Wild legacy (25 page)

ficer. Why had she ever been so arrogant as to believe her love would matter more to him than the lives of his countrymen?

She began peeling off her clothes as she entered her room. The satin and lace garments were exquisite, but she flung them aside with a careless toss and pulled on her oldest nightgown. She yanked the combs from her hair, but did not stop to brush out her curls before crawling into bed. As she lay down, she remembered what a nice pillow Sean's shoulder had made, and could no longer hold back her tears.

The trip home had been long and hard, but the weariness that overtook her now was deeper than mere physical exhaustion. She had waited such a long time for love, and had tasted it far too briefly. She wanted to blame the war for the pain scarring her soul, but couldn't when it was so obvious why Sean had demanded she bring him home. He had wanted to be near the Barclays because they were such influential Patriots he would have had ready access to the Continental Army's every plan.

Sean may have appeared to change, but he was the exact same man who had threatened her life and Belle's with such vengeful glee. She tried to recall the stark horror of the fear he had inflicted, to blot out each instance of joy. Clearly he had never cared for her, but she was pretty, and her kisses sweet. He must have enjoyed her affection and all the while been amused by how easy she had been to deceive.

She was ashamed of how badly she had wanted to stay with him that night. The love would have been one-sided, and the consequences perhaps dire. How could she have been such a fool?

Belle rapped lightly at Dominique's door and then peeked inside. "Are you already in bed?"

Ashamed to have been caught at the height of her distress, Dominique sat up and hugged her pillow to her bosom. "I may stay here for weeks. Have you seen Falcon?"

Belle closed the door and came to sit on the end of the bed. "Yes, and he told me about Sean. I'm so sorry."

Dominique wiped her tears on her sleeve. "Yes. So am I, but I knew all along what he was. I was stupid to believe he could ever have been otherwise."

Belle felt for her sister's knee and squeezed it through the covers. "Love doesn't understand the complexities of war. I've no doubt Sean loves you—it shone in his eyes each time he glanced your way."

Dominique would not cling to that hope. "He doesn't even know the meaning of the word, and he could say the same of me. Look how quickly I betrayed him. Would you have told Falcon a lie just to see what he'd do with it?"

Belle looked surprised. "It was no lie. If the British send troops to Petersburg, they'll find Patriots there to meet them."

Aghast at that news, Dominique leaned forward. "You don't mean it! Falcon told me it wasn't true." She ripped off the covers but before she could slide off the bed, Belle moved to block her way.

"They didn't trust you either, Dominique," Belle confided, "but don't tell them you know."

Dominique sucked in her breath. "Who do you mean? Father? Hunter and Falcon?"

Belle nodded. "All of them. We've always been so good, but then we left home and they're no longer able to predict what we'll do. Do you blame them for harboring doubts after what we've put them through? Hunter knew we were in Camden before anyone told him, so obviously he followed us there. He could have been caught. So could Falcon. I think we were very lucky to have been able to work in the hospital when the British might have called us rebel whores and abused us badly. Every time I remember the way Lieutenant Beck looked at us, I feel sick."

Leland Beck had been so easy to dislike that Dominique tried to blur his image with Sean's and despise them both,

but the ploy failed miserably. She could still taste Sean's kiss, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "I wish Hunter had had three sons," she said, "so that I might have fallen in love with a cousin, too."

Dominique had such expensive tastes, Belle could not picture her with Christian, Falcon, or any brother the braves might have had. She was simply too elegant for the likes of such overtly masculine men. "You've never been lonely, and I've always envied you the ease with which you chat with men."

"Well, you needn't anymore. It was all a sham. I played at love, and now I'm being severely punished for it. I really do want to go to sleep. I'm so tired, Belle, and there will be no reason to get up in the morning. Are you going to Falcon's room to sleep?"

"Do you think I dare?"

Dominique's smile was sad and sweet. "How can you stay away?"

Belle rose and kissed her sister's damp cheek. "You're right, of course. I don't even want to. Falcon says I'm already his wife, but somehow I don't believe Mother and Father will accept a Seneca custom as fact."

