Once Upon a Remembrance

  God, she loved him!

  This was the moment Isabeau had been seeking since she'd met Hawk, she knew it with certainty. She felt as if she'd loved him longer . . . as if she had known him forever.

  The caress of Hawk's hard, callused hands drew Isabeau to fever pitch, making her body feel fully alive and burning. There was no one else in her life, nothing else that mattered right now more than this man in this moment.

  She wanted to savor it all. Of their own accord, her hands reached to touch his body, glorying in his groaned responses, soft hands caressing hard muscles, fingers delicately exploring muscled contour with a sense of wonder at being able to touch him so freely. It felt right.

  She brought her hungry mouth to his, cupping his lean face as their tongues entwined to mate hotly, ravenously. Her senses went into overload.

  Isabeau wanted to go slowly, needed to savor every wonderful sensation, but her body pressed closer, demanding more as she enjoyed his strength, his male hardness against her. Feverishly, she kissed his cheek, his brow, his neck.

  She needed more, wanted more to ease the burning, her stomach clenching under each new caress, legs stiffening in unrelenting, unsatisfied desire.

  "Hawk, I've wanted this for an eternity, I've looked for you --" she moaned, hardly aware of what she said, glazed eyes on his face, seeing the dark passion slitting his eyes.

  "We've found each other," he muttered hoarsely.

  Isabeau leaned into him, running her tongue in circles over his chest, nipping at his lips, green eyes searching dark ones, her yearning naked and unashamed for him to see.

  She pulled him back to her, circling his lips with her tongue.

  He tried to slow the pace as sweat beaded his brow. Unable to endure any more, he drew back. "Isabeau, enough, I can't --"

  "Shh," she said softly, "It's right."

  "There's no going back," he growled, "once done --"

  "I know, I know, I don't want to go back." She hushed him with a kiss, dragging her mouth to one corner of his lips, then the other, entwining her arms around rigid muscle, moving downward, massaging, seeking, until he groaned aloud.

  Still, he sought to halt her. "Isabeau, are you sure? If not, this can go no further. I blame myself -- I wanted to hold you, be close to you again. It's been tormenting me --"

  She didn't answer, but pushed her hips to his, loving the feel of him, unable to control the trembling which had taken over her entire body. 

  "This isn't a rash, hormonal decision." She loved him. She knew what she wanted. No matter what happened afterwards, she wanted to love him now. She had never been so sure. "It's right," she said.

  With a low growl of surrender, he ran his hand down her back, cupping her buttocks, drawing her to him so close she could feel every muscle and sinew. Every blessed hard part of him.

  Hungrily, he devoured her mouth, firing her blood beyond bearing, caressing her breasts, making her want so much more right now without delay.

  She crowded against him, her message unmistakable.

  "Undo the dress," she whispered, then felt his fingers work the buttons at the nape of her neck, slowly moving down her back, his fingertips against her flesh. Isabeau clenched her jaw in an agony of sensation, not sure if she could bear any more.

  When the dress was laid aside, she arched her hips into him, her body taut with desire.

  Hawk was lost. Hurriedly undoing the buttons of his shirt, he thrust it away from him, pulling her urgently to him until they were breast to breast. The elation on her face registered the same feelings he experienced.

  "Hawk!" She clutched his arms, then her palms slid up his chest, her fingers tangling in the soft hair, driving him crazy as she delicately traced circles on his skin.

  Mindless need engulfed him, shattering any illusions that they were separate beings. They belonged together.

  #

  Hawk stared at the ceiling above his head.

  He had known the danger -- was experienced enough to know the conclusion had been inevitable. He was a realistic man, but he saw that their lives had been on a set course from the moment of their first encounter.

  How could he regret having such a warm, giving woman in his life? With a sigh, he conceded Isabeau had him bewitched.

  "Hawk." That's all it took to stir his blood, that husky whisper, as if she was trying out the feel of his name on her tongue.

  He turned his head, his arms tightening around her, loving the feel of her smooth skin beneath his hard, callused hands. Even now, the touch of her fingers caused his flesh to rise with goose bumps, each caress a new experience. 

