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Love Only Once
New Orleans - January, 1815 How the bloody hell had he gotten here? Jonathan Hird sat astride his horse and glanced around. He wasn't sure he had the answer, but he knew he needed to find it quickly. A dismal morning surrounded him with its fog-drenched air, obscuring his vision in every direction. He listened. Voices muted by the heavy mist a good hundred yards in front of him reminded Jonathan that he wasn't alone. He slowed his breathing, and remained motionless while he waited, and listened, and wondered. All grew quiet. Much too quiet. A flicker of a light breeze ruffled his hair and began to strip the fog away, leaving in its wake a view of a battlefield waiting for the combatants to emerge. Jonathan, unfortunately, seemed to be in the center of the battle to come. It was the wrong time at the wrong place. He shivered. The battle for New Orleans would be bloody. Nudging his horse, he took a deep breath and raced across the muddy, rock-strewn field where the British, his countrymen, waited on one side and his best friend on the other. Jonathan hadn't planned to put his hide in the middle of the skirmish, but it was the only way he could get to Adam Trent. And get to Adam, he would, since Jonathan had vowed to support his friend and their cause. The Highlanders swung onto the battle front, their bagpipes skirling the blood-stirring music of Scotland. Thinking how strange it was to hear that heart-wrenching sound on American soil, Jonathan glanced to his left. Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion. He crouched down on his horse and prayed that The Battle of New Orleans would not be his last. Familiar voices caught his ear. "What's that god-awful sound?" some of Jean Lafitte's pirates shouted from behind their barricade. "Look!" Dominique You chuckled as he pointed toward the field. "Just how tough can they be?" He laughed. "Look at them . . . they're wearing skirts!" A bullet screamed by Jonathan's head, and he realized if he didn't make it to the American barricade in the next few minutes, he just might end up in British hands. His countrymen would never understand why he'd chosen to fight with the Americans. Jonathan turned his horse and headed for the American side. He raised his head to search for Adam through smoke-filled air, and to let the men see who he was so he wouldn't be shot. Those bloody pirates would shoot anyone first and ask questions later. There he was. Adam had seen him. Just a few more yards and Jonathan would be safe behind the barricade. That's when his luck ran out. Suddenly, a pain hotter than any fire seared through him. Wait a minute, he protested inwardly. This couldn't be happening. Elizabeth would be waiting for him. His sweet Elizabeth. The woman who'd finally made him see that he could possibly settle down and give up the other women . . . the gambling . . . the drinking . . . all the things he'd thought were making him happy. "No!" He groaned as he grabbed his arm where the pain was concentrated. His hand was sticky and slippery with warm, red blood. He was losing his grip. He had to hold on. He had to make it to Adam. Blood seeped faster down his sleeve. He tried to grasp the horse's reins, but his fingers wouldn't obey. The ground rose to meet him as he lost his balance and slipped from the saddle. He wasn't sure how long he lay there. The damp cold earth chilled him. The guns and battle cries seemed at a distance now. Only the beating of his heart sounded in Jonathan's ears. Just for a brief moment, he saw her face . . . Elizabeth Trent . . . the woman he loved. Her raven black hair flowed around her shoulders, and her slate-colored eyes glistened like black diamonds as she held her hand out to him. Yes, he could give up all his old ways for her. To look at her creamy skin and see her smile, would cause a man to think he was seeing an angel. But Jonathan knew different. Beneath that angelic appearance was a feisty, headstrong woman who needed to have a strong man to tame her. