Destiny's Daughter

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  * * *

  There was a white-hot brilliance about this late summer afternoon. The sun was a blinding white spot in a cloudless sky. Not a breath of air stirred the leaves in the trees outside the window. Annalisa finished work on her ledgers, then went to the kitchen in search of something cool.

  She paused in the doorway, surprised to see Nate Blackwell enjoying lunch. Beside him, Francine was giggling at something he had said. Seeing her, Nate was instantly on his feet.

  "Annalisa. I hope you don’t mind. I was in need of some pleasant company."

  "And you’ve found it." She smiled and sat in the chair he held for her. "It’s good to hear laughter again in this house."

  "Nate was just telling me that he had his family boat repaired. He’d like to take us all for a sail." Francine waved her fan and watched the sun-kissed man over the rim. "I think a sail on the water would be refreshing, don’t you?"

  Annalisa nodded, clearly excited at the prospect of something new. Chase had been away for six days now, and she was growing restless. Though he took frequent trips, she was sure she’d never get used to them. But the long, loving reunions were something to look forward to.

  "Do you have room for all of us, Nate?" she asked, pushing thoughts of Chase from her mind.

  He smiled, and once again she was struck by how different he looked when the smile touched all his features. "I have room for half the Confederate navy. It’s a sturdy ship."

  "I’ll ask the others." Standing, Annalisa hurried to the door.

  "And I’ll get my parasol." Francine joined her.

  The two young women hurried up the stairs. A few minutes later they returned, accompanied by Gabrielle.

  "Where are the others?" Nate asked.

  "Eulalie doesn’t want to leave Luther," Annalisa explained. "And now that Jessie is here, I’m afraid Hattie Lee doesn’t feel much like leaving either." She brightened. "But now that Jessie has taken over Luther’s chores, the rest of us have a little time to ourselves. So it looks like you’re stuck with the three of us."

  "It will be my pleasure." Opening the door, he escorted them to his waiting carriage. When they were comfortably seated inside, he flicked the reins and the horse trotted off smartly toward the docks.

  Nate hadn’t exaggerated the size of his ship. The gleaming wooden sailing vessel had two sails rigged fore and aft. A crew of six men handled the sails and saw to the women’s comfort.

  "Nate, this is splendid." Annalisa stood at the prow of the boat, watching as it neatly cut through the water. An occasional spray left her laughing and breathless. "Why have you never mentioned it before?"

  "It was badly damaged in the war." His voice lowered with the memory. "The Union navy was determined to destroy or at least put out of commission all Confederate ships. Until now it wasn’t really seaworthy."

  "I’m glad you had it repaired. Isn’t this wonderful, Francine?"

  The tall girl nodded, then lifted her face to the breeze. Her voice was low, remembering. "My father had a ship. When I was a little girl, we once sailed to New York and back. It was a fine adventure."

  Nate touched a hand to the blond hair that danced on the breeze. "Did you help him sail it?"

  She laughed, and the sound was soft and musical in the hush of afternoon silence. "I remember that he lifted me up so I could reach the wheel. And he let me think I was actually steering the ship." She tossed her head, freeing her silky hair to stream behind her in the breeze. Something deep inside Nate tightened, then seemed to surge.

  "You had a happy childhood, didn’t you, Francine?"

  "Oh, yes." She turned toward him, and the sunlight danced in her eyes, making them bluer than the water. "Was yours happy, Nate?"

  He nodded and resisted the urge to touch her hair again. "I think we grew up in very similar families. I’ve often wondered . . ." He leaned against the rail and felt their shoulders brush. ". . . if it were wrong to want to find that kind of life again."

  "Why should it be wrong?"

  He shrugged and wondered if Francine were as tinglingly aware of him as he was of her. "Because the war has changed everything. That way of life has ended. And even though I continue to struggle to rebuild my family plantation, I constantly worry that I’m trying to restore a dream. Maybe it’s better left undone. Maybe I’m setting myself up for more heartache."

