Sugar Roux Voodoo Katalina Leon
New Orleans, 1834. Lark La Beau is a green-eyed beauty and respected beneficent voodoo priestess with the sometimes uncooperative gift of clairvoyance. Captain Valcour Curry is a debonair, larger-than-life buccaneer with ambition to burn and a taste for fine things. Following a whirlwind romance with Lark, he disappears at sea, leaving Lark with a riverboat and a child to rear—alone. A guilty act of piracy causes Valcour to fall victim to a shapeshifting magician who practices the dark art of soul-swapping. For five years Valcour has been enslaved as an emotionless zombie with no memory of his loved ones or past. From dusk to dawn he is cursed to toil in the cane fields while the evil magician uses his soul to lure women and have his brutal way with them. Lark will risk hell and journey to the oppressive Broken Oak Plantation to break the curse. It’s a terrifying place. Her only tools to call Valcour’s lost soul back to life are voodoo and the sensual power of love.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Sugar Roux Voodoo ISBN 9781419934162 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Sugar Roux Voodoo Copyright © 2011 Katalina Leon Edited by Mary Moran Cover art by Syneca Electronic book publication April 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
SUGAR ROUX VOODOO Katalina Leon
Dedication To C. Drake, thank you, sweetheart, for all your interest, patience and understanding. Your ideas and conversations about zombies were invaluable to me. XXOO Katalina Leon.
Author’s Note This book was written as fictional entertainment. Sugar Roux Voodoo contains no real voodoo, only voodoo-like flavoring. Beneficent voodoo and the Amé Enchanger are purely creations of the author’s imagination. No infringement or offense was intended toward the Voodun and Santeria religions.
Katalina Leon
Chapter One
Mississippi River, New Orleans, October 1834 Lark reluctantly picked up the sad, little bundle of tattered fabric, human hair and tiny animal skulls and handed it back to her disappointed client. “I won’t do this and you’d regret it if I did.” She paused. “I know your heart’s broken, chere, but that sort of revenge is always wrong. I don’t do that kind of magic, so don’t ask.” A bitter frown creased the woman’s face as she accepted the rejected juju bundle into her hand. Lark allowed the disappointed woman a moment of silence to reflect. The riverboat’s massive paddlewheel thunked loudly against the murky water of the Mississippi as it slowly steamed upriver. The woman parted her lips to protest the returned bundle at the exact moment the shrill, double blast of the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen’s steam whistle blew and drowned out her words before she could even release them into the riverboat’s elegant parlor. Lark’s palm rose in the air, silently signaling the woman to hold her words until the whistle finished blasting. She reclined against the wingback chair, adorned with cypress armrests carved into the likeness of snarling lions’ heads. Her fingertips absently stroked against the lions’ polished heads as the whistles blew. She knew it was senseless to attempt to speak over them, so she waited. Lark’s head casually tilted against the nappy, red velvet upholstery as she silently studied the offensive little bundle in the woman’s hands. She drew a tense breath, knowing once again she had been misunderstood and placed in an uncomfortable situation. The whistle grew silent, but the lingering echo continued to ring in her ears. She leaned forward and gently confronted the woman. “Who told you I would do such a thing?” “N-no one.” The distraught woman stuttered. “Everyone knows your name. You’re the queen of the river. Your reputation is legend. I know you could do what I’ve asked. You’ve helped many others. Why won’t you help me?” Fresh tears trickled down the woman’s cheeks. “I’ve been wronged!” Lark rose slowly from the throne-like chair. Her aubergine satin dress and layers of crisp, horsehair crinoline crinkled softly as she stood. “I would never deliberately harm an innocent woman.” The woman scoffed. “She’s not innocent. I can assure you of that. She’s a rougecheeked-help-yourself hussy!”
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“I’m going to pour you a bourbon.” Lark spoke gently. “You’re going to drink it, and you and I are going to talk.” She walked to an elegant, glass cabinet and removed a slender, cut-crystal decanter of amber liquid and poured a generous slosh into a crystal goblet that caught the flickering candlelight. A splintered burst of tiny rainbows cast against the lacquered walls of the parlor. She ceremoniously handed the bourbon to the anxious woman. The woman eagerly accepted the goblet with narrowed eyes. “Did you cast a roux on this?” she asked hopefully. “Is the potion enchanted? Will this bring my man back?” Lark sadly shook her head. “No roux. It’s not enchanted potion, it’s just good bourbon.” The woman looked painfully disappointed but took a sip anyway. Her lips tensed against the bourbon, as if it burned. “I can find a way to pay you more if that’s the problem?” “It’s not the problem,” Lark spoke firmly. “I never charge anyone. The most I ask of others is that they do a kind service for someone else in need.” A dismissive frown darkened the woman’s face. “I’m the one in need.” She gulped the bourbon in a single swallow. A moment of embattled silence settled between the women. The riverboat’s massive paddlewheel churned slowly beyond the partially opened window, carrying a stream of cool, moist air into the overheated parlor suite. Lark’s fingers fussed with an errant hairpin and carefully tucked a falling curl back in place. Her glossy, chestnut-brown ringlets spilled over the crown of her head and spiraled past her shoulders. The woman slumped in the chair, sobbing quietly and slowly rocking back and forth. “Listen to me carefully.” Lark gazed at the teary-eyed woman fidgeting nervously before her. The woman had puffy, crimson rings surrounding her eyes from days of crying. Lark spoke calmly. “I don’t do the sort of magic you want with good reason—it ends up being bad for everyone—especially you.” Defiance and disappointment burned in the woman’s eyes. “How so? Who’s going to know?” “You must understand.” Lark delicately folded her hands across her heart. “I’m a sworn beneficent. I don’t hurt no one—ever. It is against my code of duty.” She paused. “I must warn you, seeking revenge against the woman who stole your man will most likely harm you. I strongly advise you abandon such plans.” The woman bit down on her fist in anguish. “I don’t want her to suffer—much. I just want her dead! I want my man back. He’s my man. I had him first. Why won’t you help me?” Lark moved closer to the woman and placed her hand on her shoulder. “Chere, she didn’t make your man leave you, he left on his own for his own reasons.”
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The woman glanced up at Lark in utter desperation. “It’s unjust. I gave that man my youth, my heart and my trust. There must be something you can do?” Lark slowly shook her head. “I wish there was, but love doesn’t work that way. It’s often unfair and others are always free to do as they like. It’s not right, but that’s the way it is.” Lark leaned closer. “Can I tell you a secret? If you can forgive him and allow your heart to heal, you can be happy again, and everyone loves a happy person who knows how to forgive. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if a better man with a loyal heart came into your life and filled the empty space.” The woman looked appalled. “I don’t want another man. I want my man. I gave him everything—he owes me!” “I agree, he does owe you, but most likely it’s a debt you’ll never have the satisfaction of being repaid. You have to be brave and walk on without him.” The woman collapsed in tears. “I’m afraid of being without him. Even when it wasn’t good, at least I knew I belonged to him and I had some idea of what the future held. Now I’ve got nothing!” Lark gently patted the woman’s wild head of unkempt hair. Obviously, the woman had done nothing to care for herself in recent days. “I understand. I really do. I’ve had a man I loved more than my life leave me.” She walked toward a bureau, opened a narrow drawer and pulled out a cherrywood-handled, boar-bristle hairbrush. She held the brush up for the woman to see. “May I?” The woman seemed preoccupied in her despair and silently nodded yes. “Miss La Beau, I’m sorry for coming to you like this. I know I’m a mess.” “It’s all right. Now and then we all fall down and get caught in wrong ideas.” Lark slowly approached the woman and carefully began to brush the tangles from her hair as if she were a neglected child. “Let’s talk and begin to clean up the mess.” The woman closed her eyes and looked as if she was drinking in the affectionate gesture. She sighed softly as Lark brushed her hair smooth. Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “What kind of man would leave a woman like you? You have everything. He must be a fool to leave you for another.” “He didn’t leave me for another woman.” Lark’s words sounded crisp and more rushed than intended. “He left me for the sea. He loved life on the sea, and I knew the ocean was a more exciting and generous mistress than I could ever be. Believe me when I say I know something of these matters. I’ve been abandoned too and had to walk on by myself.” The woman struggled for words. “But you’re beautiful, rich and you have power. What was he looking for?” Lark shrugged. “Who knows, perhaps more of everything? I’m not sure he knew when he had enough, so he kept going.” She started to hum softly as she brushed the woman’s hair. The soft humming slowly escalated to a few sweet notes.
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“What are you singing?” the woman asked quietly. “It’s so beautiful I can almost name the tune…” “It’s not a real song. I just sing soft notes and make up the tune as I go. I never sing the same song twice. This one is your song.” Lark continued to sing in a deliberately hushed voice that forced the woman to listen carefully. By the time the tangles were brushed free, the woman’s brow had relaxed and she looked almost peaceful. “Do you feel better? You look better.” She smiled. The woman nodded. “I do feel better.” “I have to warn you, the feeling of peace isn’t going to last. Pretty soon you’re going to be angry again.” She walked back to the bureau and removed a tiny sachet of herbs with a bitter fragrance from the drawer. Lark returned to the woman’s side and handed it to her. “Keep this close to your heart.” Her eyes widened. “The sachet does have a roux on it and has big magic. When you feel yourself getting angry, tap the sachet and release a bit of its fragrance, remind yourself that you’re a good person with a good heart, and then do something kind for someone else. As the bitter fragrance fades so will your anger, and it can happen sooner than you think.” The woman immediately stuffed it into her bodice and gave it a light tap. Lark slipped her arms around the woman’s shoulders and gently encouraged her to rise. “You should go now.” The woman rose and slowly walked toward the parlor door. “Thank you, Miss La Beau. Are you sure I don’t owe you something?” “There’s no debt.” Lark opened the door for the woman and watched as she walked through the riverboat’s broad gambling hall with its gently swaying crystal chandeliers and baize-covered gaming tables filled with throngs of elegantly dressed, chronically unlucky yet ever hopeful players. A lean, young man with dull, blond hair and an intense gleam in his eye looked up from one of the card tables and studied her with focused interest. His gaze was so demanding and so direct, a shiver ran down her spine. She stepped back into her private parlor and shut the door to escape his consuming stare. “What’s wrong, honey?” Lark leapt in alarm. “Oh it’s you! Mathilde, you startled me. How do you come and go so quietly? I swear I never hear your footsteps.” The elderly woman smiled, crinkling the soft, cocoa-colored skin around her eyes. “It’s an old beneficent voodoo priestess trick. It takes forever to master. You don’t hear my footsteps because I float! My feet don’t touch the ground.” She laughed sweetly. Lark laughed with her. “I’m looking forward to getting old so I can know half of what you do.” “I’ve been teaching you the service, as fast as you can learn it. You still have a few big lessons ahead, but those lessons have to come at the right time. You can’t force them. Besides, you’re still a young woman and you learn fast. I have no regrets about
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bringing you to the Goddess Oshun as my honorary daughter. You’ve made me very proud. You’re the queen of the river, but someday you could be Big Mama Oshun Voodoo Queen.” Lark shook her head in denial. “No, it’s too much responsibility. I’ll never be that strong.” “I think you might be wrong about that. The goddess chooses her favorites freely. Age, color and social standing have nothing to do with it. The goddess is looking for heart. Any one of us could be the next Big Mama, and I suspect it’s you.” Mathilde pointed to the hairbrush in Lark’s hand. “I see you had to bring out the big magic.” “I had to use the hairbrush.” A note of defensiveness crept into her voice. “That woman came in here so angry and hurt. She asked me to kill a rival. She didn’t even care how the deed was done or what it might do to her soul for asking such a thing.” Mathilde nodded. “I agree you were right to use the hairbrush, just don’t bring it out too often. Its magic is too strong. Be careful, that woman could become a slave to you, begging daily to be brushed like a pet. She could lose her personal will in exchange for a few minutes of comfort. I warn you, beneficent magic can start the process but people must heal themselves. Give them enough to be helpful but not so much as to numb them. Let them be strong enough to carry their pain. It’s the only way that works.” “I know you’re right, Mathilde. You’re always right. I could never find a better mama or teacher than you. It’s hard to believe you just found me on the river docks one day. It feels as if we were always meant to be.” “Maybe we were. Fate is strange. I had no children and you were alone in the world, a little, freckle-faced girl with green eyes. I tried hard to find your family but nobody claimed you, so I kept you as my own. Everybody knew you weren’t my real daughter, but I think they were wrong. We made sense. I had something to teach and you had the gift. Your gift of clarity and seeing the future clearly is a great gift but one that must be managed with care. The gift wants to grow within you. I can feel it, but you’re fighting it so hard. Why are you fighting it, Lark?” “It’s a gift I don’t want. It’s failed me so often, and maybe that’s because I really don’t want to know what’s coming.” “You can’t fight it forever. You should learn to work with it. Befriend your gift, don’t run from it. Your gift was meant to serve a higher good.” Lark wanted to avoid the topic and moved toward the side door. “Is Darby asleep? Maybe I’ll slip him a good night kiss.” Mathilde stopped her. “He’s sound asleep, chere. I just tucked him in. He played hard all day long and he’s tired. Do you want to know what he did today?” “Will it make me angry?” she whispered cautiously. “Probably.” Mathilde’s dark eyes widened. “Darby boarded another small boat full of children and pretended to take them hostage at stick point. Once the other children
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had been verbally dressed down with some very salty words, he went through their pockets, collecting candy and coins.” She gasped in shock. “He was just playing. The kids were laughing the entire time and Darby gave everything back.” Lark blanched. “I certainly didn’t teach him that. Dear lord, it’s in his blood. If you were there, why didn’t you stop him? I don’t want my boy playing pirate.” “I didn’t stop him because he was happy and he seemed so natural doing it.” “I don’t want him to grow up to be like…” Her tongue stalled. She couldn’t even bring herself to speak it aloud and make it real. “His father, Valcour?” Lark’s lips sneered. “Valcour calls himself a big chief, buccaneer entrepreneur, which is just a fancy title for thief. He willfully chose piracy over a decent life with us. I hope he’s enjoying his expensive French cognac, fine, brocade coats from Paris and who knows what else. The man assuredly knew how to spend money. I wonder if he’s lost his good looks yet? He certainty had me fooled. That man was nothing but a bright peacock of vanity.” “Honey, you’re making a hypocrite of yourself. Maybe you should tuck one of those bitter herb sachets inside your corset and give it a tap? Don’t judge Valcour. He is what he is, and he was completely honest with you about being an adventurer. He never said he was anything but.” She paused. “You’re a gambling riverboat voodoo queen. Plenty of folks think you live a shady life too. I know and you know Valcour wasn’t perfect, but at heart he’s a good man and impossible not to love.” “You’re just loyal to him because he always agreed with you.” “Yes, I’m a loyal friend. Valcour was a smart, generous man, quick to spot quality and opportunity, and you have a perfect copy of him asleep in the other room.” “There’s nothing to talk about. I wanted Valcour to stay. It was his decision to go pirating. He’s doesn’t even know he’s got a son. He never bothered to check back with us, and I’m beginning to think it’s just as well. I wouldn’t take him back even if he did show up and beg.” Mathilde rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s a lie. A man like Valcour comes once in a lifetime. You can call him a bad man, but he was the right man for you. He delivered you into the adult world. I haven’t seen anybody else even come close to winning your heart—and there’s a river full of eager men out there trying. You need to follow your own advice and forgive Valcour for being who he was and remember what was good about him.” A soft knock on the parlor door interrupted them. “Who’s there?” Lark called as she silently shooed Mathilde through the side door of the parlor. “It’s Miss Marietta. Am I too early?” 11
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“No, sweetie.” Lark hurried toward the parlor door, realizing she had completely forgotten she had another appointment this evening. Suddenly, she felt distracted and tired and found herself wishing she didn’t have to go through with it. She slowly opened the parlor door on the freshly scrubbed and beaming face of Miss Marietta. “Good evening, Miss La Beau.” Miss Marietta politely curtsied. Her wide hoop skirt completely filled the doorway. “Thank you for seeing me tonight, and please don’t tell anyone I was here, especially my mother.” Her fair cheeks flushed. “You know, drinking, gambling, loose behavior. There’s much gossip that the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen is a questionable place for an unescorted lady to visit.” “I understand.” Lark paused. Though she was the wealthy and esteemed owner of the grandest riverboat on the Mississippi and gentlemen politely tipped their hats to her on the streets of New Orleans when she passed, she also knew judgmental ladies gossiped and scowled behind her back. “Why would you even think your mother would speak to me?” Miss Marietta looked terribly uncomfortable. “You’re right. I suppose no one will ever know I was here.” She laughed nervously. “Actually, I’ve quite enjoyed being aboard the Queen this evening. I can’t believe the ladies say such bad things about it. My peach compote with brandy was just scrumptious.” She crowded inside the parlor before Lark invited her. The lean man with the intense expression slowly rose from the card table and approached. He lurked close to the parlor door, looking at Lark intently as if he meant to speak to her or pounce. Lark felt an intense burst of anxiety just from looking at the man. Her stomach flipflopped. Her reaction to him was so strong she simply didn’t know what to do. Speaking to him at this moment was out of the question and she certainly didn’t care to hear what he might have to say. She sensed his news was dour, so she shut the door in his face and bolted it. Her heart pounded a strange rhythm as she turned to face Miss Marietta. “What can I do for you?” “Are you all right, Miss La Beau? You look pale!” “I’m fine, thank you.” She didn’t sound fine, she sounded shaken. Miss Marietta’s guileless eyes scanned every detail of the parlor. Her jaw gaped. “It’s absolutely lovely in here. Bright. Cheerful. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps juju bundles, stinky herbs and dead things staring back at me.” Her shoulders relaxed. “This could be the drawing room of any of the best plantations.” She glanced up in awe. “That is a stunning cut-crystal chandelier.” “Thank you. It was a gift from a friend in Bohemia.” “My goodness.” Miss Marietta turned in a slow circle, taking everything in. “I can’t wait to tell the ladies how wrong they were.” Lark smiled politely. “I know you’re not here to admire the decor. What can I do for you?” 12
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Miss Marietta glanced downward. “You may have heard, I’m newly engaged to Julian Vandersmith. He’s a wonderful man!” She gushed with forced enthusiasm. “He’s doesn’t interrupt with mindless chatter during church sermons. He sits stoically in respectful silence while I speak. He’s so refined, even his socks and handkerchiefs are perfectly coordinated with his trousers every day, and he never laughs with his mouth open. He just chuckles quietly with closed lips.” “Sounds delightful, I’m sure you’ll be very happy.” “Maybe.” In her nervousness, Miss Marietta gracelessly plopped herself on Lark’s curved, crimson-upholstered chaise. Her voluminous hoop skirts tilted and snapped upward, momentarily swallowing her face behind tiers of fluffy fabric, exposing her pantaloons. “Pardon me!” Her hands frantically battled the cumbersome skirts back into place, but they immediately popped back up. “Damn!” She gasped at her own outburst as she fought to subdue the skirt that refused to stay down. “Please excuse me for swearing.” Lark bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh at Miss Marietta’s comical struggle. “Don’t give it a thought, dear.” When she emerged from beneath the mound of crinoline, Miss Marietta’s face was bright pink with embarrassment. She leaned forward on her elbows, anchoring the skirt. “I shall endeavor to compose myself and move beyond this beast of a skirt.” She drew a nervous breath. Her voice dropped to a solemn whisper. “My mammy told me you have the gift, that you can see the future. My mammy believes in you. That’s why I took the risk of coming here. I’ll pay you any price or do anything you ask if you will do the mirror of clarity card spread for me.” Her gaze sharpened. “I know you’ve done it for others, and I need you to do it tonight. I have to be sure I’m making the right choice.” “I’ll assume you’re having doubts about Mister Julian?” “Mister Julian is well-bred, well-to-do and absolutely wonderful.” Miss Marietta paused uncomfortably. “But there is another…” “I see.” Lark nodded her head. “I have to warn you, the mirror of clarity reading is a difficult card spread to do. It will be draining on both of us, and you may not like what you hear. For this reason, I rarely perform the card spread. A glimpse of the future can be very disturbing. So please reconsider, Miss Marietta—are you certain about this?” “Are you going to do it?” Miss Marietta’s eyes lit with delight. “I’m certain I want to know!” “You understand I will ask a gift of service from you?” “Ask anything, Miss La Beau. My daddy’s a wealthy man. He’s not obsessed with dynastic matchmaking like my mama. He just wants me to be happy.” “I didn’t ask for your money, Miss Marietta, I asked for your time and trouble.” Miss Marietta piously folded her hands over her heart. “I promise I will visit the Catahoula Parish orphanage and buy every child a new pair of shoes.” 13
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“Lovely start, don’t forget to sit down with the children for an afternoon and teach them something—anything. I don’t care what.” A broad smile lit Miss Marietta’s delicate face. “So you’re going to do it?” Lark walked toward the bureau and picked up a set of brass skeleton keys and carried them toward an ornately inlaid ebony cabinet that stood on the carved paws of lions and opened the folding doors. Her fingertips sought out the delicate mechanism that triggered a hidden lock. A second compartment quietly slid open. “Oh my, a secret drawer.” Miss Marietta’s eyes widened. “This is so exciting. Would you prefer I avert my gaze?” She stared onward in rapt fascination. “You’re fine. Look all you like.” Lark knew the roux she had placed on her accoutrements cabinet was so powerful there was simply no way a casual vandal would ever get past the first protective layer of magic. Any overly curious or unauthorized person approaching the cabinet was in for a nasty surprise. Their fingertips would burn terribly and their eyes would water and itch incessantly until they found the good sense to abandon the invasion and step away. Miss Marietta craned her neck in an attempt to see every tiny movement Lark made. “Aren’t you afraid someone might walk in here and steal from your cabinet?” “No, not at all,” Lark answered confidently as she removed a rosewood case heavily embellished with carved scrollwork and symbols and inserted the largest of the brass skeleton keys into the lock. She didn’t want to go the trouble of explaining to Miss Marietta the carefully designed system of locks and keys were there to keep power in, not keep the curious out. There was real power inside this box that generations of beneficent voodoo queens had contributed to. A shiver of anticipation raced up her arm as the brass key slid inside the lock. As the key turned, the tumblers inside the lock dropped and played a brief but sweet chirping bird song. The hinge of the case released and the rosewood box opened on its own. A scant whiff of rose oil filled the air. She carefully lifted a very old, very powerful deck of tarot cards from the velvet-lined box. “I’m going to use the Tarot de Marseilles. This deck of cards came from France a long time ago and many powerful voodoo queens have used them. Are you absolutely certain you still want to see your future?” Miss Marietta gulped hard and nodded. “All right then, we’re ready to start.” Lark paced across the cabin, preparing to center her thoughts for the reading. She hummed softly as she slowly shuffled the cards in her hands, noting every card felt different. Each card had its own energy and personality, and she could actually feel the cards waking up in her hands and begin to speak. Suddenly, the cards felt cool and heavy in her hands. A somber premonition washed over her that this reading was going to be very sad, that indeed bad news would be delivered to the eager Miss Marietta, and Lark dreaded it. 14
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The riverboat’s shrill steam whistle blew, signaling the boat was turning around on the wide Mississippi and chugging downriver toward New Orleans. They would be home within the hour and ready to drop off or take on new gamblers and cargo. Lark sat on the end of the chaise, facing Miss Marietta, and delicately crossed her slender ankles beneath her glossy dress. Bad feelings and tearful emotions rose in her throat. She glanced suspiciously at the cards. The Tarot de Marseilles had never caused her such distress in the past. They had always been her allies, but now the cards were becoming a misery to hold and she longed to set them down and be done for the evening. A strange anxiety rose inside. Lark halfheartedly shuffled the cards with increasingly clumsy fingers. “I have a clear picture of Mister Julian Vandersmith in my mind. Now tell me a little about the other.” Miss Marietta seemed oblivious to Lark’s anxiety. Her eyes sparkled with rapture as she spoke. “I first met him two months ago at the Marston plantation during the harvest ball. It was a beautiful August evening with a full moon lighting the night sky. Mister Julian was feeling unwell and left the party to rest.” She sighed. “Julian hates dancing.” “Who did you meet at the ball?” “I’m sorry. I forgot to say his name, didn’t I? For some reason I do that a lot. I think of him constantly and I see his face clearly in my mind, but I can’t remember to say his name. Sometimes it feels as if the man and the name don’t belong together. Isn’t that peculiar?” Her fingers reached for a tiny gold locket hanging around her throat and tugged against it in agitation. “Anyway, I met a charming planter named Braeme Payne from the Broken Oak Plantation.” Lark personally knew almost every landowner on the river. “I’ve never heard of the Broken Oak Plantation.” “Neither had I. Mister Payne told me he grows sugar cane, and for a man I had just met, he flirted with me quite aggressively. At first, I was shocked by his forwardness but quickly found myself drawn to him. Before I could blink, I was dancing in his arms and flirting back.” Miss Marietta’s fingertips absently swirled across the locket in tiny circles. “Mister Payne has a deep, smoky voice with a slight touch of patois that makes you want to close your eyes and dream. It’s simply irresistible to the senses. Even though we’d just met that night at the ball, he said I was special and wanted me to be part of his future. God help me, I wanted to believe him. He insisted I remember his name and plantation because—” She gasped nervously. “And I found this to be very forward indeed—he told me I would soon be coming to see him. It wasn’t phrased as a polite invitation. It felt like a command I had no choice to ignore. “Braeme actually told me I was to be his and that the marriage between Mister Vandersmith and me would never take place. He said so with certainty. I was shocked and strangely intrigued by his comment. As we danced, he deliberately took hold of my
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wrist and squeezed it so firmly my fingertips tingled. I was surprised at the reaction his aggressive gesture provoked. Deep down, I was secretly thrilled to be claimed and held captive by this man, and it worried me. “He whispered in my ear that he wanted me body and soul and expected me to follow a few simple instructions. I was stunned but also excited by his suggestion. No man had ever pursued me so hard. I felt a twinge of shame for even considering his suggestions but I was interested. He firmly demanded I tell no one about this and come to him at the Broken Oak. The whole idea of running off alone with this man to a strange place was so exciting I wanted to do it that moment, but I was afraid of what others might think. “I reminded him we had just met and I hardly knew his name. As we danced, I actually drew a blank on his name, and for the life of me couldn’t recall it. I was so flustered and embarrassed. It was as if his handsome face and name didn’t match at all. “When he realized I couldn’t recall his name, his eyes flashed with impatience. I’ll never forget the turbulent look on his face. His grip on me tightened until my breath caught. He said his name was easy to remember because it rhymed with his business venture, cane−Payne. He wanted me to remember ‘Payne’ and think of him. He insisted I look into his eyes and slowly repeat his name several times so he could be sure I knew it. As I did so, I felt as if I were floating within a strange dream and no longer dancing in a crowded ballroom. He also implied I should get used to doing as he said.” Miss Marietta blushed furiously as her fingers tugged nervously at the locket. “I read all sorts of improper implications into his statement that made my heart reel with dark desires I didn’t even know I possessed. Suddenly I wanted things, my body desired things I hadn’t ever considered. I knew I could never look at mild Mister Julian again without comparing the two. “Mister Payne has a very forceful personality. I can’t stress that strongly enough.” Miss Marietta’s tiny slippered feet fidgeted nervously on the edge of the chaise. “When Braeme’s in the room, he’s impossible to ignore, and lord, he is handsome! If the devil were setting a trap to catch women unaware, Mister Payne would be the ideal bait.” She giggled tensely. “I think I would say yes to almost anything he asked of me.” Lark was almost certain a fortune hunter in need of capital was playing on the naїve Miss Marietta’s emotions. She strongly suspected no such place as the Broken Oak Plantation existed. She was almost convinced it was a ruse. Her fingertips slid across the cards, allowing a strong mental image of Braeme Payne to enter. “Go on, tell me a little more about this gentleman.” “He’s very tall, solidly built with broad shoulders. Except for his fine clothing, he could easily be mistaken for a man who works hard for a living. Braeme uses a crispscented French cologne. It’s light, not cloying, and he’s very nice to be near. He has an unfussy, down-to-earth manliness about him and wears his dark hair long and wavy. “When Braeme took my hand on the dance floor, I immediately noticed his fingers were rough, not soft and pale like Mister Julian’s. I’ll admit the earthiness of his touch
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carried a certain thrill.” Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “There’s a wildness to him. I can see it in his eyes, which are a stormy blue-gray. He looked at me as if I had no right to keep secrets from him—like he already owned me. “I get the chills just talking about him!” A tense giggle burst from Miss Marietta’s lips. “I sense Braeme could turn his back on comfort and wealth and throw himself wholeheartedly into adventure. He’s all man. There’s a confidence about him that he’s lived a big life and has many stories to tell.” She paused. “When I was dancing with him and he pressed his solid body against me, I found myself thinking all kinds of things an unmarried young lady shouldn’t be thinking.” Miss Marietta’s agitated fingers tugged so hard against the locket the slender chain snapped. The locket fell onto her lap and opened. A tiny piece of drab-green debris fell out. “What is that?” Lark pointed to the unidentified bit of spongy fluff. “Oh no!” Miss Marietta stared in horror. “I’ve ruined it! Braeme gave me the locket and told me not to take it off. I promised him…” She fussed helplessly with the broken chain. “Now what am I going to do? He’ll see I’ve broken it when he comes to visit me during the next full moon. He’ll think I don’t care. What have I done?” Her face collapsed on the verge of tears. “A jeweler can easily repair the chain, don’t worry about it.” Lark tried to calm the distraught young woman. Her fingers drifted toward the curious bit of greenish-brown plant matter. “Don’t!” Miss Marietta snapped. “No one but me is supposed to touch it.” She jealously gathered the bit of debris into her hands and quickly tucked it inside the locket, snapped it closed and stuffed the damaged locket inside her bodice. Miss Marietta’s quaking voice hushed. “Mister Payne presented me with this locket at the end of the harvest ball. In the dark of morning, after the band stopped playing, Braeme told me he wanted to give me a gift and escorted me into a moonlit rose garden. He led me behind a bower heavy with climbing wisteria and unclasped the locket from around his own throat and put it around mine. The locket was still warm from his skin when he placed it around my neck. I felt so strange in that moment, as if I were under a spell. It almost felt as if the locket were alive and eager to cling to me. Braeme’s warm fingers and the delicate chain caressed my throat and sent excited, little shivers racing over my body.” She sighed. “Braeme told me there was something very important inside the locket that would tie me to him and only I was to touch it. He said it was a bit of lichen from a special oak tree on his property.” Miss Marietta’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that an odd gift for a man to give?” “Actually, it sounds quite interesting.” Lark mulled the locket in her mind with genuine curiosity. The physical description of Mister Payne sounded uncomfortably like Valcour Curry. Suspicion grew. She knew she shouldn’t ask but she had to. “Did he kiss you?”
