Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (3 page)

It took no time at all for the two brothers to scamper around the bend to be lost from sight. Liberty drew in a
deep sigh of relief, until her gaze met the yellow eyes of
Zippora. The fright she'd felt when she'd thought the two
men were gong to ravish her was a puny feeling compared
to her fear of this woman.

"I will . . . just be going, too," Liberty said, taking a
step backward, trying to remember where she had secured
her skiff.

Zippora shook her head. "You will come with me so I
can tend your wound and mend your gown. Then you will
be free to go to your home, Liberty Boudreaux."

Liberty eyed Zippora, ready to take flight if the woman
should come too near. Apprehensively she tested her bloody lip with her finger. "I am but scratched. My
family will be worried about me if I do not start for home
now."

"Your family does not look to your whereabouts,
Liberty Boudreaux. Wipe your apprehension from your
mind. You have nothing to fear from me. I have watched
you for years as you played along the bayou. I have seen the animals eat from your hand. I have seen the tears you
cried when you thought no one was near. Today I saw you
place yourself in danger to save my grandson from the
slavers."

For the first time Liberty glanced down at the boy. His
dark eyes were shining and his smile was sweet. "He does
not seem to be injured," she said, dropping to her knees
and looking him over. "He must have been more fright
ened than hurt."

"Thanks to you, Liberty Boudreaux. Now you will come home with me so I can repay your kindness."

Liberty stood, undecided, as Zippora turned and
walked away. She wanted to go, yet she still feared the old
woman. She thought how exciting it would be to tell her
sister, Bandera, that she had gone to the house of the witch Zippora. The young boy tugged at her hand, making up her mind for her. She gathered her courage
and allowed the boy to lead her down a worn pathway. Perhaps she would die from some awful curse, but if she
lived, what a tale she would have to relay to Bandera.

Liberty had to rush to catch up with Zippora, who set a zestful pace for someone of her obviously advanced
age. As they walked along, the young girl studied the old woman out of the corner of her eye. Zippora was tall and
slender. Her face was like cinnamon, yet parched and
leathery. Her strange catlike yellow eyes were filled with
shrewdness. Her gnarled hands were evidence of years
spent toiling for other people. Liberty wondered how the
witch knew her name. Did she, indeed, have strange powers of perception?

Liberty looked into Zippora's eyes and found they were dancing with mirth. "You are wondering how I know so
much about you, Liberty Boudreaux," she said with startling accuracy.

"Oui"

Crackling laughter issued from the old woman's lips. "It is said I am a witch and can see into people's mind. Do you believe this to be true?"

"I . . . ok/'—are you?"

"I will wait until I leave this world and let God judge
what I am, Liberty."

"Do you believe in God?" Liberty asked in shocked
surprise. "I had heard that you worshiped — "

"The devil?" Zippora broke in. "No, I am no disciple of
the underworld, although it pleases some people to believe I am."

Liberty had been pondering Zippora's words, and she
hadn't realized they had entered a dark part of the swamp
until the trail narrowed and thorny bushes tore at her skirt. She stopped short for right in the middle of the path, just in front of them was a human skull perched atop a tall spike!

Liberty gasped from fear, and her heart pounded
against her ribs. She wished she had never consented to
come with the old woman. Her feet seemed rooted to the
spot, and she wished she could take flight.

Seeing Liberty's fear, Zippora's laughter crackled. "This was not intended to frighten you, my welcome guest. It is
intended to keep all intruders away."

"Did you . . . is that . . . ?"

Again amused laughter echoed around the swamp, and
Zippora turned her strange yellow eyes on Liberty. "There is nothing here that will harm you. I have lived in these
swamps for years, and find them safer than the streets of
New Orleans."

The old woman turned away and walked down the path. The young boy tugged at her hand, and Liberty took a hesitant step forward, her eyes glued to the
hideous bleached-white skull with gaping holes where eyes
had once been. In that moment she called on all her courage to step around the spike and follow Zippora
down the dark pathway. The path became a long narrow
tunnel with very little light penetrating the gloom. Moss
from the trees tangled in Liberty's hair and thorns tore at
her clothing. It was dank and dark. Just ahead Liberty saw a ray of light, and she hurried toward it.

The cabin at the end of the path was nothing like Liberty had expected. Surrounded by an arc of light, it
was a neat, trim structure made of cypress logs. Nearby,
several goats grazed on the swamp grass. A stone walkway
was lined with exotic flowers, and lace curtains were visible at the window.

Zippora stood in the doorway motioning Liberty inside. "Come along. I want to see to that cut on your lip."

Apprehensively the young girl moved into the cabin.
Again she was surprised by what she saw. The room was
light and airy. Above the open fireplace hung an iron pot,
its bubbling contents sending a delicious aroma through
the room. A table and chairs, which had been painted
bright yellow, added to the cheerful setting. Bottles and
jugs were neatly lined up on shelves.

Apprehensively, Liberty picked the young boy up. "I think we should first make certain your grandson is unhurt."

Zippora looked her grandson over carefully and then smiled at him. "Reuben is not hurt," she said at last. "Go
out in the yard and play, while I tend to our guest," she
instructed her grandson.

