Authors: Amanda Stevens
The Seventh Night (29 page)
“My father,” I said weakly. “He’s in there. You have to help him.”
For the first time the policeman looked at me almost kindly. “We’ve brought a doctor. He’ll be all right.” He turned and said something to the man behind him—the doctor, I presumed—who in turn hurried into the peristyle.
Uniformed officers were still spilling out of the shadows and seizing the rest of the dazed assemblage. Voices raised in protests, shouts erupted in both English and French Creole. I paid scant attention to any of it.
I sat on the ground, still trembling, and stared up at Reid.
Stared up at a man I knew I would never, ever understand.
“The fire,” I said weakly. “How did you do that? You’re not a true believer, are you?”
“I’m not a
serviteur,
” he said. “But I’ve told you before, Christine. There’s magic…and there’s magic.”
He knelt beside me then, and our gazes held for the longest time. I knew he could read my thoughts. I made no effort to conceal them. My heart was in my eyes, and suddenly I found myself in his arms, hugging and being hugged, kissing and being kissed, as if there were no tomorrow.
Reid held me tightly, whispering against my hair, “Christine.” He managed to make it sound like an admonishment and, at the same time, the most tender word in the universe.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“I gave you no reason to trust me. For quite a while, I honestly thought Christopher had gone away of his own accord. He’d been acting so strangely, was so hostile toward me for months. I know now that Mrs. DuPrae was behind his strange behavior, but at the time, I thought it another betrayal. I guess I’ve always found it a little too easy to distrust the people I love.”
“Something else we have in common,” I murmured.
“And then, once I began to suspect something was really wrong, there didn’t seem to be anyone I could trust. All I could do was watch and wait, and try to keep you out of danger. Which I did a damn poor job of,” he said bitterly.
And I think it was at that exact moment that I began to see Reid St. Pierre for who he really was—no longer the young, dangerous man who had swept me off my adolescent feet. No longer a dream lover, a product of
my wild fantasies, but a man who, perhaps, was as lonely in his world as I was in mine.
He’d been hurt, disillusioned and betrayed by the people he’d loved, just as I had. He’d lost everything, his whole world, just as I had. We’d both learned at a young age the harsh realities of life. And those realities had made us afraid of opening ourselves to one another, made us afraid to risk being hurt again, afraid to take a chance on love. But what else was worth living for?
I looked up at him, and firelight glowed in his eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?” I whispered.
“I forgave Mrs. DuPrae before she died,” he said, “I can surely forgive the woman I love.”
My breath quickened in my throat. “Love?”
He smiled as he withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the blood from my face. “Yes, love. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I first met you. I’ve dreamed about our being together for years. It killed me when you married someone else. I thought what I’d sensed between us was just my imagination and became afraid of trusting my own feelings again. Does that surprise you?”
I stared at him in amazement. “Then it’s true. What you said the night of the ball—it’s all true. You didn’t make it up.”
“Yes, it’s true,” he said, his gaze slightly reproachful. “So you made me own up to it first. Now it’s your turn.”
“I do love you,” I said solemnly. “From that first moment, I’ve been in love with you, too.”
“This won’t be easy, you know,” he warned me. “We’ve all had a hard time. Christopher and I will have to work at rebuilding our relationship. It’ll take time, as will your relationship with him. And the others—they’ll need time, too. Rachel will be devastated by all this. She’s always wanted to leave Columbé, and I suspect nothing will keep her here now. But Angleque—”
“Angleque hates me,” I cut in.
“She has a lot of growing up to do,” Reid agreed, his mouth hardening. “It’s high time she started. She was involved with Lawrence Crawford, you know. He left her for Rachel, and I suspect that was a fairly sobering experience for my sister. But at any rate, I won’t tolerate any disrespect from her or anyone else toward my wife.”
My heart stopped beating. “Your wife?”
“If you’ll have me,” he said simply.
“I’ll have you,” I answered, just as simply.
He pulled me up, and we were kneeling face-to-face now. I swear I could see all the mysteries of the universe glinting in his eyes. “You’re mine now, Christine. I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours,” I said, without hesitation.
He smiled with tender triumph. “And I’m yours,” he whispered just before his lips claimed mine with a kiss so gentle and so possessive, my heart began to pound like a
cata
drum, and my senses began to dance.
Eventually, Reid helped me to my feet, and with his arm firmly around me for support, I went to meet my father. As the fire behind us died to embers, I thought I heard Mama Vinnea’s lyrical voice whispering through the trees:
“The dreams tell you what you need to know. Listen to them.”
I knew I always would.
Discover
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eISBN-13: 978-1-4603-6153-5
The Seventh Night
Copyright © 1993 by Marilyn Medlock Amann
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