Christie (16 page)

"Good morning, Miss Sleepyhead," he said.

Christie's first reaction was to blush as she remembered their intimacy of the night, and looking quickly down, she managed a small, "Good morning, Garrett."

Carrying a filled cup, he approached the bunk.

"Your coffee, mademoiselle,"
he said, pulling the cabin's smaller table over to the side of the bunk, and placing cup and saucer upon it. Then he sank down next to her on the side of the bunk.

She sat mutely watching his actions but not meeting his eyes, and he took this moment to regard her closely. Christie was one of those women whose beauty was so naturally a part of her that even upon
waking in the morning she appeared beautiful and desirable. Her long hair, curling and tangled from sleep, hung wildly about the creamy shoulders that curved above the blanket as she sat there, and there was a rosy flush about her face where sleep had just left it. Her eyes, almost blue now as they fought to push away the last remnants of drowsiness, were huge and bright in her face.

"God, she's lovely," thought Garrett. "How can I think about sending her home when we get to New York?"

To her, he said, his voice soft, "Kiss me, Christie."

Looking up at him at last, her large eyes timid with uncertainty, she moved to comply, out her arms were trembling as they circled his neck.

Smiling, he kissed her gently and enfolded her in his big arms, chuckling warmly in her ear.

"Little one, there's still nothing to be afraid of." He kissed her ear softly, and began to nibble lightly at the lobe. "How does it feel to be a woman, and not a little girl any longer?" he whispered.

Christie started at the question. She wished he weren't here right now, causing her to have to face him so soon before she had had time to think and ponder everything. Too much had happened, too soon, she thought and without the time to assess what it all might mean, here she was, in his arms again.

"I—I'm not sure exactly," she stammered. "I keep thinking about going home after we dock, and yet I don't know how I'm going to feel or act when I get there. Because you're right, Garrett. I won't be the same young girl I was when I left."

Garrett was brushing his lips across her forehead now.

"You don't have to go home right away, Christie," he said. "I'll find you a house in Charleston—or if you prefer, in the country. You'll have all the clothes and other fine things you'll need. I'm a wealthy man, Christie, more than able to lavish all that money can buy on a mistress—"

His final words rang in Christie's ears as she felt a constricting sensation deep in her chest, causing actual physical pain, and she tore herself out of his embrace.

"Whaaat?" The word was half-shrieked, half-croaked.

"I said—"

"I heard what you said," she replied, venom in her voice now. "I'll be no man's mistress, Garrett Randall. No man's, do you hear? Not yours—not anyone's." Her voice was approaching hysterical proportions now. "And if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave me so I may dress. Surely
somewhere
aboard this
bucket,
there's an outfit of clothes to fit a woman my size!"

Garrett's jaw went rigid and the skin across his cheeks tightened. His eyes, bright and laughing just moments before, went cold and shuttered, closing off any indication of what he might be feeling.

What had gotten into her? There she had been, one moment soft and warm, giving him all kinds of reasons to put aside some very heavy patterns in life style just to be with her, and now—this wildcat shrew! He had never offered to make a woman his mistress before, although he knew there were many
who would have jumped at the chance, and yet here, when he had made this singularly attractive offer, not only had she refused, but she had instantly turned back into the seething little termagant he knew from before! Women! He'd never really understand them!

Addressing her, he cautioned, "Although I'm going to pretend you haven't raised your voice to me, and accede to your wishes—for now—just remember, I'm still the captain on this ship, and therefore require complete respect from those aboard."

He rose and went to the door. "I'll be sending Lula to you in a few minutes." Then he left.

Watching the door close, Christie at last released the tears which had been building in her, and with a sharp turn, buried her face in the pillow and began to sob wildly.

"What a complete fool I've been," she thought through the tears. "Now I know all he wants from me—all he's wanted all along. And he only had to murmur a few soft words and open his arms, and there I was, only too willing to fall into them and play the wanton strumpet. I'm only one of his many women, to be used and thrown away when I no longer serve his purpose. Oh, God! I wish I were dead!"

It was in such a state Lula found her when she opened the door, having heard the crying from outside and, when her knock went unanswered, stole
in.

Moving to the sobbing figure on the bunk, she cradled the tall girl in her small, wiry arms and began making soothing sounds as she comforted her.

"Lawd, chile, you's gonna take dis de hardes' way
aroun', ah kin see dat. Hush, now, honey, hush. Mos'ly, ah'd be sayin' dere ain' no man alive whut's wuth it, but ah kin see you already figgah he is, or you wouldn' be a-carryin' on dis way fo' 'im."

She pulled a large red bandana from her pocket and was helping Christie to blow her nose. "Ah specks you ain' gonna lissen t' me if ah tells you t' fo'git dat man, so ah reckon de bes' ah kin help is t' fin' a way t' make it easiah. Now dry dose eyes, baby, heah? Li'l Lula's gonna fin' a way."

So Lula helped Christie to bear the hurt of the moment, and prepare for the hurts that might also lie ahead. She was a strong woman, Christie learned, who had been through some crises herself. Jasper was the only one of four children she'd borne who had lived. Her husband had been killed by a runaway horse in a carriage he drove for hire when Jasper was still a baby. Her parents were lost to her forever, having been torn from her and sold away into slavery while she was just a girl herself. And the picture she painted of the life of a free black woman was not pretty. Christie was only glad, when she heard all this, that Charles had never upheld the notion of slavery and had raised his daughter to feel the same way about it; her father had never countenanced any slave labor in any of his dealings. The servants and staff at Windreach were all paid wages for their labors, and all the Trevellyans were proud of that fact.

