Ashes in the Wind (67 page)

A flare of jealousy reared its miserable head as Xanthia observed the other woman. A child was the one thing she had tried to give Cole, but had been unable to regardless of how hard she had yearned to bind him to her with such a link.

Carolyn Darvey descended with the assistance from Cole, and the three stood a moment as it
seemed questions were presented and answered. Cole drew out his pocket watch and noted the time, nodded to Carolyn’s inquiry, and shrugged as he replied. The Darvey woman moved away, but paused as Alaina stepped back to her husband and lifted her face. Dismally Xanthia watched as Cole accommodated his young wife, kissing her full on the mouth and much more warmly than seemed proper for a public thoroughfare. Raising his head, he spoke to her in an intimate fashion and squeezed her hand as she moved away. Cole smiled and watched her as she joined the taller woman, and it was a long moment before he stirred himself to movement and entered the lawyer’s office.

Nearly an hour’s passing had occurred when Xanthia came from the back of her shop to find Carolyn Darvey leading her companion through the front door of her establishment. There was a moment of shock as Xanthia and Alaina’s gazes met, but Carolyn was exuberantly examining the merchandise and failed to notice the two women’s discomfiture and the vivid blush that came into Alaina’s cheeks.

Xanthia stiffly smiled a greeting and refrained from looking lower than the crisply ruffled collar of Alaina’s pale blue dress. Though charmingly feminine, the expensive detail of her gown was apparent at first glance, and her ribbon-festooned bonnet would have rivaled the best in the shop. Xanthia crushed the green monster within her beneath the heel of her will and, with a deep breath, entered the role of proper proprietress.

“May I be of some assistance to you ladies?” she asked solicitously.

“I wanted to show Mrs. Latimer those perfectly delightful little baby bonnets you were selling in here at one time,” Carolyn bubbled gaily, completely innocent of her blunder in bringing Alaina into the shop. “Do you still have them?”

“Of course.” Xanthia stepped past them to open the doors of an armoire and brought out a basket of tiny, puffed bonnets edged with lace or ruffled brims.

“Now here’s one for a boy, Alaina.” Carolyn held it up for the other’s benefit. “Look at this. Have you ever seen anything so precious?”

“Cole is hoping for a girl,” Alaina murmured mutedly, wanting desperately to be out of the shop and on her way.

Carolyn was a bit disappointed with Alaina’s rapidly declining interest in shopping for the baby and, sensing something was troubling the girl, did not press Xanthia to show them more. She couldn’t resist questioning as they left the shop, “Aren’t you feeling well, Alaina?”

“Yes, of course, Carolyn.” Alaina smiled weakly. “It’s just a bit warm today, that’s all.”

She stepped out onto the boardwalk, then halted abruptly as she nearly collided with a short, wealthily garbed man who was just passing the shop. She was about to murmur an apology when her gaze raised and recognition set goading spurs of terror beneath her tender hide, blinding all reason. Though he wore his hair longer on the left side to cover his ear, there was no mistaking Jacques DuBonné.

His gloved right hand held a silver-handled swagger stick and a second glove. Recovering from his own surprise, he raised his left hand to doff his hat,
while his dark eyes took in her burdened state. His face hardened imperceptibly as he did so, and with an almost sneering smile, he opened his mouth to speak.

Pale and shaken, Alaina whirled and stumbled back into Xanthia’s shop, not hearing Carolyn’s worried questions that came in a rush of confusion. As Alaina pressed against a low table filled with hats, her world dimmed and slowly her knees buckled beneath her. Tiny spots of darkness enlarged until all was empty and black, and she never knew that Xanthia Morgan rushed forward to catch and slowly lower her sagging body to the floor.

“Alaina!” Carolyn gasped in alarm as she went to the red-haired woman’s assistance.

Kneeling on the floor with Alaina’s head in her lap, Xanthia looked up and stated almost in amazement, “She’s fainted.”

“I’d better get Cole.” Carolyn said. She was at the door before she paused to glance back and ask. “Will you watch her?”

“Yes, of course.” Xanthia lowered her eyes to the delicately shaped features of the victor in her game of hearts as the Darvey woman hurried out of the shop. Almost mechanically she loosened the ribbons of the bonnet and, gently lifting the dark head, eased the hat off and laid it aside.

