Chapter Three
Sweet Dreams plantation house, Mal Chance Bayou Louisiana
Grace shivered at the disembodied laughter echoing through the bayou. She sucked in air, trying to calm her galloping pulse. Squinting into the dark, the need to see the intruder froze her in place.
However, the clouds returned and made identifying shapes impossible. He had vanished as completely as the now-hidden moon. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I doubt he’s captain of anything. How is it possible I did not wound him?
Her breath evened, and her pulse slowed. Her aim had been true, like always. Even before the brief break in the clouds had revealed him to be exactly where her ears had told her. Her shot had not faltered. How had he not bled like the proverbial pig? How had he not uttered a sound of pain?
Instead, he’d grinned and suggested her aim had been off.
If Grace hadn’t been so angry at having her privacy invaded, she might’ve been frightened. As if she weren’t already scared enough about her uncertain future in a world that held no safe haven for her.
When he’d appeared, the briefest niggle of familiarity had stirred before anger surged at his breaking the small amount of peace she’d built over the day. Surprise knotted her shoulders. Was she still so fragile that a single stranger’s Bonswa, chère could upset her?
Anger, frustration fear—all churned in her stomach. I’m making too much of someone who does not deserve another thought.
If only she could act on that. In the past year, Grace had had plenty of practice dismissing people who’d treated her with soul searing disdain, simply because she didn’t have the heart to deal with them. It should’ve been second nature. He caught me unaware is all.
She lowered the rifle. The night sounds had resumed, and something told her she wouldn’t see the captain again tonight.
Grace went back to the house and the second story room she’d begun to make hers.
During her search of the house today, she’d found a few usable pieces of furniture and had hauled them to her room.
It wouldn’t take much to make the table, chair and bed frame functional.
She’d add a mattress to the items to have delivered from the village.
As she busied herself with her nightly routine, she considered her visitor.
She had no doubt he’d return. He’d been too cocky, too confident.
He’d not take seriously her warning to stay away.
Well, Grace would prepare for that, along with the appearance of any other unwanted visitors; but a good night’s sleep first. No stranger would be allowed to destroy the peace she wanted to build here.
She wished the encounter hadn’t upset her.
Not simply because of the intrusion into her privacy, but also because of the reminder that she was alone.
No, not alone…lonely. She’d sought solitude at Sweet Dreams. Still, while she might claim not to need anyone, she couldn’t deny the very human longing for companionship.
The longing brought Aunt Sarah to mind. Grace had very little left to remind her of her aunt. She kept those few items close, especially the antique silver keepsake music box. “I wish I could talk to you about the man I saw tonight.”
So what if I talk to my dead Aunt?
Aunt Sarah was the only person who’d ever loved her. I need her. So, in private, she talked to her aunt.
Grace craved sleep, but it wasn’t going to happen.
She wound the music box and opened the log book to where she’d last stopped.
The events were just as boring as before.
She read for about fifteen minutes before her eyelids started to droop.
Setting the book aside, she wound the box again and, to the strains of Early One Morning, drifted into dreams.
Grainne hummed a tune about a fair young maid and her faithless lover, as she scrubbed her father’s shirt against the washboard. “I’ll never do that to you.” The words came from behind her.
“Luc.” Shirt, soap and brush dropped into the washtub. She turned and smiled at the love of her life. Friends since childhood, affection had evolved into love.
“Yes, me.” He grinned.
She dried her hands on her apron, straightened the skirt of her work dress, and shoved tendrils of red hair out of her face.
He opened his arms wide, and she rushed to hold him.
Her fingers tangled in the black curls at his nape.
She inhaled the scents of lavender water, bay rum, and Luc.
She rested her head on the soft linen over the solid muscles of his chest and listened to his heart beat steady and strong.
As he had been for her, a steady source of strength for most of her life.
“You shouldn’t be here. What if Da comes home and sees you?” Grainne pushed back to study Luc’s face. His blue gaze turned solemn. His smile dimmed, and his mouth—his dear mouth—firmed. ““’Tis past time he knew.”
“He blames you for Jamie’s death.” Worry squeezed her heart, and she stepped away.
