Chapter Text
Freedom. Nothing quite felt like it, and the price of it was high these days. Especially for negroes in the New World. Coralee Cassidy was a runaway slave. She escaped Sunset Fields plantation when she was sixteen with the help of other slaves, whites, and Natives. The journey was long, taking her from South Carolina all the way to Montreal, Quebec, where she was housed by Elizabeth Turner Rollins, a fine and respectable woman who made it her business to help those in need when she could.
Coralee flipped over in bed and shivered, frowning. Another brisk Canadian morning.
She stretched and tossed back the blankets and furs, swinging her feet over the mattress. She pulled her socks up higher over her bed pants, went to the basin to wash up, then got dressed. Before the young woman left her room, she studied her reflection in the mirror over her vanity. Her caramel-colored skin was smooth and flawless, hazel eyes set somewhat widely apart, lending her an even more exotic look. A full mouth and strong nose accompanied the small beauty mark offset to the right just above her top lip. Thick, soft, kinky hair had been pulled back in a series of braids that reached the middle of her back. She made a lovely vision in a light green dress with a medium-cut bosom, the garment accentuating her slim waist and comely figure.
Today was her birthday. She was nineteen. Three years since she’d left Master Cassidy’s clutches, and not a day passed that she didn’t think about her mother and two brothers. She wanted very badly to go back and try to free them so they could experience life as she now did. Weren’t no slavery in the far north, only people trying to survive. Life was hard at times but having the freedom of choice was worth it.
She realized after leaving the plantation that the white man’s hands were in everyone’s business, not just the negroes. The tribals of the New World were also being hindered by them, hounded for their resources and land, the furs.
Oh, the fur trade. Just as much money in it as there was in cotton plantations. Maybe more.
But, Coralee couldn’t bother to worry over all that too much. Everyone had it hard, and she escaped one of the harshest living conditions one could ever hope to be in. Now she was free.
Free.
She sighed and took a breath to push back the sadness settling in like mountain fog rolling down into a valley. Maybe one day she’d be able to go back for her family. She would certainly never lose that hope.
Wrapping on her shawl, Coralee left her room, thinking that things were kind of quiet that morning. The finely carved clock on the wall in the corridor said it to be just before nine. Floorboards issued soft creaks as Cora made her way to the steps and descended.
“SURPRISE!” screamed half a dozen voices, her closest friends in those parts. Miss Elizabeth, Darlene Snyder, Enid McNamara, Mary Sue Connor, Aurora Dunlevy, and James Byers.
All the women lived in the house. James stayed a couple of streets over. He worked for Miss Elizabeth by doing odd fix-up jobs and yard stuff, unofficially taking on the role as protector of their establishment. The name of Elizabeth’s business was Betty and Company. She and the ladies made jams, jellies, cakes, cookies, pies, and pastries. The front end of the large house served as a store for all their goods, and it did very well. By the end of most days, all the desserts were gone.
Cora’s smiling eyes eased over all her friends, a hand sweeping to her chest. “Oh, my heavens! Ya’ll sure know how to jump a woman’s heart into her throat!” came her southern drawl.
Last year, they surprised her with a huge party in the backyard, including a dinner fit for a queen. As Cora came off the steps and further into the room, she saw that a grand breakfast awaited in the dining area, all kinds of yummy things lining the long table.
“Happy birthday, my dear,” said Elizabeth, moving in to hug her.
The other women did the same.
“Thank you all,” Cora said, warmed by their kindness. Before leaving the plantation, she never thought any white person would be nice to someone like her. However, it was because of the brave actions of some white men and women that she was free, some even giving their lives for the cause. Getting off that plantation had opened Cora’s eyes and perspective. She didn’t see the people standing around her as a sprinkle of white faces. No. They were her friends, her family, and she’d lay down her life for them if she ever had to.
James stepped forward and cleared his throat, the touch of a blush kissing his chill-reddened cheeks. He held out something wrapped in festive material and tied. A gift.
Cora smiled and took it. “Oh, James. You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know, Miss Cora, but when I saw it, I knew you’d like it,” the young Scotsman answered. His parents had moved over to the New World when he was four. He was a couple of years older than Cora.
Cora went to the table, set the gift down, then delicately drew back the ties and undid the flaps of cloth. “My...it’s perfect! Thank you, James!” The young woman held up the hand-warming muff for the other ladies to see.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “S’made from fox pelt. Thought it would be good since your hands get so cold.”
