“What?” Dominique’s blood ran cold. Her gaze crossed the half-mile to the wooded shore. “I can’t. I…can’t!”
“Don’t tell me you can’t swim!”
Melisande spat into the water. “She can swim. She’s just afraid to. And she doesn’t like heights. Or getting wet. Or dirty. Or—”
“All right, Melly,” groused Dominique. “It’s so far…and what about Godfried?”
As if to answer the question, the wolfhound jumped into the bay and paddled for shore.
“He’s got the idea.” Melisande leaped off the ship and landed with a splash.
“Sully, no…I can’t,” insisted Dominique.
Sullivan slipped his hand into hers. He gently tugged her a step closer to the edge. “We’ll jump together. I’ll be right by your side. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Sully, this is madness!”
“Dominique, do you trust me?”
“I…” Dominique stared into Sullivan’s eyes, faintly visible in the growing starlight. Since the moment he’d decided to set the slaves free, he hadn’t faltered. Hadn’t shown a moment of doubt. And his plan to steal the Penelope under cover of darkness had worked. He’d proven an able captain—guiding the freemen in how to set the sails. Stealing from the Laffites and the Tindalls was the maddest thing she’d ever done, and yet, Sullivan did it without a blink. He followed his heart. She considered a thought more terrifying than the drop, or the water, or the wrath of the Laffites. Being with him on this dangerous chase was the thrill of her life.
“Yes, Sully. I trust you.” She squeezed his hand.
“On three,” said Sullivan. “One…”
Dominique shifted from foot to foot.
“Two…”
She closed her eyes.
“Three!”
With the sound of her own shriek in her ears, Dominique Dufort fell through space.
###
Village in Iroquois Reservation
On the Banks of the Susquehanna River, Pennsylvania
After weeks of river travel and cross-country marching, Dominique Dufort led her exhausted party to the palisade of a longhouse village. It was a cloudy afternoon, with angry clouds rolling overhead. Behind her, John Sullivan, Melisande Dufort, thirty-seven freed slaves, and one panting hound greeted a crowd of curious Tuscarora. Two gates of sharpened, vertical logs opened. A dozen men stepped out, all wearing muskets on their backs and clubs on their hips. Outside the walls, women and girls carried baskets through corn stalks, gawking at the refugees.
Eventually, a warrior wearing buckskin trousers and belts of intricately beaded wampum had appeared—Dominique and Melisande’s adopted brother, Grey Feather. They had been banished some time ago, but after a little convincing, the young sachem offered them a safe harbor.
Hours after their cool welcome at the gate, Dominique sat by one of many fire pits scattered around the village. She could smell the corn and beans bubbling in pots over the cookfires. Tuscarora women and girls busied themselves tending the stew or kneading corn cakes. They served the freed Africans bowl after bowl, smiling at every “thank you” or “God bless,” even if they didn’t know the words. One Negro woman held her six-year-old son in her lap, whispering gently in his ear, her eight-year-old daughter sitting close beside her. She saw Dominique looking at her, and their eyes met. How could words even describe the horror this mother and child had avoided? The horror of the auction block? Dominique looked away, over-powered by guilt. She first tried to talk Sullivan out of freeing these people, and she was ashamed.
Dominique looked toward a field between the longhouses and saw Sullivan and some of the other Tuscarora men in a game of lacrosse. They chased about a field of flattened grass, fighting to catch a deerskin ball in the nets at the end of each player’s stick. A boy no older than fourteen shoulder-checked Sullivan and knocked him in the dirt. Dominique chuckled. For all his skill at sea or swordplay, John had no talent for this game. The boy offered him a hand, and she wondered whether the young Irishman would refuse and sulk. But then Sullivan grinned and let the boy help him up, and they re-joined the game.
How had she not seen it before? The warmth in his smile. His easy way with everyone he met. So quick to laugh—at himself if need be. So quick to help, often for the slightest reason. So quick to act, and never with a moment of doubt. He took to her adopted family like a bird to a flock. John saw people. And they saw him.