Jacques DuBonné paused in the doorway of the general store and watched the willowy blond as she ran along the boardwalk. She entered a small office down the street and soon reappeared with a man he recognized as the good Doctor Latimer. Jacques sneered derisively. So, it
was
the major who had plucked the fruit and left his seed to sprout.

Xanthia glanced up as the front door of her shop burst open and Cole Latimer came charging through, his concern for his young wife rampant in his face. Much to Xanthia’s disappointment, he hardly glanced at her, but quickly knelt to lift Alaina into his arms.

Xanthia rose to her feet as Carolyn joined them and gestured hesitantly to the back of her shop. “There’s a bedroom in the back if you’d care to use it.”

Cole nodded in silent gratitude and went down the familiar hallway with Carolyn following closely behind. When Xanthia entered the room, he had partially opened his wife’s bodice and was bathing her face and throat with a cool, wet cloth as he sat beside her on the bed. Alaina was just rousing from her stupor.

The thickly lashed eyelids fluttered open slowly, and for a moment Alaina stared about her in confusion, then, as Cole leaned over her, her gaze turned to find him, and she was suddenly against him, her arms tightly clasped around his neck. Xanthia glanced away with a heavy heart as Cole kissed the dark head and lovingly brushed the rumpled curls from his wife’s cheek.

“Feeling better now?” he murmured with a tender smile.

“Cole, it was Jacques!” she whispered brokenly against his shirtfront. “He’s here—in St. Cloud. I saw him!”

Cole pulled away to stare down at her in surprise, his gaze probing hers and finding fear and distress within the translucent depths. Her lips quivered, and she nodded, tears springing forth to overflow
the wide, worried pools of gray. She was clearly frightened.

Cole turned suddenly to Xanthia with a question. “Can my wife rest here for a while? I have a matter to take up with the sheriff. I shouldn’t be very long.”

“Cole, no!” Alaina gasped, clutching his sleeve. “Think of what he can do to us.”

“It’s all right, Alaina,” he soothed. “Trust me.”

Her eyes searched his, and though she still trembled, she did not try to hold him. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead and rose, peering inquiringly at Xanthia.

The red-haired woman nodded and resolved herself to the fact that there was no hope for anything where Cole was concerned.

After he left the millinery shop, Cole went directly to the sheriff’s office and, finding Martin Holvag on duty, explained bluntly that there was a man in town wanted by the law and requested that the deputy accompany him. With Martin at his side, Cole first checked at the hotels in town and was amazed to find a message addressed to him waiting at the desk in the Stearns House. It was from Jacques, bidding him to come up to his room. Cole wasted no moment in doing just that. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed as he raised his brown knuckles to rap sharply on the door. It was quickly opened by Jacques himself.

“Ah, good-evening, Doctor Latimer.” The Frenchman’s speech was precise; only a slight hint of a Cajun accent remained. “I see by your presence that your wife told you of our meeting. My apologies
that it should have come as a surprise. I assure you it was my intention to contact you and present my credentials so that your fears would be set aside. If you hadn’t come, I would have sent for you.”

“Indeed?” Cole’s tone was mockingly incredulous.

Jacques’s gaze flickered past him to Martin’s badge. “Of course, a minion of the law. It is as I expected, and it’s just as well that you are here. Come in, gentlemen. What I have to show you will take only a moment.”

He closed the door behind them and, lifting his coat from a chair, drew forth a leather bound purse from a pocket, clumsily using his left hand to do so. Cole watched him carefully, noting the gloved hand and, when the long hair brushed aside, the hole in the left ear. Self-consciously Jacques touched the wayward strand into place and flipped open the purse, displaying several officious-looking letters. After waving them briefly beneath Cole’s nose, he handed them to the deputy, then directing the doctor’s attention with a flourish of his hand, he explained them.

“Just to assure you that I am no longer wanted by the law, gentlemen, these are full pardons from the governor of Louisiana and the Federal officials in that state. And here”—he produced another letter—“is my authority from a Paris-based firm to act as their agent in reviewing possible markets for our wares in this area.” He paused to let them digest the documents and his announcement before arrogantly examining the nails of his left hand. “I assure you both that I am in the best of standing with all parties involved, and everything I do here is of an honorable—and legal—intent. Do you have any questions?”

