Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (29 page)

Judah was restless as he tossed and turned on the small
cot that had been placed in Phillipe's quarters to accom
modate him. He was dreaming, and in his dream, a soft
hand touched his brow. He reached for the hand and
raised it to his lips. Then love washed over him, and he
trembled as he heard a woman's voice.

"I will not leave you, Judah. I will stay as long as you
need me."

"I love you," he cried out, as he crushed her to him. "I
have been in torment since I left you."

"I must go now, Judah. I cannot stay with you any longer."

"But you promised," he said, trying to keep her with him.

"I must go," she said, disappearing.

Judah felt empty inside. He yearned for her return. "I
love you, Liberty. I will always love you," he called out, as
the sweet scent that she had always used came to him.

Startled by her departure, Judah was jarred awake. As
he sat up and glanced around the darkened room, he
swore aloud. "Damn! What is the matter with me?" The
dreams were becoming more and more frequent. And why
did he always call out to Liberty when she was just a
child? Why was he never able to find another woman to
satisfy his deep yearnings?

As always, guilt settled on him for desiring the sweet,
innocent Liberty. She was like a fever in his brain. It was
strange and disturbing that, when asleep, he dreamed of
Liberty, yet upon waking, he thought only of Bandera.
Judah knew he would not sleep the rest of the night, so he quickly dressed and went up on deck. He found Philippe at the helm, and sent him below to his cabin.

Then he stared out over the calm ocean at the big, bright moon that turned the waves a shimmering silver. He was helplessly caught up in an unreal world, hope
lessly in love with a dream that had two faces —one, that of a woman who had betrayed him, and the other, that of
the sweet child, Liberty.

As Judah looked up at the moon, he could see a shadowy likeness of Bandera's face. "Why?" he said aloud. "Why did you betray me?"

Suddenly Bandera's face faded into a childlike image—
Liberty. In the silver splendor of moontide, Judah felt his
heart skip a beat. "Liberty, why do you haunt me? You are nothing but a child. Why will you not let me be?"

13

Bandera had refused to come downstairs, so Alicia huddled before the fire, trying to ward off the chill she felt in her bones. At times like this, she missed the
splendor of Bend of the River, where an army of servants
had been available to fulfill her slightest whim. Here at
Briar Oaks there were only two house servants, and they
were always doing menial tasks instead of tending to her
comfort. There was no end to her troubles. Alicia hadn't
had a new gown in over a year, and though she had never
gone hungry, there was never a feast like those she had enjoyed at Bend of the River. This was a house oppressed
by poverty, she thought miserably.

Then, as if she didn't have enough problems, war was
practically on their doorstep, and it seemed that her son and Bandera did not have an ideal marriage.

Last evening, because Bandera had been told that there
was no money for a new costume for the masquerade ball, she had stormed out of the dining room. No one, not even the servants, had been safe from her verbal onslaught.

Alicia's hand trembled when she handed a steaming cup
of tea to Sebastian. "I fear your wife is still having her
little tantrum this morning," she said quietly. "We will just
have to humor her until she forgets about her disappoint
ment. We cannot afford to offend anyone here, for if we
do, Liberty might order us to leave."

Liberty was seated across the room, polishing a pair of
silver candlesticks, and Sebastian had been staring at her.

He knew she would be sending the silver ornaments into
New Orleans to see if they could be sold. Many of the
Boudreaux treasures had gone on the auction block in New Orleans.

Liberty was dressed in pink, and she was so lovely that
Sebastian realized he was staring at her. He glanced back
at his mother. Remembering Bandera's bad behavior, he
slammed his cup down, spilling the hot liquid on the
rosewood table. "You humor your daughter-in-law,
Ma
man.
I am weary of her stalking off to her room every
time she does not get her own way." Sebastian raised his
voice so Liberty could hear. "Bandera has been spoiled
excessively, and is intolerable to live with."

Liberty turned to Sebastian, her eyes spitting fire. "You
would do well to remember that Bandera is your responsi
bility now. Look to yourself for the solution to her tantrums."