“He’s a grieving old man with no control over what happened to his son. I understand.” Luc’s voice thickened, issuing words from his handsome drawn face.
She stared out at the rolling fields of her farm dotted with a few sheep. Once her family had owned a large flock. Most of it was gone now to taxes and troubles. “That’s very kind of you, but you should leave.” ’Twas all she could do to keep her love safe.
“Kiss me first.”
She looked around. The sheets on the line hid them from view of the road. “Very well.” She stood on tiptoe and grasped his shoulders, intending a quick peck.
Luc was having none of that. He turned his head as she moved. Their lips met. All thought of troubles vanished and Grainne was lost. Drowning in the pleasure that was Lucien Flynn’s kiss, her body flushed hot. Her conscience demanded she stop. but she couldn’t abandon the promise of love.
When they finally came up for air, she shoved him away. “Rogue,” she teased.
“Only with you.”
“I’d not have you else. Now you’ve had your kiss, be off.” She waved a hand toward the road on the far side of the clothesline.
“I will, but first I’ve a present for you.” He bent, and the snug pantaloons he wore tightened over his thighs and bum.
Grainne sighed. As he straightened, he lifted a package from beside him on the ground.
“Why, it’s not my birthday or name day.” She should not accept any gift from him, but curiosity prevailed.
““’Tis a day I want you to remember.” Luc smiled.
“Why?” Wonder fluttered in her chest.
“Open it. I think you’ll understand.”
Grainne rolled her eyes. “Since you insist.” She ripped the brown paper wrapping at one corner. The sun glinted off silver, echoing the perpetual gleam in Luc’s eyes. “Is it…? You didn’t.” She tore away the paper and stared at the ornate silver box. “D…do you like it?”
“Oh, Luc. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She bussed his cheek.
“Hmph. Last week, you said my eyes were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.”
She slapped at his arm, flashing a grin. “You know what I mean.”
“Aye, that I do.”
She hefted the box. “’Tis quite heavy.”
“Partly because the silver is solid and not plate.” He grinned again. “Now open it.”
Grainne pried at the lid then studied the front of the box. “There’s a key hole, but it won’t open. Are you having me on?”
“No. I apologize. Look on the bottom.”
She turned the box over. “Two keys?”
“Aye, but only the one on the left opens the box. However, you’ll need the pair.”
Taking both keys, she put one in the pocket of her apron then used the other to unlock the box. Grainne gasped.
Atop the deep green velvet lining lay a simple, golden lover’s knot ring. In the center of the knot sat a stone the same misty green hue as her eyes.
“Will you marry me, Grainne Tirlán?” His voice shook a bit.
She met his gaze, tears brimming. “I…ah…I cannot answer you now.”
“Shall I speak with your father then?” The words were firm and oddly desperate.
The worry in Luc’s voice made her heart trip.
“Nay.” Hugging the box to herself, she raised a warding palm. “Nay, we…we’ll talk to him together, after I’ve had time to think.”
“Ah, I’ve surprised you. You do know I love you?” His smile replaced the worried frown.
“Of course.” She dropped her arm. “As I love you, but marriage… Marriage is about more than love, Luc. You of all folk, should know that.” She reached out her hand and silently urged him to understand.
His expression dark, bleak, he stared at her offered hand for some time but did not take it. “Aye.”
Grainne hurried to grasp his arm and put it ‘round her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned…”
“That my father would not marry my mother because she is not English enough.” Bitterness dripped from his voice.
“I’m sorry, Luc.”
“No more than I,” he sighed. “I don’t want us to be like them. I want us to wed. I want our children to have two parents.”
“We’re not like them.” She turned in to his embrace, hoping to soothe the painful memories. “While you may not like him much, you have a father and a mother.”
“Let’s not talk about them.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Try the ring on. I need to know that it fits.” A sadness crept into his smile.
“When I give you my answer, I’ll try the ring, not before.” Grainne raised her chin.
“Then, at least use the other key. The box holds another gift.”
“More?” That flutter of excitement returned.
“Aye.”
She drew the second key from her apron pocket, then searched the box for a second keyhole.“How?”
Luc chuckled. “The maker was very clever. See this little knob, between these two silver leaves?” He pointed at the front of the box.
