Author Topic: BARATARIA  (Read 25307 times)

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Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #60 on: January 17, 2009, 10:06:30 PM »
"Mmm...that was nice!" Caesaire propped herself up on her elbow and ran her finger up and down Andre's chest. He reached over and pulled her close to him. She snuggled next to him.
"You liked the bifteck?"
"I adored the bifteck but the dessert was superb!"
Andre chuckled. "You seemed to enjoy it with much enthusiasm!"
She playfully pinched his arm and he drew her into a kiss.
"Cher, I think it is time you and I had a serious talk."
Caesaire looked at him with her deep blue eyes. "Andre, if this will upset me, I would rather not spoil a perfect evening."
"The musicians have stopped and packed up for the night. Caesaire, I should have told you all this before I made my proposal to you. I am afraid I haven't been entirely truthful to you."
Her heart fell. "Oh, Andre! Please don't tell me you are really married and have a few children waiting for their papa to come home. Mon Dieu, what if you even have a dog? I will have to step aside and then I shall go into a convent and become a Mother Superior and then I will be a dried up old lady in a very unfashionable black and white habit and my father shall come visit me and make alms to St Anthony's bread for the poor and I shall have had to confess my sins over and over to Pere Antoine and I shall never be forgiven and you know what THAT means when I die and---"
Andre cut her off with a kiss.
"That, my love, has to be the longest run-on sentence in history! I cannot picture you as a nun. But I need to tell you something about myself that no one save two other people know. Not even Etienne or Francois."
"Oh, Andre, I could forgive you anything but the love of another woman."
He shook his head and idly stroked her hair.
"You need to know something. Especially if we are to have a family."
She propped herself up. "Oh no, you are one of those bleeders! I had read about them and Monsieur Portier is one even though he----"
"Caesaire, please. This is hard enough because I feel I am betraying a confidence I swore I would never break."
She nodded solemnly and took a deep breath. "I shall love you no matter what."
He stretched his arm idly behind him to hold onto the spindles of the headboard.
"Garnier de Paul. What do you think of him?"
"Garnier? I don't really know him all that well. The only thing I know is that he is from Mobile, he was in love once and she left him for someone else. Andre, that is so sad. I think he still loves her."
"I know he still does. He hasn't told me, but I know it."
"Do you know who she is, Andre? Maybe the two of them can rekindle their love and---"
"It's my mother."
Caesaire stopped in mid-sentence. "Your--your mother? Marie Beaudouin?"
Andre nodded. "They met when she was sixteen. He left a few months later and I guess I was the remembrance he left behind."
Caesaire put her hand to her mouth. "You--your father is Garnier de Paul and not Anton Beaudouin?"
Andre looked wistful. "I found out the week that you had left. It seems Garnier had showed up at St Louis right after Mass and Maman warned him to stay away from me. Providence saw to it that Garnier's ship was the one that I signed on. He recognized me right off and Maman's stern warning to keep away from me led him to believe what I had found out. One night we were engaged in a battle with a Spanish galleon. Garnier was shot in the thigh. It was touch and go but we managed to stop the bleeding. But at infection set in and he was delirious.  In his ramblings, he kept calling me 'son'.  And....I knew. I just knew it. "
"Did your mother ever confirm it, Andre?"
"She told me that Anton was not my father. I asked her who he was and she said he was a sailor who died. It was only when Garnier was on the mend that we talked. I told him that I would never tell Maman that I knew he was my father until she herself told me."
Caesaire's heart went out for the man she laid next to. She now understood the faraway look in his eyes and the wistfulness.
She said softly, "Andre, I don't care who your father is. You are your own man. I knew that the day you kissed me in my father's courtyard for the first time."
He held her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.
"Je t'aime, Caesaire Trosclair."
"Et je t'aime aussi, Andre."

Garnier stubbed out  the last of the pipeweed  and tapped his pipe on the table. He leaned on the rail of the lower deck and looked out towards the horizon, where the New World was drawing ever nearer with each passing day.  He sighed heavily and said a prayer.
'Mon Dieu, please get us there safely. After all, there are grandchildren to be had.'

« Last Edit: March 22, 2009, 06:07:13 PM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #61 on: January 22, 2009, 12:01:42 PM »
Marie rolled over to place her arm around Jaquie. Her green eyes snapped open as she encountered nothing but the empty space where the ebony piratess had fallen asleep that evening. The morning sun caught the violent spark of unreasoning jealousy that flashed in them and the first mate of the Calypso’s Revenge bolted from the warm cot. Striding over to her sea bag she began rummaging through it franticly as her tears blurred her vision, making the search even harder.

Drawing forth two vials she quickly emptied the contents of one into the bottle of wine she had brought with her from Jamaica, the other she secreted in the leather cincher of her clothing as soon as she had dressed. Wiping the tears from her eyes she jerked the door open and vanished into the depths of Le Faucon de Mer.

Jacqueline Villard leaned on the aft rail, much in the same way she had observed Andre do when troubled, or wrapped in deep thought. Her large liquid brown eyes watching as the eastern horizon turned lovely shades of gold, orange, and magenta with the sun’s imminent arrival. She had awoken just before dawn, slipping from her bed and Marie’s arms to quietly dress and walk the deck of her friend’s ship in the hope that it may provide the cure for her current state of confusion.

“Excusez-moi, Captain Villard.” A warm smile came to her full lips at the sound of the masculine voice, thinking Andre had perhaps risen early and found her there. Vanishing just as quickly in her disappointment to find Francois Loupe respectively standing a few strides from her.

“Forgive me if I am intruding, Jaquie.” The master gunner bowed slightly, the casual smile beneath his moustache belying the concern etched across the man’s face. “But you seem troubled, Cheri.”

The captain of the Calypso’s Revenge opened her mouth to reply, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, when the sound of Pierre Mansle’s shout from the crow’s nest cut her off.


The two pirates exchanged a puzzled look, then as one they raced down from the quarter deck and over to where John Hubbard stood staring intently into the long spyglass. Etienne de Marigny stood to the quartermaster’s right, his steely gaze locked on the small speck of a ship quickly growing as she bore down on them.

“Trouble, Mon Amis?” Francois queried, his eyes glancing at Jaquie for a moment.

“Too soon to tell, Mon Fere.” Etienne frowned. They were carrying a king’s ransom in hard currency, and it was obvious he considered any ship crossing their path a threat.

“Be that as it may, Lads,” Hubbard spoke without lowering the telescope. “She’s on a collision course, and if she don’t change it soon we’ll have no choice to treat her as hostile.”

Francois’ brow furrowed. “I will get the guns ready, just in case, Amis. If she turns out to be an enemy, we will have a surprise awaiting your orders, John.”

The clanging peal of the warning bell brought Andre bolting from the bed with such speed that he nearly fell flat on his face before he had gotten his legs untangled from the sheets. Caesaire no more than a second or two behind him. The two pirate lovers dressed in record time, wearing no more than they felt was necessary for a battle. For a moment Andre began to object to his life’s love accompanying him on deck. The very look in her bright blue eyes cutting off his argument almost as soon as he had begun.

“Very well, Mon amore, but I must insist that no matter what happens you do not stray from my side. Comprenez-vous?” He frowned. Caesaire smiled as sweetly as she could, then kissed him on the cheek.

“I would have it no other way, Cher.” She whispered into his ear just before they both ran from the cabin. A few moments later the forgotten door creaked slowly open.

Marie Juliana looked carefully about the cabin before she entered, quietly shutting the door behind her. Padding softly on bare feet over to the table she uncorked what was left of the wine Andre and Caesaire had left on the table. She fished the second vial from behind her belt and emptied the contents into the remainder of the wine, swirled the liquids around a moment, then replaced the cork and bottle.