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Miss Marietta blanched. “No, but I was burning for him to try. I knew he wanted to. He took one of my arms and pulled me against his chest. At the exact moment I was closing my eyes and lifting my face to his, my mammy walked into the garden, calling after me. I wanted no gossip reaching Mister Vandersmith. I leapt away from Mister Payne, knowing I was going to get dragged home like a naughty child. I knew what I had done was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself. Part of me couldn’t wait to see Braeme again, and I impulsively invited him to our house for Sunday supper on the pretense he and my daddy could talk cane.” “Did Mister Payne come to supper?” “No. I didn’t see him again for weeks. I thought of him incessantly, even dreamed about him nightly, but I kept forgetting his first name—it drove me mad. All I remembered was cane and Payne. God, it was frustrating. I just wanted to see him again. The longing for him grew worse. I’d wake up from a sound sleep with my body on fire and have to lift my nightgown and let my fingertips stray between my thighs to give myself some relief, but I couldn’t get any. The more I touched myself and thought of Braeme the hotter I burned. I lived in a constant state of agitation. I couldn’t bear to lace my corset or have crisp, cotton bloomers touch my skin. Every touch no matter how fleeting or harsh reminded me of Mister Payne.” A flustered mix of emotions flashed crossed Miss Marietta’s face. Her fingers tapped nervously against the upholstery. “I can tell you these things, can’t I? I couldn’t possibly be the only one to suffer this way? I’m sure you’ve heard all this before. People must come to you every day with their troubles… “I’ve felt tortured these past weeks and I have no one else I dare tell. I just haven’t been myself.” Miss Marietta leaned closer. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Mister Payne fills my every waking thought, and my body burns from obsessing on him. I’ve never been this way. It’s not like me! Is this normal? Do other women go through this? If I even allow my fingertips to graze across my nipples or lightly stroke the wetness between my thighs, I can succeed in exciting myself to a fever pitch, but I can’t get any real relief. The desire is never quenched. My need for release roars back to life even stronger than before. It’s pleasure to the point of pain. My obsession won’t give me a moment’s peace. “Do you know what I mean?” Miss Marietta’s golden brows bore an unusually dark expression. “My thoughts wander toward Mister Payne, and I can’t help thinking of his big hands holding me, dominating me—taking pleasure in me.” She winced. “It’s hard to admit this, I know it’s wrong, but I want to be his slave. I want him to claim me and use me any way he desires. I dream of it, and my body craves it. Lord help me, I want it bad. “I’m trapped in my desire for him. I can’t see past it. I have the thought caught in my mind that he is the only one who can free me. I eat little and barely sleep—I just lie awake, burning with a tense excitement that doesn’t die down. Some days it actually hurts. One thought leads to another, my desire for Mister Payne builds and I’m scared I’d say yes to anything just to get some relief. 18
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“I began to wonder if indeed I should inquire where Broken Oak Plantation was and quietly go to him and offer myself, but I thought it too unseemly and somehow restrained myself. I have to be honest, I almost went, but only one thing stopped me.” “Did you find out where the Broken Oak was located?” “No!” Miss Marietta’s eyes bulged. “Nobody seems to have heard of the damn place.” Her face reddened. “Excuse the cussing.” Lark’s suspicions grew stronger as the shuffling cards quickly flipped through her fingers. The card Le Bateleur, the magician, stuck to her fingertips. She shook the card loose and hurriedly reshuffled it into the deck. “But you did meet Mister Payne again?” “Yes, Miss La Beau, I did.” Miss Marietta’s shoulders sagged. “Almost one month ago to the day, I was walking a short distance alone in the French Quarter, on my way to a dinner party with friends. My coachman was parking the carriage in a stable nearby. It wasn’t completely dark but the sun had set and the sky was purple. A full moon rose over the river. A man called to me from a dark alleyway. “It was Mister Payne.” Miss Marietta spoke in hushed tones as if she were whispering in church. “He wore a beautiful brocade coat the same color as the evening sky. I walked toward him, smiling and overjoyed to see him, but his expression remained stern and cold. He said he was angry I had not sought him out—that I had left him waiting. “I wanted to give him a light kiss and speak with him, but when I approached close enough, he firmly grabbed my hand and pulled me against him, trapping me in his arms. In a jiff, he twirled me around and slammed my back against a brick wall and kissed me in a way that was almost punishing. I gasped for air. I think he deliberately meant to drive the breath out of me. “I was dizzy from how fast everything happened. His warm breath and demanding mouth flooded over me. It was harsh, but there was a commanding fineness underlying his approach I secretly liked. His tongue parted my lips. His kisses were hard, his body crushed against me, and frankly, I was unprepared for this level of forced intimacy. I got a little panicky when his arms brutally pinned me against the wall and he thrust his knee between my legs to firmly push them apart. He took hold of the fabric of my dress and lifted it to my thighs. “I froze. His lips hovered near my ear, and in a cool, completely detached voice, he demanded to fuck me. The way he said it made me feel as if I had no choice. I tried to pull away but couldn’t. I was shocked, embarrassed and I’ll admit, deeply thrilled. “I protested I didn’t know what he meant. Mister Payne called me a liar and insisted I knew exactly what he was talking about. His warm tongue flicked the edge of my throat and he nipped me, hard. My flesh pebbled. Then he whispered in a very harsh voice that he knew what I wanted and what I’d been dreaming of. He told me I was his slut and I was going to get it right there in the alleyway. I actually started to shake. He was very blunt and said, ‘You’re going to be my sweet little whore and do everything I ask of you.’
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“His hand trapped mine and forced me to fondle the hard bulge in his trousers. ‘Take it out.’ His eyes narrowed at me as if he were angry. He forced me to unlace his breeches. ‘Hurry!’ he scolded me for being clumsy and slow. The moment the laces were loosed, he sprang into my hands, hot and heavy. ‘Have you ever sucked a man’s cock or teased his sac with your tongue?’ His lips smiled but his eyes were cruel. ‘I’ll bet you have, little whore,’ he taunted me. ‘Go ahead kneel on the ground and suck. You know you want it.’” Miss Marietta fanned her face in agitation. “I’m ashamed to say I did it. The past weeks of wanting and getting no relief had driven me mad. I couldn’t think for myself. When Mister Payne ordered me to act, I did. I knelt right there in a grubby alleyway and did what he demanded. I took hold of the thick shaft and sucked him between my lips. I enjoyed being ordered to kneel before him. I knew it was wrong but I wanted to do it because it was forbidden and I was eager to do anything that would give us both pleasure. “I slowly toyed with the thick shaft, squeezing and stroking it. My other hand caressed his heavy sac and gently tugged downward. He pushed his cock deeper into my mouth even bumping against the back of my throat. I groaned in panic. I thought he was going to choke me, but I loved the taste of his cock and the salty musk of his skin flooding across my tongue. I drew back to get a little air and lazily sucked on the head of his cock, losing myself in the new sensations. “‘Suck the balls.’ He lightly tapped the side of my cheek to get my attention. ‘Be thorough and really suck them,’ he ordered me. ‘Slick them with your wet lips. Hold them against the heat of your mouth, tease them with the tip of your tongue and tug downward. I want to watch you crowd your pretty little face between my legs and suck.’ His eyes glittered in the darkness. ‘I’m teaching you to please me because you’re mine now. From now on, when I ask you to kneel, you will—even if others are watching.’ “I was offended and excited to be doing something I knew the other ladies in my circle wouldn’t want to do.” Miss Marietta hesitated and drew a deep breath. “Miss La Beau, are you sure you want to hear all this? It gets worse…” Lark didn’t want to hear any more, it hurt. She felt cold inside. Except for the brutal behavior, the clothing, charisma and physicality of this man sounded just like Valcour Curry. Perhaps this was what he had become? Some self-punishing part of her heart had to know more. Against her better judgment, her lips parted. “Go on, Miss Marietta. Nothing shocks me. I’m a child of the Quarter and I’ve seen it all.” “He didn’t think I was sucking hard enough, so he thrust his cock deep into my mouth and held it there, almost gagging me until my eyes watered and I began to whimper for air. He finally pulled back and said, ‘Now you know I mean it.’ His hands took hold of the delicate laces on the front of my gown and ripped them away. ‘Open your dress,’ he ordered. ‘I want to watch your milky-white tits sway while you’re on your knees. Pull them out so anyone walking past will think you’re just like any other whore in the Quarter sucking cock on her knees.’ 20
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“Mister Payne made me kneel in the alley, with the bodice of my dress gaping wide and my breasts spilling out, and it still wasn’t enough to stop me. My body was on fire. I went on sucking his cock, so eager to please him. He casually reached down to toy with my nipples and firmly tugged on them until they ached, and I loved it. His palms lightly slapped my breasts and made them jiggle and feel heated and full. He whispered, ‘If I had a horse crop in my hand right now, I’d give those plump tits a stinging little lick of leather until the nipples turned bright pink, then I’d suck on them hard and there’d be nothing you could do about it.’ He got so excited, he took hold of the sides of my head and pumped faster, threatening to ‘fuck my face’ and he did. “His hips rocked against my lips. He got wild, grunted and made raw, uninhibited, animal sounds, and just when I thought he was about to finish, he pulled out of my mouth and yanked me upward by the elbow. My legs were shaking and I nearly toppled. I was very disorientated and gasped as I tried to cover my bare breasts with my hands. ‘Don’t,’ he demanded. ‘Those bare nipples are going to be rubbing against a rough brick wall in a minute, so turn around.’ “I was terrified but also excited and dripping wet and ready for him to take me. God help me, I couldn’t wait for him to do it. I turned around and faced the wall but glanced over my shoulder the entire time, reluctant to take my eyes off him for even a second. I watched in horror as he fished his hand into his pocket and retrieved a tiny amber glass jar. He tugged the cork from the jar, showed me a tallowy paste and smiled cruelly. ‘Do you know what this is?’ I knew what it was but I shook my head. “‘It’s the end of your innocence. After tonight, you’ll fully belong to me. Do you understand? You’ll be my private pleasure whore and serve only me.’ “Braeme dipped his fingers into the jar, loaded them with tallow and began to liberally grease the head and shaft of his cock. I could see how excited he got just from greasing himself. A drop of bright fluid glistened at the tip that threatened to spill. ‘Lift your dress and press your naked tits to the wall.’ He spoke coolly. “I did as he asked. I lifted my dress. I pressed my weight against the wall. My nipples rasped against the rough brick. I wanted to pull away from it, but his broad hand immediately pinned my shoulder against the wall. “‘What is this? Don’t wear these anymore!’ His hand slapped my cotton pantaloons. My bottom burned from the slap. He seemed irate to see my pantaloons in his way. His greasy fingers took hold of the delicate fabric and viciously ripped them down the back seam, creating a convenient window for him to use. He was very aggressive, crowded close and thrust his body against me. His boots swiftly kicked my ankles apart. He whispered in my ear that he was going to fuck my ass right then and there. “I gasped. Chills rippled through me. It was a rough, dirty thing to demand of a lady in an alley and something I’ve certainly never considered. I was shocked, but my body reacted to him so strongly, I was suddenly eager to do it. I wanted him to take my ass and even hurt me a little. His fingers pushed the ripped pantaloons aside, baring a glimpse of my ass. His hands possessively cupped the curve of my buttocks and spread the cheeks. 21
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“I stood frozen as his big body pressed against me and his warm breath bathed the back of my neck. He ordered me to press my breasts against the wall. My peaked nipples rasped uncomfortably against the brick, but I did it just to get a little extra stimulation. The first moment I brushed against the cool, gritty texture of the brick, my nipples peaked so sharply they ached. I did feel a lick of shame when I imagined what I must look like at that moment, rubbing my bare breasts against a wall, my dress lifted to my waist and my pantaloons shredded, but I couldn’t stop myself. “For the first time in my life I didn’t feel like a lady at all, and I didn’t want to. I enjoyed the almost-painful sensation of lowering myself for him. He whispered in my ear, ‘Rub against the wall like a cat in heat and beg for it.’ My thoughts wandered and all I could think of in that moment was surrender and release. I started to beg, but I quickly realized he was just trying to distract me. “He pinned my shoulder to the wall, harder. I couldn’t move. The head of his greased cock abruptly prodded between the cheeks of my ass, demanding to enter. A pleased, low moan rose from deep in his throat. He sounded like a hungry animal growling over a fresh kill. I panicked, wagged my hips and tried to get away from him or at least slow him down, but I couldn’t. “He said almost proudly, ‘I’m thick. This is going to hurt.’ He thrust the head inside me but got no farther. I was so tense and surprised, I couldn’t breathe. He pushed harder to stretch me. The pain was searing. I bit my lip to avoid moaning too loudly and calling attention to our actions. I couldn’t bear for anyone to see me at that moment. His cock thrust harder, I held my breath, got dizzy and almost fainted. He called me his slutty little whore and few other dirty names, which I found strangely stirring then but I refuse to repeat them now. His cock slid deeper and started to move.” Miss Marietta sighed with resignation and lapsed into a long silence. Lark leaned forward. “What happened?” “My coachman walked in front of the alleyway and saw me standing there shaking. He was visibly alarmed by the tattered state of my dress and asked if I was all right. I wanted to scream at him in rage. I thought he was mad to ask such an obvious question. I started to make an excuse for Mister Payne, but when I turned, I saw he had vanished. He was nowhere near. I was standing alone in an alleyway wearing a torn dress, with my coachman looking at me with a horrified expression. Can you believe it? Mister Payne simply disappeared and left me standing there. Needless to say, I did not attend the dinner party. I went straight home.” Lark reached out and gently patted Miss Marietta’s hand. “I don’t need to use beneficent magic to know Mister Payne sounds like a disrespectful and possibly dangerous man. Personally, I’ve met this type of man before. It’s so easy to get swept away by passion and a charming exterior. Woman to woman, I advise you to let him go and get on with your life.” “I wish I could!” Miss Marietta gulped a quivering breath. “His face and the memory of his rough, commanding touch obsess me. I had a little taste of him and I’m sorry I did because now I want more. I can’t stop thinking about him. He treated me 22
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badly and I loved it. What’s wrong with me? My mind knows it’s wrong. I see all the hazards and I still want to be with him. I continue to wear the damn locket every day. I can’t eat, sleep or close my eyes without his face haunting my thoughts. Now I’m worried—is this what love feels like? If this is love, I don’t feel this way toward poor Mister Julian. I don’t know what to do.” Lark slowly shook her head. “It doesn’t sound like love to me, chere.” “Tomorrow night is the full moon, that’s when Mister Payne comes around. I don’t know when or where he’ll show up, but I have a strong feeling he will.” Miss Marietta pressed her hands together, as if fervently praying. “That first meeting at the harvest ball was romantic, thrilling and held so much promise. Our second meeting was difficult but intense. I’ve been dwelling nightly on what took place in the alley and what could have been. It’s impossible to describe what I felt at that time, and to my shame, I’m not at all sorry it happened. I just wish my coachman hadn’t come along and spoiled it. Isn’t that terrible? I would have gladly given myself to Mister Payne in an alley. My feelings toward him are so strong they frighten me. Please help me to know if I have any kind of future with him? Please tell me if he has any genuine feelings for me? I have to know.” The cards felt heavy in Lark’s hands. She had an eerie premonition the cards were trying to speak to her on her behalf, but she tamped those feelings down. She randomly pulled a card from the deck and gently set the first card facedown on the chaise. “This card represents the cour, the heart of the matter. It will give us a strong hint about what’s out of balance.” Lark slowly turned the card over. “La Papess, the high priestess. This card represents your virgin self—your women’s wisdom. It is a card of judgment. Unfortunately, the card is ill dignified—upside down. Perhaps there is something important in this matter you don’t yet understand? La Papess reversed carries a caution not to be nearsighted or lose common sense.” Miss Marietta huffed indignantly. “Is that what the card really means, or is that what you want to scold me with?” “No scolding.” Lark wagged a tapering finger. “Only truth.” She pulled a second card from the deck and set it facedown beside the other. “This card is the étincelle or spark of the reading. It represents who or what is in control of the situation.” Lark flipped the card over and felt a sense of uneasiness wash over her. “Le Bateleur, the magician. Again, ill dignified. This card is sometimes called the juggler for slight-of-hand games or trickery. Someone near us may have dark skills, knowledge and the power to use those skills against us.” Miss Marietta frowned. “Why us? Did you mean to say ‘us’? I thought this card reading was about me?” “Did I say ‘us’?” Lark paused. “I meant you.” A moment of blinding disorientation crept over her. For a second, she imagined Valcour entered the room. She clearly sensed his presence, smelled his lemony cologne and even sensed a whiff of flame-warmed 23
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cognac swirled in his hands. She felt the distinct sensation of Valcour’s full lips affectionately pressing a warm kiss to the nape of her neck. She became convinced Valcour was standing behind her, but when she glanced over her shoulder, of course he wasn’t there. Miss Marietta lightly tapped Lark’s hand with her fingertips. “Are you all right, Miss La Beau? You’re very pale. Is the reading going to get better soon—I hope?” Lark’s heart and mind buzzed with an odd energy that flooded the room, which remained invisible but highly palpable. A sense of somberness settled over everything. She hummed softly to comfort herself as she drew another card from the deck. “This is the crux card. This is what started the problem.” This time she simply set the card down without flourish. “Le Chariot,” she sighed. “Again ill dignified. I must say it is unusual to see so many reversed cards so early in a reading.” “Is that bad?” Lark shook her head. “I don’t know yet.” She pointed to the chariot. “This card could signify a journey or simply a vehicle or goal that takes you away. In this position it can also signify defeat or the loss of something cherished that was within your grasp.” She glanced out the window and saw her reflection bounced back at her against the dark pane. Beyond the windowpane, she saw the vague silhouette of a great galleon with four tall masts plowing toward them at full sail. She leapt up and ran toward the window. “Oh my god, what’s a ship that size doing this far upriver? There are no lit lanterns on deck. They’re going to hit us broadside. Warn the pilot!” She rushed to strike the alarm bell. Miss Marietta was on her feet in a flash, running toward the window. She peeked out the window in terror. “Where is it? What are you looking at?” “The galleon.” Lark pointed at an empty spot on the river, but as soon as she mentioned it, the towering ship was gone. Her hand froze above the bell. “I don’t see anything. There’s nothing there. Have you been drinking?” Miss Marietta glanced at Lark accusingly. “Are you sure this reading is still about me?” Lark’s spine straightened. She drew her shoulders back and took a deep breath to center herself. Without doubt, this was the strangest card reading she had ever performed. “We’re going to cut straight to the heart.” Lark’s fingers fumbled through the deck until she found the card she was looking for and tossed it face up on a near tabletop. “L’Amoureux, the lovers. This is the card you want to know about so let’s find out what it wants to tell us.” She briefly shuffled the cards, pulled one and tossed it on top of the lovers’ card. Miss Marietta gasped. Lark drew a tense breath. This was bad. “Le Pendu, the hanged man. Ironically, the upside-down man is upright here. This is not good. This is the card of slavery, punishment and involuntary loss. It can mark a time of suspension between the worlds or a lingering failure…” 24
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“I’ve heard enough.” Miss Marietta clamped her hands over her ears. “I think we’re finished here, don’t you?” The energy drained from Lark. She wanted to be alone and hoped Miss Marietta would leave. She closed her eyes to rest them and saw a vivid image of Valcour hovering in her mind’s eye. His beautiful blue-gray eyes looked sad, exhausted and so very sorry, but she couldn’t tell what he was sorry for. “Valcour.” She whispered his name softly. “Who?” Lark slowly opened her eyes. “Miss Marietta, I’m so sorry but this reading was not for you. It was meant for another. Please disregard all you’ve heard.” “Is that it?” Miss Marietta balked. “No answers for me? All this drama and tension for nothing? I opened my heart to you. I told you everything. You can’t do this to me. Are you just going to send me away?” “I am.” Lark paused and held out her palm. “But first hand me the locket, there is something we must do.” A flash of hope returned to Miss Marietta’s face. Her fingers fished into the top of her stays, pulled the locket free and handed it to Lark. “Are you going to put a love charm on it—please?” Lark ignored the misguided request and silently accepted the locket into her palm. As she suspected, the moment it touched her skin, she felt ill. The locket was definitely cursed. Shadowy images of suffering and servitude filled her mind. She saw Valcour walking in darkness, trapped in a hellish realm. She worried he had died and his soul was wandering lost in a bad place. Her troubled heart almost shattered at the sight of his loss and suffering. She worried his soul was damned and couldn’t find his way home. Impulsively she opened the window and tossed the locket into the muddy Mississippi. Miss Marietta screamed in horror. “No!” The locket plunked into the Mississippi with a soft splash and disappeared into the middle of the churning river. Lark turned to face Miss Marietta. “Chere, that locket was bad juju—heavy-cursed, no doubt about it. You don’t want it near your throat. I don’t care who gave it to you. Wearing it is not good for you. I did you a favor. Now you can make up your mind about which man is better for you without clouded judgment. If you do see Mister Payne again, he will appear to you as he truly is, not what he wants you to see. I strongly suspect magical trickery on his part.” “You’ve done me no favor.” Miss Marietta pouted. “I think you might be making all this up. Perhaps you want Mister Payne for yourself? I regret bringing him to your attention.” She plucked up the hem of her skirt and turned toward the door. “I’m very disappointed. I’ve lost a lovely token and learned nothing. My mama was right. I’m sorry I came. Goodbye, Miss La Beau.” She marched toward the door and fumbled with the bolt, trying to let herself out.
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Lark called after her. “I warned you that you might not like what you heard.” Her heart pounded with anxiety. The tragic images the locket conjured were extremely disturbing and clung to her senses like a sticky, malodorous thought. A hushed pallor fell over the room and she worried that the images she’d seen were an omen Valcour Curry had left this life and his body lay unburied and his soul remained unclaimed in a troubling place. She choked back a sob, wondering if Valcour had died doing what he loved—being a risk-taking buccaneer. Perhaps fate or a loaded pistol had finally caught up with him? The door slammed shut as the disappointed Miss Marietta fled the parlor. Lark shuttered from the forceful resonance of the slamming door. She was utterly exhausted. Both her heart and mind felt wrenched out of place. The door immediately bounced opened again. The lean, intense man from the gambling hall stood in the doorway and slowly crept into full view. “Miss La Beau.” The man spoke with a slightest hint of a Dutch accent. “I need to talk to you about a very serious matter.” His foot stealthily slid over the threshold of the parlor, moving slowly, as if he hoped she wouldn’t bar his entry. “Stop!” Larked shouted. The man froze midstep. “I can’t help you right now. I’ll be of no use to you. I must rest. Please go away and come back later.” The man bowed his head. “This matter can’t wait.” “I’m sorry, but it will have to.” A wave of intense nausea swept over her, and for a moment, she thought her knees might buckle and crumple to the floor. “Come back in an hour.” She lurched toward the door, shoved the startled man out with more force than intended, slammed the door shut and bolted it. After the final burst of energy dissipated, she was completely spent. She slumped against the door, her vision blurred and her hands trembled. “Mathilde!” she shouted in a shaking voice as the world around her faded to black. Her limp body folded over and melted to the floor.
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Chapter Two Who got rouxed?
“Honey, what happened?” Mathilde hovered over Lark’s limp body with a tiny vial of acrid-smelling salts. The burning fumes of the smelling salts stung Lark’s nose. Her hands blindly batted the vial away. “That’s enough!” Her eyelids sprang open. “Did I faint?” Her gaze flew toward the door. She had a strong premonition that whatever, whoever was beyond that door was also beyond her strength to deal with at this moment. “Is that door locked?” “Yes, the bolt’s drawn.” Lark stared upward at Mathilde’s weathered-but-still-lovely face and chuckled nervously. “The patterns on your fancy orange turban are moving.” “That’s because you’re not feeling well. Maybe it’s time to loosen that corset?” Mathilde took hold of Lark’s arm and gently helped her stand. “Come with me. Stretch out on the chaise. Are you hungry? Should I go to the galley and fetch you something to eat?” Lark rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps I should eat something, a cold piece of fried chicken or a custard would be plenty.” She lay across the chaise, glancing upward at the cut-crystal chandelier. Several of the candles had burned low and barely glowed as guttering embers. “Would you like me to replace those candles before I leave?” Lark closed her eyes. “Don’t bother, in fact, go ahead and snuff all the candles. I want to lie in the dark and rest.” Mathilde crossed the room and grabbed a long, slender candlesnuffer hanging against the wall and placed the little silver bell over each of the flickering candles until they were extinguished, but even with all the candles out, the parlor remained bright with natural light. Mathilde walked toward the window and stared out. “Look at the beautiful moon out there, lighting the river. It’s so lovely. That’s a very cheerful sight. It will be full tomorrow night.” At the mention of a full moon, a shiver of anxiety passed through her. “Mathilde, would you sit with me for a moment?” Mathilde sat on the end of the chaise. “Of course I’ll sit with you. You sound shaken. What happened between you and Miss Marietta?” “Miss Marietta asked for the mirror of clarity card reading. I used the Tarot de Marseilles.” 27
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Mathilde hissed a sharp breath. “Oh dear, no wonder you’re exhausted. I would never have attempted such a thing. Actually, I’m surprised you did it for her.” Lark reached for Mathilde’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was a mistake. I had a bad feeling about it as I was shuffling the cards and I did it anyway.” She paused. “Someone has been practicing bad juju on Miss Marietta. I’m certain she brought some of that dark magic here. I got too close and the card reading turned on me.” She groaned despondently. “I think Valcour is dead.” “What?” “As I did the reading, Valcour’s presence felt near. At one point, I even thought he was in the room standing beside me, wearing that lemony vetiver cologne he was so fond of.” “Honey, we were just talking about him. Maybe he was on your mind and your heart was missing him.” Tears welled in Larks eyes. “I’ll admit I do miss him, but this was much more than that. As I pulled the cards, I saw terrible things—things that do not belong in our world. I saw beings walking through darkness without hearts or souls. They felt nothing and remembered only enough to know they were trapped in an evil realm without exit. There was no sunlight in this place, only sadness and defeat. It was awful.” “It sounds awful, but what makes you think Valcour is dead?” “I saw him in the dark place. His soul was in limbo and no longer completely his own. One moment I would recognize him and see that the expression in his eyes was sad and full of regret. The next moment he was blank, his eyes empty as a corpse with no soul in his body, yet he was wandering—walking the earth without emotion or thought.” “Valcour did some selfish things in life, but I don’t believe for a minute that in the end the devil got him.” “Mathilde, I’ve been angry with Valcour for so long. I hated him for leaving me and never being there for Darby. I wonder if I accidently cursed him and condemned him to this? If I did—I didn’t mean to, I swear it.” Mathilde lovingly stroked Lark’s hand. “You can’t send a man’s soul in hell. It’s not possible. He has to put himself there. Lark, you have a good heart. I watch you every day trying to do the right thing while the people around you misunderstand or treat you badly. I see it and I know it’s not fair. Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what that feels like firsthand. You’re different—I’m different, and we are different so we can stand apart and be of help to others. For my peace of mind, will you please abandon the idea that you condemned Valcour? We don’t even know what became of the man. He might be living the good life and spending money like a mad fool in Paris, so please no more worries.” “The images I saw were so vivid.” “Some of that might have been the bad juju Miss Marietta carried in here. We don’t know who cast that dark magic or why.” 28
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Lark sighed heavily. “You’re right. I’m overly tired.” “You need something to eat.” Mathilde rose. “I’m also going to make you a healing roux dissolved in sweet claret. It will revive you and leave you feeling better. I’ll be back in a jiff.” She walked toward the door, unbolted it and walked out of the parlor. Lark’s shoulders rose off the chaise. She started to protest the unsecured door but quickly realized Mathilde couldn’t bolt the door from the outside and she was just too exhausted to get up and do it herself, so she simply wilted back down and let it go. She reminded herself there was a protective circle of beneficent magic around the parlor that only the strongest intentions could cross. Miss Marietta in her ignorance had brought the bad juju in here. An incident such as tonight’s event was rare. The circle of protection was buffered so troubled people could enter the parlor with their problems but nothing harmful would happen to her that wasn’t meant to be. Meant to be were the key words. She knew no one was completely safe from everything, nor should they be. A tiny shiver passed over her skin as she silently admitted she wanted to be spared life’s harsher lessons. She drew a deep, calming breath and reassured herself she was perfectly safe. This was her grand riverboat, her private queendom, and she was in charge. She hoped the day would offer no more upsetting surprises. Her thoughts turned to her four-year-old son Darby sleeping soundly in the next cabin. She loved him so much and had never been so proud of anyone. The temptation to go into the next room, climb into bed beside him and hold him close grew, but she knew if she did, Darby would awaken and spend half the night gabbing. Waking a tired, talkative child was not the best idea, especially in her current unsettled state of mind, so she resisted. All would be well with the world if she could just relax and gather her wits. She shifted her weight on the chaise until she was comfortable, closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to wander. She was only thirty but some days she felt so old. Even as a child, she felt serious and burdened beyond her years. The only time in her life she had not felt that way was with Valcour. He burned past her layer of dutiful somberness and brought her to life. He was bold-hearted, brash and loath to take the world at face value. Just about the only things he took seriously were pleasure and risk, and they shared both their first night together, but the morning they met didn’t start off so pleasantly.