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was quickly extinguished by the pain in his arm. He had intended to be that man. He couldn't die now. Blackness closed in on him too rapidly. Jonathan! He pushed himself up to listen. Jonathan! Was someone calling his name? With a great effort he tried to rise to meet her, but he didn't have the strength. Who was that fool running across the field? He couldn't hold on much longer. Again he reached out to touch Elizabeth, but his fingers wouldn't close over her hand and everything faded to black. Now Jonathan Hird, the Earl of Longdale, had lost everything. Chapter Two New Orleans - January, 1815 - Two weeks later What was that God-awful smell? And just how long had he been laying here? Surely, a week had gone by, and they had yet to take care of his wound. Perhaps they were hoping he'd die. Then they wouldn't have to bother operating on an Englishman. That is if he was in a hospital. He wasn't too sure about that part. Some friend Adam was to leave him in a place like this. There was that smell again. Jonathan twisted his head from side to side, trying to escape the odor. No matter which way he turned, the smell assaulted him. Something cold brushed his face. He jerked at the unexpected sensation. His eyes flew open, but several moments passed before he was able to focus on the white cloth someone was trying to put over his nose and mouth. Chloroform! At least he knew he had to be in some kind of hospital. Looking around him with blurry vision, he noticed he was on a table and there was a smaller table beside him where medical instruments had been laid out. He couldn't seem to clear his mind, but he did faintly remember being in another room with rows of beds and men near him, babbling with delirium. Again, a white cloth covered his mouth. He tried to shove it away. Good! At least he hadn't died. Because the unbearable pain shooting up his arm told him he was very much alive. A lesser man would be screaming. "You must hold still, sir!" a stern voice sounded above him. "I don't have enough orderlies to hold you." "Bloody hell! Get that stuff away from me," Jonathan shouted, struggling to raise his good arm. He tried to shove the man away from him. That's when he realized just how weak he really was. He had barely lifted his arm only to have it fall limply back down. "He's British!" the doctor shouted. "Get him off my table and bring me a good American soldier." "No!" A strange yet familiar voice came from a distance as Elizabeth swept past the orderly who attempted to grab her arm. "Jonathan fought for New Orleans, not against us, Doctor Blackman. This is my brother's friend," Elizabeth Trent said as she drew alongside the bed, placing her hand on Jonathan's shoulder. She looked at the haggard doctor who evidently had been working many hours from the fatigue on his face. His bushy eyebrows were arched together and beads of sweat dotted his brow. "Who let her in here?" Blackman snapped at the nervous orderly. "She insisted," the man meekly replied. "Get out, Elizabeth," Blackman ordered as he pointed to the door. "I'll not have a female fainting when I cut off this man's arm." "No!" She reached out and grabbed the surgeon's arm. "You will not take my arm off, sir!" Jonathan managed, despite a dry mouth. Damn, he needed water. And he apparently needed to get out of this hospital and fast. He attempted to sit up. The doctor shoved Jonathan back down. "If I don't take your arm off, you'll die." A commotion sounded in the other room just before the door swung open. Adam Trent marched through the door, his dark hair in disarray, his gray eyes sparkling with anger. His expression dared anyone to stop him. "I've just arrived to find my sister and my friend shouting. What's the meaning of this outrage, Blackman? You told me you'd take care of the man." Blackman looked over his wire-rimmed glasses at Adam. "I just found out this man was your friend, sir. Taking care of him is what I'm trying to do. As a matter of fact, I was getting ready to operate before your sister burst in here." "It's about bloody time, old boy," Jonathan said as he twisted his head to see Adam. Jonathan managed a small smile. "Please inform this gentleman, and I use that term loosely, that I'd prefer to keep my arm." The surgeon grimaced with disgust before he picked up the end of his apron and wiped his face. "If I don't amputate, you'll die of gangrene. Even if I do save it, you'll never have the use of that arm again." Apprehension coursed through Elizabeth as she stood out of the way in the shadowy corner. Surely, the man couldn't be correct. Jonathan would be fine--he had to be. She glanced at her brother. Certainly, Adam wouldn't let this atrocity happen. Adam stared at Jonathan. "If you hadn't tried that fool stunt and ended up on the