Through the Storm (12 page)

As he marched away, Bridget sidled over. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

Shooting daggers at his back, Sable confessed, “At this moment, no. Not at all.”

Back near his tent, Raimond was angrily tossing darts at a board set up on a tree and thinking, How dare that little contraband take up with another man! He’d seen how she’d smiled up into the soldier’s eyes, her face filled with a warmth he’d yet to have directed his way. He was not accustomed to being either ignored or verbally flayed by a woman he desired. He walked over to the board and snatched the darts free, retreated a few paces, and began hurling them again.

In the midst of his bad mood, Andre Renaud walked up, eyed the darts sticking haphazardly out of the board, and drawled dryly, “I assume you are not trying to hit the mark?”

“Shut up, Renaud.”

Andre raised an eyebrow. “What gator bit your nose?”

Raimond flung another dart. “A green-eyed one named Sable Fontaine.” A whistling dart struck nowhere near the center.

“Ah,” Andre replied sagely. “It seems there
is
one woman in the world immune to the charms of the eldest son of the house of LeVeq.”

Raimond’s eyes flashed like an angry god’s.

“This will definitely go into my next letter to Galeno,” Andre added.

“If you reveal even a sniff of this to Galeno, I will personally toss you into the nearest privy.”

“He will enjoy hearing of it.”

“Don’t you have some duties to attend?”

“No sir, everything is under control.”

“Then go and see what you can find out about a White soldier named Rhine Clark. He seems to be paying Miss Fontaine a bit of attention.”

“Is he a rival for your lovely contraband’s affections?”

“Just do as I asked, Andre.”

“The answer must be yes. I believe Galeno is going to fall out of his chair laughing when he reads about this.”

Raimond turned on Andre with yet another malevolent look, and a grinning Andre said, “I’m going, I’m going.”

After Andre’s departure, Raimond snatched the darts from the target and took them back inside the tent. Sable Fontaine had him in knots—not only had she not returned for dinner the evening after finding Patrick’s kin, but she seemed no more interested in him than she’d been the first night they’d met. He had never confronted such a situation before. Didn’t this contraband know the LeVeq charm had dazzled women all over the world? Didn’t she know that whenever he pulled into port, no matter where, no matter what hour, women flocked to him like birds to corn? They all wanted to be with him, to share his bed, to bask in his smile. Being around Sable Fontaine was definitely a humbling experience, especially coupled with the evidence that she might be keeping time with another man. What was wrong with her? Had his physical attributes suddenly changed? Had he awakened this morning as ugly and misshapen as Shakespeare’s Caliban? He didn’t understand any of it, and her even less.

Andre returned later that evening with a report on Rhine Clark. He had just opened his mouth to speak when Sable came barreling into the tent. She angrily and
forcefully threw Raimond’s clean but wet shirts against his chest and sailed out. An astonished Raimond met the equally astonished eyes of Andre, who, on the heels of her startling appearance and exit, burst into laughter. Growling, Raimond went after her.

Sable was hurrying as fast as her legs could carry her. All day long, the more she’d thought about the major’s behavior that morning, the madder she’d gotten. How dare he intimate that she was offering more than laundry! Her original intent had been to return his shirts and give His Royal Arrogantness a good piece of her mind, but by the time she’d marched across camp to his tent, she’d worked up so much indignation that throwing his shirts at him had been by far the safer option. A minute alone with him and she might have done him bodily harm.

Sable marched past many familiar faces as she went. They all looked at her a bit strangely, but she didn’t stop.

She also didn’t get very far.

She had no idea he’d followed her until he tackled her from behind and threw her over his shoulder. Her yells of outrage, her kicks and flailings, were all ignored as he clamped a big arm across the back of her knees and proceeded to carry her through camp like a sack of meal.

“Put me down, you insufferable Frenchman!”

“Or what? You’ll hit me with more wet shirts?” He did not break his stride. “Quit squirming before I drop you on your head.”

Many camp dwellers stopped in their tracks to view the determined major carrying the boisterous and fuming laundress over his shoulder. Some even clapped—mostly men. When Raimond passed Avery standing in front of his tent, an upside-down Sable demanded that Avery do something. He only grinned.

Once back in his tent, Raimond turned to Andre,
who’d followed them, and said, “Miss Fontaine will be staying for dinner.”

“I will not! Put me down!”

Raimond ignored her outburst. “Make the arrangements, Andre.”

“Stay where you are Andre! The only thing I will be having for dinner is his head! Release me this instant!”

“Go, Andre.”

Grinning Andre saluted and left to do his major’s bidding.

Raimond eased her feet to the ground and beheld the absolute fury in her eyes.

“Who is your commanding officer?” she demanded.

Raimond scratched his head. “Actually, I don’t have one.”

“There has to be someone to whom I can report this outrage.”

Chuckling at her angry indignation, he bowed elegantly. “I apologize if my methods were a bit unorthodox.”

“A bit! Do you know how much gossip you’ve created, carrying me through camp like a sack of yams?”

He poured a cup of water from a pitcher. “Refreshment?”

“Charm does not become you.”

As Raimond drank, he watched her over the cup and wondered if this was how Galeno had become enraptured with his wife, Hester. Had he experienced this same, nearly overwhelming urge to take on the challenge of winning her for his own?

Sable wanted to box his ears. For the first time in her life she wished she were a male so she could order him to choose a weapon and meet her at dawn. He was far too handsome for his own good, and even in the throes of wanting to feed his liver to a hog, she couldn’t deny how he affected her. She didn’t want to be attracted to him in any fashion, but it appeared she was. Still, she would continue to fight it, because she knew instinc
tively that for Raimond LeVeq women were dessert, and dessert was probably his favorite meal.

“Mrs. Reese is expecting me back,” she informed him.

“I’ll escort you there after we’ve eaten.”

“I’m not staying. Not even a man as arrogant as you can make me eat against my will.”

“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.”