~~~~~ It was a cold, drizzly day in January 1829. She and Mathilde were in the French Quarter, making the rounds of the bawdy houses where many of Mathilde’s clients lived. The unpleasant weather had left many ill and in need of Mathilde’s care. Mathilde’s true gift was as an herbalist. She knew plants and their hidden properties better than anyone in the Quarter and performed her services for a
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reasonable fee as a traveling botanica. Helping and healing was Mathilde’s true calling in life, and there were many in the Quarter too poor or too far outside the moral fray to command the attention of a regular doctor. Their first stop that morning was an urgent call at one of the Quarter’s most notorious houses—Ashmunton House. Ashmunton wasn’t the most expensive bawdy house in the Quarter, but it was known as one of the most adventurous for the wealthy to play in. Ashmunton House had a laissez faire, let-it-alone attitude about the transactions that took place behind closed doors. As long as everyone was paid and pleased, there were no questions asked. The black-lacquered door of the Ashmunton House swung open. A stout, middleaged lady with a pink face grabbed Mathilde’s wrist and immediately pulled her inside. “Thank god you’re here.” The woman closed her eyes in tense exasperation. “I suppose you can hear him moaning all the way down the street? I tried to keep him drunk on brandy until you got here, but it’s not helping.” A male voice upstairs groaned piteously. The woman involuntarily shivered. “It’s bad. Please help him. At the very least, give him something to quiet him. I can’t do business with that kind of moaning going on upstairs—it truly ruins the mood.” Mathilde carried the large, leather valise filled with herbs up the staircase. She turned to address the woman. “Miss Tallulah, who’s hurt?” Miss Tallulah’s bulging eyes widened. “Beautiful Bart, he’s in the peach blossom room. He won’t tell me what happened, hopefully he’ll tell you. I need him. Bart’s one of my top earners and I want him back on the job as soon as possible.” She loped up the steps and crowded close to Mathilde. Mathilde halted on the staircase to directly confront Miss Tallulah. “I think it’s best if I see and speak with Bart alone, don’t you agree?” Miss Tallulah shrank back. “Of course.” Mathilde motioned toward her. “Come with me, Lark. I’ll need your help.” She reluctantly followed Mathilde into the beautifully decorated but oppressive room. Heavy green drapes were drawn against what little daylight the dreary weather had to offer. The sour scent of sweat and alcohol hung in the air. “I need to see what I’m doing.” Mathilde immediately flung the drapes open. The light revealed lacquered, oriental screens beautifully painted with peach blossoms dividing the room into two private sections. Bart sprawled across an imposing bed that could easily have slept six. He covered his face with his hands and gasped. “Don’t look at me!” Mathilde turned. “What are you afraid I’ll see?” She approached the massive fourposter bed and waved Lark to her side. “Bart, I’m here to help you. Take your hands away and let me have a look.” 30
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Bart’s voice crackled. “I can’t. I’m so ashamed.” “Honey, you’re not the one who should be ashamed.” Mathilde leaned closer, scanning Bart for damage. Bart’s arms were badly bruised. Mathilde lifted his hands away from his face, revealing Bart’s elegant nose and jaw had been battered, but he would heal. “What else is wrong?” She sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Bart howled in pain the moment the mattress shifted. “My leg! I think he broke my leg.” Mathilde rose carefully. “Who broke your leg?” Bart’s eyes wandered for a moment. “I can’t think of his name. Isn’t that strange? I know I know it. The man is a regular customer. He probably gave me a fake name anyway, and I’m almost certain he’s married. Aren’t they all? He’s a wealthy man. I do know that and he comes to New Orleans once each month to do business and see me. At least that was his habit all autumn. He’s a planter, has a big cane plantation somewhere way out back of the back. It’s a shame because it started out so good between us. I couldn’t wait to see him. I hoped it might become more than a monthly meeting.” He gasped a deep breath. “Dear lord, my leg hurts. Would you please take a look at it?” Mathilde slowly drew the sheet back. “Lark, will you help me here?” She moved behind Mathilde and nervously gazed over her shoulder at a leg so badly broken the femur pointed in two different directions. Clammy perspiration beaded on her forehead. She immediately felt dizzy and almost passed out. “Stay on your feet, Lark.” Mathilde’s voice carried a sweet, singsong quality designed to calm the direness of the situation. “Bart, I have to reset the bone. I’m not going to lie to you—it’s going to hurt, but if I don’t do it soon, you’re going to walk with a bad limp for the rest of your life.” Bart shook his head. “I don’t want that.” “I know you don’t.” Mathilde gently stroked Bart’s brow. “You have beautiful, long legs, let’s keep them that way.” She turned. “Lark, I want you to get Bart some brandy while I find a strong man to help me set the leg. I might be gone for a little while but I’ll be back with help. I want you to stay here, talk to Bart and get enough brandy in him to take the edge off. Do you understand?” “Yes ma’am.” Mathilde hurriedly left the room. Lark forced herself to smile at Bart. “Where’s the brandy?” “In the armoire. I don’t need a glass.” His brows drooped. “My life must look pretty shabby to you?” She walked toward the hulking armoire. “It doesn’t. I’ve been around the Quarter all of my life. I’ve seen the extremes of good and bad. I might have started my life in one of these houses. I’m not even sure where I came from. Mathilde found me not far
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from here, hiding by the river. She guessed I was about three years old. I was welldressed but abandoned—nobody around. Mathilde took me home with her.” She opened the armoire, saw a shelf full of liquor bottles and picked the cleanestlooking one. “Bart, it’s time for your medicine.” Bart groaned. “Just in time.” Mathilde bounded back into the room with a beaming face. “I barely got down the stairs when I found a volunteer, and guess what? He knows what’s he’s doing and he’s done this before. It’s a bit of good luck.” Lark glanced toward the doorway just as a towering man entered the room. All motions froze as she stopped to stare at the hard planes of the man’s handsome face. The man was about thirty and elegantly dressed in a dark brocade coat and tall black boots polished to a high gloss. His sparkling blue-gray eyes peered out from beneath expressive black brows. He looked directly at her and smiled. Her breath caught. “Hello, Miss.” The man politely nodded to her as he strode into the room with commanding grace that reflected he was used to being looked at longingly, envied and challenged, and it didn’t bother him one little bit. “It’s not a coincidence I’m here. I was deeply involved in a card game downstairs when I heard Miss Tallulah talking about what happened here last night and about your many talents. I waited for you both to get here, knowing you might need my help.” The man spoke with a reassuring patois that betrayed a French-Irish origin. Mathilde steered the man toward the bedside. “That was very kind of you to abandon the card game.” The man laughed softly and smiled. He had a brilliant smile that lit his face. “I didn’t abandon the card game—I won. I always win.” “It must be wonderful.” Mathilde positioned the man at the foot of the bed. “To be so lucky.” The man boasted shamelessly, “It’s not luck, ma’am, it’s skill.” His eyes never left Lark. “I’m a winner and get what I go after, and there’s always more than one way to win.” He kept looking at her as if he expected her to say something. As he gazed at her, it was hard to remember to breathe. The room felt overly warm and she grew lightheaded. Her throat tensed as he gazed at her. She finally mustered the courage to speak to this gorgeous but somewhat arrogant man. “I didn’t catch your name, sir.” He dipped a slight bow in her direction. “That’s because no one but you asked.” A sly smile slipped over the full curve of his lips, which were the only soft feature on his face. His gaze was shockingly direct. “Do you want to know my name?” No man had ever looked at her that way. His eyes were loaded with crystal-clear yet unspoken intentions that left her breathless. The heated interest in his sparkling eyes made her want to melt from the intensity of his gaze. She remained mute.
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He stepped toward her, his boot heels clicked against the parquet floor. “My name is Captain Valcour Curry, entrepreneur, connoisseur, buccaneer and admirer of fine things. I must say, Miss, you have very pretty eyes.” She swallowed hard. Her throat tensed. “Thank you,” she mumbled shyly. “What color would you say your eyes are?” Valcour’s broad hand dove into his pockets and rummaged around. “I would describe them as a soft, sparkling shade of peridot.” He pulled a gold chain from his pocket with a glittering peridot pendant dangling from it. “May I present this to you?” Her heart leapt. No man had ever flirted so openly with her, nor been so bold to present an expensive gift. Her eyes darted toward Mathilde, not knowing what to do. Mathilde slightly shrugged but offered no advice. Valcour stepped closer and placed the pendant in her palm, rolled her fingers closed around it and gently brought her clenched fingers to his lips for a brief kiss. His eyes honed in on her tiniest response. “What’s your name, honey?” His warm voice had a smoky depth to it. His presence and forwardness set her on guard, but she couldn’t wholly resist him either. His light cologne smelled good, he looked good, and was all around too damn charming. “Lark La Beau.” She had had no idea what her birth name was and had long ago adopted the name of the master who had freed Mathilde on his deathbed. “Lark—like a singing bird?” Valcour smiled. “That’s a lovely name and it suits you.” Her heart pounded in her throat. “Excuse me,” Mathilde interrupted. “We need to help this poor young man so I can get to a few of my other charges today. This cold, damp weather has left everybody coughing.” Valcour turned. “Miss Mathilde, just tell me what you would like me to do. I know a bit about your good reputation with herbs and fighting fevers, and I do wish we had your skill aboard ship. I’ve set a broken bone before but only because no one else was available.” “Captain.” Mathilde gently pulled the sheets back and allowed Valcour to the view the extent of Bart’s injury. Valcour’s lips pursed, his expression became serious. “I see what needs to be done.” “I can’t look.” Bart motioned for Lark to hand him the bottle of brandy. He pulled the cork with his teeth and guzzled a long chug straight from the bottle. Valcour turned and squinted out the window at something in the distance. “Good lord!” His voice boomed through the room. “Do you all see that? What’s going on out there? What the hell is that?” Everyone including Bart craned their necks toward the window to see what he was talking about.
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Valcour took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed hold of Bart’s leg, yanked it toward him and snapped it back into place with a loud crunch. Bart’s lips parted in silence. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted cold. Lark snatched the open bottle of brandy from Bart’s limp hand a moment before it crashed to the floor. Valcour shrugged. “Miss Mathilde, you have the difficult task of keeping fever at bay and concocting a bone mend. I’m done here.” He winked at Lark, reached for the brandy bottle in her hand, took hold of it, brought it to his lips, took a long sip and handed it back. “What are you doing the rest of the day, Miss La Beau? I’d like to invite you to spend the day with me. I would love a tour of the French Quarter.” Lark’s mouth was paralyzed. “Thank you for the invitation, Captain Curry,” Mathilde answered for her. “Miss La Beau would be delighted to spend the day with you.” Lark shot Mathilde a startled look. Even though she was halfway into her twenties and considered far beyond a maiden age, she had no experience with men, none. She never had a gentleman caller, and no young man had ever dared make a parlor call on an apprentice voodoo queen. Her knees trembled from nerves. “Go on, Lark.” Mathilde urged her toward the door. “I can take care of everybody else on my own today. Show Captain Curry the Quarter.” “Step out with me.” Valcour reached for the peridot pendant still tangled between Lark’s fingers. “I’d like to see it glittering against your throat.” He took hold of the pendent and deftly fastened the chain around her neck, gently setting the stone in front where it dangled slightly above her breasts. Her heart pounded at his close proximity, not knowing what to say. His fingertips brushed against the base of her throat, but even that slight touch was almost unbearably intimate. She didn’t know what to say or do. If she gushed over the brilliant green stone, she risked sounding mercenary. If she didn’t, she risked sounding disinterested and ungrateful, which she wasn’t. “It’s lovely. I’ve never owned anything like it.” Valcour smiled. “I’m happy to please you.” “Have an enjoyable time together.” Mathilde gently tapped Valcour’s arm. “Captain, you do understand my Lark is a good girl, and if she comes home with anything to cry about, I want you to know, I’ll be very unhappy. I cast a mean spell, one that could dog you for years and prove very embarrassing.” She discreetly nodded toward his crouch. “Are we clear about what’s expected from each other?” Valcour gently patted Mathilde’s hand. “You have my word I’ll treat Lark like a lady and have her home by supper. In fact, I’d like to treat both you ladies.” He smiled confidently. “Shall we plan on supper this evening aboard the Roxy Belle?” Mathilde whistled in astonishment. “Have you been aboard the new riverboat? I’ve heard the Roxy Belle is a breathtaking floating palace. I would love to go aboard and
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have a look at her but…” She paused. “I doubt a mulatto woman would be a welcome guest there.” “Nonsense. You’ll be my guest in a private dining room. There’ll be no fuss.” Mathilde smiled knowingly. “I’m not so sure about that, but I’m willing to at least try. I want to get a peek at the crystal chandeliers before I’m asked to leave.” “Miss Mathilde, no one would dare ask you to leave, so don’t even worry about it.” Valcour politely offered Lark his arm. “Shall we go?” Lark self-consciously twined her arm through Valcour’s, knowing the moment they stepped onto the street, eyes would follow them and tongues would wag. It felt strange to be walking beside such a tall, attractive man. She had to carefully watch her footing on the staircase for fear she would trip and appear clumsy. “What would you like to see today?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Your beautiful smile.” A bright smile burst across her face, but she quickly composed herself and dampened the smile away. “I meant what would you like to see around the Quarter?” “I want to spend a little time with you, and hopefully, I’ll make as good an impression on you as you have on me. I’m an excellent judge of character with an eye for quality.” She had absolutely nothing to say. A shiver of pure nervousness tickled her skin. They stepped onto a busy street. Despite a light mist of rain, the walkway was filled with carts and foot traffic. Valcour leaned close as he spoke. “There’s something very special about you. I noticed that right away. It drew me straight toward you. I’m going to enjoy figuring out what that something special is.” She gulped a deep breath. “Captain Curry, your flattery is making me uncomfortable.” “Call me Valcour, and I’m not flattering you. There is something different about you, isn’t there? I’ve met a lot of woman from many places, and I never met a young lady quite like you, and that’s no lie.” She sighed. “That sounds like a tall tale to me. You’ve already been very helpful and generous.” Her fingers gently touched the dangling peridot. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but do you ever worry about saying too much or saying the wrong thing? I’m worried Mathilde will get her hopes up about supper on the Roxy Belle and be turned away. I’ll be frank with you, Captain Curry—” “Valcour, please call me by my first name.” “Excuse me, Valcour. Miss Mathilde and I live very modestly on what others can afford to pay, which isn’t much. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m a white girl and Miss Mathilde is a colored lady.” “I did notice. What’s your point?”
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“My point is the Roxy Belle is an exclusive floating gambling hall for wealthy, white gentlemen. Only a certain sort of fancy lady goes aboard that riverboat. Poor girls and colored ladies don’t. Miss Mathilde is a kind soul, she’s been a mother to me, so don’t make outlandish promises to her that you can’t keep.” His posture stiffened. “Do you think I don’t honor my promises? Do you think I’m a braggart or liar? A hot-air bellow?” He walked faster. “I won’t have you thinking that. Come with me.” He took of Lark’s hand and strode forward. She sped at his side. “Where are we going?” “To the docks.” An odd premonition that this was a pivotal moment washed over her in a startling way. She tamped it down, hoping to avoid one of her ever-increasing and often confusing glimpses of the future. Her pulse raced. She almost had to run to keep up as Valcour’s long strides sped faster and the world seemed to turn faster too. For a moment, she felt as if she was completely out of control and wanted to dig her heels in and stop it from happening. “Why the docks? Why do we have to go there?” “I have business there. I’m a few hours early, but with your help I’ll get through it much quicker. We’ll clear up this misunderstanding and get on with our day.” “Please slow down.” “Sorry.” He slowed slightly but not much. Determination burned in his eyes. “I’m just anxious to get there and redeem myself. I don’t enjoy looking the fool. You’ll see what I’m talking about.” He turned to smile at her. “Today is going to be a good day. I’m very happy to share it with you and have your help and company.” She couldn’t image what a man like Valcour needed her for. “What help could I be to you?” “You’ll see.” They climbed the levy to the river docks and walked along the bustling palisade that connected the many piers. The scent of smoke, wet hemp rope and slightly fishy mud filled the air. Dock workers filed past, loading and unloading cargo, carrying heavy sacks on their shoulders and rolling barrels. The dock-men crowded close on the narrow planks hovering above the fragrant mud, forcing them to continually watch all sides to avoid being struck by the hectic foot traffic. A dock worker staggered toward them with two heavy baskets precariously suspended from a pole balanced on his shoulders. The weight of the rocking baskets caused him to lose his balance and sway toward Lark. As he tried to right himself, he tripped on a loose plank and stumbled. The baskets swung sharply to the side. Lark leapt back to avoid being struck by the pole and felt her feet effortlessly rising into the air as she was swooped out of harm’s way.
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“Watch out, honey.” Valcour laughed softly as he grasped her waist and lifted her above him. Her breath caught as time slowed. She looked down at Valcour’s beaming face, and for a split second felt no boundary dividing them. She looked directly into his grayish eyes, which perfectly mirrored the drizzling sky. A bolt of pure emotion passed between their shared glances that shot straight to her heart. She knew the look of joy and surprise on his face was the same as hers. She could feel it. It was a shared moment of perfect recognition. Her soul knew Valcour’s, and it was the most beautifully real thing she had ever felt in her life. Valcour set her down gently on the wooden planks of the palisade, but his hands remained locked around her waist as if loath to let go. Her pulse raced and she longed to stand on the docks undisturbed and study the many subtle expressions flickering across Valcour’s face. She wanted to ask him, Did you feel that? Has that ever happened to you before, because it’s never happened to me? but she was far too flustered and shy to ask. “I’m shocked. They told me you had the gift of clarity and could see the future and the unseen, so why didn’t you see that accident coming?” Valcour smiled and pointed down the pier with pride. “There it is. That’s the reason we’re here.” She looked where he was pointing. Her heart sank. The elegant, floating gambling palace, the Roxy Belle, completely dominated the next pier. Her smiling lips turned to a frown. “What’s wrong, Miss Le Beau?” In a flash, she realized why he was interested in her and had bribed her with a beautiful pendant and lots of sweet-talk. Extreme disappointment flooded through her. “Captain Curry, I can’t do that.” He became serious. “What happened to calling me Valcour? Miss La Beau, what do you think I’m asking you to do?” She looked directly at him and wondered why she had even allowed herself to believe for a moment a charming, handsome man like this would genuinely be interested in her. She hated herself for being so naïve and wanted to turn and run. “I can’t recite your complete title, but I do remember hearing ‘buccaneer’ mentioned in your resume. Mister Curry, perhaps you forgot to mention professional gambler?” “Oh dear, I’m no longer Valcour or even Captain, I’m Mister Curry? What just happened?” “Is gambling how you really make your money? Because if it is, I won’t use my gift to help you cheat or win. That’s not how the gift works and I won’t abuse it.” “No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask of you, I swear it.” He reached toward her and gently touched his fingertips to the side of her cheek. “Please believe me, gambling is not how I make my money—it’s just recreation. I made my fortune on the sea, trading and taking, and it would be best for me to not involve you in that line of business.”
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He took hold of her hand and gently but decisively pulled her to his side and whispered close to her ear, “I need your help with something only you can assist me with. Come with me. We’re going aboard the Roxy Belle.” She struggled weakly but couldn’t resist. Deep down, she wanted to go with him and remain at his side. They walked onward. As they approached the gangplank of the Roxy Belle, a crisply dressed footman appeared at the riverboat’s railings, his crimson coat and immaculately starched white shirt provided a sharp contrast to his dark skin. “Greetings, Captain Curry.” The footman politely bowed. “Mister Milton is organizing his study and packing his personal belongings in preparation for you to take possession of the Roxy Belle.” “Like hell I am!” A ruddy-faced man with a thick mustache bellowed from the upper tier of the riverboat. “You’re hours early, Curry—you greedy devil! What are you doing here plighting my dock?” He hurled an empty liquor bottle from the window that smashed on the gangplank below. Mister Milton squinted menacingly at Lark. “What’s the voodoo witch doing here? I’m not afraid of her! Believe me when I tell you there are others in the Quarter with far greater powers.” He laughed mockingly. “She’s nothing to fear compared to the master.” He ducked back inside the cabin, and the drunken ranting continued as incoherent muttering. She glanced up at the now-empty window with trepidation. Who the hell was the master? Valcour politely addressed the footman. “What is your name, sir?” The footman slightly nodded in formal acknowledgement. “My name is Hendricks.” “Mister Hendricks, how long has it been since you and the crew have been paid?” “Three quarters, sir. It’s getting a bit lean.” “The Roxy Belle is barely a year old. How did Mister Milton get into debt so quickly? A lot of money has passed through here. I know it.” Valcour drew a deep breath. “Mister Hendricks, would you please convey to the crew on my behalf that tonight everyone will be paid the back wages they are owed plus a loyalty bonus.” Hendricks smiled. “Yes sir, I’d be pleased to report that. By the way, sir, be very cautious. Mister Milton has been drinking heavily and has occupied a poor state of mind for some time now. He hides a pistol in his left boot, a short blade up his sleeve and he can be quite malicious toward property.” “So I’ve heard.” Valcour nodded toward Lark. “That’s why I brought Miss La Beau to accompany me on the walk-through inspection.” Hendricks nodded approvingly. “Good idea, sir. Please come aboard.” Lark hesitated. “Is it a good idea to provoke an angry, drunken man with a gun? Maybe we should come back later?” 38
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Hendricks’ gaze lowered. “Mister Milton may be surprised to discover the firing pins have been removed from his pistol, and a heavy mahogany bureau has been placed in front of his door. He can’t get out until we let him out.” “God damn you, Curry!” Mister Milton’s enraged face reappeared at the top window. “You think you’re so clever but you’re just a lousy, marauding pirate. You’re a puffed-up, big-nothing opportunist. That’s what you are. You should be dipped in tar and hung from a yardarm. I know all about you and I’ll make sure everyone else does too. I’m going to mess with your life. You’ll get no pleasure from the Roxy Belle. I’ll see you ruined, even if I have to sell my soul to do it!” “Shall we?” Valcour turned his back on Milton’s crazed ranting, politely bowed to Lark and made a grand gesture for her to cross the gangplank. “Let’s have a look at my new riverboat.” Mister Milton shouted louder but no one paid attention to him. They walked aboard the massive, gleaming-white riverboat with ornate wrought iron details, passed a large, gold-gilt plaque that read Roxy Belle. Valcour frowned at the plaque. “I’ll need to change the name. I want this beauty to have a fresh start in life.” He paused. “I’m sure I’ll think of something better.” He gently steered Lark inside the elegant, soft-ivory-and-crimson-trimmed front hall glittering with crystal and filled with baize-covered gaming tables. “This room’s going to be a moneymaker, I can feel it. I’ll have the bar stocked with the best spirits and the finest cigars.” Valcour broke away from her and began to inspect the tiniest details of the riverboat, opening cabinets and lifting rugs, searching for hidden compartments. “I’ve done this many times before. You can’t take a ship from a man and not expect a little retribution. Hopefully Mister Milton hasn’t had the opportunity to do much damage.” Valcour opened the door of a storage cabinet beneath a stairwell that led to the upper tier and snooped around. “It’s worse on the open ocean, I can attest to that. Hell, I’ve seen it all. Salt dumped into the drinking water, lye mixed into the flour barrels, gunpowder and iron nails packed inside the stove just waiting for the first careless strike of a match—nasty stuff to be surprised with. I don’t like that sort of surprise.” He gazed at her. “That’s why you’re here, Miss La Beau, would you help me protect this riverboat and the innocent people aboard by using your gift of clarity to spot tricks and traps before they cause a problem? I would much appreciate a protective blessing and a roux to prevent Mister Milton from ever coming near her again and doing mischief. Of course I will pay generously for your time and talent.” Her brow rose. “I’ll be honest. I don’t get many gentleman customers. I’m surprised you believe in beneficent magic.” He smiled. “I’m a man of the sea—I’m superstitious as hell. I know the world is more than what meets the eye. I’ve seen haunted islands and ghost ships sailing themselves through the stormy Caribbean. I’ve glimpsed things under the waves that simply should not be. This is a strange world populated by many unexpected things. 39
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My experiences have taught me all about who has luck and good fortune and who doesn’t. If I can possibly buy myself a little more luck and protection, I’d be a fool not to do it.” “I thought you didn’t believe in luck—you said you depend on skill.” “Turning luck to your favor is a skill.” He hesitated. “I have to ask you to go someplace potentially dangerous. Are you willing to come with me to the boiler room? That’s the first place I’d expect a problem.” She drew a tense breath. “Lead the way.” He led her to the back of the riverboat and down a short flight of steps. “Speak up if something doesn’t feel right to you—and we’ll run.” He laughed nervously as he opened the door to the boiler room. The room was dark, and the hulking iron furnace unlit. A basket had been set behind the door, which tipped over when Valcour pushed against the door. Dark, sinuous shapes plopped out of the basket and rolled across the floor. Lark stepped back in alarm. “Snakes!” “Oil rags.” Valcour shook his head in amusement. “Watch your step, Miss La Beau. Come into the boiler room and get a feel for it. I don’t dare bring an open flame down here until we know all is right. Are you sensing anything malicious has been done here?” She slowly turned in a circle. “Not yet.” Her fingers reached for the peridot pendant around her neck and fumbled with the clasp, unable to release it. “Would you help me with this?” Valcour stepped close to unclasp the necklace. His fingertips carefully brushed a few long strands of her hair aside. Despite the cool day, Valcour’s hands felt warm against her skin. The pleasure of his casual touch surprised her and left her curious for more. She noted how easy he was to be near. She was seldom in the company of men, yet she was alone with Valcour in a dark boiler room and it didn’t bother her at all. A part of her, which she was just beginning to suspect existed, enjoyed the experience and secretly wished Valcour would ignore Mathilde’s warning and misbehave. “There you go.” Valcour’s steady fingers easily released the tiny clasp. “Why do you want to take it off?” “I need it to divine with. I didn’t bring any of my herbs or tools with me.” She gingerly held the end of the chain in her fingertips, allowing the pendant to freely dangle. “I’m going to do a walk-through and ask the boiler room if all is well or if there has been any tampering.” She stepped away. He moved closer. “And the boiler room will tell you?” “Yes.” She smiled. “Actually, the pendant will tell me. It will swing to the left in a large circle if it senses…” She paused to correct herself. “If I sense malice.” She began to
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carefully navigate the dimly lit room, holding the pendant above the massive cast iron boilers, stoves, pipes and baffles. She took her time, making a thorough inspection. Valcour stood back and patiently watched her work. “Are you finding anything out of place?” “Not yet.” She tried to ignore the fact he was looking at her through sensually hooded eyes. The undisguised look of carnal interest on his face thrilled her. “Do you have family in New Orleans?” he asked softly. “Only Mathilde. She’s my family.” She walked along a row of pipes, holding the pendant to each one, searching for faults or problems. “No mama, no papa?” “I’m an orphan.” “I’m sorry. I know how that feels. When I was fourteen, I lost both my parents to fever. I was tall for my age and old enough to go to sea, so I left. I found a new family and got a new life, but it does leave a hole in your heart, doesn’t it?” “I suppose it does.” She was nowhere near ready to discuss something so painful and personal with a man she just met. No one aside from Mathilde had ever bothered to inquire about her feelings on the matter. She thought it ironic an elegant sea-rogue, good-time gambler would be the first to ask. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but Valcour’s constant stream of attention made it tough. Her eyes continually sought him out just to see if he was still looking. He was, and it made her nervous. Long moments passed and nothing more was said. Valcour shifted uneasily in his stance. He seemed eager to speak but didn’t. He looked at her with a building gleam in his eyes. A few more tensely silent minutes lapsed as she went about her inspection. Finally he blurted, “Do you have a man in your life?” She froze. It felt as if all the air left the room. Was he genuinely interested in her? “Captain Curry, it’s difficult to talk and keep my mind on my work.” “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to pry.” “It’s all right. The answer’s no, I don’t have a man in my life.” “I find that very hard to believe. What’s wrong with the men of New Orleans? Are the fools blind?” She smiled self-consciously. “It’s something of a social hazard to spend your days working in the Quarter with the sick and the poor and practicing beneficent voodoo. Folks get the wrong idea about me all the time.” He brushed a dark lock of hair from his brow. “I want to celebrate tonight with fine food and French wine. Will you join me? This is a big day for me. This is my first riverboat.” “Your first?” She giggled. The new steam-driven paddlewheels were the grandest and most costly things to ever come upriver. “I suppose you’re going to buy a few more?” 41
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“Yes, I’m going to have a lot of everything.” His eyes skimmed over her. “Miss La Beau, would you allow me to buy you a new dress this afternoon? I’d be honored. My favorite color is dark, rich purple, and I would love to see you wearing something amethyst or aubergine. It would make me happy to make you happy. I’d love to walk through the Quarter with my own lovely voodoo queen.” She was stunned. “I’m not for sale, Mister Curry.” She pretended to be absorbed in what she was doing, but her heart raced and her hands trembled. “You’ll have to find somebody else to dress like a doll.” “Have I misunderstood something?” His voice deepened. He looked directly at her. “If you don’t want me and you don’t want me to give you nice things, why did you witch me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I felt it the moment I walked into the room at the Ashmunton House and again on the docks. What kind of voodoo did you use on me?” His eyes widened. “I like how it feels. You can tell me what you did. I’m not mad at you—I’m thrilled. The only thing I ask is please play fair with my heart and don’t hook me and then push me away.” He looked so sincere it frightened her. “I swear on the Goddess Oshun, Mother Mary and Jesus Christ, I did nothing to you, no voodoo spells, no roux and no witching or magical concoctions of any kind—nothing.” He tapped his chest. “You’re telling me this brutal shot to the heart just happened on its own with no help from magic?” A strange, tingling tension washed over her. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He slowly walked toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. She felt trapped in his gaze and trembled. Her heart pounded with anticipation. She sensed she was finally going to get a real kiss from a man she strongly desired. It was a bit terrifying but wonderful. “Lark, what did you do to me? I feel different,” he whispered. “I have to be gentle with you, don’t I? You’re the type who’ll fly away. I certainty don’t want that. I want to keep you.” His fingers brushed a stray lock of her hair aside and then tangled in her curls. He leaned down and barely touched his lips against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tipped her face upward. She felt his warm breath on her lips but little more. She dared allow her hands to roam across his broad chest and slide beneath the lapels of his coat. Heat radiated from beneath his shirt. “Kiss me,” she whispered. His lips pressed down on hers with warm, consuming pressure that was easy to return. She pressed her body against him savoring the feeling of his solidness and strength. He kissed her harder and parted her lips with the teasing tip of his tongue. The feeling was so unmistakably sexual, she gasped and pulled away. “Don’t go.” He pulled her close. His hand cupped the nape of her neck. “This feels so real to me. Does this feel real to you?” He wrapped his arms around her. His boot slid between her slippers, slightly parting her stance. His big body loomed over her as if 42
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he couldn’t get close enough. He pressed his body against her and delivered a crushing kiss. For a moment she stiffened in his arms, but then a rush of sensation poured through her and melted all resistance. It was as if her entire being woke up in a single, startling flash. Her gift of clarity fully activated. The inner visions flooded forward like an irresistible tide. She saw herself loving Valcour with all her heart. She saw them happy with several sweet children. She saw him changing—he wanted to change and would be virtually reborn as a new man. He was safe to love. He was the one. Valcour was her future. The vision was so intense, she gasped in surprise and struggled free of his grasp, to step back. “Oh my god.” “What was that?” Valcour looked down at her in utter shock. “Did you feel that? Are you sure you’re not using magic on me?” She looked up at him in complete confusion at the speed her life had changed. “Good lord, I feel it—it’s for real. What do we do?” “Give in to it.” He reached for her, pulled her close to his heart and locked his arms around her. His lips brushed against hers. “This is my lucky day.”
