Iron Lace (33 page)

Impulsively Monique began to speak. "He… he was
evil… he…"

Miguel pressed her arm and hissed in her ear. "Be quiet!"

"But…" She tried to vent her anger.
"But…"

Miguel squeezed her arm even tighter and turned to the
woman, who hadn't heard the girl's weak voice amid all the noise and
confusion around them.

"Yes, senora, it's really a pity," he said quickly,
directing himself to the newcomer. "May the good friar receive his just
reward in heaven."

The panting woman dabbed her eyes dramatically with her
apron. "He must have caught fire while doing rescue work," she
lamented. "God bless him! He died a hero's death… special
masses should be said for him." She continued on her way, calling out
her tragic news like a self-appointed town crier, while Monique turned
a bewildered face up to her guardian.

"How could you say… Why?" she asked him
incredulously.

"Remember what I told you below," he mumbled to her under
his breath as he steered her in the direction of the town house,
grateful that it was less than two blocks away. "You must never say
anything about Fray Sebastian and what happened… do you
understand? You could bring the Inquisition down on all our heads if
you did!"

He was gently hurrying her along as quickly as he could
down the street toward the relative peace and quiet of the other side
of the square where the fire had not reached.

"I won't say anything if I shouldn't, but it makes me
furious," Monique complained somewhat breathlessly as she tried to keep
up with Miguel, even though he was trying to reduce his long stride to
a more leisurely pace for her. "To think they're calling Padre
Sebastian a martyr when he was the one who really wanted to make
martyrs of everyone else!"

"At least he'll never hurt anyone ever again!" Miguel
mumbled between clenched teeth, equally angry over the injustice of it
all, although he knew in his heart it had all turned out for the best.

"It's so ironic… so unfair!"

"I know, my dear, but perhaps there's some consolation in
thinking that the death of one evil monk will probably serve to call
attention to the good so many other friars—French and Spanish
alike—have done for the colony over the years. Much as I hate
to say it, for the sake of so many innocent people, including your own,
we'll have to let the sins of one demented friar lie buried with him."

She sighed her resignation. "All right, you have my word
on it. But surely someone will discover the entrance to the passageway
when they rummage through the ashes of Padre Sebastian's hut?"

"Early tomorrow morning I'll meet with the governor and
show him where the trapdoor is. I'm sure he'll have some trusted man
seal off the tunnel and dungeon immediately before anyone is the wiser.
There's too much at stake to take chances. That's why we must keep our
little secret."

He looked down at the little cloaked figure plodding along
beside him, and he paused a moment. "Here, my sweet, I'll carry you the
rest of the way," he offered gently, but she shook her head.

"No, I'm all right," she assured him. "I'm just shaken,
that's all, but I'm not hurt, really I'm not."

She was silent for the last half block of their short walk
home. The events of the day had overwhelmed her. It was as though she
had been forced to live several years of her life in the span of one
afternoon. Although it was true what she had said about not being hurt,
she was still trembling inwardly at just the thought of all that had
happened in those past few hours. Most of all, she was awed by the
realization of all that would have happened if Miguel hadn't been there
to save her.

She cast a curious glance up at her guardian out of the
tail of her eye as she walked beside him, clinging to his hand while he
steadied her with an arm around her waist. Smudged with soot and grime,
his face seemed leaner than ever at that moment. That fine black woolen
cape and those knee-high boots that he wore so well were singed and
spattered now. She looked down at the outline of his sword swinging
jauntily, by his side beneath the folds of his cloak and thought of how
he had fought with Fray Sebastian… risked his life to save
hers. It made the memory of him with his hand on Azema's breast all the
more painful… like a two-pronged arrow lodged deep in her
heart. Although it seemed that the scene in the Ducole parlor had taken
place weeks, even months ago, the pain was still there. Only she
couldn't hate him anymore. Her feelings for him were too complex now
for that. All she could feel was one great hurt aching inside of
her… a torment greater than any Padre Sebastian could have
inflicted on her. No matter what had happened earlier that afternoon,
she had to recognize that it was thanks to him she was safe and free
again. She couldn't forget that. He may have failed her as a lover, but
he had most certainly left nothing to be desired as her guardian. When
she'd needed him, he'd been there to protect her. Always when she
needed him he was there…

The babble of the crowd behind them and fragments of
conversations from isolated groups of townsfolk they passed along the
way echoed down the street after them.

