Read Online Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) by Constance O'Banyon - Free Book Online
Authors: Constance O'Banyon
Tags: Fiction, adventure, Romance, Historical, Adult, Action, Western, Protest, Murder, Teenager, 19th century, horse, New Orleans, multicultural, seduction, masquerade, kidnapped, escape, Enemy, Notorious, sister, tied up, Brazen Pirate, Wrong Sister, Fondled, Writhed, MOONTIED EMBRACE
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fear that shook her body. Liberty raised up and sleepily wondered why Bandera was in her bedroom in the middle of the night.
"Take your old ring!" Bandera cried, pressing it into Liberty's hand. "I don't want it!"
Liberty slipped the ring on her finger and turned over, already reclaimed by the comforting arms of the sleep that comes only to the innocent. Bandera was not as fortunate as her sister, for it took a good hour before she was brave enough to, again, close her eyes in sleep.
The moon came out from behind the cloud, and a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves of the magnolia tree that grew beside the riverbank. A dark figure slipped into a boat and paddled toward the swamps, her crackling laughter carried away by the heightening wind.
4
Judah glanced over the iron balcony of his second-floor room at the Royale Inn. Nothing his mother had told him about New Orleans had prepared him for the picturesque sight that met his eyes. Across the street an unlatched grillwork doorway led to a courtyard where banana plants, palm trees, and exotic flowers enhanced a colorful garden. In the distance he could see the tall steeple of the magnificent old Saint Louis Cathedral, its inspiring pres ence looming, like a sentinel, over the city.
A tall black woman, her hair wrapped in a white turban, balanced a basket of oranges on her head, calling out her chant. "Oranges for mam'zelle, oranges for m'sieu, oranges to ward off the sickness."
Judah's eyes moved down the banquettes on which ladies and gentlemen of fashion strolled leisurely, stop ping occasionally to peer in a shop window. This newly acquired territory did not seem to fit the view he had of the American territories. New Orleans would never be molded to resemble her sister cities of America. She was alive with old traditions that she would cling to jealously.
Judah had the oddest feeling that he was no stranger to this land. Perhaps it was because his mother had always talked of New Orleans with such love that he felt akin to this place. Yes, the feeling was strong—he felt as if he had come home. This was where he belonged.
Trying to shake other feelings he did not understand or welcome, he turned his head upward to let the golden sunlight warm his face. Even the air he breathed was heady, as were the many aromas that filled his nostrils. Vivid colors—yellows, pinks, and reds —blended as if they had been painted by a master painter.
Judah felt a hand close over his, and he glanced down at his mother. "Did you have a nice visit with your friend, Minette?"
"Yes, it was lovely. You impressed her very much when you came to tea yesterday. She says my son is very handsome, and she believes you will turn the heads of all the young ladies of New Orleans."
His mouth eased into a smile. "You aren't going to promote a romance between me and your friend, are you?"
Her eyes danced with amusement. "No. Minette is too old for you. Still, you might learn something from an older, more experienced woman."
Judah raised his brow in mock horror. "You are shame less, Mother."
Her laughter was light, almost girlish. "No, my son—I am French. I had almost forgotten that. You are half-French you know."
Judah's eyes followed his mother's as she glanced lovingly down Royal Street. "I can see why you love New Orleans, Mother. It is unique among cities."
"I am glad you discovered that. I cannot explain how happy I am to be home at last. According to my father's letter, we are to spend only three nights here. That being the case, someone will call for us and escort us to Bend of the River Plantation tomorrow. Just wait until you see the place. You cannot help but be impressed."
Judah noticed the flush of excitement on his mother's face. She was happier than he had seen her in a long time. He was glad he had consented to bring her for returning brought her much joy. He only hoped her happiness did not fade when they reached their destina tion tomorrow.
Judah stared
"Take your old ring!" Bandera cried, pressing it into Liberty's hand. "I don't want it!"
Liberty slipped the ring on her finger and turned over, already reclaimed by the comforting arms of the sleep that comes only to the innocent. Bandera was not as fortunate as her sister, for it took a good hour before she was brave enough to, again, close her eyes in sleep.
The moon came out from behind the cloud, and a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves of the magnolia tree that grew beside the riverbank. A dark figure slipped into a boat and paddled toward the swamps, her crackling laughter carried away by the heightening wind.
4
Judah glanced over the iron balcony of his second-floor room at the Royale Inn. Nothing his mother had told him about New Orleans had prepared him for the picturesque sight that met his eyes. Across the street an unlatched grillwork doorway led to a courtyard where banana plants, palm trees, and exotic flowers enhanced a colorful garden. In the distance he could see the tall steeple of the magnificent old Saint Louis Cathedral, its inspiring pres ence looming, like a sentinel, over the city.
A tall black woman, her hair wrapped in a white turban, balanced a basket of oranges on her head, calling out her chant. "Oranges for mam'zelle, oranges for m'sieu, oranges to ward off the sickness."
Judah's eyes moved down the banquettes on which ladies and gentlemen of fashion strolled leisurely, stop ping occasionally to peer in a shop window. This newly acquired territory did not seem to fit the view he had of the American territories. New Orleans would never be molded to resemble her sister cities of America. She was alive with old traditions that she would cling to jealously.
Judah had the oddest feeling that he was no stranger to this land. Perhaps it was because his mother had always talked of New Orleans with such love that he felt akin to this place. Yes, the feeling was strong—he felt as if he had come home. This was where he belonged.
Trying to shake other feelings he did not understand or welcome, he turned his head upward to let the golden sunlight warm his face. Even the air he breathed was heady, as were the many aromas that filled his nostrils. Vivid colors—yellows, pinks, and reds —blended as if they had been painted by a master painter.
Judah felt a hand close over his, and he glanced down at his mother. "Did you have a nice visit with your friend, Minette?"
"Yes, it was lovely. You impressed her very much when you came to tea yesterday. She says my son is very handsome, and she believes you will turn the heads of all the young ladies of New Orleans."
His mouth eased into a smile. "You aren't going to promote a romance between me and your friend, are you?"
Her eyes danced with amusement. "No. Minette is too old for you. Still, you might learn something from an older, more experienced woman."
Judah raised his brow in mock horror. "You are shame less, Mother."
Her laughter was light, almost girlish. "No, my son—I am French. I had almost forgotten that. You are half-French you know."
Judah's eyes followed his mother's as she glanced lovingly down Royal Street. "I can see why you love New Orleans, Mother. It is unique among cities."
"I am glad you discovered that. I cannot explain how happy I am to be home at last. According to my father's letter, we are to spend only three nights here. That being the case, someone will call for us and escort us to Bend of the River Plantation tomorrow. Just wait until you see the place. You cannot help but be impressed."
Judah noticed the flush of excitement on his mother's face. She was happier than he had seen her in a long time. He was glad he had consented to bring her for returning brought her much joy. He only hoped her happiness did not fade when they reached their destina tion tomorrow.
Judah stared
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