When the person emerged into the clearing where Phillip and Lorenz stood, they could tell it was a young boy. His clothes were thoroughly caked in mud and grime as if he had bathed in it. His face was completely marred with dirt and sweat.
“Stand up straight and tell us your name,” Phillip said.
“Charles,” the boy whispered, straightening only slightly. “Charles LeBlanc.”
“Monsieur LeBlanc, is there a reason you are following us?” Phillip circled the boy, pulling off his satchel while the boy said nothing, still staring silently at his feet. When Lorenz followed his gaze toward the ground, his heart skipped a beat. The boy’s britches were a good inch too short above the knee and the shoes obviously ill-sized. The stretch of trouser tightened around the boy’s hips revealing a curvaceous figure he knew only too well. Lorenz’s initial fear heightened.
Lorenz slowly lifted his eyes to the boy’s face, clouded by the brim of his equally dirty hat. But even without full sight of the boy’s face, Lorenz knew exactly who it was. Few boys, and definitely only one woman, stood that tall. Even with stooped posture, it was clear he had been followed by the one person capable of doing so.
“Mon Dieu!” Lorenz muttered under his breath. The ships had sailed for Natchez; there was no going back to New Orleans now. Which was why Emilie had followed at such a distance, he was sure. She had gotten clumsy that morning, or perhaps wanted to be found because she had run out of food.
“Now what?” he thought to himself. Her mother and sisters were more than likely beside themselves with worry. Did Emilie ever think of anyone else’s feelings? He wanted to shake her, knock some sense into that gorgeous head of hers, make her understand reason. For as long as he had known the girl, logic was never a part of her thinking.
“Take your hat off,” Phillip commanded.
A wicked thought came to Lorenz as he watched Emilie squirm under Phillip’s dissection. If she wanted to play with the big boys, then so be it.
“Leave him alone, Phillip,” Lorenz said. “He’s just a boy. Probably shy.”
Phillip retreated a step, but continued the interrogation. “What’s your business with us?”
“I’m on my way home, monsieur,” Emilie muttered in a deep voice.
“And where might that be?” Phillip asked.
“Cabannocé, monsieur.”
Convenient, Lorenz thought. She picked Phillip’s Acadian settlement, an area south of St. Gabriel on the west side of the river. The exact spot they were heading. Which made Lorenz realize Emilie had more than followed them these past few days.
“So you stole our food,” Lorenz bellowed, stepping close to Emilie to watch her cower. “You’re the reason our supplies have been disappearing so fast.”
“Now I am the one to say leave him alone,” Phillip said. “Why are you accusing this boy of stealing?”
Lorenz inched closer to force eye contact, but Emilie refused to look at him. “Because up until now I thought you, Phillip, had eaten that extra bread ration.”
At this news, Phillip’s eyes shot up. “I thought it was you who had eaten it.”
Lorenz stood so close to Emilie he could make out the rapid rise and fall of her ample bosom. It was outrageous, a woman of Emilie’s figure trying to pass herself off as a boy. But he would play this scenario for all its worth.
“I’m sorry,” Emilie whispered so only Lorenz could hear and for a moment he imagined she was only talking to him. “I was hungry.”
“And interested in where we were going,” Lorenz added. “Again, what business do you have with us?”
Emilie glanced at him then, and immediately looked back at her feet. Even through the layers of mud on her face, Lorenz never would have mistaken those hazel eyes, the different shades of brown accented by specks of red that sparkled when her temper flared. For that brief moment, it had almost been his undoing. “I only wish to return home, to Cabannocé,” she muttered.
“I don’t know of any Charles LeBlanc,” said Phillip.
Emilie said nothing and Lorenz worried the game would end too soon. “Perhaps he’s a recent refugee like myself.”
Emilie glanced up quickly and nodded, then returned her gaze to the ground.
“What shall we do with him then?” Phillip asked.
Lorenz watched as a look of fear crossed his true love’s eyes. If he played his cards right, he could have a little fun and teach Emilie Gallant a lesson to remember.
