Promises to Keep

by Genevieve Graham

  “You spoke with him? On your own? That was reckless.”

  “Perhaps,” Amélie allowed. “But we were warm, were we not? And now I would like to speak with him again. Alone.”

  When she looked at Connor, Claire’s eyes flashed with contempt. The poor woman was not even aware of how deeply the army deserved her spite. She did not know the Hobson no longer floated alongside them, carrying her fiancé.

  Eventually Claire turned away, leaving Connor alone with Amélie. They stared at each other, clouds of their breath filling the space between them.

  “I . . . I didn’t know you were on this ship,” Amélie whispered, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.

  “I know. I’m sorry for that.”

  She blinked, and any tenderness he’d seen at first vanished behind the deep, hard anger in her eyes. Still, she did not look away. She took a measured breath, shuddering with cold and held his gaze.

  “You’re sorry? For what, in particular?”

  “For a great many things, including tonight. I didn’t mean to startle you by appearing like this, but I had to let you know I was here.” Connor jerked his head toward the nearest sailor. “They cannot know we are acquainted.”

  “No?” Her nostrils flared, and her chin quivered beneath her chattering teeth. “Are you—the much-respected, powerful sergeant of the British army—ashamed to be seen with a filthy Acadian like me?”

  Her inflection was as raw as the night, and though it was deserved, it still hurt.

  “Ashamed? Never. But if they knew, it would make things . . . uncomfortable. For us both.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m already as uncomfortable as I can get.”

  “I can help.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  One of the other sailors glanced at Connor, so he ignored Amélie’s resistance and took her elbow, guiding her away from curious ears. He didn’t know if the sailors could speak French, but he wasn’t taking chances.

  “How could you possibly help?” she whispered. “Why would you want to?”

  “You know why.”

  She shook her head, twisting at his heart.

  “You do, Amélie.”

  “I know nothing. I thought I knew, but I was wrong.”

  Every fibre in his being longed to reach out, to fold her into his embrace until she believed, until she looked at him as she had before. If he’d been anywhere else, he might have been able to do that. Not here, though. Not on this ship where he and the rest of the army had trapped her.

  Water lapped at the side of the ship, a soft rhythmic rocking, and the ship groaned at the suggestion of wind, but there were no other sounds. Even the crew and cargo seemed quiet for once.

  “I thought you’d left me.”

  “I was never gone. I was here, watching over you. I have been waiting for the right time to speak to you, and that is tonight.”

  “Why? What is so special about tonight?”

  The wariness in her voice pained him, but he understood it. She believed he’d lied to her before, so why should she trust him now? He had to be careful. If he said too much, she’d think him mad; he didn’t want to frighten her off.

  Before she could protest, he removed his heavy black cloak and wrapped it around her. “You know I have never agreed with what is happening to your people,” he reminded her, tugging the thick edges of the material together to seal in the warmth of his own body. She was dwarfed by the cloak, her skin paler than ever within its black embrace. “Not with any of it. But, Amélie, I am a soldier. I have a duty. I’m also an honest man with a conscience. Long ago I was convinced this mission was wrong, and I told you that. I also said I would do what I could to keep you safe.”

  She looked down, away from him, her fingers clenching the edges of the cloak. He could practically read her mind. Words, Connor. Those are just words. On impulse, he took her hands into his own warm ones.

  Her eyes widened. Despite the comfort he offered, she pulled away. “Don’t.”

  He spoke gently, as if to a cornered animal. “I understand you’re angry, Amélie, and I deserve all the anger you have. I know you don’t trust me. I haven’t been able to help any of you, and for that I’m truly sorry. But now I have a plan,” he said carefully. “And I need your help.”

  She grimaced. “What are you talking about? It’s too late to help us, Sergeant. Too late for everything.”

  “No, it isn’t. I think I have finally found a way to help you.”

  She stared at him, then her eyes darted over his shoulder. He glanced about, but no one was near.

  “Can any of the men sail?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Could your men sail a ship?”

  She thought about it, then nodded. “Papa has repaired ships and sailed them as well. Most of the others have sailed fishing crafts. Why?”

  He had been hoping for exactly that answer. “I need to speak with your father. Do you think you could convince him to speak with me?”

  But Amélie’s expression had hardened again. “What is this? More treachery?”

  Connor had purposefully positioned them so they were downwind. The message could not be intercepted, and yet he leaned closer. “There are only eight crewmen on this ship, Amélie, including me. There are two hundred and thirty of you, though many are either very young or very old.”

  “And most of those are sick,” she said. Despite his cloak, she shivered openly now.

  “Aye, but still.” He needed her to understand. Most of all, he needed her to believe in him. “Amélie, it would not be difficult for the strongest of you to take charge of this ship.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, her expression confused, and he hardened himself to the next part of the conversation. It nearly killed him, knowing it would fall to him to tell her the awful truth.

  “Understand this, Amélie. Other than the captain, six sailors, and me, there is no one to stop the Acadians here on the Pembroke.” He paused, knowing her heart was about to break all over again. “All the other ships were lost in the storm, including the frigate. There is no one left to fight you.”

