Tainted Lilies (10 page)

His forehead creased as if he were thinking hard about something. Then he shook his head slowly.

“Reckon I ain’t never been in that parish, ma’am.”

Nicolette tried to make the name stick. But for the rest of his life, “Madame Boss’s boy” would only answer to Gator-Bait, and eventually even his mistress forgot that for a brief time he had been christened Daniel.

Jean Laffite remained brooding and silent as they moved on through the bayous. He wasn’t pleased at having to hand over so much gold for the pint-sized slave, and he was even more unhappy at Nicolette’s high-handed tactics in getting her way.

This was a side of the gentle girl he hadn’t seen before, but he knew with a terrible certainty that he would see it again.

The flotilla of pirogues from Grande Terre arrived at The Temple the next day, just as the sun was setting and turning the greenish shadows into soft purple twilight, pinpricked by fireflies.

Nicolette had remained uncomplaining through the exhausting trip, though every muscle and joint in her body screamed with pain by the time their boat nosed through the marsh at the old shell mound. Even more agonizing was the swelling of her face caused by the bites of ravenous mosquitoes, who had seemed to fancy the crushed juniper berries she’d rubbed on her skin to repel them. More than anything, she wanted a bath and a soft bed.

While Nicolette still sat in the boat, Gator-Bait clambered over the side, squealing his excitement.

“Lawdy, look at dis here place! All dem shells musta took your darkies a heap of shuckin’ and stackin’ time, M’sieu Boss!”

Laffite, occupied tying the boat, answered halfheartedly, “Not my people, Gator-Bait. Indians… a long time ago.”

The boy crouched low on the bank and swept the clearing and shadowy oak and cypress forest beyond with keen eyes.

“Them Choctaws, they bad! Ain’t none ‘round these here parts now, is they?”

“No,” Laffite answered, helping Nicolette to dry land. “But you mind Madame Boss or I’ll conjure up a ghost of one to teach you right from wrong. You hear me, boy?”

Gator-Bait shrieked with terror and rushed to hide his face against his mistress’s skirt.

“Jean, how could you be so cruel?” Nicolette scolded. “You’ve no call to frighten the child.”

Laffite made no reply, but scowled his displeasure. A new brand of jealousy ate at him, though he wouldn’t have admitted to it by that name. Ever since Nicolette had coerced him into buying the boy, she’d put the worthless little slave’s comfort before his. It rankled deeply.

Probably she’ll want him to sleep on the foot of our bed tonight like a pet dog, he thought morosely. Well, by God, I won’t stand for it!

“You, boy,” Laffite growled. “Fetch the lady’s satchel up to the house.”

“He has a name, Jean!” Nicolette reprimanded again.

“I know!” he mumbled under his breath.
“Trouble!”

They walked from the boat landing the short distance to the cabin. Nicolette welcomed Laffite’s supporting arm. Her stiff legs protested every step of the way. Her back ached and her head throbbed.

Though she felt little like examining her surroundings closely, she did note the strange hill of oyster shells, four or five feet higher than the marshes, and the two-room cabin of cypress perched at the edge of the
chenière.
The weathered wood looked as silvery-gray as the Spanish moss trailing down out of the oaks. The house appeared warm and cozy from the outside.

“The men are building a fire now, so you’ll have hot water for a bath shortly,” Laffite told her as they mounted the steps to the miniature veranda. “I’ll help you out of those muddy clothes and you can lie down for a while, darling.”

He couldn’t stay upset with her, he realized. She looked so utterly miserable and so vulnerable in her present state of untidiness and fatigue. He wanted her fresh and clean so that he could lie down in the bed next to her and massage away her pain… hold her close and do the things to her that made her sigh with pleasure… whisper how much he loved her and needed her near… let her relieve his own primal ache.

But making love was the farthest thing from Nicolette’s travel-weary mind at the moment. She glanced about the tiny sitting room of the cabin and her heart sank. Dust, cobwebs, and rotting leaves filled all four corners. A large, green lizard skittered across the seat of the lone chair in the room, sending a shiver through her.

Laffite saw the disappointment in her face and said, “I know it isn’t much, darling, but it will serve well enough as a roof over our heads for one night. I’ll get Gator-Bait busy in here with a broom and a pail.”

She walked silently, hesitantly, into the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was a bed—a low, narrow affair with a moss-stuffed mattress sagging down into the ropes. But it was a place to lie down. With a silent prayer of thanksgiving, she eyed the mosquito netting which covered it.

