by Meg Hennessy
“I’m all right, Jordan. I’ve learned to walk despite the injury.”
He nodded and hesitated in his step, but Colette knew it was a struggle for him. Jordan had been her sworn protector from the time she was five years old when the Tribunal had arrested their parents. He was her rock in the stormy seas, but she had leaned on him far too heavily since her return from Donato’s island. Her rescue back to her own life, or so it was meant to be, had made her unusually dependent. Jordan’s life was now settled. He no longer dealt with the same demons that visited her nightly.
“Jordan, how much do you remember from the night the Loirie was attacked and we were taken?”
He attempted to shrug off her inquiry, but she could see that the casual response was merely a decoy to the true feelings that tightened his brow and pursed his lips. “I remember the attack, seeing the flag of the Lady Tempest, and being boarded. Sometimes, I think there was a third ship, but nothing comes to mind. I remember trying to get to you, but I was knocked out and found myself in the water. I heard the American voice that we know was the consulate, who was on the Lady Tempest. Other than that, not much.”
“There was a third ship. I remember the cannons, the fire, men shouting, shooting, then someone grabbing me and pulling me over the gunwale into the other ship. I’ll never forget hearing you hit the water when you were thrown overboard. I fell into a dark place.” She sighed, frustrated with her lack of memory. “A dark, dark place. I remember so little.”
“I no longer care, for I know that the men responsible have met justice.”
“Except Donato. You blame him.”
“Do you not?”
An odd feeling of loneliness rose through the ashes of her memory, flashes of Donato’s island, his voice, his touch, candlelight dinners on the terrace, and the lulling sound of Spanish guitars serenading them at night. A life filled with luxuries and riches. Only snippets dared surface before they were immediately wiped clean by the memory of her brother walking through the door of her son’s room to take her home, away from Donato and his island.
“I do not blame him.”
Her brother shook his head in disagreement but let her comment pass. “Colette, we are safe now. I no longer search for clarity. I want the same for you, sister. Don’t search for answers that have no relevance.”
“The answers seem to seek me out. I have no choice.” She set the lamp on the table and lowered herself to the settee, needing this moment of truth, having never really spoken about their experience together. “I have dreams and I don’t know from what memory they come.”
“Maybe they are just dreams, Colette, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Toma, hermosa. Te hará bien,” she repeated for his benefit.
“Spanish.”
“Oui, I only know a little Spanish that I learned from Donato. It means something about being beautiful and getting well. I hear it, Jordan, over and over in my sleep.”
“Did Donato ever say that to you?”
“I don’t know. I think not so. But he spoke mostly Spanish when I was first with him. Why would it be important?” She could see Jordan preparing to dismiss the topic. “Understand, Jordan, it is the final stitch to a tapestry. I need all the threads in place to tie off the ends.”
“Then eventually it will come.” He ambled over and kissed the top of her head and wrapped her face within his large hands. “For tonight, let’s go back to sleep. Tomorrow, you have much work to do with your charities. They count on you.”
Her charities, a selfless giving for others. It was a duty she had assigned herself after nearly losing her parents. Her servitude was a promise to God, should her parents survive and return, which they had. Thus began her charity work.
She accepted Jordan’s kind show of affection with a squeeze to his arm, unable to make him understand how muddled her memory was before and since her return from the island.
“Do you think he will come?” Colette asked before realizing she had once again asked a question that had become a part of her daily ritual. Is today the day?
“He’s had the opportunity. It’s been several months, and we moved. I don’t think so. He’s wanted for piracy. It could be dangerous for him to appear here, especially with the American navy anticipating trouble with Spain, since Britain has been defeated. You’re safe as long as we stay within the city.”
She had heard those words before, even caught the same sigh Jordan released before giving her the same answer to the same question she had asked for the past several months. But she had done the unthinkable: taken a man’s son away. Not just any man; a very powerful man. She had heard numerous stories about his escapades; Donato de la Roche, the father of her son, was the most infamous pirate of the gulf waters.
Jordan waited for her, motioning for her to go back to bed. “Come, I’ll escort you upstairs. Try to sleep.”
But she was not ready to surrender to the feelings that would toss her about her bed all night. She had to exorcise them in some way. “I wish to stay up. I cannot sleep. The servants will keep the fire going. Please, Jordan, you have a long day of travel tomorrow. Go to bed.”
He started to shake his head, but she knew he wanted to retire. His head shake turned into a sigh, then he nodded. “If you need anything…”
The flames of the fire reflected off the walls and played over Jordan’s face. For a moment they watched each other, and she knew he worried that she might never return as the same sister he had known all his life. But after Donato, after living with a pirate on an island, was she the same reserved woman, with the piousness and devoutness that had kept her anchored through the years of her life? “I’m not in need, thank you. Good night, Jordan.”
She remained watching the fire; the flames wrapped around the logs and whispered into the night, into her mind, her heart, trying to unite with that one little flame burning deep inside her heart, the one she had failed to extinguish.
Besides the shadows cast by the fire, the house was dark, silent, and every churn of the wind brought out a new crop of goose bumps.
