Patricia Rice (9 page)

Eavin swung on her heel and marched toward the back stairs. For Jeannette's good and her own soul, she must confront Nicholas.

The only obstacle was the distance between them. The sugarcane harvest had taken all his time since the night of the Howells' soiree. Eavin had contemplated waiting up for him, but he was so late entering every night that she suspected he had been with Jess or another woman, and she couldn't face him again like that.
 

And he was gone in the mornings before she could tend to Jeannette and dress. She didn't think she amounted to enough for Nicholas to deliberately avoid her, but the result was much the same. So if she meant to confront him with anything, it would have to be on his grounds.

Unfortunately, his grounds consisted of miles of cultivated fields and acres of swamp, and she had never learned to ride. But Annie had informed her that the men were working in the refinery today, and that was within walking distance. Eavin glanced at the building on the horizon and prayed that was the refinery as she set her feet to the hard-packed dirt. She was a child of the city. She knew how to avoid reckless carriages and drunken sailors and running sewage. She knew absolutely nothing about the dangers inhabiting cane-stubbled fields and deceptive cypress forests except what the servants had told her, and those tales made her shiver.

She hugged her woolen shawl closer and tried to keep both hands inside as she trudged along the path, repeating her litany of arguments. The December day was comparatively mild, but her thin slippers didn't keep out the damp from muddy ruts, and the chill wind whipped through the fine material of her gown. She had been a fool to accept Nicholas's generous offer of the contents of his warehouse. Her femininity might crave the lovely silver-gray cashmere, but common sense should have kept her to her own heavy black bombazine.

Eavin almost turned back when she arrived at the building she had hoped was the refinery only to be told by the man in charge that the place she sought was still farther down the road and across a field. She had the feeling that the buck-toothed overseer was enjoying her dismay, but she refused to acknowledge his mockery.
 

Gazing at the distant structure, Eavin summoned all her resources and decided that if she had come this far, there was no use in turning back. The black field hands looked at her with curiosity, but her only fear was of her own ignorance. She had heard the tales of fearsome alligators and poisonous snakes and giant spiders, but surely these things slept or went away in the winter.

Reassuring herself that there was nothing to fear, Eavin marched on. It was almost pleasant to be out of the house, if she weren't quite so chilly. Nicholas had taken her nowhere since the Howells', and she had no means of transportation on her own. She was isolated, entirely reliant on Nicholas, and Nicholas wasn't precisely the sort of man on whom she wished to rely. She didn't think any such man existed.

But if she had to rely on just herself, then she must have the courage to seek what she wanted, and she wanted to attend Christmas mass. Lifting her chin, Eavin set across the muddy field, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the squish beneath her slippers.

She sighed with relief as she reached a grassy strip at the edge of the field. The refinery was only a short distance away, and she could see Nicholas mounting his horse as he spoke to a group of black men gathered outside. She prayed he would see her. She would most assuredly kill him if he rode off before she had a chance to speak with him.

One of the men pointed in her direction, and Eavin could almost feel the waves of fury emanating from him as he swung toward her. Coldness crept around her heart, but temper kept her moving forward. She had done nothing to deserve this abandonment. Even the slaves were allowed a day off every week. There was no reason in the world that she shouldn't ask to be taken to mass.

Eavin knew Nicholas was shouting, but she couldn't hear the words. Tightening her lips and pulling her shawl closer, she grimly continued her pilgrimage through the thick grass. Did he think she was fool enough to turn around and go back now? The sight of the whip he suddenly brandished caused her to hesitate, however. She had known he was a violent man, but had he taken leave of his senses?

The whine of the whip froze Eavin where Nicholas's shouts hadn't. She could see him more clearly now and remembered the dangerous narrowing of amber eyes full well. Although garbed in the long frock coat of a gentleman, he displayed the raw masculinity of a riverboat man as he urged his huge mount into a gallop directly toward her. She could see the fallen shock of wheat-colored hair against the weathered darkness of his brow and the angry lines cutting into his jaw as he clenched his teeth, and she had the sudden desire to turn and run, but something in his fury froze her in place.

The whip struck again, and the grass not inches from Eavin's feet rippled. Too startled to scream, Eavin glanced up to find herself looking down the barrel of his pistol. The weapon exploded before she had time to register its direction.

A frantic bellow split the air and the grass thrashed and writhed in front of her. Her hand flew from her shawl to her mouth as blood erupted from an enormous beast not inches away, splattering her new gown. Eavin battled to remain upright. Her breath locked in her throat and her head spun.
 

Nicholas was upon her in seconds, dragging her back, cursing in more languages than Eavin knew existed. Her horrified gaze followed the dying struggles of a monster. When she finally focused on the viscera pouring from the gaping hole in the animal's hide, Eavin turned abruptly in Nicholas's arms, leaned over the cane-stubbled field, and heaved the contents of her breakfast upon the mud.

"
Mon dieu
, I'll have someone keelhauled for this. Have you not a lick of sense in your silly head? What in the name of the Holy Mother of God possessed you to come out here?" Another string of curses followed as Nicholas discovered her mud-caked shoes and castigated her for her lack of boots as well as sense.

Grabbing his offered handkerchief, Eavin tried to jerk away, but at this demonstration of her ability to stand on her own, Nicholas dragged her toward his horse.

"Did no one tell you this land crawls with 'gators and snakes and spiders as big as your hand? Did you not believe them? Or did you think you could walk on water like the saints? What..." His string of adjectives were almost entirely French, and Eavin made no attempt to translate them. "...bastard told you where I was?"

Nicholas seemed to be waiting for some response to this furious jumble of words, but Eavin was more concerned with the huge animal before her. She had never sat on a horse before. The animal turned his head and flared his nostrils in certain disapproval, and Eavin stepped backward, directly into Nicholas.