Chapter Eleven

On the second day of their voyage, word came that a heavy fog had settled over the ocean and they were being forced to cease traveling until it lifted. It lasted for three unbelievable days and nights, during which time Garrett cursed as he waited impatiently for it to lift. Then, when it did at last disappear, it returned for one additional night, some distance up the coast. Tempers grew short among the crew and Garrett and John Baxter had their hands full containing them, as they themselves felt total sympathy for the men. It was one thing to serve on a swiftly moving ocean vessel; it was another to be trapped on one with nothing to do but wait for the uncontrollable to happen.

Soon after their frustrating experience with the fog another natural event gave them all too much to do. Off the coast of Maryland they hit an early summer squall that threatened to give them real trouble. Garrett decided to pull into one of the unnamed coves along that shore, to wait out the storm. The decision hadn't been easy for he knew tempers would continue to flare, but in view of the human "cargo"
he carried, he felt it was his best option. Kidnapping the daughter of a powerful and influential landowner was one thing; kidnapping and drowning her at sea would be something entirely different and probably spell out his end. So they waited out the storm in the cove.

As the days passed at sea, Christie kept to herself or spent time with Lula, and sometimes Lula and Jasper. She saw little of Garrett, who had fashioned himself a hammock in a part of the hold that was removed from the crew's quarters, much preferring that uncomfortable solitude to the cold mask of Christie's face or the withering glares he caught from Lula, who, by now, knew all of Christie's story.

Only at mealtimes, did Garrett enter the cabin and then it was usually a silent dinner that took place. Christie made no conversation except for that dealing with the bare civilities—passing the salt or asking for more wine, please—and Garrett chewed his food while staring at a point somewhere over her head.

But then one night, after the storm had begun to ebb, Christie was on the bunk, trying to find enough comfort from the tossing of the ship to be able to sleep, when suddenly, the door opened, and with a lurch, Garrett stepped in. His clothes were rumpled and it quickly became clear from his movements, that he had been drinking, although he didn't seem totally drunk.

"Bitch!" he shouted. "Too proud to be a man's mistress, are you?"

He threw himself at her as she sat on the bunk. To keep it from opening, she clutched in front of her, his

that she wore as a nightgown.

"Well, let's see if you're too proud to be a man's
whore"
he snarled, dragging her from the bunk to the center of the room.

"Garrett, you're drunk!" she cried, frightened now
what he might do.

"Drunk, am I? Aye, mayhap. But not too drunk to put a proud little bitch in her place and teach her a lesson or two!"

Holding both her arms as she began to struggle, he pushed her toward the dining table, where he savagely thrust her forward, forcing her to bend over the table while he continued to hold her arms together forward of her head.

Then, when he had raised her makeshift nightgown above her bare buttocks, she cried out, "Oh, No! Please, don't beat me!"

Garrett's free hand froze where it was, at the half-undone buckle of his belt.

Beat her? He hadn't intended to beat her. He was
going to—

Slowly, like a giant ship which has suddenly lost the wind for its sails, he released her and then turned away, his mind suddenly sober. What he had been about to do would have been akin to beating her— worse—but in that one naive remark, she, in her innocence, had disarmed and defeated him totally. With a snarl of disgust and not a single glance in her direction, he turned toward the door and stormed out.

The next evening when Christie saw him at dinner, his manner was again taciturn, and he
showed only cold indifference as before. But as they were nearing the end of the meal, Garrett broke the silence by addressing her abruptly.

"In a day and a half, if the wind holds, we should be in New York. Once there, I'll find accommodations for us while we arrange to have a message sent to your father. We'll say you were shopping in town, buying—oh, hair ribbon, whatever—and when there, you met the New York cousins of Mr. Garrett Randall, who was showing them about Fredericksburg where they'd run into each other in port. We'll say that you were introduced and invited to board the New York-bound cousins' ship for a
'bon voyage'
cup of tea—I had already left at this time—and that, on your way off the ship, you tripped, hitting your head against some water barrels on the deck and falling unconscious behind one. You weren't found until several hours later, when the ship was already at sea and couldn't return. It may not be the most plausible story, but it's all we've got, and since Charles loves you as he obviously does, I'm willing to bet he'll accept it because he'll want to believe it. The alternatives would be just too hard for him to bear, I think."

He looked at her coolly as she sat attentively listening. She was dressed in the garb of a cabin boy, as she had been since that morning after they had argued, Lula having begged the pieces of attire from Jasper and another crew member. Her hair was twisted into a large knot at the top of her head, except for the loose strands which had fallen about her face and neck and which curled softly in little wisps and tendrils; and her turquoise eyes reflected little lights

from the candle that flickered in the large brass lantern on the table.

Christie could read nothing from the expression on Garrett's face as he spoke, though, so closed was it to any emotion whatsoever. It was a skill acquired from long years of attention to a matter in the handling of which he couldn't allow himself to reveal his feelings to others.

Deciding to respond by asking him something which had been on her mind, she assumed her most civil tone.

"What is the business which takes you to New York? Will making the arrangements for my return interfere with it very much?"

Garrett lowered his brow in a frown that nearly shriveled her, his voice distant as January.

"For the inconvenience your transfer to Virginia will cause, I've assumed total responsibility and therefore I shall bear it, no matter what the cost tome in time or energy. What business takes me to New York is no concern of yours. It is a private matter which in no way includes you—understand?"

Christie bristled.

"Well, pardon me,
Mr.
Randall! Had I known my question would find such disfavor with the
captain,
I would have substituted silence, which seems to be one of the few things the man understands!"