Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (11 page)

Quickly closing his door, Narcisse secured it shut and retrieved his brush from the dresser. The bristles tugged at his shoulder-length brown hair as he worked out the tangles that came from a good time spent serving one of his ladies. The pull at his scalp was calming, a reminder of pleasure given and received, each knot a testament to his dedication, his passion.

He pressed his tongue against the back of his front teeth, his mind drifting to the task ahead. He’d heard of the voodoo queen, of course, everyone knew her, but he’d never had cause to speak with her. Now that duty dictated he do so, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to seduce a woman of such standing, such power.

Dominique Laveau was an intimidating woman, inspiring as much fear as she did respect. But it was Narcisse’s experience that every woman had another side to her, a side that was only shown to a lover, and only an attentive lover at that. What would it be like to coax
the
Madame Laveau into his bed, to see what passion did to the voodoo queen?

“Better not,” he decided finally, shaking his head as he plucked a clean shirt from his wardrobe. The voodoo queen was central to his ladies’ plan. They’d given him permission to have any woman he wanted, but that most likely did not include the woman they needed for their homecoming.

His ladies. It was what he called them when he thought of them, when he remembered their beautiful faces, their decadently curved bodies, their pretty, pretty promises. Their bargain was certainly an odd one, but Narcisse wasn’t one to judge. If it didn’t work out, he would be no worse off. And if it did work, he would have three gorgeous wives and the protection and standing of their power and wealth. On top of all that, he would have their blessing to bed any woman he wished. And all he had to do was chat up a voodoo queen.

Satisfaction warmed him and he swept out of his home and down the road, gaze sweeping his surrounding for signs of the infamous Madame Laveau.

It didn’t take long to find her. He asked no more than two people before finding someone who’d seen her, and good fortune had her not a mile away. Women of all ages abandoned what they were doing to watch him walk down the street, and he amiably put on a good show for them, offering a sly wink here and there. Sighs and blushes followed him like a wake and by the time he arrived at the tavern where Dominique unknowingly waited for him, he was grinning.

Monsieur Hugon was wiping down the counter with a thick, clean cotton rag. He had stilled as Narcisse walked in and he took a visible breath before continuing his work. Narcisse agreeably avoided eye contact. The tavern owner made no secret that he didn’t like Narcisse, didn’t care for his choice of occupation. If it were up to him, Narcisse would find himself sitting in the road with a bruised behind and a handful less hair.
Madame
Hugon was a different story. Though she didn’t approve of Narcisse any more than her husband did, she was a bit more practical. And Narcisse was generous with his coin when he came to the tavern with a mind toward finding more lady friends.

It was a conscious effort for Narcisse not to scan the room for any prospective clients. He could already taste wine on his palette, feel a soft hand under his fingertips. The dark corner where an old piano crowded a pyramid of oak barrels called to him, reminded him of how much easier it was to sway a morally inflexible woman when he could make her feel as if they were the only two people in the world…

Concentrate! Voodoo queen.

He found his quarry seated at the bar, her right hand cradling a short glass of bourbon, her back ramrod straight. The fingers of her left hand tapped idly on the counter, her eyes blank and locked on the thick bottles lining the shelf behind the bar. The tavern was mostly empty, the few people who remained at the tables casting furtive glances in her direction now and again. Tension in the room was high, a sensation like over-starched clothing on the skin. The voodoo queen was thinking. Hard.

“Madame Laveau?”

Dominique didn’t look at him right away, only the twitch at the corner of her eye telling him she’d heard him. He often played that game himself, using a façade of disinterest to give him the upper hand in an impending conversation. He waited patiently, letting her respond in her own good time.

Finally she tilted her head, intense brown eyes completely focused on him. “Yes?”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Madame Laveau?” Narcisse feigned tense shoulders, twitching his lip as if trying not to bite it. The voodoo queen had not cultivated a reputation of intimidation by accident, and if this conversation were going to go as he wanted, it was best she felt her most confident.

“What can I do for you?”