battlefield, we wouldn't be in this situation. "I took a wrong turn." "You never did have a sense of direction." Adam shook his head. "Jonathan it's your decision. What do you want to do?" "There is no debating the issue. I'll keep my arm!" The doctor grumbled about the odds, but Jonathan stopped him. "I will take my chances," he said with quiet emphasis, signaling the end of any further discussion. "You heard him. Clean up his arm and stitch it the best you can," Adam instructed. He motioned to his sister. "Elizabeth and I will wait outside." "Where is she?" Jonathan asked, twisting his head to find her. Elizabeth eased back over to the bed. "Here I am." Jonathan looked up at the vision of loveliness standing before him. Her long, black hair hung loosely around her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist. It glistened under the light like the sun shining down on a raven's wing. How he longed to run his fingers through the silky black strands. Even that small effort proved too much at the moment. He couldn't lift his arm, much less hold her. Gazing into slate gray eyes that were so much like her twin brother's, he saw the tears that threatened to spill over Elizabeth's thick lashes and slide down her creamy cheeks. "I'll be all right, my love." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of her knuckles. It was all he had the strength to do. "It will take much more than a bullet to stop this scoundrel," Adam stated as he placed an arm around his sister's shoulders and gently squeezed. "Come. Let the man do his work, and then we can take Jonathan home." The surgeon, who had been working the whole time they were talking, finished tying the last bandage in place. He looked at Jonathan, his grim expression making his words chillingly clear. "As far as I'm concerned, you can take him home now. I can do nothing further for him." Blackman looked at Jonathan for a long moment. Finally Dr. Blackman shook his head while he wiped his blood-stained hands, then placed the grimy towel on a white stand beside the bed and tossed his instruments into his bag. "That arm will be useless to you." He turned away. "If you live at all," he muttered. Jonathan's clear blue eyes darkened like angry thunderclouds. The physician's bedside manner reeked. "Then I'll die in one piece." "It's your choice." Blackman shrugged and hurried on to his next patient. "He's one friendly soul," Jonathan quipped as he glanced up at Adam, noting his friend's bandaged shoulder for the first time. "What happened to you?" Adam chuckled. "It seems a friend of mine thought he was invincible and could race across a battlefield with bullets flying all around him without being harmed." "Seemed like a good idea at the time." "Bloody stupid is what it was. And once you went down, I had no choice but to cut a zig-zag across the field to rescue you." "And I do appreciate it, old boy. Evidently the Scottish haven't lost their aim." "Evidently." Adam frowned. With his good arm and Elizabeth on the other side, they managed to get Jonathan to his feet. "Let's get you home." Carefully, they moved down the front steps of the old brick hospital. Adam nodded and his coach pulled up to meet them. The footman jumped down and opened the carriage door. Soon they were safely settled in the carriage. Jonathan stretched out on the lush velvet seats, his head resting in Elizabeth's lap. Adam eased into the seat across from them so he wouldn't jar Jonathan. "I'm so sorry I didn't ask sooner, but with Jonathan and all," Elizabeth rambled and finally got to her question. "How is Jewel? Did you rescue her? Is she all right?" "You have been around Jewel too long," Adam teased. "She has a bad habit of asking several questions at a time." "Don't criticize. Just answer me," Elizabeth's voice rose slightly with irritation. "Did you rescue Jewel?" "Rescue Jewel?" Jonathan managed to ask, his voice slurred by pain. "From what?" "Answer me!" Elizabeth shrieked as fear and anger knotted inside her. "Tell me she's not dead!" She reached over and grabbed Adam's knee. "Jewel's dead? Can't be," Jonathan mumbled. He attempted to sit up, but finally gave up the effort. "I'm so sorry, Adam. I loved her, too." Adam chuckled. Elizabeth noticed the twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her and then Jonathan. "Perhaps if the two of you would be quiet, I could answer your questions." He paused. "Jewel is not dead. You asked if I rescued