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Chapter Three
The mystery of the Broken Oak The shrill steam whistle of the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen blew. Heavy footsteps crunched across the parlor floor. Lark awoke. Her eyes flew open in alarm. The dream of kissing Valcour fled. She bolted upright on the chaise when she realized there was someone in the parlor with her. “Mathilde, is that you?” A man lunged at her in the darkness. A roughened hand clamped over her mouth and muffled her startled scream. The man dragged her against him and shuffled toward the side door of the parlor. “Come with me and I’ll explain.” The man’s words were hushed but demanding. She panicked and thrashed to break her attacker’s hold to no avail. “Miss La Beau.” The man’s voice was a harsh rasp. “I’m not going to harm you. I need your help. Your assistance is of utter importance.” With all her might, she hammered her fist into the man’s groin and got struck on the back of the head as the man instantly doubled forward with a wrenching gasp. “Why did you do that?” The man hunched forward and whimpered. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He let go of her. She took advantage of her freedom and ran to the far side of the parlor, grabbed the delicate candlesnuffer and brandished it like a club. Her hand darted upward to rub her aching head. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” “You don’t know me, ma’am, but I know you. My name’s Leroy, I was once Captain Curry’s quartermaster.” He straightened and limped toward a patch of moonlight cast across the floor. By moonlight, she saw it was the same intense-faced man who had been hovering around her gaming hall. “I’m sorry, Mister Leroy, but if you’re looking for the captain, I can’t be of any help. I’ve had no contact with Valcour Curry for nearly five years and I don’t expect to hear from him in the future. If he owes you money or has gotten into trouble, he’s done it on his own. His problems are no concern of mine. I have my own responsibilities to look after.” Leroy shook his head. “No ma’am, that’s not how it is. I too thought Curry abandoned or double-crossed me when he didn’t show up for a rendezvous almost five years ago. It was a mystery to all of us at the rendezvous point as to what happened to Captain Curry and the crew of the Lark.” Her voice rose in surprise. “The Lark?”
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“Yes, ma’am, the captain renamed the ship for you. When the Lark didn’t show up at the rendezvous, at first I thought they stole our share and ran, but Curry was never unfair with the men. Thieving from the trusted crew who helped make him rich seemed unlikely. He was always proud to be fair and generous. I chose to believe the worst had happened, that Captain Curry and the crew had died in a shipwreck, but I didn’t know for sure until two days ago.” A dark feeling of dread swept over her. “What are you talking about?” “I’m always on the lookout for new hiding places and rendezvous points—it’s part of my job. I was paddling up a swampy inlet in my pirogue when I found the Lark beached on the edge of a bayou, broken apart by climbing vines and the elements.” “Are you telling me the truth?” She gasped in alarm both from the strangeness of the story and the disturbing fact her intuition had never alerted her to such a possibility. What good was the gift of clarity if she had missed such an important fact? All her visions of Valcour’s whereabouts had been blanks, dead ends that lead nowhere. “Did you go aboard the Lark?” “Of course I did. I saw nothing wrong with it aside from weathering on its exterior and the cargo hold was fully stocked with food and water—all of which has turned sour of course.” “Maybe the men got sick?” she asked with dread. “Did you find any bodies aboard?” “No ma’am, but I paddled farther up the bayou and I saw a strange plantation, one I’ve never seen before. It looked more like a defensive Spanish fort than a working farm. The building itself was run-down and ill kept, but the cane fields surrounding it were lush and well worked. I thought that was odd. “As I paddled past, I saw a huge oak tree missing many massive limbs on half its side. I was surprised a tree that age and size could hold its balance on this earth with nearly half its weight missing, and then I saw it. A steel conquistador’s helmet had been jammed into the broken trunk of the old tree and the oak had continued to grow around it. For some reason, the sight of the crushed helmet swallowed by the thick trunk gave me the chills, and I decided against approaching the house.” “What happened?” “It was nearly dark, so I hauled my pirogue ashore and quietly watched the house from a distance to see if anyone was around. I ate a light meal of dried meat and tack and watched the sun set. As soon as it was dark, the fortress doors opened. I stood behind a tree and watched as a dozen men poured out, each with a machete in his hand.” “Were the men slaves?” she asked softly. “No doubt they were slaves, but not the sort you’re thinking. A hunched man with a harsh face stood at the gate of the fortress, holding an iron crock. He dipped a ladle into the crock and insisted each man drink from it before he was released into the fields.
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“Most of the men were stooped and looked quite beaten down. Those men were quick to drink, but one of the men was bigger than the others. He stood straight in contrast to the rest. There was something familiar about his profile. He resisted the ladle and tried to push it away but was kicked in the shins for his stubbornness and forced to drink. “I quietly moved along the edge of the cane fields, hoping to get a better look at the men. I crept to the edge of the field and lay low as the men dispersed into the tall cane, startling the night birds to flight as they approached. Soon, I heard the sound of a small army of machetes ringing through the air and cane stalks cracking.” A terrible premonition flashed in her mind’s eyes. “Did you ever get a good look at the men?” Leroy nodded. “It wasn’t easy. The night was dark and the cane was thick. The men were swinging long-blade machetes and I was armed only with a dagger. I crept up on the cane fields on my elbows and knees, but I did see him. I clearly saw Captain Curry in the moonlight slashing down cane.” “What?” She was horrified. She had been resentful of Valcour for years, openly accusing him of abandonment, greed and vanity, suspecting he was enjoying the good life in Paris. It sickened her to realize Valcour was near, and for whatever reasons he was enslaved and living in misery. What was worse, her “gift” had revealed nothing about the matter. “Did you speak with him?” Leroy’s face became somber. “I tried. I waited until Captain Curry had hacked a clear path to the edge of a field, beyond sight of the hunched man who made him drink from the ladle. His presence was disturbing. He was not himself. I could barely stand to be near. His body is still powerfully built, perhaps more so from the hard labor, but his expression was blank and his eyes were completely empty of the man I once admired and trusted. He looked right at me as if I weren’t there. His attention was honed to the machete and the fallen sugar cane and only that. He felt like a complete stranger to me.” “Are you certain it was Valcour Curry? It was dark and you saw the ship, perhaps your eyes expected to see the captain and tricked you?” “No ma’am. I stood as close to him as we are standing now. I called to him. ‘Captain, it’s me—Leroy! What can I do to help you, sir?’ The captain ignored me and pushed past. I leapt in his path and called his name again. My words didn’t even register on his face. I don’t think he even remembered me, and we’d been through so much together. “As I hovered at the edge of the cane, stunned at what I saw, I came too close and the captain almost struck me with the machete as he continued hacking mindlessly at the cane stalks, as if I weren’t standing in front of him. I dared not touch him, though I wanted to grab hold of him and lead him away. Silently, he turned his back to me and headed into the dense, uncut section of the field, slashing his way through the cane like a plow through soft earth.” Lark leaned forward. “Did you leave him there?”
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“I had to!” Leroy’s body shivered. “It’s an oppressive place. I know how to manage men at sea, plan a raid on a ship and steal its cargo, but I was not prepared to face the evil presence of this place alone. Bad magic is practiced there, I’m certain of it. That’s why I need your help, Miss La Beau. I want my friend and captain back. I believe Captain Curry is under an evil spell and enslaved to the master of the Broken Oak Plantation.” Her blood ran cold. “The Broken Oak? Are you sure that’s the right name?” “Yes, the name’s carved on the front gate.” “How far away is it?” Lark grabbed the shawl draped over the back of the chaise and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Can you take me there—now?” “Thank god you’re going to help.” Leroy’s shoulders relaxed. “Bless you, Miss La Beau. If we leave now, we can be there by morning.” Mathilde walked into the parlor, carrying a small tray of cold chicken and claret in a crystal goblet. She gasped and nearly dropped the tray when she saw a man standing in the shadows. “What’s going on?” Lark snatched the claret off the tray and swallowed it in a single gulp. “This is Leroy, he was Captain Curry’s quartermaster.” “Hello, Mister Leroy.” Mathilde’s voice deepened with a note of uncertainty. “Lark, is everything all right?” “Valcour’s alive!” The words exploded out of her mouth. She quickly lowered her voice to avoid waking Darby. “He’s been enslaved under some sort of dark juju spell, and he’s being used as a laborer on a cane plantation.” She stared at the empty goblet. “Can I have another claret?” Mathilde set the tray down. Deep lines of concern creased her brow. “What sort of spell?” “I have no idea but I’m going to him, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to free Valcour and find out what this is all about. Mister Leroy is going to take me to the Broken Oak Plantation right now.” “Now? Is that wise? It’s night.” Mathilde shot a worried glance toward Mister Leroy. She hurried to Lark’s side and pulled her into a corner. “Think, honey,” she whispered. “Does this feel right to you? Do you even know this man really was Captain Curry’s quartermaster? You’re a wealthy young woman. This could be a trap or a kidnapping. I beg you to at least wait until tomorrow morning and get Hendricks and a few of the men to go with you.” Lark took hold of Mathilde’s hand. “I appreciate your concern. I truly do, but I believe this man is telling the truth, and I don’t dare bring innocent people to this place if it is what I suspect it to be.” “Lark, don’t go alone. If there’s true, dark magic being practiced, I have a bad feeling you’ll be faced with more than you can safely handle.”
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“You told me earlier this evening I was fighting my gift—that it wanted to grow within me, and you were right. I can feel it. I’ve glimpsed things tonight I’ve long wanted to avoid. I’m ready to do this and there’s no one else who can.” “I’ll get my valise.” Mathilde crowded past Lark. “I’m coming with you. You’re going to need my experience and help.” “No.” Lark gently took hold of Mathilde’s arm. “I need you to stay behind and look after Darby. I want you and Darby a safe distance from trouble. If anything happens to me and I don’t make it home—you need to be a good grandmamma and raise Darby in my place.” “Are you serious?” Mathilde’s jaw gaped. “Are you going to attempt to take on a dark magician by yourself? Honey, that’s just not done. Beneficents work in pairs, ideally in groups so we can watch each other’s back. Alone, you’ll be completely vulnerable should you become emotionally exhausted.” She paused. “Are you listening to me? I know how stubborn you can be. Is any of this soaking in? You don’t even know who you are dealing with or how the spell was cast. What if the practitioner of the dark magic is present and challenges you? Do you think you’re ready to face that by yourself?” “I don’t want to face it alone, but if I have to, I will. If what I’ve glimpsed in vision and heard about is true, this is a new kind of evil. This isn’t the casual bad juju we see cast in the Quarter by some vengeful person. This is something else entirely. This test will make or break me. I can sense it. There’s a reason I need to deal with this by myself and I’ll know that reason when I get there.” “You’re determined to go alone, aren’t you?” Mathilde’s face collapsed with worry. “You’re a stubborn girl but I love you.” Her fingers fished under her collar and pulled out a tiny, beaded pouch on a leather tether. “Wear my juju bag. Take part of me with you.” The bag hung in the air, unclaimed for many moments. Lark realized all that Mathilde’s personal juju bag meant. It was part of Mathilde’s power and protection against disease and physical threat in the Quarter and so much more. Taking the juju bag was like taking her armor and leaving her in the fight without a defensive shield. “Thank you.” Lark reached for the beaded pouch and slipped it around her neck. “I promise I’ll do my best to bring it back safe. Can I get you to do one more thing for me, would you raid the galley and put a food basket together? I want to kiss Darby goodbye and get going as soon as I can.” Mathilde looked startled. “Aren’t you going to pack your tools, herbs or magical roux? You better prepare for the worst.” Lark shook her head. “I won’t need them. Everything I need to work with will already be there. I just know it.” “It just gets worse and worse. I can’t hear any more.” Mathilde hung her head. “I want this over with and behind us. I’ll go back to the galley and pack up the rest of the fried chicken and biscuits.” 48
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“And some bourbon, whiskey or anything else fortifying that you might have, ma’am.” Leroy added hopefully. Mathilde left the parlor on her errand. “Excuse me,” Larked addressed Leroy. “I have to do something important. I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes.” “Miss La Beau, the Broken Oak Plantation a long way downriver. The sooner we leave the better.” Lark turned and walked toward the side door of the parlor and slowly turned the handle. The white-lacquered door creaked opened on a snug but elegantly decorated suite of adjoining cabins. She slipped into the tiny room that was filled with Darby’s cot and toy chest, and sat quietly on the edge of the bed. She looked down at her little one sprawled diagonally across the cot, noting how long his legs were. He seemed to stretch longer during the night. It was plain he would be as tall as his father. His little feet were almost dangling over the end of the cot and clearly it was time to get a larger one. Her fingertips brushed across the top of the blankets. Darby felt toasty hot beneath. She marveled that a child’s tiny body could generate so much heat. “Mama.” Darby blinked his eyes and sat up. “Don’t wake up, darling. I just came to give you a kiss good night.” “Lie down with me.” Darby grabbed onto her wrist and clung to it. “I had a bad dream.” “I can’t stay, honey. I have a guest in the parlor. What did you dream?” “I dreamt you went away and a bad man hurt you.” A chill passed through her. Darby had the gift as well, and she wondered if it would stay with him and bloom into something dependable, or if it would flee with childhood. Part of her hoped he would outgrow it so he could live a normal life like anyone else. “Sweetie, was it a sleep dream, or was it that other kind of dream that sometimes happens to you and me?” “You mean when I see things that later happen?” “Yes, that kind of dream.” “I don’t know, Mama, I was scared. You were in a dark place. There was a man with a long knife.” She leaned over to gently kiss the top of his head. “Oh chere, that does sound scary. Could you dream something better for me? I don’t want that dream.” She laughed softly but worried internally that even Darby had picked up on the problem. “Come here, I want to show you something.” “What?” Darby struggled out of bed. Lark led Darby to the cabin door. They peeked through a crack into the parlor. She pointed at Leroy, who was impatiently pacing in front of a window. His profile shone
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clearly in the moonlight, complete with a broken nose. “In your dream, was that the man who wanted to hurt me?” she whispered softly. “No Mama, that’s not the bad man, but the bad man did hit this man hard on the back of his head and kicked him.” She gasped. “Oh you poor thing. I’m so sorry you have such bad dreams. Maybe someday they’ll stop.” She led Darby back to bed and neatly tucked him under the covers. Darby immediately sat up and mussed the covers. “Are you going?” She wrapped her arms around Darby’s narrow shoulders and hugged him close. “I’m going to be very busy tomorrow. I’ll be away from the riverboat. I need you to be extra good for Mathilde and do everything she asks.” She looked into his face, which reflected Valcour a little more each day. “No playing river pirate. I don’t want you playing that game.” “Everybody loves it.” “I don’t care. It’s a bad game.” His big gray eyes looked into hers. “I know why you don’t like the pirate game.” She froze. “Then you’ll understand why I’m asking you not to play it.” She kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep, honey.” She rose and grabbed her hooded cloak and gloves from the next cabin. She glanced at a little bag of all-purpose roux sitting on the nightstand and decided she better bring a couple along for the journey just in case and tucked a few bundles of blessed herbs into the pocket of her cloak before returning to Darby’s cabin. “Good night, darl’n.” She drew one of the sweet scented sleeping roux from her pocket, gently kissed it and set the little bundle beneath Darby’s pillow. “This will guarantee sound sleep and a sweet dream.” “Good night, Mama…” His little voice trailed off, already half-asleep. She quietly closed the cabin door and walked back into the parlor. Mathilde had returned with a hastily gathered basket of food. “I threw everything in. Cook will be very cross with me tomorrow.” Lark took the basket from Mathilde’s hands and brushed a light kiss against her cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She led Leroy out a side door and walked along the wrought iron banister of the riverboat. The air outside was cool and damp. The steam whistle blew two piercing calls. The paddlewheel slowed. She pointed toward a cluster of lights ahead. “That’s New Orleans. We’ll stop at the docks. How are you going to get us downriver?”
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Chapter Four The first time
Leroy paddled the lightweight pirogue between the knobby-kneed roots of a cypress swamp. The long paddle splashed gently in the bayou. The moon slipped below tree line and the sky was dark. “Mister Leroy, you’ve been paddling tirelessly for hours. I can paddle for a while so you can eat something and take a rest.” “I’m fine, Miss La Beau. I’m a bit anxious to reach the Broken Oak Plantation before sunrise and hide the boat.” She saw by the determined look on Leroy’s face that it was useless to argue. “How much farther?” “Not much, perhaps an hour, maybe less. It’s slow going because I want to avoid being seen on the main channel. This way is safer.” The bass hoot of an owl floated through the mossy treetops. The bird’s haunting call carried a melancholy tone. “Would you please pass the bourbon?” Leroy glanced around with wide eyes. “We might be closer than I thought. I’m starting to get a bad feeling. Do you feel that, something heavy in the air?” he asked cautiously. “Yes.” A chill passed through her that had nothing to do with the dampness. It felt as if it this branch of the bayou was sad and forsaken. She sensed this was a tragic place where men had given up hope and lost their way. She rummaged through the food basket and handed Leroy the bourbon. Leroy stopped paddling to pull the cork from the bottle with his teeth and offered it. “Would you care for some, ma’am?” “No thank you.” She bundled the cloak tighter. “How long have you known Captain Curry?” “I knew Valcour before he was the captain.” Leroy laughed softly and took a long drink. “I knew him as a carpenter.” “A carpenter?” The statement surprised her. “Valcour never told me about that.” She paused. “But he didn’t mention a lot of things.” “We both signed on as carpenters aboard a merchant schooner returning from the Eleuthera islands. Valcour was a very good carpenter. Back then, he was known as a levelheaded and modest-tempered man, which means a lot when you’re living on top of thirty or forty irritable men in a small space. A peacemaker and a sober leader is always welcome aboard ship. Especially when the captain we had was a bandy-legged,
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good-for-nothing, under-thinking, hot-tempered, foolish rum sop. Excuse my language.” She grinned. “I can guess what happened. Valcour sweet-talked the crew into turning on the captain and took the ship for himself. Am I right?” “No ma’am.” Leroy’s voice dropped. “It was horrible. Pirates pretending to be a crippled merchant ship in distress with a torn mainsail boarded us. Our naїve Captain Manilow sailed right into a trap. Manilow made two foolish mistakes. He allowed pirates to board our ship and then demanded an exorbitant fee from them in exchange for a surplus sail.” “What happened?” “The pirates refused to pay for anything. Captain Manilow was immediately shot dead and our crew divided, which shook us all. The pirates separated our crew into two groups. They ordered the gunners, carpenters and coopers to stand to the left and officers and everyone else to stand to the right. Nobody knew which group would be the most useful or how they would be used.” Leroy’s eyes widened. “I nearly bolted to the side with the officers, thinking their group would be ransomed and offered better treatment, but Valcour gave me a sideways glance so stinging I didn’t dare budge from the spot, and I’m so grateful I didn’t. A moment later everyone standing to the right of me was shot dead. It turned out as it always did, Valcour guessed correctly. The pirates needed carpenters more than they needed officers to ransom. We were spared and the pirates put us to work on a desert beach careening their ship.” Leroy’s face lit with a look of admiration. “That was the day I started looking at Valcour in a new light. I silently allowed him to be my leader. He was quiet, observant and watched the pirates like a hawk. He quickly came to the conclusion the pirates were a disloyal and thoughtless bunch torn between two would-be chiefs.” The paddle dipped into the bayou, occasionally scraping against a sunken tree limb in the increasingly shallow water. Leroy used the paddle to push them away from the large cypress. He spoke softly. “The days passed, and as we neared the end of our task, we got worried. The hull of the pirates’ schooner was patched and almost planed clean of barnacles and sea grass. We knew very soon we would not be needed. I was scared out of my wits, waiting for the pirates to fire a musket ball at the back of my skull.” He paused. “I’m making myself nervous just thinking about it.” He laughed softly. “But it wasn’t funny back then.” “I’m sure it was terrible.” She watched Leroy take another long sip of bourbon. “How did you and Valcour escape the pirates?” “We didn’t. We became pirates, and that was Valcour’s doing, but I respected and followed his lead because I knew he was my best chance to survive.” “How is that?” “One night when the pirates were restless and very drunk, Valcour got the two strongest men in the group to doubt and fight each other. He was very clever about 52
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planting unrest in front of the other men. Valcour asked, ‘How much money do you think Captain Manilow could have been ransomed for? Manilow was from a very wealthy family…’” Leroy winced. “Valcour threw outrageous sums into the air, which Manilow’s family even if they wanted him back could never have afforded to pay. The pirates discussed the fantasy sums enthusiastically and agreed it was a great loss. A few became downright disgruntled at the lost revenue. “Then Valcour openly asked who ordered Captain Manilow shot? Fingers were pointed at one bull-headed man. Valcour shook his head. ‘What a shame, fortunes lost. I would have handled the situation quite differently.’ The bull-headed man became enraged and shouted what could have been done differently? “It was then Valcour revealed his true value. He rattled off several original and clever plans for tricking and taking a merchant cargo ship—bloodlessly. He ended his statement with the line, ‘And I would have allowed Captain Manilow to live long enough to tell me about the Aztec Princess.’ The pirate camp flew into uproar at this point about who or what the Aztec Princess was.” She laughed. “Now this sounds like the Valcour I knew. What was the Aztec Princess?” “A fantasy treasure ship Valcour created on the spot, but his tale about its cargo of gold ingots, spices and slabs of purest black onyx was so convincing, the pirates wanted to believe. Valcour caused more trouble by whispering the ship’s route to one man but not the other and got the pirates to fight amongst themselves about who had the right to claim the Aztec Princess. By morning one of the pirate chiefs was dead and the camp was divided. We had two ships and two angry camps. Half the men elected Valcour their captain and sailed away with him.” Leroy shrugged. “That’s how it started. We did it purely to save ourselves, but Valcour quickly took to piracy and learned to do things his own way. He became a master of intimidation, planning, trickery and outright theft, but he never killed his victims. He used his wits instead of a pistol. Senseless killing sickened him and he refused to do it.” “I’m glad to hear Valcour had at least one redeeming quality.” Leroy chuckled. “Valcour has more than one redeeming quality and you know it. That’s why you and me are going out of our way to get him back.” She smiled. “You’re right.” She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on Valcour’s memory for years. It had simply been too painful so she blocked it out. She now realized it couldn’t stay that way. Hearing about Valcour’s secret life and why he was what he was opened her heart and her eyes to a more complex man than she had previously guessed at. At that moment, it was impossible to know how to feel about Valcour. He was such a charming, charismatic figure, but he did possess a dark side.
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Suddenly unwelcome and unbidden, vivid memories of Valcour’s face and presence flooded her mind. Her heart felt empty and actually longed to be filled with unconflicted and loving thoughts of him. She didn’t fight it and allowed herself to actually enjoy thinking of him and all that had once been good. The Valcour she had known was loving, generous and respectful. She wondered if there was any harm is simply allowing herself to think of him without feeling hurt, angry or deprived? “Mister Leroy, I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes and rest. Please wake me before we reach the Broken Oak.” She pulled the hood of her cloak around her face and curled up on the floor of the pirogue. Loons called in the distance. The paddle quietly pushed against the water. Her eyes closed, and for the first time in a very long time, she allowed herself the pleasure of remembering Valcour. A memory of strolling through the Quarter with her hand hooked possessively around Valcour’s strong arm washed over her. They had met every day for weeks to take long walks, share meals and conversation together. Every day they spent together, she felt better about losing her heart to him. Valcour was charming, smart, generous, interested in the greater world and considerate of her and Mathilde. His stories and future plans opened new horizons she never guessed existed. All eyes were on them as they passed. They were now an elegantly matched couple, dressed in the richest, shadowy shades of purple. Other women in the Quarter gazed at her with equal parts envy and respect. It was unusual for a poor orphan girl to have landed such a dashing gentleman. The growing reputation of the Roxy Belle as the place for high-rolling gentlemen to be seen and spend money didn’t hurt Valcour’s reputation one bit. One evening in early February, Valcour cut their evening stroll short and steered her toward the river docks. “Where are we going?” she asked knowingly. A trip to the docks could only mean one thing. “To the Roxy Belle.” He smiled. “I have something special planned.” She smiled sweetly. “The Roxy Belle is good for your reputation but not mine. I think I’ve been seen there lately a little too often. It not the best place for an unattached lady to be. There’s been a lot of snippy gossip around the Quarter.” “I’ve been thinking about that.” He patted her hand. “I want to talk you about something important over supper.” “Why don’t you tell me now?” she pressed. “No.” His expression clouded. “I want to do this in private.” His detached expression worried her.
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They walked in nervous silence toward the docks. Their heels clicked in unison against the wooden planks of the boardwalk. She wondered what he was nervous about and continually glanced at his face, which held a neutral expression and betrayed nothing. By the time they boarded the Roxy Belle and strolled through the gaming hall, her heart was pounding. Was this going to be good news or bad? She couldn’t tell. She had grown so fond of him. Perhaps he wanted to tell her it was time to move on? That would be horrible. He had already warned her he had plans in the works and would soon be taking a business trip. She knew he had been to Paris and spoke constantly of his love for the city. She also knew he loved the sea and now worried he might drift back. She had no idea what to expect and realized with a growing sense of vulnerability that when she was nervous or personally involved, her gift of clarity was utterly useless. In her flustered state, she couldn’t get a sense of his true mood at all. Valcour led her past the crowded gaming tables toward his private quarters. The seated gamblers glanced up fleetingly to study them as they passed. She clutched Valcour’s arm, wondering what sort of mood she would be in when she walked back out and had to face this same crowd later in the evening. Valcour pushed the door open to his private quarters. The front parlor was lit with dozens of candles and a beautiful table decorated with cut ivy. The table was already set with crystal goblets and silver steamer domes covering the plates. He politely pulled out a chair for her. “Thank you.” She sat carefully as she gazed around the room. There were crystal vases of greenery and glowing candles in every corner. Someone had gone to a lot of extra trouble to make the parlor look even lovelier. “Did Hendricks do all this?” “Yes.” Valcour nodded. “And Mathilde.” She relaxed a little at the mention of Mathilde’s name. “Supper smells wonderful. What’s under these silver covers?” “Take a look.” Valcour smiled as he sat beside her. She lifted the silver dome, releasing a whiff of herb-scented steam. Beneath the dome was a beautifully arranged plate of roasted chicken and rice with buttery winter vegetables. Sitting on the side of the plate was a tiny porcelain custard cup with an amethyst ring carefully placed in the center of it. Her breath caught at the sight of the purple sparkle. Valcour plucked the chunky signet ring from the cup and reached for her hand. “Go ahead, try it on. Let’s see how it looks.” He slid the ring onto her finger. The ring was so large on her slender finger, the heavy stone instantly swung downward. He looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even consider the size. I only thought about the stone, but I can get it fixed.” He glanced up and looked directly into her eyes. “I think we should get married.” His words were spoken as fact. 55
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She turned the stone upright and glanced down at the heavy amethyst on her slightly trembling finger. An overwhelming sense of relief and joy washed over her. In the past weeks, she had been afraid to admit to herself how deeply Valcour had pierced her heart. There would never be another man to equal him and she knew it. The thought was a little frightening. “I’m delighted.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I would be proud to marry you.” Valcour patted his knee. “Sit on my lap.” She rose from her chair and carefully sat on his knee. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. His hands reached out to brush a dark ringlet from her cheek and gently caress her face. “I love you, Lark. You’re my little freckle-face voodoo queen. I’m so glad you witched me that morning at the Ashmunton House with a voodoo sugar roux and made me fall in love with you.” He sang the words to her. A broad smile lit his face. She laughed softly. It had become their daily tease. On their evening walks through the Quarter, Valcour would ask exactly how she had cast a love spell on him, and she would once again deny doing such an unfair thing. He would say something like This love feels so sweet you must have used sugar to cast your spell. “I did not cast a sugar roux on you.” She kissed his forehead. “You did all this to yourself.” He pulled back slightly so he could fully view her face. “I have another surprise for you. I’ve renamed the Roxy Belle the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen. I already have a gilded plaque on order. I want everyone to know I love you.” He paused. “I also transferred ownership of the riverboat to you.” She gasped in surprise. “Valcour, why did you do that? This is your livelihood. I know nothing about operating a riverboat.” “I have my reasons.” He grew quiet for a moment. “I need to know you’ll be taken care of.” A little stab of worry shot through her. “Are you going somewhere? Are you afraid something bad is going to happen to you?” “Don’t worry, love,” he whispered. “We‘re going to be married soon and we can begin our lives together.” She looked into his eyes and saw something sad there and became very worried for him. “Let’s see a priest tomorrow. I’m not sure I can wait.” “Let’s wait. I want to give you a grand wedding with lots of nice things.” “I’ve never had nice things and I don’t really need them now.” “Nonsense.” He chuckled. “I love nice things. Don’t you want to have the best mansion in the Quarter and a fine carriage with a matched team of horses?” “Not really. In fact it might leave me a bit uncomfortable.” “You’re a jokester, Lark. I thought all ladies loved nice things.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m not really a lady.”
