Merline Lovelace (14 page)

When he dragged her up, she used the force of his
pull to spring like a cat and shove her shoulder into his midsection. He staggered back, taking her with him, and managed to twist her arm behind her back. With a grunt, he wrenched it upward with a force that almost tore her bones apart.

“Dog!” she shouted over the blinding agony. “Son of a dog!”

Fighting the pain, she kicked back, hit his shin with her heel. Swearing violently, he gave her arm another brutal twist and bent her almost double.

Louise heard footsteps thud toward her, felt a hand fist in her hair. A vicious tug brought her head back, and a foul-tasting cloth was stuffed into her mouth. Gagging, she tried to spit out the wadded rag, but a length of rope went over her head and was jammed between her teeth like a bit. Another length of rope lashed her wrists behind her. Then a cloak or a blanket was thrown over her head.

Hot, smothering darkness closed in on her. She struggled frantically, twisting and kicking and trying to throw off the heavy covering, until a vicious blow between her shoulder blades sent her stumbling forward blindly.

“This one fights like a savage!”

The cloak muffled his words. Panting, straining against her bonds, Louise almost missed the next.

“Why does that surprise you? The bitch has as much Osage blood in her as French.”

The reply hit her like another blow to the back. They knew her heritage. They’d been lying in wait for her here in Daniel’s apartments.

The stunning realization had barely sunk in before something hard rammed into her middle. She felt herself lifted, slung over a shoulder like a sack of grain, left to dangle head down. Dizziness added to the burn of her bound wrists and the ache of thickly muscled bone cutting into her belly. Nausea rose up to fill her throat. She feared she would be sick and choke on her gag.

She was carried down the hall, out through the back garden. She heard the thud of her captors’ boots on hard-packed earth, smelled the charcoal from the outdoor ovens. They were taking her by way of the back alleys, she reasoned while she could still think at all. They would not risk taking her down busy Bienville Street.

The agony in her stomach combined with the smothering blackness to defeat her. She could not keep the dizziness at bay. Her senses whirled. Bright pinpricks of light danced before her eyes. Her struggles became weaker, then ceased altogether.

Louise floated on waves of pain. Darkness surrounded her, no longer hot and suffocating but still so thick she couldn’t pierce it. She tried to raise a hand to the throbbing ache in her temple, but didn’t have the strength to lift her arm. The mere effort sent white-hot splinters through her skull. She heard a whimper, so feeble, so weak, like a small woodland creature after a futile struggle to escape one of Henri’s traps.

Another sound emerged from the edge of the dark
ness. Faint, like the ripple of a stream. Low, like the whisper of the wind through a stand of birch.

“Drink this.”

With the low murmur came the touch of something smooth and hard against her lips. Startled, she jerked her head to the side. The movement sent more pain splintering into her skull, and she knew this time the animal moan had ripped up from her throat.

“It will ease your pain.” A hand slid under her neck, tilted her head back. “Drink it.”

Lured by the promise of relief from this blinding hurt, Louise opened her mouth. A vile, chalky liquid slid down her throat. Choking, she tried to jerk her head away again. The grip on her neck tightened.

“More.”

She resisted, revolted by the taste, but the smooth, hard object pushed firmly between her teeth. A bottle, she thought, her senses beginning to right themselves. She began to struggle in earnest, only to discover her wrists were still bound. And the darkness came not from the pain in her temple, but from a cloth tied over her eyes. Panicked now, she collected the bitter liquid in her throat, intending to spit it out the moment the bottle was removed.

“There. That should take the fight from you.”

Before she could cough up any of the vile stuff, a firm hand clamped over her mouth. Retching, Louise had no choice but to swallow the whole mouthful. Over her violent heaves, she heard another speak.

“Nothing can take the fight from that one. The whore almost sliced open my belly.”

Louise struggled to understand his words. Watery eyed from gagging and more dizzy than before, she could barely grasp one word in three. A strange lassitude was spreading along her limbs. The voices blurred, became distant, until they sighed like the wind through the trees. She was floating again. The ache had gone. The darkness had become her friend, filled with hazy images and vague yearnings.

Daniel. She saw Daniel in his dress uniform. So tall. So strong. A ribbon of warmth wound through her chest.

Helene was there as well, plump and pretty in her ball gown. And Bertrice. And Marie. And James.

A whimper rose in her throat.

The darkness gave way to dim light. James became his father, who became Henri, who became Daniel again. He smiled down at her, brushed a knuckle along her cheek.

“You feel no pain now, do you?”

