Crimson Rapture (24 page)

While
it took considerable prodding and encouragement on his part, Christina soon
found herself opening up to him. They first swapped stories of their
background; Diego's relating of his colorful past filled the room with
Christina's laughter. She soon felt relaxed and at ease, telling of the
auspicious first encounter with Justin, their friendship, the turn of events
that eventually marooned all of them on the island.

Having
searched most of the island looking for Christina, Justin was passing by
Diego's hut when he heard the familiar and much missed sound of Diego's
laughter, then Christina's. Well aware of Diego's charm with women and not
wanting to break up one of Diego's rare moments of laughter and comfort, he
stopped quietly outside the door and for a while contented himself just to
listen.

"I
cannot describe my surprise, nay—shock upon seeing Justin that first time on
the ship. He looked so... so." She laughed. "Well, before he spoke, I
couldn't even reconcile the fact that he was one of Justin's men, yet alone
him. And I don't know why I imagined him so differently, for I knew of his
background, his fighting and all, and I was there when he grabbed the colonel's
leg. Somehow, though, I had thought he'd be slight of build—" Diego
laughed at this and Justin smiled unseen, "and... and, well, just gentle
and—"

"Dandyish,"
Diego finished for her.

She
nodded with a smile.

"Justin
does look the savage these days, but believe me, he owns many faces. I have
seen him look quite the gentleman, both refined and noble. You'll see once
you're rescued from here."

Christina
looked down, unconsciously scratching the cut on her arm while her other hand
held the whistle at her neck. Not for the first time she wondered what that
would be like.

"I
imagine, though," Diego said softly, seriously, "that some of my
friends' ah, faces can still frighten you?"

She
looked at him directly, startled by his understanding. She nodded.
"Yes," she whispered, turning away. "Sometimes..."

"Christina."
He took her hand, seeing an expression that revealed all the trouble of a young
girl's heart. "Justin has many faces because he has to. You know he would
never hurt you—"

"No,
of course not," she replied still softly, solemnly. "It's just that
sometimes I feel there's two Justins; one that, yes, scares me so, and one...
one that I fell in love with—" She waved her hand, suddenly embarrassed by
the intimacy of her conversation. "Oh, you must think me quite
ridiculous."

Diego
shook his head, smiling at her self-effacing withdrawal. Nothing could be
further from the truth and he was just about to tell her so when a strange look
crossed her face, part curiosity, part concern.

"I
was wondering," she began, not able to imagine a crime, any crime, that he
could possibly have committed—

"Yes?"

"What
has occurred that causes... friction between you and Justin?"

"That's
between Diego and myself, Christina." Justin startled her as he stepped
through the door. Then to Diego, "You're better."

While
startled, Christina caught the unmistakable intensity of Justin's simple benign
statement, and Diego's sudden tension. It was as though "you're
better" was a demand. Just as suddenly, Diego relaxed and smiled at
Christina as he replied, "What man would not feel better with such
company? I've enjoyed our visit immensely, Christina."

"I
should like to come again. May I?"

"You'll
have to ask Justin that." He looked up at Justin and the tension
immediately returned. "For in truth I'm not always this, ah, well."

Christina
looked up at Justin, too, as though for an explanation. He only smiled and took
her by the arm to show her off. "Come, Diego needs his rest."

She
bid him good-bye, leaving Justin with him, wondering still. She never wondered
how long Justin had stood by the door listening, though she might have known.
For that night Justin kept his passion down to make love to her with a
startling gentleness that lasted long into the night.

Stealing
the knife had been easy enough. Most of the men—what Carolyn called the wolf
pack, a pack that now included all the men who had been on the
Defiant'
s
lifeboat—had gone off on a hunting trip. The men craved red meat as much as
the sight of the merry streets of London. Only two men had remained and they
remained solely because they had one precious bottle of rum left and they had
not wanted to share this treasure. After a drunkenly boisterous night, the two
men had finally fallen asleep and she had simply slipped quietly by their sides
to steal one of their daggers. A knife she would use to demonstrate that she
was perfectly capable of defending herself.

After
all, she had killed for far less reason and while she'd prefer the gentler,
easier means of poison, the situation called for far more drastic means. So,
when the pack returned and they forced her to pick one of them, she'd
charmingly, sweetly oblige. She knew which one too; it would be their leader;
she'd pick the man named John to die.

She
supposed they could kill her in turn and probably would but she would
infinitely prefer death than to ever, ever condescend to choosing one of them.

Thinking,
plotting, thinking, Carolyn Knolls stepped out into the warm morning sun,
vigorously fanning flies and mosquitoes from her person. She turned at the
sound of laughter and caught sight of Justin chasing Christina into the water.
Laughing, Christina ran to the water's edge, dove in, and began swimming out.
Justin caught her within a few feet. Christina's arms came around his neck and
the embrace was completed with a kiss. Long and passionate, as though they had
not a care in the world. And watching them sent her thoughts turning in a different
direction...

Why
did he dislike her so? And what in heaven's name could a man like Justin
Phillips see in such an insipid, silly girl like Christina Marks? She was
pretty enough, she supposed generously, but so timid, so utterly ridiculously
feminine! What was it Lady Everett used to call her?

Oh
yes, a "scared little mouse."

Too
bad those scars didn't leave a bigger mark...

And
him? What was it about Justin Phillips that attracted her so? She had certainly
known far more handsome men—at least more handsome in a refined way. Which was
not to say Justin Phillips lacked anything, anything at all. But it seemed more
his manner than anything else, his unusual masculine strength. He was the only
man she had ever met who was stronger than her, and at least as sharp. The only
man too, who didn't succumb easily—or at all for that matter—to her charms. He
was a challenge. A worthwhile challenge if he was only half as good in real
life as he was in those dreams she had been having.

