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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I have often thought that the best way to define a man's character would be to seek out the particu- lar mental or moral attitude in which, when it came upon him, he felt himself most deeply and intensely active and alive. At such moments there is a voice inside which speaks and says: "This is the real me!" William James
There had been a time when his world had shone with a light so bright and so pure, he had had to shield his eyes to its vibrant colors. Music had filled his soul as love had filled his heart and no dark cloud had rolled by overhead to block out the nourishing sun. There had been laughter; there had been the promise of tomorrow; there had been the woman he loved more than life, itself. All that wonderful essence of being had dissolved the day he learned Ivonne had become Edward Delacroix's wife. The sky had turned smutty with ashes that were bitter upon the tongue; the music had died; and the love he bore her had been pushed down deep inside his aching soul. Tomorrow became a word without meaning and today became a sentence to be served with the pronouncement of seven brutal words: "Now I pronounce you man and wife". Evangeline looked up at him, a set smile on her ivory-cast face, and waited for the perfunctory kiss that would seal this devil's bargain. Sinclair tensed as she put her hand on his arm in an attempt to let him know this was something that could not….and would not….be avoided. "Sinclair?" she whispered. He turned to her and bent down, unable to deny her this small concession, and briefly touched his rigid lips to hers in a kiss as chaste as any ever given. As he straightened, their eyes met and he saw triumph blazing in hers. For a moment he paused, feeling his captivity to the depths of his being, then tore his gaze away, already weighted down with these new shackles of ownership. And to him, that was exactly what it was: Evangeline Hardy McGregor owned him. Owned him body and soul. If he had been any less a man, he would have dropped to his knees, buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a brokenhearted child. "We will be leaving immediately, Reverend Bass," Evangeline was saying. "The ship sails at two o'clock." Sinclair frowned. What ship? he wondered, but he didn't ask. His life was no longer his own and would not be until the day he and Ivonne were reunited. That she was safe was all that mattered. If he had had to forfeit his freedom to gain hers, it was a small cost. For the time being. "Are you ready, darling?" his new bride asked as she took his arm, linking hers through his. "Aye," he said and had to clear his throat and repeat his agreement. He didn't care where they were going or how long they would be there. His feet felt mired in quicksand, as it was, and he was sinking slowly with every step he took. Soon, the muck would be over his head and he would drown beneath it. Already it was up to his chest, cutting off his air. "Pray don't look as though you are walking to your execution, Rory Sinclair," Evangeline hissed under her breath. "Don't call me that," he said, showing the first sign of life since this travesty began two hours before. He turned, his face fierce, his eyes steady and flickering with amber fire. "Don't ever call me that. Do you understand?" Evangeline understood. She nodded, making a mental note that the use of his full given name struck a chord of unease and anger in him. "As you wish, darling," she agreed. She saw his jaw clench at the use of the endearment and smiled slyly. "You are my husband, Sinclair. Would it not seem strange to everyone if I did not call you 'darling'?" "You can call me anything you like, Evangeline, except Rory Sinclair," he grated. "You paid for the right, didn't you?" She tightened her grip on his arm, her lips pursed. "Yes, I did." There was nothing he could say and even less he could do about the situation so he walked with her to the carriage that was waiting to take them to the docks. Being the gentleman he had always been taught to be, he helped her into the carriage, seated himself beside her and looked out over those who had gathered to witness the vows he had been forced to take. With the sole exception of the Reverend Mr. Bass, none of the other ten people gathered were known to Sinclair. Most were former slaves who had come to Wind Lass from Delacroix's home plantation of Deer Creek. The two white men who had been chosen to be legal witnesses to the marriage were strangers as well. He realized that his grandmother had either made sure Lee and his brothers stayed away or had not even bothered to tell them what was happening. He idly wondered what the Brell's reaction would be when they heard he had ran off and married Edward's widowed sister. "You haven't asked where we are headed, Captain," Evangeline said, having decided she rather liked the title for it lent a touch of mystery and authority to her quiet companion. "Does it matter?" he replied, not bothering to look her way. "You don't care?" He turned to her, his face as carefully blank as his gaze was lost. "Not in the least." Evangeline sighed. Was the man going to be difficult? If so, she should put him in his place right from the start so there would be no chance of him balking at the bit. "We are going to New York," she told him. "For our honeymoon." Sinclair flinched, unpleasantly reminded of the duty he would be required to perform. He let out a long, shuddering breath and slumped in the seat, totally unaware of the hand she laid upon his thigh. "It won't be so bad, Captain," she promised. "I am told my charms are more than adequate to pleasure a man." He wasn't listening to her any more than he was feeling the rub of her palm on his leg. He was staring blindly at the passing scenery and could not have described it to anyone had his very life depended upon it although Wind Lass was his home and he'd grown up there and knew every nook and cranny of the plantation lands. Evangeline realized he wasn't paying attention to her and for a brief moment dug her nails into his thigh, but even that failed to gain his notice, so she stopped, smoothing her hand over