Chapter 31

 

It was late May, and the weather was serene and unruffled, brilliant blue sky overhead and not a sign of a cloud in sight. The dappled rays of sunlight were warm on Sabrina's face as she gazed dreamily at the men moving about the rising structure that would one day be her new home. She was lying on a puffy yellow quilt some distance away from the construction, enjoying the intermittent shade provided by the spreading leaves of the towering oak tree behind her. Discarded slippers lay nearby, and with pleasure she wiggled her toes into the softness of the quilt, very glad to be alive and here once again at Fox's Lair, watching the new house rising from the ashes of the old.

The original house had burned to the ground that terrible December night, but Sabrina hadn't known of it for days. Hadn't know of Carlos's death, of Brett's frantic journey with her into New Orleans, of the anxious days that had followed as she had lain unconscious, unmoving; hadn't known of the anguish that had been undisguised in Brett's eyes. But three days later, she had regained consciousness, and though she had been weak and disorientated, she had gradually recovered.

All through the winter they had remained cozily immured in the house in New Orleans, planning the new home they would build, for the love that would be theirs. Love surrounded them, and during the long winter nights as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, they spoke freely of the past and of the things that only lovers do.

Wilkinson's 'Reign of Terror,' as the General's descent upon the city had been called, ended ignobly when no sign of the rabble led by Aaron Burr had appeared on the horizon. And poor Burr, whatever his plans may have been, was arrested on February 19, 1807, on charges of treason. His trial was set for summer.

But those events meant little to Brett and Sabrina—there were too many other more wonderful things in their lives these days. When their child was born in late March, Sabrina had known what real happiness was—her husband and her strong, healthy baby.

Her eyes strayed to where their child lay sleeping in a reed cradle at the edge of the quilt. Unable to help herself, she leaned over and peeked down at him. Alejandro Dangermond. What a handsome baby he was, she thought with a mother's pride, and wonderingly she stroked his soft cheek. Only two months old, he slept soundly, his extraordinarily long lashes like dark fans under his closed lids, his perfect little mouth moving gently as he breathed.

Sabrina sighed happily and leaned back against the tree. How fortunate she was, she thought, her gaze moving unerringly to where Brett stood supervising the construction of the new Fox's Lair. He looked tall and powerful as he stood there, hands on his hips, the white shirt revealing his wide shoulders and lean waist, the black breeches displaying the long length of his muscular legs. A faint breeze stirred the thick black hair, and impatiently he brushed aside a lock that fell forward onto his forehead.

The house was being built at unusual speed, Brett determined that they would be living in at least a part of it by the end of summer. They were currently enjoying the hospitality of a gregarious planter who lived a few miles down the road, and of course there was always the house in New Orleans and the hacienda in Nacogdoches. For a while they considered moving to the hacienda, but then they discarded the idea—this was a new beginning, and neither wanted any reminders of the past.

There was one reminder, Sabrina mused sadly, that she would have treasured—her father's betrothal bracelet. Weeks after the fire, searching through the rubble of the destroyed house, Brett found it, but the heat had twisted and melted it into an unrecognizable mass. Sabrina wept pitifully when he placed it in her hand.

Through tear-drenched eyes, she looked at him and murmured, "It was his most cherished possession." Gently Brett enfolded her into his arms, comforting her as best he was able. He had taken the ruined bracelet away with him, not wanting her to look at it as it was and be reminded of that tragic night.

Becoming aware of her gaze, Brett turned a little and glanced at her. She waved and he walked toward her. Reaching the quilt, he flung himself down on it, lying full length, his head resting in her lap.

With a soft smile, she looked down at him, loving him so much she thought she would burst with it. A little shadow crossed her face, though, as she wondered how they could ever have let suspicion and mistrust come between them.

Brett saw that expression, and concern in his eyes, he sat up and demanded, "What is it? Why do you look like that?"

"I was just thinking about how foolish we were—neither of us willing to trust in our love for the other."

He drew her into his arms. His eyes on hers, he said roughly, "Sabrina, I can't undo the past—oh, but sweet tiger lily, I do love you! I've loved you since you were a big-eyed enchantress, all of seven years old, and you've had my heart in your keeping ever since." Regretfully he confessed, "I just didn't want to admit it, and like a fool, I did everything in my power to deny it. But I think I've been well and truly punished for it—we've lost six years because of it." Pain in his voice, he muttered, "I've berated myself a thousand times, suffered a thousand deaths, every time I think of how stupidly we let our doubts and fears keep us apart all that time. However, I like to think that we have learned from it—that our love is stronger and more enduring because of it."

Sabrina felt hot tears prickle behind her lids, and she nodded, positive that if she tried to speak, she would burst into tears. Happy tears. Joyous tears. Their love was stronger, more powerful, because of what they had suffered.

Seeing the tears but recognizing them for what they were, he kissed her, and reached over to where his jacket lay on the, quilt. The expression on his face somber, he handed Sabrina a slim, narrow package. At her look of surprise, he said with difficulty, "I originally planned to give you this on our first anniversary, but I want you to have it now."

For a long time Sabrina stared down at the package in her hands, premonition telling her what it must be. With trembling fingers she unwrapped it, savoring each moment, and when at last the contents were revealed, her heart shook within her breast.

Two slim, intricately fashioned bracelets of silver and turquoise lay on a bed of white satin. They were identical, except that one was obviously for a man, the other for a woman.

Her eyes shining like stars, she stared at him, and Brett said huskily, "I thought that these would be a symbol to both of us, a symbol of your parents' love for each other, and a symbol to remind us never to forget the past or what we have gained."

Gently Brett fastened one of the bracelets around her wrist, and solemnly she did the same to him. Her throat tight with all the love and rapture she felt, tears of happiness sliding unheeded down her cheeks, she looked at their two wrists, the sunlight glinting on the silver and turquoise bracelets. Mistily her gaze traveled over Brett, her baby asleep nearby, and the framework of their new home. Her heart ached with a sweet joy, and suddenly, as if from a great distance, yet quite clearly, she heard her father's voice say warmly, "You see, chica? It is good, and it will be good... forever!"

 

The End

 

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