Perhaps
after she settled this other problem, she'd see what she could do to get little
Miss Marks out of the way...

* * * * *

Christina
didn't quite understand. After eating fish for so long and an occasional piece
of fowl, she didn't have any appetite for the wild boar Justin's men had killed
and brought back to the camp. A much larger pit was created for the catch and
it had been hanging over the flames, cooking slowly since morning. Even the
rich scent seemed distasteful.

It
was a warm and pleasant moonlit night, filled with a festive air. With one
exception, everyone on the island gathered around the campfire waiting for
Samuel, who had been ship's cook, to begin the carving. The English soldiers
now mixed amicably with Justin's men and one could not tell the two groups
apart. Even the colonel seemed a changed man. He was quiet and reflective now
and though Justin watched him closely, he never gave Christina more than a
passing glance. And to Justin's amusement, the colonel made many attempts to
lure Cajun into conversation, some successful too.

The
men broke into a loud cheer as Samuel stuck the pig and announced it was done.
They quickly formed a loose line and, with a long dagger, Samuel began the
carving.

Watching
this, Hanna whispered to Christina and Elsie, "Don't look so good to
me."

"Me
neither," Christina replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "Even the
smell is somehow distasteful."

"I
don't know what it is," Elsie agreed, sharing their sentiments. "I
used to love a nice piece of pork or bacon, but now, after so much fish, it's
like... like—"

"Eating
dead flesh," Hanna finished for her.

"Oh
Hanna!" Christina half grimaced, half laughed. "I wish you hadn't
said that. I fear I'm going to be ill."

"What
are you ladies going on about?" Jacob asked incredulously, overhearing.
"My mouth's been watering all day just thinking of our first decent meal
in months! Can 'ardly wait to sink me teeth into—"

"Wait's
over," Justin interrupted, presenting him a large piece on a shell.
"As for me, I haven't tasted anything so good since," he looked at
Christina, "our last kiss."

"Oh
dear, my kisses are being compared to—"

"A
bloody boar's!" Hanna laughed as she declined a piece. No amount of
persuading could tempt any of the ladies to even taste it and they instead
picked on the various fruits accompanying the feast. Justin gave Beau a large
leg bone and the poor dog seemed almost overwhelmed by the present. Beau fit
the treasure securely in his mouth and looked to both sides to determine who
might be willing to fight him for it. Seeing no immediate threat but not
willing to take any chances anyway, he pranced down the beach to devour it in
the safety of privacy.

By
the time all the men were served, half of them were up for seconds and for a
long while it seemed no one could get their fill. The festive air continued as
all manner of compliments and exclamations over the fine fare continued.

"Reminds
me of my sweet Susan's cooking, one man, Henry, said in a tone of sadness,
reminiscing out loud. "Every time the ship sailed into port, I'd just
wander over to 'er rooms above the tailor shop and don't know 'ow she always
knew, but she always 'ad a feast fit for a king just waitin' for me.
Lord," he added after a pain-filled pause, "she must think me good as
dead."

Another
man added, "I remember your Susan," he said, wanting to lighten the
mood, "and that ain't all she 'ad waitin' for you!"

The
men laughed at this and immediately they broke into a ribald sailor's song
about the love-starved lass waiting patiently for her sailor. The song put
everyone in a sentimental mood and no sooner had they finished than another man
spoke up on this, their most popular subject.

"Never
thought I'd miss home like this. Was 'ardly feeling me land legs a day afore
gettin' the urge to sail the seas and now, now—"

"It's
all you can think of," Brahms finished, asking rhetorically, "Shall
we ever see those merry shores again?"

Pleasantly
full, Eric leaned back into Elsie's arms and, like everyone else, he thought
longingly of a place called home, then the prospects of rescue. Abruptly his
gaze turned to Cajun. Cajun and his prophetic dreams. "Cajun, have your
strange dreams spoken to you?"

A
quick silence settled over the men as they each turned to Cajun in anxious wait
for the answer to a question no one previously thought to ask. Each was
familiar with Cajun's auspicious talent and while some like Justin chalked it
up to coincidence or clever after-the-fact interpretation, no one would
discount any hope he might give. And it was hope they waited for, waited for so
intensely that Christina felt the entire group hold their breath as one.

Cajun
stared intently into the fire and Christina had the unmistakable impression he
was deciding something, weighing the choice: to tell or not to tell.
"Yes," he finally answered. "I had a dream not long ago, one of
a ship coming to the island." He added before anyone could respond to this
good news, "But it offered few of us any hope. In my dream I saw a British
military ship."

"A
man 'o war! Geez—"

"Wouldn't
that be beggar's luck," John said, kicking sand in disappointment.

"Hell,
I'd be 'alf willin' to take my chances with the noose than to stay on this
godforsaken island," someone else added.

"I
don't advise it," Justin said with an ironic smile. "I daresay they'd
bring back the keel haul for the lot of you."

The
men laughed in agreement at this, no one wanting to even think of the horror of
being stripped and dragged around the keel of a ship, your skin scraped by a
million barnacles only to feel the sting of the salt water; a horror few men
had ever lived past their first screams to tell about. It was an outlawed means
of maintaining discipline among the hardened, the lowlifes, the criminals—men
most common of the sea—and presently an effective deterrent among Justin's men
for ever risking stepping on to a British military ship.

"I
have the solution." Carrington's voice rose above the general murmurings
of the group. "Should Cajun's dream come to life, I and the others from
the
Defiant
can still enjoy safe passage to England. You," he
directed his gaze at Justin, "must tell us whom we should speak to about
your deliverance from the island."