She followed the direction of his finger. “The one that looks like an acorn?”
“Aye. Push it upwards.”
Grainne did so and revealed a hidden keyhole. She put the key in and turned it.
Nothing happened. She frowned again. “I don’t understand.”
“Keep turning.”
She met some resistance, but managed to force the key around three or four times. The moment she let go, music rippled from the box.
“Early one morning just at the break of dawning….” Luc sang along with the music.
“Luc, Luc, you darling man.” Her heart sped up, and she blinked away fresh tears, hugging him tight for just a moment.
“Your darling man, only.”
“You remembered my favorite tune.”
“Why you love such a sad song is beyond understanding, but you do, so of course that’s what I asked the smith to make for you.” His smile was tempting and proud.
Grainne pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come back in a fortnight. I’ll tell you my answer then,” she said, as the song wound into silence.
“Two weeks will feel like two centuries, but I’ll do as you ask. I’ll always do as you ask.”
That sincere admission warmed her heart, almost enough to banish the worm of foreboding that threatened the happy future they hoped for.
“When you come back meet me at the brook by the rowan tree.”
“Where I first kissed you.” Now Luc’s handsome expression was wistful.
“Where I first allowed you to kiss me, sir.” Pretending haughtiness, she stuck her nose in the air.
“Aye, the first time,” he said. “Now, get you gone.” She aimed him toward the road and slapped his shoulder. “Da will be home soon, and I don’t want you two to argue.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He planted a kiss atop her head then his long legs carried him off.
Grainne stared into the box. She stroked the ring with her finger then closed the lid.
She removed the music box key and closed the covering knob then locked the box shut.
Returning the keys to their slots, she hurried into the house and up to her cot under the eaves.
She wrapped the box in a clean rag then shoved it beneath her bed.
If Da found it, he’d sell it. He might even beat her for accepting it first.
She must decide what to do. Luc might think a fortnight a long time, but Grainne knew better. Two weeks would come entirely too soon. She also knew what she would say to Luc.
Grace came awake slowly.
What a very odd dream. Prompted by that music box, no doubt.
That was most likely why everything, even the man named Luc, felt familiar.
The broad, white-shirted shoulders, the tight pants, the chiseled chin and night dark eyes.
That he shared the same name as the dream man must be coincidence.
The box beside her makeshift bed was identical to the one in her dream.
Right down to the two keys and the green velvet lining.
Although, that had been replaced two or three times—Aunt Sarah had told her when she’d given the box to Grace.
The song was the same as well.
Early one morning,
Just as the sun was rising, …
She’d always liked the melody, even after she understood how sad it was, and she hummed the tune as she sat up.
A groan cut off her humming.
Yesterday’s aches and pains were nothing compared to this morning.
Her head had joined the chorus of agony, throbbing in every muscle and sinew.
She needed a day off, but she could not have one.
She wanted the house restored by summer, or she would labor in the heat.
She had both dried lavender and peppermint.
She’d make a tea, just as Aunt Sarah had taught her when her childhood nightmares had become too stressful.
With the tension of the move from Boston and the events of the past year, there was more than enough cause for headaches.
Having remedies close at hand was a relief.
Grace wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to, a confidant.
However, the only person she’d met, Captain Lucien Flynn, was far from the type to inspire confidences.
He unsettled her. When moonlight had finally revealed him, he should’ve been bleeding.
She hadn’t wanted to kill him, just teach him a very painful lesson.
Instead, he’d calmly suggested her aim was off.
I don’t want to believe he was right, but what else would explain the lack of a wound?
Odd, her intruder shared a name and possessed a strong resemblance to the man of her dream.
However, that man had shown tenderness and glimpses of joy along with some sorrow over his father.
The stranger of the previous night, had shown no softness of any sort.
In hind sight, she decided the man was a cynic with a low opinion of a woman’s capabilities.
He would come back, and she would show him, or any intruder, just how capable she was.
Another encounter with her rifle would no doubt convince him to leave her be.
Grace dismissed Flynn from her mind, and cleaned up the small mess of her meal.
Then she went to work, searching the rooms for more usable pieces of furniture.
The task took most of the day, and she had not begun to delve into the attics. She’d save those for the future.