Crimson Rapture (32 page)

"It's
a horrible ordeal you've been through, Miss Marks, just horrible." Captain
Shaw was saying this with a shake of his graying dark head. He sipped from a
goblet and left a fine red line of wine on his whiskers, then wiped it promptly
with his tablecloth. "At least," he thought out loud as he was oft
known to do, "the other six survivors were honorable men. Yes, thank God
for that."

Richard
eyed his captain kindly, having long since grasped the limits of the man's
intelligence. Captain Shaw was an astonishingly straightforward man, a good
captain but with a temperament unwilling to examine situations or people beyond
the obvious, certainly lacking the insight necessary to comprehend the
delicacies of a woman's mind. For Richard had no doubt that had Christina been
violated repeatedly, she would have reported the same.

Christina
blushed shyly and said softly, "I feel very fortunate to have survived
when so very many have perished."

"A
shame," the captain agreed, "a damn— Ah, well." He stopped to
rephrase, hardly accustomed to the propriety necessary to accompany a woman on
board. "A true tragedy. Well now," he said, turning to the matter at
hand, "Mr. Morrison tells me you have naught plans to go back to Australia
to be with your uncle's family."

"No,
I think not," she replied, pausing, still startled by how much she had
changed from the time of her father's death to leaving Justin—and his love. She
could no longer bear the thought of burdening her uncle's family. Somewhere
along the way she discovered courage enough to pursue her own life. "I've
written them already, though goodness knows how long a post will take from
India to Australia. In any event, I told them I was alive and well—which should
be good news to them—and of my plans to return to England." England. The
very word sounded like sweet music.

"You
have other relatives then?" the captain assumed.

"No,
but I hope to stay with my father's old housekeeper, Madelyne, until I'm able
to secure a position."

"A
position?" the captain inquired, already disturbed by the idea. Why he
felt responsible for the lovely lady he couldn't say, but he did, uncomfortably
responsible.

"Yes.
I should like to be a governess or schoolteacher."

"A
schoolteacher? You?" Richard asked incredulously and then laughed at the
idea. He had never inquired into her prospects, simply because he sensed she
had none and while this sad fact had concerned him, he had not a clue as to
what to do about it. But a schoolteacher?

"
'Twill never do, Christina!" Richard declared. "You're far too lovely
to waste away in some dreary boarding school for monstrous brats and that
nobody else wants defiling their home. Wouldn't you agree, Captain?"

"Well...
I—"

Richard
could not wait for Captain Shaw's slow wits to catch up and he turned at once
back to Christina. "You're not really a would-be schoolmarm. I know. This
is just a clever disguise to distract us from your dark secret." He paused
for suspense.

Captain
Shaw stumbled confusedly over the twist in the conversation, grasping little of
it. He did not like secrets, anyone's secrets, and he was certain he didn't
want to hear Miss Marks's.

"My...
secret?" Christina in turn felt nervous.

"Yes—"
Richard smiled, "The truth is you're a displaced fairy princess from a
faraway land, destined to usurp the evil witch who stole your throne and
deliver your people from oppression. Admit it—" he demanded.

Christina
blushed at this attention and to her surprise she bantered back. "You've
guessed my dark secret! Now whatever shall I do?"

"Make
me your knight, swear me to secrecy and let me fight at your side!" He
used his eating utensils to demonstrate his swordsmanship.

"Yes!
But of course!" Christina laughed, a sound she had not heard for some
time. It was Richard's doing, she knew, and she only wished he could accompany
her through the dark hours of night when she had nothing but tears. Not that
she was attracted to him in that way; she wasn't. She could never but never
love another man after Justin and, besides, for all of Richard's attentions,
there was absolutely no hint of attraction on his part. More like they were good
friends or even brother and sister. And for this she was more than thankful.

The
captain's brows were drawn together throughout the young people's lively
banter, a banter that continued for some time. His ship surgeon's flamboyance
had always confused him; it had taken him nine months of sailing with Dr.
Morrison to finally realize that the young man was only serious at his work.
And a fine doctor he was—too good if the truth were known. Richard had studied
at the best schools and with the finest surgeons known, and he had had what was
reputed to be a flourishing practice in London itself. The King's navy never
attracted doctors in his class. Nay—the young man was running from something,
something he was glad to know nothing about.

"Well."
The captain cleared his throat in an attempt to bring their attention back to
the here and now. "I know an agent in London who might help you secure a
position, Miss Marks."

"You
do?" This was an ever-so-helpful surprise.

"Aye.
I'll post a letter as soon as we reach port."

"Oh,
Captain Shaw, I hardly know how to thank you," she whispered, overwhelmed.

"After
what you've been through, it's the least I can do." The captain truly
believed this.

* * * * *

Christina's
emotions were as violent as the wind, rain, and sea as the graceful ship sailed
around the horn of the dark continent. She was lost to the heavy burden of her
memories, the uncertainty of her future. Somehow she had thought that by
leaving Justin she'd leave the conflict of her heart too, but it seemed to
shadow her days and nights, her every thought.

Memories,
a montage of memories, seemed to sustain her very existence. She could not
stop. She remembered everything: their laughter and play, those long hours in
each other's arms talking of everything and nothing, his sharp, quick
intelligence that always understood, always was able to help her understand and
then she'd remember his warmth, the way he looked at her when he wanted her,
his lovemaking.

And
abruptly she'd panic.

She
left him! She'd never feel his lips again, know his touch, or hear those three
precious words of love. No words could describe that panic, an irrevocable
horror that she had made a mistake she'd regret with every breath for as long
as she lived.

