by Meg Hennessy
“If I have won, why have you not given him to me?”
She flew at him, flinging her balled fists hard against his chest, steely and lean, just like she remembered. His arms came up around her and held her firm. She could hear his heart beat and feel the pulsating power of his arms around her. Just like before—
She gasped, remembering too much.
His embrace, his kiss, his love— She broke free of his arms. Wiping at her eyes, she tried for even breathing, but her mind suddenly felt jumbled as anger faded and something not foreign, but certainly not welcome, flooded her body—desire.
For a moment they stared at each other. She nearly swayed from the impact, resisting each shred of memory trying to coalesce in her mind, trying to rekindle what hovered just below the surface of her faulty guard. She swallowed the knot in her throat and felt it sink to her stomach. But one recollection had slipped through…the feel of his arms around her, and oh, how she needed them right now to console her. But that was not to be.
She dried her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, taking another protective step away from him. He noted her retreat with a glance to the floor as she backed away, then to her face, but in that glance she caught a grimace and noticed blood trickling down his hand.
“You’re hurt.”
“It had stopped bleeding until now.” He nodded, pulling off the overcoat and vest, then shirt to expose a raw hole in his left shoulder. He had tied it off with a strip from Jordan’s shirt, but it wasn’t holding well, and her attack must have restarted the bleeding. “Caught a ball when I escaped. I tied a bandage around it.”
She noted the sweat across his forehead and running down the length of his temples. This wound was not as casual as he pretended.
“And the ball?”
“Clean through.”
“Then you did not catch it. I’ll get something to make bandages.”
With make-do bandages in one hand, she placed a bowl of water on the table. The fluttering light from the fire played over his chest, wove with abandonment across the muscles of his broad shoulders, and curled around his thick arms.
“Sit, and I will fix.”
After cleaning the wound, Colette wrapped bandaging over and under his shoulder and around his chest. His skin felt moist from the night and hot from the fire. Her fingers found the ends of his hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. She couldn’t help the slight shift of her hand to glide over the side of his face until he looked up at her.
She pulled back, but he caught her with his other arm. Wrapping his hand in her hair, he forced her knees to bend and brought her closer to him, so close his lips nearly brushed across hers. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, his hold on her hair tightened, pulling her into him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair as she was held motionless, unable to move a finger. Helpless.
“Colette, I don’t wish to harm you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her face. “So I beg you for the truth. Where is Enio?”
His hold on her hurt, but she didn’t resist, knowing he was a man of reason. “I do not know.”
“You understand, I am a threat to you if you lie.”
“I do.” Her voice as faint as she felt, unable to breathe.
“This story you tell me is true?”
She prayed he was no longer playing with her, having taken mercy. “I swear upon my heart, upon my son’s life.”
His grip on her slowly ebbed, and she could see he was thinking about her answer, giving her the courage to ask, “Donato, do you know where he is? Tell me you have him and only wish to punish me for taking him and that is what you do tonight.”
His hold on her dissolved, and she pulled back enough to see him more clearly.
“I beg, Donato.” She crumpled before him. “Do you have him?”
“You are not weak. Do not be so.” He pulled her off her knees and into his arms, wrapping her within the strength she had always appreciated. “No, Colette, I do not have him.”
…
Donato pulled the hair back from her face and caught her profile in the firelight. Moisture filled her eyes, reflecting the light of the flickering flames, and for the first time since he arrived, he believed she might be telling the truth. A weight fell to the pit of his stomach heavier than a cannonball from an eighteen-pound gun. He had so wanted her to have Enio somewhere.
He released her and pulled away, the intimacy of the moment too intense for him. Colette was the reason they were in this situation. He wouldn’t be searching for his son had she never left.
She looked up at him as he stood, quickly wiping her eyes as if to hide her emotions.
“What do we do now?”
“How many men were here tonight?”
She shook her head, her hair radiating sparks of gold off the fire. “I guess, six to eight.”
“All in costume?”
She nodded. “They had a musician with them that played loud music, Spanish music, on a guitar that hurt my ears.”
“Both of your brothers are gone. That makes me suspicious.”
“I know you hate my brothers, but they had nothing to do with this. They would not hurt me like this.”
“Unless you are part of it, and your part is to distract me.”
“I am not, Donato.”
Grasping for some idea as to who and why six or eight men would barge into Jordan’s home for the purpose of stealing a small boy left Donato’s nerves raw and dangling. At this point, he had no choice but to believe her. If Loul was supposed to be here tonight and they were trying to escape with the baby, where was he? As protective and tenacious as her brothers were, unless they were a part of the plot to take him, they’d be here.
He looked at Colette, who had risen to her feet.
“They were Spanish, Donato.” Her hands were shaking, and she reached out for him from time to time as she spoke, like she had after he had rescued her from the auction block. But this time, he couldn’t offer any reassurance because he had no idea who or why someone had taken his son.
“Are you ready? Put on your mask.”
“To go where?”
“Loul’s. We start with your brother.”
“He lives—”
“I know where he lives.” He ignored the surprised expression on her face, wanting to tell her he knew just about every detail about her and her outlaw brothers, but it was of no importance and would only throw kerosene on his burning need for revenge.
