Brand 6 Read online

  ‘Not too smart,’ Brand said. ‘Being around every time.’

  ‘One of his failings. St Clair has to be in the thick of things. He has to be involved in all aspects of the Brotherhood.’

  ‘Anything else about this raid I need to know?’

  McCord’s face hardened. ‘A Deputy US Marshal named Jack Doyle had a tip something might be going to happen. He staked out the warehouse on his own. His body was found next morning. He’d been shot to death.’

  ‘Not very brotherly,’ Brand said.

  ‘The general opinion is they’re building up to something. I want you to find out what it is. Locate their headquarters. Put a stop to whatever they’re up to. No quarter on this, Brand. Just end it.’

  Brand said all right. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

  ‘You want me to report in? Might not be possible if I get in too deep.’

  McCord shook his head. ‘I only want to hear from you to tell me it’s all over. Try not to cause a national uprising. The idea is to stop a war — not start one. Just remember the President has put his name to this, so I do not want him being caused any embarrassment.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ Brand stood up, smoothing the brim of his hat. ‘I’ll leave before you start to sing the anthem.’

  ‘Give my regards to the young lady,’ McCord said dryly, his final words hanging in the air as Brand walked out the door.

  ‘Do you know Lucilla St Clair?’

  ‘I have met her twice at social functions. Why?’

  Sarah Debenham glanced at Brand’s reflection in the mirror of her dressing table.

  ‘I’d like to meet her,’ he said, and waited for her reaction.

  ‘So do a lot of other men. Few ever make it.’

  Sarah turned from the dressing table. studying him closely.

  Brand returned her gaze with cool indifference.

  ‘Answer me, Jason. Why do really want to meet her?’

  Brand sighed. The trouble with intelligent women was that they were constantly exercising that intelligence. Tossing his hat on a chair he crossed the room to stare out of the window, looking down on the busy street. Raising his eyes he was able to see over the rooftops and catch a glimpse of the Bay, its water sparkling in the sunlight. Tall masts, festooned with ropes and canvas swayed with the roll of the ships at anchor.

  ‘Is this to do with your work?’ Sarah asked. Her tone was light but he could sense the subtle probing.

  ‘Should it be?’

  A smile touched her lovely lips. ‘You receive a telegram out of the blue that sends you scurrying to a meeting with someone you won’t name. Then you suddenly want to meet Lucilla St Clair, the daughter of a Senator known for his reputation as a fire eating rabble-rouser. All very mysterious.’

  ‘No mystery,’ Brand answered, but he knew she didn’t believe him.

  Sarah came to him. Slipped her arms around his neck.

  ‘By the way, how is Mr. McCord?’

  This time Brand had to smile. She seemed able to read him without effort. Perhaps it was telling him they had been together too long. The fact that she seemed to know him so well left him with an uncomfortable feeling.

  ‘Well?’ she repeated.

  ‘The same. McCord never changes.’

  She studied him for a moment. Then she said, ‘I get the feeling you don’t always approve of him.’

  ‘What gave you that idea?’ Brand was losing interest in McCord as a subject of conversation. Sarah’s closeness. The sheer robe, her only covering, was arousing other, more basic thoughts in his mind.

  ‘I am being serious,’ she said. And then, ‘Jason! Jason Brand, you stop that right now. Damn you, I’d feel a lot safer if I could see where your hands are ... I mean . . . that is ... oh my . . . oh my.’

  Later she asked him the same question again. Lying beside her on the big bed he was totally relaxed now, his long, hard-muscled body warm against her own sleekly nude curves.

  ‘I have to get close to someone,’ he admitted. He was reluctant to involve her too deeply — but on the other hand she did have the connections to get him into the company of the St Clair family. ‘Sarah, all I want you to do is get me an introduction to Lucilla St Clair. I’ll take it from there.’

  Sarah nudged him with a rounded hip. ‘I’m sure you will.’ She sat up, sweeping tousled hair away from her face. ‘Maybe I need to know more if I’m going to help.’