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“Oh, you’re a lady for sure.” He gazed lovingly at her. “Sometimes I can’t figure you out. What would you like from me? What can I give you?” She cupped his face in her hands. “A loyal heart, a good home and some children, maybe a place for Mathilde so she won’t have to live alone. That’s what I want.” “Hell yes, that’s easy to give you.” “No. It’s not easy.” She slowly shook her head, thinking of all the sadness and broken lives she saw every day in the Quarter. “If it were easy, the world would be full of happy people.” “Oh.” A look of recognition crossed his face. “I think I understand.” The harsh line of his mouth softened. “You’re afraid I’m going to abandon you like your mama or papa. You’re scared I’m going to leave you standing alone on the docks. I promise I won’t do that. I’m not that kind of man.” “The first moment I saw you, I said quietly to myself, that’s the wrong man to fall in love with. He’s too adventurous and just too much for one woman to satisfy.” The chill of doubt filled her heart. “Am I going to be enough for you?” His face became somber. “I’ve been worrying that I’m not good enough for you. I’ve done the best I could with my life, but there are things I want to change, things I’m not particularly proud of. I wasn’t going to burden you with this but maybe I should tell you now and let you make up your own mind.” He hesitated. “I have to go away for a little while and I don’t know for how long.” She brushed a kiss across his lips. “Why?” “It’s commerce.” “But your business is on the river?” He faintly smiled. “My future with you is on the river, but my past is on the sea. I’m sure you have suspicions about what sort of business I’m in. I didn’t want to dwell on it because I intend to leave that business behind and live a good life.” He paused. “But I have prior obligations to others.” “What sort of obligations?” His face became stern. “I’m a captain, my men depend on me. I have to follow through on my plans. Before you and I met, my crew and I planned our biggest prize yet. Through a trusted friend, I was given information about a ship sailing under a Dutch flag to Mexico to pick up a consignment of silver ingots. I made sure as many of my crew as possible were hired as hands aboard the ship. I even managed to place an officer aboard. That ship will be returning to the Gulf soon and I need to be ready and waiting for her.” “You’re going to ambush and rob a treasure ship?” She balked. “Don’t do it, Valcour. It’s too dangerous.” His hand cast a dismissive slash through the air. “I’ve done it before, many times. It’s my specialty. I plan carefully and always place loyal men aboard the target ship. So far I’ve taken every ship without losing a single life. ”
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“Please don’t tell me this is about money. Gamblers lose a small fortune in your gaming hall every day.” “It’s your riverboat gambling hall now,” he gently corrected her. “It’s not worth the risk. We don’t need more money to start our lives.” “I disagree.” His lips drew to a terse line. “I want a big house in town, a fine plantation upriver and more riverboats. This is going to be my last ship. No more buccaneering, I swear it. Taking ships is not a task for a married man, but I have to take this last one, others are counting on me to show up and do it.” “Valcour, don’t go. Stay with me. I have a bad feeling about this. I’m afraid I’m going to lose you.” “You’re never going to lose me.” “Don’t say that. You can’t be sure. Our fate is never completely in our hands but we can avoid foolishness and unnecessary risks when we see them. Please don’t do it.” “I’m sorry.” He threw his hands in the air. “I have to take this last ship. Everyone expects it of me. I’ve set plans in motion and I can’t back out.” “I want you safe with me.” She kissed the side of his cheek and his stubbly jaw, and allowed the warm kisses to trail downward to the edge of his collar. Her fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt, exposing a dark tuft of silky chest hair. Her fingertips methodically stroked the soft strands of hair. “Forget about the treasure ship,” she whispered. “Keep me close tonight. You might change your mind by morning…” “You don’t have to tempt me to stay, believe me, I’m already tempted. I don’t want to leave you.” He looked at her with longing. “I didn’t push myself on you because I knew you were special and worth waiting for. I wanted to do this right. I want something in my life to be decent and right.” Her weight shifted on his lap. Her hand slowly slid down the length of his solid torso, reached between his thighs and cupped the rising bulge in his trousers against her palm. “What could I do to convince you staying with me is the right thing?” Her palm pressed firmly between his thighs and slowly stroked back and forth. His thick, black lashes fluttered. “If you keep touching me like that, I’m not going to be able to stop.” “Then don’t stop.” She shifted off his lap. “Bolt the door,” she whispered. “Are you sure?” His eyes glittered brighter than the all the candles on the tabletop. “I want this bad, but I’ll be honest with you, I’m still going after the Dutch ship. I have to.” Her fingers unknotted the front laces of her gown and loosened the bodice. “I’ve waited so long to love someone this much. If you go and something happens to you, I’ll be lost. I know this won’t stop you from leaving me, that you have to do what you must, but show me how much you love me before you go. Let me know what it feels like. I’m never going to love anyone like this again, I just know it.”
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He looked slightly alarmed. “Lark, don’t be so dour, nothing is going to happen to me.” He rose from the chair, walked toward the door and drew the bolt. “I shouldn’t boast about it but I’ve successfully robbed many ships of all sizes. I’m very good at it, and no one’s ever been killed. I doubt others could show as much restraint or manage as well. So, don’t worry.” He gazed at her. “What about your gift, can’t you just look into the future and see me coming home safe?” She grew silent, afraid to mention that her emotions were too much in the way and she couldn’t see a thing about the future. Her fingers froze on the bodice laces. “Relax. I don’t have the gift, but even I know the future looks bright.” He walked toward her, his eyes beaming. “Let me finish undressing you.” His warm hands took possession of hers. He slowly loosened each lace and tugged it aside. Her dress slid to the floor, exposing a soft, cotton chemise and frilly pantaloons. The cool air in the room instantly made her nipples peak against the thin cotton. The flushed pink tips of her breasts clearly shown through the thin fabric. She glanced downward and fought the impulse to shyly cross her bare arms over her breasts and cover them. “You look very tempting.” She glanced up and saw the heated look in his eyes as they swept across her rounded curves. Her faced blushed hot. “I know this is your first time, but this is also my first time with someone who truly belongs in my heart and bed. This feels different to me.” He paused. “If you’re nervous, I want you to know, I’m a little nervous too. More than anything I want to be your man and make you happy.” Unwelcome words slipped past her lips. “What if you never come home?” A jolt of alarming emotion struck. She tried to smile, but her lips quivered between the indecision of wanting to both laugh for joy at his loving words and cry because part of her was afraid he could easily come to harm, disappearing beneath the waves forever, and she might never know for sure what became of him. Mixed tears gathered at the edges of her eyes. His fingertips gently stroked the side of her cheek. “Honey, this is the first time not the last. There’ll be many more.” “If you say so, I’ll believe you.” She meant for the statement to be calming, but her words sounded lost and anxious when they were meant to be reassuring. Her arms twined around his neck. She stood on tiptoe to reach his face and gently kissed his lips. His coat swung open and she snuggled close to his chest. The feeling of brushing against his body, minus a thick layer of her clothing, was so intimate and freeing it was almost intoxicating. She couldn’t wait for him to undress and to feel his warm skin pressed against hers. She needed the reassurance of his touch and wanted to know it was going to be all right because a hidden part of her was strongly hinting it wouldn’t be and she wanted that dissenting voice silenced. “Sweetheart, tell me what to believe. I just want to hear your voice.”
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He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “I believe we’ll be happy and live a long life together.” He kissed her. She allowed herself to relax and enjoy the pleasure of his full lips kissing her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding him captive in front of her. “Carry me to bed,” she whispered. “Are you certain? We can wait.” “I’m sure.” She looked directly into his eyes. “I’m a grown woman. I know what I want.” “I’m not going to argue with you.” His eyes sparkled and he scooped her off her feet, hoisting her against his chest. “You’re making my heart pound.” He smiled. “I’m going to have to force myself to slow down.” He carried her across the parlor and kicked the cabin door open with his boot. They entered his private cabin, which she had never seen. The cabin was small but elegant. The walls were covered in red velvet flocked cloth the color of black cherries. The bed was covered in a red-and-purple tapestry cloth and piled high with colorful silk cushions. She sighed as she looked around. “This room certainly looks like you.” “That’s because I raided the Quarter’s cloth stores and bought up anything wine red or purple.” He set her down on the bed and started stripping his clothing away. He shirked the coat from his shoulders, let it fall to the floor, kicked it aside and tore at the laces on his shirt. His fingers impatiently yanked at the snowy-white cravat knotted around his throat. He moved with focused speed, seemingly unable to undress quickly enough. A moment later, his tapering muscular torso was bared. He tugged off his boots with equal recklessness and tossed them aside. His eyes locked on her. “I’ve been dreaming of this.” “Have you also dreamed of this?” She slowly pulled the cotton chemise over her head, exposing fair skin warmed with coppery freckles, full breasts and pink nipples. She slowly lay across the bed as if it were a sacred altar and stretched her arms high above her head until her fingertips brushed against the velvet headboard. “I have.” Valcour stood motionless at the foot of the bed for many long moments, looking at her stretched across it. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” His voice carried a husky softness to it that quietly trailed off. He unbuttoned the fly of the trousers and tugged them down his lean hips, revealing a thick, flushed cock already standing straight. The trousers dropped to the floor and he kicked the last of his clothing away. She took one look at him, felt her cheeks burning, and fought the impulse to be coy and look aside. Instead she drew a deep breath and allowed herself to openly look at him with appreciation. He was so beautiful, with broad shoulders and tapering waist, but she had no idea how to react to a naked, fully excited man. She loved it—found it flattering and a little frightening.
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“Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump on you, even though I want to.” He smiled as his eyes gently engaged her. “I want you to look at me and get used to being near me. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to be very gentle with you.” “I know you will.” She slowly rose on the bed, feeling slightly self-conscious to be wearing only a fluffy pair of lace-trimmed pantaloons. “Come here, darling.” He coaxed her toward the foot of the bed. She slowly crawled toward him on hands and knees, trying to be gracefully slinky but ended up getting tangled in the heavy covers and scooted the last inches. She smiled shyly. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” “Don’t worry about it. There’s a real innocence to you that I love.” His hand reached forward to lovingly stroke her hair. “You’re not a sophisticate, jade or a fraud. You’re a good person and complete as you are.” The slightest hint of somberness crossed his brow. “Sometimes I feel I’m not good enough for you.” “You are,” she whispered. She was genuinely surprised to hear the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in his voice. Valcour always came across as a man in control of his world. She knelt at the foot of the bed in front of him. Her fingertips gently stroked the sweeping outer curve of his strong thighs and felt his skin pebble from her teasingly light touch. She leaned closer and gently brushed her face against the silky strip of dark hair running down the center of his chest. The tips of her fingers brushed idly against his tiny nipples in slow circles, making them peak sharply. She leaned forward to gently kiss each and softly trace the tip of her tongue along the peak. His skin pebbled and his weight shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Are you sensitive?” she whispered. “No.” He openly denied he enjoyed having his nipples stroked. She smiled and looked forward to discovering a few more of his secret preferences and little contradictions. She leaned closer. Despite the cool night, the warmth of his big body radiated a comforting wave of heat against her bare skin. She nuzzled her face against his chest, enjoying the closeness and the soft thump of his heart. His scent was warmly familiar and slightly musky with a pleasing green note of his beloved vetiver cologne. She drew in his scent savoring this first deeply intimate moment between them where clothing and the presence of others no longer held them apart. She had long wondered about this moment and how it would feel as it unfolded, but she hadn’t come close in her imagination to the reality of running her fingertips across his bare skin and the cascade of emotions and thoughts it would trigger. This was real and it was absolutely beautiful. His hand gently stroked her hair as he patiently allowed her the liberty of looking and touching.
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She wanted him to know she was completely accepting of him and ready to explore any pleasure he chose to share with her. She knelt lower. Her fingertips glided down his lean torso until she came face-to-face with the blunt head of his cock and gently kissed the wet tip with softly parted lips. He sighed and rocked back on his heels, instantly lifting a bit higher. The skin flushed a deeper shade of rose. Her hands firmly grasped his thighs and held him still as her tongue reached forward to catch the first glossy drop of fluid welling on the crown. The tip of her tongue slowly dipped into the tiny indentation and licked the droplet away. He tasted slightly salty but interesting. The faintly bitter flavor clung to her tongue and opened her thoughts to the wider mystery she was about to be introduced to. Her soft lips and fingertips explored him. Everything about him was new to her. The vastly varying textures of his skin were sometimes surprising to the touch. Her fingertips brushed the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the distinct contours. Her tongue swirled around the smooth crown, enjoying the powerful sensation of being so close to such a vital part of him. Her hand dropped lower to his sac. Her fingertips glided across the nubby texture of his skin, making his body shudder. Her palm possessively cupped the warm weight of his heavy sac and gave it a gentle squeeze as her wet lips closed around the head. He whispered a husky warning. “I can’t take too much of that.” She reluctantly pulled back and looked at his rapturous expression, which borderlined on agony. “I want to be your closest friend, lover and everything to you.” She didn’t want to wait a moment longer. “Take me.” She grasped his hand and pulled him beside her on the bed top. “I want to know what it feels like to lie beneath you and have you slide inside me and move. Don’t make me wait for it.” His throat tensed and his words were muffled. “I want that too.” His slight smile was teasing. “But you’ll have to wait.” He climbed onto the bed beside her on all fours, pushing the covers aside as he went, completely dominating the bed. He loomed above her and reached for the ties on her pantaloons. His eyes glittered with excitement. “It’s my turn to taste you.” His fingers worked to unknot the slender ribbons and tug the billowy pantaloons over the flaring curve of her hips and down her pale legs. His broad hands spread across her soft skin and claimed control of her thighs. She sighed softly, willingly parting her thighs to him, knowing she was finally going to experience the forbidden kisses she heard whispered about so longingly from ladies in the Quarter. “Show me everything.” She knew anything he did would thrill her, but she was especially curious about this. “I want this to be good for you.” “Because you want me to come back for more?” She smiled. “Yes.” He stretched his long body on top of hers, taking his weight on his elbows but allowing himself the luxury of fully pressing his body against her. 62
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“I love you, Lark, don’t ever doubt it.” He reached toward her face and gently held it between his hands and kissed her mouth. His warm lips glided over hers until his kisses deepened and his tongue teasingly coaxed her to engage him. She felt his heart racing and sensed his rising excitement as he pressed against her. His excitement greatly added to hers. She could hardly believe her good fortune that a man like Valcour felt so strongly for her. She returned his kisses with passion feeling more confident each moment, even as a dreamlike quality overtook her. His kisses trailed toward her arched throat. His lips slowly roamed over the soft skin above the pulsing artery beneath her ear. He gently kissed and sucked the sensitive area as her breath quickened. A little shiver raced down her spine. His warm weight pressing down on her was consuming. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of his breath near her ear. The edge of his teeth gently nipped her throat, setting off a tingly cascade of sensations that instantly covered half her body in gooseflesh. She gasped softly and curled to the side. A tiny ripple of anguished ecstasy washed over her as she writhed helplessly beneath him. “I can hardly take it.” Her body pressed closer to savor the ticklish and sweetly vulnerable sensation of his teeth at her throat. “You’re so sensitive,” he whispered. “I had no idea you were so ticklish.” His weight settled over on her as his knee gently parted her thighs and his hands securely pinned her body beneath him. “What else is sensitive?” His hands roamed across her soft skin, covered the round curves of her breasts and gently pressed them together. He leaned down, lifted a pink nipple to his lips. His warm mouth kissed and lovingly stroked it with the tip of his tongue gently drawing the nipple between his lips. It felt wonderful. Her weight shifted beneath him as his lips gently tugged at her breast. A burst of warm pleasure shot through her. Her nipple peaked higher from the touch of his tongue. The heated flush spread from her breasts over her entire body as she arched upward and pressed against his lips. Her motions silently begged him to take her nipple deeper into his mouth and suck harder so she could feel the sharp thrill at her core. He flicked his tongue rapidly against her nipple, gently tugging the nipple against his lips and sucking. His tongue swirled over the peak before allowing the wet nipple to pop free of his lips and take the other. She moaned softly. He pulled back. “Too rough?” “Not at all.” Slick heat gathered between her thighs. She was more than ready to feel him moving inside her. Her legs wrapped around him, locking him against her. “Please…” His lips pulled away from her breast and he allowed his kisses to slip lower.
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She almost held her breath as his warm kisses trailed downward and past the soft curve of her hip. His lips lovingly kissed the top of her mons and used two gentle fingers to part her thighs to a wide V. He slowly lowered his face between her legs with a soft sigh. “I love your scent.” His fingertips brushed against the tangle of auburn curls between her thighs. The touch of his lips was featherlight against her moist curls as his face pressed closer and drew in her spicy scent. His hands cupped the back of her hips and pulled her toward him. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms high above her head. Her fingertips searched blindly for something, anything solid to anchor to in case her body decided to float weightlessly off the bed but found nothing except the rumpled bedcovers. She nervously clenched the covers in tensely curled fingers. His warm breath flooded across her sex. He gently kissed the top of her curls, parting them with his fingertips and stroking the tip of his tongue across her bud. Her bud pebbled from the light touch. “Oh.” A deep sigh escaped her lips on the first engulfing contact with his warm mouth. It felt incredibly intimate to have his face pressed between her thighs. A sharp thrill raced through her. His tongue gently stroked across her most sensitive spots, sought out the fleshiest part of her folds and sucked them against his lips. She sighed softly at the surprisingly intense sensation. Her hips rocked against his mouth as heated sensations rushed between her thighs. His lips isolated her sensitive bud with quick, flicking strokes of his tongue and sucked harder. She gasped at the mixed rush of sensations, which were harsh and sweet. Wherever his mouth touched felt scorching hot, yet the skin of her thighs were pebbled with gooseflesh as if chilled. Her nerves seemed confused about what to report to her brain. As pleasurable tension built, she discovered she simply couldn’t stay still and had to wiggle beneath him on the mattress. His hands locked around her thighs and tried to hold her still. Her body gently rocked against his mouth, loving the novel attention. Her sheath became incredibly wet as her hips slowly gyrated against his mouth, intensifying the stroke of his tongue. “Go harder,” she pleaded. His mouth bore down on her. Her thighs gently squeezed the sides of his face, trapping him against her. The delicate skin of her inner thighs rasped against the slight beard stubble on his jaw. The feeling of him moving between her thighs was stunning. She loved that Valcour was her man and knew he was striving to please her with all his heart. “Look what you’re doing to me.” She whispered the words so softly she wasn’t sure he heard, and it didn’t matter. She was certain he could feel the pleasure washing through her. Her fingertips grazed across her nipples and gave them a little pinch. Her
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back arched off the mattress as a lick of fire shot through her. “I’m going to demand this all the time.” She sighed softly in encouragement, wanting him to know how much she was enjoying him. He nodded slightly in appreciation and crowded closer. She lifted her hips and pressed aggressively against his mouth, loving every level of sensation she climbed toward. She fought the desire to grind her body hard against his face and simply explode with pleasure. “Come for me.” His glanced up at her from beneath soot-black brows. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders. “Come inside me.” He slowly shook his head. “No.” His tongue stroked her bud and sucked it hard against his lips before gently releasing it. “If you want me inside you, you have to come first.” A desperate sigh crossed her lips. “Please. I’m so on edge.” “Relax and let me take you over the edge.” His mouth returned to her bud and gently tugged it against his lips and sucked. Her hips writhed from the rising tension. She pressed back hard and allowed her wet sex to slide back and forth against his mouth until it drove her mad. Her fingers lost their grip on the bedcovers and scratched against the headboard. “Harder,” she whispered. Her thighs locked around him, feeling as if she were unable to draw him close enough. Her hips thrust upward, offering herself. She wrapped her leg around him. As the warm pressure of his mouth on her bud increased, she found herself holding her breath. Her muscles tensed to the point her toes curled and cramped. A hum rose from deep in his throat. The tip of his tongue buzzed against her. The feeling against her sensitive sex was ecstatic. Her body arched upward, and for a split second she felt as if she were floating off the bed. She moaned softly and her hips swayed as she pulsed gently against his mouth. His tongue entered her, teasing her in a warm, wet sweep. “Ah.” A rush of release overwhelmed her. Her abdomen tensed as wave after wave of blissful sensation washed through her and left her slightly trembling on the mattress. A feeling of warm peacefulness overtook her. The feeling was pure beauty. She closed her eyes, allowing her limbs to fall limp against the bed top and simply be in the feeling, but she couldn’t quite relax. She instantly wanted more of what she had just experienced and was eager to repeat it. Her scattered mind attempted to grasp and replay every detail of the last lovely and surprising moments. “My turn.” His voice was husky and sounded pleased. His thumb slowly circled her bud and firmly pressed down.
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A second wave of pleasure surged. The loving tone of his voice, coupled with a shimmering jolt of sensation, instantly reawakened her desires and left her wanting more. Her thighs parted for him. The tip of his thumb pressed against her slick sheath and very carefully penetrated her. She was so wet there was no resistance to his thumb’s entry, only the first sharp thrill of being filled. Her hips rocked forward to swallow the length of his thumb as it slowly slid inside. It felt wonderful. She couldn’t wait to feel all of him moving within her. His thumb slowly slid from her, leaving her momentarily empty. Two long fingers gently took its place and slowly parted her folds, slightly stretching her. She sighed softly from the faint burn of the stretch. He immediately stopped. “It’s all right.” Her fingertips reached out to lightly stroke his wrist to let him know it didn’t really hurt and she was ready for him to go further. “Lark,” he whispered. “Open your eyes.” She slowly opened her eyes and gazed up at him poised above her. In the dimly lit room, his pupils were so wide his light eyes looked a lustrous black. He reached for her hand and guided it toward his thick shaft. His long fingers curled around hers. “You do it.” He spoke breathlessly. “Put me inside you.” She was a little intimidated to be given complete control. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft as she tilted her hips upward. She brushed the head of his cock against her. Pressing it between her drenched lips caused a riot of sensation. His eyes hooded. His jaw tensed as he waited. She saw how hard he was fighting at the edge of self-control. Her grip on him tightened as she guided him inside. She was so wet, the head slipped easily inside. “Oh my god.” Valcour groaned deeply. “You feel so good.” He seemed to be struggling to remain coherent. “Am I hurting you?” “No.” Her hips thrust slowly but firmly against him, half his length slid easily inside with only the slightest sting. She gasped softly as he stretched her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and locked him against her to hold him tight. Her face nuzzled against his chest. She wanted a peaceful moment to savor and feel everything, his flesh, muscle and warm breath on her skin. He pressed deeper. She sighed with relief at the faint burn, knowing he was already inside her and if it were really going to hurt, it would have already happened. “Move with me,” she softly pleaded. His weight settled on his elbows. His fingertips brushed against her cheek. He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips.
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She tasted her own tart, slightly musky flavor on his lips. It was thrilling to know he was covered in her scent. A possessive and previously unrecognized corner of her heart wanted to always have this personal claim on him, yet it felt faintly forbidden to even think it. He sank completely to the base and tried to push a bit farther. Once he was thoroughly slick from her, he began to slowly stroke in and out. The muscles of her body squeezed back and wrapped around him in a warm, snug embrace. A gritty moan rose in his throat. He pulled all the way out and slowly sank into her again, growing slicker with each stroke. His torso bowed over her and moved with short, carefully calculated strokes. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke softly. “You feel wonderful.” Her lips brushed a gentle kiss against the curve of his shoulder. His wet shaft rubbed against her bud, sending a tense shot of pleasure spiraling through her. She tilted her hips upward, hoping for more. He continued to move slowly with great restraint. She sensed he wanted to move faster but was afraid to. “You don’t have to be so careful.” Her hand drifted down the length of his spine and settled against the small of his back. Her fingernails lightly stroked the top curve of his buttocks and felt his skin pebble. His muscles tensed beneath her hand. Her palm spread across his lower back and firmly pressed down, pinning his body close and urging him to go deeper, move faster and feel the thrill of him unleashed. “Go.” For a moment, he resisted moving but couldn’t fight it for long. His arms locked around her and held her close. His hips thrust faster and his body began to move as if it had a will of its own. His grip tightened as his hips pumped furiously with abandon. “Oh god.” He thrust deep and froze. A helpless little gasp of surrender crossed his lips. His body tensed, followed by an incoherent groan. He trembled as he stroked slowly inside her, daring to wring out the last bit of pleasure as he came. She felt his body slightly shaking as he finished coming inside her. “It’s all right.” Her hand reached up to smooth a damp lock of hair from his brow. He gulped a deep breath, pulled back and looked into her eyes with a slightly worried expression. “I didn’t mean to lose control and come so hard.” “Hush.” She kissed his lips. “I enjoyed it,” she whispered. “In fact, I want you come again hard.” “We can do that.” He laughed softly. “Am I crushing you?” He rolled his weight off her and lay on his side. His eyes skimmed across her naked body stretched across the bed. His fingertips lazily stroked the curve of her hip. He gazed at her with a bright sparkle of interest in his eyes for what felt like a long while without saying anything. His lips parted several times but unspoken words remained silently trapped inside. He appeared eager to speak but said nothing until finally a softly spoken admission tumbled out. “I’ve never loved a woman so much in my life.”
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She smiled. Her heart leapt at the sweet sincerity in his words. “I’ve never loved a man—ever.” The moisture between her thighs felt hot and drenching. She was tempted to daub her fingers into it and curious to feel its slickness, but she worried what he might think of her actions. “Do you have a cloth or handkerchief?” He glanced around him and reached for his silk cravat. He balled up the elegant silk scarf in his hand and gently pressed it against her sticky inner thigh, slowly working his way higher. She reached for his wrist to stop him. “Not your silk scarf. It’s too nice. You’ll ruin it.” “Nothing’s ruined.” He gently daubed the silk against her wet sex. “This was our first time and I don’t want to forget it.” He carefully stroked the silk across her sensitive skin. “Will that wash out?” “I don’t know.” He faintly smiled as he reached toward the floor to stuff the cravat into his coat pocket. “I have no intention of ever washing it.” She slowly sat up and faced him. Her body was only slightly sore, nothing as much as what she been expecting. She was obsessed by the memories of how good he felt moving inside her, and she was already eager to repeat the whole thing. “So, is it safe to guess you’re secretly sentimental?” Her fingertips reached out to stroke the sandy edge of his jaw. “I’m glad one of us is—I’m not.” “You’re not sentimental?” His brow rose skeptically. “We’ll see about that, only time will tell.” His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Come here.” His warm hands stroked her back. “Lie next to me.” She snuggled against his chest and felt his body stir. He gazed into her eyes. His fingertips brushed across the top of her chest and the side of her throat. “You have such a pretty face.” The tip of his thumb gently traced across the contours of her cheek. “I wonder where your people came from? Who they were? With your green eyes, you have an Irish look about you. Your freckles remind me of my ma. She was a sweet woman. She was Irish. Her maiden name was Claire Darby.” “Claire Darby?” She quietly repeated the name. “That’s a pretty name.” An odd shiver of recognition shot through her. Her intuition alerted her that even though Claire Darby was long gone from this world, she was an important soul and would somehow become a big part of her life. “I miss her.” Valcour’s voice lowered to a somber whisper. “I’ll never forget how disappointed my father was that he was never able to give her nice things. The only thing he ever really gave her was me, and that’s not much.” He remained silent for many tense moments. “My folks were poor. They did without, and their lives were over so early. I can’t let that happen to me—us.” He tersely corrected himself.
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She continued to silently look at his beautiful eyes, which had taken on a melancholy expression. He reached for the loose amethyst ring on her finger and carefully removed it. “Let me take this back. It doesn’t suit you.” There was a touch of sadness in his voice. “It’s not good enough. I’m going to get you a real wedding ring. Something finer that belongs only to you.” He reached behind him and slipped the amethyst into his coat pocket. She glanced down at the empty spot on her finger, feeling suddenly hollow.
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Chapter Five The changelings
“Wake up, Miss La Beau.” Leroy lightly tapped Lark’s shoulder. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and gulped a startled breath. Her head lolled uncomfortably against the hard planks of the pirogue. The muscles of her neck were stiffly cramped from lying in an awkward position too long. She blinked, and all the warm, beautiful images of Valcour instantly dissolved from her mind like sugar stirred into water. “We’re just around the bend from our destination,” Leroy whispered tensely. Her eyes struggled open. It was still dark, the moon had nearly set and the slightest hint of indigo lightened the eastern sky. She sat straight in the pirogue and pulled her cloak tightly around her to ward off the damp, morning chill. Leroy drew a deep breath. “Do you see that clump of scrubby oak trees and cane fields ahead?” She squinted past the shallow-rooted cypress grove toward the stark outline of an unembellished, gate-fortified estate in the distance. “Yes.” Leroy pulled the paddle silently from the water and allowed the pirogue to drift toward the opposite shore of the channel. Worry creased his brow. “That’s the Broken Oak Plantation. We’re here.” The pirogue glided to the shadowy edge of a reedy shore at the far end of the sugar cane field and scraped against a muddy riverbank overgrown with brush. Lark carefully climbed ashore from the shallow boat, taking the small parcel of personal belongings with her. She turned toward Leroy, who stared at the distant plantation house in frozen trepidation. “Bring the bourbon,” she whispered. Leroy glanced at her in surprise, knowing she had consistently refused the bourbon for many hours. “Why did you hold out until now? I needed it hours ago.” “I was all right until now.” She faintly smiled and held out a trembling hand as evidence. “It’s different once you get close. I can feel the dark magic lying over these fields like a thick fog. Now that we’re here—I’m scared.” “Fer sure.” Leroy nodded in agree. He picked up the bottle and handed it to her then took hold of the pirogue and laboriously dragged it from the bayou. He pushed the boat into a clump of wild cane and covered it with leaves and brush to conceal it. She took hold of the bottle and turned her back to Leroy. Her fingers fumbled blindly through her satchel, searching for the herbal sleeping roux to slip into the bourbon. Leroy had already done enough, and she didn’t want to see him harmed. She 70
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wanted Leroy to be safe, stay where he was and allow her to do things her way—the beneficent voodoo way. She simply couldn’t take the chance Darby’s vision was accurate and Leroy would indeed meet his fate at the Broken Oak Plantation in the shape of a long-handled blade or a vicious blow to the back of the head. That wouldn’t be fair to poor Leroy at all. He had alerted her to Valcour’s whereabouts and paddled uncomplaining all night through a cold, damp bayou to reach this foreboding place. She simply couldn’t allow his persistence and loyalty to Valcour to be rewarded with a knife blade in the back. She rubbed the sleeping roux over the entire bottle of bourbon and dragged a little of the herbal mixture across the cork. With her back still turned to Leroy, she pretended to take a sip as she dropped an overly generous pinch of sleeping roux inside the bottle. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “A pinch of my lucky herbs slipped in here. Sorry about that.” She corked the bottle and handed it to Leroy. Leroy frowned at the disheartening sight of tiny flecks of herbs swirling around in a bottle of good bourbon. “It’s all right, Miss La Beau. Don’t give it a thought.” She smiled and spoke softly. “The herbs won’t hurt the flavor, and lord knows, we can all use a bit of good luck. Try it.” She gestured for him to drink. “I guarantee it’s still smooth bourbon.” Leroy pulled the cork from the bottle and drank. He smacked his lips in satisfaction. “It’s a bit minty, but it’s all right.” She squinted. “Does that really taste minty to you? Don’t you taste the slightly musty herb?” Her hands gestured for him to sample more. Leroy took another sip. His expression was neutral. “I don’t taste anything musty.” “Really?” He took another sip. “Really, I just taste minty bourbon.” “Well, that’s good to know. Miss Mathilde’s much better with the herbal concoctions than I am. Sometimes mine fall out of balance. I’m happy to hear you sense no musty flavor.” Leroy took another long swig from the bottle. He shook his head. “No mustiness.” His eyes blinked shut for a moment before slowly opening again. He swayed unsteadily on stiff legs. “No one likes musty.” She gestured toward a dry area inside a little ring of sugar cane. “Why don’t you sit down and rest for a moment?” Leroy’s eyes lowered to half-mast. He looked exhausted and slowly shook his head. “No, we should creep closer to the plantation and find a place to hide. It won’t be safe to move around after sunup.” “We have plenty of time.” She lied as she took hold of Leroy’s arm and walked him toward the ring of cane and encouraged him to sit. “You need to rest. Just close your eyes for a few minutes.” She quietly hummed a soothing tune.
