Underground Captive (13 page)

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
48

    
             
Keith rushed over.  "Sorry to disturb you, Master Jared, but a Negro just rode up here on a broken down mule and insisted he needed to see you," he said, raising a hand to shelter his eyes from the sun.  Having come to America from Scotland twenty-two years ago at the tender age of six, he spoke perfect English.

    
             
"Send him over," Jared said unconcerned, knowing it was probably Zeke or Josh.

"Aye, master," Keith said, walking off. 

Zeke or Josh usually came to Highland Acres, his horse farm above the City of Carrollton, with news of a planned slave escape.

    
             
Seeing both of them walking toward him, Jared arched a brow.

    
             
"Keith said there was only one of ye.  What brought ye so far from yer plantations this morning?"

  
             
"Masta Jared, I couldn't git you alone on Sunday ta tell you."

    
             
Jared dismounted King George.  "Tell me what, Zeke?".

    
             
"That the Magnolya Blossom is a freedom ship.  Cap'ten Blossom buy the food ta feed the slaves that he smuggles upriver ta da Nawth.  And if y'all aress him, you sure will find the slaves.  What you going ta do, Masta Jared?"

"Zeke!  Are ye sure?" Jared asked in astonishment.

Zeke nodded. "Yas'm, Masta.  I's show.”

"Well, does Williams know?".

    
             
"No, suh," Zeke answered.  "Masta Williams didn't care who he sold the food ta.  Jis' as long as he got paid for it."

"Thank ye for telling me this--"

"You gonna tell the Black Rider?"

    
             
"I'll take care of it, Zeke.  Don't ye worry anymore.  Just trust me.  Now ye two had better get back to Crescent Wood before ye're missed."

    
             
"Masta Jared, I got somet'ing to tell you, me!" Josh quickly said in gumbo dialect.

    
             
Jared climbed back in the saddle.  “Speak, Josh, what is it?"

    
             
"Me, I went with Masta Louis to Masta Charles's plantation.  I overheard my masta talkin' this mornin to Mam'zelle Nicollette.  He say mam'zelle's brother went to Tchoupitoulas Road to the Red Dog Saloon, drinkin' and carousin'.  He tells mam'zelle this and she say she go get him.  He don't believe her.  But me, I believe her 'cause I see her leave.  That's a bad place, Masta Jared.  No place for a lady."

    
             
"How long ago did ye see her leave, Josh?"

    
             
"I see her leave, me, 'bout the same time I come here to tell you she was leavin'."

    
             
Jared pierced Josh with his gaze.  "And ye came directly from Crescent Wood to here?"

Josh nodded.  "Yes, masta.  I rushed right over, me."

    
             
Jared turned King George toward the house.  "Get back to where ye each belong," he called.  "I thank ye both."

    
             
What was Nicollette thinking?  Had she any idea what Tchoupitoulas Road was like?  A strip of cutthroats and thieves.  Brutish hairy beasts, who, having been on the river for weeks, hadn't seen a woman in all that time.  What they wouldn't do to Nicollette.

He had to reach her in time.

    
             
He jumped off King George and flew inside the house.  "Elizabeth! Angus!"

   
             
Angus and Elizabeth hurried to the vestibule.  "Wha' is it, Master Jared?"

    
             
"Mademoiselle Duplantier is headed for a snake pit, Angus.  I must go after her.  Go and get my pistols from the drawing room.  Elizabeth, get my heavy cloak," he ordered crisply.   "The wind has a cold chill to it."

"Aye, master," Elizabeth and Angus said in unison.

    
             
Jared stood in the hall a few brief moments before Angus and Elizabeth returned.  Grabbing the pistols from Angus, he stuffed them inside his waistband as Elizabeth settled his cloak around him.  Spinning on his heel, he hurried from the house and down the steps, springing into King George's saddle.  Spurring the palomino on and putting aside his hate and animosity for Nicollette's brother, Jared swore if one hair on her head was harmed, the violator would know hell as his reward.

* * *

   
             
"Sam," Nicki said to her driver, stepping from her cabriolet, "I'll ride back home with Ricard.  If I can't find him, I'll hire a carriage.  Can you remember that?"

    
             
"Yas'm, mam'zelle."

"Get back to Crescent Wood."

    
             
The slight statured slave nodded, clicking his tongue to the horse.

   
             
Nicki adjusted the wide hat she wore, making sure none of her hair escaped.  It wouldn't be prudent for the riverboat men to realize she was a female.

    
             
She glanced around, hoping her brother was really inside.  Walking into the saloon, she remained in the doorway and closed the door.  The nauseating stench of unwashed bodies hung heavily in air thick with cigar smoke.  The smoke stung her eyes, watering them.  Although she used profanity when the need arose, the colorful language from the men at a nearby table, describing certain parts of the female body, burned her ears.

    
             
If only Charles hadn’t been here in the city during Louis’s visit, he could have come.  Reasoning this had been the only other option she had available to bring her brother home, she adjusted her eyes to the dimly lit room and carefully scanned each table.

