The Tiger Lily (2 page)

"I
notice," Sofia said dryly, "you didn't mention Martin."

Elena
wrinkled her pretty nose. "Well, one must take the sour with the
sweet!"

Sofia
laughed, and from that moment on there was no more time for reflections of any
kind—they would be leaving for the church in minutes.

It
was a beautiful wedding, Sabrina thought blissfully as, ensconced between her parents,
she watched Sofia marry Hugh Dangermond. Everything was exciting: her father
had looked extremely handsome in his black satin jacket and white cravat as he
had escorted Sofia down the flower-decked aisle, a shaft of errant sunlight
turning his red hair to flame; her mother's new gown was lovely, as lovely as
Tia Sofia's wedding dress; and the altar was breathtaking, with armloads of
bright spring flowers—daffodils, lilacs, and roses. Senor Dangermond was most
handsome, too, Sabrina admitted generously, the silver-headed cane he always
walked with increasing his aristocratic bearing, his dark, lean face filling
with a soft, warm light when Tia Sofia laid her hand in his and the black-robed
priest murmured the words that would make them man and wife. Of course, Senor
Dangermond was not as handsome as his son Senor Brett was, she decided
judiciously.

No
one was as handsome as Senor Brett . . . not even his good friend Morgan Slade,
although Senor Slade was very nice looking, too.

Shyly
her glance strayed across the aisle to where Senor Brett sat with Senor  Martin.
He looked so handsome, she thought with a sigh, in his bottle-green jacket and
buff breeches. But then, noticing that his features, usually so sunny and merry
with her, were oddly rigid as he listened to the ceremony that married his
father to Tia Sofia, Sabrina frowned. Wasn't he happy that Tia Sofia would now
be his mother? The expression on his face made Sabrina vaguely uneasy.

The
huge eyes puzzled, a troubled look on her little face, she continued to watch
Brett's features. Didn't Senor Brett
like
Tia Sofia?

Brett
didn't
like Sofia. It wasn't that he held anything against her
personally—for a woman, he would be the first to admit, she seemed perfectly
pleasant—it was just the simple fact that she was a woman. A woman had hurt his
father badly once, had almost been the cause of his father's death, and Brett
would have preferred that the Dangermond men continue to live out their lives
without the problems and interferences a woman could cause. Not that women
didn't have their places—he and his boon companion, Morgan Slade, had
discovered that exciting fact a few months ago from a complaisant, easygoing
whore in Natchez "under the hill."

Despite
having learned that women were at least capable of giving physical pleasure,
Brett still would have stopped his father from committing what he was certain
was folly. There was nothing spiteful in his motives; they sprang from love of
his father and his wish to save Hugh the pain of further betrayal. But he was
also dimly aware that Hugh, oddly enough, wanted this marriage to Sofia
Aguilar, and not wishing to cause his father distress, Brett grimly held his
tongue. But he didn't have to like it, he told himself unhappily. Or her.

While
Brett didn't like Sofia, he didn't dislike her either. He merely refused to let
her slip under his guard as she had his father's, having decided long ago, as
he had sat terrified by his father's bedside, watching Hugh's desperate battle
to live after the duel Gillian had precipitated, that no woman was to be
trusted. In time that feeling might have lessened, but there was a constant
reminder—every time he saw Hugh's silver-headed cane and watched his father's
slow, careful steps, he was reminded. That cane had become a symbol, a constant
painful, bitter reminder of the trouble a woman could create.

Certainly
he was never going to be so foolish as to marry, nor would he ever let any
woman mean anything to him. Women were made to be used, he decided cynically,
and use them he would! But then, as if to remind him that his actions did not
always follow the cold dictates of his brain, his gaze moved irresistibly
across the aisle to meet Sabrina's troubled look.

Suddenly
his brooding expression faded and the young hard face softened. Of course,
Sabrina wasn't to be included with women—she was only a child. An adorable
minx, he decided fondly, and wishing to dispel his own unhappy thoughts as well
as erase the troubled look from the amber-gold eyes, Brett grinned and winked
audaciously at her across the aisle.

Instantly
Sabrina's worries fled, and she flashed him a sunny little smile, content now
that Brett no longer seemed unhappy. She would never want Senor  Brett to be
unhappy.

CHAPTER
TWO

Immediately
following the wedding ceremony, everyone retired to the Dangermond estate,
Riverview, so named for its commanding view of the roiling, turbulent
Mississippi River below the bluff upon which it sat. It was a beautiful home
built nearly sixty years earlier in 1730 by a reformed English freebooter.

At
that time, Riverview had been little more than a charming cottage, the city of
Natchez only a huddle of wooden buildings in the middle of a vast, unexplored
wilderness. The wilderness was still mostly unexplored, but like Natchez, Riverview
had grown until, in this spring of 1789, it was an elegant, imposing house that
the very new Sofia Dangermond would now call home.