“I love it.” She rubbed across the soft white and red-brown fur. It was the middle of fall now. The snows would start soon as winter settled in. “You know me so well. I may have lived here for a while, but I’m a southern girl, and this cold is enough to bite me through to bone sometimes.”
They all laughed with her, then ate breakfast.
◄☼►
All of the women living under Miss Elizabeth’s wing pulled their weight, Cora included. They, along with a handful of hired workers, tended to the baking, jams, and jellies. The hired workers, of course, didn’t stay on the premises; they came in each day. Aside from helping at Betty and Company, Cora had taken on as a serving girl at popular tavern not far off. Enid, a couple of years older, also worked there as a barmaid.
McClintock’s.
The place was busy most nights, and that night it was in full swing.
Cora dodged and spun to avoid a group of jolly patrons, each hand holding a mug of ale. She reached her destination and set the drinks down before a pair of gentlemen in peacoats. The well-to-do type. She mustered a soft smile.
“There ya go. Enjoy.”
“Aye, I’m sure we will, miss. I’m sure we will,” said one, a set of slightly crooked teeth gleaming from behind his moustache. His blue eyes raked over her. He and his friend shared a look, then chuckled.
“Oh...well...good then.” Cora burned under their hungry gazes. Those, Miss Elizabeth would say, were the looks of men hoping to invade a lady’s petticoats. She cleared her throat and hurried off back to the bar for her next order, smirking at their laughter behind her.
◄☼►
The cover of night was the best way for a Wolf to travel. Staying mostly to the shadows, inconspicuous and watchful, Declan Harp glowered his way through the streets of Montreal. He was irritated. He and Sokanon had been waiting in a camp outside the city for most of the day for Tom Creely to show. The man was supposed to bring some trade negotiations to the table for the Black Wolf Company, but he never showed.
And Declan hated when people brushed him off.
Of course, the fellow might have encountered some circumstances that kept him from making the meeting. Instructing Sokanon to remain at the camp, Declan decided he’d go into the city to a place Creely said he could be found whenever the half-Cree, half-Irishman was looking for him.
McClintock’s Tavern.
Declan’s brow lowered as he stood outside examining the place. He’d never been in before, hadn’t spent much time in Montreal really. A visit here and there for supplies. This was as far as he’d ever gone inside the city. He could hear the fiddle, drum, and flute, the yips and roaring laughter, see the silhouettes of a packed house through the foggy windows.
“You better fucking be here,” he hissed deeply under his breath, then went inside.
The door banged shut after him, and not a person paid attention. Apparently, fur-clad, tough-looking frontiersman were common around there. Declan chuffed as he moved through a thick cloud of pipe smoke surrounding a booth where a group of men played cards and swooned about lasses with big breasts. He spotted an empty tall table to one side of the room and made his way to it, unshouldering his traveling bag and setting it down. His eyes raked the room, though only his right one could see anything.
◄☼►
“God, why is it so busy here tonight?” Coralee huffed, leaning close so Enid could hear her over the rip-roaring bustle. “You’d think there was a sign outside advertising free food and drinks.”
Enid laughed from behind the bar, pushing two pints of ale across the countertop. “Makes the night go by faster for me.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Here are ya two drinks for the men over there. Also,” Enid nodded towards the door, the tall man who’d entered and found a table, “you’d best go see what that one wants. He’s in your section, after all.”
“Ugh.” Coralee rolled her eyes. Both young ladies studied Declan Harp across the tavern. “Looks kind of wild, doesn’t he? Like he done just walked right out of a bear’s den after killing and skinning it himself.”
“Hm. Indeed. Still, a customer’s a customer. As long as he’s paying, Mister McClintock don’t care how tame he is.”
Cora smirked, grabbed up the pints, and delivered them to their table. She then slowly approached Declan, and he already had his eye on her. Cora cleared her throat and smoothed her skirts. “Good evenin’, sir. What can I get you?”
Declan’s expression shifted only a bit. He was quite irritated by Creely’s no-show, yet more than a little fascinated by the female before him now. Didn’t see many blacks up that far north. They usually concentrated around New York, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, those that weren’t swept up in the slave trade. This woman, her hazel eyes locked on him with her chin held high and proud, made quite a vision. She’d taken her braids down before going in to work, and an avalanche of dark, fluffy, tight curls poured over her slender shoulders and down to the middle of her back. Declan thought she might’ve been born in the north at first, but she’d undoubtedly spent some time in the south to possess such a charming drawl.
“I don’t want anything. Thanks,” he answered, his voice deep and resonant.
“Okay…” Cora nodded. “Sure you don’t want some water at least?”
“I’m sure.”