Straight to the point, no reassurances, no attempt to put me at ease. Well done
. “A friend of mine has recently come back to town, and I’m worried about him.”

“Then you should send him to see me.” Dominique raised the liquor to her lips and resumed her thousand yard stare.

Narcisse folded himself into the chair beside her, letting out a long sigh and raising a finger to signal the barkeep, gesturing for a drink. The man met his eyes, then deliberately looked to Dominique. She held perfectly still, not taking her attention from the random point in the distance.

“I’m afraid he would never come to you himself. He’s too proud.” Narcisse leaned closer, noting the way her shoulders scrunched at his proximity. “You see, it’s a woman. A woman he loved long ago. He let fear drive him away from her, and now he is back and his feelings have not changed.” He settled in his seat, once again in his own space. “I have known him for years, and in the”—quick calculation—“ten years he’s been away from her, he’s been miserable more often than not. He pines for her and he won’t admit it.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “It is a strange sight, a pirate captain wasting away from a love lost.”

Dominique’s hand tightened on the glass, her entire body stiffening.

That’s it, Madame Laveau. Come to Narcisse.

Dominique nodded to the barkeep, who immediately rushed to pour him a glass of bourbon. His skin smarted under the weight of her full attention.

“This pirate captain…” she said. “He sounds in a bad way.”

Her voice was perfectly composed. Just the right touch of sympathy without too much interest.

“He is. Pride can be such an evil thing for a man such as this. Like so many others, he fears what love will do to him, what it will make him. Too many men think love emasculates them, reduces them to servants, slaves.” He met Dominique’s eyes as he leaned closer. “They don’t realize how truly…freeing love can be.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are Narcisse. Yes, I’ve heard how
freeing
love can be for you and the women who come to you. Freeing but not free, of course.”

“And if Julien had half of my confidence, he would be in the arms of his love right now.”

Dominique jerked at the use of Julien’s name. He let her stew for a second, let her wonder how much he knew. Then he took a sip of his bourbon. “If only I knew who the woman was who has rendered him lovesick, I might be tempted to go to her and tell her all. Though I know it is not my place, I cannot stand to see Julien in such a pathetic state.” He set his bourbon on the bar and studied the pensive look knitting her eyebrows. “Madame Laveau, is there anything you can do for my friend? Some charm, some ritual that might ease his heartache?”

“No,” Dominique glanced at the amber liquid in her cup. “Love is too often part of the Bondye’s plan, I cannot interfere.” She focused on him again. This time her gaze was bright, piercing. “Tell your friend that his pain can only be eased by facing that which holds him prisoner. If he cannot go to the woman himself, then there is nothing anyone else can do.”

Narcisse hid a smile in a sip of liquor . In his head, he could hear the voices of his three women lecturing him.

“Her pride is devastated, you must bolster it before you can proceed.”

“He hurt her, she needs to know he’s hurting just as bad.”

“Let her feel like she knows something about him that he wanted to keep hidden. She must feel superior.”

He swallowed the bourbon, muffling a snort. His ladies meant well, but there was nothing they could tell him about women that he didn’t already know. Women were strong, but their egos were remarkably fragile. A confident woman was a happy woman, and a happy woman was the greatest pleasure in the world. And Narcisse knew pleasure.

“If you truly think that this is in Bondye’s plan, then I suppose there is nothing I can do.” Narcisse infused his voice with a touch of regret. “I am not one to argue with God. Still, it pains me to think of what the next ten years will do to Julien.” He rubbed his fingers against his temple and let out a faint snort. “Then again, now that I think of it, perhaps it’s better he doesn’t speak to her.”

“Why?”

Narcisse struggled to keep his eyebrows from rising at the vehemence in her tone. “He’d likely show up and demand she marry him, no different than the way he’d ‘negotiate’ a deal with a stubborn port master.” He took another swig. “He lacks finesse.
Completely
.”

She swirled the bourbon in her glass. “Most men do.”

As fun as it would be to prove her wrong, seducing her would only hinder his ladies’ plan. Better to keep a thick skin and let things progress as they should.
Who knows, perhaps they’ll give me a chance later.