her," he said to Elizabeth before addressing Jonathan. "And I seem to recall how much you kept an eye on my wife for me." Elizabeth glared at her brother. "You know bloody well what I meant Adam Trent! Don't frighten me like that. Is she safe?" "Is Jewel safe?" Jonathan asked, too. "You're both beginning to sound like a parrot." Adam said, then folded his arms across his chest as he tried to relax. Perhaps, I should start at the beginning." "Please be so kind," Jonathan quipped from his reclined position. "It might be refreshing instead of frightening the wits out of us." "Adam!" Elizabeth insisted, her tone warning. "Jewel is as well as to be expected," Adam said patiently. There was a cold edge of irony in his voice. "After the fighting ended, I made sure you got to the hospital." He smiled at Jonathan. "I probably should have waited to make sure they didn't place you in the corner, which they apparently did. Anyway, I hurried home to see my wife. When I arrived at Four Oaks, all I found was a note telling me goodbye." Adam rubbed the back of his neck and Elizabeth could tell how upset Adam still was. "I thought I'd lost her forever," he said in a very sad tone as though he were lost in thought. "And?" Elizabeth prodded. "It seemed our friend, Captain Lee," Adam snarled as he continued, "had kidnapped Elizabeth." "He what!" Jonathan shouted, and this time he did come to a sitting position though he winced in the process at the pain that shot through him. "Calm down," Elizabeth soothed as she patted his hand and braced her body next to his so he wouldn't fall back over. She knew Jonathan couldn't handle the whole story. Jonathan didn't notice as he stated firmly, "I hope you shot that bloody bastard. We should have done so in England. When he threatened to take Jewel. I remember how he claimed to be her uncle, but all that bloody bastard wanted was the treasure map that Jewel possessed." Jonathan took a deep breath, and looked at Elizabeth. "Sorry, love." "I would have loved to have killed Lee, but I'm afraid I was too late, which I'll explain in a moment." Adam frowned with the regret that he hadn't taken his revenge on the swine. The carriage hit a rock and Jonathan moaned. "I hope there are not many of those rocks," Adam said, before continuing, "Anyway, Captain Lee wanted Jewel all along," Adam went to with the story, "Elizabeth was merely bait. He exchanged Elizabeth for Jewel." Jonathan looked at Elizabeth with concern deep in his eyes. "He didn't hurt you, love? Did he?" he asked, taking her hand in his. Elizabeth felt her face grow cold as the blood rapidly drained, leaving her chilled. She couldn't tell Jonathan what had happened. It had been hard enough telling Adam. Maybe later, when Jonathan was well. Then she could explain everything, and hope he'd understand. With a great deal of effort, she calmly said, "No." Adam quickly cut in and Elizabeth knew it was to save her from answering any more questions. "I had to find Lafitte to see where Lee had taken Jewel. All I knew is that they had sailed in search of the treasure that only Jewel and Jean knew about. What I didn't take into account was the raging fever I had developed from this bloody wound." He motioned to his arm. "I was so dazed by the fever when I arrived at Grand Terre that Pierre put me out of my misery with a good right fist to the jaw." Adam rubbed the bruise on his jaw. Elizabeth looked at him sympathetic, but her concerns turned back to her sister-in-law. "What about Jewel?" "Jean and his crew arrived at The Bay of Pirates, but not soon enough to save Jewel from being shot." "Shot!" Elizabeth frowned. "How badly?" "She was shot in the back of her shoulder. But she'll be fine once she's recovered," Adam said. He looked grateful, and tired himself. "The doctor said she'd need plenty of rest with what she has been through." Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. "Where is she?" "At Four Oaks." "What about Captain Lee?" Jonathan asked. "Though Jean didn't personally see the blackguard die, Jewel told him that Lee had drowned in the inlet trying to save his precious treasure chest." "Good riddance," Jonathan quipped, trying to ignore the rocking of the carriage. "Yes, you could say that," Adam said with a nod as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. "There was a long line of people who wanted to kill that bloody bastard!" Adam swore, propped his arm on the window and looked out. "I beg your pardon, Elizabeth." "You could probably put me on that list, too," Elizabeth murmured more to herself than to anyone. Jonathan managed to put his arm around her. "That's my tigress." He chuckled tiredly. "Do you realize, my love, that out of the four of us, you are the only one who hasn't been shot? I guess I can be thankful that you were not hurt." Elizabeth forced a smile, but when she glanced at Adam she saw the compassion in the eyes that were so much like her own. Seeing the sympathy brought moisture to her eyes. She didn't want Jonathan to see so she turned to gaze out the carriage window. The past would be something she'd have to live with for the rest of her life. She swallowed, realizing Jonathan still waited for her answer. She glanced at Jonathan. "Yes, I was the lucky one," she whispered. "Now put your head on my shoulder." She gave him a small smile. "You need to rest." Turning back to the window, she stared out at the trees stripped bare by chilly winter winds. Grey puddles dotted the road. At least it had stopped raining, but it was cold--just like she felt inside. Yes, she was the lucky one. She'd not been shot, but she had been wounded. Deeply. Elizabeth sighed. However, she wasn't a meek little lamb who would run and hide. She was a fighter like her brother. She would lick her wounds. And she would survive. But she could not bring herself to tell Jonathan . . . at least not yet. ----- Finally, the carriage swung into the lane that led up to Four Oaks. A row of live oaks lined both sides of the road, lacing their fingers together in an overhead canopy. The carriage topped the rise and the white mansion, surrounded by four huge oak trees draped in Spanish moss, reared its perfection before them. Elizabeth had come to think of Four Oaks as home. It wasn't as large as their childhood home, Briercliff, in Cornwall, but it was warm and inviting with its stately beauty. Eight Corinthian pillars graced the front of the house, and Wisteria vines draped the two end pillars. On a warm, sunny day you could hear the constant hum of bees darting from flower to flower. But the cold winter days of the present season left the vines bare and the bees quiet. A small part of Elizabeth missed where she and Adam had grown up playing in those castle halls. Briercliff sat on the gray cliffs of Cornwall, and Elizabeth had always thought of the magnificent estate fondly, because that was where she remembered her parents. If she shut her eyes, she could picture her mother's beautiful face and her breathtaking, laughing blue eyes. Elizabeth and Adam had taken after both their parents and ended up with unusual slate gray eyes. She supposed it was a mixture of their father's black eyes and their mother's blue ones. She wished her parents had lived long enough to see how she and Adam had grown up. She hoped they would have been proud of their children, and she longed to get her mother's advice on how to handle her present situation. The carriage lumbered to a stop, halting Elizabeth's daydreaming. She noticed Jonathan had fallen asleep on her shoulder. The warmth of him reminded her he still wasn't well. "Sit still, Elizabeth. I'll get someone to help me get Jonathan to a room," Adam said. "He's going to need plenty of rest before he's back to his old self." Her brother swung down out of the carriage and shouted to the house. Elizabeth watched her brother march up the front steps of Four Oaks. She glanced down at the face of the man she loved. She and Jonathan had grown up together in England. But back then she was nothing more than an annoyance to Jonathan. He'd always called her Adam's little sister even though she and Adam were the same age. However, over the years her status had changed to something else . . . something more. She smiled. She had noticed how Jonathan had stared at her when she'd left England to come to America. It was a peculiar stare . . . like he'd wanted to say something, but couldn't. That in itself was unusual for Jonathan. He was devilish in every way and never at a loss for words. She experienced a gambit of perplexing emotions. She'd heard the stories about him in England--the ocean wasn't that big! Jonathan Scott Winston Hird, Earl of Longdale, had become a rake. She wondered just how many hearts he had broken. Of course, Jonathan would let them down easy, but their hearts would still be broken all the same. She hadn't known what to expect when