“There is something about him, isn’t there?” said the voice of an older man as he came to sit beside Dominique. She turned to look at Absalom, the appointed leader of the freemen. He was a Philadelphian with short greying hair and crow-footed eyes. “I can see why you like Mr. Sullivan.”
“What?” protested Dominique. “No. Not at all. That’s not why I…”
“Of course not.” Absalom’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “My mistake, dear.”
“Men don’t usually sit at this fire.”
“I know. But I wanted to come over while I had the chance. I wanted to thank you. For what you did. For what you’re doing.”
Dominique pulled her knees close, catching a stale whiff of her mud-stained dress. “I didn’t do much, really. It was Sully’s plan.”
For a moment, Absalom stared into the flames. “I realize you may feel your part was small. Maybe you even had your doubts…”
Dominique looked at the older man, and she read the knowing look in his eyes. She couldn’t hide her guilt.
“…When the moment came, you did right by these people. And so, you have my thanks.” Absalom gave her hand a squeeze, then walked back to the men’s fire.
Dominique decided to take a walk outside the walls, and so she left the chatter of the village behind. She found solitude near the rows of corn. Nearby, a column of smoke rose from the roof of a tanner’s wigwam. The woven birch walls of the hut gave it the look of an overturned basket. A flock of thrushes abandoned the ryegrass as Dominique approached. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She heard rustling in the grass behind her, and she turned around.
“In all my life, I never thought I’d be sporting with real Indians,” said a breathless John Sullivan as he approached. Through the part in his shirt, she could see a sheen of sweat on his chest. “Much more fun than cricket.”
Dominique plucked a blade of tall grass and began stripping it of rye. “They prefer ‘Tuscarora.’”
“Ah,” said John sheepishly. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m still a stranger to your shores.”
“I think you’ve earned a little forgiveness.” Dominique met his wheat-colored eyes. A sweep of auburn hair brushed over his forehead, a little perspiration beading on his cheeks. She felt a flush of heat in her chest. “For once, your charm is working.”
John laughed. “Damn. Whatever I’m doing, I better keep it up.”
“Care for a stroll, Sully?”
“A stroll?” John’s eyebrows jumped in mock intrigue. “Are you sure you want to take your chances? I’m a lovesick pup. It’s true. Completely hopeless.”
Dominique laughed. “I’m feeling charitable.” In the distance, Godfried’s playful bark rose above the din of the village. “I want you to know, Sully… You were right.”
“Ooh, something tells me I’m going to like this.”
Dominique punched his arm as he walked beside her. “Don’t make me regret this, pup.”
“Never.” John plucked a blade of rye and chewed it like a pipe.
“You were right to set these people free. Laffite will never forgive us, but I don’t care. He can go to Hell.”
“There she is.”
“There’s who?”
“The real Dominique.”
“That’s a laugh,” she said. “You had to talk me into it, remember?”
“It wasn’t hard.” He looked at his feet for a moment. “You’re not cross with me for any of it? Not even making you jump in the bay?”
“Not even making me jump in the bay. Though you did ruin a perfe
ctly good dress.” She stepped closer to him, and her eyes followed the line of his open shirt collar. His muscles were lean and athletic. The muscles of a sailor. And a fighter. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” John smirked. He took a step closer, and she felt the heat between their bodies. “Want to do it again?”
Dominique burst into laughter. She sounded silly and girlish to her own ears, and she didn’t care. “How does next week sound?”
“That sounds mighty fine,” laughed John. He fished in his tobacco pouch and pressed a pinch under his lip. “So, are you finally going to tell me why you did it?”
Dominique pointed to the tobacco. “Can I have some?”
He offered the pouch, and she took a pinch.
When she had a chew going, she said, “I’m a smuggler. Why not a thief too? I wanted the sapphire, so I took it. It was fun.”
