Bayou Baby (14 page)

Rowan stood in the dim light behind a giant willow, the darkness concealing her from view. Shadows moved past the windows in the house beyond. She clearly saw Lucien and several other men moving about the main floor. Lucien yelled at them, but she couldn’t make out what he said, because the closed window muffled his words.

Men roamed the vast property, checking gates, watching the road. She imagined there would be men watching the fields as well as the beautiful gardens that surrounded the house. He guarded himself well. The full moon lit the gardens with a silvery glow, giving it a ghostly appearance. Lucien would never go out there; she hadn’t seen him come out in days.

I must lure him away, then.

Lucien needed a warning, Rowan wanted him to know that she hadn’t run away, that she waited for him.

For more than two weeks, she had hidden in the shack in the trees with Henri and Justine. Her patience grew thin as they nagged her relentlessly to quit her foolishness and leave New Orleans with them. She refused, but agreed that they could not stay in Mama Gator’s treetop home for much longer. Justine and Henri left that morning to find a better spot to hide. Henri felt cramped, trapped; he was used to living in finer accommodations. Rowan convinced him to go find something better, promising to wait there for his return. Fool.

She waited until the sun was high before descending the ladder and sneaking out of the swamp to find Lucien. It wasn’t difficult. She’d lingered around the place she’d sworn never to come back to, hiding amongst the carriages and garbage piled along the side. He’d appeared just as she knew he would, a frown marring his handsome face as he scanned the streets. It gave her great pleasure to know he watched every shadow, worried over every female that walked by.

She followed him from Rosaline’s to the tavern across the street. He stayed there for some time before getting into a carriage with three other men—three men she recognized. Did he know she’d be looking for all of them? Was that why they were together?

Her stomach tightened, a fluttering sensation tickled deep inside, reminding her of the ultimate violation. She’d been suspicious about the changes taking place in her body. When she missed her cycle a week before, she had her confirmation. She was carrying her father’s child. Her feelings changed from one moment to the next. She loved it and hated it. How could she be happy while carrying something that could be nothing but evil? Such children couldn’t be anything else.

If she allowed it to survive, she’d always remember what Lucien had done to her. She’d relive the humiliation every time the child laughed or cried, every time it breathed.

But it was part of her as well. If she killed it, she killed the only creature that could love her despite what she’d done, and what she was about to do. The war in her mind never stopped, neither did the ache in her head. It worried her as well, but she didn’t mention it to Henri or Justine. They’d tell her it was the stress and proof that she should let go of this foolish plan to seek revenge.

The men climbed into one carriage, a tall black monstrosity pulled by two large horses. Rowan waited until the carriage turned toward Lucien’s plantation, and then she followed keeping to the shadows. If Lucien laid eyes on her, he would kill her, without pausing to ask questions. Now, as she watched them moving through the vast rooms of the house, she modified her plan. She couldn’t take her father first, but it didn’t matter. The best should always be saved for last. The others would be easy to pick off. They were nothing like her illustrious father.

It would be better to get rid of them first. Lucien’s caution worked in her favor. She wanted him to lose sleep thinking about her, wondering when his turn would come and how she would do it.

One by one, the windows darkened and Rowan crouched down next to the tree to wait for the house to sleep.

***

Early in the morning, before the sun peeked above the horizon, Rowan’s next victim identified himself. Pierre, the first to flip her over and violate her in a way she’d never known possible until that night, emerged from the house. As the door leading to the garden opened, Rowan, who had been resting against a tall oak tree, came alert and stood.

Pierre tapped a pipe on the retaining wall that ran along the garden path. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a package and filled the pipe. Rowan watched him pack it down and fish out a match. Lighting it he puffed, sending the sweet-smelling smoke into the air.

Rowan smiled. She watched him stroll through the garden. He smelled a rose, and then continued toward the orchard beyond. If he went in, she would have the chance to sneak up behind him. If he did not, she would have to confront him, which was a daunting thought.

Pierre stopped at the edge of the garden and looked around him. He sat on top of a large stone bordering the path and stared up at the starlit sky.

I hope you’re contemplating the meaning of life.

She crept along the tree line. There were twenty or so feet between her and the garden, a mile when you wish to avoid being seen. His back faced her. As long as no one watched from the darkened windows, she would be safe. She observed the watchmen going in hours ago, only a few stood watch at the edges of the property, far from the orchard.

From the folds of her dress, she pulled out a knife. Rowan wanted to hang him for all to see. How would she do that without a rope?

Surely, the man wears a belt, a voice in her head whispered. Rowan smiled. She held the knife between her teeth and counted to three. Keeping low, she dashed across the open grass and into the dense foliage of the garden. She avoided the roses narrowly, nearly tripping over her skirts and coming to rest against a cypress growing amongst a dense cropping of dark pink azaleas.

The sweet scent tickled her nose, and for a brief moment, she remembered home. Shoving the memory aside, she peeked around the tree to the house. No lights save one in the upper level now.

She turned to find Pierre once more. He remained on his rock, oblivious to his imminent death. Perfect.

