Passion's Series (58 page)

Dawn stopped and looked heavenward. "Do I look like I need help? I don't need help." She held her arm wide to indicate her position. "Look at me! I'm not tied up. I'm standing." She turned and spotted the window. "There's a window right over there. I could leave this sorry excuse for a warehouse..." her gaze landed on the crates labeled EXPLOSIVES, and she sucked in a shocked breath.

She turned slowly, noting the arrangement of the flammable materials; a barrel of gunpowder, and crates of explosives. On the floor she saw a line of gunpowder leading to a small table where a single lantern waited to be lit.

***

Sara, Tom and Mark scooted to the edge of the roof and looked over at the clatter of carriage wheels approaching along the cobblestones from below. The men hurried back into the warehouse as the prostitutes stepped into the shadows.

The carriage slowed and stopped just below their rooftop perch. Sara held her breath as moments dragged past. Finally the carriage door opened and a shrouded figure stepped out.

Chapter Twenty-six

The men suddenly quieted. Dawn heard them returning and hurried to her chair. Too late she realized she had forgotten the blindfold.

Men scrambled to the table and sat like trained cutthroats awaiting orders. Dawn was relieved they didn't look in her direction. They looked worried and she followed their gaze when she heard rapid footsteps approach.

With a jolt of surprise Dawn recognized the female voice raised high and screeching in anger. "What do you mean Alex iz chasing a pick pocket? Why are you not all at your posts? I will have all your lives. Do you think I'm not capable of having you gutted and dumped into the river?"

Marguerite stepped from behind a crate and viciously backhanded one of the men sitting at the table. His head snapped back as much from surprise as from the strike. His chair tilted precariously and then crashed backwards to the floor as his arms helplessly flailed in the air.

With a satisfied sneer marring her features, she turned toward Dawn. "Raven should be here soon."

Dismissing Dawn, she turned to the table and snatched a knife. The men backed away. "Get out of my sight! Wait! You, light that lantern and then go out front and keep watch."

Dawn prayed that the missing blindfold would not be noticed as one of the men hurried forward to light the lantern. Marguerite was preparing to spring her trap. Her plan would be a simple one. Lure Raven in, disable him in some way and set fire to the warehouse. But why, what drove this woman to such hate? A chill of apprehension scurried up her spine. As sure as the sun would rise in the morning, its warm rays would settle on the equally warm ashes of another burned-out warehouse.

The cry of a whip-o-will once again reached Dawn's ears and she relaxed. She carefully controlled her features. Marguerite thought she had all her players in place. Dawn was equally sure Raven was taking care of each one.

"Yes, you're right," she said to Marguerite. "He'll be here, and it will be your guts that feed the fish this night." Hold her attention, distract her, keep her looking my way.

Marguerite dismissed her words with a flippant gesture of her hand. "You do not appear surprised to see me," she sneered.

"Oh, but I am. I would not have thought you had the intelligence to arrange all this."

Marguerite smiled, seemingly unaffected by the insult. "There iz much you do not know about me, Cherie." With a hiss, she said, "I do not need this puny thing. I have come prepared." She tossed the knife to the floor. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a larger frontier-styled knife. She held up the weapon and looked at it as if studying a prized possession. Turning it this way and that, she studied the carved handle and appeared to appraise her own reflection in the polished blade.

"This was my father's knife. A friend of his sent it back to my mother in Paris after my father was murdered."

Marguerite paced back and forth in front of Dawn. "We have much in common, you and I. We both have famous fathers."

Horror swept through Dawn. She knew of only one Frenchman. He was the Frenchman who had tried and almost succeeded in killing her beloved parents.

Marguerite stopped. "I see by your expression you are starting to understand."

Dawn brought her features under control as she shrugged in pretended indifference.

Marguerite pointed at Dawn with the knife. "You could never win at poker. You think you are a warrior like your mother. Ha! Your emotions are written on your face." Marguerite laughed. "There, you see?" She bent forward and waved the tip of the blade in front of Dawn's face. "Right there, in your eyes. I insult you and you see red. If you were free you would attack me, oui?"

"Would I?" Dawn sneered between clenched teeth.

"Oui, you would." Marguerite grinned as she resumed her pacing.