  She was a temptress winding her silken body around him. The touch of her skin against his made his blood boil, sensations swirling through him. He had to touch her, and he did so, gently drawing a finger down her neck, over her breasts, the curve of her ribs. "So delicate," he murmured, dropping his mouth to her stomach, touching his tongue to her flesh. He felt her quiver.

  "It's done," she said simply, stretching into him, "and I don't care. I'm glad it happened. There's something between us, you can't deny it. The pull was too strong for the both of us."

  Hawk didn't deny the truth of her words. He had felt that same pull, was feeling it again. Uncharacteristically, he couldn't make himself care right now about consequences, not with Isabeau in his arms.

  "Are you all right?" he asked huskily.

  His obvious concern touched a chord in her. Isabeau looked away, all of a sudden self-conscious. She smoothed the sheet covering his flat stomach, the swirl of her fingers unknowingly provocative.

  "It's what I wanted," she managed quietly. Then, with a slow grin, she looked up, away from his hard muscled stomach, the light dusting of dark hair on his chest. "It's what I'd like to do -- again," she confessed. Boldly, she leaned forward to brush his lips, feeling the tremor in the hard arms which immediately pulled her closer, rolling her over on top of him.

  She had to have him again.

  Lovingly, her eyes caressed him, imprinting his face in her memory, the thought coming unbidden that she had stolen something from time she might never recapture. A shiver of fear raced across her skin but it didn't stop her from drawing her lips over his flesh once more.

  #

  The sound of raised voices penetrated Isabeau's sleep, as did the slam of an outside door.

  She came fully awake when she heard Hawk curse a blue streak, then another voice raised in anger. Someone gently pulled the door closed to the bedroom where she lay. Isabeau recognized Malry's voice. He was in the outer room with Hawk and their argument sounded very heated.

  Moving quietly, she left the bed and moved closer to the door. Thrusting the hair from her eyes, she pressed her ear to the wood and eavesdropped on the conversation in the next room.

  "I came to see how Isabeau was faring, but I guess I can figure that one out right enough," Malry bit out.

  "I don't have to answer to you." Hawk's voice came out stiffly. "You don't know what's going on. A lot has happened since the last time we talked."

  "I'd be the first to agree with that. I'd have to be deaf and blind not to know what's going on. You're taking advantage of the lass."

  Isabeau was mortified to realize Malry knew they'd slept together. She felt her ears burn bright red.

  She opened the door a small crack. Hawk, with his back to her, stood facing Malry. He was buttoning his breeches as if he had just pulled them on.

  "Malry!" Hawk's bark was harshly grating, making Isabeau jump. "Don't jump to conclusions. You've helped me out a great deal, but that doesn't mean you make my decisions for me.

  Malry shook his head. "I'm thinking of your responsibilities, lad."

  Isabeau sagged against the door. He was speaking of Amelia, of course. She had always been there between them. Just because they'd made love didn’t mean the woman had vanished into thin air.

  Had Hawk thought of Amelia while he was making love to her? Isabeau closed her eyes, refusing to give way to
the tears clutching at the back of her throat. Everything had been so beautiful, and now doubts crept in.

  She backed from the door. Biting her lips, she experienced such an intense wave of jealousy, she could hardly endure it. On the heels of such intense emotion came a raw helplessness. She'd talked herself into this. It hadn't been anyone's fault but her own. She'd been attracted to him from the start, knowing he was engaged to another woman.

  Isabeau sat on the edge of the bed, then, restlessly, stood up again, chewing on the corner of her thumb.

  She needed a walk to clear her head.

  #

  "We need to clear up a few things," Hawk said patiently as some of Malry's bluster died down.

  "I'll say," the older man muttered. He walked to the outer door and pulled it open.

  "Malry -- next time don't burst in here unless there's an emergency somewhere."

  "We'd better have that talk right quick," Malry said. With that, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

  "I intend to marry her," Hawk muttered at the closed door.