No pain. Only a slow, gathering warmth. It swirled through her, rising and falling with every breath.

“You’ve caused me no end of trouble, my dear. That’s behind us now, though, isn’t it? A few days here, two or three more doses, and you’ll be as eager for mounting as a broodmare in heat.”

His words rippled through her mind like a distant echo in a vast, empty cavern.

“You rest here. Let the pleasure drift through you. Someone will be up in a few hours to give you another dose. As for you two— Get out. I don’t want to see your faces again.”

“We leave when you pay what you promised us.”

“Here, take it and be gone.”

The voices faded.

The tide carried her onto a great sea that swelled and swirled. She felt within her the power of a great shaman after a pipe ceremony. She called up visions, saw strange images. The bearded, half-remembered trapper who’d fathered her. Her uncle with his hand out, demanding payment. Henri, sitting beside the fire.

And Daniel. When the warmth built to a heat and the visions spun in her head, she called for Daniel. He came to her, loosened her bonds, removed her dress, her petticoats, her corset to make her more comfortable. Tipped back her head for her to drink from the bottle.

The drink didn’t leave so vile a taste now. She knew what to expect, knew she would soon soar on the winds like an eagle and see all the colors of the sunset.

“E
lizabeth?”

Propping his musket beside the door, Daniel shrugged out of his heavy haversack. After two full days and nights of field drill, alternating companies to assess their effectiveness, weariness ate into his bones. He wanted nothing so much as a hot supper, a good sluicing with a bucket of water and a bed to fall into.

He was pleased with the results of the drill, though. Very pleased. Company H’s grenadiers had amply demonstrated their proficiency and his own Third Company, Second Regiment of Riflemen, had outgunned everyone else. The new dragoon squadron was manned with raw recruits who would need work, certainly, as would the militia, but at least Daniel now had a base against which to measure their progress.

Dropping the haversack on the floor with a
thump,
he searched the sitting room. A candle lamp chased back the night and showed Elizabeth’s chair to be
empty. Thinking perhaps Mrs. Tremayne had already helped her to bed, he went into the other room.

He found his wife lying in her nightdress, eyes closed, hands folded across her chest. His heart jumped into his throat. In the flickering light of the candle on the table beside the bed, she had the look of a corpse laid out for a viewing.

“Elizabeth?”

“She’s sleeping.” Tremayne’s youngest scrambled up from the floor, her doll clutched in her arm. “She’s been sleeping for nigh on three days.”

“Three days!”

Daniel whirled back to his wife. Dread clutched at his insides. Had the shadows finally claimed her? Had she retreated into herself for good this time? Dear God, had he left her alone one too many times and snapped her fragile hold on her senses completely?

“Mam said to fetch her when you came home.”

The girl scurried out, leaving Daniel racked with guilt and worry. He sank down on the side of the bed, took Elizabeth’s hand in his. It felt cool to the touch, almost clammy, despite the heat of late afternoon.

“Wake up, sweeting.”

A faint crease formed on her brow, sending his hopes soaring.

“Open your eyes, Elizabeth.”

She made a small sound deep in her throat, not quite a moan but close enough to carve out a piece of his heart. She was in pain, a kind of pain he
couldn’t cure or take from her, no matter how much he wished to.

“Open your eyes,” he repeated, more harshly this time, as if he could command her obedience as he did that of his men.

The sound of footsteps brought his head around. Polly Tremayne came into the bedroom, looking every bit as tired as Daniel felt. Her dark hair flew out in untidy wisps and a weary resignation lined her small, birdlike face.

“I couldn’t get her to wake, either,” she told Daniel. “She’s been like this since I found her lying on the floor. She must have tripped on her skirts or caught her foot on the floorboards. I’m guessing she hit her head when she went down. There’s a lump the size of a bird’s egg on the back of her head.”

“You should have sent for me.”

“And you would have done what? Deserted your post and rushed back here to bathe her brow?”

Her face softened. Like many army wives, she’d spent years at frontier posts where medical assistance was limited, if available at all. Women had to depend on each other in their husbands’ absences.

“There’s nothing you could have done for her I didn’t do, Sergeant Major.”

He hated to admit that was the truth, hated even more this feeling of absolute helplessness.

Tremayne’s wife must have sensed the feelings ripping his insides apart. With a sympathetic cluck, she laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m thinking you should just let her sleep. Time and the Good Lord will tell her when to wake. Why don’t you come with me? I’ve got corn bread rising and a stew bubbling and you’ve the look of a man who needs something hearty in him.”