“Take him with us, I suppose,” Lorenz answered.
“But we have to teach him he can’t be stealing bread from strangers,” Phillip added.
“Absolutely.” Lorenz turned to Emilie. “You must make it up to us.”
Emilie nodded and bit her lower lip. The desire gnawing at him since she had rejected his offer of marriage resurfaced as he watched her teeth move back and forth along her lip, swollen from days in the sun. He thought of their kiss and the way her fingers had eagerly threaded into his hair, her lips opening to his. Despite her verbal objections, her body had betrayed her when they had embraced that night. Had it not been for that kiss, Lorenz might have given up all hope of ever wedding Emilie Gallant. But she had left him with a sensuous taste that was difficult to forget.
Angry at being rejected and angry at having to live with the endless wanting, Lorenz picked up her satchel and his own and threw them into her arms. “To make up for the lost bread, you carry the supplies.”
Lorenz picked up the rifle and flung it over his shoulder, then kicked sand over the remaining coals of the fire. Without speaking the two men grabbed their coats and hats and began the path along the river toward Cabannocé.
The sun kissed the tops of the treeline gracing the horizon before the men stopped for camp. Since following them from New Orleans, it was the first day Emilie had seen them refuse an afternoon break. She wondered what had changed their routine; it wasn’t like them to walk for hours without a rest. Wearing shoes two sizes too small made every step agonizing, but Emilie would die first then complain.
All in all, the disguise was working well and she managed to deceive them both. She delighted that it took them almost three days before discovering her whereabouts. It had been her own doing, too. She had run out of food and was tired of staying awake half the night to find an opportunity to steal a meager piece of bread.
And the mud, well that was a stroke of genius. Emilie had tripped on some kind of a root sticking above the ground and muddied up her trousers and right arm. When she realized the mud gave her delicate-looking skin a rustic appearance, she rolled down a muddy ravine and covered herself with dirt. The only drawback to this clever disguise was that she was now encased in mud and the chance for a hot bath was more than likely several days away.
Lorenz and Phillip found a suitable clearing, sat down and took a long drink from their water bags. Emilie waited for them to offer her some, and moved to sit on a nearby log, but before her rear end touched the wood and her bruised feet could finally rest, Lorenz shouted for her to find firewood.
“May I have a drink first?” she asked, trying best to keep her voice as male sounding as possible through the fatigue.
“Firewood,” Lorenz repeated.
Emilie stared at Lorenz for as long as she dared. She had never known him to be so cruel as to withhold water from a boy who had walked hours in the wilderness. Surely, he didn’t mean it.
“Just one sip?”
Lorenz corked the water bag defiantly. “Firewood,” he practically shouted.
“Fine,” Emilie muttered as she stood and eyed the area for the driest source of driftwood. She slowly moved her throbbing feet up the bank from the river, collecting pieces of wood as she went. She wanted so desperately to sit down, to quench her thirst. What had gotten into him anyway? One slice of bread brought this out in a man?
“It’s a good thing I turned him down,” she muttered to herself, grabbing another log. “You think you know a person.”
When she entered the campsite, b
oth men were lounging back against the side of a downed tree, sharing a slice of bread. Emilie placed the firewood in an open area and felt her stomach react to the sight of food.
“May I have some water now?” she asked, her eyes glued to the bread before her.
“Firewood,” Lorenz said with a rueful smile, “is for a fire. The flint is in your satchel.”
“Should we give him some bread, Lorenz?” Phillip asked.
Emilie stopped digging through the satchel and listened intently. In addition to her thirst, she was incredibly hungry.
“He already got his bread ration,” Lorenz said, taking another long drink from the water bag. “He ate it last night.”
Phillip nodded like a judge considering punishment to a criminal. “So he did.”
“Nothing?” she asked, hoping the panic wasn’t showing in her voice. “I get nothing?”
Lorenz threw the water bag at her. “You should think before you act,” he said so ominously it sent a shiver down her spine. She almost imagined he was speaking of her refusal on the ship that night.
