CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DECEMBER 1814
New Orleans
Bloody hell.
Drago’s gut churned as he watched a small contingent of his men accompany Sister Beatrice to the convent. He kept his word to provide protection for the relics, even if it was in a very unscrupulous manner. No sailor would dare attempt to stop his captain.
The twins asked to introduce Eva to their Uncle Bernard, so she accompanied them to Hotel Le Rue and Gaming House. Harvey and Manuel were both stepping lively in anticipation of a good meal.
Much progress had been made to rebuild, and the area where they gathered was lush and inviting. Tall, round columns braced the two-story entranceway. Plush chairs and settees upholstered in deep, rich colors and patterns rested against the walls.
Bernard Sauvage descended the extravagantly curved staircase. “What brings you to these golden shores you heathen son of a one-eyed goat?” he barked. Two young, broad-shouldered men followed. By the resemblance alone, one could tell they were his sons. They were all dressed in rich jewel-toned jackets and waistcoats and fawn trousers.
Eva tensed, preparing for an apparent confrontation, but the humorous glint in Harvey’s eyes, along with his toothy smirk, had her observing curiously. The old sailor stepped forward, arm extended. “I expect to haul yer sorry arse outta the fires of hell again, ye lice-ridden, three-legged sea dog.”
Bernard snorted. “Don’t bother. My arse is perfectly roasted for Lucifer. He likes tough, trail-hardened meat.” His chuckle rolled through his chest. He shook Harvey’s hand.
Laughing, Harvey pumped his arm. “How fare ye, me friend?” He clapped each of the young men on the back. “Adrian, Victor, how be ye, lads? Ready fer a lesson in brawling?”
Victor chuckled. “Hell no. You cheat. Come in, sup with us, and give us the goings on.” He smiled at the children. “Hello, little cousins!” He opened his arms to the twins, who filled them immediately, all giggles and grins. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Did you outstay your welcome again?” At their sudden quiet, his eyes widened. “You did!” Although he lowered his brows, his eyes brimmed with laughter. “What did you do this time?”
Jacqueline darted a furtive glance at Drago before speaking. “Nothing destructive, Victor, we promise.”
Victor’s gaze flicked to him. Drago crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against one of the huge round pillars. The little heathens wouldn’t dare lie with him listening.
“We only sneaked aboard Captain Gampo’s ship--“
“Again?” Victor’s face blanked in surprise. He shook his head and groaned. “You’re lucky you didn’t get thrashed.”
Well,...the truth will come out, eventually.
His introduced the Guirauds, who inquired about a room. Bernard signaled for a servant to settle them in and ordered a supper tray to be delivered.
A panel on the side wall shuddered, before hinging inward. A tall, sinuous man stepped out, then turned to pull the door shut with a soft click. Smart family, building secret passages in the walls of their new establishment. His dark coffee hair pulled back into a queue, he was slightly taller, although not as broad. Definitely a Sauvage, the only question was which one?
“Tristan!”
Question answered; he was the twin’s older brother. He couldn’t tell which twin shrieked, but it didn’t matter. Both launched themselves into the arms of the tall, confident, well-dressed man. Why he tortured himself by maintaining a friendship with this group? Equal parts of camaraderie and longing always warred with each other in his heart. He was pressed into service aboard a pirate ship at fourteen, not much of a warm family atmosphere there.
Tristan squeezed the two until they squealed, before releasing them. “Jules! You’re big as a horse.” He cuffed Julian’s ear, then lightly tugged Jacqueline’s braid. “Hello their, Biscuit. I guess we should thank you for bothering to leave us a note outlining your summer sojourn, otherwise we’d have given you up for dead,” he growled. “It was weeks before Captain Gamponetti’s letter of explanation arrived.” He lowered his brows. “I hesitate to ask what calamities you’ve caused.”
She placed her palms on both her brother’s cheeks and squeezed just enough to pucker his lips. “Well, I try so hard to be good and avoid trouble when I can, Tristan, you know I do.”
“Do I?” His expression remained stoic.
Jacqueline arched a brow and tilted her head.”Of course, you do!”