"Then make them accept it, but don't waste a minute that you could be with him."

Because Dominique had learned just how quickly love could end, Belle accepted her advice and went to find Falcon rather than spend a lonely night in her own bed.

Arielle was the only one who truly understood Dominique's despair, and she did not attempt to coax or cajole her daughter from her bed. Having lost her first husband in an Indian raid, she appreciated the grief Dominique could not hide and knew it would pass in its own time. She brought bouquets of fresh flowers to decorate the pretty pink room, brewed soothing herbal teas, and baked tempting

pastries laced with chopped pecans. She spent hours at the windowseat with her embroidery, and offered sympathetic comments whenever Dominique cared to speak.

Arielle would have much preferred that Dominique get angry, scream, and break whatever she chose, but Dominique simply slept and withdrew into her pain. When Falcon came to her room three days after her arrival home, Arielle at first did not want to admit him. "Dominique really doesn't feel up to having visitors," she explained, but Falcon looked past his aunt and called to his cousin.

"I'm not a visitor, am I, Dominique? I've something for you, and I want you to know what's happened. Aren't you curious?"

Dominique had been sitting up in bed with an unopened volume of Shakespeare's sonnets clasped tightly in her hands. She glanced toward him, but her eyes were blank, without any sparkle of interest. "Is it anything I truly want to hear?" she asked.

"Yes. I think so." When Dominique nodded, Arielle swung open the door and Falcon strode into the room. He was wearing a new set of buckskins with long, flowing fringe but strangely, did not look out of place in the feminine room.

"Joshua Tuttle passed along your message and nearly two hundred British troops and Loyalist militia marched on Petersburg. We hid in the trees lining the road and surprised them several miles out of town. I don't know which was the most enjoyable, their shocked expressions when we stood and began to fire into their ranks, or the stark terror that lit their eyes when they realized they were surrounded and had no chance of escape.

"We took only a few casualties ourselves, but inflicted heavy losses on them. I overheard more than one Englishman whisper Tarleton's name in dread, but I've never cared for the smell of blood, and the day I serve with a force that will bayonet prisoners is the day I'll gladly slit my own

throat. Sean O'Keefe wasn't there, but because he was definitely a part of it, he's been taken prisoner.

"He had no proof he'd resigned his commission, which I've never believed he actually did anyway. Because he's been living among us in plain clothes, there were some of the Patriot forces who wanted to hang him as a spy. He has more courage than most, for he didn't beg and plead for his life while we argued his fate. He seemed almost resigned to it, but out of regard for you, I convinced everyone he belonged in a camp with the other prisoners and that's where he's bound. I brought your mare home. He'd taken good care of her."

Knowing Falcon was surely sparing her the ugliest details, Dominique shuddered at how close Sean had undoubtedly come to being hanged. "You lied to me," she replied coldly. "You told me you were merely testing Sean's loyalties but you'd already planned an ambush when you gave me the message about Petersburg. I'd never have passed it along if I'd known it would endanger his life. You knew that, too, didn't you?"

Falcon had to concede the point. "I'm sorry for that, Dominique, and it won't happen again." He came closer and held out his hand. "I have something for you."

Dominique shrank away. "I doubt it's anything I want."

"Take it anyway," Falcon encouraged her, and when, after a lengthy pause, she opened her hand, he dropped a lock of dark brown hair tied with a bit of thread into her palm. "Sean said he was sorry he had nothing more to send you. He begged me to tell you that you are the only woman he has ever loved. He said he hoped that you'd keep his letter and remember him as fondly as he'll always remember you."

Dominique looked away as she began to cry. Sean had finally spoken of love—when it was too late. It was more than she could bear. She felt certain he had come to Wil-

liamsburg to spy, and therefore did deserve to hang, but she could not have borne that.

"Will you see him again?" she asked.

"I will if you want to send him something. I owe you that."

"Yes. You most certainly do. May I borrow your scissors, Mama?"

Arielle brought the delicate pair of embroidery scissors to her, but Dominique's hands were shaking so badly she had to cut a curl for her. She tied it with blue embroidery floss and handed it to Falcon. "Is there anything else, cherie?"