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“I don’t need to rest.” Leroy plopped to the ground and slumped over. “I think we should get up and go.” His speech slurred as he stretched across the mat of flattened leaves and dry grass, and closed his eyes. His body went limp on the ground. A moment later he was fast asleep. She bent down and covered Leroy with his coat. Lark sprinkled a circle of dry herbs around him. “Be safe,” she whispered. “Be still and stay as you will. Close this circle of protection.” She stood back and pulled her hood over her head. It was done. The sleeping roux was cast. Leroy would doze soundly for hours and she was completely on her own. The sky grew lighter. The faintest streak of golden light glowed on the eastern horizon. She faced the Broken Oak Plantation and started walking toward its imposing walls, all the while being careful to step as softly as possible over the crunchy, dried leaves and debris scattered across the ground. She tried to remain hidden behind a towering wall of cane as she cautiously moved forward, wishing they had arrived an hour ago during complete darkness. She drew a tense breath. It was too late to wish for darkness now that she had to press forward. Every step she took in the direction of the plantation filled her with a rising sense of dread. The cane fields closest to the plantation were wildly overgrown with bramble and brush, and appeared as if they had remained untouched for many years. The clutter of dense vegetation formed its own thorny moat around the fortress-like estate that made approaching silently in the semidarkness precarious. She stood behind a thick clump of wild cane and carefully surveyed the front of the plantation. Everything she saw registered as abandoned, empty, forgotten. No cooking fires were lit and not a single candle glowed beyond a windowsill. The walls were cracked, completely collapsed in places, and no longer functioned as true walls. What was once an enclosed courtyard was now open to the wild. The large, iron lock and chain strung across the front gate was fused with rust and had obliviously not been opened in a very long while with good reason, there was no need to unlock the front gate with so many gaps in the crumbling wall, so the lock remained corroded and untouched. The wooden planks of the sun-bleached front gates featured the badly weathered but boldly carved words Palabrota Roble, paired with the English title Broken Oak. She walked to edge of the wall and slowly approached the back of the disturbingly quiet plantation compound. A thick mist floated on the cane fields visible beyond the cracked walls. Only the muffled snort of a horse broke the somber silence and betrayed any signs of life. The earthy scent of a stable and a cloyingly, bitter fragrance hung in the air. She squeezed through an open gap in the wall and crept into the courtyard clogged with tall weeds. An immense oak tree loomed in the bluish morning shadows of the plantation’s courtyard. She stared upward in stunned disbelief.
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What shocked her more than the tree’s sheer size and obvious age was its lack of symmetry. The towering giant appeared to have been split down the middle by a fiery lightning strike or vicious hurricane and broken in two. It was now virtually half a tree, with thick, gnarled limbs reaching toward the ground on one side and nothing to balance its titanic weight on the other. With half its life force missing, she marveled the tree had managed to remain upright. Clumps of odd, orangey-brown lichen clung to the branches of the oak along with tangled strands of hanging moss. The branches were cluttered with sheathed daggers, rusted muskets, liquor bottles, game cards and tattered strips of paper and cloth. Several of the lower branches even bore medals of distinction and wedding rings. She slowly approached the oak and saw a faint glimmer of steel trapped within the gnarled bark of its trunk. Her fingertips reached out to touch the object and discovered it was the crushed conquistador’s helmet Leroy had mentioned. A shiver of dread rushed through her. The helmet was even more unsettling to see in person than it was to hear described. The sight of the once-sturdy and protective object so badly bent out of shape was like seeing a crushed human skull and boded ill of someone’s violent misfortune. It was obvious that long ago it had been shoved into a fissure of the tree. The living oak had swallowed it whole and continued to grow around it until the steel buckled and only the chevron of the imprisoned helmet shone through. An internal chill pebbled her skin. She jerked her fingertips away in revulsion, knowing this was a haunted place. Many had died here in despondency, pain and regret. The dead whispered to her. The faint murmur of their mixed voices and mumbled regrets in many foreign tongues echoed through her mind. She sensed this was a hanging tree and place of confrontation. A bright bauble caught her eye. She saw a vaguely familiar-looking ring perched on the tip of a prickly branch. The faint glimmer of a purple jewel shone in the heavy silver setting. Her fingertips cautiously reached out to investigate. A loud cowbell rang from the back of the plantation house, abruptly breaking the silence. She gasped in alarm at the jarring noise and bolted toward the protective shadows of the fortress wall, hiding behind a stack of splintered crates with her heart racing. The bell continued its harsh clanging uninterrupted for several minutes. Its irritating clatter floated over the walls and spread across the cane fields. The sound of the bell quickly went from startling to infuriating. The bell rang unrelentingly without pause shredding her already tense nerves. As the minutes passed, she couldn’t stand it a moment longer and needed to see who was ringing it. She inched along the wall toward the back of the estate but saw no one beyond the misty fields.
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Her back pressed to the plaster wall. The plantation house itself was starkly plain except for its once-elegant, Spanish-style verandas with black wrought iron ornamentation. She knelt below a window casement and tried to look inside the house, but the glass panes were murky with years of accumulated grime. In front of her and just around the corner beyond view, the bell echoed maddeningly against the plastered walls. She decided to move toward the bell and crept along the covered veranda, almost on hands and knees. Heavy footsteps crunched behind her. She stood upright and turned. A large man stood only a few yards away, holding a machete in his limp arms. She gasped. The man’s eyes were void of thought or emotion, and his long arms hung at his sides. The tip of the machete dragged a narrow trench into the ground as if the man lacked the strength or will to lift it a single inch higher. The man lurched toward her on leaden feet, wearing tattered, sweat-stained clothing. She stifled a scream and raised her hands into the air. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered desperately. “I’m here to help.” The man did not react to her in any way. His eyes and facial expression remained blank. He appeared not even to notice her or care about her presence at this odd place. He continued to stare straight ahead as he walked toward the sound of the bell. He made no attempt to engage or avoid her. It was as if she simply did not exist in the same space as he. His halting gate never changed course. He walked directly toward her as he moved closer, his arm almost brushed against hers as he passed. She looked into the man’s face with dread but noticed there was something familiar about his broad mustache and the set of his jaw. It was often true people met under duress linger strongly in the mind and that was true today. The man standing in front of her was a haggard and greatly subdued version of the drunk and enraged man Valcour had won the Roxy Belle from all those years ago. Though he was nearly unrecognizable in his current state she was certain it was him. “Mister Milton?” Her fingertips dared to lightly tap the man’s arm. “Is that you?” she asked softly, knowing he couldn’t possibly have favorable memories of his one and only meeting with her—if indeed he remembered her at all. “Mister Milton can you hear me?” No reaction registered on his slack face. The man ignored her and pressed forward, dragging his machete behind him as he walked. Her eyes fell toward Mister Milton’s shuffling, bare feet, which were badly scraped and muddied, and appeared to have lived without the convenience of shoes for a very long time. She watched, as if dreaming, as Mister Milton slowly lumbered toward the sound of the incessantly ringing bell. Her eyes followed Mister Milton as he lurched away. Then she saw him. Valcour strode out of the morning mist straight and broad-shouldered, wearing his brocade coat from Paris and tall boots. The cowbell clanged in his hand. He faced the 74
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misty cane field ringing the bell until another dozen, dark silhouettes slowly emerged from the shadows, all wearing the same vacant expression as Mister Milton and all holding machetes in their dangling hands. “Valcour!” she impulsively called to him, and immediately clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from saying anything more. The man in the brocade coat stopped ringing the bell and turned toward her hiding place but did not seem to see her. His suspicious eyes continued to scan the misty shadows, looking for the source of the voice that had called to him. He turned and walked straight toward the veranda. She darted the length of the wall, always careful to remain in the shadows, and leapt inside a small alcove, which had probably once served as a sentry’s post. She peeked through a cross-shaped rifle port in the wall. As the man approached, she noticed with horror that he was dressed like Valcour and physically resembled Valcour, but he was most definitely not Valcour. Something vital was missing. The facial expression and body language were completely different. His expression was harsh and condemning. His eyes bore the look of intelligence without a trace of compassion. This man had the cunning aura of a predator and appeared to be almost sniffing the air like a hunting dog. She slunk into the shadows and froze. A very tall man in ragged clothing slowly walked from the cane fields and approached the man in the brocade coat. The tall man’s face was hidden in the shadows. He had a wildly tousled head of dark hair. Something about his posture and the angles of his heavily bearded face reminded her of someone. The man in the brocade coat turned to face the tall man as he neared. “I’m busy at the moment, what is this about? How dare you sneak up on me?” His voice was stern. “I’ll keep your soul for as long as I like and there’s nothing you can do about it.” The tall man slowly shook his head and hovered in front of the man in the brocade coat, as if desperately waiting for something. The man in the brocade coat scowled. “Where is this defiance coming from?” For a tensely prolonged moment the two men stood frozen in front of each other, staring. She couldn’t take her eyes off the strange confrontation. “I’m tired of being you.” The man in the brocade coat led the tall, ragged man toward the damaged oak tree. The two men stood beneath the tree and the man in the brocade coat reached into the oak’s lowest branches and stroked his fingertips across a piece of tattered cloth and mumbled a few incoherent words. What happened next completely shocked her. A swoosh of pale blue sparks blurred between the two men. The air around them chattered with a crackling static charge. She had never witnessed a magical exchange such as this one, and her lips parted silently in awe at the immensity of the feat.
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A moment later the man in the brocade coat was much shorter and sparely built. The coat hung from his slighter frame. His coarse face was completely transformed as well. His profile appeared piggish and cruel, with small eyes and a sharply downturned mouth. She gasped. The words Le Bateleur, the dark magician, the juggler, swirled in her thoughts. Even for a practitioner of beneficent voodoo magic, this was too much to readily accept. Her mind refused to believe what she had seen until she noticed the ragged man was now standing taller and was easily recognizable as Valcour Curry. She blinked twice at the sight of Valcour’s shadowy but familiar face, knowing what she had just witnessed was impossible and belonged to the realm of fairy-tales and myths, yet it was real. This was much more than a perceptual shift this was a bona fide physical exchange. A chill rippled over her skin. An act of darkest magic had just taken place directly in front of her eyes and she couldn’t deny it. Valcour’s soul and core personality had been transferred to another man. So much of his soul had been taken he didn’t even resemble himself when it was missing from his body. She drew a fluttering breath as she silently admitted the truth. Apparently the longfabled legends of the evil Amé Enchanger were real and she had just witnessed an actual soul-swapper in action. To have one’s soul taken and used by another seemed like the ultimate violation. To know such a thing was real was to despair. An intense shiver of disgust traveled over her skin. “I hate you,” Valcour groaned at the now-diminutive man who still wore his clothing. “You did this to yourself,” the man croaked. Even his voice had changed. The man kicked Valcour hard in the shins with his boot. “You deserve all of this and you know it.” Valcour’s body jolted in pain. He swayed on stiff legs but remained standing. “To be perfectly plain.” The man sneered in Valcour’s face. “I hate you too, and quite frankly, I’m getting tired of masquerading as you. It’s not as much fun as it used to be. You’re used up. There’s little left to draw upon. You’re not making much of an effort. Perhaps you don’t want to be free of me?” He puffed his chest forward with selfimportance. “That incipient girl, Miss Marietta, is going to get away from us, I can feel it.” He paused. “If that happens, I’ll punish you for my losses. I promise you.” “What’s left to take?” Valcour stared down at his bare feet, nervously shuffling against the chilly ground. “You’ve already taken everything from me,” he grumbled. “Enough!” The man grabbed hold of Valcour’s arm and dragged him toward a large, wooden bucket. He picked up a dripping ladle and tried to force Valcour to drink. “I’m sick of your defiance. You’ll drink double today.” Valcour reared away from the ladle and resisted drinking. The man forced the dripping ladle to Valcour’s tensed lips. “Drink it. You’re such a disappointment. I’m not going to let you go sour on me. I’m still using you. I have plans 76
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and expect many more years of service before I let you die. You belong to me. Are you listening?” Valcour refused to drink and tried to topple the bucket with the side of his foot. The man caught it before it tipped. “How dare you!” He moved the bucket a safe distance away from Valcour, picked up a switch and started to the strike Valcour across the back. Valcour hunched forward and took the harsh blows. The sight of violence leveled against Valcour sickened her. She winced and nearly ran into the open from her hiding place to stop it but managed to control her rage and stay put. She was determined to free Valcour but knew it could not be accomplished at this moment. She didn’t yet understand the mode of enchantment at work in this miserable place, and she absolutely had to in order to break it and free Valcour of its malevolent spell. After a succession of sharp strikes with the switch, Valcour simply sank to the ground, drew his knees to his chest and slumped forward with a defeated whimper. “That’s better.” The man frowned and tossed the switch aside. He picked up the bucket and forced the other men to line up and drink from the ladle. One by one he made sure each man accepted and swallowed a swig of the brew. “Stand up.” The man glared at Valcour. Valcour rose slowly. A blank expression dragged his face downward. “Get in the cellar.” The man herded everyone toward the wooden doors of a cellar. He opened the doors wide and started shoving the lurchingly slow men down the cellar steps. “Get in there!” he barked impatiently. “Except you.” He pointed at Mister Milton and pulled him from the line. “Wait for me by the tree.” Mister Milton shuffled numbly toward the great oak. Everyone else, including Valcour, was pushed into the cellar. The door was promptly slammed shut and bolted behind them. She noted that in his haste to administer a beating the man had forgotten to force Valcour to drink from the ladle. The man marched toward the oak tree and quickly overtook Mister Milton’s dragging gate. He plucked a gaming card from the end of a dead branch and tapped the playing card provokingly against Mister Milton’s unresponsive forehead. “You’re a big loser, Mister Milton, and I’m not in the mood to lose today. Do you understand me? Bluster up and start acting like a winner.” Mister Milton bowed his head. “I understand, Mister Payne,” he mumbled. Mister Payne straightened. “At least you remember who your master is. Let’s have no disappointments today.” He placed his palm over Mister Milton’s face. A rippling wave of crackling blue sparks passed between the two men. A moment later, Mister Payne’s spare frame stretched taller, filled out and completely assumed Mister Milton’s appearance, including an arrogant expression, ruddy cheeks and a well-groomed 77
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mustache. He appeared to be the healthy, whole and sober version of Mister Milton and immediately stuffed the playing card into his coat pocket. The real Mister Milton stood waxen and lifeless as a doll with his head drooped forward. “Get inside the cellar.” Mister Payne frowned at the now-empty husk of his own likeness. Mister Milton shuffled toward the cellar door, dragging the machete behind him. Mister Payne unbolted the cellar door and shoved Mister Milton into the darkness, slammed the door shut and bolted it once again. The first hint of dawn burned through the morning mist. The sky lit pink. She flattened her back against the alcove, wishing she had a more secure hiding place now that the sun was rising. Mister Payne paced around the compound, tossing items aside and securing the doors and windows of the plantation. He disappeared into the house for a short while and strode back into the courtyard wearing a tobacco-brown suit paired with a widebrimmed hat. He was the perfect semblance of Mister Milton, the confident gambler in his prime. He entered the stable and emerged soon after mounted on a fine black stallion. He kicked the horse to a brisk trot and rode out the back gate, which was a weathered mockery of a once imposingly solid structure that now had missing planks and dangled precariously from a rusted hinge. She watched as Mister Payne thrust the broken gate aside with his boot and rode down a narrow dirt lane that cut across the cane fields. She remained hidden until he was well out of sight and crept quietly toward the oak tree. By the faint light of dawn, she clearly saw the vast assortment of odd trinkets displayed in the oak’s branches. Her fingers reached for the chunky ring with the purple stone. She had to stand on tiptoe and strain to reach the ring. The tip of the brittle branch snapped the moment she tugged against it and the ring fell into her waiting palm. She blew the dust and crumbled bits of leaves away and saw this was her ring—the amethyst ring. This was the same gentleman’s signet ring Valcour had proposed to her with. She slipped it onto her finger. It was, as it had always been, far too large, but it was bold and lovely in its own way. She moved the loose ring to her thumb so wouldn’t fall off. Her eyes scanned the many pieces of tattered cloth tied to the oak’s branches, searching for the exact piece of cloth Mister Payne had touched when he performed the soul exchange with Valcour. The branches were aflutter with hundreds of ragged, sun-bleached scraps of cloth that appeared ready to disintegrate in the next strong storm. She marveled that so much had managed to cling to this tree for as long as it had. Her hand extended toward the first piece of fragile fabric that came within reach and plucked it from the branch. As she held the piece of fabric in her hands, tears welled in her tears. A crushing sense of sadness washed over her. A vivid image formed in her mind of a beautiful 78
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young man crying into a torn shirt. The young man felt worthless and damaged, as if his life were over, yet he had to pretend it wasn’t. A face clearly formed in her mind. It was Bart, the young man who had been beaten in the Ashmunton House. She had heard his leg healed and he moved to Charlestown several years ago. She now wondered if that was so and worried a part of Bart’s soul was trapped here for Mister Payne’s use. A heart-sickening sense of despair overtook her. Holding the torn scrap of cloth in her fingers became unbearable. She tossed the bit of fabric back onto the branch. The visual image of Bart quickly faded in her mind, but his sadness lingered. Her intuition guided her hand toward a frayed scrap of silk gently twisting in the breeze. Her fingertips lightly touched the threadbare, almost-transparent piece of cloth and saw Valcour’s smiling face as he dabbed the piece of silk against her thigh. This was his silk cravat. She knew she was looking at his strongest memory and hardest loss. She felt an overwhelming rush of purest love as she saw herself through his eyes and remembered their first time together. She felt his full intention to marry her, start a family and have a full life. Everything that was decent and loving about Valcour was still here, trapped in the cloth. Her fingers clutched the weathered bit of silk, marveling that despite its exposure to many stormy seasons and baking heat its memories remained vivid and full of life. She sensed the silk threads were fighting to remain whole and didn’t want to fade and turn to dust. She realized Valcour still loved her deeply even if Mister Payne’s evil had clouded his thoughts. This delicate bit of nothing in her fingertips was proof there was something worth salvaging within Valcour. She was now certain some part of his heart remained true and untouched, and she had to reach it. She gathered the frayed bits of silk from the branch and stuffed everything she could find that still carried a bit of Valcour’s memories into her pocket. She glanced at the many fragments of fabric in the tree, sensing each held its own story equally vivid, equally intimate. A wave of compassion for the oak tree and the immense weight of personal tragedies and loss it bore overwhelmed her. She realized she was far beyond her capacity to absorb the raw emotions or help in this matter and stepped away from the tree. Her eyes drifted across the cane fields. The foreboding predawn layer of mist had lifted, and now golden rays of early morning sunshine shone in its place. What was going on here? How exactly did Mister Payne bind his victims to the oak? She needed to know, and the victim she wanted back the most was Valcour. She walked to the back of the plantation house toward the cellar doors and stood frozen with her hand hovering above the iron bolt that held the prisoners inside. Her hand shook as she reached toward the bolt and silently asked herself what was waiting for her in the cellar and who was she really freeing?
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Her hand took hold of the bolt and scraped it aside with a grating clatter. The terrible stench of sweat and bitterness floated through the cracks. She grabbed the edge of one heavy cellar door and strained to lift it. Panicked shrieks and frightened groans poured out. She was so startled by the deafening volley of inhuman sounds, she dropped the door, allowing it to crash shut, but immediately lifted the door open once again. The voices inside continued to moan and shriek in panicked tones as daylight poured into the cellar. “Valcour Curry!” she shouted into the dim cellar. “I’m here to take you home.” No one answered. The loud, animal noises echoed within. She dreaded having to walk down the dark staircase and stayed at the top of the cellar steps. “Valcour! Captain Curry, please come out!” She peered into the cellar. A large spot of sunlight illuminated the floor, but the men fled from the tiniest morsel of sunshine. She saw their quaking frames pressed against the shadowy cellar walls in a sad attempt to avoid it. She wondered how long these men had been deprived of sunlight and realized they would have to emerge slowly, at their own pace—if at all. She looked around, worrying about when Mister Payne might return. She half suspected he might double back and surprise her. She knew she had to do something and she had to act fast. What could beneficent voodoo offer these trapped souls? How could she help them? Her fingers tangled around Mathilde’s beaded amulet dangling around her neck. At that moment, her eyes fell upon the bucket of bitter brew and wooden ladle Mister Payne used to force his will on the men. She marched toward the bucket and kicked it over. The bitter-smelling, greenishblack sludge spilled onto the ground and soaked in. The brew was obviously Mister Payne’s prime source of control and enchantment. She had no idea how it was made or from what, both essential components to counteracting a poisoned spell. Her eyes stared at the wet ground, wondering how she could undo the oppressive spell. She had no familiar tools to work with and now questioned why had she left all her sacred beneficent voodoo objects behind. She deeply regretted not allowing Mathilde to accompany her. Mathilde would surely know a remedy and be able to brew it quickly. For a crushing moment, she felt terribly inadequate. There was so much at stake here, what could she offer? She stood frozen in thought. The sunlight warmed her back, providing a reassuring feeling of comfort. A fleeting moment of inspiration occurred to her. She knew the answer had to be simple. The remedy had to be pure, so simple and pure Mister Payne’s dark magic would never be able to override it. She ran toward the side of the plantation house to search for the kitchen. Heavy footsteps crunched behind her.
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She turned and saw Valcour reluctantly dragging his bare feet across the courtyard. He held his arm protectively over his face to shield his eyes from the morning sun. He was the only man to leave the cellar and appeared to be making a titanic effort to follow her. Her heart broke at the painful sight of his halting gate. “Come with me,” she coaxed him forward. “We’re going to leave this place.” Valcour said nothing but slowly shook his head. “What do you mean—no?” Disappointment and surprise colored her voice. “Do you not want to leave?” “I can’t.” His voice was a gruff whisper. “There’s too much holding me here.” “You climbed out of the cellar. I know that wasn’t easy, some part of you must want to leave?” “Mister Payne is cruel to women. I was worried for you.” His voice was flat and lacking emotion. “Do I know you?” He paused. “I feel like I should know who you are.” A lump rose in her throat. “You don’t remember me at all?” His expression twisted and appeared tortured. “I’m not allowed to remember. I’m not allowed to remember anything after Mister Payne has used my soul.” She confidently held out her hand, though she didn’t feel confident. She was terrified. “I’ll help you remember and we’ll make it so Mister Payne can never selfishly use your soul again.” His eyes fixed on the amethyst ring on her thumb. The large, purple stone glittered in the sunlight. He stared at the ring with a sad blankness. She tipped the ring into the light, making it sparkle. “You remember this ring, don’t you?” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t want to—it hurts.” A stab of stinging disappointment shot through her. “It’s all right. Don’t think of it now. Does the plantation have a back entrance to its kitchen?” Valcour pointed to a battered doorway at the back of the house. “He cooks his brew in there.” She felt encouraged that Valcour was talking to her and hoped that as the last dose of Mister Payne’s wicked brew wore away, she might be able to reach and reason with him. “When Mister Payne leaves the plantation, how long does he stay away?” “I don’t know…” Valcour looked confused. “But I should know.” His brow creased. “Wait.” He paused as if it pained him to speak. “During a full moon he can sustain a borrowed form for two maybe three days, that’s when he leaves the plantation and goes looking for others to use.” “I doubt he’ll stay away that long. I think he suspects something is wrong here. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”
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His words were heavy and slow. “You’re not a bad person. Your soul isn’t damned.” He dared to look directly at her. “You don’t belong here. You should leave right now.” “I will leave,” she quietly insisted. “With you, when you’re ready.”
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Chapter Six
The ring of truth Lark walked toward the kitchen door, it was sealed with a large, rusted lock. “Damn.” She looked around in frustration. “Why does it have to be locked?” She muttered to herself, not expecting any kind of coherent reaction from Valcour. Valcour stepped forward, gently moved her aside and violently hacked at the doorframe with the machete. He struck again and again with such brutal force the wooden casement holding the door splintered and broke apart, making the lock useless. The damaged door wobbled on its hinges, and he swiftly kicked it open with ease. She smiled and carefully stepped over the splintered wood into the kitchen. “That’s one way to open a door. I’m impressed.” A glimmer of recognition crossed Valcour’s face. “Thank you, Valcour.” She looked into his eyes as she complimented him. “Good job.” He slowly set the machete down and gazed back at her. She saw the faintest hint of humor and perhaps even pride shining in Valcour’s eyes and dared to reach out and brush her fingertips across his scruffy jaw. “I’d love to see your handsome face again without this beard in the way.” He surprised her by gently touching her hand and holding it captive against his face. His calloused fingers gently stroked her hand. He closed his eyes and appeared deep in thought for many long moments. His throat tensed. “Lark?” he whispered with uncertainty, as if he couldn’t believe it truly was her. “Yes.” She almost chocked on the words. “You know it’s me.” His expression collapsed into one of grief. “I’m so sorry.” Her hand gently squeezed his. She was the one who was sorry. She had given up on Valcour years ago and repressed her gift of clarity to avoid seeing anything unwanted or painful. She had spent the first weeks of his absence desperately hoping and waiting for Valcour’s return, only to hear from others that a man exactly matching his description was enjoying the good life in other cities, openly enjoying other women. She never knew when or where he might show up and always heard about Valcour sightings long after the fact. There seemed to be no predictable pattern. He showed up intermittently in Baton Rouge, Donalsonville and even as far away as Mobile, and then he would disappear again for months at a time. Finally friends and associates stopped reporting the incidents to her. She struck Valcour from her heart, suspecting he had changed his name and moved on without her. She felt so tricked and betrayed both by Valcour and her so-called gift of clarity
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both became void to her. She continued to help others as best she could but refused to use or develop the gift of clarity for herself—it frightened her. She didn’t want to know, so she didn’t look. “I’m sorry too. I had the wrong idea. I wish to god I’d come looking for you sooner.” She led him into the kitchen. The kitchen windows were dingy with years of sooty grime. A bitterly acrid smell hung in the air. This kitchen was not a cheerful gathering place for family and shared food. Without doubt, this was a dungeon where dark brews were boiled. She began to investigate the kitchen in earnest. Evidence of malevolent magic was everywhere. Animal skeletons were arranged in strange patterns on the cupboard shelves. Iron caldrons sat on the stovetop, reeking with herbal sludge. Little piles of orangey lichen and tree moss littered the sideboards. Countless apothecary jars filled with a baffling array of suspicious-looking, desiccated things lined the walls. She opened one jar, held it beneath her nose and almost gagged on its musty contents. Where to start? The entire tableau was overwhelming and off-putting. She sighed. “I’m going to boil some clean water.” She heaved an iron caldron off the stovetop. Its weight was so immense, she staggered backward. Without saying a word, Valcour immediately appeared at her side and took hold of the caldron. He carried the heavy utensil with ease into the courtyard, dumped the last of its sludgy contents on the ground and walked to a water pump to rinse and fill the large, iron pot. She watched him from the shattered kitchen doorway as he filled the caldron at the pump, feeling encouraged he had volunteered to help. Warm, golden sunlight washed over the courtyard. Valcour slowly turned toward the newly risen sun as if he were a plant seeking its light. The sunlight seemed to transform him. For fleeting moments Valcour’s facial expressions and even his mannerism were natural and more like his own. He finished filling the caldron with fresh water and walked toward her, carrying the sloshing pot while staring at the ground the entire time. She noticed he picked up his feet as he walked and no longer dragged them across the ground. The spell was still active, but it was definitely fading. She wondered what would happen when it completely wore off. Valcour brushed past her without making eye contact and set the caldron on the stove. There was another large pot in the kitchen. “Valcour, would you rinse and fill this pot as well?” No sign of emotion or deeper thought crossed his face, but he dutifully did as she asked. She wondered how much of his cooperation was his desire to please her and how much was simply the residue of Mister Payne’s spell that compelled victims to do as
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they were told. She watched carefully as Valcour returned to the courtyard to fill the iron pot at the pump. Again, he paused beside the water pump and tipped his face into the early morning sunlight, closed his eyes and stood facing the rising sun with the faintest hint of a smile warming his lips. She held her breath at the breakthrough sight, wondering how long it had been since he had seen or felt sunlight on his skin. Was this his first morning in the sun in months or even years, minus Mister Payne’s presence? The look of contentment that briefly crossed his face was heart-shatteringly beautiful. For a moment, she thought her own heart was going to break or stop beating. Obviously, the sunlight was getting through to Valcour, healing him. Part of her sensed a secret decision had been reached. She believed he had made a choice on some deeply buried level to return to the world. She knew now she could help him and felt the first real burst of hope that she could win his soul back. She didn’t want to disturb Valcour and left him in peace to bathe in sunlight. She turned her attention to the hulking, iron stove. The surface of the stove was hot to the touch and had recently been used. She opened the stove’s door and saw freshly banked orange embers glowing inside. To get the caldron boiling faster, she added a few slender pieces of wood and dried cane scrap, which hissed into flame on contact. Her eyes scanned the dusty, chaotic kitchen, thinking there had to be food here. The men had to be fed something, and certainly Mister Payne fed himself. Evil magician or not, he still had to eat. She opened a large walk-in pantry that contained a scanty assortment of root vegetables, a large basket of apples, burlap sacks filled with red beans and porridge oats, flour, sugar and slabs of salt-cured bacon. She gathered a few practical items from the pantry. She returned to the hot stove and laid several thick slabs of bacon on top of the iron griddle beside the caldron and listened to them sizzle. The bacon cooked quickly and filled the kitchen with a delicious, smoky smell. She grabbed a fork and tin plate from a sideboard and set the hot bacon aside. She glanced at the large caldron, knowing it was going to take ages to heat so much water. She turned her back on the stove and stood in the kitchen doorway, looking out. Valcour stood peacefully in the courtyard with his eyes closed and palms raised toward the sun. The sunlight seemed to be doing him a lot of good and she didn’t want to interrupt. She noticed how badly scraped his hands were and wondered how he had endured in this sad place for so long. She left him alone and walked through the kitchen to inspect the other rooms of the rambling house. The plantation was built like a fortress, with thick walls and a confusing layout. The grime on the windows acted almost like curtains, cutting out the daylight. Each cramped room she walked through was packed with an eccentric array of clutter and furnishings that seemed to have nothing in common with each other except the same thick layer of dust.