  She did not move. She stared at him, but her eyes had gone blank. Then grief pulled tight across the pale planes of her face, and he imagined she saw again the panic-stricken expression of her little brother as he’d been led away so long before.

  “All?” The word was barely audible.

  “I cannot say for certain they were destroyed. All I know is we have seen neither hide nor hair of any of them since the storm.”

  Amélie staggered to one side, but he caught her and pulled her against him. She gasped and pushed him away.

  “Mathieu and Guillaume were on one of those ships,” she managed. “Maybe they got away. Maybe the storm pushed them off course and they’re fine.”

  He remembered the murderous rage of the storm, how the wind had sliced like razors at his numbed fingers, how the salt water had roared up over the sides and burned his skin despite the snow. He’d been sure none of them would survive. But how could he deny her this one feeble hope?

  “Aye. That could have happened.”

  “That’s what happened. They’re fine,” she said, trying to convince them both. “I will see them again. God could not have—”

  The words stopped but her lips moved in prayer.

  “I need to speak with your father. Will he talk to me?”

  The line of her throat moved as she swallowed, tried to breathe. Could she see him as a man, not a soldier? Would she trust him that far? He doubted he could have done it in her position. He could only pray she was stronger than he.

  Her gaze softened. “If we take over this ship, what happens to you?”

  The unexpected question was more than he could have hoped for. “We would become your prisoners.”

  “If the English knew you were speaking to me this way, they would hang you.”

  He nodded.

  The moonlight dimmed, muted by a stray cl
oud. She tucked the cloak more tightly around herself, watching him the entire time. Her lips were chapped, her cheeks as well, and yet a tiny flame of hope had come to life in her eyes. He was transfixed by that little spark, by her strength. He couldn’t have looked away if a gun had gone off.

  “We would no longer be your prisoners?”

  “You were never my prisoner, Amélie, and no. Eight men cannot stand against two hundred. If my plan works, you would be no one’s prisoner. You would take possession of the ship and go wherever you want.”

  “Home?”

  “Except there. Your home is gone.”

  She hesitated. “What if your plan does not work?”

  “You cannot end up much worse than you are right now, can you?”

  “Why?” she asked slowly. “Why would you do this? It makes no sense.”

  “It does to me.”

  “I don’t want you punished, Connor.”

  At the sound of his name, the world came alive for him again. “If I am caught, it is no one’s fault but my own,” he assured her. He tugged the cloak, pulling it more snugly around her, and this time he kept hold of it. “Even then, it would be worth it to see you and your family go free.”

  Amélie pressed her cold fingertips against the back of Connor’s hand. “I will speak with my father.” He felt her need to believe stretch between them, as tangible as any rope. Desperate hope shone in the intensity of her stare. “And I will tell him I trust you.”

  Slowly, Connor turned his hand over so their fingers intertwined. She took a deep breath, watching him. Did she feel the same strength as he did when they touched?

  “I know how valuable that trust is,” he said, “and I will show you I am worthy of it.”

  She tightened her fingers around his. “I may be stupid and gullible and naive, but I believe you.”

  She hadn’t thought far enough ahead, he could tell. Caught up in the idea of being free of this hell, she was not seeing what must follow. But Connor’s heart was already broken. If all went as he planned, this would be the last time they’d ever speak to one another.

  “Amélie, should fate separate us, I want you to have something of mine.”

  “What? Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Your life is not as it was, nor is mine. We do not know where God will send either of us.”

  He lifted the chain from around his neck and slid a small silver ring from its links. His mother had given it to him as a child, saying it was a charm to keep him safe, and he believed it had. Now Amélie needed that protection more than he.

  “Take this, Amélie. Think of me.”

  Her eyes were on the little ring, her lips parted in surprise. Then she looked up at him. “I cannot accept this.”

  “Please,” he said. “It was a gift from my mother. I want you to have it.”

  When she did not move, he took her hand and slipped it over her cold finger. It was a perfect fit, as if it had been made for her.

  She stared at her finger, then back at at him. “I do not intend to be separated from you again, but if you insist on giving me this kind of gift, then I shall give one to you as well.”

  Before he could object, she had lifted a beaded necklace over her head and ran her thumbs fondly over the beads. When she held the necklace out for him, he didn’t take it, so she held it higher, opening the loop wide. He leaned forward, bowing slightly so she could reach, and she placed it carefully over his head.

  “Do not forget me.” Her whisper was warm on his ear.

  Taking advantage of that moment was wrong of him, he was sure, but nothing could have stopped him from kissing her, from drawing her body against his. She kissed him softly at first, but her passion quickly built, rising urgently from so many disappointments, so much grief. Her need for comfort, for reassurance, for any kind of hope was so dire it broke his heart, and he held her close, giving all he could. When at last they drew apart, she touched her lips with two fingers and stared at him with a sort of fascination. It occurred to him that she might never have kissed a man before this moment.

  “I could never forget you. Never in a million years,” he said softly, suddenly realizing it was the truth. So this is love. He tucked the necklace inside his shirt, savouring the feel of it against his chest. “Thank you.”

  “Be careful, Connor,” she whispered. “I could not bear to lose you as well.”