  "Nate." Francine placed her hand over his, and felt the heat of his touch curl along her arm. "A few short months ago, I would have called you a foolish dreamer. After what I’d been through, I was afraid to hope for anything good again. But now . . ." She met his gaze and felt something flicker to life. Something she had thought dead. Hoping her voice wouldn’t waver and betray her feelings, she said, "... now, I still think you’re a dreamer. But I would never call you foolish. Unless I’m as big a fool as you." Her smile touched him, making his pulse leap, his throat go dry. "I believe you have every right to restore your family plantation. And I know that you’ll find happiness there."

  From her vantage point, Annalisa watched them and felt a warm glow of happiness. Each of these two good friends had known pain and suffering. And by reaching out to each other, they were beginning to step away from that pain. In time, they might even learn to trust again, to love again.

  As the ship left the meandering path of the Mississippi to follow a curving, tree-lined bayou, Annalisa shaded her eyes and pointed toward billowing sails coming toward them.

  "Do you recognize that boat, Nate?"

  He studied the approaching vessel with a frown of concentration. The hull was dark with age. The canvas sails, bleached white from sun and sea, billowed in the breeze.

  "What’s wrong?" She touched Nate’s arm, and he seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.

  "Nothing. For a minute, I thought I was seeing an old pirate ship." He gave her a reassuring smile, then turned back to study the figures that climbed the rigging.

  Annalisa’s attention was caught by a figure on deck. Tall, with sunlight glinting off dark hair, something about the way he was standing reminded her of Chase. But that was impossible. Chase was in New York harbor taking care of his business.

  There was a shout, and the strange boat suddenly veered into a narrow channel. Annalisa glanced to where the man had been standing. The deck was empty.

  Within minutes, the old sailing vessel was lost from sight, hidden behind ancient oaks draped with moss, and slipping along hidden bayous known only to the few inhabitants of the swampy area.

  Annalisa felt a prickly feeling along the back of her scalp. She, too, had thought she was looking at a ship from another time. There was something darkly mysterious about the sailing vessel.

  One of the sailors prepared a meal of cold meat and fish, along with cheese and fruit. It was served in a small enclosed room, with heavy chairs and a sturdy table nailed to the floor. On the wall were maps and charts. Along with the meal, Nate served sherry in crystal goblets. The women aboard were unprepared for such elegance. They had expected only a quick ride along the river. But this outing had become something special as late morning flowed into late afternoon.

  Nate felt a swift stab of regret when one of the crew shouted that they were docking. The day had been magic. He wished it could have gone on forever. It had been years since he had known such simple joy.

  "I hope I can persuade you lovely ladies to join me on a cruise again."

  They giggled, and Annalisa saw Francine blush. Francine. Imagine. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. This strong, independent young woman, who had hardened her heart against all men, was actually blushing. Over Nate Blackwell. What was even more amusing was that he looked as if he were almost blushing as well.

  As she tucked her arm through Gabrielle’s and followed Nate and Francine from the ship, she looked up to see Chase standing on the dock.

  "Chase." She wanted to fly into his arms, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He was studying all of them very carefully. "When did you get back?"

>   "A little while ago." He bit the end from a cigar and watched her as he held a flame to the tip. "Where have you been?"

  "Out sailing on Nate’s ship. It was a lovely afternoon."

  "When did you get her repaired, Nate?" Chase asked, staring beyond them to the gleaming sails.

  "A few weeks ago. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to take her out."

  Chase’s eyes narrowed. "She looks like she’s seen quite a bit of water lately." Stepping closer, he ran a hand along the water mark low on the hull.

  "I had her docked not far from here on the waterfront." Nate signaled one of the crew to take up the lines. "Maybe you’d like to go out on her one day soon."

  "Maybe." Chase turned to Annalisa. "I’ll see you back at the house later. I have some things to take care of."

  Her joy at his homecoming faded. Something was terribly wrong. And unless she was mistaken, it had something to do with Nate’s ship.

