Underground Captive (40 page)

American shores, Nicollette," he said.  "I am a Scotsman." 
And an earl, who has

visited Scotland only four times in the last fifteen years
.
             

             
Nicki looked at him, surprise showing on her face.  "You...you're not an American?" she exclaimed, almost exulting in the news.

    
             
Jared shook his head.  "Nay.  My father brought me first to France then to America after my mother died.  He needed a place far away from Scotland to overcome the grief the loss of my mother caused him.  He stayed away nine years before going back home where he died six months later."  He met her gaze, thinking how easy it would be to lose himself in those amethyst pools.

    
             
"I-I'm sorry," Nicki whispered, unconsciously stepping a little farther away from him.  "I didn't know."

    
             
"Nay, ye didn't know, did ye?" came the reply, slightly tinged with sarcasm.  "And ye didn't bother to ask."

    
             
"I know, and for that I'm sorry, Jared," Nicki replied, worrying her bottom lip.  "I won't judge you again without first asking you what I need to know."

    
             
"That's fair enough, Nicki.  Is there something else ye need to know?" Jared asked warily, feeling the heat in his loins from want of touching her.

    
             
"Something? 
Some
things are more to the point.  You said you won't set me free until you've completed your mission.  Surely you can't expect to set every slave free?  If that is your mission then I'll be your captive for life."  Nicki's unexpected smile left no doubt that she wouldn't be opposed to such a fate, betraying her outward resentment.

    
             
Jared grinned wickedly.  "Now there's a thought that never crossed my mind.  I think I would enjoy holding ye captive for a lifetime."

    
             
Nicollette narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring his boldness and the fact that she very much wanted to be with him for a lifetime.  But not as his captive.

             
The smile faded from his face.  His look turned hard.  That marvelously

quick metamorphosis again. 

    
             
"My wife didn't just die, Nicollette.  She was murdered.  I intend to avenge her death.  I know her murderer is in the city.  I haven't been able to catch up to him yet, but when I do, I'll accord him the same mercy he gave my wife."

             
"How long have you been looking for this person?"

             
"Four years."

    
             
"But if you know who he is, why haven't you gone to the police?  Four years is a long time to shadow a ghost.  I question the responsibility of that."

    
             
Jared laughed, a bitter sound coming from somewhere deep within his soul.  "Nay, I am not irresponsible, my sweet Nicki.  Nor am I inclined to pursue rainbows.  This man comes from a prominent family.  Even those on the police force who aren't crooked or in someone's back pocket would believe this murdering dog over what?  An abolitionist?  Who do ye think would get hung? Come along.  The clouds are gathering.  We'd better get home before we get caught in one of those spring showers."  Not waiting for a reply, he abruptly ended their discussion by retrieving the horses. 

             
He and Nicollette started for the house in uneasy silence.

29

    
             
"
Cheri
, it's already June.  When is Nicollette returning?" Blanche Foucher asked pleasantly as she sat in the parlor at Crescent Wood along with her husband, Michel, and Charles and Antoinette.

    
             
"Hopefully soon.  I'm anxious to become acquainted with her," Antoinette offered.

    
             
Charles chuckled, trying to hide the sadness in his voice.  “I received another letter from the Clemenceaus just this past week.  Apparently, the girls are having such fun Nicki isn't sure when she'll see Crescent Wood again."

    
             
A worried frown creased Antoinette's brow.  "You don't think my presence here is keeping her away?"

    
             
"I've only been in Nicollette's company on a few occasions, but she doesn't seem like one who would stay away from her home out of malice," Michel put in.

   
             
Charles nodded his head in agreement.  "Michel's right, An
toinette.  If anything, Nicki would come back to try her best to drive you to distraction, but not out of malice."

    
             
"How's Jared, Charles?" Blanche asked.  "I haven't heard you speak of him lately."

    
             
Frustrated annoyance settled into Charles's expression.  "Jared has dropped from sight.  I wonder if he is still in town.  I go to his carriage company, he is never there.  His house on the ramparts is closed--"

    
             
"It's just as well," Antoinette interrupted.  "It would be a difficult task to betroth Nicki to Jared when Nicki isn't here."

    
             
"Do you blame me for wanting the best for my daughter, Antoinette?" Charles asked grouchily.

    
             
"
Non
,
cheri
, of course not," Antoinette soothed.  Since Nicki left, Charles's salt and pepper hair appeared to have more salt.  Though he didn't say much on the subject, Antoinette knew how much Charles missed Nicki's presence and Jared's com
pany.

    
             
Understanding also, Blanche stood from the settee and crossed the floor to where Charles sat.  Kneeling in front of him, she took his hands into her own.  "Nicki will be home soon.  And I'm sure Jared would have let you know if he were leaving town."

    
             
Charles sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead.  "I know.  However, if Nicki isn't home within the next couple of months, I'll personally go to the Clemenceaus and es
cort her back to Crescent Wood.  It's past time for both Nicki and Ricard to return home."

*  *  *

             
Four times a year, Jared was committed to making a trip to Philadelphia.