He couldn’t bear to leave Elizabeth lying so still and waxlike. “I thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“If you change your mind, there’s plenty for all.”

She bustled out, leaving Daniel to unbutton his uniform jacket and tug at his neck cloth. He’d unpack his haversack, he decided, wash the gunpowder and smoke off his face, then try again to wake Elizabeth.

That was when he spotted the knife. It was lying almost hidden under the dish cupboard, with only the end of its handle showing. Frowning, Daniel slid it out.

For the second time in less than an hour, his heart jumped into his throat. He recognized the bits of red yarn woven into the rawhide handle. Recognized as well the long, lethal blade Louise had almost gutted him with.

His thumb went to the reddened tip. The blood had dried to a dark rust. There wasn’t much of it, only enough to show the knife had been used. Recently.

His jaw tight, Daniel thrust the knife into his cartridge pouch and grabbed his shako.

“I’ve got to go out for a while,” he called to Elizabeth, driven by a need greater than that of his wife’s right now. “I’ll ask Mrs. Tremayne to look in on you.”

Daniel!

The cry rose in Elizabeth’s throat, fought to tear free. Panic pierced her safe, gray cocoon.

She had to warn him, had to tell him about the men who’d hurt her. She could feel their rough hands on her. Hear their coarse laughter. Despite her terror, despite her confusion, she’d known the moment Louise walked in the door they’d been waiting for her.

They meant to hurt her. Why, Elizabeth couldn’t begin to understand. But she had to tell Daniel, had to send him in search of the woman who’d shown her so much kindness.

The woman Elizabeth knew he loved with all his being.

With a low moan, she forced her eyes to open. Dark shapes loomed in front of her. Terror almost sent her fleeing into the grayness again, but the dark shapes became shadows dancing on the wall.

Panting with fear, with a pain that stabbed into her head, with sheer desperation, she gripped the quilt with trembling hands and shoved it aside. When she tried to rise, her nightdress tangled around her ankles. She flung out a hand to steady herself, caught the edge of the bedside table, tilted it onto one leg. The candle tipped over, spilling hot wax and its one, small flame.

The burning wick caught the edge of Elizabeth’s sleeve and fired the fine lawn. Jerking her arm back, she beat at the tiny, dancing flames.

Daniel hurried through the warm April night, his long legs eating up the blocks to Doumaine Street. Ten minutes later, he rapped on the Thibodeauxs’ door and inquired for Madame Chartier.

“She’s not here,” Helene Thibodeaux’s manservant answered gravely.

“Where is she?”

“Don’t know, sir. We none of us does.”

A cold weight settled in Daniel’s gut. “Is Monsieur Thibodeaux at home?”

“No, sir, but his missus is. If you’ll follow me upstairs, I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Daniel waited impatiently until Helene Thibodeaux hurried into the parlor, a crumpled linen handkerchief clutched in her plump fist.

“What’s this about Louise?” he demanded before the matron got out so much as a word of greeting.

“We don’t know where she is. She went out three days ago, saying she was going to visit your wife. We waited until evening, and when she didn’t return, Bernard went to your quarters to enquire. Someone—a neighbor—said her daughter had seen Louise earlier that afternoon, but not since.”

Tears spilled from Helene’s worried eyes. Distraught, she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

“Bernard’s notified the watch. He wanted to send word to you, but the captain at the
cabildo
said you were on maneuvers and couldn’t be recalled. Wherever can Louise be?”

He shook his head, started to tell her he had no idea, when Louise’s last words cracked like rifle fire in his mind.

She’d said she might go away.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about that possibility these past few days. Thirty-six straight hours of firing drill had helped keep the thought at bay. Now, he had no choice but to face it.

No. That wasn’t Louise’s style. She wouldn’t be so thoughtless as to slip away without letting Thibodeaux and his wife know she was leaving. Nor did that explain the bloodied knife.

“This is so distressing,” Helene murmured into her handkerchief, “so very distressing! Coming on top of that unpleasantness with the lieutenant, I’m sure I don’t—”

“What unpleasantness?”

The sharp question brought the matron’s nose out of the damp linen. “I’m not one to spread gossip,” she sniffled, “but— Well—”

“Tell me, Helene!”

“Lieutenant Wilkinson tried to force his attentions on Louise. Right here, in our Blue Salon! I was never so disappointed in a man, although Louise did say she could not hold him in very high regard.”

Hell and damnation! Another layer piled on top of the guilt that all but bowed Daniel over. He’d accused Louise of leading Wilkinson on, was sure she’d played the same games with the lieutenant she had with him. From the sound of things, she’d practically had to fight the man off.