A group of men talking excitedly on the street only a few
doors from the town house were waving their hands wildly and loudly
discussing the fire.

"Hundreds homeless… not a store left in
town…"

"… no more wood… only brick and
tile…"

"I tell you… worse than '88… almost
whole city's destroyed!"

Miguel shook his head. "The usual exaggerations," he
muttered. Nevertheless, he gave a backward look at the smoking ruins of
the fire-plagued city. It had burned swiftly, and it was truly a
miracle that it hadn't been leveled with the swamps. But that paradox
of a city had a stubborn spirit, which might often give its rulers
headaches but would undoubtedly be its salvation in the end.

As far as he could judge at that moment, approximately a
quarter of the town had been hit, including almost half of the square
up to the cathedral. There would indeed be some shortages for a while
in New Orleans, since the section that lay in ashes was where most of
the shops had been located. Thank God they had the plantation to
furnish them with their daily necessities!

He looked down tenderly at the bedraggled little figure of
his weary ward and slackened his pace even more to accommodate her. The
poor child! She'd been through so much that afternoon! Now that the
danger was gone, memories of earlier that afternoon were beginning to
flood back to him. He could still see the shock and disillusion on that
dear little face as she had fled the Ducole town house in
despair… only to run straight into the greater torment of
Fray Sebastian's waiting dungeon!

He'd rather stand up to one of those fiery reprimands of
hers than see her suffering so! As soon as he had her in the safety of
the town house, he would at least try to set her mind at ease on one
score. He couldn't bear to have her thinking he had betrayed her love.
He only hoped he could make her believe him!

Still
wrapped in her cloak, Monique reclined on the sofa in the
town house parlor, trying to sort out her confused emotions while she
watched Miguel dash off a hasty note to the governor and give the
houseboy his instructions.

" 'Regarding that matter… rest easy. But must
see you in private. Will come to your home at dawn. Urgent.' "

Miguel quickly reviewed what he had written, then signed
and sealed it. "You're to put this in the hands of His Excellency the
Governor and no one else, is that clear?" he told the boy solemnly. "If
there's no problem, go to your quarters when you return and get some
rest. Tomorrow morning I'll need the horses groomed and ready to ride
to the plantation. Remember, I'm trusting you to find the baron before
the night is over, no matter where he is, and give this message to him.
If you do well, I'll reward you handsomely, I promise. Now
go…
pronto
!" He hurried the boy on his
way and then bolted the door behind him.

With a sigh of relief he turned toward the sofa where he
had left Monique resting. But, to his surprise, he saw she had risen
and was already halfway up the staircase, a candle in hand and her
tattered cloak trailing dejectedly behind her.

"Monica, what in the world are you doing?" he chided
solicitously, running to overtake her. "At least let me help you!"

"I… I'm all right now," she insisted. "I can
manage."

But he swept her up quickly in his arms and carried her
the rest of the way to the room where she and her sister always slept.
Carefully he set her down on one of the four-posters and, taking the
candle from her, put it on the nightstand beside her. Then he turned
and lay her tousled head back on the pillow, and, making use of the
bowl of water on the table that had been left for her usual nightly
ablutions, he gently bathed her face and hands, all the while trying to
soothe her.

The chamber was pleasantly warm with the crackle of a
cheerful blaze in the fireplace, so Miguel made a move to remove her
dusty, scorched cloak. But she drew away and instinctively pulled the
wrap closer over her half-bared breasts, staring back at him with
large, wounded eyes.

