The Creole Princess by Beth White Read Free Book Online Page B

now. Don’t you see we’re in the middle of—”
    “Either you come get him and take him home, or I’m letting him go to the guardhouse.” Niall’s round face was set in uncharacteristically obstinate lines.
    Papa must have really done it this time.
    “All right, I’ll come.” She glanced over her shoulder. Simon couldn’t be spared, so it would have to be her. “Simon! I have to run an errand—I’ll be back in an hour.”
    Guiltily shrugging off her brother’s angry objection, she followed Niall. They dodged the longshoremen, sailors, merchants, and slaves who crowded the dock, Lyse pulling her hat lower to cover her eyes and hide her face. Her hair was braided and tied out of the way under a scarf, so maybe nobody would recognize her and tell Justine she’d been working at the wharf again.
    She tugged Niall’s sleeve. “What did he do this time?”
    Her old friend hesitated. “There was a faro game at Coup de Chance.”
    Faro. Mixed with rum and politics, no doubt, and—judging from Niall’s involvement—off-duty soldiers. A combination which Antoine Lanier would be unable to resist.
    When she didn’t answer, only sighed, Niall said, “I tried to gethim to come out. I told him you and Simon had work down at the quay, that you needed him.” Niall shook his head. “He just said something about ‘all those mouths to feed’ and called for another round.”
    “All those mouths” included herself right now—which was why she spent her days either working at the dock or fishing for her supper—but Lyse would not feel guilty for refusing the first offer of marriage to come her way, from a friend of her father’s who already had three children. She was only sixteen, and there would be more. She sneaked a glance at Niall. He would ask her, she was sure, as soon as he got up enough nerve to brave Simon’s contempt. Papa would say yes, relieved to be shed of her.
    Niall looked at her again, his face flaming when he met her eyes. He wasn’t handsome, but he was a good boy, and he didn’t seem to mind her complicated, slightly seedy family. If she married him, she would be a British soldier’s wife.
    Which would be little better than marrying Bertrand Robicheaux.
    Feeling her throat tighten, she snatched for joy. Nobody said life should be easy. Even Daisy, who lived about as charmed a life as anybody she knew, faced her father’s reluctance to let her marry Simon. But God was good, and something would work out.
    Lyse smiled and bumped Niall’s shoulder with sisterly gratitude. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”
    It seemed God had been listening to her prayers, for nobody they passed gave her and Niall more than a cursory glance as they trudged up from the quay to turn onto the street which ran past the gate to the fort. They stopped at the gatehouse, where Niall exchanged salutes with another young infantryman. “Reporting back to Sergeant Adamson.”
    The guard looked happy to have his solitary boredom interrupted. “Who’s this?” He looked at Lyse with mild curiosity.
    “M-Monsieur Lanier’s . . . son,” said Niall, tugging at his uniform collar. “Adamson’s request.”
    “Oh. Yes. Take him in.” The young guard looked doubtful. “You might need a wagon, though. I doubt he can walk in his condition.”
    Lyse’s heart sank. Please, God, let him be sober. Otherwise she’d never get him home. Simon was going to be furious.
    It was a prayer without much hope.
    Lyse followed Niall past headquarters, hoping that she wouldn’t run into Major Redmond or anybody else she knew. She couldn’t help remembering the day last August when she and Daisy had delivered the message from Don Rafael. It had been a highlight in a bleak season, as British military presence tightened over the port, limiting trade with “suspicious parties,” notably American ships. French vessels were also scrutinized, as gossip said Louis XVI was ready to ally his country with the Continental rebels.
    She