Making her way back to the door  she cracked it open and peered outside to ensure the narrow hallway was indeed empty of prying eyes, then looked briefly back.

“You shall never take Jaquie from me, Andre Beaudouin!” She hissed to the empty cabin. “Never!!”

The deck of Le Faucon de Mer swarmed with activity as pirates took their positions all over the ship. Some hid in the riggings with muskets and pistols at the ready. Francois and the rest of the gunners crouched, hidden below the line of sight, cannons primed and ready. The remainder of the crew had armed themselves and stood ready to carry out any orders from either their captain, or the quartermaster.

Andre stood beside John. Garnier and Caesaire to either side of them. The foursome’s attention riveted on the approaching ship. Hubbard’s face was drawn with worry.

“Do you think she’s hostile, John?” Andre watched the ship like an opponent in a duel.

“She flies no colors, and even though we changed course several times she’s kept to a course ‘a interception, Captain.” John spit into the scuppers. “I’d say it’s a fair bet she….” Before the quartermaster could finish the approaching ship’s bow chasers exploded, sending a cannon ball flying across the Faucon’s path.

Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #62 on: January 26, 2009, 12:18:06 PM »
Andre snatched the offered spyglass from John Hubbard’s hand and peered intently at the oncoming ship. The weight of the gold and coin they had exchanged for the treasure of Count Eladio would prove problematic in a sea battle, slowing the usually fleet pirate ship immensely. With her maneuverability cut Le Faucon de Mer would quickly be at the mercy of any other raiders who may have learned of their good fortunes in Jamaica. If perhaps he could spot the captain of the ship?

Suddenly Andre unleashed a string of Creole curses that made even the seasoned Hubbard wince at their ferocity. There near the port rail stood the grinning, hated form of Jean-Pierre Rousseau.

“What is it, Mon Capitaine?” Etienne inquired, puzzled by the anger written across Andre’s face for all to see. “Is it Lafitte again?!”

“Non!” Andre spat, his face blood red. “It is zat pauvre con who assaulted us at le taverne!” His accent had thickened with his rage.

“The batard who attempted to spirit Mademoiselle Trosclair away?!” François broke in.

“The same.” Andre lowered the glass. More in control of himself, he frowned. “Most likely he is working for Jean. There is a cloaked figure standing next to him. I can not make out who, but it could very well be him.”

“Should we fire on them?” John asked.

“Non, Mon ami.” Beaudouin’s face split into a wicked grin. “I have perhaps the better idea, depending on their greed.”

“You have an idea, Cher?” Caesaire looked quizzically at her lover.

“Oui, Mon amore, but it will depend on giving you up to them.” Andre winked.

Jean-Pierre smiled as he saw the white flag raise on Le Faucon. As he had guessed the additional weight of the full holds had hamstrung the New Orleans pirate, and he knew it. What ever else one could say about Andre Beaudouin, the man was no fool.

“You see, Drausin?” He nodded towards the pirate ship. “She is too low in the water, and Beaudouin will not risk losing both ship and treasure in a hopeless battle.”

D'Estrehan merely nodded.

“Once we have boarded her, we will have both the lady and the gold. Monsieur Renard should be more than pleased. Then we will send Le Faucon de Mer to the bottom of the sea. With all hands, of course.” Rousseau’s smile was twisted slightly with the wish that Caesaire Trosclair could be among those, but his orders were clear. Still, there was nothing said about the condition she should be delivered in, only that she be alive. There were many, more pleasurable ways to pay the she witch back for her affront to him.

“Captain Beaudouin!” He called out across the few yards that now separated the two vessels. “Stand down, and prepare to be boarded!”

“NON!” The reply came echoing back, and Rousseau’s eyes widened as Andre raised a flaming torch above his head. “At my feet is a trail of gunpowder that runs straight to the powder room. Should you, or any of your crew make a move upon my ship, I will blow her to Hell and you will gain nothing!!”

This was not good. Benjamin Renard had been explicit. Return with the woman at all costs. As long as Caesaire Trosclair was aboard the other ship he stood to lose both prizes. His mind raced for an answer when it suddenly dawned on him. Perhaps, like most pirates, Beaudouin valued gold above a woman.

“Captain Beaudouin! We only want the woman! Send her over to us and you may leave in peace! What say you?!” Rousseau held his breath, hoping Andre would fall for the trap.

After several tense moments Andre called back. “Very well! We have an accord! Give us a moment to get the longboat and your prize ready!”

Jean-Pierre and Drausin watched with glee as the struggling form of Caesaire was roughly brought to the small boat, her hands tied behind her back. The captain of Le Faucon de Mer watching impassively, still holding aloft the blazing torch. All eyes on Rousseau’s ship were riveted on the scene unfolding before them.

No sooner did the boat touch the sea when an explosion behind them rocked the deck, nearly tossing half the crew into the Gulf waters. Rousseau gripped the rail, looking up in time to see the two pirates and the suddenly free Caesaire pull two more pirates from under the water. The guns of Le Faucon belched smoke and fire. Chain shot tore through the rigging, severing several ropes as Andre’s ship raised her sails and began to pull away.

“Hard about! Return fire! Aim for her sails!” Jean-Pierre shouted franticly.

“Sorry, Captain!” The pilot called from the quarter deck. “The rudder’s gone. Blown clean off!

Rousseau slammed his fists into the railing as he watched the Creole pirate and his doxie wave from the aft of the rapidly retreating ship, angled so that neither port, nor bow cannon could target them. Then the Trosclair woman added to his humiliation by blowing a kiss.

Andre and Caesaire were still laughing as they entered their cabin.

“That was priceless, Cher!” Andre gasped.

“Well after you had sent your two best swimmers over the far side with a small tarred barrel of powder, a waxed fuse, and hollow reeds to breath through, I though it was the least I could do for poor Jean. A kiss in return for a rudder.” Caesaire grinned coyly.

Andre gathered her into his arms. “I think he got the better of the deal, N’cest pa?”

“Hmmmm.” The blonde piratess smiled. “Not quite as good as what I reserve for you, Mon cher.” She pulled his hungry mouth to her own in a deep, tender kiss.

“Come, Cheri.” Andre grinned as they parted. “Let us celebrate our good fortune.”

He reached for the last of the wine they had neglected to finish during last nights dinner and filled two goblets with the purplish red liquid. Handing one to Caesaire he smiled and lifted his own to her.

“To a safe voyage the rest of the way home, eh?”

“And a wonderful wedding once we arrive.” Caesaire added.

“But of course.” Andre grinned tipping the glass to his lips.

The door of the cabin burst in. Jacqueline Villard ran across the room screaming, “No!”, as she slapped the goblets from the stunned couple’s hands.

« Last Edit: January 26, 2009, 12:19:38 PM by Blackjack Roberts »

Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #63 on: February 24, 2009, 08:47:02 PM »
Andre jumped up and shouted, "Are you out of your mind, Jacquie?"
Caesaire coughed and mopped up the wine that had been spilled down her dressing gown.
Jacquie's breath came in ragged gasps.
"The wine--it is tainted!"
"Tainted? With what?"
"With a tincture of foxglove."
'WHAT? Who----why?"
She grabbed his arm and whispered, "I am so sorry."
"Jacquie, I insist on knowing what is going on."
Jacquie looked sorrowfully at Andre. "It was Marie. She made a tincture of the herbs and added it to your wine. After the skirmish, she offered me some wine. To calm my nerves or so she said. But i remembered the smell--oh, how I remember it. My mother had a garden and there was foxglove in it. She would make a compound for the lady of the house because she would get palpitations. It calmed her down. And I remember the scent. I always had an incredible sense of smell. The wine could not mask it. So I pretended to drink the wine. Marie Juliana kept watching me, asking me how I was. Like she was waiting...watching to see if I would be poisoned."
Caesaire's mouth was a perfect O.
"But..but she loves you! And you think she tried to KILL you? Jacquie, are you hearing what you are saying?"
Jacquie reached over to the bottle of wine and waved it under Andre's nose.
"Can you smell it? She tried to kill the two of us."
Andre's eyes were ablaze. "Mon Dieu, she almost took out Caesaire, too! Where is she?  WHERE IS SHE?"
Jacquie said softly, "She is in our cabin. I gave her a strong drink and she is unconscious. Andre, what shall we do with her?"