Drago fought to keep his smile masked. If the gambler believed any of that, he was a fool a hundred times over. The impish heathen was a cheat, a liar, and a thief. The first came from growing up above a gaming house with brothers and cousins running the business. So, it’s entirely possible cheating was a family trait. The last characteristic was two courtesy of him and his crew. Additionally, if he had more time with her, she’d also be a better shot. At least she could clean, load and fire a gun.
Protect herself.
The little skirt displayed a confidence and vitality he grudgingly admired. Should he have a daughter one day, he’d want her to exhibit the same spirited character. Although, perhaps a slightly less devious one.
“Then why are you here?” Tristan said, suspicion building in his voice.
Jacqueline crossed her arms and lifted her chin in Drago’s direction. “Would you believe Captain Gampo was determined to leave us behind in Jamaica?”
Little minx, always leaving out the fine details.
“Apparently he didn’t,” he observed dryly, glancing at Drago. “since you are definitely here.”
“Obviously,” Jacqueline said as if they had just decided the world was round.
Tristan quirked a brow at his little sister.
It was then Eva stepped from the shadows in a movement both smoky and fluid. Beauty and grace emanated from those exotic, azure, almond-shaped eyes, which were smiling. “I’m afraid we didn’t give the capitaine a choice.” She tossed him an amused grin, and the impulse to smile back was impossible to restrain.
Jacqueline beamed at the young novitiate nun.
No, wait--not yet a novitiate.
“Tristan, I’d like you to meet Sister Eva.” She grasped Eva’s hand and pulled her to her brother. “She healed me when I was ill. Sister Beatrice traveled with us, too, but she’s gone ahead to the convent.”
Part of him wanted to correct the introduction, but he refrained, something possessive making him keep the secret to himself. Besides, being known as sister Eva kept her safer.
Tristan smiled and bowed, all languid charm and glowing confidence. “Sister, you have my lifelong gratitude. Welcome to the Le Rue. Tristan Sauvage, at your service, now and always.”
She waved his words away as if they were undeserved. “Thank you, Mr. Sauvage.” She was uncannily at ease here, while earlier, Beatrice had shifted from foot to foot until he asked some of his men to accompany her home. She practically flew out the door. Le Rue was, after all, a gaming house and one could only imagine the other things that might transpire within the walls other than gambling...
Yet, Eva exhibited no such trepidations. As if the place were a familiar one. He narrowed his eyes, contemplating. She was once one of Hugo Dupre’s runners; it was likely she’d been in the prior establishment before. Perhaps many times.
Bernard Sauvage ushered everyone to a large table, where they enjoyed a friendly meal of rice, corn cakes, and stew, along with a crisp claret. The conversation revolved around the twin’s latest adventures and the newly renovated hotel.
Drago pushed away his empty plate. As delightful as it would be to continue such pleasantries, it was time to discuss more dire matters. He leaned his elbows on the table and addressed Bernard. “You earlier asked the goings on, Sauvage. They’re about to become more serious. We’ve barely arrived before the British. I’ve been told they intend to invade the city and take command of the river.”
He described the flotilla which had amassed in Negril Bay and was now heading for the Louisiana territory.
Bernard sobered, his shaggy gray eyebrows sagged. “Yes, that much we know. The Brits came around a few months ago and tried to seduce our own Jean Lafitte. They wanted his knowledge of the bayous but he went to Claiborne instead.”
“Claiborne? Who be he?” Harvey placed his goblet with a decided thump.
“Our governor,” Bernard replied. “And you know the ways of those that govern. They talk in circles when they possess no clear plan. The merchants are in a frenzy at the possibility of their businesses being sacked and razed.” He tossed his napkin on his plate with disgust. “So, they’d rather hand it all to the Redcoats than see it burned. But, the president sent Jackson and his troops to defend the gulf coast. He well knows if the enemy takes control of the trade up and down the vast river, they’ll take back the country and we’ll once again bear the yoke of the British crown.”
Harvey harrumphed. “An’ what is that soggy, milk-sopped field mouse of a Governor plannin’ ter do about it?”