Jonathan had come home this last time. Did he remember her? Would he care? Lifting her hand, she gently brushed a stray lock of sandy brown hair from his forehead. The warmth of his soft flesh was intoxicating, and she longed to have him hold her. Elizabeth had loved Jonathan all her life. At first, the love she felt had been the love of a child, but it had endured over the years and had grown stronger. When Jonathan had followed Adam across the ocean, and she'd finally seen him again as a man, from the perspective of a woman, she knew. For just a brief moment before Jonathan had hidden it, she had seen his love. He had looked at her with such a yearning, it had made her heart ache with longing, and she'd made up her mind then and there that Jonathan's bachelor days were numbered. Adam leaned in the carriage door and grabbed Jonathan's good arm. "You've had enough time with my sister. Let's get you upstairs." Groggily, Jonathan pushed to a sitting position and blinked several times. "Bloody hell, old boy. I'm not a sack of potatoes. Do be careful." "No, a sack of potatoes would be easier to handle," Adam said matter-of-factly. "Here. Put your feet on the ground and Marvin will grab your other side so you don't end up flat on your face or on the ground." "I'm perfectly capable of walki--" Jonathan's voice trailed off as he stumbled. The servant and Adam grabbed him. "On second thought, old boy, some assistance would be most appreciated," Jonathan joked as he draped his good arm around Adam's neck. Elizabeth was glad to hear Jonathan's easy sense of humor return. "Do be careful, Adam," Elizabeth pleaded, following them up the front brick steps. "He's been wounded, after all." Adam turned his head a fraction to give his twin an incredible look. "And I haven't?" Elizabeth felt the heat of a blush as she trailed behind them up the stairway to a room directly across from hers. By the time they got Jonathan into bed, he'd passed out completely. Annie, Elizabeth & Adam's old nanny and housekeeper, swept into the room. "Adam, ye need tae be in bed. Have ye forgotten yer wounded?" Annie was a plump little Scotswoman who might be small in size but had the feisty determination of a much bigger woman. Her brown hair streaked with gray was pulled back into a loose bun and her apple cheeks always glowed with good cheer. "No, I haven't," Adam said curtly. "But I think that Elizabeth has." "Jonathan's hurt, too." Elizabeth touched Annie's arm, ignoring her brother completely. "Saints above! Have ye all lost yer ever-lovin' minds? I should have locked all o' ye in yer rooms. Then ye wouldn't have these gaping holes in ye." Annie clapped her hands and looked toward heaven, then back at them. "Now all o' ye out! The lad needs his rest." "But Annie," Elizabeth protested. "Ye not be doin' him any good if ye keel over from exhaustion. Now, shoo, all o' ye." Reluctantly, Elizabeth left. She knew Annie was taking care of her too, and Elizabeth had to admit she was exhausted. When she entered her room, the bed looked very inviting with its fluffy pink goose down comforter, and the eight white pillows pilled up against the headboard. But she resisted the pull of the finely dressed four poster bed and tugged instead on the silken bell cord. In a few minutes, Sally, her maid, appeared in the doorway. "Yes, ma'am." Sally was an older black woman who'd run the kitchen until she'd hurt her back. Then Elizabeth had suggested Sally might like to have an easier job of lady's maid. Sally had been so grateful that she took on mothering Elizabeth like a mother hen. Now Elizabeth had two mothers--Annie and Sally. "Sally, can you help me with these hooks? I want to take a nap." "Yes'um. You've not been taking care of yourself, Miz Elizabeth. Just look at those dark circles under your eyes. Master Jonathan will be looken elsewhere ifen yo keep it up." Elizabeth swung around. "Do you really think so?" Sally laughed. "Only if he's a fool. Ain't none to compare with yo, Miz Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled and then climbed under the fluffy pink comforters. "I'll just sleep a little while," she murmured. She heard the click of the door then Sally slid from the room and Elizabeth drifted to sleep. And sleep Elizabeth did as the afternoon turned into night. She slept peacefully until the wee hours of morning. That's when the demons slipped in . . . .
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