Merline Lovelace (17 page)

With the speed and single-minded determination of a panther hard on the heels of its prey, Daniel chased the Spaniard across the square and into a narrow alley. He thought about pulling out his pistol and bringing the man down, but didn’t reach for his holster. He wanted his hands around the man’s throat.

He wouldn’t strangle him. Not until he’d learned why he’d laid hands on Elizabeth and taken Louise. But he’d make the bastard beg for every gasp.

He could taste the revenge, felt the juice of it stir in his mouth. His lips curling back, he pounded out of the alley hard on his quarry’s heels.

The Spaniard sent a look over his shoulder, swore viciously and plowed through a group of schoolgirls in gray dresses and soiled white pinafores. One went down. Another squealed in fright. Daniel dodged around them.

The Spaniard raced on, leaping a wooden barricade, trying to lose his pursuer in the smoking ruins. The half-burned timbers spearing through the tumbled brick and masonry fired Daniel’s rage. So much destruction. So much pain. The Spaniard would pay for his part in it, whatever that was.

Daniel jumped a tumbled black iron cooking pot, almost lost his footing in the rubble, and suddenly, swiftly, skidded to a halt. His prey had run himself into a corner.

Caught up short by the smoking remains of what was once a baker’s shop, the Spaniard whirled and
dropped into a crouch among the still glowing timbers. Knife in hand, he spit out a stream of words. With a feral smile, Daniel sidestepped a timber burned down to a sharpened stake.

“No
comprendre,
you slit-nosed son of a whore.”

He stalked him, inching closer. He could smell the man’s fear over the stink of smoke, see the sweat pearl on his face and mix with the rain. The Spaniard slashed the blade from side to side and lunged.

Dancing to one side, Daniel brought his hand chopping down on the man’s wrist with all the force in his powerful body. The bone snapped like a dry twig.

With a howl of rage and pain, the Spaniard grabbed the knife in his other hand, twisted around in the rubble and lunged again. This time, Daniel’s fist smashed into his face and shattered the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed out in great crimson spurts. An animal howl ripped from the man’s throat.

“That was for Louise.”

The blood roaring in his ears, Daniel doubled his fist.

“This is for Elizabeth.”

He put all his fury, all his grief, into the vicious swing.

The uppercut snapped the Spaniard’s head back. He staggered a few paces, tripped over the blackened pot, fell. Arms flailing, he landed on one of the still-glowing timbers. The charred, jagged tip drove through his back and out through his stomach.

“Aaaaiii!”

His agonized scream ripped through the streets. Impaled, he writhed frantically on the hot stake. The scent of burning, sizzling flesh mingled with the stink of smoke.

His scream rose to a long, ear-shattering shriek. Before the echoes of it died, he flopped his arms and legs once, twice, then lay still.

Slowly, the red mists of Daniel’s rage parted. His one regret, his only regret, was that he hadn’t choked the information he wanted from the man before he died. Ignoring the wide-eyed bystanders who’d been drawn to the scene by the Spaniard’s cries, he climbed over the rubble, reached down and tore the gold ring from the bastard’s ear.

T
roops moved in and established order in the ravaged section of the city with military efficiency. A cordon was set up to keep out looters, with street blocks at every corner. Guards stopped Daniel twice before they recognized his soot-stained uniform and allowed him through.

He found Louise where he’d left her. Skirts blackened, hair hanging in a wet tangle, she worked side by side with the Tremaynes to pick through the ruins for the few possessions that had survived the flames.

A small corner of Daniel’s mind not numbed by grief and guilt felt a sort of detached wonder at her resilience. Despite all that had happened, she refused to succumb to despair or the weariness etched in every line of her body. Both ate at him with every step.

Polly Tremayne was bent over beside Louise. Her hair, too, hung in rattails. Her small, thin frame slumped with fatigue. She picked up a melted, misshapen object and rubbed a hand over it. Fighting
tears, she turned to toss the object into a cart filled with what remained of her home, and spotted Daniel. A murmured word brought Louise’s head up.

