. Amusement flickering in his emerald eyes, he stared down into her unhappy face. "It isn't," he began, "the marriage that either one of us would have wished for him, but unless you want to be estranged from him, I think you had better prepare yourself to be, if not enthusiastic about his choice, at least cordial when you meet her. He loves her, Kitten! And knowing Adam—he'll not take kindly to any slight shown his bride."
Catherine snorted and Jason said coaxingly, "Sweetheart, I know it will be hard for you, but Savanna is nothing like her father. She bears no resemblance to him in face or form and she has inherited none of his ugliness of spirit."
When Catherine looked skeptical, Jason gave her a little shake, saying persuasively, "Blood Drinker approves of her. On our way back to Terre du Coeur, he said that she was precisely what Adam needed, a beautiful, spirited woman who could match him for stubbornness and temper!" A reminiscent grin split his mouth. "And if you could have seen them together, the news of their marriage would not come as any great shock. It was inevitable."
Catherine remained unconvinced, but she did pick up the letter again and reread it, this time her eyes filling with tears when she came to the part about the child. "They must be shattered," she said in a soft voice. A look of determination crossed her face. "We shall go to them. Perhaps, because of the loss of our own child, we can help them deal with this tragedy."
Jason relaxed, a warm light in his eyes as he gazed at his wife. He had known that Catherine would take the news of Adam's marriage to Davalos's daughter hard, but it said much of her character that she was willing to put aside her own feelings and want to help Adam's wife.
Dropping a kiss on her nose, he got up from his perch and murmured, "I shall leave the packing to you."
The Savages were not the only ones planning on traveling to the New Orleans area. At the same time that Catherine began her packing, Micajah Yates was also considering a sojourn in that fair city.
Micajah and Jeremy had lurked about Natchez for a while, hoping to get word of the mysterious stranger who had wanted Adam St. Clair killed. Their efforts, as well as those of Jem, came to naught, but they did pick up an interesting tidbit: it appeared that Adam St. Clair was currently in the New Orleans area.
The Aztec gold was still uppermost in Micajah's mind, but at the moment, he had been brought to a standstill. Without his having either the knowledge which Jason Savage possessed or the information Savanna claimed not to possess, his only link to the gold was Jeremy, and Micajah wasn't enamored of the idea of putting all his trust in Jeremy's abilities. It might come to that, but not before he'd given it considerably more thought—or figured out a way to once again be in a position to torture the knowledge he wanted out of Jason Savage. In the meantime, there was the matter of St. Clair....
Determined for pride's sake alone to dispatch the elusive Mr. St. Clair, Micajah and Jeremy left for New Orleans. Micajah had another reason for wanting to go to New Orleans as well—he figured that if anyone knew anything about Savanna's fate, it would be Bodene Sullivan. Once they had reached New Orleans, leaving Jeremy to his own devices, Micajah wasted little time in making his way to Bodene's gaming establishment.
Micajah found The Golden Lady with ease, but having reached his destination, he did not enter the handsome building. Instead he prowled around in the darkness, familiarizing himself with the place. There were only two ways into The Golden Lady, a front exit and a rear one, and Micajah dismissed them as ways of access for himself. As far as he knew, there hadn't been any recent warrants sworn out against him, and since few of his victims ever lived to tell of his atrocities, he wasn't concerned about being recognized as a notorious killer, but the idea of boldly confronting Bodene made him distinctly uneasy. Bodene was likely to be mighty angry about Savanna's kidnapping, and now that the moment was upon him, Micajah was more than a little worried about facing Bodene's wrath.
He scouted out the building again, this time looking for a way to break in undetected. There were few windows on the bottom floor and most seemed to be occupied by gamblers intent upon private games. Slightly dejected, he approached the last window at the back of the building and, placing his ear to the warm glass, nearly jumped out of his skin when Bodene's voice said silkily from behind him, "You know, one of my men thought it was you lurking about out here. What were you hoping to do—hear something interesting, my friend—like where Savanna is?"
"Goddammit, Bodene! Don't go sneaking up on a man that way!" Micajah yelped, jerking away from the window. Chagrined and uneasy, he waited for Bodene's next move, becoming even more uneasy when he became aware of the pistol that was poking him in the spine.
"Well, if you wouldn't go sneaking around my place, I wouldn't have to go, er, sneaking up on you. And since that little bit of business has been settled, why don't you join me in my office, where we can have a nice, quiet, private conversation, hmm?" Bodene murmured.
The pistol barrel left his spine and Micajah breathed easier until Bodene said softly, "I have the pistol on you—make one move that I don't like and I'll be happy to put
a hole through the middle of your back. Right in front of a dozen witnesses, if need be. Understand?"
Micajah swallowed painfully and nodded vigorously.
"Very well, then," Bodene went on quietly. "We will now walk into The Golden Lady. Don't stop to talk to anyone and walk directly to my office, which is the second door from the left as we enter. Try anything at all, and it will be my pleasure, my very great pleasure, I might add, to end your villainous days. Have I made myself clear?"
Micajah nodded unhappily, wondering why with Bodene he always seemed to end up in this invidious position. Once they were in Bodene's office, however, some of his bravado came back and he attempted a bluff. Turning to look at his captor, he blustered, "What the hell's going on? Can't a man have a drink of whiskey without you breathing down his neck?"
Bodene smiled coldly. "Considering what you did to Savanna, you're damned lucky that I don't kill you. And the only thing that is stopping me from doing just that is the fact that I don't want to dirty my hands with you—and that Savanna is safely at Campo de Verde."
Micajah felt a wave of elation surge through him at Bodene's words. It would appear that Savanna had survived her kidnapping by Jason Savage and had managed to come back home again. Uneasily aware that Bodene was still looking at him with daggers in his eyes, Micajah whined, "Now, don't take on that way! I didn't mean her no harm! You know that I've always had an eye for Savanna, and I swear to you that I would have married her in the end, after I'd, um, softened her up some."
"You mean raped and beaten her into submission, don't you?" Bodene snarled softly, and the expression on his face made Micajah step backward, his shoulders bumping into the wall.
Micajah swallowed. "Well, if she wouldn't listen to reason, what else could I do?" he asked with paralyzing candor.
Bodene's fine lips curled, but the urge to throttle Micajah had left him. From days of old, he knew that there was no reasoning with a man of Micajah's caliber and he was disgustedly aware that no amount of argument could ever make Micajah see that there was anything wrong in what he had done.
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