  Brand drew his appreciative gaze from her softly curved breasts. ‘The less you know the less you can tell.’

  ‘Gossip over the china teacups?’ she said tartly.

  ‘Sarah, the people I’m after are not a bunch of little old ladies. They’ve already murdered one man we know of. There could be others. I could do with your help, but I’ll manage without if I have to.’

  ‘Bully,’ she scolded gently. ‘You don’t scare me, Jason Brand. Remember I knew you when you weren’t so tough.’

  She reached out to touch the puckered scar in his side. The place where Raven’s bullet had gone in. She found her gaze drawn to the other scars marking his body, and for a moment she found herself wondering how it was possible for someone to carry so many reminders of past violence and still be alive. He existed in a world of brutal savagery, yet seemed to be able to live beneath the shadow and ignore the pain and suffering. Perhaps one day he would draw aside the curtain a little and let her look into his soul. Maybe then she would be able to understand what it was that drove him, pushing him into the pitiless glare of the spotlight, offering himself as a target for the hate and the eager guns of the savages. If that day ever did come it would be his decision — not hers.

  She slipped off the bed and reached for her robe, drawing it across her shoulders. She was conscious of his gaze lingering openly on her nakedness. It didn’t bother her. His uncomplicated appreciation of her loveliness flattered her, made her feel complete and at ease in his presence.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do about getting you that introduction to Lucilla.’

  Brand sat up.

  ‘I won’t forget it.’

  A slow smile edged her mouth. On an impulse she let the robe slip to the floor and eased back onto the bed.

  ‘I know you won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to give you the opportunity to.’

  She leaned over, her lips seeking his, the hard tips of her breasts brushing his chest as she reached for him.

  Chapter Three

  Senator Beauregard St Clair clipped the end from a cigar rolled from fine Virginia leaf. He lit it slowly, deriving great satisfaction from the mellow, sweet aroma. He gazed across his huge oak desk at Parker Royce, seeing the tall, black haired man through a blue smoke haze.

  ‘What do we know about this man Colter?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a great deal, Colonel,’ Royce admitted with a sense of frustration. ‘All I’ve heard is talk. He sells guns. Spends a great deal of his time in Europe and Latin America.’

  ‘He could be useful to us, Royce.’ St Clair stood up. He was a tall man, broad in the shoulders, but held himself ramrod straight. His posture was a reminder of his military background. ‘When he arrives with that Debenham girl I’ll sound him out.’

  ‘Do you want him watched, sir?’

  St Clair’s smile was without humor. ‘Of course, Royce. The girl too. But do it with discretion. If Colter is genuine I do not want him offended. On the other hand we do have to look out for our own safety. I’ll leave it in your hands.’

  ‘You can do that, Colonel.’

  St Clair knew he could. Royce was an ideal second in command. He was always one step ahead, possessing an ability to anticipate well. Which was a valuable talent in a fighting man. St Clair watched him leave the room.

  God, if I had a few hundred more like Royce things would be different!

  St Clair shrugged off the impatience that crowded his mind. Why was he so restless? Maybe because matters were building up to a climax. With the first phase of the operation due to take pl
ace very shortly. He was pleased with the way things were going. More recruits joining them. The financial backing still coming in. So why was he so restless?

  The matter of the warehouse raid in Galveston kept niggling at the back of his mind. It had happened more than ten days ago, and they had gotten away free and clear. Nothing had come from the death of the US Deputy Royce had killed. It had been a pity Royce had acted so quickly. In retrospect he should have taken him somewhere safe and questioned him. Learned how much the man knew, and whether he had passed any information to his superiors. If one man could learn about their plans so could others. So concern remained in St Clair’s mind. Not enough to put a stop to his plans. Nothing could do that. He was not about to be diverted from his purpose at this stage. Only death would do that. No living power could stop him now. Too many years had gone by, and there was far too much of himself in the Brotherhood. It was the force that kept him alive. He fought the battle for a return to the old ways on every level, in all extremes. As a duly elected Senator he fought willingly for anything that would benefit the South, and opposed any motion that might bring her harm. He was not a popular man. That didn’t worry him in the slightest.