Dawn gripped her hands behind her back and fought the desire to do just as Marguerite suggested. "Maybe I'm not as smart as you give me credit. Or maybe your father was not as famous as you believe. Let's see...he must have been French. Am I right? My father knew many Frenchmen. He killed his share in the war. It was a war after all, but he never murdered anyone."

Dawn leaned forward as if testing her bindings. "What was your father famous for? Could it have been for raping my people? Maybe it was for murdering innocent women and children, or for poisoning our warriors with a drink that enslaved their minds and rotted their guts. Tell me, Marguerite, what was your father famous for?"

Marguerite threw back her head and laughed. A chill ran down Dawn's back at the sound of madness echoing through the large, almost empty warehouse. Marguerite’s laughter stopped abruptly and she turned to Dawn, her gaze darting about, chasing after unseen specters. "You'll not bait me," she said, and Dawn fought an impulse to turn and look. "Like you said, it was war after all. What's one red infidel more or less? Ah, I see you're getting better at controlling your face."

"So, who was your father? Which raping, murdering, thief was he?"

"The one who gave his life helping a nation of breedless savages like yourself." Dawn knew Marguerite’s control teetered on the edge. "He didn't live long enough to marry my mother." Marguerite stiffened her spine. "His name was Christoph DuPrey," she said arrogantly. "Remember him now? I'm sure you have heard stories of his accomplishments."

"Yes, I remember the stories. He caused my mother to be kidnapped and beaten nearly to death. He abducted my cousin and left her for dead. He arranged for smallpox-infested blankets to be delivered to Chota Town. That act alone killed most of the people in my village and left scars with the survivors that did more than disfigure the flesh. If he was murdered, it was by his own countrymen. My father handed him over to the English authorities."

"As I thought," Marguerite shouted. "It was your father's fault my poor papa died."

Dawn continued, "Before the British soldiers made it to Charles Town, the French overtook them and your father escaped. The French executed him, not the British. So you see, he was too bloodthirsty even for his own kind. He was wild and uncontrolled. He obeyed none but his own private dictates." Dawn allowed her gaze to travel the length of the mad woman standing before her. "So, you are your father's bastard."

"Err!" A loud screech filled the air as Marguerite raised the knife high.

"Marguerite."

Marguerite dropped her arm and spun. Raven stood a short distance behind her.

"What are you doing, Marguerite?" he asked softly. "I have to know, ma cherie."

Dawn studied Raven's face, his stance, and was assured he had prepared himself well for the battle that lay ahead. She felt shame for her own taunting words. Marguerite was Nana ookproose, an accursed being. The spirits that controlled and taunted her made her unpredictable and therefore the most dangerous of all adversaries. This battle was being waged on a higher level. Raven knew he must allow himself to be guided by the Spirits or lose all. She must follow his lead until the time for her to cross his path. The outcome would depend on how they honored the spirits.

"You call me yours, " Marguerite answered, her voice filled with gentle rebuke. "But you do not mean it.. .no more than you meant it the first time you said it to me." She raised one shoulder and smiled sadly. "I didn't mean it at first, either. I didn't love you then. Don't you see? I wanted to get close and then kill you." She took a few steps back.

Marguerite’s madness made her clever and dangerous. Dawn fought with the idea of revealing that she was not bound. Even though Marguerite still held the hunting knife, they could easily overpower her and end this now. No, the woman is Nana ookproose. Dawn reminded herself. It wasn't yet time. She must be patient. There was much left to be understood by Raven. He was right when he said he must walk his path. Everyone had his own path and it wasn't yet time for her to step into his.

Marguerite tilted her chin up. "You want to hear all about me, don't you. You weren't interested before, but you are now. I'll tell you. My mother brought me to England after my father's death. When she died, I learned just how much she'd paid to see that I thrived."

She frowned as she shook her head in disbelief. "My mother died for lack of medicine, so determined was she that I would have what I needed. Did you know while I was here in England, learning to be a lady, she was selling her body on the streets of Paris? I remember the day she left me at the boarding school. She was so beautiful." Her eyes took on a dreamy look, revealing the young girl she used to be. Dawn's heart gave a lurch as it filled with pity for the woman whose past had haunted her into madness.