Carnival had the city in complete turmoil. The noise made his ears ache for the soft strum of a Spanish guitar. The fumes of lighted torches burned his eyes.
He wove through merrymakers with Colette behind him and turned down Toulouse Street toward the promenade on the ramparts. Musicians and dancers bobbed back and forth ahead of them. Finally able to break through, he approached the small two-story whitewashed home with black shutters. He stopped under the abat-vent with Colette close to his side. The house was dark. He knocked, but no one answered. He tried the door, it was locked.
Colette searched around the doorjamb. “There is a key…”
Donato smashed the glass of the door window and flipped the lock to open it. “I don’t need a key.”
Donato stepped into the porte cochere of Loul’s home and followed the gray flagstone path until passing under an archway into the courtyard. No sound. No lights.
He pulled Colette up close to him. “Any servants?”
She shook her head. “Not on Carnival night.”
“Good night for a crime.” Donato glanced around the courtyard, noting the tall white statue in the center that nearly glowed in the dark night. Redbrick walls surrounded where they stood, and on the second story, a balcony.
“Which room is his?”
“To the front of the house.” She pointed above them. “Donato, this is wrong. Something is wrong.”
He glanced up to the windows: no lights and draped with batten blinds. He couldn’t deny he had the same feeling. The house had a ghost
ly feel to it. Shadows created by the activity on the street bounced off everything, giving life to inanimate objects that would look harmless in the light of day.
“You can wait here. I’ll go up.”
“No.” She reached out and took hold of his coat. “We go together.”
Donato lit the lamp near the base of the staircase and climbed upward with Colette close behind. Once on the balcony, he neared the room as directed by Colette.
Slowly, he pushed the door open.
Colette reached out and grabbed Donato’s arm. He felt her fingers pull tight as the door swung to the inside. Nothing but darkness awaited them.
Donato walked into the room with lantern held high.
“Look.” Colette walked over the bed. “He was packed to leave. Oh my God, something has happened to him.”
Donato couldn’t deny the obvious intent of Loul. The satchel was on the bed, and inside he had packed clothing and privy items. He searched around the room but found nothing amiss.
“Where did he go to retrieve Jordan’s landau?”
“I don’t know. There are several stables, but only Loul knew which one.” Her voice wavered, clearly shaken over this discovery. She looked at him, her gaze following along his shoulder lines; he knew she wanted to feel his support, but that was not for the giving. He turned away from her, refusing to see.
“I’m going to search the house. You can wait or come.”
“I come.” She rushed to his side.
Donato glanced down at Colette.
Her hair was loose, freely landing over her shoulders and falling the length of her back. He remembered her complaints that her hair frizzed in the torrid heat of the island. To him, the long tresses had always been beautiful and seemed to offset her flawless skin and almond-shaped face that highlighted her cheekbones, usually tinted with a hint of color. He remembered running his fingers over her face, her skin like glass.
But that was his Colette, not this stranger who had chosen to return to an old life that held no meaning, over a life filled with passion and a man who knew how to touch her, love her, and the handsome little boy they had created. She had shunned the life he had given her. Would her brothers have left her as bait? Would she have allowed herself to be used as bait? At this moment, he wondered if he really knew Colette at all.
But she had sworn, crossing her heart in the eyes of God, that she was not lying about the men who had taken Enio. Colette was a devout Catholic, as was he, and wouldn’t take an oath like that lightly. He had to take that into consideration, but he couldn’t help but feel like the pawn in somebody’s game.
Colette sank to the edge of her brother’s bed, massaging her leg, raising the hem of the dress to just below her knee. Donato knew how to relieve her pain, but she was no longer his concern and she didn’t ask for his help.
He watched as she ran her hand over her ankle, kneading the muscles. His fingers curled inside his palms, fighting the need—no, the desire—to run his healing touch over her silky skin and erase the pain that had come from the night of her abduction.
She glanced up at him. Her hand resting on her ankle. She said nothing. Neither did he, but knew they both thought about those moments when he’d done just that. He forced his mind away from the image of touching her, reminding himself of who she was not. His loving wife. “Colette. Do you know any of your brother’s acquaintances? A place he’d go in case of trouble?”
“He’d go to Jordan.” She answered barely above a whisper, tired and looking more disheartened than she should if this were a plot in which she played a part. The usual green of her pupils had darkened, blending into the shadows around her teardrop eyes. He almost wished he could trust her, making this situation easier, but as it stood, he couldn’t.
“But Jordan’s not here—” He stopped, hearing something from the courtyard. “Did you hear that?”
“From inside,” she again whispered. “Could be a cat or something, non?”
“You stay here.” He headed toward Loul’s door, when he hesitated and faced her. “Colette, I know you have the pistol under your shawl.”
She nodded.
“You know how to use it. I taught you. In the case…”
“I know how to use it,” she whispered, but an underlying hint of surprise at his concern changed the tone of her words slightly. “You taught me well.”
Yes, he had, but he didn’t appreciate the betrayal of his own words in making her think he cared in the least.
