Through the Storm

“How old are you, Sable?”

  The abrupt change in subject threw her. “I’ll be thirty years of age in November.”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  Her eyes widened. “That, sir, is none of your business!”

  “Never mind, I already know the answer.”

  Sable felt his allure slowly softening her will in spite of this impossible situation.

  “I will send Andre around to Mrs. Reese to offer an acceptable explanation for your delay.”

  “I’m going to lose my job because of you.”

  “No, you won’t.” But he did wonder how much longer he could beat back the urge to kiss her. He could only guess at the passion she kept chained within her. “I claim dinner tonight as payment for my assistance in returning young Patrick back to his kin.”

  “You would bring an innocent child into this?”

  “We French have few scruples.”

  “Arrogant and unscrupulous,” she said, arms folded across her chest.

  He gave another ironic bow.

  She couldn’t help it, a grin peeped out. How did one defend oneself against such a man? “All right, you win. I do owe you—but only dinner. I will not be dessert.”

  He nodded and toasted her with his tin cup.

  “After this, my debt is paid. In full.”

  He simply smiled.

  Raimond found it oddly pleasing that she’d finally relented. Patrick had been his last card. Playing it had won him an evening he was quite looking forward to. He didn’t think Patrick would mind.

  When they moved to the table, the major helped her with her chair as if they were dining in a castle instead of an army tent. The lamps were turned low to beat back the encroaching darkness, making the surroundings shadowy and intimate. Sable tried to behave as if she’d experienced such a rendezvous many times, but the reality was, in all her thirty years, she’d never dined alone with a man.

  Although she was doing a good job of masking it, Raimond sensed her unease. Before he could ask about it, the ever efficient Lieutenant Renaud entered with their meal. He left them a roasted chicken, potatoes, collards, more glorious biscuits, and a bottle of wine.

  After Andre withdrew, Sable looked at the food and wondered what this man really wanted from her. She considered the question appropriate. After all, she knew next to nothing about him except that he was kind to lost boys and had let her sleep in his arms. She decided she needed to set the ledger straight once more before the meal began. “I’m serious about not being your dessert at the end of this meal.”

  In the middle of pouring a glass of wine, Raimond paused and glanced into her exotic eyes. He shook his head and chuckled. “Miss Fontaine, you will not have to be dessert. However…” He took a moment to pour her a glass of wine as well. “If I wanted you for dessert, I’d have you for dessert. And trust me, you would be willing.”

  Sable’s heart pounded as it never had before.

  “Shall we eat now?” he asked.

  Sable nodded.

  As the meal progressed she became more and more aware of him: the way he held his tableware, the way his eyes held hers over the glass as he drank his wine. She’d never had much experience with spirits either and found the taste rather unpleasant.

  “Don’t you like the wine?” he asked.

  “Not really. I suppose the taste is something one acquires?”

  “Yes.”

  To Raimond, she still appeared damn uncomfortable. “Is something the matter, Miss Fontaine?”

  “Truthfully? I’ve never dined alone with a man.”

  “I see.”

  Raimond felt an inner pleasure rise in response to her words. Admittedly, being the first man to share this experience with her massaged his male pride. He wondered what other experiences he might introduce her to—besides the obvious, of course. And that path interested him more and more. He found the interest a bit surprising since he usually prefered the darker roses of the race. He’d grown up among the free Black elite of Louisiana, where most of the heralded beauties had skin of cafe au lait, mirroring their mixed African, Spanish, French, and English heritage. They were ofttimes so fair, they were forced by law to don colorful head wraps to distinguish themselves from the Caucasian women of the city. God forbid some local merchant should embarrass himself by mistaking a Black woman for White and treating her with respect. Raimond had had many liaisons with the fair-skinned beauties back home, but after becoming a man of the sea he’d come to favor the magic of their darker sisters. Now he’d become attracted to this bronze-skinned contraband with sea-green eyes and he could not place his finger on exactly why.

  “You’re staring again,” she pointed out.

  He inclined his head gracefully. “My apologies.”

  Raimond sipped a bit of the wine, then set the glass down. The faded black and white gingham dress did not do justice to her loveliness, but even in rags, she was beautiful. He doubted she could be coaxed into sharing his bed tonight, but the idea of her being dessert sometime in the near future thrilled him enormously.

  They finished the meal in silence—Raimond looking at her like a tiger preparing to pounce, and Sable lying to herself about how much he affected her.

  She did not want to like this man, not in the way a woman liked a man. He was too handsome, too arrogant, and he knew it all too well. But her likes and dislikes didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered appeared to be this uncharacteristic nervousness and the steady beating of her heart.

  She tumbled from her reverie when he asked, “Did Sergeant Clark uncover anything about the theft?”

  “No.”

  “The two of you appeared to be having a good time when I walked up this morning.”

  “He’s very charming.”

  “You’re aware that the army frowns on White soldiers mixing with contraband women?”