Rowan crept through the garden, stepping over and through the sweet scented bushes and vines, crushing them. As she crept behind him, she allowed a twig to crack under her foot. He spun to face her.

“Good morning, sir.” She moved from the bed of orchids behind him, bruising the delicate blooms as her hands brushed them aside. Their scent, much like the perfume Rosaline preferred, teased her nostrils. She didn’t care that she’d ruined them.

“So our little whore has finally come to play.” Pierre set his pipe on the stone and advanced.

Rowan stood her ground, knife in hand hidden at her side.

“Do you think you can fight me?” Pierre laughed. “You couldn’t before.”

“I don’t wish to fight you,
monsieur.
I am going to kill you.”

His laughter echoed in the silence of the garden. Birds fluttered and squawked in the distance.

“What is it that amuses you? You think I cannot kill a man? I’ve done it before. Twice. Three times, if you count Rosaline.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets. “You killed a whore, no big feat there. You killed two old fools while pleasuring them. Not a difficult task either.”

Rowan planted her feet firmly on the cobbled path before him. “You make a good point. Perhaps I should flee, since I have no hope of winning against such a strong opponent.”

“Perhaps you should try.” He sat down on the stone once more and folded his arms. “I will give you a head start. It makes the game more fun.”

Rowan backed away. “Thank you sir. Such gallantry is rare. I will run, but I advise you not to pursue me.”

He chuckled as she backed toward the orchard. She made it to the edge of the trees before he stood. He didn’t run, nor did she. It was a game of nerves, neither willing to show fear. His long legs closed the gap in a short time. Rowan smiled as he moved closer. She leapt behind a large oak and waited.

He rounded the tree, Rowan allowed him to grab her arms and then pull her against his body. She felt his erection against her belly and panic fluttered in her chest. She would not back down. Knife firmly in her fist, she looked up at him.

He sneered and tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Not such a grand escape,
cherie
. Perhaps the rumors are false, and you are not a Dumas after all.”

“Oh never doubt that.” Rowan jerked her arm free and drove the knife into his belly. It hitched, as though caught on something, before she slammed it hard.

Pierre gasped as the blade buried through to the handle.

“And never doubt me,
Monsieur.”
She stepped away.

Pierre hit his knees gasping.

Rowan looked around for a new weapon, her gaze resting on a large rock lying under the whitewashed fence. She knelt to pick it up, keeping him in her sight.

He touched the knife handle, dazed, sweat beading on his forehead.

Rowan stood over him, rock in the air. “Now, for your sins,” she slammed the rock down.

He stumbled and fell, still conscious. Blood seeped from the wound just over his eye. “Bitch,” he gasped, trying to make it to his feet.

“No, I’m a whore.” Rowan brought the stone down once more, this time just over his ear.

Pierre slumped to the ground. He did not move.

She rolled him over, removed his belt, and then she lifted him to a sitting position. Rowan expected it to be difficult, but found strength she didn’t know she had. She looped the belt around his neck, but it wasn’t long enough to loop again over the tree.

“Such lovely pants, I hate to ruin them.” Rowan sighed as she tugged them off his limp form. She tested the strength, tried to rip them in half but the fabric held. “This should do.” Throwing the pants over the tree, Rowan then tied them to the belt. She attempted to hoist his body upward, but the branch cracked. “Damn it,” she muttered, realizing it wouldn’t hold his weight.

She sighed in frustration. He was dying anyway, his face ashen as his body craved for oxygen, but she wanted to send Lucien a message, so she tightened the belt until he choked for air and then propped him against the base of the tree.

Rowan reached for the knife. It made a sucking sound as she pulled it out of his belly. The sweet smell of his blood mingled with the fruit on the trees. Inhaling deeply, Rowan gave his throat a quick slash just beneath the belt and watched the blood flow from the wound. Yes, this was perfect.

Her newfound strength left Rowan; lightness replacing the fire that had filled her belly. She nearly fell over in exhaustion, but forced herself to remain on her feet.

Rowan backed out of the orchard slowly, watching the house as she went. When she reached the tree line, she ran. She wanted to watch Lucien as he discovered her present, and planned to relish the fear in his eyes as he scanned the property, wondering if she waited for him, but she would not risk capture. His turn was coming very soon.

She would be there for all of it.

Rowan waited in the tree house for Henri and Justine to return. She knew they’d spent the night away; the markers she’d left on the tree were still in place. No one had climbed up since the day before.

She cleaned herself as best she could, slipping out of the soiled dress she’d stolen from Rosaline and putting on a dress that had belonged to her mother. The soft pink cotton clung to her, hugging her curves and the small bump of her stomach, flaring out at her hips. Seeing it brought a wave of grief but she stifled it. She would not regret what couldn’t be changed. Her mother was the past. She was living for the future.

Rowan placed a trembling hand on her belly and smiled. The baby would have to be dealt with later, after she taught its father a thing or two about depravity. He had not yet scratched the surface.

Her body was still covered in lesions and scars from Lucien’s abuses; she was reminded of the worst of it every time she peed. The sores there had finally begun to heal, though. Rowan figured they had taken longer because of their location. Each time the urine touched them they stung as though on fire, making her resolve to see that he suffered as much, or more, even stronger.