Suddenly, he could almost see the stubborn determination on the lieutenant’s face when Daniel had
confronted him. Wilkinson had made it clear he wanted Louise—or the wealth she stood to inherit.

Did the lieutenant have something to do with her disappearance? With that bloodstained knife? Daniel damned sure intended to find out.

Night cloaked the city by the time he tracked Wilkinson down.

He’d ridden first to Belle Terre, where he learned the general was preparing to leave for Richmond the next morning to give testimony in the Burr trial. The lieutenant, he was informed, had just this afternoon moved into rooms in town with his fellow officers.

His sense of urgency mounting with every mile, Daniel returned to town and searched out the Royal Arms. Unlike the sparsely furnished apartments allotted to the enlisted personnel on regimental staff, the Royal Arms offered meals served in a luxurious taproom graced by gleaming brass candle sconces and rack upon rack of French and Spanish wines. Carved oak stairs led up to the second-floor landing, where a passing chambermaid directed Daniel to the lieutenant’s rooms.

The corporal who served as Wilkinson’s batman answered his knock. “Yes, sir?”

Frowning, Daniel searched for his name.

“Simons, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant Major Morgan to see Lieutenant Wilkinson.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Major. The lieutenant is pre
paring to go out and doesn’t wish to receive visitors at this time.”

“Tell him I’m here and need to speak to him on a matter of some urgency.”

Puffed up with his own importance, the corporal shook his head. “You’ll have to come back another time. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Tomorrow be damned!”

With a hard hand Daniel knocked the door back against the inner wall.

“See here!” Sputtering with indignation, Simons dogged his steps as he crossed the room. “You can’t just charge in like a drunken dragoon. The lieutenant—”

“Will see me tonight,” he growled, skimming his glance over heavy, dark furniture. “Where is he?”

“He’s at his toilet, but—”

At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened and Wilkinson appeared. His face was flushed and his eyes held a glitter that suggested the glass of wine in his hand wasn’t the first he’d downed.

“Morgan!”

The high color drained from his cheeks, but he looked more frightened than surprised. With his sudden pallor, a grim suspicion settled in Daniel’s gut.

Wilkinson had some hand in Louise’s disappearance. What’s more, the man had expected to be called to task for it.

Typically, the lieutenant tried to hide his nervousness in bluster. Straightening his shoulders under his
frogged uniform jacket, he scowled. “What the devil do you mean by entering my quarters uninvited?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“You will show a proper respect when you address me, Sergeant Major.”

“Any man who would force himself on a woman, as I’m told you did Madame Chartier, deserves no respect.”

“Force myself?” His face, so flushed a moment ago, now blanched. “I didn’t— I haven’t had to—”

“Don’t try to deny it. Madame Thibodeaux told me about your visit to her house a few nights ago.”

“Oh, that!” His breath rushed out on a nervous titter. “That was a misunderstanding. Nothing more. Madame Chartier, uh, encouraged me. I fear my ardor overcame my manners.”

Disgust rippled through Daniel. Louise would never have encouraged this fop. And someone or something, he reminded himself grimly, had bloodied her knife.

“No harm was done,” the lieutenant continued. “Madame Chartier is a widow, after all, and well used to the ways of men.” He gave a knowing wink. “Very well used.”

The leer snapped Daniel’s restraint. Under other circumstances, he might have gone to the
cabildo
and laid the knife before his superior, along with his growing suspicions that Wilkinson was somehow involved in Louise’s sudden disappearance. But fear for her safety shattered the restrictions that had governed his life for the past fourteen years.

Striding across the room, he caught the lieutenant by his lapels. “Where is she?”

“Morgan! Are you mad?”

“Tell me, damn you!”

Simons rushed forward and made a grab at Daniel’s sleeve. “Think what you’re about here, man! You can be court-martialed for laying hands on an officer!”

Swatting the batman away like an annoying gnat, he took the lieutenant’s linen stock in a stranglehold. “I intend to do more than lay hands on you. If you don’t tell me where Madame Chartier is, I swear I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.”

“You cannot! You dare not! Striking an officer will get you the whip! Or the gallows!”

He was beyond caring. “Tell me what you know, you whining, useless turd.”

“I—I know nothing!”

The small, telling hesitation hardened Daniel’s suspicions into absolute certainty. Wilkinson was holding something back. Something that frightened him more than the prospect of taking a beating. Coldly determined now, Daniel tightened his chokehold on the linen stock, brought his other arm back and plowed his fist into the lieutenant’s stomach.