Dominique shook her head. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks and blurred her vision, but she held the lock of Sean's hair all afternoon, then tucked it away with the only love letter he would ever write to her. She knew he would be harshly treated as a prisoner, but having survived being shot, she felt confident he would live until the end of the war. In a way, it was a relief to know he was no longer at the Scotts', but she still felt dead inside and didn't leave her room until the next afternoon when she heard a commotion downstairs.

She stood at the top of the stairs and peered down into the hallway two floors below. She recognized her elder brother's voice as he greeted their parents, and forgetting her own sorrow, raced down the stairs to see him. The fact that she was clad in a nightgown at three in the afternoon didn't concern her until she burst into the parlor and found Beau was not alone. By then it was too late to don more appropriate garb.

"Dominique!" Beau cried as he saw her. He swept her up into his arms and turned in an ecstatic whirl. "I've missed you," he swore as he placed her back on her bare feet, but when he stepped back, he surveyed her with growing alarm. "Have you been ill?"

Dominique looked past him to a handsome young man

with thick black curls and bright green eyes who was observing her with open dismay. "Yes," she said quickly, and turned back toward the door. "But I wanted to welcome you home."

"Wait, don't go. I want you to meet Etienne LeBlanc. I've told him your French is as perfect as Mother's. Won't you at least tell him hello."

"Bonjour, monsieur," Dominique offered with a small curtsy, and fled.

Beau shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Etienne. She truly is the most enchanting creature ever born, but clearly she wasn't at her best."

"She has lovely blond hair," the Frenchman commented, at a loss for anything more complimentary. He had doubted Dominique could actually be as lovely as Beau had described, but he hadn't had time to notice anything other than an unruly mass of fair curls and a wrinkled gown before she had hurried from the room. That she had not wanted to see more of him left him badly disappointed. In the next minute he was introduced to Belle and Falcon, and while he had been warned the Barclay household was a diverse one, he was amazed to find the Indian brave's English was as good as Beau's. He thought Belle was exceptionally pretty, and said so.

While Belle blushed, Falcon took her hand. "Belle is taken, but we'll all thank you if you can make Dominique smile again."

"When has she ever stopped smiling?" Beau asked.

"That's a very long story," Arielle informed him, "and not one I ought to repeat here." A gracious hostess, she made Etienne feel at home and encouraged him to remain with them for supper but he bore such a striking resemblance to a man she had once known that she could not let it pass without comment.

"LeBlanc is a common name—and there was a family of LeBlancs in my hometown, Grand Pre, in Acadia. Where

was your father born?" She felt her husband watching her and knew Etienne's answer was important to Byron as well.

"He is also from Acadia, madame, but I do not know where, as he never speaks of his youth. Our family resides in LeHavre, and he is too content to discuss the past. He did not object when I wanted to come to America to fight the British, however, as he damns them to this day for forcing him to leave Acadia."

"As well he should," Byron agreed. "What is his name?"

"Gaetan." Etienne saw a strained look pass between Byron and his wife, and inquired why. "Is it possible that you knew him in Grand Pre?"

"It's possible," Arielle responded, "but as I said, LeBlanc is a common name. What about your mother? Is she Acadian, too?"

"No. She is from Rouen. Her name is Anne-Marie."

"How lovely. That was my mother's name," Arielle said. "How long can you stay?" she asked her son.

"Only one day, while we take on supplies. Anything more is too dangerous. Will you come with me this time, Jean?"

"I'm no sailor," the young man scoffed.

Beau feigned a punch to Jean's shoulder, then hugged his brother. "Good. Then you'll give me no competition for the job of captain of the Virginia Belle. Come down to the ship with me now. I've presents for everyone and you can help carry them."

"Don't you mean booty?" Jean asked, but he followed Beau and Etienne out of the parlor.

Arielle sat back in her chair and sighed deeply. "Can Etienne's arrival here be no more than coincidence, Byron?"

"You did know his father then?" Belle inquired.

Arielle thought of Dominique all alone in her room. Etienne might be precisely what her melancholy daughter required to recapture her zest for life, but he could just as