“Right.” Cora felt unsettled by the engaging way he watched her, like he was trying to read into her soul or something. “I’ll just leave you to it. If you change your mind, send me a holler.”
“Mm.” A single nod.
Declan’s anger had evaporated. Crazy how a few moments with a mysterious woman could calm him. He watched her weave through the room to the bar to pick up a tray of drinks, and after she delivered them, one of the men in the booth playfully smacked her bottom before she moved away, him and his friends howling out laughter.
Cora quickly spun and slapped his cheek. “How dare you!”
Declan grinned from the shadows.
The man’s eyes widened, and he laughed further, as did his buddies. “C’mon, don’t be brash. I’m just bein’ friendly, lass!”
“You can stick ya hand down ya pants and get friendly with ya’self!” Coralee snapped, then hurried off.
Declan nodded, chuckling. The woman had fire. He didn’t hear the words exchanged over the music and patrons, but he got the gist.
Back at the bar, Enid moved around to Cora, examining her. “I saw what that pig did, and also saw you nail him. You alright?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
The musicians finished their latest tune. The fiddler of the trio—there was also a drummist and flutist—called out, “Miss Cora! C’mon over here and give us a song, would ye!”
“Oh...I...I don’t know. I’m kind of busy tonight, Fergus.”
“Go ahead, love,” said Mr. McClintock from down the bar. He was polishing glasses, a smile on his ruddy features. He’d learned a while ago that Cora had a beautiful voice and knew many songs. She said she heard most of them back on the plantation, a lot of them straight from Irish lore, picked up during her time serving Master Cassidy’s parties in the main house. “There’s enough girls here. You sing one for the house and you can take off, eh?”
“Hm.” Cora smiled and shrugged. “Looks like you’ve made an offer I can’t refuse. Okay then. A song for the house.”
Yips and applause went up. Many of the patrons were regulars, which meant they’d heard the young woman sing before. They were anxious for it now.
Cora moved through the crowd, which had parted to allow her passage. She stopped by the musicians, the hearth in the corner behind them housing a low fire. She cleared her throat and nodded.
Fergus looked to the other two musicians, nodded his countdown, and they started to play one Coralee knew. Moorlough Shore. The fiddle and flute started the song with a small solo.
Cora’s gaze roamed the room. Every eye was upon her, including that of the strange, large, wild man who didn’t order anything. All was hushed, an expectant aura filling the tavern. She swayed slowly to the music, took a breath, and sang.
“Your hills and dales and flowery vales
That lie near the Moorlough Shore.
Your vines that blow by Borden’s grove,
Will I ever see you more?
Where the primrose glows
And the violet grows,
Where the trout and salmon play.
With my line and hook, delight I took
To spend my youthful days.”
With every line, Declan became calmer, less intense, until Tom Creely had all but left his thoughts. The woman’s voice—the fiddler revealed her name to be Cora—was truly a tool to soothe a savage beast, so haunting and filled with pain.
The little bell over the door dinged softly, drawing Declan’s attention. Some man had entered, taking a moment to stare at Cora across the room. Declan didn’t like the nature of the smile he issued then; it was tailored with malice and foul intentions. The stranger recognized the woman. When he started for a table just ahead of Declan’s, the half-Cree averted his eye back to Cora, listening to her sing, but watching the stranger at the same time.
“Last night I went to see my love,
And to hear what she might say.
To see if she’d take pity on me,
Lest I might go away.
She said, ‘I loved an Irish lad,
And he was my only joy.
And ever since I saw his face,
I have loved that soldier boy.’
Cora spun around slowly while the flute and fiddle went into an instrumental, the firelight transforming her into a bewitching silhouette. She sure was a beauty, Declan thought. Her arms waved delicately about, then she faced the crowd once more.
“Perhaps your soldier lad is lost
Sailing over the Sea of Maine.
Or perhaps he’s gone with some other one,
You may never see him again.
Well, if my Irish lad is lost,
He’s the one I do adore.
And for seven years I’ll wait for him
By the banks of the Moorlough Shore.”
Cora raised her arms pleadingly, to no one in particular, only lost in the emotions of the song. Her lovely face saddened, and her bright eyes peered into the distance.
“Farewell to Sinclaire’s castle ground,
Farewell to the foggy hills.
Where the linen wefts like bleaching silk
And the bulging stream runs still.
Near there I spent my youthful days,
But alas, they are no more!
For cruelty has banished me
Far away from the Moorlough Shore…”
Cora lowered her arms and her eyes, which caught Declan’s mesmerized stare a moment. The flutist carried the song out with a solo, fading.