    
             
Just as she realized that Ricard wasn’t there, the door burst open.  It hit Nicki in the back.  She crashed to the dusty, moldy floor as the hat toppled from her head.  She landed on all fours, her hair spilling down her back.  Her backside was still bruised from the fall she took when
Monsieur
Williams pulled her from Nur.  Now her hands and knees would be bruised?  Cursing under her breath, she stood, brushing off her breeches, afraid to turn around.

    
             
The sunlight filtering into the room told her the door remained open.  But from the shadows she also knew the entrance was blocked.

Mon dieu
!  How would she get out of this?

    
             
An arm snake around Nicki's waist, its owner reeking of cheap whiskey, unwashed flesh and strong tobacco.  He pressed her back against his hardened chest.  "Fellahs, looka what I foun' myself," the man said in a gravelly voice, carrying her deeper into the room.  "Ain't she a pretty li'l thang," he continued, gaining the attention of the entire patronage.

    
             
Balling her fist, Nicki swung an uppercut, grazing him under the jaw.

    
             
Uproarious laughter followed.  The man dropped his hands from around her waist, more from surprise than pain.

    
             
Nicki ran for the door but another man yanked her by her hair.  Turning, she kicked him as hard as possible in the shin.

    
             
Another brute was upon her immediately.  Nicki swung, catching him in the nose, bringing the man to his knees, fear and anger making her pack power in that punch.  She kicked the man in the groin, packing as much strength in her kick as she had in her punch.

    
             
The first man grabbed her again, roughly turning her to face him, dizzying her.  Ripping her shirt open, he snatched away her bindings, exposing her breasts.

    
             
Knowing it only a matter of time before they overpowered her, Nicki screamed.

     * * *

On the outskirts of New Orleans, River Road melted into Tchoupitoulas Road.  King George ran with the speed and ease of a champion, passing mile upon mile of shantyboats and flatboats tied up in rows on the banks.  On the opposite side stood dilapidated, dirty tumble-down buildings, seedy holes-in-the-wall housing the worst kind of human vermin.

    
             
Not wanting to miss the Red Dog Saloon in the cluster of the buildings, Jared slowed King George to a trot.  Saloons and dives dotted the street.  There was boisterous, raucous noise coming from each one of them.  When he stopped at the Red Dog it was no different.

    
             
"Stand, Georgie," Jared said after he dismounted.  Georgie was trained as Thunder and Satan--the two horses he used on his missions--were, with only four people, other than Jared, allowed to ride them.  Not allowing strangers to get too close they always reared in protest, which was usually enough to deter any further advances.

    
             
A woman screamed and cruel, mocking laughter of brutish men hastened Jared’s steps.  Hurrying inside, he adjusted his eyes to the dimness.  Immediately, rage rushed to the surface.  Six hairy giants stood in a line, passing Nicollette from one to the other as though she were a rag doll.  Their sloppy, drunken kisses bruised her tender mouth; roughly, they squeezed the proud, firm breasts they had exposed by ripping the front of her...man's shirt?

    
             
Nicollette fought them as though her very life depended upon it--which it more than likely did, considering the rough lot of men.  Like a gnat fighting an elephant, however, Nicki had no effect on them whatsoever.  Suddenly and without warning, she bit one hairy giant on the side of his face, drawing blood.  The man yelled in pain as the others roared with laughter and approval.

    
             
"You tramp!" the man yelled.  "I'll teach ya to bite me."    He raised his huge fist.

    
             
"
Non
!" Nicollette screamed, shielding her face with her arms.

Not thinking of anything else but saving her, Jared raised his gun and fired.

    
             
The man released Nicollette.  She cowered on the floor, still expecting the huge fist to crash against her face.

    
             
For a moment, the man stared at Jared, his fleshy face stunned.  Then, like a felled giant oak, he crashed to the floor, fatally wounded with a bullet between the eyes.

    
             
The place grew deathly quiet and Jared moved in closer.  "Step away from the lady or I will kill the bloody lot of ye," he ordered, his voice as brittle as ice chips.

    
             
Hearing that pronounced burr belonging to a very familiar voice, Nicki looked up.

    
             
"
Jared
!"  She jumped to her feet and ran into his arms, pressing her exposed breasts into his hard, muscled chest.

    
             
"Ye're all right," he soothed.  "Ye're safe."  He glared at the raw, naked hate in the faces of the men.  Any one of them would gladly have slit his throat and then had their way with Nicollette.  But he also saw something else on their faces.  Fear.  Here was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if he had to, as he'd so aptly just proven.

    
             
Some bloody fool would overcome that fear and, in spite of his two pistols, Jared could find himself in a dangerous situation.  He stuck one pistol back inside his waistband.  Unfastening his cloak from his neck, putting it around Nicollette and covering her exposed breasts, he started to back out the door, pulling her with him.

    
             
Nicki spied a wooden bucket on the floor, half-filled with dirty scrub water.  Breaking away from Jared's protective arms, she ran to her weapon.  With all the strength in her, she lifted the heavy bucket and doused one of the brutes with the stinking water.  Then she hurled the bucket in the direction of another man, hitting him square in the face.  He fell to the floor with a loud thud.

    
             
"Swine! Worms! You filthy beasts!"