Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(96)

Earlier she’d laid out Jean’s Sunday best. Even though the clothes had been wrinkled and musty when Miriam pulled them out of the trunk, Angelique made quick work of pressing them with the hot iron.

“Jean?” she called, expecting him to emerge from the barn.

“I’m still waiting for him,” Pierre said, working on his musket as if it were the most important job in the world at that moment. “I haven’t seen him since I got here.”

Angelique searched the freshly plowed fields and then the line of evergreens beyond. “Does anyone know where he went?”

“The last I knew,” Miriam said, “he was heading to your swimming hole to take a bath. He said he wanted to clean up before he went to St. Anne’s.”

“Did he ever come back from the pond?” Angelique asked, a knot of worry cinching her belly. Had he fallen and been unable to get up?

“Swimming hole?” Pierre slapped his forehead and groaned. “Oh no . . .”

“What?” Angelique pressed her hand against her middle, fighting against the growing anxiety.

Pierre pointed to a smooth stick in the grass by his feet. The rounded top gleamed in the sunshine.

Angelique stared at it. Was it Jean’s cane? If so, why had he left it behind?

Shaking his head, Pierre handed Red Fox the musket. He picked up the cane. “I’m guessing he was on his way to the swimming hole to wash up . . . but then he got distracted.”

Angelique wanted to ask Pierre what he meant by Jean being distracted, yet the sadness in his eyes told her the answer. Jean had overheard them as they’d played in the water and then made their declarations of love to each other.

“He must have been in such a hurry to get away,” Pierre said, “that he left his cane behind.”

“After he left the swimming hole, where would he have gone?” She could only imagine how their passionate pleas of love had shocked him and wounded him to his core.

Pierre stared at the woods, his brow furrowed. “I think I know where he went.” He didn’t wait to explain but sprinted across the open field toward the forest.

Angelique picked up her skirts, kicked off her satin slippers, and started after him. He was much faster, and she soon lost him. But she could easily track his progress through the woods, and it didn’t take her long to figure out where he was headed.

She arrived at the edge of Dousman’s field hot and breathless. Her hair had come loose from the pins she’d used with such care, and the soles of her feet were pricked and sore from the run.

She tiptoed toward the big cedar tree, their thinking tree, and she could see the bottom of Pierre’s boots dangling from where he perched on a lower branch. Farther up the tree, she caught a glimpse of Jean’s shoes.

She hesitated at the base of the tree. The long branches covered with needles swayed gently in the breeze and shielded them from her sight, though she could hear them talking.

Jean’s voice was raised. “You stole her from me, Pierre.”

“It was selfish of me, I admit.”

“Yes, it was. What kind of brother would do such a thing?”

“Oui. I’ve not been a very good brother to you.”

“You knew she would be better off with me.” The pain in Jean’s voice stabbed Angelique. “Why couldn’t you leave her alone? Why did you have to win her affection?”

“It was wrong of me, Jean. I see that now.” Pierre’s words were laced with anguish. “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. She didn’t want to, but I pursued her anyway.”

A long silence followed, filled only by the sound of the wind rustling the branches around them.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Pierre finally said. “But I beg you for it. And once I have it, I promise I’ll leave this island and leave you both alone.”

A silent cry arose in Angelique, but she cupped her hand against her mouth. For endless moments she didn’t dare to breathe for fear of crying.

At last, Jean let out a sigh. “Honestly, you didn’t steal her from me. You were only claiming what has been yours all along.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s always loved you.” The anger in Jean’s voice had changed to frustration. “Always, even when we’d climb this tree, she’d chase after you, sit on the branch next to you. You were always the one she watched with those beautiful eyes of hers.”

Pierre remained silent.

“She never looked at me like that. She didn’t notice me until you were gone.”

“I don’t know—”

“But I’m not you,” Jean interrupted. “And she wants you. She’s always wanted you . . . not me.”

Angelique pressed her hand tighter over her mouth to keep another cry from escaping, a cry that would acknowledge the truth of Jean’s words.

“When she walked into the cabin this morning, I could tell she’d been expecting you, Pierre. And when she saw it was me, she tried to hide her disappointment. But I knew it was you she wanted.”

“Jean, I—”

“And last summer in the cave, I knew then too. How much you cared for each other, and that you’d fallen in love with her.”

Angelique looked past the cedar tree to the yellow grass of the field with its shoots of new green growth popping up everywhere. It was hard to imagine it was the same spot of the bloody battle that brought Jean back to the island.