Their gazes found each other’s above the mounds of rubble. She made a small keening sound, her blue eyes flooding with the same guilt and sorrow Daniel knew he would carry for the rest of his life.

It was left to hulking Sergeant Tremayne to clamber over the debris and put the question into words.

“Elizabeth?”

Daniel shook his head.

“Ahh, man. I’m sorry.”

Tremayne’s wife joined him. “She would have suffered so for her burns. It’s for the best.”

Daniel wanted to believe her, but he hadn’t come to that point yet. “I thank you for what you did for Elizabeth.”

“I’m only sorry I didn’t find her sooner.”

“You got her out,” her husband said gruffly, laying an arm across her shoulders. “Her and the rest. You did all you could, Missus.”

Daniel’s gaze went past them to the remains of what had once been their home.

“I’ve not drawn all my wilderness pay,” he told Tremayne. “It won’t replace everything you lost, but it will help get you and your family back on your feet.”

The beefy artillery sergeant scratched the bristles on his cheek. “Well, I won’t deny we could use a bit of help. But won’t you be needing the funds yourself? You’ve got a coffin to buy and a wife to bury.”

“I’ll build her coffin myself.”

“Lumber may be hard to come by right now,” Tremayne warned. “With so much rebuilding to do, pine boards will be dearer than gold.”

A muscle jumped in the side of Daniel’s jaw. “I’ll find the boards.”

“Bernard Thibodeaux sells lumber,” Louise said quietly. “If the fire did not take his shop, he will give you what you need. Come, we will go to him now.”

They picked their way through the rubble, watching for rusted nails and sharp objects until they gained a clear stretch of undamaged banquette. Unspeaking, Louise walked beside Daniel. She knew no words of hers could ease the burden he now carried.

He blamed himself for Elizabeth’s horrific death. She’d seen that in a single glance. He’d held to his vows to his wife for so long. Had cared for her with such gentleness. Yet he would remember none of what went before, only that he’d been in bed with another woman while flames consumed Elizabeth.

Would he ever think of their time together without shame?

Would Louise?

A sick feeling rose in her stomach, adding to the bitter taste of remorse and grief. She’d done this. She’d caused this pain. She’d all but begged Daniel to lie with her last night, had done all she could to tempt him from his vows to his wife.

Like the blue-eyed woman of the legend, she brought nothing but disaster to those around her.

They met Bernard Thibodeaux at his shop. Stoop-shouldered and red-eyed, he and several of his hired help were just returning from a night of manning the buckets. While his shop clerks and house servants went wearily to their various tasks, Louise gave him a brief recount of her abduction and Elizabeth’s death.

“A bad business,” the portly merchant muttered, shaking his head. “A very bad business all around. I sorrow for your loss, Sergeant Major.”

“Thank you. I came not only to bring Louise home but to purchase planking for my wife’s coffin.”

“Of course. There’s good, solid oak in the storeroom. Nails and tools, too. You’re welcome to whatever you need.” He shook his head again. “Will you take her home for burial?”

“We have no home.”

Thibodeaux blinked at the stark pronouncement. Daniel couldn’t tell him of the many posts the army had assigned him to, of how Elizabeth had withdrawn into the shadows a little more each time he packed her up and moved her to another unfamiliar place.

“My wife’s parents settled in North Carolina, but are gone now. I’ll have to see what arrangements I can make here in New Orleans.”

“My family has a vault in a cemetery not far from
here. If you wish to make use of it, your wife will sleep peacefully there.”

“I… Thank you.”

“Let me wash and change, then I’ll see to the funeral carriage and cortege.”

“I, too, must wash and change,” Louise said as the merchant went up the stairs. “I’ll leave you to your task, unless… Do you wish me to help you?”

“No.”