  He pulled on his shirt, angry that he had let Malry make him feel guilty. He hadn't forgotten Amelia, how could he? He'd already decided he'd have to figure out another way to forestall her coming to Virginia, that is, until he figured everything out.

  He might not be the man she thought he was, but he didn't want to ruin her future, either. His memory had returned full force the night Isabeau woke and confused him with Pierce.

  With the return of his memory, at least now he knew why he hadn't recognized Amelia and why there had been no feeling of love for her. He also understood why his life felt as if it didn't fit.

  Hawk turned around and buttoned his shirt, noticing for the first time the bedroom door was ajar.

  He needed to tell Isabeau everything. His memory was returning day by day, but there were still blank spaces that might never be filled.

  He pushed the door all the way open.

  "Isabeau?" She might have overheard all or part of their argument. Hawk expected to find her waiting for him, her eyes spitting fire. He needed a chance to explain and change the look in her eyes.

  When he stepped into the room, he found it empty. He ran out into the empty hallway and through the suite of rooms. Where was she?

  "I won't lose you. I've found you again, I will not lose you!" He hit his fist against the wainscoting, sending an alarmed hotel maid hurrying back down the hallway.

  #

  Isabeau had time to think. She should not have left the hotel so abruptly. She turned back, walked through a park, and stopped just for a moment at the edge of a crowd, captivated by a young boy with a trick monkey. Someone jostled her and she half turned, then two men seized her, one on either side. She kicked and struggled, but they each had her arms and whisked her into a nearby alley, her toes barely touching the ground. She managed a yell before they stuffed a foul rag in her mouth, dropped a dirty sack on her head and tied something around her neck. One held her at her feet and the other her shoulders as they carried her away.

  "Shut up or I'll cold cock you," a mean voice said.

  Isabeau could barely breathe. Weak tears threatened, but she resolutely pushed them back, castigating herself for her recklessness in leaving the hotel. Even in 1894, the city harbored danger.

  She should have stayed and talked to Hawk instead of taking off like this.

  "The old dogs'll be happy to see what we're bringin' 'em," one man said, then he laughed coarsely. "I warrant this will be one of our more interesting voyages."

  All she had intended was a brisk walk so her emotions would cool. Apparently the men had trailed her for blocks, picking her out as an easy target.

  Bouncing uncomfortably with a hard shoulder pressing into her ribcage, Isabeau lost consciousness in her upended position.

  #

  She finally came to when she was dropped to the ground. She groaned in pain and received a poke in the leg.

  Vaguely, she could hear the sound of oars rhythmically slapping water. They were in a boat. As the smell around her intensified, increasing her nausea, she moaned, unable to help herself.

  "Don't know 'bout this one, Connors. It's a might scrawny. Cap'n might not want it." The voice was gruff.

  "Ach, who cares," was the growling response. "Let him throw her over the side."

  Connors! Could he be the same sailor she had kneed in the groin? It couldn't be!

  "Don't care a blink," Connors muttered. "I owe this brat. She'll be sorry she tried to make an arse of me. Fancy that, meeting up with her again."

  Isabeau's hopes plummeted.

  "What's that?" the other fellow murmured.

  "Just row," Connors muttered.

  She couldn't stick around to see what hell Connors had planned for her.

  Isabeau managed to push the vile rag from between her teeth. She blew the rough sack away from her face, breathing in dust and began to cough. Once started, she couldn't stop.

  "Can't breathe," she rasped.

  She gulped in huge amounts of air when the sack was roughly yanked down to her neck. Her head rested against the flat wooden seat of the boat. Wildly she looked around. They were rowing to a larger vessel.

  How would they get her onto a ship? They would have to carry her or she would have to climb.

  The boat bumped against solid wood, dipping. Foul water rushed across her face and neck before the boat was steadied.

  Gagging, Isabeau spit the water from her mouth.

  They hauled her upright and pulled the coarse sack down until it lay in a tangle around her ankles.

  Connors drew a blade before her eyes, then sliced through the thongs binding her arms with a snide laugh.

  "You're to be a nice surprise," he chortled nastily.

  "Hawk will kill you both," she said furiously.