“The tub’s in here,” Jean said, opening another door to a closet-sized room, “and the basin and chamber pot.”

When she still didn’t answer and kept her back to him, he came to her and turned her to him. She let her head droop against his chest and suddenly she was weeping pitifully.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just worn out and all this is so new to me. I’ll get used to your way of life, but I guess it will take more time than I thought.”

He caressed her tangled hair and whispered, “Don’t cry about it, sweetheart. I won’t be impatient with you. I promise. Besides, we have all the time in the world.”

After Nicolette had undressed, bathed, eaten a light supper of delicate frogs’ legs, and sipped at a concoction of rum, water, and fresh lime juice that Jean had urged on her, she felt restored.

She lay back on the cool sheets. The drawn mosquito netting seemed to screen out the rest of the world, lulling her senses and dulling her aches. She listened to the night sounds—the Baratarians talking and laughing around their campfires, the sad-sweet songs of the slaves who would go to new homes shortly, the chorus of crickets, and the intermittent hoots of an owl far off in the swamp.

Sukey had always said that an owl’s mournful night cry presaged doom, but Nicolette never believed it. The sound was soothing, not threatening.

She was on the verge of sleep when she heard Jean enter the cottage. His protective presence removed the last concern from her mind and she let herself drift off into blessed oblivion.

Laffite stood beside the bed, staring down at his Nikki. She looked much better now-all pink and white in her fresh linen gown with her clean hair brushed and spread out on the pillow. A sweet smile touched her lips. He longed to kiss it. One arm was under her head. The other hand rested between her breasts, the fingers curled delicately as if she were beckoning him to that region.

“Nikki,” he whispered.

She moved slightly, but didn’t open her eyes or answer him.

The heat of the May night made his clothes cling to him. Quickly, he shrugged out of them, then slid under the netting to lie beside Nicolette. When he was settled so close that he could feel her warmth and breathe in the femaleness of her, he let out a satisfied sigh.

“At last,” he murmured. “I thought I’d die from wanting you these past two days, darling. But I couldn’t do much about it with all the men watching us every minute.”

When she didn’t answer, he leaned over to kiss her. Her only response was to turn her face away from him.

“Don’t be that way, Nikki,” he pleaded. “If you’re still angry about the way I treated the boy, I’ll promise not to tease him anymore. But, God, don’t punish me this way!”

He touched her face tentatively to see what response he got. She swatted his hand away as she had so many insects in the past days.

“Nikki,
please’.”
he begged, letting his hand ease inside the loose bodice of her gown.

Her body stiffened as he clasped her breast. She pulled away and gave a soft sob.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

But her level of sleep was so deep that nothing he said penetrated. Instead, the aches in her body conjured up hideous, suppressed visions of her encounter with Silas Browne. The nightmare which she couldn’t remember by day was beginning to creep back to conscious level under cover of darkness.

“No! Don’t touch me!” she cried out, slapping at his hands.

Laffite pulled away. “I’m sorry, Nikki,” he said in an injured tone.

He lay still for a few moments until her whimpering stopped and she turned on her side toward him.

Sure that she had given in at last to him, he let his hand slide up under her gown to stroke her thighs. She twisted out of his grasp and pounded his chest with clenched fists. He released her abruptly and battled his way blindly out of the tangled netting.

“Have it your way!” he said angrily. “I’ll sleep in Pierre’s-tent tonight!”

He grabbed his britches and stormed out of the cabin.

Nicolette slept on undisturbed, her exhaustion so complete that even nightmares couldn’t penetrate her consciousness after a short time.

While she slept, Laffite drank more than his usual quota of rum and told his brother, “Maybe it was all a mistake. I don’t think she loves me the way I love her, Pierre. She cares more about that little nigger than she does about me. God, I could die from this ache in my gut! And there’s not another woman within a day’s journey of here!” He stared silently down in to his mug for some time, then said, “I wouldn’t want any other woman, anyway. I only want her.”

Finally, the rum did its work and Jean Laffite fell into an uneasy slumber, which would leave him with an aching head and a quick temper the following day.

Nicolette awoke the next morning to find Jean dressed and standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her.

“I trust you slept well,” he said when he saw her eyes come open.

She smiled and stretched, realizing thankfully that most of her soreness had vanished. “Yes, Jean. And you?”