Since
she and the del Torres family had been living at Riverview these last few days
before the wedding, it already had a feeling of home for her. Her personal
belongings were scattered throughout the house as if she had always lived
there. Knowing that Elena and Alejandro would be staying at Riverview to keep
an eye on Brett and Martin while she and Hugh took a brief wedding journey to
New Orlesms lifted every care from her mind. Her face radiant, the love she
shared with Hugh obvious, Sofia moved happily among those who had come to wish
them well.

A
feast had been laid out for the many guests. There were punches in silver
bowls, wines, and lemonade; flaky pastries filled with ham, shrimp, and chicken
were piled high on ornate silver trays; but best of all to Sabrina's way of
thinking were the cream cakes and syllabubs. Seeing where her eyes strayed so
often, Brett laughed at such open greed.

Sabrina
was the only child present—and she was included only because she was staying at
Riverview with her parents. Being an only child, she was used to the exclusive
company of adults and was quite happy to remain at her mother's side watching
the ladies and gentlemen in their fine clothing. But Brett, moved by an emotion
he didn't recognize, made it his duty to entertain her. His mouth curved in
rueful amusement at his own actions; he held her small hand in his and manfully
ignored Morgan's cocked eyebrow and Martin's unkind snicker as he escorted her
about and saw that her plate was heaped with the delicacies that would appeal
to the stomach of a seven-year-old.

Naturally
Brett was teased unmercifully for his odd behavior. After the guests had
departed, he and Morgan had appropriated a few bottles of Hugh's best wines and
had stolen away to a grassy spot at the bluffs edge. Sprawled comfortably
beneath a spreading oak tree, they had settled down to enjoy themselves and the
wine. Which they did until, a few minutes later, Brett heard some suspicious
rustling in a nearby bush.

Resignedly
he grumbled, "You might as well come out, Martin. I know you're
there."

Brett
grimaced and Morgan rolled his eyes heavenward as Martin showed himself and
began to threaten. "I saw you take the bottles from the cellar! If Father
hadn't left for his honeymoon, I'd tell on you!"

When
Brett remained unmoved and merely looked at him contemptuously, Martin whined,
"I won't tell, though, if you let me have some. I'm almost as old as you,
and I don't see why I can't do the things that you do ... or why you never let
me come with you but you let that brat, Sabrina, follow you about!"

Brett
fixed him with a cool look and said icily, "Leave your tongue off Sabrina!
As for telling—Father gave me permission to use the wine cellar as I wished
when I turned sixteen."

His
blackmail having failed, Martin scowled and started to turn away, but Brett,
feeling guilty because he really didn't like his brother, called out,
"Stay and join us, if you like." Martin liked, and he threw himself
down on the grass near the other two.

There
was a companionable silence for a while until Morgan said dulcetly to Brett,
"You were quite the gallant this afternoon with your new cousin." His
blue eyes opening very wide, he asked innocently, "Do I sense a romance? Has
the family betrothed you to the young lady? Seven does seem a bit, er, soon,
but I suspect you know your own mind. I wonder though—suppose she grows up to
have spots and no bosom!"

Brett
shot him a speaking look. "Cut line! She's only a child!" Somewhat
defensively he added, "I . . .I felt sorry for her."

Morgan
snorted, and Brett flushed. But unwilling to let his friend get off so easily,
Morgan, a teasing slant to his full mouth, complained mournfully, "But you
feel sorry for her all the time! I cannot think of any time during the past
fortnight that Sabrina has been far from your side." Mockery dancing in
his eyes, Morgan breathed in shocked accents, "Never tell me you've
changed your mind about women? My God, can it be that you think to snaffle her
young and train her to be the perfect bride?"

Brett's
flush increased, and he appeared much younger than a few weeks away from
eighteen. Martin, who had been listening avidly to the exchange, smiled
maliciously at his older brother's discomfort. Deciding to contribute to the
discomfort, Martin said slyly, "Oh, no, it isn't that, let me assure you!
It's simply that he enjoys having a little slave running behind him. He can do
no wrong in her eyes, and he finds playing god to an adoring audience a novel
situation."

"That's
not true!" Brett returned hotly, willing to let Morgan roast him but
unable to bear Martin's making disparaging remarks about Sabrina. Growing more
uncomfortable and defensive, he suddenly realized just how much time he had
spent with the girl. Under his breath he muttered, "She's only a child. I
was only being polite—anyone would have done the same thing."

Morgan
smiled. "Of course . . . if you say so."

Throwing
his companion a look of utter loathing, Brett said savagely, "Haven't you
anything else to talk about? I wonder if you aren't nourishing a passion for
her the way you go on!"

Morgan
laughed, and the subject lapsed. They finished off the wine, and once they had
escaped from Martin's company, Morgan and Brett found themselves irresistibly
drawn to Silver Street. They were young and their blood was running hot, and it
really wasn't surprising that Brett spent the remainder of the night
discovering again the pleasure a woman could give a man.

Peculiarly,
Sabrina was very much on his mind when he woke the next morning with a pounding
head and an odd distaste for his actions the previous evening. Morgan's
teasing, innocent though it had been, had flicked Brett on the raw. Grimly he
made a vow that he would have nothing more to do with his young stepcousin.