The young boy's eyes were shining as he reached out and softly touched Liberty's cheek. She laughed and planted a kiss on his forehead just before he scampered out the door.

Zippora pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. "You will
sit there while I tend your wound."

Without hesitation, Liberty obeyed. Zippora raised the
young girl's face to the light and frowned. "This is not bad, and it will require only a little salve. It could have been much worse."

"Oui,"
Liberty agreed. "If you hadn't come along when
you did, it could have been much worse for me."

Zippora mumbled to herself as she moved her bony
finger over the labels of the bottles and tins. When she
found what she was seeking, she nodded her head and
returned to Liberty. Opening the tin, she liberally applied
the rose-scented salve to the young girl's lips. Standing
back, she nodded approvingly.

"Oui,
that will do very nicely."

Liberty smiled. "Thank you for your care, but I really
must be going now."

"Not yet. You will eat while I mend your gown. We
cannot have you going about with your clothing half torn off." Zippora gave Liberty little time to refuse. Tossing a flowered robe into the girl's lap, she ordered Liberty to
undress.

The girl obeyed slowly. "I shouldn't—"

"Tie the belt," Zippora ordered in a soft tone.

"I should be leav—"

Zippora silenced her with a glance. Pushing Liberty down in a chair, she ladled some of the bubbling soup into a wooden bowl, which she placed on the table in
front of Liberty. "I am a very good cook. You will like
this."

"What is it?" Liberty questioned, unable to identify
anything, except carrots, she saw in the milky substance.

"It is my own mixture. You will find it delicious."

Liberty took a deep breath and raised a spoonful to her lips. Her tongue peeped out and tasted the soup, and she
smiled brightly. "This is delicious!"

"Did I not say it was?" Zippora asked. The old woman
bent down and retrieved a sweet potato from among the
red-hot ashes. Placing it on a plate, she broke it open,
filled it with creamy yellow butter, and placed it beside
Liberty's bowl. She then seated herself on a stool by the window, threaded a needle, took up Liberty's gown, and
began to take neat little stitches.

"You are much too skinny. You should eat more," Zippora observed.

"I do eat, but I don't seem to gain weight," Liberty said, with her mouth full.

"It is not seemly for a young lady for your standing to
talk with food in her mouth, Liberty Boudreaux," Zip
pora scolded mildly. "I am surprised your mother has not
taught this to you."

"Oh, my mother does not bother with me. She says I am not pretty like Bandera. And I fear I am a constant
trial to her, for I cannot seem to stay out of trouble. My
father has very little money left, and the plantation is in a
state of ruin. I fear Bandera will have to marry into
money, while I may be forced to enter a convent." Now
that Liberty had lost her fear of Zippora, the words
flowed unchecked. Never had she had anyone to confide
in, anyone who was interested in what she had to say.

Zippora stared at the young girl, searching for any sign
of jealousy or resentfulness at her mother's neglect and cruelty, but saw none. Zippora knew that Liberty's
mother, Ursula, had been married to a Spaniard who had
died, leaving her desperate. Bandera had been the issue
from that marriage. Ursula had then married Louis Bou
dreaux, and Liberty had been born to them.

"Do you not think you will one day be pretty, Liberty
Boudreaux?"

Remembering the scolding she had just received, Liberty swallowed a mouthful of sweet potato before she
answered. "No. Mother says the runt of the litter very rarely turns into a beautiful princess. I do not mind not
being pretty, because I would detest having to go through
all the rituals Bandera is forced to endure. She spends
hours at her toilette each morning before she is allowed to
come downstairs. She can never go abroad without a
bonnet to protect her skin. At night she cannot go to bed
without following a strict regime that my mother has drawn up for her. You cannot believe the torture she has
to undergo each day. I believe it would be very tedious to
be beautiful."

Zippora frowned. "So your mother believes you to be the runt of the litter? What does your father think?"

Liberty giggled. "My father is blinded by his love for
me. He believes me to be a great beauty. He thinks I look
like his sister whose name I bear."

Zippora looked into blue eyes with long sooty lashes.
The sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of Liberty's
nose gave her the look of a precocious child. There was a
hint of something beyond beauty. Perhaps it was the laughter in those blue eyes . . . perhaps it was the proud tilt to the head. Whatever it was, the old woman knew
this young girl would one day grow into a real beauty,
admired by all who met her.

"I believe you are not a runt, but rather a bud that has not yet blossomed."

Liberty wiped butter from her chin with the back of
her hand. "Do you think so?" she asked, doubtful that
Zippora's prediction would ever come to pass. She did not
believe she would blossom into a beauty.

The old woman frowned. "You will never be a lady if
you act with such disregard for manners. Never wipe your
mouth with your hand. I am appalled that your education
has been neglected. How old are you?"

Liberty hesitated for only a moment. "I—Today is my
fifteenth birthday."

Now Zippora read hurt in those blue eyes. "It is your
birthday, and your mother and father have forgotten."

"It isn't important. My mother is preparing for a dinner
at our house tonight, and my father is in New Orleans."

"I see. Perhaps you can spend the day with me and
Reuben. Together we will make it a special day for you."