“You already know the answer to that question!” he snapped, scowling at her.

She didn’t understand what he meant. “What’s wrong, Jean? I’m sorry if .

“Belay that!” he cut in angrily. “I don’t want your apologies. I don’t need them.”

Nicolette sat rigid in the bed, trying to piece together what was happening. Obviously, they were embroiled in their first lovers’ quarrel. But where had it come from? Out of the blue! And why was it happening? She had no idea.

“I wasn’t trying to apologize,” she said. “As far as I know, I have no reason to. I was simply going to say, before you interrupted so rudely, that I’m sorry if you didn’t sleep well.”

Laffite threw up his hands and turned away from her. Focusing his gaze on some distant point out the window, he addressed an unseen presence. “Now she’s sorry. But she certainly didn’t give a damn last night.”

Nicolette launched herself off the bed, grabbing his elbow to spin him around. “If you have something to say to me, say it to my face. What is all this about? You never even came to bed last night, as far as I know. So how could I possibly have disturbed you?”

He offered her a mocking grin to match the tone of his voice. “Oh, so that’s the way you plan to play out this scene. The total innocent. Can’t remember a thing, eh?” His voice deepened to a growl. “Nicolette, at least give me credit for a smattering of intelligence. Don’t patronize me!” He paused, stepped back a bit, and almost smiled. “I’ll make this easier for you. You don’t have to say a word. Just nod your head if you want me to forgive you and I will.”

She stood staring at him, speechless, furious beyond words. Finally, she found her voice. “Now who’s patronizing whom? I haven’t the vaguest notion what you’re talking about, Monsieur Laffite, but if you will notice, I am not nodding my head. Nor do I intend to… ever!”

He bowed curtly. His face, when he looked at her, was drawn tight with rage. He fired his words at her like so many shots from a pistol, while she stood before him, at point blank range, shuddering in pain at each direct hit, but too proud and defiant to let him see how he was hurting her.

“Very well, madame! I see now that I’ve been wrong about you all along. My first hint came when you forced me to buy that miserable little slave. But I couldn’t believe that woman was the real you. Now I see that I’ve been in love with an imposter all along. Why don’t you go back where you belong? Perhaps some friend of yours will come from New Orleans to the auction and escort you back to your family.” He paused to note her reaction. She said nothing. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

Nicolette didn’t want that. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg for his forgiveness for her transgressions—real or imagined. But she couldn’t. Her voice had deserted her and her body seemed made of wood.

“If that’s your answer then, I’ll leave you. I’d advise you to keep to the cabin. Slave auctions aren’t pleasant sights.”

Laffite turned on his heel and strode out, banging the door after him.

Nicolette was left standing in the middle of the room, her mouth open to speak words that never came. Slowly, tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. All the love she felt for Jean Laffite seemed to have been turned into a heavy lead weight now crushing her heart.

What had she done wrong? Why was he so angry?

One of the boats arriving from the city carried a passenger whose mission was not to purchase slaves. He had a plantation upriver from New Orleans and his bride-to-be owned a townhouse in Bourbon Street, but he already had more than enough servants to staff both. The tall, lean man with hair and eyes as coal-black as his finely tailored suit and polished boots, was one of the first to arrive at The Temple.

“Bermudez!” Jean Laffite said when he saw he couldn’t avoid greeting the new customer. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. You missed a good poker game at Grande Terre a few weeks back. You know I’m always happy to relieve you of some of your hard-earned cash.”

Peculiar flames seemed to leap in the man’s cold, dark eyes at the mention of his favorite sport—more than a sport, a passion with Diego Bermudez.

“My loss, I’m afraid, Captain Laffite. I was out of the city and didn’t hear about the game until after the fact. But remember me the next time you organize a high-stakes game.”

“I will! I will!” Laffite answered, ticking off in his mind the fabulous sums he’d won from the arrogant Spanish Creole, whose wealth was far greater than his caution or his ability to bluff. “You’re here to add to your stock today? We have some prime bucks—good studs, I’d say, from the number of pregnant wenches in the lot.”

Bermudez laughed quietly, a controlled, ugly sound. “Bucks I don’t need, monsieur. I pride myself in servicing my own females well enough. I prefer high yellows on my place. Black studs are trouble. However, if you happen to have some comely wenches… say, twelve or thirteen… who haven’t dropped suckers yet, I might be interested.”