Bernard straightened. “Jackson’s gathering men and militias. I formed a one with the other tradesmen. We intend to fight to the last man.”
Eva’s lips thinned. This bit of news could thwart his plan to whisk away the family safely. He’ll have to be more persuasive with the Sauvage men.
He reached for his wine. “A battle might well happen sooner rather than later. That hefty battalion of British soldiers is barely a day or two behind us.”
Bernard’s mouth tightened, but an unrestrained zeal flashed in his eyes. “Our hopes and loyalties lie with the command of General Jackson. He only arrived two days ago and has begun to talk about imposing Marshal Law on the city. He’s set a strict curfew as well as a call to arms for every able-bodied man. Our numbers grow every day.”
“How many men?” he asked, already aware of the answer. If he could get Bernard to come to an honest conclusion, it might be possible to persuade him to put everyone on the Dragon and get the hell away from New Orleans.
“Nearly four thousand,” he said proudly.
Four thousand.
Eva’s shoulders dropped and she bent her head and gathered herself, obviously devastated by the lack of numbers. Drago’s earlier calculations were alarmingly correct. He’d hoped he’d been wrong.
The city would be overrun, sacked and burned. There was no way such a small fighting force could fight off fifteen thousand.
It was impossible.
“Please, Uncle Bernard,” Jacqueline broke in, her gray eyes wide and pleading. “Captain Gampo offered to take us back to Jamaica until the British leave. All of us.”
“To keep our family safe,” Julian added.
Ah. There was a tactic he’d not considered. The twins were little hellions of the first order, but they were smart little hellions, preying on the tender and sturdy bonds of blood Bernard and the other men treasured above all else.
It was a commitment easy to understand and respect.
The Sauvage men exchanged looks, shifted in their seats. A tense tightening of their shoulders indicated a disappointing lack of consent.
Harvey cleared his throat, an amazingly polite way (for Harvey) of directing the conversation toward him. He nodded toward Drago. “Captain ain’t once steered us wrong. We ain’t never gone ter a battle we ain’t won, be’cuz we ain’t around fer those we couldn’t.” He stared hard at Bernard. “Best ye follow his lead, my friend.”
If possible, the family patriarch straightened even more in his chair, jaw set. “This country fought for her freedom, and will always strive to maintain it. America is not for the taking. We are a free republic. We plan to stay that way.”
The loyalty and spirit were commendable and brave, but useless in this kind of battle. “You’ll be ridiculously outnumbered,” he said flatly. “Fifteen thousand against four?”
Tristan clenched his knife. “We’ve already offered our services to Jackson.” He cut a last bite of meat, the stabbed it with his fork, his mind made up.
Adrian’s expression was somber, but like his father and cousin, determined. “We are to meet with the general tomorrow to go over maneuvers and battle training. You should attend and give your report, Captain Gampo. It might spark the additional patriotic fervor we need to recruit more men.”
“Tristan,” Jacqueline said softly, suddenly looking small in her seat. She swallowed and her lower lip quivered. “You’ve never been a fighter.”
He lifted his chin. “I am now.”
“But...Tristan--“
“Quiet, Biscuit.” He silenced her with a stern glare, although the way she fidgeted, he doubted she’d stay silent long.
Bernard shifted his attention back to him. “I know you’re not an American, Captain Gamponetti, and this is not your fight. However, you and your Dragon would be a great help on the lakes protecting the city with the rest of the gunboats on Lake Pontchartrain.”
Because the river offered a more strategic escape route, Drago chose the more arduous path, tacking back and forth up the Mississippi rather than enter from the East through Lake Bourne and Lake Pontchartrain. The lakes, while connected by channels to the Gulf, could be easily cut off or taken by the enemy. He would not risk losing his ship or his freedom.
His had a responsibility to see the relics safely away before the battle began. They’d have to move quickly. Today. Tomorrow latest. He leaned back. “I won’t speak for my crew, but I’m afraid I have other obligations, Mr. Sauvage. As you said, this is not my country’s war.”
