Patricia Rice (52 page)

Father Antoine nodded grimly and raised his hand to silence the noisy crowd. "The marriage with Gabriella Alvarez has been formally dissolved. She returns to Spain even as we speak." He returned his glare to Nicholas. "That does not justify what you do here today. You cannot hold all these people at gunpoint and force a marriage. Marriage is a sacrament. It will be denied if you do this."

The priest spoke in French, but Nicholas's reply was in a clear English that Eavin could understand without question.

"Deny me, Father, and I will carry her into the bedroom and have my men guard the door until her cries convince you otherwise. Now do you understand me?"

A collective gasp went up from the crowd, but the priest's lips twitched as he turned his gaze to the stunned bride. "Are you willing to exchange this man for the other,
madame
?

Eavin wasn't certain she was still breathing. She could feel the tear stains on her cheeks, but she couldn't remember crying. She looked up to meet Nicholas's golden gaze, reading the hunger in his eyes quite clearly. It wasn't anger that had brought him here but another kind of passion. Her lips turned up at the corners as she realized he was marrying her against all good sense. He didn't even know of the child. There were ten dozen questions yet to be answered, but she had the reply to the most important one of all.

"I will exchange logic and theory for love and hope, if that is what he asks," she managed to reply with some semblance of clarity.

"For my heart,
ma chérie
, for my life, my soul, for all that I am, if you will have me."

Nicholas's eyes darkened with the intensity of his reply, and Eavin was in his arms and resting against his chest before the words finished rumbling from inside him. His hands around her back were real. She could hear the beating of his heart beneath the bulk of his bandages, felt the tension drain out of him when she accepted his embrace, and she knew he was alive and had come back to her. She needed to know nothing else.

The priest coughed delicately, but when the couple did nothing to acknowledge him while his audience waited expectantly, he began the words of the marriage ceremony. Women wept and a man cursed, but Eavin rested in Nicholas's arms, secure in his love as the words flowed around them.

When it came time to repeat their vows, Eavin managed it in her hesitant French, then repeated them more strongly in an English heavily tinted with an Irish lilt. Laughter rippled through the crowd as Nicholas did her one better and added Spanish for the benefit of the man who had nearly stolen her. The look Eavin gave him crackled with chemistry, and the priest hid
a grin and hurried to complete the ceremony that would seal their separate lives into one.

When the blessing announced them man and wife, Nicholas looked down on the small dark-haired creature in his embrace with astonishment. Running his hand through his unruly hair to brush it back from his face, he stared at her a moment longer before declaring with a tone that made no attempt to hide his surprise, "
Mon dieu
, I have actually captured the whirlwind!"

Laughter broke out, and the cheers of the soldiers joined in as Eavin brought Nicholas's head down to hers. What began as a simple kiss quickly flared into more, and it was Michael's iron grip on Nicholas's arm that finally pried them apart.

"You can molest my sister later. For now, I need to borrow your tactics and your priest."

Nicholas and Eavin looked up to find Michael keeping a precarious hold on a snarling, squirming Belle as she tried to elude his powerful grip on her waist. Her tightly controlled chignon had loosened in the struggle, and long strands of ebony trailed down her back and shoulders. Her elegant silk gown was twisted and hiked up to reveal a delicate, stocking-clad ankle and glimpses of a wooden brace. And her lovely, normally placid expression had erupted into a passionate fire that should have scorched her determined captor.

With a questioning look, Nicholas pulled Eavin closer. He found the answer in her smile. Meeting Michael's eyes, he offered a Gallic shrug and stepped aside. "I'll not stop you if Belle won't."

Belle's shriek of rage was hastily quieted by the simple expedient of Michael placing his large hand over her mouth. He turned to Eavin. "It means we'll be goin' to Texas after all, colleen. I'll not buy my wife or have my children named someone else's property because of some foolish law. You understand, don't you?"

Eavin glanced anxiously at Belle, who had grown still at this expression of Michael's intent. Meeting the sadness in the other woman's eyes, she nodded. "I understand. And perhaps you could take Annie and Jim with you. You are certain the Mexicans don't have laws about slaves?"

Belle relaxed with understanding. Working apart, their powers were not great, but working together, she and Eavin could accomplish a great deal. Belle's shoulders straightened and her hand went to her hair as the crowd pushed and murmured. Someone had discovered the punch bowl, and a mass exodus had already begun. Only the curious and the disapproving and those closest to them remained.

Michael looked puzzled at his sister's words, but the fact that Belle had grown quiet was not lost on him. He released his stranglehold and turned his attention to the priest.

Nicholas and Eavin were diverted from the method by which Michael cajoled the priest into the improper service. One of the rough soldiers shouted at Alphonso shoving his way through his guards. A gun clattered to the floor as one of Señor Reyes' bodyguards knocked it loose with his sword, and pandemonium broke loose before Nicholas could stop it.

The surge of violence swung the crowd's attention from the banqueting table to the confrontation.
 

Instead of striking Nicholas down, Alphonso halted before him. Nicholas gestured dismissively to the longhaired rifleman appearing at his side, and the man shrugged, leaning against a wall to observe the scene with interest.

"You will understand that I knew nothing of your return from death. I meant only to keep her from harm." Alphonso's declaration was made honestly but with pride.

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the old man approaching with a slump in his shoulders and pain in his face. "I rather believe your father will explain. I hold no grudge against you. But perhaps it would be better if you followed Gabriella. I'm not certain I'll feel so generous another time."

Stiffly keeping his eyes from the woman he had been prepared to marry minutes before, Alphonso nodded and stepped aside to allow his father to approach.