She heard a bump, a slight thump outside the house. Her spine stiffened, and she leaned her head to the side to hear it again. When there was nothing, she pushed out of the settee and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she strained her eyes to see through the gloomy mist, but fog had settled over the city, making the night exceptionally dark. A sweep of wind pushed a branch of the magnolia tree up against the house, creating a knocking sound. Relieved to know what had made the noise, she dropped the curtain.
“Colette?”
She turned to see that Jordan had returned to the stairs. She braced herself for a lecture.
“I think you should leave with us tomorrow.”
Jordan and his young family were going to Boston for business and to show off his new son to relatives, but Colette wouldn’t step foot on a ship and had refused to go, citing her work at the hospital as far too valuable to travel again.
“Jordan…” she protested, but knew her words fell on deaf ears.
“I know you want to do your charity work—”
“It is important,” she interrupted, but wanted to ask him, how should she reconcile a promise to God when her heart yearned for something more, something that bordered on sinful—Donato?
“I know it is important to you, but it is not the right time to be here alone. We leave in the morning.”
…
Donato watched the curtain close over the window of Jordan’s house. Colette was still there and most likely, so was his son. Unfortunately, so were her brothers. Through the raised curtain, he had caught sight of Jordan.
Not that it mattered; Donato would still take his son. His ship would be back in two days, giving him about thirty-six hours to make his move. He watched the light of a lantern move to the upstairs window, casting a shadow against the window lace.
A woman’s shadow.
He leaned against the black iron fencing, debating the decision of sepa
rating mother and son, but he had already waited out the past year until the child was old enough. Donato had given thought to taking Colette as well. Not to reunite them as a family, for he’d never give her that much power again, but because she had fled his island as an escaping captive. How easy it would be to remind her of the passion she now denied and leave her craving more, all for the taste of sweet revenge. Captive?
But that was not his mission. He’d take only Enio and start anew, as had Colette.
Colette moved across the window, as if pacing. Her lithe shadow floated about the room, with an occasional shake of her long wavy hair. He remembered combing his hands through her honey-colored tresses as if spinning his own gold, and he had felt rich beyond any number of coins. He ran a tongue through the seam of his lips, trying to wash away the memory of her mouth to his, the moist tantalizing heat, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against his chest.
He put his feet into motion, pulling his mind back into his body and on his mission. He had become a master of revenge; why should Colette be any different? She had betrayed him in the worst way. She had taken his son. Now it was his turn. He had thirty-six hours to take Enio, board his ship, and go out to sea without being discovered.
He hadn’t attempted a disguise while walking along the docks, but had employed caution. Dressed plainly in dark breeches, half boots, and a blue cotton shirt, he was sure not to draw attention to himself. His hair had been tied in a queue and covered with a black felt hat that shadowed his face.
Hearing only the hourly calls from the town crier, he crossed the canal and turned down the Rue de la Levée toward the Hôtel de la Marine, knowing he’d get a room there with no questions asked. Already his plan had hit more obstacles than he had anticipated. That gunboat nagged at him, their immediate capitulation, the officer in the shadows, and the silent pursuit into the harbor. He halted, realizing the fool he had been. All of it had been by design; they had known who he was from the first time they’d stopped him.
The men on that U.S. gunboat had recognized him.
He hadn’t outsmarted them by claiming to have ill men. They had outmaneuvered him by allowing La María to pass right into the hands of the authorities. He rounded the corner of Saint Ann’s. In the opaque night he could barely see the outline of the Spanish royal ship silently riding the rolling water. Near that large frigate, he had anchored. He crawled along the port spears until he could see the U.S. gunboat. His ship was still in port, lying to, barely visible in the faint moonlight. Why were they still here?
He continued toward the landing. Muffled voices lingered over the water, American voices. He caught a flash or two of a rapier. He watched, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, to see U.S. Navy soldiers standing on the stern of La María. He swallowed hard, recognizing his miscalculation.
His ship had been seized.
Donato heard the sound of running feet, and within seconds he was surrounded by men with pistols aimed. To their center stood the officer who had been on that U.S. ship.
“Donato de la Roche?”
Donato nodded, knowing he had been bettered. With the elegance of a seasoned fighter and gentleman, he allowed the naval officer his victory. “Si.”
Chapter Two
“I’ll be fine, Jordan.” Relieved to have convinced her older brother to let her stay in New Orleans and to have her half-brother Loul stay with her, Colette handed Jordan his hat and walking stick, more than anxious for him to depart. “What more protection would I need but a brother, n’est-ce pas?”
“Two brothers. You need two brothers against a man like Donato.”
She loved her brothers, but they must allow her to rebuild her life, and the idea of being against Donato, against her son’s father, brought a slight halt to her heart.
Before he could change his mind, Colette ushered him toward the door. “You go, s’il vous plaît.”
Jordan looked at his wife, Aurélie, who nodded toward the door. In some way, validating his decision. “All right, Colette, you be careful, and I appreciate your charity work, but you work too hard at times. Please don’t find any more lonely souls to save.”
“It is all I have, Jordan. I made a promise.”
“To?”