the fabric of his pants as though soothing a child. "It won't be so bad, Captain," she repeated, studying his strong jaw. She let her gaze roam along the indention of the scar on his cheek and thought perhaps it looked rather rakish and dangerous instead of ugly as she'd once perceived it. She liked the way his dark brown hair curled along his high collar and swept forward toward his silk cravat. A thick wave fell over his high forehead and she wondered what he would do if she reached up to ease it into place. She was about to find out when he suddenly turned his head toward her. "What about Edward's funeral?" he asked. "There'll be talk about us marrying this quickly." Evangeline shrugged. "If I worried about what people said about me, Captain, I would be as wrinkled as your vicious old grandmother," she replied. She saw the hint of amusement tug at his expressive mouth for just a second before he took firm control of it. "But to not go to your own brother's funeral………." he began, then shook his head, "will certainly cause a great deal of talk." "Oh, pooh!" Evangeline dismissed the notion. "They will think we had been carrying on an affair these past few weeks and couldn't wait." She watched him stiffen at the suggestion, but hurried on. "Edward was my half-brother and there was never any love lost between us, Captain. I doubt anyone will care whether I am there or not." "They will," he responded, knowing the people of Savannah and Chatham county better than she. She eyed him carefully. "Do you care what they say?" How was he to answer that? he wondered. Yes, he cared, but did it matter? The town tongues would wag despite any explanation his grandmother would give for this sudden wedding. The people who knew him well would know this had not been something he had either planned or wanted. His cousins--knowing their grandmother as he did--would realize he had entered into this farce of a marriage to save Ivonne's lovely neck from the hangman. But would they understand? "Try not to let it worry you, Captain," Evangeline suggested. She sensed his unease and for once in her life actually felt compassion for a man. She gave in to her desire to push that errant lock of hair from his forehead and was surprised when he didn't flinch away from her touch or give any indication that he found her presumption distasteful. "As long as she's safe," he whispered, a muscle in his lean cheek bunching, "nothing else matters." Evangeline trailed her fingers down the livid scar on his flesh, tracing the cicatrix of puckered flesh that pulled at his cheekbone, then slowly eased her fingertip down the dark whiskers of his thick sideburn. She rather liked the feel of his hair and let one silky curl spiral around her finger. When he became aware of what she was doing, he turned his head and looked at her and Evangeline Hardy McGregor blinked. There were tears gathered in his amber eyes and as she watched, one slid treacherously down his right cheek. Her attention went to his lips--taking in the slight tremble as he tried desperately to hold back his emotions--and she was lost. "Come here, baby," she said to him and reached out her arms, turning so that, if he wished, he could come into the comfort she was offering. He hesitated for only a fraction of a moment, then folded himself into her arms, feeling them close around him like an iron trap. ****************************** The North Wind's's shrouds snapped as the clipper tacked into the freshening breeze off Tybee Island. The sleek teakwood hull sliced cleanly through the waves as the sheeting caught and held the brisk wind. Seagulls flew overhead--tracing the path of the vessel--as dolphins skimmed over the waters in tandem with the ship's passage. The sharp tang of saltwater settled over the polished deck and the spray coated the gleaming brass rails. To the man standing at the starboard rail, looking out upon the heaving waves, the sea was as much a part of his soul as the land of his birth was. He had grown up swimming in the choppy waters off Tybee Island and had an affinity with the ocean and her denizens of the deep. As a child, he had been fascinated with the tales the old salts told around the Savanna docks. He had sat wide-eyed as sailors recalled their journeys to far-off lands and had always wanted to board one of the stately ships and sail off to the far horizon. The few times he'd been able to sneak on board those ships, he'd investigated every inch of her magnificent hull and sat down on deck to daydream of being a pirate and raiding the waves. "You should come inside, Captain." Sinclair shook himself, having become lost in the memories of his childhood. How long had he been standing here? he thought for the sun had slipped down behind the curve of the ocean and night had come. "I'll be along shortly," he told his wife. Evangeline opened her mouth to demand he come down to their cabin that moment, but the defeated set of his shoulders and the tiredness in his voice warned her to leave him alone. Instead of commanding him to do her bidding as was her nature to do, she touched his shoulder gently, told him not to stay too long, then turned--surprising herself at her sudden strange feeling of protection for this near-stranger--and went below. She had just removed her gown when he entered their cabin. He stopped, taking in the lace of her camisole and petticoats and quickly looked away. "I'm s…sorry. I didn't think……." he stuttered, his face flaming, and he turned to leave. "Will you unlace my corset, Captain?" she asked, cutting him off. Not giving him a chance to say no, she turned her back to him. Sinclair drew in a long breath, then slowly exhaled. She had every right to expect him to function as any normal husband should. He closed the cabin door and went to her, put unsure hands on the laces and began to undo them. "I love the sea, don't you?" she asked, liking the closeness of their bodies as he worked the laces. "Aye," he answered, frowning as he concentrated on what he was doing. "When I was a little girl, my father took me with him to France," she mused, sighing with rapt remembrance. "I loved the majesty of that beautiful ship." She craned her head and looked back at him. "The