Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

I was surprised. I was going to say, "Of course not!" But instead I watched Etienne playing and said softly, "I think of him every day, Philippe. I hope that he is well and doing work that suits him. I hope he has found love and happiness, even small happiness. I wish him well."

  "Ah," said Philippe, "you still love him. If you could see him—"

  "I wouldn't see him. It would be too painful," I said abruptly. "Forgive me, Philippe, but I have promised to take Etienne to the forest. I don't want to wait too long."

  I ran across the lawns to fetch my son, and as I looked back over my shoulder I saw that Philippe was grinning. I felt slightly irritated. What was the matter with everyone today?

  Etienne left the pool without protest when I announced that it was time to scout for Indians. We tramped across the fields that smelled rich and warm and fertile in August. We found a patch of daisies. I made a chain and then a circlet of flowers, and knelt in the lush grass as Etienne crowned me Queen of the Indians. Finally we reached the pool where I had seen Garth for the first time. I hadn't planned to go that far—or perhaps I had. It was a long time ago. Eight years. When I was seventeen and as green and guileless as a girl could be. I told myself it was silly to think about that day, but memory never listens to the wishes of the brain, only of the heart.

  "Oh, Mama, may I swim?" Etienne was hopping up and down excitedly.

  "No, darling, not today. But we shall come back, I promise, when there's more time. I shall probably have to carry you home as it is."

  "No, I can walk," he said stoutly. "If I can't swim, I'll play with my sword." He found a stick and charged a small rabbit, who scurried off into the briary undergrowth. He tilted at everything for about half an hour, then he climbed up in my lap and demanded a story. In a few minutes he was asleep. I held him for a while, then put him down on a sun-warmed bank on some soft grass. I would let him sleep for a bit, then we would start back to the Chateau. I smoothed the damp hair away from his forehead as he slept. He was a beautiful child and I loved him. I would not have surrendered him for anything, even if it meant that the incident of eight years ago would not have taken place.

  I walked along the creek for a short way, watching how swiftly the water moved here, and how deep and cool the pool looked.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think I was dreaming. But no, I should have known you'd be here."

  I saw him reflected in the pool, and I turned slowly. I knew that voice so well. I felt myself growing weak and pale even before I looked at him. He was seated on the back of a fine chestnut stallion. He hadn't changed much in three years. I thought I saw a touch of gray at his temples, the lines in his face were deeper than I remembered. My heart turned over.

  "Hello, Garth," I said.

  He dismounted but didn't approach me. Instead he stood next to his horse and gazed at me for a long time without speaking.

  "You come here—frequently?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "No, I haven't been here since—since I've been home. This is quite a coincidence, then."

  "It was inevitable. You look beautiful, Elise. Even more beautiful than I remember."

  I flushed, certain he was mocking me. I searched his face for some sign of the old arrogance that used to infuriate me, but I saw none. His eyes looked deep and dark, and his expression was quite serious. Self-consciously I reached up and removed the crown of blossoms from my hair. My gown was soiled and stained from playing in the fields with Etienne, and my neck and arms were bare of any decoration. Damp tendrils of hair kept falling in front of my eyes, and I brushed them away impatiently.

  "You do not find me at my best, Monsieur," I said with strained levity. "We should have met at court—"

  He smiled for the first time. "I don't think so, Elise. You look—just as I imagined you would look."

  I couldn't meet his gaze any longer. I felt a slow blush stealing over my face and I dropped my eyes. My limbs felt heavy. I couldn't move.

  "You are a long way from Louisiana, Garth."

  "Yes. President Monroe has appointed me ambassador to France, Elise. I was on my way to Le Havre—I have business in London—and I thought a detour to the Chateau would not be too time-consuming. I am becoming remarkably sentimental in my old age, I suppose. I find that the memory of the afternoon when I first saw you is still fresh and vivid. I enjoy thinking about it."

  "I have been remembering it, too," I said in a low whisper.

  "And wishing for me to appear?"

  I jerked my head up. "No, certainly not," I said tartly. "You didn't go to the house, did you?"

