The Pelican Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

boat off-balance. He regretted his capitulation to Marc-Antoine.
    For the last two hours he’d kept an eye out for alligators slumbering in the marshes alongshore. He could just imagine the uproar if one of his passengers spied one of the slippery monsters gliding along in the shallows.
    Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the wide-eyed gaze of Mademoiselle Geneviève. Her lips trembled upward at the corners, though her face looked pinched. He hoped she wasn’t going to succumb to the seasickness that often followed a sudden shift in motion after a long voyage.
    Leaving the wheel to one of his mates, he jumped over piles of cable and rigging and made his way to the stern, where the seven women and the priest sat holding on to their benches as if a typhoon might sweep them overboard at any moment.
    “I trust you are still comfortable,” he said, addressing the elder Mademoiselle Gaillain. He couldn’t seem to avoid lookingat her first. She was not as staggeringly lovely as her sister, but despite her pallor, the intelligence and humor in her expression drew his gaze.
    She touched Aimée’s rumpled golden head, which lolled against her shoulder. “Quite,” she said, then laughed when her sister groaned and clutched her stomach. “At least, I am. Have we provisions aboard, or shall we haul to for the noon meal?”
    “Can you really anticipate food so soon?” He glanced around at the other women, who all looked a bit green about the mouth. Father Mathieu knelt fanning one girl’s face with a palm frond.
    Mademoiselle Gaillain’s chin went up a fraction. “Are you calling me a glutton?”
    He saw that she was teasing and grinned. “If the slipper fits . . .”
    She laughed. “I confess to a bit of queasiness at the outset, but I find myself enjoying the—” she paused, choosing her words carefully—“ peculiar scenery.”
    Tristan followed her gaze to a pelican bobbing awkwardly in and out of the marshgrass that lined the scrubby shoreline. He tried to remember his first impression of this alien landscape. He’d been quite a young man then—or perhaps he’d grown up quickly in order to survive the hair-raising events of mapping Bienville’s colonial adventure.
    He smiled. “You’ll get used to it. And fish is our version of manna, so I hope you like it.”
    “I could eat just about anything, as long it doesn’t have worms or smell like rot.” She shuddered.
    “No guarantees,” he said, turning to brace his back against the rail. “The journey must have been difficult. Why choose to come to the other side of the world to find a husband?”
    She stiffened and looked away, and he could have sworn terror had flashed in her eyes. “It is a . . . private family matter, sir,” she finally said in a suffocated little voice.
    He waited for a moment, but her lips remained firmly pressedtogether. Apparently the subject was closed. “Forgive me, mademoiselle, I must return to my duties. I will let one of the mates know that you desire something to eat.”
    But as he turned, she sighed and caught his wrist. “Wait. You are kind, and I thank you.”
    He stared at the dainty fingers which lay like flowers against his sun-darkened skin. “I haven’t any drawing room manners. I don’t mean to offend.”
    She quickly withdrew her hand. “I know.” There was a long pause. After an awkward moment, the fine green eyes narrowed. “What is that place up there? Are we passing the fort already?”
    He turned to follow her gaze to the top of a huge bluff, where the French flag flew next to a ten-foot wooden cross. “That is my plantation.” He couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. Mine. He’d bought the land from the Indians with the finest of Canadian furs—rich, well-watered, protected land, perfect for raising corn and sugar, just right for grazing cattle.
    All the better that Bienville had ignored his advice, choosing to build the fort twenty-seven miles upriver. The Indians had never seen Tristan