Eavin didn't give Nicholas time to speak. Accusingly she glared at the elder Spaniard. "You told me he was dead, and I believed you. You let me nearly die from grief. That is cruel beyond all measure. How did you think I would feel when Nicholas returned and I was married to your son? What did you hope to accomplish?"

Reyes held his head up. "I hoped to make an honest woman of you. I hoped to give my son the love he craved as I denied it to my eldest. I wished to correct the mistakes of the past. My guilt is in thinking that I knew what was right without consulting you. I beg your forgiveness, señora."

There was more to be said. He wasn't the only guilty party. Eavin's gaze sought the woman who must have kept her letters and probably intercepted others. She clenched Nicholas's arm tighter as she realized
 
Hélène had arrived and already cornered Isabel.

As if sensing they were watched, the two women parted. With a gesture of disgust, Nicholas's mother left her antagonist alone. Catching the arm of Mrs. Howell,
 
Hélène waited for the throng to part so she might approach the newlyweds.

Nicholas whispered, "She is the reason I am here today. I would see whatever differences are between you settled."

Eavin stared at him coolly. "There are no differences between us. We both love the same man." And with that pronouncement she left his side to hug her new mother-in- law.

The haughty Frenchwoman hugged her back with tears in her eyes. For Eavin's ears alone she whispered, "Isabel thought she did me a favor by inviting me to your wedding. She did not realize how right she was. Nicholas lived only to see you again. I have you to thank for returning my son to me."

 
Hélène had only to look up and see the tender smile on Nicholas's lips as he wrapped his arms around his wife's waist to know she had done the right thing. When Eavin leaned trustingly against him, tilting her head to return his smile,
 
Hélène nodded approvingly.

"Well, we shall have to teach you better French so you may write for our papers instead of that crude American rag," she announced primly before walking away, leaving Nicholas and Eavin to stare open-mouthed after her.

As Eavin giggled helplessly, Nicholas scooped her up and shoved his way through the increasingly raucous crowd.

A ragged cheer rose among his troops at his action. Someone fired a rifle into the ceiling, and a shower of plaster coated the guests in white. Another shout went up, this one in French and slightly risque. Laughter rang out and a flute and a violin picked up the French anthem.
 

Not to be outdone, the Spanish guests shouted a wedding toast and waved their cups of punch. The Kentuckians joined in, stamping their feet to the tune of the "Marseillaise" until the chandelier overhead swung and the floor groaned and shook with their energy. A woman screamed as a vase slid for the floor, but a soldier laughingly caught it and demanded a kiss in recompense. Her escort took offense and another circle of excitement formed.

Two lines of black slaves formed along the back steps and into the hallway, creating an avenue of retreat for the Irishman and the octoroon he had taken for a bride. Father Antoine's gaze met that of an old black man in priest's robes blessing the young couple as they passed, and he repeated the motion, knowing the double blessing would be needed.

Caught up in and surrounded by the celebration, Nicholas serenely clutched his precious burden and strode down the hallway to the newly decorated chambers he had meant for his wife.

He smiled as Eavin untangled his neckcloth and blew against his throat. His arm would cause him one hell of a lot of pain before long, but he intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Chapter 44

Their progress halted with the arrival of a man who set the soldiers to attention and the crowd into uproarious cheers. With a mild curse Nicholas returned Eavin to her feet. Keeping his arm firmly around her, he straightened to wait for the reprimand that was sure to follow.

General Andrew Jackson sauntered down the path forming through the crowd, his craggy face mildly amused as he noted the disheveled bridegroom and bemused bride. He halted before Nicholas, met his defiance imperturbably, and waited for his explanation.

"General, this is my wife, Eavin." Smoothly, Nicholas tucked Eavin at his side and turned the tables around, waiting for his superior officer to demand the explanations he wanted.

With a sage smile the general took Eavin's hand. "The lady responsible for dragging this sluggard from his bed, I assume. My gratitude to you, madam. I despaired of ever seeing him on his feet again."

Nicholas grimaced, as much with impatience as irritation at this delay. The bedroom door was only a few yards away. He had almost made it.

Knowing his impatience, the general grinned. "You're relieved of duty, Saint-Just. Stealing a squadron of soldiers and causing an insurrection are not the acts of a disciplined officer. Have you ever considered taking up politics?"

Laughter rose from those within hearing, and Nicholas offered a grudging smile. "I'll give it all due consideration, General, when I have nothing better on my mind."

Since Nicholas drew Eavin more tightly into his embrace with these words, more laughter followed at his implication. Before Jackson could reply, Jeremy had excitedly elbowed his way into their circle.

"That's an excellent idea, General! A Frenchman with American ideas! He would have instant support—"

Nicholas didn't take the time to hear the rest. With the general visibly distracted by the clamor of excitement, he half shoved, half dragged Eavin into the side hall and pushed open his chamber door. Laughing, they both stumbled inside, slamming the door and throwing the bolt shut before falling into each other's arms.

"I can't wait another moment. It's been months,
ma chérie
.
Mon dieu
, how I have ached for you." Nicholas's kisses covered her hair and throat as his fingers rapidly worked the fastenings of her gown.

"I thought you were a ghost. I thought you were dead." Eavin feverishly tore at the ties of Nicholas's shirt and cravat, needing to feel the heat of his flesh to convince herself this was real.

"I could not write. My accursed arm... But I did not dare come to you even if I could. I am sorry, my love, my life. I should never have shamed you as I did. I could not hold you if I was not free. I would not compound the wrongs. But I came as soon as I could, as soon as I heard...
mon dieu
!" Nicholas clutched her tightly, stroking her hair as he sent an appeal to the heavens. "I was almost too late. I would have had to kill him."

"No, I would undoubtedly have thrown up on him and put an end to all pretension." Eavin hiccupped through her tears. "Don't dwell on it. Just love me, Nicholas. It's been so long..."