After a short pause Marguerite continued, her voice gentle and softly accented. "She smelled like a spring garden. I begged her not to leave me." Her voice cracked. "She said I had a big life ahead of me. She said I would be safe in England and the school would help me to prepare. She dried my tears and said, 'You make your mama and your papa proud.' Then she left."

Her features hardened once again as the madness returned. "She wrote me, though. She told me about my brave father. The letters were filled with all the brave and wonderful things he did...how he died serving his king. When he heard about me, he wanted to marry her. Did you know that? Well he did. He loved me, you see. In the last letter she wrote me, I learned the man responsible for his death had a son.. .a beautiful, wealthy son. She was so happy that this son's business was in England. It was only right that the man who took away my father's life should send his son to restore to me the life I had been denied."

She looked at Dawn and her eyes narrowed with hate. "The letters stopped and I learned that she was dead. She was alone and filthy and sick when the end came. She did not have the warm arms of a husband to hold her."

She stared at Dawn for a long moment before she once again spoke to Raven. "A priest wrote to me. My mother had prayed with him every day. She had only two things to leave me and made the priest promise to send them both to me. One was the knife, the other was your card."

Dawn's head swam with what she heard. Was Marguerite’s mother mad, too? Or, had Marguerite’s own tortured spirit caused her to misunderstand a mother's desire to help her only daughter?

Raven took one slow step forward and stopped. He held out his hand as if in invitation for her to come to him. "You got close to me. You could easily have killed me in my sleep."

Raven's words cut deep into Dawn's heart and she shut her eyes to block out the mental picture of the intimacy he had shared with Marguerite. How many nights had he lain in her arms? How many secret intimacies had they shared? Remembering her need to remain centered, she dipped into the core of her warrior's soul. Feeling her strength returning, she slowly opened her eyes.

Marguerite glared at Raven's outstretched hand and backed away. "But I fell in love with you," she explained with a logic that only she could understand. "I knew you didn't love me the way I loved you, but I knew it would come in time. I decided it was your father who must die, not you."

"So you set the fires?"

"Oui. Well, I hired it done. I knew Mr. Fitz-Gerald would come and then I could kill him and we would be free to share what was rightfully ours," she begged him to understand.

"When I told you he wasn't my father, is that when your feelings began to change?"

"Oh, no, my love. Don't you see? I loved you more. We are alike, you and I. What was ours was taken from us. You seek to right a wrong same as I. Of all the men in the world, you should understand my determination. We search with the same focus, the same tenacity. We are equally capable of carrying out a rightful judgment."

"But why kill Dawn? She has done nothing to you."

"Nothing? She is her father's daughter," she answered sardonically. "And she stole you away from me! I tried, oh how I tried to win you back, but she wouldn't turn loose. Snooping around the docks, convincing you to leave London with her. I had to bring her back and make you see." She frantically patted her chest. "I am the one you truly love." With a voice that dripped with hate, she glared at Dawn. "She is not meant for you. She loves her own kind. She would never stay here, and you told me you could never return there."

She calmed herself and shrugged. "So you see, anything between you two iz impossible."

Raven took another step toward Marguerite. "I never wanted to hurt you, Marguerite." He offered his hand again. "Come, let's forget all of this intrigue."

"Ha!" Marguerite sneered at him. "Forget?" She pointed the knife at Raven. "Forget the nights I spent in your arms? Forget how you touched me, how you whispered the sweet words of amour into my ear as the little death claimed me over and over? I can't forget your kisses or your touch or your sweet words." She gestured at Dawn. "Now she will never forget them. See how the pain fills her eyes when I tell her how much you desired me."

The knife blade pointed back at Raven. "You want her to live, you want to walk away from here and forget all this? Then you must tell her how much you love me." A mad cackle erupted from her throat. Catching her breath she added, "And you must make us both believe it."

Dawn knew she must not let Marguerite’s words control her. She spotted the knife Marguerite had tossed. It was too far for her to reach. She glared at Raven, willing him to glance her way, but he refused. Though she understood Raven's need to settle with Marguerite once and for all, she felt Marguerite’s madness placed her beyond all reason. Her muscles tensed in readiness, as her mind and spirit battled. The time was close. She must let her spirit guide her.