“Wait here.” Donato entered the upper balcony and treaded lightly on his feet, working his way to one of the corner stairways to the courtyard. He didn’t know the layout of the house, and in the darkness found it difficult to navigate. Once there, he saw nothing but convoluted shadows until someone moved behind the tall white statue in the center of the courtyard. “I see you, camarada, you come out and we talk.”
Donato kept walking toward the water fountain, but to his disappointment, no one was there. He didn’t know when or how, but the culprit had escaped. He glanced up the stairs and allowed his concern for Colette to find his voice.
“Colette, lock the door!”
He shouted the warning only a second before something came down on his head. He heard the crack and felt his skin give way. Colette’s scream penetrated his throbbing brain. Blood poured over his eyes. He sank to the cold flagstone of the courtyard. Carnival raged outside those walls, but the voices faded as Donato fell into a cavern of blue and black shadows.
Someone slapped his cheek, but he couldn’t respond. He heard scuffling sounds, and then water hit his face. He jolted. Coming to life, he wiped his face and looked up at his assailant.
Loul.
Donato pulled himself to an upright position, rubbing the back of his head, which hurt like an iron ball had gone through it. “What did you hit me with?”
“This.” Loul held up a brick and smiled.
“Why?”
“I’ve heard enough Spanish tonight to knock every one of them to the ground. I would have finished you off with a lead ball to that thick Spanish head of yours if Colette hadn’t stopped me.”
“And this is your brother?” Donato rubbed his head. Damn, it hurt.
“He is, but can you get up? I help you upstairs, you must lie down.”
“He’s already done that,” Loul snipped before offering a hand. “I’d just as soon leave you flat out on the ground, you bastard.”
Donato said nothing, not wanting to further inflame the situation until he could handle his own feet. Colette had delicately wrapped his arm around her shoulders, but the brother, he grabbed Donato’s other arm and started to drag him.
“What the hell is he doing here? Come back for more?” Loul acted as if Donato was a sack of dead meat, keeping his conversation directed toward Colette.
“We were looking for you, Loul. What happened?”
“It’s been a long night, thanks to this bastard.”
Donato couldn’t keep up; his feet staggered under him, and every thought that tried to make headway fell underneath his own confusion.
“Forgive him, Donato. He did not know who you were, n’est-ce pas?”
“Sounds like he knew exactly who I was,” Donato said.
“I knew you were Spanish, and for tonight, that’s all I needed.” Loul followed them into a bedroom, where Donato flopped on the bed in a seemingly drunken state. His mind whirled with no brakes, and he couldn’t sort out Loul’s words fast enough.
“Here, we wash that.” Colette, who had returned with a bowl of water and cloth, started to wash the injury toward the back of his head. Her touch was more soothing than he’d like to admit, reminding him of only a moment ago when he had denied her his tender ministrations.
“Don’t make a habit of this, Colette.”
She smiled, the first one he had seen all evening. He had always liked her smile. Her lips, full and sweet, formed a perfect square, and when she’d smile, that little square would stretch across her face and b
righten all her features. But that was yesterday. This was today.
“I’ll be in the parlor, sister, when you are done pampering him.”
“Go, Loul, build a fire. There is a chill in the air.”
Donato wanted to complain about all of it, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
“I’ll build a damn fire. You tell that pirate to wake up if he wants to know where his son is, because I know.”
Chapter Four
Colette nibbled on the breakfast Loul had thrown together for them, waiting for Donato to wake up. Loul’s story made sense. She only hoped sharing it with Donato would give them more insight. She glanced up at the clock, and it was after dawn, and the streets of New Orleans had started to quiet once again. Carnival was over for another year.
Loul finished off a cup of coffee. “Need another?”
“No.” Colette didn’t have an appetite but knew she had to eat something to keep up her strength. Right about now, Enio might be stirring to wake, if he had been allowed to sleep. What would he think not to have his mother at his side?
The thought brought on such a painful squeeze to the middle of her chest she didn’t think she’d ever breathe again. She wouldn’t survive this, if Enio were gone. She simply could not go on, not knowing what had happened to him, what he was doing at that moment. She put down her plate, unable to finish, when Donato walked into the parlor.
She rose to her feet, reaching for a plate she had fixed for him of eggs and warmed-over ham. “Loul made us something to eat.”
Donato didn’t hesitate, but accepted the plate as he walked by before taking a seat in front of the fire. He noted Loul sitting across from him. “I’ll eat, then we talk.”
Loul took a long drink of coffee, then lowered his cup. “I didn’t nap through the meal. I talk while you eat.”
Donato was shoveling his food in quickly. “Then speak.”
“I found out about your ship being seized this morning. A couple of hours after Jordan left for Boston.”
Donato watched Loul from those dark, sometimes unfathomable, eyes. His ebony hair had been brushed back on the sides, but splayed out in waves that trimmed his neck. Colette watched his mouth as he ate, remembering it was cup-shaped and how his smile would thin out the upper lip, but not the bottom. The flames from the firelight blended well with the olive tint of his skin and settled into the hollows of his cheeks.