Caesaire raised her eyebrow at the implication of 'we' but decided to keep quiet.
Andre's Creole blood rose in his face and he fought for control.
"She tried to kill me. You. And she inadvertently tried to kill Caesaire. And would have if you hadn't intervened. If she were a man, I would hang her from the highest yardarm."
Jacquie looked down at her feet. "I have a suggestion and please hear me out. Marie Juliana and I have been...good friends for over five years. What she did was inexcusable. But she has had a hard life and she did save my life once. I suggest we leave her on an island that has the probability of being rescued. It will give her alot to think about in the meantime."
"But what of my crew? Mon Dieu, Jacquie--if it became known I let a potential murderer go...."
Caesaire interjected softly, "I think Jacquie knows best, Andre. You have never been a woman in love."
Jacquie and Andre both turned to her and she continued. "This is not condoning. But I would make the stipulation that she has to remain incarcerated while on shipboard and then left on an island. And with the stipulation that if she manages to survive, that if she ever steps foot near Le Faucon de Mer, she will be killed on sight. She will be hung if she ever gets near you or me or Jacquie."
Caesaire looked up at Andre. "Do you see my point, cher? You will be doling out the punishment on your terms. You will still command respect of the crew. But you have shown mercy to her and will sleep much better at night for it."
"But, Caesaire.."
She put her two fingers to his lips.
"Hush, mon cher. Leave her on an island where there is a good chance that she will be rescued. But she is obviously unhinged. The fear that she may die will be mental anguish enough. But her blood will be off your hands. And Jacquie will sleep better at night knowing she was not an instrument in Marie's death."

Jacquie looked at Caesaire with a newfound respect. She was not the shallow bit of candy that Andre had taken up with. She was a thinking, sensitive woman with a kind heart. The pirate captain of the Calypso looked over at Andre.
He sighed but his hand was still clenched. Caesaire noticed this and took his hand gently, stroking the back of it until he released the fist.
"I can't win against the two of you, can I?"
Caesaire kissed him gently.
"It is not a game, Andre. It is something you will feel better about later on."

Andre turned to Jacquie. "Explain it to John Hubbard. Have him incarcerate Marie Juliana and in two day's time we shall be coming onto a group of small islands. It is in the trade lanes and she stands a good chance of survival."
Jacquie grasped Andre's hand, the tears welling up in her eyes.
"Merci, cher."
And with that she left.
Caesaire raised her eyebrow and said a bit cooly, "She called you 'cher'. I knew she was in love with you."
He drew her into his arms and held her tight.
"I can't believe that Marie Juliana would be so twisted as to try to kill me.  But mon Dieu! She could have killed you too."
The enormity of what had transpired suddenly dawned on Caesaire. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she realized how close she and Andre had come to a most unpleasant death.
"Andre?" she said softly.
"Oui, mon amour?"
"Can you pile more sail on and get us home quicker?  I---I want the comfort of New Orleans back under my feet again."
He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
"For you, mon cher, I'd do anything."
"Then take us home. Now. As soon as you can. I won't rest until we are settled in the city again."
"Why, Mademoiselle Trosclair! Does this mean you are willing to live in sin with me?"
She laughed shakily. "Of course not! A romp on the high seas is one thing.  Back in the parish, it is all so....sordid!"
"And where do you intend to live, mon cher?"
"Back home with Pere. I expect you to meet with him and formally ask for my hand---"
"--and other delectable parts--"
"--in person."
"And if he says no?"
Caesaire firmly set her jaw. "He won't. He can't. I won't allow it."
He laughed and swept her up in his arms.
"Have I told you how much I adore you, mon amour?"
She clung to him as if she would never let him go.
"Oui. But actions speak louder than words."
He raised an eyebrow. "And we are not in Nouvelle d'Orleans yet....."
Andre held her close and listened to the soft breathing as she slept on his chest, wrapped in his arms.
So many obstacles to overcome.
But he knew one thing.
Caesaire Trosclair was his and would be for all eternity.
He reached over and snuffed out the candle, thankful that they would soon be home.
« Last Edit: February 25, 2009, 09:07:10 PM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #64 on: February 27, 2009, 06:47:09 PM »
Marie Juliana watched from the edge of the water with tear stained eyes as Le Faucon de Mer grew smaller and smaller on the horizon. The revelations of the past twenty-four hours had been nearly more than the jilted lover could bear. She had fully expected to be hanged for her indiscretions. Either that or fed to the sharks. The fate that Andre Beaudouin had set for her was far worse than mere death in her eyes.

She had been brought up from the ship’s hold onto the Falcon’s polished deck. Her hands firmly bound behind her and the hard stares of the crew didn’t touch her. She had done what her heart had demanded of her and felt no remorse over the deed. Her only regret was that Jaquie had discovered her plot before its fruition. Instead of being joined with her lover in eternal sleep she now found herself alone in a decidedly hostile place.

Andre, Jaquie, Caesaire, and the officers of the pirate vessel stood at the rail of the quarterdeck, facing the deck below in solemn reflection. Marie stared back at the Creole buccaneer in full defiance as he broke the uneasy silence.

“Marie Juliana. You have attempted to poison the captain of Le Faucon de Mer, my friend and guest Jacqueline Villard, and worst of all Mon amore, Caesaire Trosclair.” Andre’s hazel eyes blazed in anger. “By the law of the sea we should hang you for your transgressions.”

Several shouts of, “Hang the wench!” rose from the crew until Andre raised one hand silencing the uproar. Marie did not cower, but still stared steadily upward.

“Non.” The pirate captain spoke clearly. “As many of you are aware, Mon Amis, I am not so inclined to commit the murder. However, a crime of such a magnitude can not go without the answer.”

The Creole pirate took a deep breath. Jaquie looked down at her former lover with a pitiless lack of any emotion, as Andre exhaled before pronouncing his sentence.

“Marie Juliana, you will be marooned.” Andre said, almost sadly. “You will be given supplies, and the means to defend yourself. There is a great likelihood that you will be rescued, but know this. If ever you come within a hundred yards of my crew, my ship, or me, I will not hesitate to kill you on sight. Comprenez-vous?”

Marie nodded slightly, then looked to Jaquie for the first time. “And what of you, my love?” She asked, searching her former lover’s dark eyes for any sign of pity.

Jacqueline met her gaze with an icy coldness that she had seen reserved for drunken males who would not take no for an answer. “It is the same for me, Marie. Despite what we once meant to each other, if you try to return to me, I will kill you.”

Only the rejection of Jaquie brought any emotion from the exiled piratess and she began to weep bitterly.

“Please, Jaquie!” She began to beg. “Please do not do this to me! I will not go anywhere near Andre, or his crew, only please don’t turn me away from you!”