Sirenian Star. Have you heard of her?" He nodded absently. The great ship had once sailed into Savannah harbor and the entire town had turned out to gawk at her. "I would like to sail on her again some day," Evangeline told him, smiling at the thin sheen of moisture that glistened across his forehead. Was being this close to her causing Sinclair to sweat? She certainly hoped so for it would bode well for their marriage if he found her enticing. And she found herself wanting this marriage to work. "Perhaps we could sail to France next Spring," she suggested. Sinclair's fingers stilled on her laces. "Ivonne will be in France," he reminded her. The smile left Evangeline's face and she looked away from her husband. "Yes, of course, she will." The last thing she wanted was for him to think of Edward's murderess and she had to define their relationship here and now if there was to be any peace of mind for her. "We will not mention her again," she replied. He moved away from her, putting distance between them. "Is that an order?" he asked, his voice hard. Evangeline dug her nails into her palm as she turned to face him. "Yes, it is," she answered, locking her eyes on his. Sinclair said nothing as he stared at her then he nodded slowly, understanding the rules as they were given to him. He was her husband and, as such, there were certain limits beyond which he would not be allowed to go. Ivonne was one of those limits. "I understand," he said quietly. All of her life, Evangeline had been taught how to manipulate and control men, the supposedly stronger sex. There were looks and touches and smiles that could convey in a split second what a thousand words could not. Her body was a weapon: finely honed and expertly-tuned to engineer in any man great lust and desire. Her wit, her intelligence, her very being had been disciplined to exact every last essence of reaction from the male upon whom she had set her sights. Few had ever withstood her all-out assault. None had ever turned away without at least tasting the charms she had in such abundance and was more than willing to share. But never had she known a male who exacted from her the desire to know him as the man he was. Who fascinated her to the point of distraction as did Sinclair McGregor. Perhaps it was because he did not want her, as a woman, that she found him so utterly desirable. Or perhaps it was because he belonged--heart and soul--to another woman and she wanted to bring him to her, instead. To wipe away all thoughts of other women from his mind. To make him entirely hers. Or perhaps it was because she saw such loneliness and heartache and terrible hopelessness in his dark umber gaze and at long last, her maternal instincts were being roused. He would be a challenge for her: one she was more than willing to undertake. "I will try to make you happy, Captain," she was stunned to hear herself say. A sad, weary smile stretched over Sinclair's full lips. "You will fail," he told her. "But I will try nevertheless," Evangeline stated. He grunted indifferently then shrugged out of his coat which he laid over the desk chair. Reaching up, he untied his cravat and pulled it off, tossing it to the desk. "Am I to sleep with you?" he asked, eyeing the large bed which nearly dominated the cabin. "That was my plan," she replied, watching for his reaction. "Am I to…….." He lowered his head as he began to unbutton his shirt. "Am I to bed you, as well?" Evangeline swallowed, nervous as a green girl as she watched him undress. "Yes," she managed to say, wanting him more than she had ever wanted a man in her experienced life. "All right," he agreed tiredly. When she made no comment, he looked up and found her staring at him with a look he understood all too well. As the tip of her tongue shot out to flick at her upper lip, he sighed. She could not have made her expectations any clearer if she had reached out and taken in hand that part of his anatomy she was obviously anticipating. Apparently, not only was he to bed her, he was to pleasure her as well. "All right, " he repeated, giving in to what was expected of him. Evangeline removed her corset and tossed it aside. She crossed her arms over her bosom and hooked her thumbs under the straps of her camisole and lowered it, her full breasts released to his view as she pushed the camisole down her hips. With her hands trembling, she removed her petticoat and bloomers and stood there--clad only in her garter belt and stockings--and waited for her husband to come to her. He had to admit she was a beautiful woman. Her breasts were high and full, her waist small and her long legs tapered elegantly. She stood unselfconsciously before him, allowing him what she must have considered the pleasure of seeing her unclothed, and all he felt was disgust. He had to make himself go to her and take her in his arms. The feel of her body against his naked chest made him ill and as she wrapped her perfumed arms around his neck, he was forcefully reminded of the iron trap once more. "I will do my best to please you, Captain," she whispered in his ear, her tongue flicking out to touch the spiral. She took his shudder as passion and molded herself against him. "I will make you………" She had started to say: "forget all about Ivonne", but common sense warned her that was not something she should ever do. Instead, she finished: "…….a good wife." "Whatever you wish," he answered. He did not want to prolong the inevitable so he dipped his knees, put his arms under her legs and lifted her high against his chest. With his jaw set, his eyes blank and without any spark of passion, he carried her to their wedding bed and laid her down. He steeled himself to keep eye contact with her as he peeled back his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and shoved them carelessly down his lean hips. He saw her eyes widen with arousal at his nakedness. "You are a very handsome man, Sinclair McGregor," she told him and held out her arms. The trap was closing again, he thought as he stretched his body atop hers and felt her embracing him. But what difference did it make? Ivonne was safe.
THE LEGENDS BEGIN WITH THE KEEPER OF THE WIND
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