Emilie grabbed the bag and sat down on the sand, facing away from the men. She wanted so badly to give Lorenz Dugas a piece of her mind, but she had to play the part until they made it as far as the Acadian Coast. The settlements along the river above New Orleans started with the German Coast, where French and German immigrants had settled since the beginning of the colony. When Acadians arrived in the territory in the past two years, many had developed farms just north of the German Coast, at Cabannocé and St. Gabriel.
Emilie assumed they were close to the German settlements and a few days shy of Cabannocé. She had to control her temper for at least another week. “You can do this,” she instructed herself, but her impulses demanded she slap that smirk off Lorenz Dugas’s face.
“Did I tell you I have a niece your age?” she heard Phillip ask Lorenz. “Name’s Celestine. Unmarried. You’d like her.”
“What does she look like?” Lorenz inquired.
Emilie plugged the water bag and turned back toward the men. She withdrew the flint from the satchel and began creating sparks, but softly enough to hear what the two men were saying.
“Beautiful. Sweet as can be. Cooks well. Very agreeable. Would make a wonderful wife.”
“Agreeable,” Lorenz said with a laugh. “Now that’s something I’m not used to in a woman.”
Emilie hit the flint so hard both men looked her way.
“She’s a little on the short side,” Phillip added. “Nothing like that tall woman you’re interested in.”
“Was interested in.”
Emilie missed hitting the flint altogether and nearly fell over.
“What did she look like?” Phillip asked. “You said she was a beauty.”
Lorenz twisted his mouth in a negative gesture that was so common with the French. Emilie knew exactly what it meant. She began hitting the flint harder because she knew nothing was farther from the truth. The desirous looks from men over the years had taught her that much.
“Nothing special,” Lorenz finally said. “There are more beautiful women in the world.”
With one last hit, Emilie finally threw a spark that took. She blew into the wood pile and the spark began a flame that quickly spread. Within minutes, she had a blazing fire. She should have been proud of herself; she tackled anything she put a mind to. But the conversation was eating at her heart.
“It was a childhood infatuation,” Lorenz continued. “Nothing more. I finally figured that out. She was always running after me as a child and I guess after so many years I imagined myself in love with her.”
Lorenz pulled a lighted blade of palm from the fire, lite a pipe and passed it to Phillip, who took a long draw. “Perhaps it’s time to separate yourself from your childhood,” Phillip said. “Meet some mature women. Start a new life.”
“Perhaps you’re right. It’s time I put Emilie Gallant behind me and settled down with a real woman.”
Emilie reasoned that it was the fire causing her eyes to tear, but she headed for the dark shelter of the camp’s outer circle just in case. She grabbed her satchel, rolled it into a ball and lay down on the cold ground using the satchel as a pillow. With her back toward the men and the warmth of the blaze, Emilie knew the fire wasn’t to blame. With a pain so heavy pressing against her heart, she cried herself to sleep.
Lorenz tried to rest but he kept reliving the distressing look on Emilie’s face before she retreated to the far side of the campsite. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected he heard weeping.
He shouldn’t have been so hard on her, telling lies that he knew would cause her pain, withholding food when he knew she was hungry. He and Phillip had planned on relenting, but she disappeared before they could tell her as much.
Lorenz sighed and climbed out of his makeshift bedroll, bringing his woolen blanket with him. He left the warmth of the fire and headed for the area of Emilie’s exile. She was curled up tightly, no doubt cold without benefit of a blanket, with the dirty hat still firmly planted on her head. Had she slept this way for two nights, he wondered?
God give him strength, he prayed as he gazed down on the face of the woman he so dearly loved, the woman risking her life for the chance to see her father or worse, to prove that she could. Despite everything, he couldn’t help admire her strength and her ability to persevere. All of his previous anger dissipated as he placed his blanket gently over her and brushed his knuckles against her mud-kissed cheeks.
Tomorrow they would talk.
Emilie awoke to the smell of something tantalizing cooking on the fire. Sleep may have overtaken her hunger the night before, but hunger was forcing her awake.