  St Clair stood before one of the room’s huge windows, looking out across the smooth lawns surrounding his Louisiana home. It always gave him a feeling of security and permanency when he surveyed the St Clair property. The great house, the land and the responsibility that went with it, had been in the St Clair family for over one hundred years. It had taken a great deal of effort to rebuild the stature of the estate after the War, but St Clair had done it without a word of complaint. He saw it as his duty, and saw the strengthening of the Brotherhood in the same light. It was something that had to be done. The South — the Confederacy — must not be allowed to die. There was too much that was fine and important to be cast aside. St Clair, and many like him, were determined not to let that happen. It was why the Brotherhood was formed. And now it was becoming a force to be reckoned with. When their planned operation came to fruition and doubters in the ranks would be fully convinced.

  St Clair smiled to himself. He was proud of the operation. It had been his brainchild from conception to near-completion. He felt elated as he realized how close they were to making it actually happen. When it did the effects would rock Washington to its foundations.

  He found his attention drawn to a slim figure crossing the smooth lawn, and the smile left his lips. Why couldn’t he feel pride at the sight of his own son? Willard St Clair, the heir to the St Clair legend. Watching his fair haired son’s progress across the lawn St Clair could feel nothing but disappointment. Willard had been a failure from the moment of his birth. He had been cursed with a crippled leg that had left him with a limp. St Clair’s wife, who had died when the boy had been twelve years old, had coddled and protected him from the harsh realities of life. Even after her death Willard had remained in her shadow. All of St Clair’s efforts to toughen the boy had turned sour. All that he saw was Willard turning into a sadistic bully, using his power and influence and wealth to hurt others. In despair St Clair had pushed his feelings towards Parker Royce, using him almost like a substitute son. But he knew he was only fooling himself. There was no way of changing things. They stayed as they were and never became what one wished them to be.

  He had no worries over his daughter Lucilla. She was a woman any man would be proud of. Not only beautiful Lucilla possessed a personality capable of adjusting to any situation. She had a fiery spirit and a dedication to her father’s cause that knew no limits. St Clair knew that when the man called Colter arrived, Lucilla would turn on her charms. If he was any kind of a man Colter would find her hard to resist, and under those circumstances Lucilla would soon find out who he really was.

  St Clair turned from the window. He had things to do. Arrangements to make for the arrival of Lady Sarah Debenham and Colter. And then he had to supervise the removal of the weapons taken from Galveston and other raids. The weapons lay in the vast cellars under the great house. It was time to move them to the main cache.

  The Louisiana Bayou country, in and around Barataria Bay, was excellent for St Clair’s purpose. Beyond the boundary of his vast estate the cultivated land gave way almost immediately to miles of swampland, bordered on the East by the Mississippi and the Gulf coast on the South. It was wild, primitive country, dangerous in the extreme to anyone who ventured into it without knowledge of the trackless area. Beauregard St Clair had been born and raised in this country. In his youth he had spent long days in the company of an old Creole hunter. A man who knew the Bayou better than most men knew themselves. He had taught St Clair everything he knew, showing him the safe ground and the secret trails. Places where a hundred men could hide and never be found. St Clair had learned and remembered. That knowledge had provided him with the perfect place to secrete the stolen weapons for the Brotherhood.

  Soon those weapons would be put to good use, and a new chapter in Southern history would be written.

  In blood and fire.

  Chapter Four

  The only knowledge Brand had of the Barataria Bay area was that it had provided a refuge for the Lafitte brothers, Jean and Pierre, back around the 1810-1815 period.

  First a pirate sanctuary.

  And now?

  The question formed itself but remained unanswered, and would stay that way until his investigation got under way.

  The trip from Galveston to New Orleans had been long. The final stage had seemed even longer, despite the comfortable coach provided by Beauregard St Clair. Brand ached in every joint. Dust sifted up through the floorboards as the coach bounced and swayed along the trail. Brand felt sweaty and irritable.