  “I never knew doing laundry constituted mixing,” she replied frankly, holding his eyes. “White soldiers bring us laundry all the time.” She wondered what it was about Rhine that had raised LeVeq’s cockles. “Do you not like him because he is White?”

  “Who says I don’t like him?”

  “You weren’t exactly polite this morning.”

  “The color of his skin makes me no never mind.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He smiled as he drained the last of his wine. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s called jealousy, Sable. Pure, green-eyed jealousy.”

  She found this all too confusing. “You’ve nothing to be jealous of.”

  “Ah, but I do. I’m jealous of the way you were looking at him when I walked up.”

  Sable wondered if he’d had too much wine because she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

  He continued. “For lack of a better word, you had what I would describe as love on your face. You practically glowed with it.”

  “You believe I’m in love with Sergeant Clark?”

  “Do you deny it?”

  Sable wondered how long she could hold on to her laughter. “No, I don’t deny it.”

  Evidently she hadn’t done a good job of masking the humor sparkling in her eyes because he asked, “What is so funny?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I’m simply listening.”

  “Then if you don’t deny it, I will have to kill him.”

  Sable burst into laughter.

  Had she become deranged? Raimond wondered. Threats of death did not usually elicit such a response.

  Sable picked up her cotton napkin and wiped tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. “Where do you find hats large enough to fit over that swelled French head of yours? Kill him indeed. He’s my brother, you ninny.”

  Raimond’s eyes widened. Her brother!

  Sable shook her head. Men.

  “Why didn’t you inform me earlier?”

  “It was none of your concern.”

  “Your brother.”

  “Yes, my brother
.”

  Her brother, Raimond thought, relieved. He’d been running around half-cocked over her damn brother. He felt like a fool, but the elation made him want to turn flips.

  Although Sable hadn’t intended to reveal her true ties to Rhine, she thought it best that the major know. She didn’t want him giving Rhine a hard time for no reason.

  Raimond looked into her eyes. “Has he always passed?”

  “No. That’s a choice he settled upon recently.”

  “Is he planning on staying White?”

  “Yes. He says he’s tired of carrying the cross we slaves have had to bear.”

  Raimond observed her closed face over the candles atop the table. “How do you feel about it?”

  “I don’t like it, but it’s his life. I love him very much. He and I are the last of my mother’s line. When he leaves, I’ll have no one.”

  Although Raimond’s father had been lost at sea when Raimond was twelve, he’d grown to adulthood surrounded by a large, loving and extremely noisy family. He had a beautiful and vibrant mother, Juliana, and four remaining younger brothers. He could only imagine how bleak life would have been without them. This woman had no one.

  “What happened to your mother?” he asked.

  “She took her own life rather than be forced to breed again.”

  Raimond sensed her pain. “How old were you?”

  “Three, according to my aunt.”

  “And this aunt?”

  “Dead also.”

  Raimond considered his mother, Juliana, and how she’d raised him and his brothers. “A woman alone in the world must be strong.”

  “I am strong. My mother and grandmothers were queens.”

  Raimond didn’t doubt the claim for a moment. It had nothing to do with the way she looked, but with the strong and confident way in which she carried herself. Her lineage might also account for her sometimes blunt speech and impertinent behavior.

  “A contraband queen,” he mused aloud.

  “A queen with no subjects and no lands.”

  “But her first courtier.”

  Sable fought the effect of his words, reminding herself he couldn’t possibly be attracted to her in any meaningful way. “I believe I’m a bit past the age of courtiers.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t share that opinion, but since you are the queen…”

  She decided to change the subject. “What did you do before joining the war?”

  “I was a partner in a shipping firm. A close friend handled the business end and I commanded the ships.”

  “How much of the world have you seen?”

  “Most of it. Sailing is my life.”

  She heard the passion in his voice, and wondered if she would ever find something in this new, free life that would fill her with the same intensity.

  Judging from the subdued sounds coming from outside the tent Sable could tell the hour had grown late. The camp was a bedlam of activity during the day, but as night took hold, much of the hustle and bustle eased. “I should be going.”

  Raimond had no desire to relinquish her company. “Rhine’s an odd name.”

  “You’re trying to stall me.”

  “I know. Indulge me.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Aunt Mahti said he was named for the Rhine river, where he was conceived. Carson Fontaine and his wife Sally Ann, were on their European wedding tour at the time. My mother was brought along as Sally’s servant.”

  “They were on their wedding tour?”

  “Yes, Rhine and the Fontaines’ son Andrew are only two weeks apart in age. Andrew’s sister Mavis and I were born six minutes apart. My mother nursed us both.”

  “What happened to Mavis?”

  The question made memories of the night Sable had left home flare to life, bringing grief and sadness. “I wish I knew.” She shook off her despondency and remembered the lateness of the hour. “I really must be going. Thank you for dinner.”

  She stood.

  “Stay awhile longer.”

  “No. Some people already believe you’re my protector.”