“Just a promise. Besides, my work keeps me busy.” And her mind off the life she had left behind, the life she had had no right to in the first place. Donato was never a part of her pledge, her promise on that fateful night when her parents were taken away. Even her first marriage in France had not been out of love, but to care for an aging man who needed her help.
Jordan had no idea how much she needed to keep her mind busy, not to think and rethink her decision to come home with him, to be with her family, leaving her life with Donato behind. Perhaps the years of not seeing them had made her decision for her, for when Jordan had arrived to “rescue” her from Donato’s well-fortified island, she had not hesitated to return to her world. A safe world away from pirates and thieves. Surely Donato understood that. Or did he? After so long without an attempt to contact her, had he dismissed her and his son from his life? Had he forgotten the passion— She halted her thoughts and glanced up at her waiting brother and repeated, “Just a promise.”
After kisses and well-wishing hugs, Jordan and his wife and children were finally on their way. Jordan’s daughter, little Maisie, was still waving out the window when the landau turned the corner toward the canal.
Colette strolled back inside and drew a deep breath, enjoying the silence, the quietude her mind and heart so needed in order to truly mend. Her half-brother, Loul, would return later. He lived on Rampart Street in a house Jordan had originally bought for Aurélie before they married.
Colette ambled upstairs to get her son, Enio. The nurse who cared for him would have him bathed and ready to start his day. There he was, smiling the moment she walked into his room.
“How’s my petit garçon?”
His nurse passed him into Colette’s waiting arms. “I will return in the morning, Miss Colette. Tonight is Carnival.”
All of Jordan’s servants were taking the night off. “Of course. Enjoy the celebration.”
Colette adjusted the small boy on her hip and headed for the outdoor courtyard. With the servants gone for Carnival, she settled in to relax, spending nearly three hours in complete repose as Enio played. The winter sun warmed the chill from her body, and the scent of ocean air brought back hazy memories of a beautiful island, a paradise between land and sea, between a man and a woman.
She shook her head, refusing to allow those memories of Donato forward, or remember his thick raven hair, wavy and disheveled, brushed back on the sides and parted slightly over his shoulders. Or acknowledge the matching dark eyes that always held a tone of intrigue and danger. Donato had stood tall, broad-shouldered, aristocratic, and his deep resonant voice matched his swarthy looks.
Colette’s breathing deepened, and she placed a hand over her chest to ease the sudden pain in her heart, unable to sort through so much at once. Images of her abduction at sea invaded her mind. She glanced down at her leg, trying to remember how or when she was injured. She had nearly forgotten everything about the night she was taken captive until flashes of an auction block doused her mind. She remembered being in pain, her leg burning and her ankle swollen. Why did she feel so tortured about that night? Why could she not move on as Jordan had?
“Colette!” Loul shouted through the iron fence of the courtyard, before opening the gate and coming inside. Breathing hard, his face was drenched in sweat.
“What is it?” Colette pulled Enio onto her lap.
Loul knelt down next to her and took her hand. “Colette, don’t be alarmed, because we’ll get out of here, but they seized Donato’s ship last night.”
The sudden rush of memories would have washed her off the chair had it not been for holding Enio in her arms. Amazingly, unable to breathe, she still formed a word. “Where?”
“In port.”
“His ship sei
zed?” Colette’s breath locked down deep inside her stomach. Her voice barely a whisper. Loul leaned in to hear. “And…Donato?”
“Captured, but he broke free.”
Her breath escaped through tight lips. She glanced around the patio, expecting him to step out of the nearby shadows. Hearing he had escaped brought on a sense of relief. They could not hold a man like Donato. They simply could not. “He has left New Orleans, non?”
“How could he? He has no ship.”
“They don’t know where he is?”
Loul rose to his feet and slid into the chair across from her. “They’re looking. This is the plan, Colette. We’ll go up to my mother’s until this is over. I’ll get a pirogue ready for the backwaters.”
“No! Not water.”
Loul halted. Reading the expression on her face, he added, “We don’t know where Donato is. The bayou is the safest place to put you. Agreed?”
She couldn’t stop her heart from hammering so loud in her ears. She couldn’t think. Her mind raced with images of ships, and even a small pirogue was more than she could bear. No, she couldn’t step foot onto anything on water. “I know it is to be foolish—”
“It’s all right, Colette, we’ll go by land, but then we must leave before Carnival starts. I don’t think Donato knows where you are, or he would have been here already. Jordan boarded his horses and carriage near the river. I’ll get them rigged. Then we leave. Agreed?”
Though her mind was whirling with possibilities of seeing Donato, she reacted as she had when Jordan had arrived on Donato’s island to return her to her family—as the obedient sister. “Agreed.”
…
Colette folded the last of Enio’s flannel longs for the damp trip through the backwaters to Yellow Sun, as well as an extra shawl. Though her hands were shaking, she managed to pack them neatly in his small trunk, stacked atop his lawn shirts and cambric gowns.
She then started the task of packing her own items, filling another small trunk with two muslin walking dresses, two wool gowns, a light douillette, a pair of tan gloves, winter half boots, and a walking pelisse. Assuming she’d not be gone long, she packed privy items and undergarments for two days and tossed her great wool coat trimmed in fur on the bed to be worn for travel.