  Amélie

  TWENTY-ONE

  Maman slept with her head in my lap. I had already assured her I was not in need of rest, and it was true. Certainly my body craved it, but my mind and heart were filled with such joy, I could not have surrendered to sleep. To see Connor again, to feel the warmth of his body through his cloak, to know he had not abandoned me, and to kiss the lips I’d watched for so long . . .

  But how could I linger on that moment? Just as he had given my heart wings, he had torn my life apart with his news of the other ships. To preserve my mother’s fragile health, I kept the inconceivable message to myself, but the knowledge threatened to engulf me, as the sea had surely engulfed my brother. I tried to force my memories to return to happier times—Mathieu’s laughter, his enthusiasm when he told stories around the supper table, Papa putting his broad hand on my little brother’s head and roughing up the blond curls—but my mind betrayed me. It led me back to the last time I’d seen him, marching toward the docks. None of us could have imagined he was actually marching toward his death. To think of him drowning, plunging into the frozen Atlantic . . . Oh, I could not. The pain was too much. Who had been there to hear his last words? To hold him tight?

  And what of Claire, whose heart and soul were always with Guillaume? How would she live her life knowing his was over?

  But my traitorous mind took me back to Connor. He had spoken of escape. He had brought light to the nightmare, and I clung to that hope with everything I had.

  Connor. What had I done, kissing the enemy? Worse, I craved more! Connor was Winslow’s translator, believed by many of my people to be the worst of the English, since he understood our language and had still sold us out. I had believed the same thing. But I did not see him that way anymore. He had explained to me so many times that he had a duty to fulfil, that he had no choice but to follow orders . . . and yet now I knew he planned to defy those orders and endanger himself so he could set us free.

  The hatch opened, letting in a brief moment of moonlight as Papa descended the ladder, and I sat straighter at sight of him. Though he was barely visible, I knew it was he. Our eyes had been forced to adjust to living in darkness, and I had been watching the hatch ever since he had ascended a half hour before. From the set of his shoulders, I knew he had spoken with Connor.

  “This man . . .” He groaned with effort, settling onto the moist floor beside me. I felt it as well: the stiffening of my limbs and joints. If we did not get out of this prison soon, I feared we would all be crippled.

  I kept my expression blank. Papa must not know my thrill at speaking his name out loud. “Sergeant MacDonnell?”

  “Yes. The Scotsman. He has a good idea. But can we trust him? I know you do, but . . . he has a pretty face. That doesn’t mean the rest of us should believe what he says.”

  My fingers curled over the silver ring. “What do we have to lose, Papa? If we do as he suggests, what can they do other than throw us in the hold and ship us off to somewhere?”

  “This is true. It cannot get much worse, can it?” He took a deep breath. “What do you know of him?”

  “I know he is a good man in an impossible position. He cut our firewood, Papa, when we were cold. I went to ask for our axe, and he gave it to me, but not before he had cut us enough wood for more than a month.” I could have told him that I’d stayed out in the cold, watching him, talking with him, and that he’d carried the wood inside and built up a roaring fire for us, but I didn’t think Papa would like to know another man was in his house while he was imprisoned elsewhere.

  I took a chance. “And he told me to
make sure my brothers stayed in hiding. He said they were safer wherever they were than they would be if they were captured for trying to escape.”

  He stared straight ahead, taking my words into consideration. Then he slapped his hands on his knees and turned to me. My heart leapt at the anticipation shining in his smile. I had not seen him wear that expression in far too long.

  “I’ll speak with the others.”

  “Will you tell me what is happening?”

  He nodded. “You need to know, and the sergeant asked me to explain it to you.”

  He squinted toward Maman, trying to see if she was asleep or not. I knew he didn’t want her to get excited about anything or to worry. She didn’t seem herself lately. We both feared she was falling ill, like so many of the others.

  Papa tucked his knees under his chin. “I am trusting your friend based on what you say. He appears to be a brave man, a little reckless as well.” He glanced at me. “I am not certain your friendship with him would be considered appropriate—”

  “Please do not tell Maman.”

  “That is what I thought. As your father I should tell you this is a mistake, but my little girl is a young woman now, with a mind of her own. And our world is changing. No matter what uniform this man wears, if he can keep you safe, I cannot order you away from him. I only ask that you be careful. A wounded heart is slow to heal.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  He sighed. “I am to pull together a dozen of our strongest men, and in the morning I will assemble them in two groups to go up for the walks. When the first group is ready to return, the sailor will open the hatch and the next group will be ready to come out.”

  I nodded, envisioning the scene.

  “Your Sergeant MacDonnell will create a diversion. There will already be six of us on deck, with the hatch open and six more to come, and the rest to follow if we need. There are only eight men to control us all, and one of them is the Scot. They will not be able to stand against so many.”

  “What about guns? Are the sailors not armed?”

  “MacDonnell has said the sailors are chiefly unarmed. Even if they happen to have guns, eight weapons cannot do much harm against two hundred people.” He hesitated. “There is danger in everything we do. Some of our own may be injured or killed in a fight like this, but it would be for the greater good. I would gladly give my life if I knew it would allow the others to live their own.”