  “Really?”

  Sable swore he looked pleased. “Avery does, for one, and your performance this evening will only fuel more rumors.”

  “You don’t approve, I take it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asked, pouring himself more wine, then taking a swallow.

  “Well, let me think. I doubt I’d grow accustomed to being referred to as the major’s green-eyed whore,” she said easily.

  Raimond choked on the wine. Once he was able to breathe again, he assessed her with his dark eyes. He knew then and there that he wanted this woman in his bed. Only there would he be fully able to sample her fire and spirit. He’d never liked his women passive. “The only thing I enjoy more than a challenge is a challenge tossed down by a woman,” he said.

  “I’m not challenging you.”

  “Ah, but you are…among other things, you’re challenging me to kiss you and find out if your lips are as ripe as they appear.”

  Sable brought a hand to her mouth.

  He flashed a dazzling smile.

  She hastily put the hand down. “A gentleman would never speak that way.”

  “I’m not a gentleman, Miss Fontaine. It says so in the Constitution.”

  She sat back down.

  “You shouldn’t look so shocked. You’ve probably had any number of suitors over the years.”

  “I’ve had none.”

  “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

  “A very beautiful slave. The Fontaines never let anyone court me, nor was I allowed to have a beau from the fields.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve no idea. Maybe it had something to do with my mother, or maybe it was purely out of spite. As I said before, his wife and I couldn’t abide one another.”

  “Well, it’s far too late for you to be out wandering around in the dark. There are probably many who’ve no idea I’m your protector and would do you harm.”

  “You are not my protector.”

  He sipped his wine and remained silent.

  “I don’t need a protector.”

  His eyes flashed amusement.

  “I may need a protector to keep you at bay, but that is all.”

  He toasted her with his glass. “Beautiful and astute.”

  She couldn’t hide her grin.

  “That being the case,” he went on, “we will make a pact. You may return to Mrs. Reese’s, but I will escort you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Now come,” he said, standing.

  “Do you always decide what is best for others?”

  “Habit. I have four younger brothers, so indulge me.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  “There’s always dessert…”

  Sable stood.

  Outside, the night air was chilly. She pulled her shawl tighter and tried not to be affected by the man at her side or the moonlight bathing his tall, bearded handsomeness.

  Looking down at her, he said, “You know, if we were in Louisiana I would court you, Sable.”

  “If we were in Louisiana, you wouldn’t pay me a minute of attention.”

  He grinned in the dark. She was as hard as a Brazil nut. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you don’t impress me as a man who courts women. Men like you simply beckon and the women trip over each other to do your bidding. You and my brother are very much alike.”

  He grinned. “I admit that is sometimes true. But you I would court.”

  Sable rolled her eyes.

  They walked the remainder of the way in silence. Raimond realized he enjoyed their parrying and wanted more. As they approached the creek which led to the laundry, he asked, “Would you walk down by the water with me for a bit?”

  She chuckled. “No. I have to get up very early and I need my sleep.”

  Raimond found himself wondering how it would feel to awaken with her at his side, to
touch her softy and rouse her with his kiss. “You are very hard on this poor Frenchman.”

  “Only because you warrant it. Undoubtedly you get your own way far more often than is healthy.”

  As he looked down into her smiling eyes, he placed a hand beneath her golden chin and raised it. She supposed she could have stomped on his foot or kicked him in the knee to stop the slow, sweet kiss that followed, but she did not. Instead she let him have his way, and he took a leisurely advantage that left her with her eyes closed and her knees weak.

  Finally, her eyes opened and she whispered, “You’re fairly good at this…”

  He smiled. “I’m fairly good at most things.”

  “Your hats must explode quite regularly.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s get you home.”

  The effect of his kiss stayed with her as their walk ended outside her tent. She hadn’t intended for him to know his kiss had moved her, but she’d been so dazzled the words had come out before she could snatch them back. Mrs. Reese and the others were already asleep, so Sable kept her voice low. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Good night.”

  Raimond picked up her hand before she could enter the tent. “Will you walk with me again?”

  Sable sensed she was being drawn in by his spell. “When?”

  “Now. An hour from now. You choose.”

  “We agreed my debt would be paid after tonight.”

  “Again you are making this very hard for me.”

  She smiled. “Courting a queen should never be easy. Good night, Major.”

  She squeezed his hand gently and went inside.

  Chapter 5

  As she entered the tent, Sable heard, “You’re back awfully late.”

  The voice belonged to Bridget McKinney. The sight of her sitting up on one of the pallets took Sable by surprise. The tiny stub of a candle burning on a large rock barely illuminated the tent’s interior. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mrs. Reese found replacements for Sookie and Paige. I asked if I could move in here with you. Dorothy snores like a train. Do you mind?”

  Sable and Bridget had gotten along fairly well since Sable’s initial arrival, so she replied truthfully, “No, I don’t mind. Paige and Sookie snored something fierce too.”