That
resolve lasted for ail of two days. The hurt, confused expression on Sabrina's
face when he curtly told her she couldn't come cat-fishing with him, the
quivering lip when she learned that he didn't want her company on his morning
rides any longer, and the pained shadows he detected in the usually bright eyes
when he sharply reprimanded her for hanging over his shoulder in the evening
while he played piquet with Morgan couldn't be borne any longer.

Rising
the morning of the third day since the wedding, he deliberately sought out
Sabrina. He found her sitting listlessly under one of the magnolia trees. When
Brett saw the forlorn droop of her bottom lip and guessed the reason, his heart
twisted painfully.

To
make her smile again was certainly worth a little teasing from his friend,
wasn't it? It definitely was, he decided firmly. Approaching her, a warm smile
curving his finely shaped mouth, he said coaxingly, "I spotted a quail
sitting on her nest yesterday. Shall I show it to you?"

A
sparkle instantly leaped into her eyes, and Sabrina turned to stare at him.
''Oh, yes!" she breathed before she had time to think. But then, just a
little wary after her inexplicable fall from grace, she added coolly,
"That is, if you don't mind."

The
quail's nest was some distance from the house. They walked quietly through a
tangled forest of blackberry and honeysuckle vines, wild plum trees
intermingling with the pine, sycamore, oak, and chestnut trees, and eventually
they came to it. Putting his finger to his lips and dropping to his haunches,
Brett pointed.

It
took Sabrina several seconds to discern the quail's gray, brownish-black
feathers among the mottled leaves that were scattered across the forest floor,
but when she finally saw it, she sucked in her breath with clear delight. "Oh,
Senor  Brett!" she whispered. "How wonderful! She is very pretty,
si?"

Brett
nodded, and together they stealthily crept away. The find of the quail's nest
re-established their rapport, and it became part of the daily ritual to quietly
inspect it. Each day Sabrina faithfully placed a handful of stale bread a short
distance from the nest, the quail's bright little eyes watching her every movement.

"She
knows us!" Sabrina said sincerely one morning. "She
must
,
Senor Brett! She never moves off her nest or flies away when we come. Do you
think she would let me pet her?"

Brett
smiled gently down into her upturned face, his hand lightly caressing her
bright hair. "Afraid not, sweetheart. She's a wild creature, and as soon
as her eggs hatch, she'll be off with her chicks."

Sabrina's
face fell. "Oh, I do hope we can see the babies."

"We
will, don't worry," Brett promised, his dark green eyes full of affection.

It
was only as they turned away that they discovered Martin had followed them.
Coming out from behind an oak tree, he glanced over at the nest and sneered,
"A quail's nest! Is that what you've been sneaking off to see each
day?"

Earnestly
Sabrina said, "Oh, but Senor  Martin, she is not just any quail—she knows Senor
 Brett and me!"

Martin
looked indifferent, but Brett stared at him hard for several seconds and then
said softly, "You will leave the nest undisturbed, won't you?"

Martin
reluctantly met his brother's green gaze. "Of course—why would I bother an
old quail's nest?"

It
was the end of the conversation, but for several days, Brett kept an eye. out
for Martin to make mischief. Brett gradually relaxed, however, for it seemed
that Martin had decided a quail's nest was beneath his talents.

Then
came a morning when the little bird wasn't on her nest. Brett thought nothing
of it, assuming that the bird was out hunting, and with a light comment he
turned away, heading back for the house, certain Sabrina was following him.

Sabrina
had been full of anticipation this particular morning, confident that today
would be the day that the eggs hatched, and consequently she didn't immediately
follow Brett but crept closer to the little nest. Seeing the broken shells, she
clapped her hands with excitement and glanced eagerly around, positive her
quail wouldn't have left without displaying the chicks. She had just opened her
mouth to call joyfully to Brett when she spied the sinister shape coiled a few
feet away from the nest. A copperhead snake. A copperhead with an obscene bulge
in the middle of its sinuous length that cruelly revealed the fate of the quail
and her eggs.

Horror
choked Sabrina, and remembering the way the little quail had seemed to watch
for her each day, she was filled with fury. A cry of half-anguish, half-rage
came from her, and blindly she reached for a fallen oak branch and attacked the
snake.

Brett
heard her cry and spun on his heels, swiftly returning to the nest. He found
Sabrina, weeping and furious, wielding the oak branch with fatal efficiency.

The
snake was dead long before Brett could pry the oak branch from Sabrina's
clenched fingers. She was still sobbing angrily, tears streaking down her
cheeks, her eyes a pure gold glitter between the spiky dark lashes when she
finally released her hold on the branch and flung herself into Brett's
comforting arms.

"It
ate her!" she cried with furious revulsion.

"I
know, sweetheart, I know. But these things happen in the wild," Brett said
helplessly. Lifting her from the ground, he gently enfolded her slender body
next to his, murmuring soft, consoling sounds.

Sabrina's
arms were tightly clasped around his neck, her face buried under his chin, but
suddenly she flung back her head angrily and said vehemently, "But it
shouldn't have happened! Not to
my
quail!"