  Had Chase been on the pirate ship? Was he the dark-haired man she had spotted briefly? But why? Why wasn’t he in New York as he had suggested? What could he possibly be doing sailing the dark bayous of Louisiana?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Annalisa hovered on the edge of sleep. She and Chase had talked and loved long into the night. Though he hadn’t actually admitted being the man on the pirate ship, he hadn’t denied it either. And her questions about where he went and what he did were met with stony silence. He was more subdued after each trip, and Annalisa had a terrible feeling of impending disaster. He reminded her that there were deliveries he had to take care of, including hers. He insisted that there were things about him that must remain secret. She felt hurt, angry, left out. He soothed, and smoothed, and teased. When at last their talk was exhausted, he had loved her with a passion that left her stunned and reeling. Almost as if, she told herself, he’d wanted to prove to both of them that their love could resolve any problem.

  She snuggled deeper into the down pillow and reached out a hand toward the man who lay beside her. Her hand touched only a sheet that still bore the imprint of the man who had lain there. The bed was empty. Sitting bolt upright, she peered through the darkness.

  Clad only in slim riding breeches, Chase stood by the window, staring at something below. As always, the sight of him sent shivers racing along her spine.

  When she struggled from the bed and hurried to his side, he snaked out a hand, keeping her out of the path of moonlight.

  "What do you see?"

  "A man. Standing beneath that tree."

  Cautiously she looked but could see only night reflections.

  "Should I wake the others? Do you think it’s another attack?"

  He dropped a hand to her shoulder. "I count only one man. You stay here. I’m going down for a closer look."

  "Chase." She felt a moment of panic, then swallowed it back. The last thing he needed was hysterics.

  Despite her attempt at bravery, he saw the look in her eyes. Brushing a kiss over her lips, he strode to the door. "I’ll only be a minute."

  As soon as he was gone, she hurried back to the window. A few minutes later she saw his silhouette melt into the darkness. There was no other movement. The night seemed to have swallowed him up.

  Each minute seemed like an eternity. What if there were others waiting beyond the edge of light? What if Chase was already lying dead or wounded? Her heart lurched at the thought. What if right now those hooded monsters were crawling toward the house, bent on killing everyone inside?

  Ignoring the fact that she was clad only in a nightshift, she picked up her rifle and headed down the stairs. Once outside, she crept across the wide back lawn, keeping to the shadows, then circled toward the tree where the dim figure had first been spotted. Moving silently, she edged closer, until the whisper of voices brought her up short.

  "Don’t worry."

  She frowned in the darkness. It was Chase’s voice, but in a crude, almost arrogant tone she’d never heard before, and speaking in a Creole dialect.

  "I’m in the best possible position. Living in this house, I hear all the latest gossip almost as soon as it occurs. And I have a chance to watch everyone very carefully."

  "And the woman?" It was a voice Annalisa didn’t recognize.

  "Leave her to me. She trusts me." Chase laughed, a cool, mirthless sound. "Don’t you know I’m irresistible?"

  Annalisa felt the bile of fury rising in her throat. Chase. The man she had loved. The man to whom she had given her innocence, her virtue. The man who had told her he loved her. Chase was mocking her. It had been a lie. All of it. The loving. The little confidences. A sham. He had tricked her for his own selfish gains.

  He had come here, not to protect her as she had foolishly believed, but to use her to get information. But what purpose would it serve?

  Dazed, she wasn’t even aware that she had swung away until she began creeping toward the house. She had to get to her room before the sickness that was roiling around her stomach overtook her.

  Crossing the shadowy yard, she crept up the porch and stumbled inside. When she reached the parlor, she paused. A sound, like the click of a latch, came from the rear of the house. Stealthily making her way toward her office, she paused outside the door. There was a rustling of papers. Someone was inside. She felt the flesh on her arms begin to tingle. A cabinet door was opened, then closed. The cash box. Whoever was inside her office was intent on robbing them. With the back of her hand she wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down her forehead. Pulling open the door she raised the rifle. A man’s voice cursed as a hand came up behind her, yanking the weapon from her hands. As she whirled, something came crashing down on her head. In a shower of stars she dropped to the floor. Wave after wave of pain engulfed her, causing her to cry out. Something hot and sharp seared her mind as she was struck again. She moaned softly. And then she slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

  * * *

  The man in the shadows spoke in whispers. "They grow more desperate. They need money to buy the services of men who are willing to wear hoods and drive the freedmen from their land. And they need money to buy up rich farmland. With their funds drying up ..." He laughed, a low, feral sound. "... they have become bolder. I would say they are now extremely dangerous."

