Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (16 page)

Hiding her annoyance, Micaela dropped back to ride beside Rachelle for a while. Rachelle was enjoying herself enormously, and, listening to her excited chatter, Micaela told herself that François was no doubt right. Except that by the time he finally motioned for them to ride in the direction of the plantation, the sky was ominously black, and there was the scent of rain in the charged air.

And as Micaela had expected, a few minutes later, it began to sprinkle.

Then the rain began in earnest, and what had been a pleasant outing soon turned into a nightmare. They no longer rode at a leisurely pace. First one and then another began to spur their horses to greater speed. The party spread out, the more intrepid riders dashing ahead, the more timid falling behind.

At first there was some attempt to keep everyone together, but the rain fell in such torrents and the black sky was torn again and again by the jagged bolts of lightning that all efforts of an orderly retreat were soon given up. The lightning and the booming thunder spooked many of the animals, and there was much snorting and rearing of horses as well as the occasional runaway. Chaos reigned.

Because she was familiar with the area and because it had obviously not occurred to either François or Jean, Micaela fell back, searching through the deepening gloom and pouring rain for any stragglers. Rider after rider passed her, their heads bent low, their horses racing through the storm.

Eventually Micaela halted her dancing horse, peering intently through the rain for sign of anyone else coming up the rear. After several minutes, she was convinced that she was alone and that everyone was ahead of her. Soaked to the skin and feeling at one with the storm, she gave herself up to the fury of the storm, and gaily tossed aside her dainty riding hat, shaking her hair free. Lifting her face to the warm rain, she let the water wash away all the hurt and tension of the past few days, and she forgot about everything but the sheer delight of being one with the elements. The rain pelted down, clumping her lashes and running into her mouth, and she laughed aloud, feeling alive and energized by the storm.

Her hair tumbled in wet disorder around her shoulders, and, looking like a wild, black-haired Valkyrie, she kicked her horse into a reckless gallop and through the lightning-streaked darkness began to race toward home.

Several minutes later, she spied a lone rider ahead of her. She recognized the horse first, Coquin, and realized that the big, broad-shouldered man in front of her was Hugh Lancaster. She made a face and halted Lampyre. Absolutely the
last
thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with that conceited oaf!

Frightened by the storm, Coquin was behaving badly, and, as Micaela watched, the horse danced and half reared as a bolt of lightning struck a tree nearby. Hugh managed the plunging horse easily, and Micaela was forced to admire his gentle strength with the terrified animal. Hugh had just gotten Coquin under control when the heavens sent another spear of lightning hurtling downward, the bolt striking a tree close to the horse and rider.

The tree exploded into a fiery shower of hot sparks and there was no restraining Coquin this time. The gelding reared straight up in the air and, before Micaela's horrified gaze, fell over backward, taking his rider with him. Hugh barely had time to kick free of the stirrups before the horse crashed down on him. Heedless of anything but Hugh's safety, her heart in her mouth, she spurred Lampyre forward.

Hugh lay motionless on the ground, one hand unconsciously clinging to the reins, when Micaela flung herself from the saddle and raced to his side. Coquin struggled to his feet and stood trembling beside him. Soothing Coquin, she swiftly tied both horses safely away from the motionless figure lying in the rain and flew once more to his side.

Her anxious, probing fingers found no outward sign of injury, but she knew well enough that his chest could be cracked or even crushed and that there could be lethal internal damage. Few men survived having a horse fall over backward with them—it was one of the most dangerous of all accidents.

Biting her lip, she glanced around. The rain and resulting darkness made it hard to see much, but she knew where she was, and if she remembered correctly, there was a small hunting shack not a quarter of a mile away. Her eyes slid back to Hugh. The question was, did she dare try to move him? And if she did, could she get him as far as the hunting shack?

Hugh moaned and lifted one hand to his head. His eyes opened, and he blinked up at Micaela. "What in thunder!" he muttered. "Where am I? And what the devil are you doing here?"

"You fell off your horse,
monsieur
," Micaela answered stiffly. "I was coming up behind you and saw it all."

Hugh started to nod, then winced. His head felt as if it would explode, and lying on the wet ground and being pounded by rain was not his idea of a pleasant situation. Ignoring Micaela's pleas to the contrary, he staggered to his feet.

"I am not injured," he said testily. "The breath was knocked from me, and I am a bit dizzy, but I am fine. Do not fuss so."

Biting back a rude comment, Micaela said, "For which you should thank
le bon Dieu.
It was no easy tumble you took."

"Thank you for your concern
Mademoiselle
Dupree. Now if you do not mind, I think we should mount our horses and find the others."

Her back ramrod straight, Micaela marched to her horse and leaped nimbly into her saddle. As proud as any queen, she looked down her nose at him and said, "Follow me. I know of a place where we can shelter until the worst of the storm is over."

His face hard, Hugh carefully swung up onto his own horse. "I am sure you do," he said sarcastically. "But I am afraid that I would rather take my chances with the elements. I do not want your male relatives rushing in on us and demanding that I do the honorable thing and marry you." His lip lifted in a sneer. "I told you I would not be caught by your snares."

Choking back the furious torrent that threatened to burst from her, Micaela sent him a look full of loathing and regally kicked her mare into motion. Vile
canaille!
She hoped that he had broken his handsome head!