Justine and Henri arrived long after the sun rose high above. Rowan tidied the little shack, hiding what evidence she could of their presence and packed provisions. She would go with them; it was wiser to keep moving. If the hideaway Henri had discovered wasn’t what she required, she would leave. They were becoming a nuisance to her anyway.

“It’s the perfect place. Lucien will never look for us there.” Justine exclaimed while she shared a jar of peaches with Rowan.

“He’s not looking for you.” Rowan pointed out. “He doesn’t care about the two of you anymore. Your best bet is to run as far away from here as you can.”

“Are you suddenly able to read his mind?” Henri paced the shack.

Rowan watched him, a grin on her face. “I know what he wants, and it’s not you.”

“I won’t leave you. I’ve made a promise and I aim to keep it. You’re not as strong as you think you are.”

“I’m stronger than you think I am.”

“You are not invincible.”

Rowan stood, straightening her dress. “I know that. But I have much less to lose than him, and that gives me the upper hand.”

Henri raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“He thinks he’s invincible.”

“Compared to you, I’d say he is.”

Rowan sighed. “He doesn’t realize how much I hate him, which is his first mistake. I know I must go at him with all I have, but I also know he’ll be arrogant, which will make him careless. That will be his downfall.”

Henri ran a hand through his hair. The brown curls were tousled, unusual for a man who was usually fastidious about his appearance. Life in the swamp was not for Henri Fontaine. It didn’t agree with him at all.

He sat on a stool opposite Justine and sighed. “I know you deserve your revenge. He should be punished for all he’s done, but you must listen to reason. Please.”

“What is it I’m not seeing? I think I’m being perfectly rational.”

“No, you aren’t.” Henri glanced at Justine, who kept her gaze on the peaches. “To take a man’s life is a serious thing. You may succeed in killing him, but at what cost?”

Rowan smiled and touched his arm. “You worry over silly things, Henri. I won’t go to jail; no one will know who killed him. Believe me; he has many enemies. If it’s ever investigated, the police will find he has wronged so many they won’t be able to count the suspects.”

“I see I’m wasting my time.” Henri shook his head. “Are you at least coming with us?”

“Of course, I can’t stay in one place for too long. I will admit he’s too smart for me to do that. Tell me, where is this place you’ve found?”

“Oh Rowan, it’s beautiful,” Justine gushed. She became animated once more as she spoke. Her hands fluttered like butterflies around her face. “It’s an old plantation; no one knows it belongs to Henri’s family. It’s been abandoned for so long the fields are overgrown and it’s very well hidden.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow and turned to Henri. “You think he won’t think of this place? Come now, you’re telling me I’m being foolish?”

“It belonged to my mother’s sister and her husband. They had no children so when he contracted tuberculosis and became gravely ill he willed it to me before his death. I was just an infant at the time.”

“And your aunt?”

“She moved away long ago, remarried an English gentleman and had a child. She hasn’t returned. The place is mine, but no one knows of the connection. It was so long ago, I nearly forgot about it.”

“Why has it not been looked after? I would think your parents would at least maintain it for you.” Rowan couldn’t imagine letting something so valuable sit and rot. Then again, as Mama Gator often told her, rich folk were strange.

“My mother expected her sister to return. The plantation had gone wild long before her brother-in-law passed anyway. He wasn’t a farmer and he only maintained the house. It was all he had left when he died. They had little money and my aunt was nearly destitute.”

“Why wouldn’t you sell the place and give her the money?”

Henri frowned, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Does it matter? It’s a place to hide.”

“I suppose.” Rowan began to gather her things. One bag held all that she would need for now. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s move.”

“We’d never get there before dark,” Justine argued. “It’s best to start out in the morning.”

After lifting the hatch, Rowan threw down the ladder. “We don’t have that kind of time. I imagine Lucien is scouring the swamp as we speak.”

“We haven’t seen him in two weeks.”

“Yes, well… I’m afraid he’s had a terrible morning.”

Henri joined her at the opening and grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her skin.

She pulled away.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve taken the first point; that’s all.”

She descended the ladder catching Henri’s worried frown to Justine. She paused to listen at their exchange.

“You’re right
, ma petite.
She’s different and I’m not sure I like the change.”

“What are we going to do?”

Rowan imagined Justine biting her lip or chewing her finger.

“We’ll try to sway her from this path. It can lead to nothing but sorrow for her. If we can’t, we may have to cut our losses.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that. She’s smart. Eventually she’ll get over this rage and then we’ll make her see reason.”

Henri helped Justine climb through the door. “I hope you’re right. I would hate to turn on her, but if it means our safety, I’ll do it.”

Justine made a small noise, much like a sob, as they followed Rowan down the tree. Rowan smiled, moving toward the ground. She’d managed to eliminate five people on her own. They had no idea what she was capable of. If they couldn’t stomach what had to be done, she was fine doing so alone. Henri didn’t realize he was no longer dealing with the girl of his past. The old Rowan was long gone, and she didn’t want her to return.