  "Good. Now maybe they’ll get careless."

  "Beware, my friend. You could be the one growing careless. The rumor is that you are besotted with the pretty mademoiselle."

  Chase chuckled. "Besotted, is it? Apt. But I have no intention of allowing my obsession for her to get in the way of my work."

  "A stronger man than you once said that. I believe his lady’s name was Delilah."

  Chase clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. "My hair is already very short. But thanks for the warning."

  As he returned to the house, he thought he heard the sound of hurried footsteps. Puzzled, he paused outside the door of Annalisa’s office. Odd, the door was ajar. She always kept the door to her office closed. Giving it a shove, he stood aside as the door swung open. Hearing nothing, he stepped inside and glanced around the darkened room. The curtains billowed inward where the window had been opened. In the thin shard of moonlight he saw a dark stain on the floor. Stooping, he touched a finger to the spot. Warm. Sticky. Blood! Quickly lighting a candle, he stared around the office. Every drawer in Annalisa’s desk was hanging open. Papers were strewn across the desktop and littered the floor beneath. The book shelf and cabinet had been rifled, their contents scattered about in careless disarray.

  Hearing the sound of carriage wheels, he ran to the window. Annalisa’s horse and new carriage pulled away at breakneck speed. The figures of at least two men could be seen silhouetted in the darkness.

  His gaze returned once more to the bloody stain. Had someone surprised the thieves? Someone here in this house? He felt his heart stop. Annalisa.

  Swinging away, he took the stairs two at a time. Throwing open the door to Annalisa’s bedroom, he called her name frantically. The only r
esponse was silence. Striding across the room, he studied the place beside the bed where she kept her rifle. It was missing.

  Icy fear coursed along his spine. Men who had been driven to desperation. They had Annalisa. His hands shook as he checked his rifle and pulled on a shirt. He would deal with the fear and anger later. Right now there was no time for such luxury as feeling. He needed to act. He had to find her. Before it was too late.

  * * *

  Behind her closed lids Annalisa felt herself being carried downstairs, then lowered to something cold and hard. She had survived the blows. Though her brain was befuddled, she was alive, she could think and feel. Her head throbbed. As she tried to open her eyes, pain stabbed at them, forcing her to keep them closed. She lay very still, trying to ignore the dull ache at her temples.

  She moaned and moistened dry, cracked lips with the tip of her tongue. Blinking, her vision swam, before images came slowly into focus.

  A tall, slightly stooped figure hovered over her. He was holding a candle that flickered and hissed, casting mysterious shadows across his countenance. Dressed all in black, he reminded her of the devil.

  She glanced down at herself. Her nightshift was torn and bloody. She was lying on a filthy blanket in a tiny room. The musty smell reminded her of a root cellar. Dank, moist earth and mold. Her gaze slowly swept the room. This wasn’t the root cellar at her own house. There were no sacks of flour, or neatly stocked shelves of jams and jellies. There were no baskets of ripe fruit giving off their rich sweet scents.

  "So. You have awakened."

  Annalisa turned her head as the tall figure moved closer, into her line of vision. Charles Montagnet looked resplendent in tight-fitting trousers and black evening coat.

  "Where am I?" She fought to ignore the pain that throbbed in her head. It would be dangerous to display any weakness to this man.

  "You are at Lafourcade’s Parisian-styled town house. It is elegant, is it not?" His hand swept the musty earth floor and he made a formal bow beside her. "Of course, we are forced to keep you in this little cellar below the house so that the servants are not aware of your presence. It would be rather awkward to explain a lady of your reputation staying in the residence of the mayor-elect."