Cole was by no means satisfied and studied the man with open suspicion.

Jacques met his eyes briefly. “In a day or two, Monsieur Doctor Latimer, I will be gone. I have no intentions of returning to this city in the foreseeable future.”

Cole put it out plainly for the man. “I don’t care if you have a pardon written in stone by God’s own finger. If I catch you on my property or in the immediate vicinity of my wife, I will arrange for your next judgment to be on a much higher level.”

“You make a threat, monsieur?”

“No, just a simple statement of what our future relationship will be.”

Jacques glanced up into the stern face and nodded, pursing his lips. “I think I understand. And considering what has passed, monsieur, how can I blame you. But I only wish to go about my business in peace, and it’s been toward this end that I’ve entertained you.”

Cole smiled, though there was little humor in it. “Good, and may I wish you a speedy conclusion of whatever business you have in this state.”

“I shall keep your words in mind, Monsieur Doctor Latimer, and a good-day to you also, Sheriff.” Jacques opened the door in an overt invitation for them to leave.

“I’m just a deputy, sir,” Martin corrected as he led the way through the portal. “But perhaps you’re only a bit premature.”

Jacques extended his left hand in a parting gesture to the deputy, but Cole pointedly refrained from exchanging any form of gentlemanly cordiality with
the man. Settling his hat on his head, he nodded crisply and followed Martin out.

It was a silent, tense ride to the Darveys’ where they dropped Carolyn off. The woman had sat across from them all the way from St. Cloud with her lips pursed tightly as she waited for someone to explain the events of the afternoon. Finally in front of the Darvey stoop, Cole relented and, with humor wrinkling the corners of his eyes, confided, “The small man you saw in front of the millinery shop was a blackguard and a scoundrel during the war. His name is Jacques DuBonné, and it was mostly because of him that Alaina had to leave New Orleans.” His arm moved from the back of the seat to his wife’s shoulders. “For that favor, I could almost thank him.”

Alaina gave him a weak, nervous smile. She had held all her emotions bottled up while Carolyn sat across from them, but the moment the carriage was on the road again, her dismay could no longer be contained.

“Why did Jacques have to show up now? What if he tells someone that I am a thief, a murderess, even a traitor?” Her questions moaned agonizingly from her. “He’ll see me thrown into prison. Oh, why couldn’t he have just stayed away?” Her voice broke, and she pulled a small handkerchief from her bodice to muffle her sobs.

All during her tirade Cole had been struggling to free a thick packet of papers from his coat. He unfolded them and smoothed them out on her lap.

“These should dispel your fears, my love.”

Baffled, Alaina lifted the papers, blinking back the blinding tears.

“I just picked them up from Mister James,” Cole informed her as she turned a bewildered, tear-streaked visage to him. He smiled. “It seems that Horace Burr did his job well. He contacted the attorneys that I had retained in Louisiana, and his influence with the Federal courts lent them much assistance.”

He flipped through the top pages too rapidly for her to see anything but the numerous signatures. “These are sworn depositions from me, from Saul, Doctor Brooks, Mrs. Hawthorne, and various other individuals. But these last are the important ones.” Cole reached the final several pages, which were richly embellished, sealed, and stamped. “Documents from the Governor of Louisiana,” he read, as his fingers traced the words, “Releasing one Alaina MacGaren from any and all charges so leveled while the State of Louisiana was a member of the Confederacy, et cetera.” He turned the page, and his finger pointed out words again as he read in a rapid singsong voice. “From the Union commander of the South Central District. As such charges have been proven false and inappropriate, and since no other evidence of wrongdoing exists, said charges are herein withdrawn and declared null and void. This document to be endorsed by the proper bureau in Washington. And here are the endorsements—”
His finger jabbed the stamps and initials at the bottom. “And for your own benefit, madam.” He flipped to the last page. “A letter from one General Taylor while still an acting general of the Confederacy, stating that you were no spy but only on one occasion did you deliver the personal effects of a deceased soldier to him.”

Cole leaned back in the corner of the seat and pulled out a cigar, savoring its aroma for a moment as he rolled it beneath his nose. “I believe, madam, that you are not the villain you portray.”

Alaina stared at the letters and slowly, sifted through them, seeing signatures through a teary blur.