The ebony corsair kept her composure for long tense moments, and then turned away to hide the sorrow and pity that welled up in her unbidden. Marie stood in open mouthed shock as her former captain and lover turned not to Andre Beaudouin, but into the arms of François Loupe. At that moment she realized that she had vented her rage at the wrong rival. It was not Andre who had been worming his way between them, but François!

As the pirate ship slipped from view Marie picked up the empty pistol they had left her with, along with shot and powder. Arming the deadly weapon she kissed it’s barrel, promising the weapon that soon enough it would lay one François Loupe in his grave. Then the abandoned woman began to move the food and fresh water up into the tree line, out of the beating rays of the sun. All she had to do now was wait to be rescued.

It would be a good three weeks before her wish would be granted.

“It is most certainly Le Faucon de Mer.” Jean Lafitte lowered the spyglass from his eye. “Andre and Caesaire are standing side by side on the quarterdeck.”

Benjamin le Renard raised his glass of brandy nonchalantly, as much to hide his surprise and anger as to drink. He stood beside the French pirate, looking out of the open bay windows of Lafitte’s mansion. The compound’s vantage point provided a nearly unobstructed view of any ship sailing in, or out of the port. He secretly made a mental note to reward Jean-Pierre handsomely for his failure, quite handsomely indeed.

“Well then, Mon Ami.” Renard turned to his newest puppet, and drained the expensive crystal. “I suppose I should return to New Orleans, then. I have news that Andre will be most anxious to hear.”

“Do not forget our arraignment, Politician.” Jean warned.

“Never, Mon ami.” Renard smiled. “Once he has outlived his usefulness and New Orleans is ours, Andre Beaudouin is all yours. Au revoir.”

Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #65 on: March 16, 2009, 08:05:08 PM »
"Oh, mon amour! The sight of her never fails to excite me!" Caesaire breathed.
Andre brushed the hair that had whipped across her face back from it and kissed the tip of her nose.
"I feel the same way, cher. Elle est magnifique, n'est-ce pas?"
She leaned her head against his chest and grabbed his arms by the wrist to encircle her from behind. Deeply breathing the air, Andre said softly, "And now the fair city has taken on a different air."
"How so, my love?"
Andre chuckled. "The last time we saw her, we were swimming for our lives to Le Faucon."
She gently touched his cheek, "And now we sail into her together."
He smiled at her, "Nervous?"
She shook her head no.
"Not even telling your father?"
Caesaire laughed lightly, "I am not telling him."
"But, cher---"
She brushed her fingertips across Andre's lips and gazed into his eyes.
"YOU are asking him."
"Oui! Vous. I believe it is customary among our people for the man to ask the father for his daughter's hand in marriage."
Andre threw his head back and laughed. "Just the hand?"
She gave him a devilish look. "After that, it is up to the woman to decide what she will give him. And how often."

Andre kissed her hand and murmured, "I have no doubt I shall not be deprived, cher."
"Will you stay with your mother, Andre?"
He looked at her with a bemused expression.
"I was hoping you would stay with me. There is an inn on St Peter that is quaint and small. Very quiet. We could be by ourselves, cher. No one--no crew, no friends. Just you and I."

She looked at Andre with a little remorse and a touch of tenderness.
"I say before, mon amour, that I want our marriage to begin on a fresh start. And that would include confessing our sins--don't look at me that way!--to Pere Antoine. You formally ask mon pere for my hand and then we have our engagement ball. It will be the likes of what New Orleans has never seen before!"
"And are you sure votre pere will have no objections?"
She said confidently, "You leave Pere to me. All you need to do is ask to make me your wife. He will say yes!---Oh, look, Andre! St Louis Cathedral!"
He held her close as they sailed into the port.
"We truly are home, cher."

« Last Edit: March 17, 2009, 08:57:57 PM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #66 on: March 17, 2009, 08:58:17 PM »
"Pere?  Où êtes-vous?"
Caesaire threw her hat on the credenza in the entranceway.
She made her way to the courtyard. Christophe was sitting at the table with Tante Isabelle, having his morning cafe au lait.
Tante Isabelle came over and held her hands out to her niece.
"Caesaire, you look wonderful!"
Her father rose and kissed her on her cheek.
"And you have been gallivanting all over the seas, I understand?"
Caesaire pulled off her gloves and put them on the table. She sat down and reached for a beignet.
"Mmmm! I missed these most of all!"
Isabelle laughed. "There were no beignets where you were, my dear?"
Caesaire shook her head.
"No, but I managed to find something else to satisfy my sweet tooth."
Isabelle put her fingers under Caesaire's chin and lifted her face up to meet hers.
"Caesaire, it must have been very warm down there. You are positively glowing!"
The merriment danced in Caesaire's eyes. "Oui, Tante Isabelle! It was very warm---I daresay hot--where I was."
Christophe poured another cup of cafe and added the milk. "And where have you been, my dear?"
Caesaire frowned slightly, "When he says that, he is really asking, 'WHO have you been with, my dear?' Pere, I have been in the Caribbean with the only man I have ever loved."
Isabelle muttered under her breath, 'Mon Dieu, here it comes....'
Christophe dabbed his lips with his napkin.
"And where is Monsieur Beaudouin now, Caesaire?"
She looked at her father and turned to her aunt and said, "Now he is MONSIEUR Beaudouin. He has a first name, Pere. A name you always used. Andre. It's Andre, Pere."
He said in measured tones, "Yes, yes, I do know his proper name. But he is no longer the boy who would bring fish to the house on the pretext of seeing my daughter. Now he brings nothing and not even a pretext."
Caesaire fumed, "I am not a little girl anymore, Pere."
"And where is Monsieur----Andre---now?"
She loosened the laces on her dress and pulled her hair off her neck, fanning herself with her hands.
"He went to see his mother. He will be staying with her until he can--until he can take care of some business."
Christophe took a sip of his cafe again and said, "You will be home for dinner tonight?"
"Oui, Pere."
"I told you, Andre has business."
Christophe looked thoughtful.
"Then I expect you home for dinner.  And a wonderful surprise, ma fille."
"A surprise? What is it?"
"Not a what. More like a 'who'."
Caesaire said exasperatedly to her aunt, "These are riddles. Do you know the answer to it?"
Isabelle shrugged. "Je ne sais quoi."
Caesaire sighed. "Since Andre has business in the city, oui. I shall be here."
Christophe clapped his hands and said, "Tres bien!"
"What time do I make a royal command performance?"
He hid his smile behind his cup and said, "I do believe that eight o'clock will be just right."

« Last Edit: March 19, 2009, 05:30:58 AM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #67 on: March 21, 2009, 08:04:41 PM »
Andre walked jauntily up the short cobble stone walkway that led to the sumptuous home he had purchased for his mother those long years ago. One of his dreams when he had signed on with Lafitte’s crew was to see her at last in the comfort that she deserved. Now not only that dream had come to pass, but soon another long held desire would be fulfilled.

The crew was immediately put to the task of sailing Le Faucon de Mer further up the river to the hidden camp and warehouse he had built on the advice of Sebastian. A very good idea that had been, for he doubted he could trust the secrecy of such a large amount of gold to the bankers of New Orleans. At least not at the moment.

He paused for a moment. Strangely enough Jacqueline had declined his offer to accompany him. Preferring, she said, to accompany the crew to the camp. Andre smiled to himself. He had noticed the quick look she had unconsciously shot in François direction. Mon Dieu! François et Jaquie? He hoped his old friend knew what he was in for. Jaquie’s passions, he suspected, ran far deeper than her anger. C’est la vie.

He rapped at the whitewashed door which soon opened to reveal the only woman, other than Caesaire, that he truly loved.