“And wearing the dresses?” He spat in the rye and assumed a maddening smirk.
“I bought those dresses, I’ll have you know…” Dominique flashed John a frown, and he threw up his hands in mock surrender. She shrugged her shoulders. “I wanted to be someone else. Anyone else. Someone important. Someone admired. It felt good, even if only for a few hours. It was stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Cool drops of water danced on the air. The smell of coming storms rose off the earth. John drew a little closer, his eyes fixed on hers. “And I don’t think you stole for a thrill. You stole that sapphire because you think you don’t deserve something beautiful. Something you want.”
“Do I? I’m a criminal. I’m frontier trash, and that’s the truth.” As if to make her point, Dominique spat a glob on a corn leaf.
“Is Melisande frontier trash? Is Grey Feather?”
“I didn’t mean…” Dominique looked away from him, tears welling behind her eyes. She wanted to take it back. But how could she think such a thing of herself—and not them?
“You’ve given up things to take care of those you love, Dom. There’s no shame in that. You think you don’t deserve to be happy, but…”
John reached into his pocket. He held out his closed fist, then opened his fingers. Sitting on his palm, gleaming in the grey light of the clouds, was a tiny sapphire pendant. It wasn’t the large bobble she had stolen, but rather a jewel the size of a teardrop.
Dominique picked up the gem, the blue stone wavering through the tears in her eyes. “Where did you get this?”
“I bought it. For you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re wrong about who you think you are. I know it’s not quite the one you wanted…but you deserve to be happy, Dominique.”
A tear ran from Dominique’s eye. She handed the pendant back to him. There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Then she turned her back to him and swept the hair from her neck. She waited patiently until his strong, gentle hands touched her shoulders. Her skin tingled at his touch. He fastened the necklace, and she turned around and looked into his eyes. He brought his lips close to hers, and her heart began to race.
Thunder exploded in the sky. A deluge dumped across the fields of corn. Dominique squealed as the rain soaked them to the skin.
“Quick—the hut!” said John, pointing to the wigwam.
In a flurry of laughter, Dominique and John raced through the deerskin flap of the dwelling. They found themselves surrounded by trapper tools, buckskin and rabbit pelts drying on racks, and a small bed with a bearskin blanket. The light of a smoldering fire cast a ruddy glow. The two of them were laughing so hard for a moment, neither could speak.
“I hope the owner doesn’t mind,” chuckled John.
“You don’t know Tuscarora hospitality,” panted Dominique. “We’re honored guests.”
“Lucky for us.”
“Lucky for us,” repeated Dominique.
Thunder rumbled outside. Rain pattered on the roof of the hut. A silence fell over them both. They looked into each other’s eyes, each somehow knowing the other’s mind. John’s hand reached out, still dripping rain. Dominique felt his arm circle around to the small of her back. Her pulse beat in her neck, and she could see he was trembling. He was nervous too. His tender arms pulled her close. She felt her chest against his, two hearts pounding against one another.
He leaned in, and she felt his lips press against hers. The first touch was gentle, like a kiss of static. The next was firm, and she opened her mouth to taste his tongue. The earthy remnants of tobacco, the sweetness left by the corn. Her heart hammered as her tongue explored his. She leaned into the kiss, letting lust take over. His hands roamed up and down her back. She reached her fingers under his shirt, feeling his skin, still damp from rainwater.
She pulled off his shirt, revealing the smooth lines of his chest, his ribs, his abdomen. Her finger traced around a little mole near his belly button. He unlaced her corset, her breath quickening as each knot came undone. The gown came loose, and she felt his warm hands on her shoulders again. She breathed deep, heavy breaths, watching his eyes as he slid the dress off of her. His gaze filled with desire as he took in her body, nude save for the teardrop pendant. His look stirred intense pleasure in her. They looked into each other’s eyes as if doubting the moment was real.
