The Pelican Bride (48 page)

She laughed and took his arm, tugging him in the direction of the inn. “Then you would certainly be in trouble, you ridiculous man! Odysseus is the hero you’re thinking of—and he had his sailors plug their ears and tie him to the mast, for it was their song and not their beauty that was so dangerous.”

He waved a languid hand. “One of those moldy Greek fellows is so much like the other, I can never keep them straight. If you begin to sing to me, I shall run away in terror.”

Lyse had never had a conversation like this with another human being, ever. He spoke with the musical syntax of the classical heroes in her grandfather’s library. She waited for Rafael Gonzales to inquire how a tattered
créole
girl came to know the difference between Perseus and Odysseus.

But he continued to saunter alongside her, whistling something that sounded like “Down Among the Dead Men,” until she finally said reluctantly, “I can’t sing.”

“That is of no moment. I can sing well enough for both of us.” And, to her astonishment, he burst into a sweet tenor rendition of “
De Colores
.”

The street was crowded, and people were turning to smile and stare as they passed. Lyse clutched his arm. “Stop! This is not New Orleans. People do not sing on the street.”

He broke off a liquid melisma to give her one of his sleepy stares. “Do they not? How very inconvenient. Next time I shall bring my guitar.”

“We do not play the guitar in the street either.” She couldn’t help giggling. In front of the inn she halted. It was the largest building outside the fort, a two-story with a broad front gallery graced with several large rocking chairs. “Here is the inn. Would you like to sit down before claiming your room? I can go inside and get you a tankard of ale.”

“You are very kind, mademoiselle, but if I could trouble you for one more favor, I should like you to deliver a message to Major Redmond for me.”

“Major Redmond?” What business could Daisy’s gruff father have with this lazy, musical young Spaniard?

“Do you know him?” Gonzales’s black brows hooked together. “I have not stopped at the wrong fort again, have I?”

She laughed. “His daughter is my dearest friend. What would you have me tell him?”

Gonzales smiled, clearly relieved to be in the correct port. “I have brought a hundred pounds of sugar from Havana, being off-loaded even as we speak. And I would like to entertain him for dinner this evening, if he is free.”

Lyse nodded. “I will tell him.” She privately doubted the busy officer would be interested in leaving the fort to share a meal with a young merchant who couldn’t be bothered to deliver his own invitations. But she hadn’t seen Daisy for several days, and she was now provided with an excuse to visit. She backed toward the street. “Are you sure you don’t want me to find someone to help you in?”

“No. I thank you.” He flapped open his beautiful red brocade waistcoat, sadly lacking in buttons, to display his trim middle. He reminded her strongly of a preening cardinal. “As you see, I am quite restored. No need to worry after all.” Propping one hand on his sword hilt, with the other he caught her fingers and carried
them to his smiling lips. “Adieu, mademoiselle. Adios, señorita. Goodbye, milady. We shall meet again, I vow.”

Lyse dipped a curtsey, recovered her hand, and hurried to the street before she could betray the odd flutter in her stomach at the touch of that warm mouth upon her skin.

Jackanapes, she thought as she hurried toward the fort. How Daisy would laugh when she told her about this absurd young Spaniard.

Beth White
’s day job is teaching music at an inner-city high school in historic Mobile, Alabama. A native Mississippian, she is a pastor’s wife, mother of two, and grandmother of one—so far. Her hobbies include playing flute and pennywhistle and painting, but her real passion is writing historical romance with a Southern drawl. Her novels have won the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Carol Award, the RT Book Club Reviewers Choice Award, and the Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award. Visit
www.bethwhite.net
for more information.