Eva locked gazes with him, imploring him with her eyes to stay. She had such hope. Such confidence.
He sighed and propped his elbows on the table. “However, I’ll assist in any way I can before I’m required to depart.”
Where had that come from?
One second, he was convinced he’d not get involved, the next he was offering to help. He was going daft.
Engaging in a war with fifteen thousand British troops would both endanger his men and his ship. He wasn’t quite sure in which order he should list his priorities, but his life and the lives of his crew had always been in the top spot.
Well above an American battle.
Julian, however, had paled and stared at him in disbelief. Drago leveled a cool gaze at the boy. “No need to look so crestfallen, boy. As you have clearly stated in the past, I am a privateer, which means I have a duty to my employer, the King of France, a final obligation I must see through to the last unless I lose my affection for my head.”
Eva’s face fell, and his chest constricted in pain.
Manuel paused with a corn cake halfway to his mouth. “I will fight, Drago.” He gestured to Eva and the twins. “I wish to drive the British away and protect their home.”
Drago scowled. “I cannot force you to remain with me, Manuel, nor can I condone your decision. It is, however, yours to make. You may present your argument tomorrow, and I will give mine and we shall decide together.”
He nodded, temporarily satisfied.
Tristan locked his eyes on Drago. “Take the children with you. Keep them out of harm’s way.”
“No!” Julian jumped to his feet, tipping his chair in the process. He clenched both fists at his sides. Bright spots of pink stood out high on his cheekbones. “I--I won’t leave. I won’t run like a coward. I want to stay. I want to fight!”
“Julian--“ Tristan began, eyes narrowing.
“We want to help,” Jacqueline interrupted firmly. She gave her older brother a fierce glare that could scare a roaring lion silent. “You know we will find a way.”
He tensed. “Jacqueline Louisa Sauvage...”
Now those sounded like words that should mute a twelve-year-old.
Yet they didn’t. Not that he was surprised.
She wisely shifted her stare to her uncle, while Tristan glowered. “Sister Eva will need assistance tending the wounded. If she will permit it, I’ll assist her.”
Hard to argue with the girl’s logic. Whatever that little schemer had in mind, at least she’d be with Eva. The best way to watch the little sprite was to be tied to her. Eva’s eyes caught his, a slight twitch of her brow had him returning a nearly imperceptive nod. They would be safer at the convent.
“I’d be grateful for their help,” she said. “And they would be better protected,” she added, leaving the rest unsaid.
More than they would be on a black-hearted privateer’s ship.
“It’s settled,” Bernard said, reaching for his glass as the servants cleared the table. “They may assist Sister Eva at the hospital.” He tossed the wine down. “Should the battle claim us, the children will remain at there. “ He shifted his gaze to the captain.
He nodded in silent understanding, even as frustration coiled in his gut. “I would return for them should you leave instructions that they are released into my care.”
Dammit. He failed to persuade the family to travel with him to safety. Failure was something he was unused to addressing.
Or experiencing.
He gave an order.
It was obeyed.
That was the way things worked. How was it he suddenly had almost no power?
He frowned. Actually, it appeared he had no power here at all.
The children would stay at the convent until he came for them. The Sauvage family would not be accompanying him to Jamaica. Manuel had expressed a desire to fight, which, of course, he would not be permitted to do without him, and he was not staying and risking losing his ship to the British.
They grew up together. Drago had always been his keeper and Manuel always had his back. He wouldn’t react well to someone else shouting out commands. He’d look for Drago to confirm it, as he always did, then panic because he wasn’t there. And, God save the poor wretch who made the mistake of pawing at him.
He would go into a rage, then someone would shoot him because they wouldn’t understand.
No, Manuel would be aboard the Dragon when they sailed downriver.
However...
There was the matter of his sugarcane. He’d be damned heart and liver if the bloody Redcoats used it for fascines. While he sure as hell wasn’t going to march across a field toward fifteen thousand armed and battle-trained soldiers to his death, he could certainly cause a satisfying amount of aggravation to the British by finding a way to sabotage their fascines. The odds of success would be better with a small group of stealthy men.
And perhaps a little insane.