“Bonjour, la mère!” Andre gently kissed Marie Beaudouin’s cheek. “Comment allez-vous?”

“Je vais bien, mon fils.” Marie smiled. “Come inside and tell me all your news.”

“That is about all there is to tell, Maman.” Andre sipped his coffee. “All that is left for me to do is to ask for Caesaire’s hand, and….” He trailed off as his face went beet red.

“And what, mon fils?” Marie asked.

“Caesaire wishes to make a new start for us.” Andre answered shyly. “She wishes for me to go to confession.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Mais oui, Maman.” Andre stared at the floor. “I have not been to confession since I signed on with Jean.”

“WHAT!??” Marie Beaudouin grabbed Andre’s left ear, pulling him to his feet. “Andre Garnier Beaudouin!! What is the meaning of this?!! Have I not taught you better?!! You will go to confession, and you will do so this very minute!”

Father Antoine looked up from lighting the candles just in time to see a sight that had caused more than a bit of tittering and comment on the streets of New Orleans. Marie Beaudouin stormed through the doors of the church, angrier than a wet hen and leading her son by his ear.

“Pere Antoine.” Marie said breathlessly, finally releasing the tall buccaneer. “My son is here for a long over due confession. Would you be so kind?”

“B-but of course, Madame Beaudouin.” Father Antoine stammered, flabbergasted. “But confession must be taken willingly.” Behind his mother Andre mouthed ‘no’ and waved his hands in an attempt to stop the priest. Grimacing at his dismal failure he then rolled his eyes heavenward. His mother had a full head of steam and Andre would rather face the hordes of Hell than face her ire.

“I assure you it is willingly, Pere Antoine.” She turned to her son a split second after he quickly dropped his hands. “Is it not, Andre?”

“Mais oui, Maman. Mais oui.” The Creole pirate quickly agreed. “Après vous, Pere Antoine?”

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Andre began in the confessional. “I do not know how long it has been since my last confession.”

“That is perfectly alright, my son.” Antoine crossed himself and prayed for the strength to make it through this one. “Just confess your wrong doings that I might offer you absolution.”

“Oui, Pere Antoine.” Andre took a deep breath. “I have slept with ladies of the evening. Jeannette Badeau in the quarter, Adelina Chaffee, Clarinda D’Aubigne, Melaina Faucet, Jocelyn Naffis,”


“Denissa Hallett…”


“Jocelin Danvers..”


“Oui Pere?”

“God only has so much time until the day of judgment.” Father Antoine mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “I am certain he knows their names. Shall we move on?”

“Oui, Pere.” Andre could feel his face burning in the semi light. “I have been with many women, and……Pere?”

“Yes, my son?”

“Are you certain I do not have to list all the women I have dallied with?”

“For Heavens sake, my son! I am sure!”

“Thank you, Pere, but I would feel more secure in my confession if I did so before I go on to my other sins.”

Marie waited patiently for her son to conclude his confession. His gentle hand on her shoulder awoke her. Her eyes widened as she realized the sun had gone down and night had fallen on the streets of New Orleans. Father Antoine seemed pale and exhausted.

“Is all well, Pere Antoine?” She asked.

“Oui, Marie. Andre has made a generous donation to the church and received absolution.” The priest mopped his brow for perhaps the thousandth time since the confession had begun.

“Merci, Pere, merci.” She smiled happily. “I shall see to it that Andre does not take so long to come to confession again.”

“Please do.” Antoine all but sighed with relief. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the donation was the easiest answer. Had he given the usual penance Andre Beaudouin would have been saying Ave Marias until he was well into his eighties.

Just before they left Marie leaned close to the clergyman and whispered. “I can guess the bulk of my son's sins, and I am sorry his confession took so long, Pere. But, after all, he is French.”

Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #68 on: March 31, 2009, 09:43:42 PM »
Caesaire carefully took the diamond ring that Andre had given her and placed it on her finger. She had put it aside because it would never do to have it in plain sight when surrounded by pirates. Then she thought again and quickly removed it and put it  back in the black velvet pouch and placed it in the ivory jewelry box that belonged to her mother.
'I don't want to put it on until Andre asks Pere for my hand in marriage.'
She smiled and a warmth spread over her as she thought about her lover and how soon he would be her husband at long last. She began to regret she ever made him stay away but right was right in her eyes.
'A chance to start anew with a clean slate,' she thought. 'Andre probably had a very grueling half hour with Pere Antoine, poor darling.'
She began to think of her own confession that awaited her and her face began to burn like a brand.
'How do you confess your carnal sins to the priest that baptized you?'
She reached for her ivory hairbrush, brusing her hair to perfection.
'Father probably has another one of his boring dinner parties amounting to nothing but business.'
She reached into her armoire and drew out her dress of royal blue silk. She slipped into a pair of satin slippers and then looked through her jewelry box for a simple but elegant sapphire necklace. With a backward glance in the mirror, she deemed herself presentable and descended the stairs.
"...a fine state of affaires that will be corrected very shortly."
Caesaire reached the bottom and entered the parlor.
Benjamin le Renard stood up quickly, a smile on his face as he took Caesaire's hand and brought it to his lips.
"Mademoiselle Trosclair?"
She had a puzzled look on her face. "Do I know you?"
Christophe Trosclair hastily replied, "Surely you know Monsieur le Renard, Caesaire. He--"
Benjamin interrupted with a charming smile. "I am afraid Mademoiselle doesn't remember, it was so long ago. I was in attendance of a few of your father's soirees but the last time I chanced upon you was at the ball last spring at the D'Estrehan plantation. You wore royal blue then, as I recall."
Caesaire gave him a dimpled smile. "You have a very good memory, Monsieur le Renard---"
"--Benjamin, please, if I may call you Caesaire--?"
"--oui, but that was so long ago. Do you have business in New Orleans,--Benjamin, is it?"
He looked at her with a different appraisal. A beauty, to be sure, but one who was willful and subtly putting le Renard in his place. He felt his temper start to quicken but he hastily replied, "I have come to see your father about a few contracts."
Christophe answered, "Actually, Caesaire, Benjamin has asked for---"
"---some legal advice when it comes to a few tracts of land I want to purchase outside the city and your father was so kind to invite me for dinner."
Benjamin shot Christophe a look. Caesaire's father understood the need for discretion and deferred.
Caesaire withdrew her peacock fan and fanned herself.
"How wonderful," she replied distractedly.
'Why, oh why, did I make this foolish demand to Andre that he stay away? I can think of so many deliciously wicked things I could do with him and....'
"Shall we go in to dinner?"
Benjamin offered Caesaire his arm and she hesitatingly took it. She shot her father a look. Christophe followed, beaming.
Throughout dinner, Benjamin le Renard kept engaging Caesaire in conversation but her one word answers brought a look of displeasure to her father's face.
She didn't care. All she wanted was for the dinner to be over so she could retire for the evening and dream of Andre.
Dessert was served and as soon as the last of the bread pudding was finished, Caesaire stood up and extended her hand to Monsieur le Renard.
"I am very sorry to be excusing myself, but I have a full day tomorrow."
Her father said a bit sharply, "And what is it that has you dismissing us so early, Caesaire?"
She looked at her father with a bit of defiance on her face, "A matter of spirituality, Pere. You would not deprive me of an appointment with God, would you?"
Benjamin took her hand and kissed it. "I shall look forward to our next encounter, cher."
She took her hand away a bit too quickly and murmured, "Oui. Let's do lunch."
She turned and walked back up the stairs.
Christophe coughed into his napkin.
"That went rather well, don't you think?"
Benjamin replied stiffly, "Is she always this distracted?"
"As she said, she has a spiritual matter on her mind. She was raised in a convent, you know. Would you care for a brandy?"
Le Renard stood up. "No, thank you. I really should be going."
Christophe said quickly, "Do not let Caesaire's--distraction---upset you, Benjamin. With the right application, she will warm up to you with all speed."
Benjamin brightened, "I am sure she will. We shall talk tomorrow."
Caesaire sat by her window, looking over towards the Cathedral.
'Andre, I hope you took care of the little matter of confession.  And that it was relatively painless.'
She sighed and pulled the covers back on her bed. As she laid down, she stroked the pillow next to her and whispered, 'Andre, I wish you were here next to me.'
She closed her eyes, wondering how she could possibly plan a wedding in a week.
Because that is how long she would last before she would be like a cat on a hot tin roof without Andre's loving.
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Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #69 on: April 12, 2009, 09:11:07 PM »
Caesaire wrapped herself in a large towel having come from her bath.  She opened her armoire and sorted through her clothes.
'Not this one...no, not that...certainly not that....voila!'
She pulled out a dress of snow white lawn with a demure neckline and flowing sleeves. The bodice was fitted and the skirt had a flowing train that could be pinned up in the back.
She also found a white hat with a white lace bow. Sorting through the drawer of the chest, she pulled out white lace gloves. Then reaching under the bed, she found her white kid boots and the umbrella stand in the corner held her white lace parasol.
'Perfect!' she pronounced as she twirled in the full tilt mirror. With a backward glance, a smile played upon her lips.
'The Virgin Mary could not have looked so pure,' she mused.
Picking up her parasol, she went downstairs to face the world.
"Where are you going, Caesaire?" her father asked.
Caesaire let out a deep sigh. 'I was so hoping to scoot out the door before the Inquisition', she thought.
She gave him a dazzling smile and replied, "I thought I would take in the morning air with a stroll, Pere. I do so miss the sights and smells in Vieux Carre."
Her fingers were crossed behind her back.
Christophe frowned, "You are dressed very....pristine. Not your usual flair for the dramatic, ma fille."
He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
"You never could fool me, cher."
She returned his gaze. "Pere, I want to turn a new leaf, as it were. Show all of Creole Society that Caesaire Trosclair can be a proper lady."
"PROPER LADY? Oh, that is rich!"
She whirled around to come face to face with Sebastian. He lounged against the door jamb with a rakish grin on his face.
Caesaire gave him a dimpled smile and rushed over to hug him. He kissed the top of her forehead and said, "My, my, Miss Caesaire! Don't you look prim and proper! Are you going to work with the Ladies of New Orleans Aid for the Poor?"
She smacked his arm with her parasol. "No, I am going to the French Market. Care to come along?"
Sebastian laughed, "It's been a while since you and I have had a chat. I'll even buy you a praline!"
He gave Caesaire his arm and looked backwards over his shoulder to his uncle.
"I'll be back this afternoon for the signature on the contract, Uncle Christophe. The papers are on your desk."
As they stepped out into the sunshine, Sebastian burst out laughing. "You are NOT going to the French Market dressed like that! Now tell the truth. Just where ARE you heading?"
She pouted, "I am too going to the market.....eventually."
"Oh, and are you going over to Dauphin Street to see Andre? A social calll, perhaps?"
She swung her parasol at his waist and he stepped back just in time.
He gave her a hug and said, "Just like old times, cher!"
Caesaire laughed and said conspiratorially, "If you must know, I am going to see an old friend."
"Oh, really! And who might this friend be?"
"Pere Antoine."
Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks and put his hands on his hips.
"And what brought on this fit of piety?"
She tossed her head and flippantly said, "If it is any concern of  yours, I have to...do a little confessing."
Caesaire said crossly, "Alright, Mr. Righteous. How long since YOUR last confession?"
He retorted, "That is between God and me, Mademoiselle Trosclair! Why the sudden interest in absolution?"
She opened her parasol and shaded her face. Whether from the sun or from a slight blush, Sebastian couldn't tell.
"If you must know, Andre and I are going to be married and I need to make the arrangements."
"And so you felt the need to wear white and look as pure as a field of cotton. Don't try to fool me, cousin."
She sighed. "You won't let up, will you?"
"Mais non!"
"Then buy me that praline and we shall talk!"
"Are you serious, Caesaire?" Sebastian picked his cafe au lait up to take a sip as Caesaire dabbed at the praline crumbs with her finger and touched them to her tongue.
"Mmm....I really was in the mood for these! And yes, I AM serious. Andre and I want to have a fresh start and do things right. After all, when I get married in the Cathedral, God will be present, oui?"
"I am not sure. Did he RSVP?"
Crossly, Caesaire replied, "Don't be so smart, Sebastian. Andre is going over to Pere tonight and ask him for my hand."
Sebastian gave her a grin that bespoke of his approval.
"And now Andre truly WILL be my cousin. C'est magnifique, Caesaire! Well done!"
She gathered her things.
"Will you please come to dinner? I would ask you to bring Solange along  but seeing she is Drausin's sister, it may be a bit..awkward."
"To say the least. But yes, I shall be there."
"Bien! See you at seven o'clock then!"
"Pere Antoine?"
The kindly priest turned around and inwardly groaned. Before him stood Caesaire Marie Trosclair, the jeune fille he had baptized, arranged the convent education for and watched as she headed in a direction totally unforeseen.
"Oui, my child?"
"Pere, I would like to make a confession."
He muttered, 'First the one, now the other....I am getting too old for this.'
"What did you say, Pere?"
"I said, "I think it can be arranged. I don't have to do Vespers till Thursday."
"But it is Monday morning, Pere. "
"Precisely, Caesaire. Very well...I am not getting any younger."
She gave him a smile. "Thank you, Pere."

He raised his eyes heavenward and prayed, 'Give me strength, Heavenly Father. Give me strength!'
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Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #70 on: April 13, 2009, 08:49:54 PM »
Caesaire followed Pere Antoine into the confessional. He took a seat and gestured for her to sit.
"I'd rather we do this anonymously, Pere Antoine."
He looked at her with astonishment.
"But, Caesaire, I know it is you. What difference does it make?"
"I want the curtain. I want this anonymous."
He sighed and rubbed his temple where he could feel the start of a headache.
"Very well."
Caesaire sat in the confessional, a curtain between her and the priest.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been...oh, a long time...since my last confession."
"And how long is that, my child?"
Caesaire's brows knit. "Um....I guess since I have left the convent. I think I was...sixteen, maybe?"
Pere Antoine tried his best to control his outrage.
"And you are how old now, Caesaire?"
She pouted, "I thought I was anonymous."
Pere Antoine started to bang his head on the confessional.
"Very well.  Let me rephrase, my child. How old are you now?"
He inwardly cringed. After listening to Andre's sins, he was afraid a few of theirs would parallel and then converge.
"Would you like to begin?"
Caesaire said, "But of course! Alright.....I have slept with men, I have purveyed questionable goods into the port and sold them at an outrageous profit. I used a few bad words and I lied once. I said my name was Isabelle Valcour but we know it isn't. But I suppose you could think I am lying about that since I am anonymous and maybe my name really IS Isabelle Valcour. Then it wouldn't be a lie. But saying I wasn't Isabelle and I was would be the lie. Do you follow me so far, Pere Antoine?"
The priest reached over and took a small sip of sacramental wine. For medicinal purposes, as it seemed to be the only thing that would give his headache relief.
"My child, no confession in six years and that is ALL?"
She frowned. "Alright, so I almost smacked my cousin Sebastian with a parasol today. Does that count?"
"Did you hit him?"
"Then it doesn't count."
She gathered her parasol and gloves and said, "I think that is about it."
"WHAT? This is the best you can do?"
She sat back down.
"You want NAMES?"
"It would help if you could remember the number of sins, Cae---my child."
She leaned forward and bit her lip.
"Let's see....there was Jean Lafitte--he was my first lover---and a young man named Jacques Doucet, and then there was Pierre Chambourd, and then there was a man from Charleston--I forget his name, maybe I didn't even know it, but I can describe him if it would help---"
"No, that is alright. I am sure the Lord knows."
"You think so?"
"Because if He knows, then I am SO embarrassed."
"Please, can we wrap this up?"
"And then there was Marcel Folse, and Carmen Scartaletti--he was my only Italian--and then there was Drausin D'Estehan and----if the Lord knows, then I don't really have to tell, do I?"