Alicia gasped at Liberty's angry statement, but Sebas
tian only smiled, his eyes raking Liberty's soft curves. "I seem unequal to the task of quelling Bandera's ill humor.
Perhaps you could deal with your sister better than I."

Liberty felt a prickle of pity for Sebastian. He had
discovered that marriage to Bandera was not all he had
dreamed it would be. He must have thought that his uncle
would finally give in and allow him and Bandera to move
to Bend of the River, but that had not happened. They
must be content to live at Briar Oaks until such time as
Monsieur Montesquieu relented, though Liberty doubted
he ever would. She almost wished Judah's grandfather would ask Sebastian back. She was weary of trying to
keep peace between Bandera and Sebastian, and she was
equally weary of listening to Alicia's constant complain
ing.

"I will see if Bandera can be reasoned with," Liberty
said, pouring a cup of tea and wrapping a sugar cake in a thick white napkin. She could feel Sebastian's eyes on her
as she moved out of the sitting room and into the hallway.
She ascended the stairs, knowing he was still staring at
her, and when she reached her sister's and Sebastian's
bedroom, she rapped softly before pushing the door open.

Even though it was a bleak, damp December day, there
was no fire in the fireplace, and there was a chill in the
room. Bandera was huddled beneath the covers, shivering.

"It is about time someone came in answer to my
summons. I could freeze to death around here and no one
would care."

Liberty placed the tea and cake within Bandera's reach,
then went to the woodbin. She gathered an armload of logs and placed them on the grate. "If I know you, you have probably frightened poor Oralee away. You could get out of bed and light a fire yourself, Bandera."

Bandera dabbed at her eyes. "How would you feel if
you were unable to have a new gown for the masquerade
ball."

"The gown I am wearing is one of the your castoffs. I am going as Queen Elizabeth, in your old costume. In
case you haven't heard, Bandera, there is a war going on.
It would be in the poorest taste to have a new gown at this
time."

Bandera took a sip of the tea. "I do not want to hear about that silly old war. And if I have to wear an old
gown, I will not attend the masquerade ball. I would be
mortified to be seen in a castoff, if I were you."

Liberty fluffed up her sister's pillow and then tucked the covers about her shoulders. "I feel no shame in
wearing an old gown, Bandera. You can stay home if you
like, but you will be missing all the fun."

"Who is taking you to the ball, Liberty?"

"I will be going with Madame de Boise and her daugh
ter. As a matter-of-fact, I will be staying the night with them, and will not be home until late tomorrow afternoon."

"When I was your age, I wouldn't dream of going to a
ball without a gentleman escort. I would have been too
humiliated."

"Apparently it takes far more to humiliate me, Bandera. If you get out of bed, I feel sure your husband will be only too happy to escort you to the ball."

Bandera shook her head. "There is no joy in life anymore," she whined. "I find that I do not like being
married in the least. I had envisioned it quite differently
than it actually is."

"What you envisioned was sitting at the head of the table at Bend of the River. That may never happen."

"It will happen when the old man dies. Sebastian will
have his rightful place someday."

"Beware, Bandera, you are beginning to sound like
Sebastian's mother."

A pout tugged at Bandera's lower lip. "If you are going
to insult me, you can just leave."

Liberty shrugged her shoulders. "Have your way, Ban
dera. You will be missed at the ball tonight."

"No one understands me since
Maman
died. I have no
friends," Bandera cried, dabbing at her eyes.

"At one time I would have given much to be your
friend, Bandera . . . but no more. I will always look after
you, because our mother would have expected it. That is
all you can expect from me, however," Liberty said, as she
went to the door and wrenched it open.

"You have become cold-hearted, Liberty. You still
blame me for what happened to Judah Slaughter. I have
paid for that mistake."

"No, you have not yet paid, Bandera, but you will."
Liberty left and closed the door behind her. She heard the
teacup shatter against the bedroom wall, and she shook her head. Would Bandera never grow up?

The music was loud and the laughter light-hearted. For
the moment everyone seemed to have forgotten that the
British were just outside New Orleans. Gaily-clad ladies
with silk masks moved among velvet-bedecked gentlemen,
coyly searching for excitement.