“Sully…” Dominique said. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Neither have I.” He laid a hand against her cheek. “We can stop…”
“No,” Dominique heard herself say. “I want you.” She wrapped a hand around his neck, her fingers threading through his locks of hair, and kissed him with all her unbridled hunger. At that moment, she loved everything about him. His smell, like old saddle leather. His courage, never flagging in the face of impossible odds. His bumbling attempts at lacrosse. That silly boyish grin…
They flopped onto the bed, naked bodies entwined, chasing the cold from one another. For a while, they lay side by side, kissing. Hands exploring, still afraid to explore too far. Then the moment came. The moment when she wrapped her legs around him. He circled his arms around her, his manhood aroused and pressing close. He looked into her eyes, asking the question without asking.
Dominique laid her fingers on his neck. She could feel his heart racing. With her free hand, she guided his hips lower. She held his gaze.
There was a shudder of pain as he entered her, and Dominique gasped. He started to move, and she made an audible wince.
“Are you okay?” asked John, looking worried. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, Sully,” she said, her voice a bit strained. “I’m all right. A little slower.”
John started to move again, slowly at first. Dominique bit her lip, not wanting him to see the pain—not wanting him to stop. His lust was beginning to take over, and he moved faster. Slowly, as he gained momentum, the pain lessened. As he began to thrust, a new sensation joined the sting. First, a tingle of pleasure, and then a rush. He kissed her passionately as he gained speed. She heard herself moaning as she held the nape of his neck with both hands. As he thrust into her with abandon now, she curled her legs tightly around him, desperate to wrap herself in his warmth. The pleasure began to grow, and she felt her hunger rising to match his.
Then his momentum faltered. His body shuddered. He sighed with exhaustion, his eyes closed. She didn’t want him to stop, but she could see he was spent. He looked into her eyes with both wonder and embarrassment.
“Dom…did I…please you?”
Dominique gave him a smile. There was no need to rush. They would have time. “Yes, Sully. Very much.”
He smiled and kissed her deeply. Then he collapsed in her arms. His cheek nestled against her own. They lay quiet for a few minutes, feeling each other’s tired bodies.
Then Sully drew up and looked at her. He said something shocking. Something she couldn’t believe. Something she would never forget.
“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Chapte
r 43
The Lake Fort
Fortified Docks
Tuesday, September 13th, 1803
Day 4, Night
Torches moved about the island, marking the enemy movements. They were moving steadily closer to the docks. Along the walls, sailors and Marines aimed rifles over the parapets. The Allegheny carpenter was barking orders at the men below, who were breaking apart the planks of the docks and using them to reinforce the gatehouse. Four gun crews on each of the walls manned the eight guns. Already, lights all over the lake signaled the presence of enemy ships closing in on the island. The sounds of battle in the city died away shortly after sunset. As Dominique walked along the wall, she found the silence an ill omen.
“Dom, you shouldn’t be up here,” said Melisande. She was hunkered down, musket in hand, with Kelham, Meadows, and the awkward Midshipman Merrick. “We’ll be under attack any minute. You should be down below, by the docks where it’s safe.”
Dominique blew out a sigh. “I don’t want to be safe. I want to help.”
“Can you shoot?”
“You know I can’t.”
“Right,” said Melisande smugly. She gestured to the stairs leading back down. “Like I said.”
“There must be something I can do.” Dominique sucked at her pipe, but the tobacco had gone out. “Please—I can’t stand it down there.”
“Dom—”
“Begging your pardon, miss,” said Seaman Meadows. “But can you reload?”
“I haven’t loaded a gun in a while,” Dominique said. “But I could try.”
“That’s a fine idea, Meadows,” said Midshipman Merrick. “We could use the help.”
“Nothing to it, really,” Meadows said. “The boys and I will show you. We’ll let you practice a few times, and then you’ll be ready to help us.”
Dominique brightened. “I can do that. Thank you, Mr. Meadows. Mr. Merrick.”
Merrick swallowed and looked away. Apparently a woman’s gaze made him nervous.
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