Pere Antoine took another gulp of his wine. "I'm sure it is quite alright. But have you forgotten anyone...?"
"Oh! You mean Andre Beaudouin?"
"Oui. Andre. Word has it that you left on his ship. Is there anything you want to confess about....him?"
She sat there a minute and then said, "No. Not at all."
"But, surely all the time you had and with the attraction..."
"Pere, it is only a sin if you are not in love.  Well, I am in love and so therefore it is not a sin, oui?"
The priest poured the rest of the bottle.
"I think we are pretty well done here, my child. Maybe a nice baptismal font would be more----appropriate?--that a few Hail Marys?"
She brightened, "I happen to know where I can find one in Italian marble!"
She heard a choking noise from the other side.
"Pere Antoine, are you alright?"

*cough cough*

"Oui, my chlid. Just found something hard to swallow."
"You really should watch that, Pere Antoine. And now I shall go.
"Oui. Go, my child and sin no more. Your sins are forgiven."
She turned to go, then leaned forward and said, "I don't have to confess to running that pirate through that tried to kill my Andre, do I, Pere?...Pere?....Are you still there?"

A slight choking sound emanated from behind the curtain.
"Thank you, Pere. I do feel better already. Andre and I will be coming to see you in a few days to arrange for our wedding."
Caesaire left the confessional at the Cathedral light of heart.
Pere Antoine, on the other hand......
« Last Edit: April 14, 2009, 08:33:53 PM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #71 on: May 18, 2009, 11:02:36 AM »
Andre exited the tailor’s shop with the new silk suit he had purchased for the expressed purpose of asking for Caesaires hand wrapped in a brown paper parcel. Although he had grown up envying the finely dressed gentlemen of New Orleans he felt it would seem strange to wear such confining clothing. Still, for her sake he felt that he must put his best foot forward, as the English were so fond of saying.

“Bonjour, Capitaine Beaudouin.” Before him stood three of Jean’s men. “Capitaine Lafitte would like to speak with you, s'il vous plait.”

Andre secretly slipped the smaller flintlock into his left hand, keeping his concern from his voice and manner. “Well, it is good to see that Jean has finally begun hiring a more mannered class of men, but I am afraid I must decline the generous offer.”

The leader reached into his coat and Andre cocked the pistol under the cover of the package he still held. With luck the unexpected explosion and quick evening of the odds against him would play to his advantage. At the least it should give him enough time to draw his other weapons.

“Je regrette, Capitaine.” the pirate smiled as he removed a letter from inside his garment instead of the pistol Andre had expected. “Perhaps I have not been so clear. Capitaine Lafitte must insist and has asked us to give you this, should you prove reluctant.”

Balancing his package on top of his pistol hand Andre reached out for the envelope. As he transferred the bundle under his arm he left the pistol as well. It was not as secure as it would have been in his hand and pointed at his foes, but at least it would still be within easy reach should things go badly. Opening the envelope his eyes grew wide with his surprise.

“And this meeting is to take place on Barataria?” He asked.

“Oui.” The leader replied. “However, I am to assure you that you have the word of Capitiane Lafitte that no harm will come to you. The letter is assurance of this.”

“Very well, mon amis.” Andre slipped the letter into his pocket, and retrieved his parcel. “Let us go, then. But I must warn you that I will be leaving Barataria well before evening.”

The house slave led Andre to the study doors and quietly opened them. There sat Jean at his desk. In front sat three well upholstered chairs, one containing Jean’s brother Pierre, the other held the only reason he had agreed to the meeting. Benjamin Renard.

Renard rose first and extended his hand. “I’m so glad you decided to join us, Andre, mon ami. While you were gone I was successful in enlisting Jean to our cause. I wanted you both here in the hope that the two of you can forget your differences for the sake of New Orleans and Louisiana.”

For a moment Andre’s hazel eyes locked with disdain on Lafitte, then shifted quickly back to Benjamin. “Perhaps, mon ami.” He said coolly. “We shall see.”

Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #72 on: June 01, 2009, 11:31:45 AM »
Caesaire sat on a bench on the riverbank, her eyes closed, the sun shining gently on her face. She sighed contentedly, almost as if in a daydream.
“Hello, Caesaire," a voice softly said.
Her eyes flew open.
He sat next to her.  She instinctively moved a bit to the right.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Have you now? I’ve been….busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Oh…things. “
“Where have you been?”
“Here and there.  Everywhere….nowhere.  Drausin, what do you want?”
He touched her cheek gently. “You.  I want you, Caesaire.”
She looked at him cooly. “You want me.  After the scene you made last month? “
“It was just that when a man sees his fiancée with another man—“
“Hold it right there, Drausin. I am NOT your fiancée.”
“But, Caesaire, I spoke to your father and he said—“
“I don’t care WHAT Pere said. He has no control over my life. He hasn’t—even though he thinks otherwise—since he deemed it necessary to send me to St Ursuline’s convent.”
Drausin’s face hardened. “Caesaire, we have been lovers. Does that not count for something?”
“Lovers, Drausin?  I wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it then?”

She shrugged. “A commodity?”
“A COMMODITY?  Something  to be USED?”
“Eh bien, perhaps that sounded a bit too harsh, Drausin. Let me explain this. I have….needs.  So do you. And if those needs can mutually serve a purpose, then it is useful to both parties, is it not? I pleased you, you pleased me.  But sometimes things get worn out or…replaced.”
“You REPLACED me?”
She sighed. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you, Drausin? But if you want the cold, hard facts—yes.  I replaced you.  Oh, don’t give me a look like that. You used me too.”
“I fell in love with you.”
She shook her head sadly. “No, Drausin. It won’t happen for us.”
“It will! I spoke to your father and he promised me your hand in marriage. And his blessings!”
“No one consulted me or took my feelings into account.  What I wanted. Drausin, please! People are staring at us. I hate to make a scene.”

Caesaire stood up and grabbed her parasol.
Drausin retorted angrily, “It’s Andre Beaudouin, isn’t it?”
“Not that it is any of your business, Drausin, but yes. It is Andre.”
Drausiin stood up and said through clenched teeth, ‘”Bastarde!”
Her eyes blazed. “I will thank you not to speak about my future husband that way, Monsieur D’Estrehan. And if you do again, it shall be ME who will meet you under the dueling oaks.”
She snapped her parasol open and haughtily raised her chin. “Good day, Monsieur D’Estrehan.”

He watched her go, his face burning like a brand and an ache in his heart that was superceded only by his fury.
'It's not over yet, Caesaire Trosclair. Not by a long shot. You WILL return to me. And God help me, I'll take you back.'

« Last Edit: June 02, 2009, 11:13:03 AM by Welsh Wench »
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Offline Blackjack Roberts

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« Reply #73 on: June 12, 2009, 12:48:15 PM »
Benjamin le Renard held out his hand to Andre as they stood on the dock. “I know you do not yet fully trust Lafitte, Andre, but we shall need his support in the upcoming battle. I do, however, want to thank you for trusting my judgment in this.”