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Hulking, throne-like Spanish chairs embedded with jewels leaned haphazardly against delicate, gold-gilt French tables. None of it looked as if it had been used in years. All of it had once been lovely and most was treated with blatant disregard for its intrinsic value. One room stopped her dead in her tracks. A guilty somberness hung in the air. Every flat surface of the room was piled high with pikes, muskets, cutlasses, daggers, pistols, axes, plain old iron knives and elegant swords of every description. The sheer volume of weapons aged and new was so disturbing, she darted past the room. Finally, she found a room that appeared to be a master suite. A large, canopied bed curtained in black cloth dominated the largest room at the back of the house. An impressive array of men’s boots and shoes of varying sizes stretched the length of one wall. A heap of men’s clothing spilled from an overflowing armoire. She saw Valcour’s deep-purple brocade coat from Paris lying near the top of the heap, snatched it into her arms and sought out a few other clothing items she guessed might fit Valcour. Lying on the side table was what she really wanted. She spotted a man’s shaving kit contained in a trim cedar box. She gathered the shaving kit and the clothing into her arms and fled Mister Payne’s oppressive bedroom, returning to the kitchen as quickly as she could. When she returned, she discovered the kitchen was empty, as was the courtyard. An eerie quiet hung in the air. The tiny hairs on her arms prickled in alarm. Where was Valcour? She tossed the clothing onto a side table and ran out the door toward the water pump. She glanced around. He wasn’t anywhere in the courtyard. She turned in frantic circles, looking for Valcour, but saw no sign of him. She listened carefully for the tiniest sounds of human life but heard nothing. There was no one in sight, and no other men had yet summoned the will to escape the cellar, though the doors remained wide open and all they had to do was climb the steps. Her eyes suspiciously scanned the cane fields, worried Mister Payne had quietly returned unnoticed. She turned and ran full speed toward the kitchen door, hoping to grab a weapon before someone grabbed her. Valcour stepped from the kitchen shadows and blocked the doorway. He held a piece of bacon in his fingers and a half-eaten apple in the other hand. “Where were you?” He spoke softly. “I was worried.” She gasped in surprise and came to a dead halt. She looked directly into Valcour’s eyes and was surprised to see he did indeed look worried. “I was gathering some clothes for you. I want to get you cleaned up as quickly as possible and leave this place before Mister Payne returns. Will you help me?” “I’ll help you, but I can’t leave,” he said sadly. “Why?” 86
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“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m ashamed.” His expression and tone of voice was almost normal, and except for the sadness, sounded like the old Valcour. “Let’s not worry about that right now and just concentrate on a few important things.” She crowded passed him and saw he already set the second pot of fresh water on the stove to boil. She dipped her fingers into the first iron caldron. The water was pleasantly warm. “Perfect.” She gestured for him to pick the caldron off the stove and carry it toward the center of the flagstone floor. She smiled sweetly. “As you might have already guessed, the largest pot of warm water is for you. You’re going to get a bath and shave. I’m not sitting next to you in the pirogue and rowing all the way upriver to New Orleans until you smell better.” His expression was blank once again and void of emotion. “I can’t leave here.” She took hold of his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You keep saying that, honey, and the truth is you can leave. You have free-will. Whatever Mister Payne’s done to you will eventually wear away. It’s already losing its power over you. I can see it. I‘ll help you but we need to hurry and leave this place before Mister Payne returns.” His head drooped in defeat. “Mister Payne’s not even here most of the time. He comes and goes as he pleases. All of us are here because we know we belong here. We’ve done bad things. We’re cursed.” He paused. “We brought ourselves here.” She looked into his eyes. At that moment, he looked utterly hopeless and lost. There was no point in arguing with him. She simply had to keep them moving forward in increments. “Sit down.” She spoke firmly. “I’m going to shave your face. I want to get rid of those boar bristles and see the man beneath.” She gently steered him toward a kitchen chair and opened the shaving kit. The kit contained a bushy badger-hair brush and cake of yellow soap, a steel straight razor and whetstone. She quickly sharpened the razor against the oiled whetstone and dipped the badger-hair brush in the pot of warm water and swirled it over the soap until a thick lather formed that she buffed across Valcour’s shaggy beard. She tipped his chin upward and held the gleaming razor to his throat. “Do you trust me to help you?” “Yes.” “Stay still.” The razor gently passed over his throat and jaw, scraping away clumps of lathered beard. Valcour’s familiar face and strong jawline quickly emerged. “Your hair is definitely going to get washed and cut,” she muttered to herself. Her fingertips brushed against the now-smooth side of his jaw. “You have a very handsome face.” She openly admired how solid and whole he was beneath the bedraggled exterior. She dared to kiss the side of his cheek and allowed the kiss to gently linger. She whispered softly, “Can I tell you a secret?” She paused. “I never stopped loving you and I sincerely tried.” “I’m not worth your trouble.” He closed his eyes and gulped down a lump of emotion. “You should have forgotten me.” “I forgot to forget.” She shrugged. “How could I ever forget a colorful character like you?” 87
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A shaky smile burst across his lips. “That’s better. I like seeing a smile.” She reached over and poured a cup of warm water over his head. He bolted upward in the chair from the surprise of having water dumped on him. She started to lather her hands with the soap cake. “I’m going to shampoo you in this chair. Lord knows, the floor could benefit from a little contact with soap and water.” Her fingers rubbed warm suds over his scalp. He sighed softly and relaxed under her touch, slumping lower in the chair. He seemed absorbed in the simple act of affection. Her fingertips massaged the lather into his hair. “Close your eyes.” She gazed out the open kitchen door, through the gaping hole in the wall and scanned the cane fields beyond for movement or any sign of Mister Payne. “You’re perfectly safe in my hands.” She saw nothing suspicious on the horizon but hurried at her task, sensing her good fortune wouldn’t last. She rinsed the soap from Valcour’s hair, allowing the soapy water to drench him. “Get rid of those clothes.” She spoke decisively. “Just take them off and toss them aside. You’ll never wear them again.” He shrugged the wet shirt from his shoulders. The fabric was so tattered it easily tore away. He pulled the soggy shirt from his back and let it fall to the floor with a wet plop. She saw the red welts on his broad back from Mister Payne’s morning beating and cringed. “How badly do these hurt?” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t even feel them before, but now they’re starting to sting.” He hesitated. “Maybe that’s a good sign?” She dipped a kitchen cloth into the warm water and offered to wash his back. “May I?” She very gently rinsed his muscular back with warm water and soap, being careful to avoid the welts. She enjoyed the sight of his uncharacteristically pale but still beautiful body reemerging. Her fingertips lovingly traced across his skin and his many faint scars. “You look like you’ve been through a lot. Poor thing, I feel terrible for you.” “Lark, I can finish.” His hands reached for the washcloth. “I do appreciate your help, but I’m beginning to feel like a child.” She saw hope in his comment and gladly handed over the washcloth and stepped back. Her hands lowered. The suds made the loose amethyst ring slide from her thumb. The heavy ring hit the flagstone floor with a rattling crash. Valcour leaned forward and picked the ring off the sudsy floor. He held the ring in his palm and stared at it. “I was so ashamed of this…” His gaze slowly rose to her face. “I thought I was so daring and clever. I didn’t even consider the harm I was doing to other people.” “What are you talking about?” “A few weeks before we meet in New Orleans, my crew and I pirated a ship a day out from Hispaniola. We spent weeks planning it. We befriended and bribed 88
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crewmembers in port and even planted a few of our own men aboard. I knew the ship’s entire cargo and weapons complement before she left port. I even knew which of her cannons was cracked and useless and planned my assault accordingly. We followed the ship in our sloop, like a greedy dog on the hunt for scraps.” He continued to wash and rinse. “The poor captain didn’t stand a chance. He had no idea a bunch of traitors surrounded him until it was too late. We boarded, blindfolded him and cleaned the ship out of everything valuable. It was so easy. There was no resistance. We simply sailed away with everything we came for. I greatly prided myself on not losing a single man on either side.” “What does that have to do with the ring?” she asked cautiously. “The ring belonged to the captain.” He became somber. “I humiliated that man. I won’t even say what I allowed my crew put him through. He didn’t want to give up the ring and I didn’t understand why. I thought he was being a bit of a fool. I wanted the ring, plain and simple. I thought it was beautiful. I made taking it from him a game.” He paused. “I didn’t give any thought to what the ring might have meant to him, that is, until I gave it to you.” His throat tensed. “When I gave you the ring and I saw how much it meant to you—far beyond the worth of silver or stones. My god, the look on your face was ecstatic.” His voice shook. “I felt horrible. I was giving you something that wasn’t mine to give. I’m just a thief. I’m not good enough for you. I began to worry that the captain might have had a wife or a loved one attached to the ring and I felt terrible about taking it from him.” He slipped into a long silence. “Are you finished with that life?” she interrupted. “Yes.” He hung his head. “I feel sick just thinking about it—so I don’t.” He huffed. “Some things can never be put right.” She spoke softly. “But the captain could be located. What if I told you I would be willing to use beneficent magic and my gift, such as it is, to return the ring to the captain or his family if he has one? Would that help?” He scoffed. “The ring is only one of many things I’ve done wrong.” She froze. He shook his head. “It’s not another woman. I promise you that.” “Do you want to tell me about it?” “No.” He became withdrawn and sullen. She left him alone and walked toward the stove. The second caldron of water was boiling, so she picked up the small canister of sugar retrieved from the pantry and poured the sugar into the boiling pot, all the while watching Valcour from the corner of her eye. As the sugar poured into the bubbling caldron, she brought to the surface every loving thought or memory she ever felt for Valcour and even allowed some of the lingering bitterness to go. A deep sigh of relief racked her. She thought of his brilliant smile, his sweet kisses and how quick he was to hand over a gift or favor.
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During the most beautiful thoughts, a single tear rolled down her cheek and dropped into the caldron. The rising wave of tender emotions was so intense it became difficult to draw a deep breath, and she swayed on her feet. Her heart added thoughts of Darby, Mathilde and everything good that she loved about the world. She held those images firmly in her heart as the sugar poured into the caldron and dissolved. Impulsively, she grabbed a pinch of mossy lichen from the sideboard and added it to the boiling pot to balance the roux. Valcour stripped his soaked trousers down his long legs and kicked them aside to finish bathing. She stole a glance at him as he stripped the damp, tattered clothing away. Working the cane fields had left him scarred and battered but solidly strong. She didn’t care about the scars. He still qualified to her eyes as a beautiful man. She was tempted to openly look at him or tell him so but didn’t dare at that moment. Her attention belonged to the caldron. She reluctantly turned her back to Valcour and sung quietly over the pot as she slowly stirred the boiling sugar roux with a wooden dowel, all the while thinking of what a stringent test love was, and how beautiful it felt when it went right. Her free hand dipped into her pocket and felt for the tattered bit of silk cravat. Her fingers rubbed a few well-worn threads between her fingertips until they released a sweet but intense memory of her last morning with Valcour. This scrape of silk and precious memory it held meant so much to her, though she had not wanted to admit it for so many years. Valcour was right in the end, she was sentimental. She leaned over the roux while gently touching the silk threads. Soft feelings washed over her. The silk seemed to carry its own strong imprint of its owner. This was Valcour’s cravat, he had worn it next to his throat over a long period of time and it still carried a distinct resonance of him. She felt herself being pulled into his memories. The vivid images the silk threads held became clear in her mind. Soon a fully realized scene with scents and textures emerged in her thoughts. The great surprise was she now saw the world through Valcour’s eyes. At first it was a bit shocking to see herself sprawled across his bed asleep amidst a pile of purple cushions. She stirred the roux with one hand and allowed her fingers to gently rub against the silk with the other until she grew accustomed to the disorienting viewpoint and simply allowed it to flow through her heart and mind with all its original emotion intact.
~~~~~ Valcour lay beside her in the private cabin of the Roxy Belle. Winter sunlight poured through the tiny cabin port. He leaned on his elbow, looking down at her as she slept. She sensed how strongly he wanted her to wake up, and she did.
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Her eyes opened and looked straight at him. She was surprised by the clarity in her green eyes. She had always thought of herself as plain and at best average, but seen through Valcour’s eyes she was beautiful. “Good morning, how are you feeling?” His deep voice rumbled softly in his chest. “I feel good.” She smiled and rolled onto her side. “Do you think we could coax Hendricks or Cook to bring us some chicory tea and something to eat, I’m hungry.” “I’ll take care of that myself in just a minute.” He gently reached for her and pulled her sleepy, warm body beneath him. Pride at having a beautiful woman in his bed filled his heart. He couldn’t believe his good fortune that she loved him too. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to wake up.” His hand took hold of her wrist and gently guided it between his thighs. “Feel that.” Heated sensations raced to his groin, making him almost painfully hard. He chuckled softly. “I woke up wanting you bad, and now that you’re awake, I can have you.” He leaned down to gently kiss the side of her throat and slowly worked his way toward her breasts. “You’re so soft. I love every inch of you.” She could sense how much he did love the feel of her skin. His warm hands were quick to claim her breasts. He slowly teased each nipple with his tongue before gently drawing one between his lips and sucking rapturously. An incredible rush of pleasure shot straight to his groin the moment his tongue stroked her nipple and it peaked between his lips. His cock leapt. His sac tightened and rose. He loved it. “I’ll go slow and be gentle.” He parted her thighs with his knee and carefully slid on top of her. His body crowded between her thighs. “I know you must be a little sore, but I have to be inside you,” he whispered. Her body arched against the badly rumpled bed, making herself available. “I want it too.” His fingertips brushed against her sex and felt its wetness. He slowly rubbed the head of his cock against her until he was slick and easily slid inside her. She felt his eyelashes flutter and his thoughts go blank as the muscles of her warm, wet sheath gripped him. When she sighed and gave a soft little moan of bliss, he almost spilled inside her on the first snug stroke and fought to hold out a few moments longer. He cautiously pressed deeper. He slowly moved inside her, feeling the lips of her sex gently caressing the shaft. The pleasure, heat and wet friction of being inside her were working against him—there was no way he could take much of this. His balls begged him to unleash himself on her, but he didn’t. Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and locked his body against her. He loved the feeling of being embraced and fully accepted. He wanted to feel sheltered in her arms. He’d not had enough love in his life and he was determined to have it now.
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Her fingers tangled in his hair. “I love you,” she whispered. God, he loved her so much. He needed to become a better man for her. He thrust deeper. His sac tightened. Her fingernails gently raked the back of his thighs, making him shudder. “Oh!” He let go in a hot rush that drained him so fast his limbs quaked.
~~~~~ The memory faded and she was again conscious of being in Mister Payne’s dank kitchen. She heard the sounds of Valcour splashing the drenched washcloth against his skin. Her fingers fondled the scrape of silk as she stirred the sugar roux and brought the pot to a boil. Without doubt, love and getting lost in another was one the most magical things one could ever experience. Nothing came closer to rapture. She held those feelings and Valcour’s memories in her heart and carefully infused as much as she could into the roux, singing quietly to herself as she did so. Valcour glanced up. “What’s that song you’re singing?” He sheeted a little of the rinse water off his skin with the edge of his hand, reached for the pair of clean trousers she had found for him and stepped into them. “I feel like I should know the song but I can’t name it.” She smiled. “This is a new song. I made it up special just for today.” She turned her back to him and sang softly over the caldron as he finished dressing. His boot heels clicked quietly against the flagstone as he stepped behind her. She turned to look at him as he approached. Her breath caught. Standing straight at his full height, dressed in clean clothes, he once again looked regal and so far above any other man she ever saw on the street. His dark hair had been slicked away from his face and his black brows and keen eyes had taken back the full, distinctive spark that made Valcour who he was. Once again he looked complete. He reached for an apple on the sideboard, bit into it and chewed with gusto. “I forgot how good these were.” She took the caldron from the stove. The smaller pot was heavy but manageable. “Let me do that.” Valcour’s hand reached for the rag-wrapped handle and carefully lifted the hot caldron with one hand and balanced an apple in the other. “Where do you want this?” She walked out of the kitchen into the courtyard and pointed toward the looming oak. “Under the tree.” He walked cautiously with the hot caldron. “What did you brew, voodoo queen—a sugar roux?” A faint smile lit his lips. His teeth sank into the crunchy apple. She picked up the wooden bucket and ladle as she passed. “You’ll see. Set the caldron on the sunny side of the tree. It needs to sit in full sun.”
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They walked quietly toward the tree, stealing brief glances at the other. The only sounds between them were the crunch of apple, the slosh of the caldron and boots crushing dried weeds. He set the caldron in a patch of sunshine between the gnarled roots of the great tree. She reached toward the oak. Her hand gently patted the rough bark. “I think Mister Payne has crippled and tortured this poor, living thing long enough, don’t you agree?” He nodded slowly as he cautiously watched her. She dipped the ladle into the sugary water and slowly walked around the base of the oak, drizzling a thin stream of steaming sugar roux onto the roots and ground as she went. He watched with fascination. “What you are doing?” “Setting the tree free. After this, Mister Payne won’t be able to use it anymore as an anchor for his cruel magic or harness its sad memories to make foul brews. I’m going to ruin this place for him—drive him off.” Her face lit triumphantly. “He’ll have to go somewhere else.” She dipped the ladle again and made a complete circuit around the huge tree. Valcour tossed the munched apple core onto the ground and stepped beside her. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, are you sure you want me back?” Uncertainty haunted his words. “It would break my heart to leave you here.” He reached for the ladle and gently took it from her hand. He dipped it into the caldron and brought the ladle to his lips, swallowed a gulp of the roux and drew a deep breath. “I don’t deserve to, but I want to go home with you. I really do.” “That’s good.” She smiled. Her heart ached from the long-suppressed desire to cry. She wanted to cry because the future came without guarantees and such a large chunk of their lives had already passed separately and could never be recovered. She wanted to cry for joy because there was also a glimmer of hope she would be offered some happiness. “I’ve missed you so much. I freely admit that now.” A hint of worry crossed his face as he set the ladle in the caldron. “Is there room for me in your life?” He hesitated. “I know I’ve been gone a long time. Will I be in the way?” He stepped closer. “Is there another man?” “There’s room for you.” She knew there would never be another man. “I never wanted anyone else the way I wanted you. That’s the truth.” His eyes welled with emotion and appeared dangerously close to tears. He took hold of her hand and pulled her toward him. His arms wrapped possessively around her and locked her next to his heart. A tortured gasp raced past his lips. His hands gently cradled her head and smoothed her hair. He held her tight in his arms and couldn’t seem to hold her close enough. His big frame rocked gently from side to side. “Thank you.” His voice cracked. “I wanted to come home, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want me.”
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Her arms slid beneath his coat and wrapped around his waist. She pressed her face against his chest so hard she could barely breathe, listening to the quick thump of his heart. His hold loosened. He leaned back. “Look at me.” His fingertips gently lifted her chin. “I have to be honest. I’ve done bad things and you deserve better.” She looked directly at him sensing he meant shame and piracy. “Then be a better man. I believe you can do it. You can start fresh today.” He looked into her eyes as if to divine that she really meant it and seemed greatly relieved that she did. A flicker of deepest recognition and agreement passed between them. “I hope you can live with me as I am.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, leaned down and kissed her lips with a reverent, featherlight touch. She closed her eyes and drank in his kiss. He tasted of sweet apple. Her hand reached for the side of his face and held him close. She returned his kiss with a soft, exploring touch that quickly heated to a harsher crush. “Be with me. Stay with me,” she pleaded. “I’ve missed you so much and I want you back in my life.” He felt so right and always had. She knew she’d never love another half as much. Even if he wasn’t perfect, he had always been the right man for her. He made her heart race. She didn’t care he’d once been a pirate. At that moment, all she wanted to do was press herself against him, kiss him, consume him, tear away their clothing and enjoy him on the spot. He was hers once again, and she wanted to claim him and make the moment real while holding the world’s judgment at bay. Her mouth took possession of his. She was aggressive with need. The edges of her teeth mixed with the lush swell of her lips as her kisses grew wilder. “Lark, I missed you so badly. I’ve been so trapped.” His arms held her close as if he were afraid she’d bolt. He pressed his body longingly against her. His cock instantly rose against his trousers. She kissed his lips, face and jaw, any part of him that passed near. Her kisses rained over him, bathing him in loving affection, as her fingers tore at the buttons on his trousers. “I’ve been starving for this. Why did you leave me?” she cried. The sound of scraping footsteps and crunching leaves echoed softly behind them. Both she and Valcour swiftly turned and saw a courtyard filled with vacant-eyed men dragging their machetes behind them as they slowly plodded forward. She gasped in surprise and stepped back. “Look!” She pointed enthusiastically at several more men newly emerged from the cellar. “The roux I poured beneath the oak is working. They felt the shift in magic and came out on their own.” “I suppose I’m happy for them.” Valcour tried to smooth the fabric of his straining trouser leg and hide his thick erection but couldn’t. It simply wouldn’t be smoothed away. “But their timing’s real bad.” He winced.
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Her eyes lit with joy. “This is wonderful! They’re standing in the sunlight. Mister Payne’s spell is fading. I can feel it. Let’s get them to drink the sugar roux so we can leave this awful place.” Valcour walked toward the caldron and ladle, picked it up and approached the other men. The men stopped walking and froze. They stared back at Valcour without any look of recognition or emotion on their waxen faces. Valcour’s strong voice carried across the courtyard. “I’ve been trapped here for years beside some of you and we’re never shared a word or personal thought, and I apologize for that. All of us are here for our own reasons and some of those reasons may never go away, but I want you to know the misery can end today.” He pointed toward Lark. “This fine woman, Lark La Beau—beneficent voodoo priestess—has risked much to come here and hand us the keys to our freedom. If you understand what I’m saying, if you’re sick of this place and you’re ready to go back to the world, face and savor all life has to offer, then come forward and drink this lovingly prepared roux.” The men stared back blankly. He paused. “I’ll warn you, if you drink the roux—you will feel things again. You will remember your life and you will need to make changes and reparation, but I’m ready for all of that and I hope you are too.” Most of the men stared dully and did not react to Valcour’s words. The empty husk of a man who had once been Mister Milton broke from the stalled group. He dragged himself toward Valcour with his head bowed and his shoulders buckled forward. “I’ll drink,” he grumbled. Valcour offered Mister Milton the ladle and encouraged him to drink. “I think it’s very fitting you drink first, especially since it was the bad blood that passed between you and I that pointed us here.” Mister Milton silently drank the sugar roux. He finished drinking, closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sunlight. A flush of healthy color flooded his ashen cheeks. His lips parted and the softest sigh of peaceful surrender floated out. Suddenly, Mister Milton’s eyes flew open and he gasped a deep breath. “Oh my god!” An astonished expression lit his face. “I took it back. I yanked my soul back. It’s mine again. He doesn’t have it anymore.” A loud whoop of laughter poured out of his lips. “Poor ol’ Braeme Payne. I felt him just buckle over in shock and hit the ground hard!” Lark gave Valcour a warning glance. “Mister Payne’s not far away, I can sense it. He’s enraged. We’ve got to get out of here before he comes back.” “Who cares?” Mister Milton stomped the ground and broke into a stiff-legged jig. “I feel wonderful! I don’t care if that bastard ever comes back.”
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“You should care.” She spoke calmly but firmly. “You can’t always live your life being a big winner or loser and have nothing between.” “Whatever you say, ma’am.” In his ecstatic state Mister Milton kept dancing and openly ignored her warning. She looked at Valcour. “I’m grateful the roux worked for you. There is no magic good or bad that works all the time for everyone. Let’s offer what we have to these men and leave.” Valcour carried the caldron toward the listless group of men and offered each the ladle one at a time. Everyone drank. Some men woke from the malevolent enchantment quietly with a smile on their lips and some woke to tears. “Is that everyone?” She strode quickly toward the back of the house, stood in front of the gaping cellar door and shouted, “Is there anyone still down there?” She leaned forward and peered into the darkness. “If you’re still in the cellar and you can hear my voice this is the time to come out. Don’t be afraid. We can help you. Is there anyone there?” “There certainty is!” A rasping voice hissed behind her. She spun on her heel and saw Mister Payne wearing his own horrible, pig-faced visage. His tiny, cruel eyes were black pinpricks. He effortlessly held Leroy’s semiconscious body by the scruff of the neck as if he were a sleeping cat in one hand and a machete in the other. She screamed. “Look what I found in the back field.” Mister Payne roughly flung Leroy to the ground. Leroy’s limp body hit hard, the breath whistled out of him. He lay sprawled on the dirt like a ragdoll. Mister Payne’s boot stomped on Leroy’s spine. “Don’t hurt him!” she shouted. “All right.” Mister Payne swung the rust-stained machete blade at her throat. “I’ll hurt you.” She screamed as she ducked the slashing blade. The machete whizzed so close, the tip of the blade ripped her collar. The machete struck the cellar door with brutal force. The blade sank into the wood with a loud, twanging thunk. Splinters flew through the air. The blade drove into the wood so deeply Mister Payne couldn’t pry it loose. His hand tugged desperately on the handle but the machete didn’t budge. He snarled in frustration and leapt forward to lever his weight against the handle to dislodge the blade and broke it. The blade remained trapped and the handle fell uselessly to the ground. He stood back and howled in rage like a wounded animal. She darted away from Mister Payne and ran full speed toward Valcour and the oak.
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Valcour was already running toward her with a look of worry on his brow. “What happened?” “Payne’s back!” she shouted. “Can’t you hear that ugly beast?” She ran toward one of the newly awakened men who was obliviously basking in the sunlight and snatched the machete from his startled hand. She brandished the borrowed machete in both hands. “I’m going to give Mister Payne what he deserves before he harms Leroy.” She turned and ran back toward the cellar. Valcour called after her, “Leroy, my quartermaster? What’s he doing here?” He rushed to stop her. “Wait, honey, let me take care of this!” “I don’t want Leroy.” Mister Payne stepped from behind the house and slowly approached. His lips curled downward. “I could have had Leroy years ago but I don’t want him. Leroy is loyal, plodding and can’t be turned toward evil. His kind is useless to me.” Mister Payne pointed toward the ecstatic Mister Milton, who stopped dancing to gasp in horror. “That’s what I want, a fickle person who swings between extremes. Someone with weak values and poor judgment is a thrill to possess. I’ll have that fool back under my control in no time at all.” Mister Milton blanched. “Don’t worry, Mister Milton,” she whispered. “We won’t let that happen.” Mister Payne sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose in disgust, as if on the scent of a foul stench. “What is that horrid smell?” he bellowed. His nostrils flared indignantly as he glanced toward the oak. His fists balled into two crushing weapons and his body shook with rage. He glared at Lark accusingly. “What have you done to my tree?” His voice quaked. “I broke your malevolent enchantment,” she said proudly. “And you’ll never be able to break my spell.” “I know all about you.” Mister Payne gnashed his jagged teeth. “You’re just a card reader, a soothsayer and a ratty little whore’s child, that’s all you are. Obviously, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. You have no idea who I am or how long I’ve been around. My magic is stronger than anything you could possibly concoct.” “Are you sure?” she interrupted him, and stood tall. “You look worried and you should be. My brew was real simple—too simple to undo. Do you have anything in your grubby little bag of tricks warmer than sunlight or stronger than love? I don’t think so. You’re not going to get any of these men back and you know it. You’re finished here.” Mister Payne stared at her with rage boiling within his black eyes. A monstrous growl rose from deep in his chest, as if he were a rabid animal ready to attack. “I’ll warn you, I won’t go far, I don’t have to. You’ll see me again. Keep your man. Try to be happy, but know this—he has blood on his hands. Go ahead, ask him about the all men
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he’s killed.” He laughed and spun in a circle that quickly whipped itself into a little whirling black tornado of sulphury smoke that instantly poofed out of existence. She stepped back and stared in shock as Braeme Payne disappeared before her eyes. Until that moment, she had no idea dark magicians of this magnitude even existed. The others crowded forward to view the spot where Mister Payne had stood. There was no sign he had even been in the courtyard except for a swirl of black soot on the ground. She turned toward Valcour. Valcour’s face bore a somber, heartsick expression. A panicky moment of uncertainty swept over her. “Is it true?” “It’s true.” Valcour nodded. He avoided eye contact with her and looked down as he spoke. “Many are dead because of me.” She approached Valcour dreading to ask. “Did you kill in cold blood?” she asked softly. “I was provoked.” A look of sullen defiance crossed Valcour’s brow. “But I’m still guilty. I wish I’d listened to you and not taken that last ship. You said it earlier—some things can never be put right, and this is one of them. My greedy ambitions got a lot of men killed, and there’s nothing I can do that will ever make it right. My punishment is to carry the pain for the rest of my life.” “Tell me what happened.” An agonized expression twisted Valcour’s face. He looked as if he might retch. “I can’t.” He turned his back to her, walked toward the broken oak, leaned against it and hung his head in despair. She saw that even without Mister Payne’s foul brew Valcour was shutting down again and followed him to the tree. Her hand gently grazed his shoulder. “Listen to me, I can’t stay here.” She spoke firmly. “I’m needed at home. You’re welcome to come home with me, but the sullenness and shame stay here. You need to start dealing with this. Do you understand?” He shook his head with regret. “I have nothing worthwhile to offer.” “I think you’re wrong about that. I’m going to break Leroy’s sleep spell. We don’t belong here. We’re leaving and you’re welcome to come with us.” She waited patiently for Valcour to respond and was deeply disappointed when he didn’t. Valcour slumped against the oak and refused to look up. She left Valcour, walked toward the back of the house and found Leroy sprawled in front of the cellar steps fast asleep. She knelt and gently stroked the side of his face while humming a soft tune. “It’s time to wake up,” she whispered. A moment later, Leroy’s eyes fluttered opened. “Ouch!” He groaned. “I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a galloping horse.” He glanced around in astonishment. “Where am I?” He sat up with a startled expression. “This can’t be good.” “It’s all right.” She spoke calmly. “Payne’s gone, at least for now.” 98
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Leroy winced as he stood. “The pain’s not gone at all my back aches, bad.” “I’m sorry. I put a sleeping roux on the bourbon. Mister Payne found you asleep in the cane fields and roughed you up a bit…” “I think he roughed me up a lot! How come I can’t remember any of it?” Leroy paused. “Where’s Valcour, is Captain Curry all right?” She pointed toward the tree. “He’s over there, but he may not be ready to talk to anyone.” Leroy swayed unsteadily as he straightened his spine and walked. “I want to see him.” He limped around the corner, moving with surprising speed for an injured man. “I’ve been waiting five years—the captain owes me some answers.” She hurried behind Leroy as he approached the tree. “Captain!” Leroy shouted. A few of the men parted as Leroy hobbled past. Valcour turned and looked at Leroy. Leroy came to a halt in front of Valcour and stared silently at his friend for many long moments. His face lit with delight. “You’re all cleaned up. You’re Captain Curry again.” He smiled broadly as an excited stream of words poured from his mouth. “You look good. You look like your old self. I waited a long time for you and suffered a world of worry. How come you never showed up at the rendezvous point?” Valcour stared blankly and said nothing. Several men wandered away and walked down the road that led through the cane fields. They didn’t wave or say goodbye they simply left. Soon several others quickly followed. Mister Milton leaned against a sunny wall, loitering nearby. He seemed to be studying the exchange between Valcour and Leroy with interest. Leroy patiently stood in front of Valcour as the silence dragged on. “I’m not angry with you, Captain. I just need to know. I always trusted you and was willing to take risks because you said so. I spent years believing you were dead, until I found you here. What happened to the other half of our crew? Are they alive somewhere?” Valcour shook his head. “No, I’m the last.” “What about the Dutch ship? You spent weeks planning that one so well.” Leroy persisted. “Did you ever take it?” “There was no treasure.” Valcour scoffed. “We got fooled. I was dumb enough to fall for one of my own tricks—the mythical treasure ship. I planned so well and got so many people involved, but I was arrogant. It never occurred to me that some of those men were disloyal and ready to ‘sell’ my plan to someone else. We got drawn onto the sea and slaughtered with no one watching.” Valcour sighed. “We were set up, there’s no doubt about it. When we tried to board that big ‘prize ship’, they were well warned and waiting for us with an ambush. There were no allies aboard. As soon as we came up on the stern, they started picking us off 99
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with musket fire as if it were a duck hunt. That handpicked officer I placed aboard was the first to take a shot at me. I felt so betrayed and angry, I shot back, and I kept shooting at him long after he went down. Once I was aboard, I drew a blade and started hacking at anything that still moved. I left the decks sticky with blood and it was all for nothing.” Leroy frowned in disbelief. “Our crew was loyal. Who told?” “I did.” Mister Milton straightened and slowly approached Valcour. “I hated you for taking the Roxy Belle from me. I made it my mission to seek revenge and make sure you got no pleasure from life. Fortunately…” He hesitated. “I should say unfortunately, I met Mister Payne gambling in the Quarter. He was very sympathetic to my plight and understood exactly what I wanted to see done to you and he made it happen. Through dark magic he made my bitterest dreams come true, but it came at a price.” He paused. “I was a fool too. I never realized until it was too late that when you make an enemy of a man, you tie yourself to him in misery, forever. I helped ruin your life and I ended up right beside you in hell. Isn’t that funny?” He frowned. “I got exactly what I asked for and it damned me.” Mister Milton walked toward Valcour and put his hand on his shoulder. “We’ve all done shameful things and we all have to learn to do better. Not everyone gets to go home. You’re so lucky. I envy you. If I had a woman willing to come to this sad place to save me, I wouldn’t stand around pouting. I’d leave with her.”