“Well, I must be off. You will keep my friend in your prayers?” He pushed his near-empty glass across the table. “And, uh, you will keep our chat between us? Upon reflection, I fear I may have spoken out of turn, using his name…”

Her attention was already wandering, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Of course.”

Narcisse turned his back, smiling the second the tavern door shut behind him.

Chapter Eight

Dominique watched Narcisse leave, hips swiveling in a manner one didn’t usually see in a hinge joint, all rolling, unending motion.

He’ll need an ointment for those hips when he gets older if he keeps slinking around like that. A paket kongo would do it, and prayers to the loa Marasa would help. The twins are forgiving of fools.

She raised her glass, peering through the liquor so that the world was painted in an amber haze. Not quite rose-colored glasses, but more appropriate. Perhaps Narcisse was not a
complete
fool. He might spend more time in bed than was strictly necessary—with women who should find better things to spend their gold on, but then, who was she to judge? And the young man did have a point. It was easy to run from an emotion that too often made you look the fool, to sacrifice love on the altar of pride. It was a sentiment that she might benefit from reflecting on. Maybe.

She cradled the next sip of liquor on her tongue, tucking her lips in to wet them with the robust liquid. Her glass was nearly empty—and still she could taste that pirate.

Curse him.

Her gaze slid back to the bottle on the shelf directly across from her, the bottle inscribed with the year and month she’d last seen Julien ten years ago. It was nestled amongst many others lining the three shelves behind the bar. What were the odds that she’d find herself sitting opposite a token of that day, tiny scrawled numbers reminding her it had been ten years? Ten years of running from the foolish girl she’d been, trying to get far enough so that the memory would finally lose its stubborn hold and let her go.

But now she’d gone and kissed him. Twice.

She wrapped her fingers around the glass as though she could strangle it the way she so desperately wanted to strangle him. Ten years. Ten years it had been, and that narcissistic, ham-fisted, self-entitled, strutting peacock looked as sinfully tempting as he had the moment she’d first clapped eyes on him. Long, sea-tossed hair tumbling wildly to his shoulders, dark eyes glinting with a promise nearly too tempting to resist. Dominique tilted her glass to her lips.
It’s not right.

The last drop slid forlornly from the lip of the glass, the swansong of the precious bourbon. She had allowed herself the duration of this drink to think about the pirate, to wallow in the desire he still inspired in her, to reflect on the kisses they’d shared, and how much she’d wanted them to mean more. The glass clinked against the bar, the thin sound reverberating with an air of finality.
Time to pull yourself together.

“He raised some interesting points.”

Only Dominique’s years of holding her calm façade kept her from leaping out of her chair. As it was, the only outward sign of her surprise was a shiver, which she covered by pushing the glass away.

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss…” Dominique trailed off, blinking at her latest guest. “My, what…interesting attire.”

The man lifted one bare, copper-colored shoulder, rustling the gold that hung around his neck. Light danced off the ebony black hair falling in a straight sheet to his collar bone, thick tendrils licking at the chainmail hanging from the thick neck plate in three inch fringe. Matching gold bands circled his biceps and he gripped the back of the empty chair next to her, flashing forearms adorned with simple gauntlets. “I care little for what others might think of me.” His brown eyes bored into hers with unsettling intensity. “And I dare say no one in this town will care how I’m dressed…if you don’t.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” She fought the urge to signal the barkeep for another bourbon. As much as she wanted something to do with her hands, something to concentrate on besides the piercing stare of the half-naked stranger, she never had more than one drink in a sitting outside special celebrations. To do so now would be a sign to the people in the bar—and the barkeep himself—that she was nervous.

Which I’m not
.

“The respect you command from the people here is most impressive.”

Dominique followed the man’s gaze as he cast it to the smattering of tables filling the main space of the small tavern. Most were empty, but there were a few individuals getting a jump on tonight’s festivities. They’d gone motionless like fuzzy woodland animals in the presence of a large predator, cups held suspended from their mouths like they’d frozen mid-movement.