The Creole buccaneer smiled evenly beneath his black waxed moustache, belying his even toned speech. “Were it not for your letter, and the one of apology from Jean,  I would never have designed to set foot here again, Ami. That Jean would stand for New Orleans I have never doubted, but I would be the fool to trust my back to him just yet.”

“I understand, Andre.” Renard feigned sympathy as the two men shook hands. “But do keep in mind my promise. Once Louisiana is free of the Spaniard, Barataria is yours.”

Andre Beaudouin’s smile widened. “I shall, Mon ami. Now, if you will forgive me, I have pressing business in the city and I am late enough as it is. Bon soir, Mon ami.”

Benjamin watched as the small single sailed boat grew smaller and smaller, until it was lost amongst the water traffic of the busy port. Slowly a single wicked grin split his lips. Soon, very soon, all of Louisiana would lay in the palm of his hand. New Orleans and Barataria included.

Count Manuel Elaido stormed onto the deck of the Lady of Spain. “Captain Carlos! I demand to know why have we changed course! I specifically instructed you to make all haste to New Orleans and I shall brook no delays! Neither will I have you circumventing my orders!”

“Por favor, Count Elaido.” Juan Carlos bowed deeply to his irate master. “We are very low on fresh water from passing by several ports instead of taking on supplies. It will only take a few moments to replenish ourselves enough to reach New Orleans.”

Manuel frowned deeply. While he held no illusions that the stolen treasure had most likely been sold by now, he did not want the trail of the perpetrators getting any colder than it already was. Still he could not deny that a lack of fresh drinking water could push his men beyond reason. A good leader always knew just how far he could go before he reached a man’s breaking point.

He eyed the small island. “Very well, but do not delay any longer than necessary, Captain.”

The Lady’s longboat cut through the water, making a straight line for the slim figure waving to them from the shore. At first Juan Carlos took the figure for a marooned sailor. As they came nearer it was plain that the unfortunate soul was indeed a woman, and a striking one at that. Even though she was obviously unkempt from her time on the island her beauty fairly shone through.

Stepping ashore she moved towards them. Juan smiled inwardly as he noted the delicate hand rested on the butt of a cocked pistol carelessly stuffed behind the leather of her belt. A momentary glint of steel showed that she held a well kept cutlass in her other hand, close to her side in an attempt to keep the weapon unnoticed.

“Buenas tardes, Señora.” He pulled the feathered capitano hat from his head. “I am Captain Juan Carlos.”

Warily the young woman sheathed her sword. “Marie. Marie Juliana. I have been marooned on this sand spit for nearly a month, Captain. Though I have little to offer, could you possibly allow me passage? I know a bit about sailing and would be more than willing to earn my way to your next port.”

Despite himself Juan looked the shapely piratess over approvingly. “I believe something could be arraigned, Señora. We are headed for Louisiana, if that is a fair destination for you?”

Marie could hardly believe her luck. Her smile hid the thoughts of revenge that the revelation brought forth in her. “Why yes, Captain Carlos. I believe that would suit me just fine.”

Christophe Trosclair found himself almost speechless as the servant led the polished and newly suited Andre Beaudouin into the study. The Creole pirate had removed any vestige of his profession from himself and Christophe almost had to do a double take to assure himself that the man before him was indeed the same child who had once thought to take Caesaire for his wife.

“Pardon my unexpected arrival, Monsieur Trosclair.” Andre bowed formally as he pulled the hat from his head and handed the silver tipped walking stick to the servant. “I apologize, but I am here on a matter of utmost importance.”

Christophe felt his heart fall within his chest as he guessed the reason for Andre’s visit. Yet, caught as he was in New Orleans civility he knew he had no choice but to hear the young man out.

“And what may that be, Monsieur Beaudouin?” He asked. The words all but sticking in his throat.

Andre smiled in reply. “I have come to formally ask for the hand of your lovely daughter Caesaire Trosclair in marriage, Monsieur.”
« Last Edit: June 13, 2009, 09:23:20 AM by Blackjack Roberts »

Offline Welsh Wench

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« Reply #74 on: June 22, 2009, 09:02:01 PM »
Christophe Trosclair set his mouth in a firm line, trying to think of a gracious way out of this awkward situation.
He took a deep breath.
"Shall we adjourn to my parlor and discuss the proposal?"
Andre held back the frown that threatened to crease his face. He could see that Christophe was remembering a boy who had no family connections nor old money and land of his own.
"I would like nothing better, Monsieur Trosclair."
The two men entered the luxurious parlor, the heavy velvet drapes framing the window, muffling the street sounds.
"Please, Monsieur Beaudouin, sit down."
Christophe surveyed Andre cooly. The new clothes that were of the finest quality, the high shine on the boots. It was difficult for Christophe to remember that Andre was the same young boy who used to play with his nephew Sebastian. The two of them had begrudgingly let little Caesaire trot along after them. It had all been innocent.
Innocent until Christophe caught sight of Andre giving his daughter her first kiss in the courtyard.
Andre sat down on the velvet couch and leaned back, an air of confidence that for some would have been seen as arrogance.
"Brandy?" Christophe offered. Creole society dictated hospitality above all else.
"That would be wonderful. Yes, please."
Caesaire's father poured two snifters of cognac and handed one to Andre.
"Merci, Monsieur Trosclair."
Christophe sat down. "Now, as to the subject you just broached...."
"I would be honoured if you would give your blessings to our marriage."
Christophe raised his eyebrow. "Give my blessing? Not more than a minute ago you asked for her hand in marriage. And now you are assuming it is a foregone thing?"
Andre surveyed Caesaire's father, trying to remember all the times he had contact with him while they were growing up. Try as he might, Christophe Trosclair was an abstract. He was never really there. The only constant in his love's life was Tante Isabelle.
Andre cleared his throat. "Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur Trosclair, but I get the distinct impression that you do not approve. At first I thought it was the wedding but now I daresay it is me you do not approve of."
Christophe picked his words carefully. "It is not that I disapprove of you, Monsieur Beaudouin, per se....it is your occupation."
Andre could barely suppress a grin.
"Ah, but it is your daughter's 'occupation' too."
Christophe said stiffly, "Caesaire fell in with the wrong kind of people and---"
"If you mean Jean Lafitte, may I point out he is a respected--although somewhat jaded--pillar of Creole society---"
"---she is coming around to the way she was brought up. Why, just this morning she was off to Mass."
Andre could barely contain the laughter that graced his lips.  
"Yes, Caesaire told me she was off on a spiritual mission."
He thought back to the last night they were together, and it was indeed a very uplifting and heavenly experience for both of them. He quickly cleared his throat.
"We love each other and want to come before God and the congregation and be man and wife.  Caesaire shall never want for anything, materially or in love. Do we have your blessing, Monsieur Trosclair?"
Christophe shook his head. "I am afraid not, Monsieur Beaudouin. As much as I admire the way you rose out of your poverty, I must decline your request."
Andre was taken back.
"Because there has been another offer for her hand. A more suitable one."
"If you are talking about Monsieur D'Estrehan..."

This time it was Christophe's turn to smile. "Mais non, Monsieur Beaudouin. It is a suitor that I wholeheartedly approve of."
Andre could feel himself gritting his teeth.
"And who should that be?"
Christophe paused so the impact of this man's importance settled in.
"Monsieur Benjamin le Renard."

« Last Edit: July 06, 2009, 04:09:03 PM by Welsh Wench »
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....


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