The Bourbon Thief(72)

“Momma...” she cried, forgetting in her confusion and her agony that she hated Virginia Maddox. Her chest heaved and she knew she was about to throw up. But if she did, that would be the end. No food. No water. She couldn’t lose another drop of water from her body.

Somewhere she heard music.

Music?

Grabbing hold of the tree root that had tripped her, Tamara slowly pulled herself to her feet. Her right ankle throbbed and she couldn’t put any weight on it. But she did find a thick branch and she used it as a walking stick, resting her weight on it as she stumbled forward through the woods and toward the music. Music meant people. People meant water. She’d find the people and drink some of their water, and then she’d head out again to find the house she knew was here somewhere on the island. She’d live in the house Julien St. Croix built for his little wife. She had died, hadn’t she? His wife, Louisa? St. Croix must have been so lonely without his wife. She knew she would be lonely on this island all by herself. She would find Julien and he would fall in love with her at first sight. He’d ask her to marry him, demand it even because men in those days didn’t ask, but took. No, no, no, she wouldn’t marry him. Not until he freed his slaves. Terrible man, he should know better than that. Terrible man, he should know you couldn’t sell people. She would make him let them go. And he would do it, too, because he loved her so very much—love at first sight. He would love her and she would love him, and when they fought, he would take her upstairs to the finest bedroom in their fine house and an hour later she would come downstairs smiling.

She couldn’t wait to meet him, her future husband. They’d have their wedding in the house. They could be married tonight even. And soon she’d have a son of her own. And they would name him Philip after the king.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be married to the son of a count? Even a third son of a count was better than no son of a count at all. Who would she be? Lady Tamara. That had a nice ring to it. Lady Tamara St. Croix, the countess of Bride Island.

It was going to be such a beautiful wedding.

Tamara looked down. How perfect. She already wore a white dress. Surely Julien wouldn’t mind she’d been married before. It wasn’t a real marriage, after all, she would tell him. Levi wasn’t her real husband. He was a spy hired by her mother. Julien would protect her from them both. That was why he’d planted all these trees on the island. They were all for her. The trees would protect the house from spies. No one could find the house through the trees. No one but her and only because she belonged here. Here with her husband.

“Oh, my...” Tamara breathed as she stepped into a clearing. There it was. The house. The house Julien St. Croix had built just for her. It was more beautiful than she’d even dared dream it would be. It looked like a little castle made of gray stone. It had a turret on the north end and a turret on the south end. Oh, and there was a garden, too, a flower garden all around it. And the front doors were solid oak, of course. She knew oak by now. She could tell oak on sight. What else would those doors have been? Douglas fir? Tamara hobbled to the doors and they opened. An older lady in a black dress and a white apron, her dark hair hidden under a white mobcap, came bustling down the hallway toward her, wringing her hands.

“Lady Tamara, there you are. We thought you’d disappeared on us. You’re late,” the servant said. “Late for your own wedding.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I went for a walk and got lost. Am I dirty? Do I need to change?”

“Oh, no...” The servant stepped back, looked Tamara up and down and smiled. “You look so beautiful.”

“Is my lord angry with me for making him wait?”

“He would wait for you forever. You know that. But your guests are restless and your father’s pacing a hole in the rug.”

“Daddy’s here?”

“You think your own father would miss your wedding? Come along and see him. He’s waiting to give you away.”

“Take me there. Take me there right now. I didn’t know he was coming to the wedding.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, he said. Not over his dead body.”

Tamara followed the servant down the hallway. She found she could walk again just fine, no pain. In fact, she could run, and run she did, almost skipping in her haste to see her father again. And there he was, handsome as she ever remembered seeing him, regal as a king with his dark wavy hair and his shining dark eyes and his dark, dark boots on his long strong legs wearing a hole in the red carpet from pacing.

“Daddy!” Tamara threw herself into his arms and he held her tight, so tight she could hardly breathe. But she didn’t need to breathe. She just needed her daddy on her wedding day.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He rocked her against him.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I came, angel. I couldn’t let you get married without me.” He pulled back and held her by the shoulders. “You look so beautiful.”

She looked down at herself again. He was right. She did look beautiful. She saw her reflection in the mirror across the hall. The dress shimmered like a full moon on a clear night, a sort of silvery white color she’d only ever seen in her dreams. And her red hair lay in thick waves down her back. A white veil covered her hair, and when it was time to walk down the aisle, it would conceal her face as well, only to be uncovered by her husband once he became her husband.