They had not traveled far before it became obvious that Hugh was not going to make it to the plantation. He was swaying dangerously in the saddle, and Micaela's reluctant inquiries into his state of health brought only a low groan from him.

Taking matters into her own hands, she quietly took Coquin's reins and with Hugh half-dazed and unaware of their progress, swiftly guided them to the hunting shack. Her heart sank when she glimpsed the ramshackle little building through the shadowy rainfall, but there was no other choice.

The roof looked sound, and it should give them some surcease from the weather until her brother and uncle could find them. After dismounting, Micaela tied both horses to a tree and, leaving Hugh slumped in the saddle, approached the hunting shack.

To her delight, the interior was far more inviting than the outside. There were no leaks, and it seemed relatively clean. No unpleasant critters had found their way inside, and, more importantly, in the dim light, she could barely make out the outline of some wood laid near the small hearth. A quick search of the rough mantel revealed some flint and a small lamp with some bear grease in it.

Buoyed up by their luck, she had a fire going in seconds and the lamp lit. There was no food, but a sturdy-looking cot was against one wall, a worn, vermin-free blanket thrown carelessly across it.

Ten minutes later, staggering under his much greater weight, Micaela helped Hugh to the cot. In the firelight his face was pale, his brows and lashes shockingly black against the whiteness of his skin.

Knowing that it might be hours before they were found, Micaela removed his soaking jacket and waistcoat, as well as his jabot and boots, and set them near the fire to dry. Her own boots and jacket joined them as well.

Gingerly seating herself before the fire, she rested her chin on her knees and stared at the leaping flames. Soon, she told herself firmly, François and the others would come looking for them. Just as soon as it was discovered that they were missing. The storm would let up and a few hours from now she would be at home soaking in a tub of steaming hot water.

She cast a worried eye at Hugh's still form. And he will be fine, she thought staunchly. In no time at all he would be up and walking about and acting as arrogant and impossible as ever—the conceited swine!

Chapter 8

Hugh woke with a groan, his hand going to his head. Blearily he glanced around, trying to remember where he was. A lamp spluttered on the mantel of the tiny room; the only other light came from the glowing coals on the hearth. The sound of rain and the occasional clap of thunder rent the air.

He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and groaned again as pain shafted through him. Dimly he remembered the storm and the fall from his horse... and Micaela looking like a lovely young witch.

Despite his aching head, he sat up and noticed the slim figure lying asleep on the floor in the shadows.
Micaela!

Realizing what must have happened, Hugh surged to his feet. They could not remain here. Not if he didn't want to find himself tied to a vixen with the devil's own tongue.

The fact that it could already be too late occurred unpleasantly to him. He had no idea what time it was, nor how many hours they had already spent confined alone together in this little room. One thing was certain—if he didn't want to find himself facing her angry relatives demanding satisfaction,
Mademoiselle
Dupree and he had better get on their horses and ride like hell for Riverbend. His aching head and the storm raging outside be damned.

Stepping nearer to Micaela's slumbering form, Hugh stared down at her fine features, the golden glow of the coals gilding her sculpted little nose and caressing her cheeks and sweetly curved mouth. Her hair tumbled in wild disarray around her face, and the gentle rise and fall of her bosom beneath the delicate lawn blouse she wore fascinated him. Hugh swallowed. She was lovely. And he was appalled at how much, how
very
much, he wanted to sink down on the floor beside her and pull her into his arms and kiss her awake.

Cursing his own stupidity, he nudged her with his toe. "Micaela! Wake up! We have to leave—now!"

Micaela stirred. Not quite awake, she shrieked with fright at the sight of the tall, menacing figure looming above her. She scrambled to her feet, one hand held out protectively in front of her. "Do not touch me!" she commanded in a shaken voice.

"I have no intention of touching you," Hugh bit out, "except, perhaps, to strangle you!"

Fully awake now, she stared at him with widened eyes. "But why?" she demanded. "What have I done
now
to enrage you so?"

His hands on his hips, Hugh smiled nastily. "Very prettily done, my dear, but it does not fool me. And I did not think that even you would stoop so low as to try this sort of trick."

Was the man mad? Her temper rising, she snapped, "I do not know what you are talking about! I do not play
tricks!"

They were both flushed with anger and so intent on each other that the sudden opening of the door made them both start. Hugh swung around, half-pushing Micaela behind him in an instinctive attempt to shield her from whatever danger they might face.

Jean and François stepped into the dimly lit room, looking grim and unhappy. Only they knew what a bitter moment this was for them. It should have been Alain who was with Micaela, and it would have been if not for the disastrous duel this morning. It was ironic that the concept of their original plan had certainly borne fruit, but it had gone terribly awry. Micaela was indeed compromised—but by the wrong man.

Something in their expressions made Micaela's heart feel as if it had dropped right down to her toes. Stepping from behind Hugh, heedless of her dishevelment, she asked, "What? What is it? Why do you look so?" Fear etched her features.
"Maman!
Nothing has happened to her? She arrived home safely?"

Jean took a deep breath. "It is not your
Maman
who is in trouble,
ma fille,
but you!"

Utter confusion on her face, Micaela stared back at them, not fully understanding. "What do you mean?"

Wearily François answered her. "Do you not know what time it is? Do you not know that we, nearly everyone, has been searching and searching for the pair of you since it was discovered that you were missing.
Maman
is frantic! She is certain that we will find you with your neck broken or drowned in the swamp. And I almost wish we had—anything would be better than
this!"