The room burst into cheers and yips.
From behind the bar, Mr. McClintock halted his profuse applause to discreetly wipe a tear from his eye. The little songbird did well to represent his homeland with that epic tale of a lass longing for her soldier gone to war. Reminded him of home, it did.
Cora blushed and hurried for the bar, thanking people as she went.
“So good, lass! So very damn good! Voice like an angel!” called Mr. McClintock. “As promised, you can take off. Be safe heading home, Miss Cora.”
“Thanks, sir! I will!” Cora headed to the back to gather her things and bundle up.
Meanwhile, Declan’s sixth sense led him to move in closer to the newcomer who’d been watching Cora with something other than admiration and wonder. He watched her like he was a beast on the hunt. Declan quietly got in close enough until he could see over the man’s shoulder. He was looking down at a paper. A poster he’d unrolled. Declan saw it clearly by the golden light of the table lantern:
WANTED: ALIVE
Coralee Cassidy
Escaped slave from Sunset Fields Plantation,
South Carolina
A reward of $2000 will be
issued by Master Felton Cassidy upon her return
A very accurate sketch accompanied the text.
So, she had been a slave.
Declan’s anger re-established itself, his face hardening. Slavecatchers were on his list of most vile creatures, right up there with Benton. He knew instantly he wouldn’t stand by and let that piece of shit capture Cora. Declan also knew that his good intentions got the better of him sometimes. Things tended to go sour when you tried to help others, but it was in his nature.
Slowly, Declan backed into the shadows of his table and waited.
◄☼►
Cora left McClintock’s with a content smile on her face. Her life was so good right now, and her favorite time of year infused the land. Autumn. The smells and colors made her feel so warm and alive. The snows would come soon, announced by the crisp bite in the air.
The young woman took the main street for a block, then veered onto a narrow, less populated, dimly lit, side street. She always took that way home from the tavern, not long of a walk, and if it was early enough, she could smell the baker’s bread lingering on the breeze.
As she passed a space between two buildings, arms snaked from the darkness and grabbed her, a rag shoved into her mouth and tied there. Cora tried to scream but it was muffled. She kicked and flailed, dragged by whoever down the alley and away from the city.
Declan wasn’t the only one who’d seen her abduction.
A homeless drunkard saw it too, not into a full-blown stupor yet. He had been sitting with a half bottle of whiskey behind some barrels when the man snatched and gagged the woman. Curious, he sniffed, and got to his feet, following.
◄☼►
The slavecatcher got Cora all the way to the edge of the city, well enough away from prying eyes and open ears. Declan was glad for this. He’d need privacy to handle the swine.
Tossed over the man’s shoulder with her hands and feet tied, Cora wept and shivered. She knew exactly what the man was. Everything had been going so well, but now she was going back. Back to that life.
No! No, she just couldn’t! She wouldn’t! She’d rather die.
She struggled as hard as she could, wiggling so badly the man’s balance was thrown. Growling, he dropped her into a bank of fallen leaves, skirts splaying to reveal frilly petticoats.
“Stop ya fighting, black bitch,” he mocked. “You’ll be home soon enough, and I can say good fucking riddance to this hellish cold.”
Cora shook her head, tears streaming. “MMMM-mmm! MMMMpfff!”
The catcher laughed, squatting on his haunches before her. “Your master must want you back something fierce to still have this bounty on you almost three years after you got away. You shole are a pretty one, though…”
He reached for her thigh and Cora kicked out, eyes widening, pleading for him not to do what she knew he wanted to.
“Calm down, bitch!”
The man never saw his death coming.
That’s the way Declan preferred.
The half-Cree was on the slavecatcher so quickly Cora startled and yelped. She watched in horror as the large, wild man from the tavern clamped arms around the catcher’s throat, performed a quick twist, and snapped his neck.
The body fell lifelessly to the ground, eyes staring off at nothing.
Shivering and weeping, Cora allowed Declan to cut the binds on her wrists and ankles. She pulled the gag free, breathing quickly.
Declan offered his hand.
She stared at him for a moment, frightened. Finally, she took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. Cora staggered a few steps away, her gaze watchful. She could see most of his features by the light of a silvery half-moon.
“You’re scared of me? I just saved you.”
Cora lifted a brow. “I just watched you kill someone with your bare hands. Of course, I’m scared!”
“Well, you don’t have to be. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
She took a breath, eyes flicking to the catcher’s body, then to her savior. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Declan. Now, let’s get you home so you can gather some things. You can’t stay in Montreal.”