  "And risk being shot down by one of your Corsican relations? No, thank you." He grinned. He was the old Garth again, arrogant and cynical. "Besides, my fondest memories are associated not with the Chateau but with this place. I had a hard time finding it."

  "Then you were going to pass me by without calling?" I said airily. "For shame, Garth!"

  "Yes, I'm afraid I was, Elise. Although your old friend Lafitte suggested that I drop in. We met for dinner before I left."

  "Did you? How is Jean? I haven't heard a word from him."

  "And he hasn't heard from you, but that hasn't dulled his affection for you, Elise. He is well, and talking about moving his operation to Galveston, Texas. I think he wants to retire."

  "Retire! What nonsense. He's still a young man."

  Garth shrugged. "Perhaps. But a life of crime and hair-raising adventure has a way of aging a man rather rapidly. And a woman."

  I bit my lips. "If you are suggesting," I began hotly.

  "I'm not suggesting anything," he said with an innocent laugh. "You have already heard me declare that you're still beautiful, haven't you, Elise? And I do not compliment women lightly these days. I am growing particular, I fear. Another price extracted by age."

  "That's the third time you've mentioned age, Garth," I said with a sly smile. "Are you afraid of growing old?"

  "No," he said, looking serious again. "I'm not afraid of it. I don't relish the idea. Georgette is dead," he said suddenly.

  "Oh." I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sorry about it. "When?"

  "Two years ago. Arnold was declared insane and committed to an institution. He escaped and found Georgette visiting La Rêve. He killed her and then himself. And burned the house."

  The intrusion of murder and horror into the bright little world that I had been living in for the past few years frightened me. I felt again the terrors that I had experienced at the hands of men like Fowler and Hennessy. I had almost forgotten them, and now I was reminded again that evil existed and that I had lived with it once.

  I covered my eyes. "That's horrible. Horrible. I—I'm sorry, Garth."

  "Don't be," he said curtly. "Her death was swift and more merciful than she deserved."

  I took a long breath. "You're as hard as ever, aren't you? Why don't you go now, Garth? You've brought a blight, a taint with you. You have reminded me of—of so many things I haven't thought about in years. That violent country of yours. Those dreadful men like Fowler and the rest. Slaves and death and suffering. Why, why did you come here?"

  "So I've spoiled your perfect idyll, then. Are you happy, Elise?" His face was grave.

  I wanted to say, Yes, I'm happy. I don't need you. I don't want you. But I couldn't say the words. I loved Etienne. I loved my family and my home. But I wasn't happy. I had permitted Armand Valadon and a few others to woo me because I liked the distraction their attentions brought. And the few months I spent in Paris each year brought another kind of frantic, cosmopolitan forgetfulness. I didn't think about happiness, didn't pursue it because I sensed it would always elude me.

  "Are you happy, Garth?" I asked him.

  He gave a little shrug. "I keep busy. I don't think about it."

  "And neither do I," I told him. "I have never liked to brood about things I cannot change."

  "You haven't married. I'm rather surprised at that. Are the French so blind to beauty?"

  "Not at all. But my lovers are so nume
rous and so ardent—how is a woman to choose?" I demanded gaily. "By the most astonishing coincidence, Garth, the most ardent among them is an old friend of yours."

  He looked interested. "Oh, really? Who?"

  "Armand Valadon, Marquis de Pellissier."

  "What?" He shouted with laughter. "What a joke!"

  "Yes, we both found it quite amusing," I said. "You do know him, then?"

  "Of course. One cannot successfully impersonate a man whom one has never met. We even crossed swords on one occasion. He almost bested me. I wonder how time has treated him?"

  "He is kind, and very fond of Et—of all of us," I said. "Uncle Theo has hopes that the Fates may put everything right after all."

  "I see." His cool eyes probed me. "And does he hope in vain?"

  I felt my pulse quicken. Why didn't he go? Why did we have to meet here, awkwardly, in so secluded a spot? If we had met in Paris I would have been able to take refuge in any number of places, with any number of other people. But here—We were alone, isolated. I felt vulnerable and a little frightened. Not of any physical assault, but of the keen ability of his mind to ferret out the cause of my uneasiness, the root of my sorrow. He would discover that I loved him still, and I didn't want him to know he could still wield that power over me.