“I did not think so.” She hesitated, worrying her lower lip. “Daniel, my heart weeps for Elizabeth and for you. I know you hate me for what happened between us this night. Always I will hate myself for causing such hurt to you and your wife.”

Her torment pierced his own. He’d been so lost to his own misery he hadn’t spared a thought for her. “You’re not to blame for any of this.”

“But I am! They spoke the truth when they named me, no? The accursed one.”

She would have turned away, but he caught her elbow. Guilt and grief filled every corner of his soul, so much so that he’d almost forgotten the Spaniard.

“I brought you something.”

He shoved a hand into his pocket. When she saw the glint of gold in his palm, a savage satisfaction sprang into her eyes.

“The mustached one! When did you find him?”

“After I left Elizabeth.”

“Did he admit to striking her or taking me?”

“No.”

“At least tell me he suffered greatly when he died,” she begged.

“He did.”

“Good!”

She claimed the gory trophy, just as she had the claws Daniel had brought her so many months ago.

“I will pray to the God of the whites and the spirits who guide the Osage,” she said fiercely. “May the crows pick the eyes and strip the flesh from the bones of the one who wore this.”

The provost marshal and a troop of armed guards came for Daniel an hour later.

He’d removed his filthy uniform jacket and was working with sleeves rolled up in the quiet of the storeroom. The clean, sharp smell of sawdust blotted out the stink of smoke as he measured cuts, sawed boards and planed the oak to a smooth, hard finish. The work had occupied his hands. Thoughts of Elizabeth had filled his mind. So lost was he in memories that he looked up blankly when the door to the storeroom banged open.

“He’s in here.”

Thibodeaux’s wide-eyed clerk stepped aside and a blue-jacketed lieutenant strode in. A detachment of guards crowded in after him. Rifles at the ready, bayonets gleaming dully in the dim light, they took up positions on the lieutenant’s flanks.

“Sergeant Major Morgan?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Provost Marshal Lieutenant Cappingham. It is my duty to place you under arrest.”

The clerk gasped and slipped out. Daniel heard him pounding up the stairs as he straightened and laid aside the plane.

“On what charge?”

“The charges will be read to you at the
cabildo.
”

He’d expected this. He knew he’d have to answer for the death of the Spaniard, but with all the confusion from the fire, he hadn’t thought the military police would come after him this soon.

He’d also have to answer for pummeling Lieutenant Wilkinson, he remembered belatedly. Everything else that had happened since he’d stormed into Wilkinson’s rooms had all but pushed that incident from his mind.

Assaulting an officer was no light matter. If done during a mutiny or in the face of the enemy, it was a hanging offense. More than one officer had taken his licks during drunken barracks brawls, however. Given Daniel’s years of service and spotless record to date, he’d most likely be sentenced to the lash.

He’d take the strokes. He had no choice. But he wasn’t done with Wilkinson yet.

“You will surrender your weapons, Sergeant.”

He’d hooked his cross belt with its cartridge case and leather holster over the end of a sawhorse, just out of reach. Mindful of the leveled bayonets, he let his hand hover over the holster. In all his years of service, he’d never asked for a personal favor. He asked for one now.

“I’ll surrender the pistol, Lieutenant, but I beg an hour to attend to personal affairs.”

“I have no authority to—”

“I must bury my wife. She died of burns from the fire.”

“I’m aware of that, Sergeant Major,” the lieutenant said coldly. Nodding, he sent one of the guards forward. “Take his weapons.”

The man kept a wary eye on the would-be prisoner as he retrieved the cross belt.

“Attach the shackles,” Cappingham ordered.

The rattle of the chains had Daniel curling his fists. He wasn’t marching off to the
cabildo
before he buried Elizabeth. He’d always despise himself for leaving her to suffer agonizing burns. He’d be damned to hell and back before he’d allow strangers to claim her body.

Tensing, he waited for the guard shaking out the shackles to take one step, just one. He’d snatch the irons out of the man’s hands, wrap the chain around his throat and use him to—

A clatter on the stairs broke into his black thoughts.