Then
she would try to remember the pain. She forced herself to think of each act of
violence. Oddly these memories were not as clear, not nearly as vivid as the
memories of his love and those times she thought of them, she found herself
excusing each with the exception of Diego. The memory of Justin killing Diego
spun clear in her mind and she thought of it over and over again, clinging
desperately to the only justification for the pain in her heart.

Still
the tears would not stop.

Richard
knew something was terribly amiss with Christina and knowing women from a
different perspective from most men, he guessed the trouble had to do with
something she tried to bury on the island. He was a doctor and by no means
modest, and therefore he considered himself her best medicine. He insisted on
escorting her for daily walks around the deck— weather permitting—as well as
joining her for dinner as often as possible. There were times he succeeded in lightening
her spirits and these times he was able to glimpse a young woman with whom he felt
certain he would have fallen in love—had it ever been possible for him to love
any woman.

The
winds blew lethargically across the deck, hardly able to fuel the ship's great
sails, and the ship sailed at a snail's pace north, along the west coast of the
dark continent. Another three weeks to England at this pace, Richard claimed
one day as he and Christina slowly strolled the deck. Richard was chatting
amicably, admiring the soft sunshine of the day and Christina's loveliness. He
particularly admired the way she wore her hair. Parted and braided, then
wrapped around her head like a halo. A common sailor had given her a pretty
pink parasol, one saved for his girl but lent to Christina for necessity's
sake, and as it shaded her face, it cast her in an enchanting light. He fancied
they made a fetching picture together.

Christina
stopped suddenly to stare straight ahead. Richard's gaze followed hers to
Colonel Carrington. He leaned against the rail, enjoying a smoke, while staring
thoughtfully out to a barren sea.

"Is
something wrong?"

She
turned to him. "Richard, I must address Mr. Carrington, but I—" She
paused to hide her fear. "But, well, 'twill seem a silly request—but would
you stand by me as I do?"

Richard
not only saw her fear, he felt it as well and this confirmed his suspicion that
someone, perhaps Mr. Carrington, had hurt her on the island. "But of
course," he said, momentarily startled by the intensity of his
protectiveness for her. He forced a smile. "Am I not your knight in
shining armor?"

A
smile lifted to her eyes. What would she do without Richard? How quickly he had
befriended her! And how she would miss him once the voyage was over.

She
turned toward Carrington and felt Richard's hand slip through hers offering
confidence.

"Mr.
Carrington?" she beckoned.

Colonel
Carrington was at that very moment contemplating the storm, his confrontation
with death, life on the island, all the twists of fate that had changed him:
both in mind and heart. He wondered how it was possible that a selfish and
simple man motivated only by the petty concerns that ultimately mattered not, a
man who saw the world in colors of black and white, could change into a
thoughtful and contemplative man, one who could see only shades of gray. His
experience pronounced this truth and to contemplate it left him shocked.

At
the sound of his name, he turned from the sea to encounter Christina in
Richard's arms. For a moment he considered the other man, then he turned to her
and waited for her address.

"I
must ask if you intend to keep your promise?"

He
chuckled bitterly and turned back to sea. "I assure you I do, if for no
other reason than having no doubt he would carry out his threats. For suddenly
I find that I value both life and limb."

Christina
considered this and was about to turn away when he turned back around.

"I
must say, I was quite surprised to see you here." He looked at Richard and
decided he was of no import; surely their intimacy guaranteed his confidence.
"Did he know of your plans?"

Christina
shook her head.

"I
see. It's none of my concern, Miss Marks, but tell me, are you happy with your
decision?"

Richard
felt Christina's hand tighten in his and he pressed it reassuringly as she
answered, "It is as you say, Mr. Carrington, none of your concern."
And she started to turn away.

"You
might look to your own safety as well, Miss Marks."

Christina
could not stop the tumble of her words. "He won't want me after this.
He'll never want to see me again—"

"I
doubt that, Miss Marks." He eyed her speculatively, "I seriously
doubt that. Of course he'll be hurt and angry—any man would, and while those
two emotions are by far more dangerous in a man like him, that's hardly the
worst of it. Do you know what the worst is, Miss Marks?"

She
shook her head slowly.

"He'll
be sick to death with worry over your safety, his helplessness to do anything
about it. Even if you do not, he knows what could befall any woman on board a
ship of men, one left in a London port with naught relations, or protection or
even coin, yet alone a young lady such as yourself. Every time he thinks of
you, he'll be imagining the worst." He watched the look of desperation as
she tried to deny it. "Yes, he will seek you out. If only to end his
nightmares."

"It's
all nonsense." Richard thought to come to her aide, understanding a
surprising amount from the brief conversation. "Any gentleman would see to
her safety."

"Yes.
The colonel smiled. "But then we are not all gentlemen, are we, Miss
Marks? Good day."

Christina
stared as he walked off, then turned to Richard, who was studying her with
concern. "Take me back," she whispered desperately. "Please, I
want to go back."

And
Richard thought she meant her cabin.

* * * * *

Dark
circles appeared under her eyes, her face blanched white, and she held her
breath but there was nothing left in her stomach except bile. "I've never
been seasick before, not even during the monsoon."

Richard
stared into her large gray eyes and carefully measured his words. "I
daresay, it's not seasickness that ails you anyway, Christina. The seas are calm,
the sailing slow, and one can hardly perceive the ships rollicking."

"I
must have caught a flu," she decided then, though oddly she felt fine
except for the nagging nausea.