    
             
Jared's father had been an adventurer who grew tired of the cumbersome title of laird.  In 1840, Duncan Fleming had little to do but oversee his vast holdings, the glorious days of feudalism long past.

    
             
After Edwina Fleming died, Duncan summoned his brother, James, to his quarters and told him he was leaving his vast estate in his hands to run as he saw fit until his return.  When Duncan's restless spirit brought him, the seventeen-year old Jared, the orphaned twenty-year old Robert, Angus and Mary Douglas to the shores of America, they settled in Philadelphia.  Duncan purchased an ore and smelting plant, wanting to put down roots in America for his son.

     
             
Jared loved his father and wanted nothing more than to please him, which was why he learned the workings of the smelting plant.  'Twas also to show his father he was capable of doing anything the other workers did.  An apt pupil, he learned his lessons well.  Yet, he hated Philadelphia.  He wanted to go South where he’d heard the winters were gentler and the spaces wider.  Jared appreciated his father’s efforts to put down roots for him, but he wanted his roots to take hold in Southern land.  He'd liked France and New Orleans had a great deal of French culture.

    
             
Duncan's perception of his son's state of mind led him to rethink his decision to make Jared head of Highland Ore and Smelting Company.  Because of that, Duncan rearranged the structure of their smelting plant by having it operated by fellow countrymen.  They were taught the basics and intricacies of running the business, thus freeing Jared of the shackles of a business he neither liked nor wanted.

    
             
After putting things in the order he thought they should be, Duncan went back to his beloved Scotland.  He died six months after returning to Scottish soil.  For a time after his father’s death, Jared too went back to Scot
land, but chose to return to America and let his Uncle James continue to run things in his stead.  Like his father, Jared had no tolerance for titles.  By right of birth, he was laird and seventh earl of Lismore, but he would be so in absentia.  He wouldn't give up the right to his titles because he hoped one day to go back to his birthplace.  But, for now, the wanderlust that was so ingrained in his father was arrested in him.

    
             
Yet, as much as he preferred to have nothing to do with the Highland Ore and Smelting Company, he was very much involved.  Others ran it, but he still owned it.

    
             
If not for those bloody trips, he wouldn't have met Nicki.  There was a strong possibility that she might still have become his captive but she would be a stranger to him.  He wouldn't give a damn if she hated him.

             
But would she have
ever
been a stranger to him?  To meet Nicollette Duplantier seemed his destiny.  After all, he had been acquainted with Charles Duplantier for two years, and since Charles was Nicki's father, meeting her had been inevitable.

    
             
'Twas the second week of June and already the heat was sti
fling.  An hour before, he'd vacated the same steamer he had met Nicki on last year—the Creole Belle. Now, he stood in the rotunda of the St. Louis Hotel, his back to the slave auction taking place in the center of the room, awaiting Morgan Turner, a fellow horse breeder and one of the few close friends Jared had in America. 

             
The drone of the auctioneer's voice interspersed with potential buyers' bids wore on Jared's nerves.  He couldn’t stomach the proceedings much longer.  Bloody hell, he hoped Morgan would make an appearance soon.

    
             
Moments later, Morgan walked up to Jared.  "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Jared."  A long, slender, ascetic-looking gentleman, Morgan had thick, pale-yellow hair and intelligent steel-gray eyes.

    
             
Jared smiled and offered his hand. "Ye didn't, Morgan. I just arrived back in the city an hour ago.  I thought I'd have to apologize to ye."

             
Taking the proffered hand, Morgan's lips curled slightly.   "I had to stop and check on Peter.  It took longer then I had intended, however."

             
Jared's brows arched.  "Peter?"

             
Morgan nodded.  "Father Peter McClafferty.  You do remember him, don't you?"

             
"Pete is in New Orleans?

             
"Yes," Morgan answered.  "He's been here for six months already on a year's sabbatical.  I'm surprised he hasn't contacted you."

             
Jared's expression closed.  "Nay, he couldn't have.  I've been unavailable."

             
"Sold!" The auctioneer's voice boomed, and a spurt of anger spiraled through Jared.  He drew in a deep breath, his jaw tautening.

             
"Shall we go to the bar?" Morgan asked, seeing Jared's sudden tension.

    
             
“Aye.”  After ordering two scotches at the bar, Jared and Morgan discussed Highland Ore.  "One thing disturbs me more than anything, Morgan is that instead of Highland Ore's usual orders for farm tools and equipment, we're getting more orders for firearms.  Guns, rifles, even cannons and cannon wagons."

             
"It'll never come to war, Jared," Morgan said confidently, easing his lips

into a half-smile.

    
             
Jared grimaced and looked at his friend skeptically.  "How can ye be so sure, Morgan? I don't like the rumblings and the rumors of war.  The South becomes more disgruntled with each passing day."

    
             
Morgan's brow drew downward in a perplexed frown.  "Than why do you accept the contracts for weapons if you're so against it?"

    
             
Jared's mouth, tight and grim, he answered,  "For the security of my fellow countrymen.  Unlike me, they have no plans to return to Scotland.  I want to be assured that they'll survive in America."