  "No," I said, "Uncle's hopes are not at all groundless. I am very fond of the Marquis." Right then I decided to marry Armand Valadon, if only to keep this man from knowing he could have me at any moment if he wished.

  "I won't offer premature congratulations," he said with a wry grin. "As I recall, your wedding to that absurd Baron was almost a certainty until I appeared. Some men are spoilers."

  "You have made a career of it," I said a trifle bitterly. "You may be sure if a wedding ever does come to pass that you won't be invited."

  He chuckled. "Oh, no? I'm very respectable now, Elise. I came to France this time not as a spoiler but as a man of stature, with weighty diplomatic responsibilities."

  "You can't fool me. You haven't changed a bit." I gazed at him intently for a long moment. I knew myself too well to think that I wouldn't live on this memory for weeks to come. "It is getting late, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," I said softly. "You will miss your boat to England."

  "Elise." He took a step towards me. All the levity had gone from his face and his eyes were dark and fathomless again. "I have never stopped thinking about you."

  I caught my breath. "I know you too well to think you've been faithful to my memory," I said huskily.

  He smiled. I saw a fleeting sadness flicker across his face. The sadness of loneliness. "And have you been faithful to me?" he asked.

  "Yes. I—I haven't wanted any other men. I mean—I mean—" I was suddenly confused, like a girl of seventeen. "I don't want anyone now, not even you, Garth. I don't want—"

  "I love you, Elise," he said. I broke off my tirade and gaped at him. My brain reeled and I couldn't speak. "I love you," he said again, slowly. Then he laughed. "There, that wasn't so hard to say. I've been saying it over and over again in my mind for a long time, but I never spoke the words before. I love you. It gets easier every time. Elise—"

  "Oh, stop, stop!" I cried. "Why do you torment me? You didn't even intend to visit me! Our meeting here was accidental! How can you say you love me? I—I don't believe you, Garth." I turned my back on him. "Oh, why did you have to come here today? Why couldn't I have gone on as I have been, living on dreams? I don't believe you love me. You've just added one more weapon to the arsenal of things you use to seduce women. Go away, Garth, and let me forget I ever saw you. I'll tell myself I dreamed it—"

  "Elise." His arms were around me and his lips were burning my neck. I drew in my breath to cry out, but the sound died in my throat, drowned by the rush of pleasure I felt in his arms. He whirled me around and lifted my face to his, then his lips found mine and the old fire devoured us both. He branded my eyes, my cheeks, my throat, my breasts with kisses, and I said his name over and over.

  "Come away with me, Elise," he said breathlessly. "Now, today. Come—"

  "No, no, I can't," I murmured, "I can't leave—"

  "You must. Don't tell them, don't go back. Be my mistress, Elise. I'll take you to London tonight and you can send word—"

  I felt as though he had doused me with ice water. "Your mistress," I gasped. "Your mistress! So, you think I'll follow you just like that!" I snapped my fingers. "And start the whole stupid business all over again! You still think all you have to do is murmur sweet, sweet words in my ear and I'll follow, just as I've always done, even when I fought you and fought you and swore I wouldn't? You think we can pick up where we left off, don't you? Well, we can't, Garth McClelland. Never! I'll never go with you!"

  "Not even if I swear I love you?" His eyes were shining.

  "No. What do I care for your love! I don't trust you. I can't!"

  "Mama!"

  I broke off and looked around. I heard it again, Etienne's piping voice, coming from very far away. Dear God, and I had thought he was asleep. I ran to the place where I had left him. He was gone.

  "Mama, up here!"

  I looked up. He was hanging by his knees on the limb of a tree, just out of my reach. His blond curls fell straight down from his head and his blouse had come untucked and was veiling his flushed face.

  "Etienne! What on earth are you doing?" I reached up for him. "Come down from there at once!"

  "I can't," he said with a grunt. "I can't pull myself up. I'm going to fall."

  "Mother of God," I said despairingly. "What am I going to do with you? How am I going to get up there?"