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Chapter Seven Home
Lark watched as Mister Milton turned and quietly walked toward the cane fields. Moments later he disappeared down the dirt road. She wondered how long he would remain a free man and hoped he had learned enough to resist Mister Payne’s numbing lure should they ever meet again. “I hope he’ll be all right.” She turned toward Valcour and held out her hand. “I hope we never see Mister Payne again. Please tell me you’re finished with him.” She held her breath and waited a beat. “Make a firm choice right now to come home with me.” Valcour took her hand and gently squeezed it. “I know I did wrong and I also realize my plans were doomed. It had to go badly, didn’t it? How could it not? I was living the wrong kind of life, but I promise you I’m done with all that, and I want another chance.” Leroy smiled and reached out to embrace Valcour. “Brother, I’m glad to have you back.” Valcour smiled. “It feels good to be back.” She looked around and realized all the other men had wandered away and they were the last souls left on the plantation. “We should leave. I don’t like being here.” Valcour and Leroy nodded in agreement. The three left the Broken Oak Plantation together. Valcour and Leroy launched the pirogue into the bayou. Valcour picked her up and effortlessly swung her into the boat. She didn’t even have to get her feet wet. At his own insistence, Valcour did all the paddling and seemed to be absorbing the bright sunlight of the cool October morning. Every minute that passed made him stronger and more like his old self. He gazed intently at the simplest things such as the swirled roots of a cypress tree or the flutter of half seen birds in the treetops as if he were witnessing a miracle for the first time. He frequently looked over to gaze at her and a brilliant smile would burst across his face. She couldn’t help but smile back. The look in Valcour’s eyes made her heart leap every time he glanced at her, making her wonder how she had ever existed without him. Every few moments she’d forced herself to look appreciatively at the somber beauty of the bayou, but her eyes immediately returned to him. He was what her heart truly
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wanted to see. The look of intense interest in his eyes was the most beautiful thing she had seen in a very long time, and she was loath to tear her gaze away. Leroy was still drowsy from the roux. Within minutes, he slumped over and fell asleep, dozing quietly on the floor of the boat. Valcour stared at his sleeping friend. “I will say your rouxs are potent. They do everything you intend them to do and more. I better stay on your good side.” She laughed softly. “Beneficent voodoo doesn’t have a bad side. You’re perfectly safe with me.” She scooted closer to Valcour, enjoying the sight of his broad shoulders rowing the boat, and quietly wondered how things would be between them as lovers now that they were both older and wiser. She wanted him, and clearly he wanted her, but so much had changed in five years. Poor Valcour had been beaten, abused and soul-used by Mister Payne. No doubt the damage from those events would be revealed later. She knew it would be prudent to expect emotional walls built in self-protection to rise and to be ready to help Valcour knock them down. Most likely she would have to practice a little beneficent voodoo to bring Valcour’s body and soul back to a place of loving trust. She didn’t care how long it took or how difficult the task might be. She loved him and knew he was worth it. Obviously he was willing and strong enough to help himself heal—she had only to give him an encouraging nudge. He looked directly at her. “What are you thinking?” “I was thinking about everything that’s happened and what lies ahead.” “Can I tell you something?” He spoke quietly. A slightly sad expression dampened his smile. “I was scared that through the gift you’d see what I’d done, be disgusted or frightened of me and never want me again. In fact, I was certain of it. I hated myself for losing control and straying beyond the boundaries of decent behavior, but I don’t want to be there anymore. I promise you, I’ll leave my old life in the past. No more greed, piracy or violence. I want to be a better man, live a peaceful life and spend it with you.” “I want that too,” she answered softly. “You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.” “Thank you, Lark. I needed to hear that from you.” A look of gratitude washed across his face. “I wish we were alone.” He leaned toward her and spoke in hushed, velvety tones. “So I could show you how much I love you.” The longing in his voice sent a thrilling little shiver down her spine. She dared to move a bit closer in the gently rocking boat and brushed a light kiss across his lips. “I can’t wait to be alone with you. I sincerely mean that.” “Then I better paddle us out of the backwater and get us to New Orleans.” A bright smile spread across his face as he rowed a little faster. She leaned back. “Row us home.” She looked at him and daydreamed about all the things she missed and was eager to do with him the moment she got him alone behind closed doors.
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She longed to straddle his lap, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss and tease his beautiful mouth for hours. She wanted to stare at him undressed, stretched across her bed. She gently corrected herself—their bed. Lark wanted to run her fingers over every solid inch of his body and get to know him as he was now. Her skin tingled at the thought that soon she could watch the expression on his handsome face shift to ecstasy in those first truly intimate moments of penetration as he softly bit down on his bottom lip and fought for self-control. She definitely needed to see the spectacle of gorgeous agony on his face as his cock slid inside her. She couldn’t wait to feel his hips pump between her thighs and hear him gasp her name in a broken whisper as he came, hard. She wanted to show him how much she loved him and how much more she could love him in the future. He glanced at her as he rowed. His smile crooked to the side. He seemed to be studying her shifting expressions. “You look a bit lost in thought.” “I am,” she whispered. Her thoughts wandered toward getting back to the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen, locking the cabin door, stripping her clothing away and lying naked with her pale skin in stark contrast to the deep-red upholstery of the parlor chaise. She imagined arching against the chaise and offering herself. Tension rose in her throat, thinking of how good it would feel to lie beneath him and feel his warm skin brush against hers. She closed her eyes against the bright sunlight bouncing off the surface of the bayou and sighed softly. It would feel real good. The paddle sank quietly in the water and rose with a soft splash. She imaged parting her thighs, pulling him close, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing his face between her thighs and begging, Kiss me, make me wet with your mouth. She vividly imagined tilting her hips toward his face and waiting breathlessly for that first stunning touch of his soft lips and eager tongue against her bud. She silently admitted that was what she needed first, and she greedily wanted a lot of it. She had gone without for far too long, but the deprivation would end today. Soon she’d be enjoying his strong body and all the pleasure he could offer. She needed him to prove how much he really loved her and feel his adoring mouth pressed firmly against her wet sex. Her weight shifted anxiously in the boat. With every moment that passed, it got harder to be patient. Valcour pointed upward. “Look, brown pelicans. Lord, those are strange-looking birds.” “Yes, they are.” Her voice sounded distracted because she was. She obsessed on the thought that once again the rough planes of his face would be gently trapped against the soft skin of her thighs where he belonged. She couldn’t wait to gently rock her hips against his mouth, come hard for him and get her hot, musky scent all over his face. Valcour squinted at the pelicans. “Where do you think they’re going?” She slightly shrugged. For years, the memory of his loving mouth kissing and sucking hard on her bud had tormented her against her will in fantasy and half103
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remembered dreams, and she was determined to make it real as soon as possible. If she got lucky, she could climax a couple of times from his hot, wet, sucking mouth before dragging him on top of her and allowing his eager cock to slide inside. Together they could come in a heated rush. She’d certainly love that. She planned to trap him in bed, thoroughly exhaust him for several days in a row, and not let him rest. “I know what you’re thinking.” Valcour spoke softly. “You’re probably wondering what kind of job an ex-pirate could find. I don’t want you to worry. I’ll put my pride aside and take any work.” “That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking.” She laughed quietly. “I have plenty of work to keep you busy.” Her face flushed hot. “Enough to exhaust you.” She burst into giggles that wouldn’t stop. “Why are you laughing?” A good-natured smile warmed the edges of his lips. “Hush, honey, we don’t want to wake Leroy.” He gently silenced her laughter. She stopped giggling and looked at the soundly snoozing Leroy. “That poor boy isn’t going to wake up on his own for hours yet.” She covered Leroy’s face with her scarf so he wouldn’t get any more sunburned than he already was. “I love hearing you laugh.” Valcour beamed at her. “It feels so good to leave the Broken Oak and Mister Payne, I can’t tell you.” “What would you like to do first when we get home?” “I suppose I should ask where home is?” “I live on the riverboat fulltime. The Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen is home.” “I’m happy to hear that. I want to see the Queen again.” He paused. ”First, I want a real bath, a decent meal, and I want to sleep in a soft bed beside you. When I wake up in the morning, I want to see you next to me. That’s what I want.” “Honey, for once you’re not thinking big enough. You can have all that and a lot more.” His eyes glittered in the sunlight. “I don’t have to say what else I want, do I? You already know.” By early afternoon they were back on the main river. The pirogue appeared perilously tiny beside the many larger fishing boats and paddleboats steaming upriver. The shallow pirogue had to dodge the wakes of the larger ships. Valcour’s eyes opened wide. “There’re so many riverboats on the Mississippi. Where did they all come from?” “Darling, you’ve been gone for five years. You were right, riverboats are the future and ours is still one of the prettiest, by the way.” She grinned with pride. A big, white riverboat, with the bold gold-gilt name plaque Cotton Carnival, steamed behind them. She hailed the riverboat with the broad wave of her arm. “My friend Bobby owns that boat.” 104
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The Cotton Carnival’s whistle blew. The paddlewheel slowed. A very animated man in a neatly tailored blue coat and cap ran onto the upper deck of the boat and shouted, “Miss La Beau, is that you?” He looked with suspicious eyes at the pirogue and the two strange men accompanying her, one of who was seemingly unconscious on the floorboards. He hailed several of his crewmen. “Get that lady safely aboard!” The crewmen tossed them a line. Valcour grabbed it. The crewmen reeled the pirogue toward them and helped Lark aboard the Cotton Carnival. Bobby scrambled down a metal ladder and smoothed his hands across his blue coat before politely bowing to Lark. “Dear lord, Miss La Beau, what are you doing out here?” Leroy was gently awakened, and he and Valcour were quickly brought aboard the Cotton Carnival and the pirogue tied securely alongside. Lark introduced Valcour and Leroy to her friend. “Bobby, this is Captain Valcour Curry and his quartermaster Leroy…” She realized she didn’t know Leroy’s last name and skipped ahead. “I would be so grateful if you would offer us passage to New Orleans and a place to rest.” She smiled sweetly. “There’ll be a case of good brandy in the bargain for all your trouble.” Bobby smiled politely. “Of course, Miss La Beau, it would be my pleasure.” His eyes narrowed on Valcour and his smile faded. He motioned for everyone to follow him into the heart of the boat. The Cotton Carnival was all business and carried loads of cargo in its interior instead of an elegant gambling hall. They walked through a baffled maze of steeply stacked cotton bales, barrels and sacks. The steam whistle blew and the great paddlewheel started churning through the Mississippi once again. They walked past sacks of cotton piled high. The slightly flowery scent of raw cotton tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze. “If you all will excuse me.” Leroy plopped facedown on a cotton bale. “I’m going to lie down right here and take a short nap.” A moment later he was fast asleep. Bobby cast Lark a questioning glance. She shrugged. “He’s very sleepy, practically one of the walking dead.” Valcour laughed quietly. Bobby’s cool gaze silently confronted Valcour. “I apologize, Miss La Beau, I only have one guest cabin.” She shyly lowered her eyes. “That will do. We only need one.” Bobby drew a tense breath. His expression remained neutral as he unlocked a cabin door and offered it to them. “We should be in New Orleans in a couple of hours. Can I get you anything?”
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“Thank you, Bobby, maybe later.” She took hold of Valcour’s hand, pulled him into the dimly lit but neat little cabin with a cot and quickly closed the door. She looked into Valcour’s face and smiled. “That entire exchange was a bit awkward, but at least we’re alone.” Valcour pressed her shoulder against the wall and kissed her lips. “Your friend Bobby seems disapproving of me.” “Bobby’s just surprised. He’s a dear friend, and he knows I never casually share my bed with gentleman.” “It’s a good thing I’m not a gentleman.” His fingers hurriedly unlaced the front of her dress and tugged it off her shoulder. His roughened fingertips lovingly brushed across her fair skin. “I have a great idea, why don’t we turn Miss La Beau into Mrs. Curry?” She laughed nervously. “I’m serious. This time I’ll do it right. I’ll buy a simple gold band, a white dress and we’ll have a real wedding with the people we love and a lot of good food.” “Hush, sweetheart.” She smiled sweetly and kissed his lips to silence him. “Tell me about your bridal dreams a little later. We have a lot to catch up with. We’ve both changed. We’re different people.” Her fingertips lightly grazed across his cheek. She could feel her face glowing. “I do want to marry you, but before I do, I want to fall in love with the man you are now.” He leaned close to her ear. “I just want you to know I mean to do right by you.” “I know.” Her hands caressed the sides of his face. Her fingers tangled in his wavy hair. “I can feel the change in you and I like it. You’re a humbler man. You know your boundaries now. You’ll be a lot less worry to live with and so much easier to love.” “I owe you so much.” His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “I’d be trapped in a dead man’s world without you.” His kind words brought a bursting smile to her lips. “Then come back to life.” Her hands skimmed across his broad chest and slowly traveled lower. Her fingers fumbled to unbutton his trousers and tug the fabric down his lean hips. His cock sprang thick and hard into her hands. She gave the smooth shaft a firm stroke. “This is what I need right now.” He swiftly stripped his shirt over his head. “You got it.” She reached down to cup his heavy sac and reveled in the possessive feel of having his warm weight fill the palm of her hand. “I’ve missed you, bad.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Wait.” She quickly dragged her frilly pantaloons down her legs, carelessly kicked them aside and crowded close to him. Her smooth thighs brushed against his. The bristly hairs on his legs tickled her skin in an exciting way. She couldn’t wait to wrap her legs around him, feel his heartbeat, his warm breath at her ear and the thrill of penetration. Dewy heat spread between her thighs. 106
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Things were so different this time. This time she knew what was going to happen, and she couldn’t wait to get it. Valcour was once again in her life and she was eager to feel him moving inside her and get the full rush of that beautiful bonded feeling she craved. She tugged her camisole over her head and pressed her bare breasts against him. Her nipples peaked as they brushed against the silky hair on his chest. “Take me against the wall,” she whispered urgently. “Right now.” “Are you sure?” Valcour’s eyes shone brightly with the most beautiful expression. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her to his hips and pressed her back against the metal wall. His body thrust between her thighs. “God, I want this.” The wall was cool against her back. Her arms twined around his neck. Her legs anchored to his hips and squeezed like a vise. She closed her eyes, arched back against the wall to gain leverage and allowed her body to slowly sink downward onto his cock. He slid easily inside her slick sheath, almost holding his breath as her warm body swallowed him whole. “Lark.” He lovingly whispered her name. The sensation was intensely sweet. She struggled to open her eyes a slit to see the rapturous look on his face. It was as beautiful as she expected and more. “Lark, you’re my love.” His softly spoken words were filled with emotion. She reveled in hearing him speak her name with such devotion. Her back pressed hard against the wall as he moved slowly inside her. The heated sensation of his width stretching her brought a soft sigh to her lips. His arms held her tight and pressed her close. His cock slid deeper until he completely filled her. He took several slow, shallow strokes to thoroughly slick the shaft. His lips brushed against hers. “Kiss me,” he whispered. Her hands reached toward his face. Her fingertips stroked the gritty texture of his jaw and gently toyed with the curved rim of his ears. She looked into his eyes and silently admitted she loved him so much. With a breathless swoop, her lips took possession of his mouth. Her kisses rained over his full lower lip and gave it a gentle, tugging nip. He shuddered from her soft assault. His hips thrust faster. “Am I hurting you?” His voice rasped. Her kisses dropped to his throat. The edges of her teeth teasingly grazed the side of his throat. “Don’t be afraid to move, I want to feel it.” His body thrust harder and faster. Her back lightly thumped against the wall. Her breasts leapt from the harsh movement. “Do it,” she encouraged him. He cradled her close in his strong arms, so she wouldn’t be bumped as violently as his strokes quickened. He glanced downward at her soft curves, with a slightly crooked smile on his face, and thrust again hard, just to see her breasts tremble. “It feels like a dream to be inside you again.”
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The blood rushed between her thighs, making her pulse race. Her arms locked around his shoulders. She gently brushed her cheek against his, taking in every detail about him, including the reassuring sound of his voice and even the soap-tinged scent of musk on his skin. Every detail seemed important and worth committing to memory. This was the true first time. She was—they were—older, wiser and so very grateful to be offered a second chance. “I love you. You’re the only man I’ll ever want.” She murmured it so softly, she wasn’t sure he heard. He gently acknowledged her comment with a nod but didn’t speak. His agreement was physically expressed with a quick, graceful movement his hands cupped her bottom and lifted her higher. At this angle, he was better able to take long, controlled strokes and sighed with pleasure as he disappeared deeply inside her and lingered. His body arched over her as he moved slowly. His face lovingly nuzzled the side of her throat. The edges of his teeth gently nipped the sensitive skin below her ear until the flesh warmed. “Ah,” she moaned helplessly. His gentle bite sent a thrilling shiver down her arms. Every nerve pulled taut. Her hips rocked against him, longing to position herself in the exact angle where his thick shaft would rub against her slick bud and drive her mad but couldn’t quite find it. Her body arched helplessly in his tight hold as she tried to find the magic spot. She gritted her teeth and pulsed against him, loving the steadily building tension that crept higher with each stroke. He moved faster. His breathing became a labored pant. The cool cabin now felt overly warm. Her fingertips grazed his broad shoulders and clung tightly to him. Their skin became slick to the touch as she slid against the wall. Having his body pressed so tightly against her excited her to an almost unbearable pitch. She rubbed her drenched sheath against him with abandon. “The more you move the more I like it,” she gasped. His body curled forward, completely covering her in heat and the warm scent of man. His motions sped. He pumped harder. When she thought she couldn’t take it another moment, her hips tilted forward and she pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Don’t be afraid to be rough.” His damp chest pressed against her breasts teasing her nipples to aching, hard peaks. He pulled all the way out and thrust faster, pressing her hard against the wall. It felt so good, she moaned with abandon without caring who might hear. She ground her hips against him as he hit just the right spot on her aching bud. A sweet sensation like falling into bliss sent ripples of pleasure all through her body. Everything from her scalp to the soles of her feet tingled with heat. A shuddering sense of release swept over her. It was so intense, the feeling floated over her almost as if it were a solid thing she could reach toward. She gave in to it with a gasping rush, rocked her body against him and tensed, waiting for more. For many long moments the sensation didn’t cease. It continued to ripple through her, delivering a new thrill with each exciting little wave. Her fingernails dug into the 108
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slick skin of his back as she grasped him tightly against her, hoping to catch one more gripping contraction of pleasure. He felt her coming, drew a panting breath and allowed himself full release without holding back. His hips moved with a frenzied will of their own as he buried his face against her hair, thrust deep inside and stilled. A soft groan rose from deep in his throat as his body tensed. His hips slowly pulsed as he came with a body-racking rush delivered in several jolts. Her arms tightened and held him close. “You feel so good.” They stood trembling, plastered against the wall, as he finished coming. He drew a shaky breath and briefly pulled back to glance at her but quickly looked away. Tears welled on the edges of his eyes. She knew he was feeling overcome and unsure, and gently kissed his cheek. “It’s all right,” she whispered softly. His face hovered close to hers but looked downward. “Lark. I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to this.” Her fingers smoothed a dark strand of stray hair from his beautiful eyes. Her hands gently lifted his face to hers. At that moment he looked so innocent, it was hard to believe he was an aggressive man of the world with his own cares and worries. This moment felt so pure and free of all that. “Remember how this feels,” she whispered. “So you’ll always know how much you’re loved. We can always come back to this moment.” She paused. “I’m yours. I’d go to hell and back for you—so treat me right.” She gazed at his handsome face in loving silence. “And I’ll treat you right. That’s how it should be.” He looked at her longingly, as if he wanted to speak but simply couldn’t. “Lie down on the cot,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me while I look at you.” His cock was buried deeply inside her as he gripped her tightly, lifting her away from the wall. He cautiously ambled toward the cot with her legs still twined tightly around his hips. He tried to slowly lower them both toward the surface of the cot but nearly dropped her and slowly collapsed on top of her, laughing. “That was harder than I thought it would be.” She laughed softly as she rolled from beneath him. “Come here.” She took hold of his hand and pulled him beside her onto the narrow mattress and gently pushed him onto his back. “I’ve been dreaming of this.” She straddled his lean hips and rubbed the wet head of his semi-hard cock against her slick bud, sliding him back inside her. Her hips sank down on him, and stilled. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the feeling of Valcour’s solid body clasped between her thighs. She longed to plunge down and move fast so she could feel that beautiful rush of full penetration, but she was so wet she didn’t dare move too much and risk losing her grip on him. “Can you feel that?” Her thighs pressed together and squeezed his cock tight with her muscles and instantly felt him grow harder and lengthen. Her 109
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hands pinned his shoulders to the cot as her weight settled down on his thick shaft and rubbed against him. “You’re trapped. I’m keeping you.” “Good, I’m not even close to being done with you.” His hips tilted upward. His cock pressed deeper. His fingertips lovingly stroked the sides of her waist. “Move slowly,” he whispered. “So I can watch your breasts sway and see the look on your beautiful face as I drench you again. Give me a slow, sweet ride.” Knock, knock, knock. Hard knuckles rapped impatiently against the metal door of the cabin. Her eyes widened as she leapt in surprise. Valcour’s hands locked around her and held her tight. “Who’s there?” She clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent an embarrassed burst of laughter from floating out. “It’s Bobby.” Bobby sounded sheepish as if he had overheard too much. “Miss La Beau, we just spotted the Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen upriver. Would you like me to hail her?” “Hell yes!” Valcour’s voice boomed through the cabin door. He mouthed the words quietly to Lark. “How long do you think he was standing there?” She shrugged. “Thank you very much, Bobby! We’ll be right out.” They heard the echo of Bobby’s footsteps walking away. Valcour gently released her. “I expect to pick up where we left off.” She carefully inched toward the edge of the cot. “Hurry, let’s get dressed. I want a bath and a meal aboard our own riverboat.” Her face beamed. “I’ve taken good care of her. The Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen’s still one of the biggest and best riverboats on the Mississippi. You were right, she’s a moneymaker.” She paused. “And I have a few other interesting surprises to share with you when you’re ready.” “I’m certainly looking forward to that.” Valcour reluctantly sat up and swung his feet over the side of the cot. He stood and walked toward the wall to retrieve his clothes from the floor. He picked up his rumpled trousers and tugged them on. They dressed hapzardly and hurried onto the deck of the Cotton Carnival, watching as the brilliant white-and-black-crowned steam stacks of the Voodoo Queen plowed closer. Valcour stood next to her with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “The Voodoo Queen looks beautiful.” He smiled with pride. “What do you do, give her a fresh coat of paint every other day?” “Hendricks is the impeccable master of the Queen’s upkeep. You can thank him.” Both riverboats blew their whistles in a brief salute and began to slow. She urged Valcour toward the railings. “We should untie the pirogue. We can paddle over to the Queen. I don’t want Bobby to go to any more trouble than he already has.”
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Sugar Roux Voodoo
Bobby leaned over the top rail and gazed down at Lark. “I’m sorry you’re leaving.” She shouted up at him. “Thank you, Bobby. I owe you a big favor! Would you be willing to keep Leroy a little longer? I don’t want to wake him.” Bobby looked perplexed. “Sure.” “Thanks!” She smiled brightly. “We’ll see you tonight in New Orleans and I’ll make that two cases of brandy. You earned it.” They climbed into the precariously shallow pirogue, untied it, pushed off and paddled like mad to get at the right angle to take even a slow-moving riverboat’s wake. As soon as the Cotton Carnival pulled ahead, they partially crossed the river toward the larger and decidedly more elegant Sugar Roux Voodoo Queen. Valcour paddled toward the grand riverboat, squinting into the sunlight as they approached. “Look at that.” He pointed disapprovingly toward the ornate black wrought-iron railings. “Somebody’s let their child play on the top deck. That is very lax parenting indeed. They must be fools to let that monkey climb around like that. That poor little boy’s going to get hurt.” She looked up and cringed. “Mommy!” The boy squealed shrilly and waved frantically over the railing. “I knew you were coming and I waited here for you.” He pointed at Valcour. “I saw that man in a dream.” Valcour turned to look at her in shock. “I wanted you to have a chance to catch your breath before I told you. That’s your son, Darby. I named him after your mother’s folks. He’s a good boy and he’s so smart. He has the gift too, so be as honest as you can with him, he sees straight through lies.” “Dear lord.” A shuddering sigh racked Valcour’s chest. “I don’t know how to be a dad.” “No one knows until they start. You’ll learn. Darby envies the children who have fathers—I know he’d love have one of his own.” She gently patted his arm. “You belong with us. Being a father will come naturally. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” “If there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he laughed nervously, “then why am I shaking on the inside?” “Because you care and this is real. I love you, and Darby will too. We were meant to be together, so let’s be a family.” Her eyes gently challenged him. “Let’s climb aboard the Queen and start your new life.” “I want to do this right.” He sighed a deep breath as he paddled to the side of the riverboat. “Do you have a roux or any sort of magic that can help me adjust to my new life?” “There’s no magic needed. Be patient. It’s enough that we found each other again. You’ll see.” Hendricks and Mathilde walked onto the deck of Queen to greet them with a friendly wave and tossed them a rope. 111
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Darby scrambled down from the top deck. He ran across the lower deck and stood beside Mathilde, watching with intense interest as Lark and Valcour came aboard. As soon as Valcour’s feet were on the Queen’s deck, Darby approached him quietly and gazed into his face with rapt curiosity. “Hello.” “Hello to you, sir.” Valcour knelt to Darby’s level, looked into his wide blue-gray eyes and smiled. “My name is Captain Curry.” His voice quaked with emotion. Darby stood still, smiling silently, as if allowing Valcour a moment to collect his thoughts. Valcour mumbled in astonished awe. “You look like me.” Darby’s tiny fingertips reached out and lightly brushed across the tip of Valcour’s nose. “I know.” Lark looked at Darby and Valcour together and realized the gift had always been intact. It hadn’t failed her. The first time she kissed Valcour and saw a bright future was a glimpse of the truth. She had simply looked too far ahead.
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About the Author Writing is a new love of mine. I recently arrived at Ellora’s Cave after feeling inspired to share my overblown vision of reality with my friends. I started my life as a fine art painter and illustrator but became frustrated that I couldn’t crowd everything I wanted to say onto a canvas. I was forced to put down the paintbrush and pick up the pen to explain myself in greater detail. I’ve been fortunate to live an adventurous life with the love of my life, and fellow artist, at my side. We share our lives with a wonderful son and a very sweet border collie. Ps: I still paint. Just because I have a new love doesn’t mean I’m ready to abandon an old one. One can never collect enough old “loves” or have enough joy in life. Katalina welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Katalina Leon Adult Education Beautiful Stranger Blue Apples Nice Package Noblesword Owned by Rome
Print books by Katalina Leon Succulent anthology
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