Without waiting for permission, he caught her waist and flung her upward, holding her in the saddle while Eavin grabbed for any support she could find. His sharp curse stopped the stallion from sidling away, and taking the reins, he held the horse while she clenched the pommel for dear life.

"Nicholas, I can't ride." Eavin's teeth chattered with cold and fear as she saw the distance to the ground.

"That is evident." With a look of disgust Nicholas brought the reins over the horse's head and began to lead it. "Just hang on, unless you want me to join you."

Impossibly, Eavin did want him to join her. She would feel a good deal more secure if there was another human body up in the air with her. But she was seated on the saddle sideways, and she didn't see how it would be humanly possible for him to fit anywhere.

It was better if she closed her eyes. Sighing, Eavin felt the sway of the horse and heard Nicholas's mutters and began to gather her shattered senses again. "What was that creature?" she asked once she had the tongue to utter the words.

"Alligator. Every damned man on this plantation knew that beast was there. I was just going out to get rid of it. What in hell possessed you to cross that field?"

"That's where they told me I'd find you." She sounded defensive and hated it.

"Who told you?"

The sharp command of Nicholas's voice did not bode well, but Eavin felt no sympathy for the grinning idiot who had sent her across that field. Without remorse she replied, "The buck-toothed man, your overseer."

"Jenkins. That does it. I've put up with that bumpkin as long as I intend to. Can you hang on a little longer? I have a stop I want to make before we return to the house."

Eavin opened her eyes long enough to study Nicholas. His low-crowned hat prevented her from seeing his eyes, but she could read the furious set of his jaw well enough. No one would mistake him for a gentleman right now. She couldn't imagine why she had thought him part of the languid, genteel society he frequented. That indolent image was a masquerade. The real man was clenching the reins with fists of steel.

"Why would he send me out there if he knew there was an alligator? That doesn't make sense, Nicholas. You had better wait until your temper cools."

A mocking grin flashed as he turned his head to regard her, but there was nothing of humor in his eyes. "The blacks believe alligators are the tools of devils. I rather suspect that idiot Jenkins thinks the same, only I'm the devil in his mind. We had a rather rousing quarrel this morning. I imagine he thought it would be amusing to see if the devil could save his own woman from the teeth of the beast. It has nothing to do with you."

Nothing to do with her! Eavin wanted to spit in his face, but she mustered all the dignity she could. "Sure, and I'll tear his eyeballs out if he's after thinking I'm your woman. I'm the one he near to got killed. Let me deal with him."

Nicholas grimaced at the fierce lilt of Eavin's language. He really ought to set the two of them in a room together and see which one came out alive, but he still had some remnants of civilization clinging to him. He ignored her demand as he approached the storage shed.

Jenkins was nowhere in sight, but that didn't deter Nicholas. The field hands loitering in the road wouldn't have been there if Jenkins were out doing his job. He had a good idea of what the man was doing and where. Throwing a glance to the proper Irish prude in the saddle, Nicholas wished she weren't with him, but this was something that had to be done now.

With a jerk of his head, he indicated the storage shed as he commanded the man nearest him. "Drag Jenkins out here."

He knew he was setting the fox among the chickens. He'd seen enough hatred and slaughter in Santa Domingue to know better than to give a slave permission to lay hands on a white man, but he had too close an empathy for the slaves' plight to deny them this opportunity. He had never caught Jenkins in a transgression, but he was aware of the hatred between his slaves and the overseer, and couldn't pretend something wasn't going on.
 

Eavin jerked at the sound of a woman's screams as the shed door was thrown open. A man's furious yells and the unpleasant thuds of fists followed. She cringed, remembering the fights her brother engaged in.

Jenkins came flying out headfirst moments later. As he staggered to his feet, the burly field hands sauntered out after him, preventing him from going farther. One of the kitchen servants appeared in the doorway, her cotton dress torn and pulled down off one shoulder, her nappy hair studded with wheat chaff. She watched dispassionately as the men shoved Jenkins toward Nicholas.

Leaving her frantically managing the horse on her own, Nicholas strode toward the gathering. She gasped at the suddenness with which he struck. The crack of bone against bone and Jenkins sprawled backward in the dirt. When Jenkins rose again, fists raised, Nicholas caught him in the midsection, dealing two furious blows that bent the man in two.
 

Astounded by his unleashed violence, Eavin could only stare as Nicholas spoke in low tones she couldn't hear. Although she knew what Nicholas was, she had never seen him in any other guise than that of gentleman. Seeing him now, shoulders straining at his shirt, hands on narrow hips, she had a glimpse of the man beneath the elegance of silk.

She had to be realistic. She knew Nicholas wasn't defending her. He was protecting his property and using her as the excuse he needed to get rid of a man he didn't like. But Eavin's shattered nerves needed the security of believing that part of Nicholas's rage was in her behalf. She had spent the better part of a lifetime protecting herself. It was satisfying to think that a man like Nicholas would come to her defense when necessary.

She would have to leave it at that. Despite the violence before her, her body was waking from the numbness of fear. Nicholas's hands had left an imprint on her. It had been nearly a year since a man had held her, but she hadn't felt any need for such until now.
 

Jenkins wasn't fool enough to argue with a man with a whip, a powerful punch, and two brawny slaves at his side. Muttering threats, he spat at the ground and limped off in the direction of the house. Eavin could read nothing in Saint-Just's expression as he approached. She wondered how Francine had ever got close enough to win his heart. It didn't seem possible that he had one. The violence simmering so close to his surface must have replaced it.

They returned to the house in relative silence. Only when they entered the stable and Nicholas lifted Eavin from the saddle did he break the truce.

"You will tell me now why it is you went to the fields today."