  I had forgotten all about Garth. I suddenly noticed him standing at my side, looking at the dangling boy with an expression of stupefied amazement on his face. He came to his senses and reaching up plucked my son out of the tree as easily as if he had been a ripe fruit and set him down at my feet. I crouched down beside him and dusted him off. I smoothed the hair away from his face and tucked his shirttails back into his breeches.

  "Are you all right, Etienne?" I asked anxiously. "Were you frightened?"

  "No," he said blandly. "I just couldn't get down." He was watching Garth through large, interested eyes.

  "I declare, you are the worst behaved boy I have ever known," I said impatiently. "You could have broken your silly neck, and I wouldn't have been sorry! I don't know what I'm going to do with you!"

  Etienne looked up at Garth. "You're my Papa, aren't you?" he asked.

  Garth smiled. "You had better ask your Mama," he said, looking at me.

  I lifted my chin and said defiantly, "What do you think? He was born nine months to the day after you—you took me on that beach in North Carolina. But you can't have him! He's mine, Garth, the only thing I have in my life! I'll never let you take him away from me!" I stood up to him, fists clenched.

  He said slowly, "You couldn't wait to get away from me. It didn't make sense, your letting Georgette help you. You didn't want the world to know that on top of everything else you were going to give birth to a bastard child, did you? Were you afraid it would hurt me? Or didn't you trust me not to hurt you?" He put his hands on my shoulders.

  "I didn't want you to leave me, and so I left you first," I said miserably. "And I was even afraid you would laugh at me—"

  "Dear God, Elise," he cried, anguished, "did you think I would abandon you? What do you take me for? I love you, you silly wench. I've always loved you, but I was such a blind idiot—!" He held me close. I was crying softly. "Oh, my darling, what you must have been through. How lonely for you, how sad. Don't cry. Please. Look," he tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes. He was grinning devilishly. "I'll even marry you if you like. That's what you were fishing for, isn't it?"

  "Certainly not," I said indignantly. "I wouldn't marry you now if—if—"

  "Of course you'll marry me," he said confidently. "We don't want Etienne to be a little bastard for the rest of his life, do we?" He looked around. "Where has the boy got to?"

&nb
sp; The boy was playing calmly under the belly of Garth's huge stallion, dangerously close to those enormous hooves. Gasping, I ran towards him and snatched him away.

  Garth laughed and lifted Etienne onto the horse's back. "It's more fun up there than underneath, you'll find."

  "He'll fall off," I protested.

  "No, he won't. Not if he hangs on. That's the first thing you have to do when you're learning to ride, isn't it, Etienne?"

  "Watch me, Papa!" Etienne kicked his legs. "I'm going to chase Indians now. And shoot them until they're all dead!"

  "Stout lad," said Garth approvingly. He turned to me. "You're a terrible mother, Elise. In the space of just a few minutes your child has almost met his death twice, and all because of your negligence. He clearly needs a firmer hand than yours, my sweet."

  My cheeks blazed. "How dare you—after three years—how dare—"

  "A father has some rights, surely," he said innocently. "How did you know my grandfather's name was Stephen?"

  "I—I didn't know it at all. He is named for the Lesconflair who—"

  "Yes, yes. You know, Elise, I don't think France will be able to hold him when he gets bigger. I've been west, to the Pacific. It's a magnificent country. I think we'll find a place between mountain ranges, where there aren't too many Indians—"

  "But Garth, what about Highlands?"

  "Oh, we'll keep it up. Stephen might want to live there some day, or perhaps one of his brothers." Garth picked up the reins and started to lead the horse out of the woods. He cautioned Etienne—Stephen—to hang on and kept his hand on his back to steady him. He slid his free arm around' my shoulders. "He'll have lots of brothers. Six or seven. And a few sisters to tease and torment."

  "Oh, will he?" I asked. "Have I nothing to say in this matter?"

  He smiled down at me. "Not much. You are quite capable of founding a dynasty, Elise. I don't suppose I can carry the two of you off right now?"

  I shook my head. "No. We must do it properly. I shall take you home and let the family look you over—again. You won't be able to persuade Uncle Theo to surrender his great-nephew, I'm afraid. They worship each other."