  He glanced at Sarah, wondering how she managed to remain so cool and relaxed. She smiled at his scowl.

  ‘Beautiful country,’ she said conversationally.

  Brand muttered something she didn’t catch. She sensed his sour mood and laughed. She moved to his side and leaned close to him, the cool scent of her perfume invading his nostrils.

  ‘Hey, remember me?’

  She didn’t give him time to answer. Her soft mouth closed over his. For a while there was silence. And then the coach hit a deep rut, lurching violently. Sarah gasped as the roll of the coach pushed her into the far corner.

  ‘Maybe we should wait until we’re on firmer ground,’ she suggested.

  Brand leaned across to pull her close.

  ‘To hell with waiting,’ he growled.

  ‘Jason, I’m going to miss you,’ she said out of the blue.

  He stared at her. ‘What brought that on?’

  ‘You’ll get the feel for your work again,’ she said wistfully, touching his cheek. ‘Once that happens I won’t stand a chance.’

  Brand had no answer. Because deep down he knew she was right. He was already thinking ahead, planning his initial moves once they reached the St Clair residence.

  ‘You see,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m already losing you.’

  They completed the rest of the journey in a restless silence. Brand wanted to reassure her — but reassure about what? That she was right? That her feelings spoke the truth? He felt a momentary stab of guilt, then pushed the thoughts aside. Hadn’t he made it clear from the start how things would be? She had appeared to have understood and accepted the situation. Maybe they had both been fooling each other, and let things go too far. Brand stared out of the coach window, watching the blue sky slash by through the dense greenery that fringed the road. In contrast his mood was dark and brooding.

  The St Clair estate was reached in early evening. The flat fields of cotton began to appear. As they rolled on through the lush countryside Brand spotted various buildings dotted around the estate in close proximity to the great house itself. He wondered if any of them held anything of interest. There was only one way to find out.

  The coach swept around a curving, graveled drive and came to rest before the high doors of the sprawling mansion.

  A Negro
in maroon livery opened the door and helped Sarah to step down. Brand followed, grateful to be stretching his legs. As he took a deep breath he caught the heavy scent of blossom. The rich fragrance seemed to cling to him.

  The Negro led them into the house. A couple more servants appeared and followed them inside with their luggage. They moved into the huge entrance hall. On the far side a wide staircase led to the upper floor. Glittering chandeliers had already been lit against the approaching darkness.

  'Welcome! Welcome!’

  The voice that boomed across the hall could not have been anything but Southern. Brand glanced in its direction and found himself face to face with Beauregard St Clair. Tall and powerfully built, with a mane of fair hair, St Clair was an impressive figure. From the file McCord had shown him, Brand recalled that the man was in his late forties. He didn’t look it. He moved easily, lightly, and carried himself with the ease of a much younger man. St Clair crossed the hall, a smile on his handsome face. In front of Sarah he bowed from the waist.

  ‘Lady Sarah, you honor this house with your presence. Lucilla will be down in a moment. She returned late from riding. I hope you can forgive this tardiness.’

  ‘Nothing to forgive, Senator.’ Sarah smiled graciously. She held out a hand in Brand’s direction. ‘May I introduce Mister Peter Colter.’

  ‘You are most welcome, sir.’

  Brand took the outstretched hand. He felt the latent power of the fingers that gripped his, and when he met St Clair’s gaze he knew he was being sized up. The Senator’s bored into Brand’s, and they were the coldest eyes Brand head ever seen.

  ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Senator.’

  St Clair laughed. A genuinely warm sound. ‘And none of it good I dare say.’

  ‘At least it means they’re paying attention to you.’

  St Clair was still smiling.

  ‘I expect you good people could do with a chance to freshen up.’ The Senator gestured to one of the Negro servants. ‘Frederick, show our guests to their rooms. Dinner will be in an hour. I’ll see you then. If you will excuse me for the moment. I have things to attend to.’