“Hungry?” Phillip asked her when she sat up and looked his way.
“Yes, very.” She nearly bounded across the distance, but managed enough sense to slip escaping tendrils back inside her hat.
Phillip handed her a skillet of pain perdu, stale French bread dipped in egg batter and fried golden brown. Alongside were two fried eggs staring at her like old friends.
“Lorenz met a farmer nearby who gave us some eggs,” Phillip said, pouring her a cup of coffee. “By nightfall we should be in the German Coast. We’ll get a hot meal tonight.”
Emilie was eating so fast she could only nod in agreement. She was convinced she had never tasted anything so good and her body demanded that she get the food inside her as fast as possible.
Phillip stared at her hard and Emilie wondered if her gestures were too feminine. She turned her fork around and began eating the way she saw Charles Braud devour his food when his mother wasn’t looking.
“Lorenz was wrong,” Phillip finally said.
Emilie whipped the food off the corner of her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “I beg your pardon, monsieur.”
Phillip smiled slightly. “You are a beauty, even covered in mud.”
The bite of egg heading to Emilie’s mouth stopped halfway.
“Yes, I know who you are, Emilie.”
Emilie placed her fork down in the skillet in her lap and sighed. “How long have you known?”
Phillip took a sip of coffee and laughed. “Since the beginning. There are many women who could disguise themselves as men. You, my dear, are not one of them.”
Emilie placed the skillet at her feet, no longer hungry. She rubbed her forehead and forced herself to ask the painful question. “Does Lorenz know?”
She felt a hand upon her shoulder, a sympathetic one. “Of course he knows. Who do you think that lecture last night was for? I’ve already heard the story. Several times.”
Emilie stood and threw her coffee on to the ground. “Where is he?”
“You have no right to be mad at him, mademoiselle.” Phillip stood and grabbed her elbow. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Emilie gently but firmly pulled her arm away. “Where is he?” she asked in a calmer voice.
“He went to a coulée nearby to wash up.”
“Which directi
on?”
“Mademoiselle, I don’t think...”
“Monsieur, I am going to find him with or without your help,” Emilie said sternly. “Now either point me in the right direction or worry that I may get lost and you’ll lose time hunting me down.”
She knew Phillip was eager to get back to his family and didn’t want to lose time chasing after some annoying female tagging alongside his companion. Reluctantly, he pointed over to the right of the camp where a group of trees were located.
“Merci.” Emilie straightened for the first since they met and finding herself taller than Phillip. With those final words, she marched away.
The coulée flowed only a few hundred yards from the campsite, a better looking stream than most in South Louisiana. Although the waterway consisted of the usual muddy brown color, this one allowed a semi-clear view of the bottom.
Lorenz stood by the stream’s edge undressing. She could tell he was shirtless from her view above the shrubbery, but by the time Emilie had him in full sight, she realized he was removing the last leg of his trousers. Before she had time to think, Lorenz stood before her completely naked.
The sight was so alarming, and so entrancing, that Emilie froze where she stood. Lorenz Dugas was easily the finest looking man she had ever set eyes upon. Without clothes, he was astonishing.
A physical man as a farmer, Lorenz’s broad back and shoulders were firm with well-toned muscles narrowing into a lean waist and hips. His long legs were equally sculpted and firm, rounded out by the cutest rear end that offered — Emilie almost laughed at the thought — a dimple in each cheek.
“Mon dieu!” she whispered in awe.
Emilie took a deep breath and forced her mind to focus. She was angry, and no gorgeous male body was going to deter her from her fury. “Want some company?” she asked Lorenz.
Lorenz spun around, clutching his britches in front of him. “Damn,” Emilie thought when she realized she was robbed of the view.
“What are you doing here?” Lorenz shouted.
Emilie smiled slightly and began to unbutton her shirt. “I was going to join you in a bath,” she said, keeping her voice in a deep tone. “Don’t tell me you’re too modest to bathe with other men.”
Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1) Page 3