  The other man's face changed. "I dunno --"

  "Be quiet." Connors hit him up the side of the head.

  "I've a mind to turn around and keep you for myself," Connors leered, his small eyes running over her.

  The other man said doubtfully, "I don't think --"

  "That's why I'm here," Connors grated harshly. "She'll not be going anywhere." Confidently, he glanced at the water surrounding them.

  Isabeau rubbed her wrists and glared at both men.

  She opened her mouth, but a dirty hand forestalled her. "Don't want to spoil the surprise for the boys aboard." He pointed up at the shadowy faces above them hanging over the ship's rail.

  Connors pushed her to the ladder hanging from the side of the ship. Isabeau put her hands out as the small boat rocked sideways. With a grin, Connors jabbed a thumb upwards.

  Slowly, Isabeau reached for the slimy rungs, her mind working feverishly on a means of escape.

  There were more silhouettes peering over the side. Before she reached the top, every seadog on the vessel would know she was a female.

  Connors poked her leg. Isabeau climbed up a rung, then stopped, her cold fingers cramping.

  "Go on," he growled. "Unless you're tired. I can shout up to the lads above their good fortune and they'll haul you up in a flash."

  Isabeau climbed two more rungs. Clouds moved across the moon.

  The two men had not yet started up the ladder behind her. She pulled herself up one more rung, out of their immediate reach.

  Looking down, she saw Connors had his hands full with the two lanterns while the other man held the boat steady.

  Saying a hasty prayer, she knew it was now or never. She pushed with all her strength, kicking her feet against the side of the ship, arcing out over the comically surprised faces of the two men, diving into the water just beyond the rowboat.

  She had only a brief moment of satisfaction before she hit the water. Underwater, she swam as hard as she could, her lungs fairly bursting when she finally bobbed up like a cork. She was several yards from the boat, beyond the scope of their light. Her long skirts weighed her down.

  Treading wa
ter quietly, Isabeau heard them arguing.

  "Go on after her, I tell you." Connors.

  "I can't swim a stroke, won't do any good," the other man said.

  Quietly, she dog-paddled in the direction of land. The night was black but she could dimly see lights on the shore.

  A delayed wave of terror gripped her as she swam, and she began to wonder irrelevantly about what might be in the water with her. Thoughts of swimming all night in circles and drowning began to prey on her. Quickly, she began to tire in the cold water.

  She thought of all the things that could have gone wrong. She could have caught her foot on the rung when she had jumped, or fallen into the rowboat if she'd let go of the ladder at the wrong moment. It had been crazy to make that dive, but desperation had decided her actions.

  The cold water became numbing, the undercurrents pulling at her legs as she grew weaker and more tired. She hadn't fully recovered from her near drowning and now this.

  Wearily, she struck out, one arm after the other, blocking thoughts of her fatigue, intent only upon reaching solid land.

  Hawk. She saw his face and felt renewed strength as her stroke continued. She remembered their lovemaking with vivid clarity.

  She didn't want to die. She had to tell Hawk she was sorry for doubting him. She also had to confess she had read part of his journal.

  She couldn't die. There was too much to live for.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabeau lay on her back. She frowned at the piece of blue sky visible through rough wooden slats. A heavy, once brightly colored blanket covered her.

  Vaguely, she recalled crawling up a muddy bank and a child's face flitted through her mind.

  Daylight filtered into the small room. A dirt floor was partially covered by a faded rug, and Isabeau could see the efforts that someone had made to create a more appealing space. She lay in a rough wood shanty no more than ten-foot square. Pictures hung on the walls and a large trunk was partially concealed by a tattered white cloth that had an embroidered design in the middle. A child's tea set rested on the cloth, and a doll with a cracked china face sat in a small rocking chair, a tea cup in its lap.

  Dropping her feet to the side of the cot on which she lay, Isabeau stared at the doll. Because of a crack across its chin, the doll had a macabre smile. Isabeau thought it looked like it was smirking at her.

  Standing, she walked over to a sheet covering the doorway. Isabeau pushed the material aside and shaded her eyes against the bright sun.