Respecting her gesture, he turned away and went on to
refresh his own face and hands. But finally he turned and stood there
looking down at her tense, unhappy little figure, so tightly wrapped in
her tattered cloak… so afraid to be hurt again… A
wave of tenderness engulfed him. How he longed to take her in his arms
and reassure her that she was surrounded by his love… that
she need never be fearful of anything or ever doubt his love for her
again! He yearned to kiss that adorable little body of hers from head
to foot—every throbbing corner of it—and feel her
warm pulse fluttering beneath his lips, responding to his every caress
with that same passionate abandon, that same sweet trust, that she had
given him before!

He bent toward her and, resting one knee on the edge of
the bed, gently lifted her into his arms. For a moment she let him hold
her there, resting her pale gold head against the firmness of his chest
like a frightened child longing to be comforted.

"Thank God you're safe again, little one," he murmured
into the tousled curls. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd
lost you!"

Gently he reached into the recess of her cloak and sought
out one of those magnificent young breasts that Sebastian had been
about to mar so cruelly, and, before she could stop him, he kissed its
rosy tip reverently.

"I love you, Monica. Please believe me. I'd give my life
for you."

But she had suddenly stiffened. Despite the pleasant
sensations stirring within her at the feel of his lips on her breast,
his action had reminded her all too vividly of how and why her torment
of that afternoon had begun. That same hand cupping her breast so
lovingly now had held Azema's only a few hours earlier!

Angrily she pushed him away. "Don't touch me!" she
exclaimed. "Please don't come to me with the scent of that woman still
on your hands… on your lips…"

"God as my witness, what you saw today was none of my
doing," he protested. "Azema was trying to entice me precisely because
I haven't wanted to be with her. You simply misconstrued what you saw.
Actually, I'd stopped off to see Henri not only on business but to
arrange with him that, in the future, we'd hold our meetings elsewhere.
I didn't want to go to the town house anymore… I wanted to
avoid scenes like that with Azema. The irony of it is that poor Henri
doesn't even have a town house now. It was right in the heart of the
section hit by the fire!"

But Monique only continued to sit there in the middle of
the bed, clutching her cape around her and eyeing him with suspicion.

"If what you say is true, why wasn't Henri there, then?"
she asked. "If you went there to see him, why were you alone with Azema
in the first place?"

"He'd only stepped out for a moment," Miguel replied
patiently. "I was taking my leave, and he went to his study to fetch
some papers he wanted me to take with me."

"You're very glib." She smiled sadly. "Always you find a
way to deny the evidence."

"It's easy to do, since I'm telling the truth," he assured
her. He ran his hand despairingly through his hair, which was as
tousled as hers was at that moment. What could he say or do to convince
her? "You speak of evidence," he went on. "Haven't I given you enough
proofs of my affection all these months… even this very
evening?"

She hung her head and nodded. "I have to admit you've been
a very conscientious guardian," she acquiesced, "and for that I realize
I'm in your debt. I'm truly grateful for the way you risked your life
to save me from Padre Sebastian. I—"

"I don't want your gratitude!" he interrupted, impatient
for the first time that night. "My God, Monica! Don't you know I
wouldn't have found my life worth living if I hadn't saved you? I love
you, my dear, foolish child. For me, you're life itself!"

He caught her in his arms once more and, before she could
stop him, kissed her with all the desperation of his long-denied
passion, pressing his mouth long and hard against hers, his tongue
pleading to be let through the pout of those fleshy little lips.

For a moment she resisted and tried to push him away, but
he held her fast, and she could feel her lips parting in spite of
herself. Why was it that, the moment he was near her, she couldn't hate
him even when she knew she should?

"Monica, my life! My despair! If only I could make love to
you! If only I could show you how much I really love you!" he murmured
huskily against her lips. "God as my witness, I can't take your hate
and distrust any longer! I'm not speaking as your guardian…
I'm only the man who loves you now!"