Judah stood beside Etienne Banard, his eyes moving
over the crowd, searching for the one person who had
haunted his dreams for so long. "Are you sure they will
come?" he asked his friend.

"The invitations were sent out. It is doubtful they
would ignore this ball. Invitations are coveted by all, but
only the elite are invited."

During the three weeks it had taken the
Winged Victory
to reach New Orleans, Etienne and Judah had become good friends. Etienne now knew the complete story of
what had happened to Judah since he had left Boston. He
knew that Judah was the grandson of Monsieur Gustave Montesquieu, and he had heard, from one of the ladies
attending the ball, that Judah's grandfather and mother
were still alive. He hesitated to tell his friend that until he
was positive it was a fact.

Etienne had also not informed Judah that Bandera had
married Sebastian Montesquieu. He realized he would
have to tell him now, before Bandera arrived and Judah heard it from the lady herself. Perhaps when Judah knew
the truth about Bandera, he would be able to put her out of his mind.

"Judah, I am loath to tell you a bit of news I discovered but this afternoon," Etienne declared.

Judah had been watching the dancers. He glanced back
at his friend, dread in his heart. "What is it?" he asked
insistently.

"Bandera is married to your cousin, Sebastian. I do not
want to speak loosely of a lady's conduct, but I was told by a friend that she is not what one would consider a faithful wife. It is said that she is not selective in her lovers."

To Etienne's surprise, Judah only laughed. "Is that all?
I couldn't be more delighted. My cousin will grieve more
over losing a wife to me, than he would over a prospective
bride."

With relief in his heart, Etienne surveyed Judah, who was dressed in black leather, from his wide shoulders to
the toes of his thigh-high boots. A black velvet cape was
carelessly thrown over Judah's shoulders, and he wore a
black patch over one eye. His black plumed hat was
pulled low over his forehead. Etienne smiled, thinking his
friend looked very like the dashing privateer he was.

"Do not worry, they will come," Etienne stated, as he
adjusted the ruffles on the sleeve of his Louis XIV
costume. Then he lowered his voice. "By the way, I have
spoken to General Andrew Jackson about your situation.
He would like to see you at your earliest convenience. He
was more than pleased that you helped us against the British. He found the dispatch very useful. You might
like to know that Admiral Sills and his crew are being
detained here in New Orleans. I suspect they will be exchanged for some of the our captured officers."

Judah smiled down at his friend. "I'm pleased about the prisoner exchange, but I would be a fool to expose
myself to discovery. I am afraid I will have to forgo the
pleasure of meeting your Andrew Jackson."

Etienne lowered his voice even more. "I was told to tell
you that if you go you will be under Jackson's protection.
He has a proposition to offer you."

"If I should decided to see him, where can he be found?"

"I will take you to him. But for now, my friend, let us
enjoy the evening. I believe I will do the ladies a favor and
circulate among them. I saw a rather interesting prospect dressed as Cleopatra."

Judah moved around the edge of the room, his eyes
searching the crowd. Bandera had not yet come. There was no disguise she could wear that could fool him.
Halfway around the room, he happened to glance toward
the door, and his breath caught in his throat as he
watched a woman enter. She was dressed as Queen Eliza
beth of England. She had come!

Judah walked toward her like a man possessed. His eyes
burned with distrust. The years had eased neither his anger, nor the desire that burned in his body day and night. His sleeping hours had been spent in restless pursuit of an elusive dream. Like a ghost, she had haunted him, making him doubt his sanity.

Judah pulled his hat lower over his forehead, so he wouldn't be recognized, and he broke through the circle
of men that already surrounded Bandera. Elbowing an
admirer aside, he bowed before her. "I have come to serve
the queen," he said, softly in French. "Dare I hope that you will honor me with a dance?"

Liberty felt her heart take wing! She had waited so long
for Judah's return; now she could not believe he was
actually standing before her. For the moment she was
speechless. He held out his hand to her, and like a woman
floating on air, she allowed him to lead her to the dance
floor, then whirl her around and around in the lively steps
of the quadrille.