“What goes on here?”

Huffing, Bernard rushed into the storeroom. Louise pushed in right behind him. Instantly, Daniel abandoned any idea of taking the guard hostage. He would have risked his own skin against a troop of armed men, but he couldn’t risk hers.

“Who are you?” the merchant demanded.

“I’m Provost Marshal Lieutenant Cappingham. Identify yourself, sir.”

“I am Bernard Thibodeaux. This is my shop.”

Cappingham’s gaze narrowed on Louise. “And this woman?”

She’d changed into a clean gown and scrubbed away the soot, but her hair still fell in damp tangles over her shoulders and, Daniel saw, she clasped her skinning knife in one hand.

“This is Madame Chartier,” Bernard answered. “What goes on here? Why are you and these soldiers in my shop?”

“We’ve come to take Sergeant Major Morgan into custody.”

“But why? What has he done?”

“The formal charges will be read to him at the
cabildo.
”

“But his wife,” Louise protested. “She dies and must be buried this day.”

“Someone else will have to attend to it.”

With a low growl, Daniel cursed the officer’s callousness, but the very coldness of his reply had roused instincts dulled by grief and rage. Something wasn’t right here. No military man would deny another the chance to bury his dead. Wilkinson was behind this, Daniel guessed with a sudden tightening in his gut. Or his father.

“I’ll answer to whatever charges have been laid against me,” he told Louise urgently, “but I want you on that ship to France and gone when I do.”

“Daniel—”

“I’m afraid Madame Chartier won’t be allowed to board any ship,” Cappingham interrupted. “She’s been named as a witness to give evidence at your court-martial.”

“Madame Chartier wasn’t present when I struck Lieutenant Wilkinson or fought with the Spaniard,” he said tersely. “She has no firsthand knowledge of either event.”

“You mistake the matter, Sergeant Major. You’re not being charged with assaulting Lieutenant Wilkinson, and I know nothing of any Spaniard.”

“Then what the devil is this about?”

“You are to answer for the fire that caused the death of your wife.”

He felt as though the heavens had opened and God had hurled a thunderbolt at him. They knew he’d left Elizabeth alone, knew she’d been unable to tend to herself. They blamed him for her tragic death, just as he blamed himself. He couldn’t refute the charge, couldn’t speak a word of denial.

Louise experienced no such restraint. Raging, she confronted the lieutenant. “What you say is beyond anything incredible! This man would not harm the woman he has loved and cared for all these years!”

The provost marshal looked her up and down again, this time with insulting thoroughness. He was too well trained to sneer, but the sound of it was in his voice.

“As I understand the charges, Madame Chartier, it is now believed the sergeant major decided to rid himself of one wife in order to take another.”

The flat statement dragged Daniel from the depths of his own private hell. They weren’t accusing him of neglect, but of murder! Of deliberately causing Elizabeth such suffering and torment.

Fury rose hot and swift, and he had to fight the animal urge to leap forward and wrap his hands around the lieutenant’s throat. Savagely, he beat his rage into submission. He wouldn’t help himself or Louise by adding to the crimes already leveled against him.

“What evidence is there to support this charge?” he demanded.

“You’ll be made privy to the evidence when you’re brought before the court, but I’m told there is a statement to the effect that you and Madame Chartier engaged in adulterous conduct while traveling together.”

Wilkinson! That could only have come from Wilkinson. It wasn’t true, but what court would believe that now? Especially if the fat tavern keeper attested to the fact that Daniel and Louise had spent hours together last night in that small, dim room.

“There are also statements indicating you objected to the order to bring your wife to New Orleans,” the lieutenant continued coldly. “Reliable witnesses have stated that you were closeted privately with Madame Chartier in your quarters several times after your wife’s arrival, and that you flew into a jealous rage when Lieutenant Wilkinson began paying court to her.”