Crimson Rapture (56 page)

"Yes,
they were waiting, waiting because my wife told them that I wasn't there!"

"No,
that's not true!"

"Oh?
I suppose you'll deny that you planned to meet with them—to bring the
letter?"

"Yes!
I mean no—I didn't even find the letter then—"

"Then
why did Steffen hear it mentioned?"

"He
mentioned it! That man! Oh Justin, don't you see? I was just pretending!"

"Pretending?
Were you pretending when I saw you hand him the letter?"

"He
threatened me! He said he'd shoot—"

"There
were no pistols, Christina."

"But
he did!" She was crying now, trembling, not knowing what to do or say to
make him believe her. "I was bringing the letter to you—"

"To
me?"

"Yes,
I—"

"Stop
it!" he shouted, coming on her in an explosion of movement. He took her by
the arms, stopping just short of shaking her senseless. "I've had enough
of your lies! I know you did it! I know how you did it! But I don't know why?
Why?"

Fear
engulfed and choked her with a silent "no" that shook her head.

"Ah,
my little whore," he said in a sudden and frightening change of voice.
"That's what you are, you know. Only yesterday you lay in my bed and this
while planning my hanging. Your performance was very convincing too. Very
convincing, sweetheart. As a matter of fact, the only thing lacking in your
performance, the only thing all truly good whores have over you and the one
thing I will have from you is honesty! Answer my question! Why?"

"But...
but... I d—didn't do it—"

"Damn
you!" and his raised arm came hard across her face. The blow threw her to
the floor and she went out quickly, easily, surrounded by a sudden safety of a
black void.

Justin
stared at her lifeless form until his rage and pain blinded him with his own
tears. The shock of what he had never imagined doing to any woman, least of all
Christina, could not break through the question that remained unanswered.

Why?
Why did you do this?

* * * * *

Richard
sat by the fireplace in blissful contentment, reading the medical journals
found in Harvard's impressive library. The house was quiet, save for the
crackle of the fire, the clink of his spoon as he stirred his tea. The last of
his patients left hours ago, his maid recently, and he used the rare midnight
hour of quiet to study.

Thanks
to Justin, Richard's practice was booming. He was already reputed to be the
best surgeon in town; one patient led to five others until his appointment book
was full to bursting. A two-week wait if it was not an emergency. He would have
to hire an assistant soon. There was a meeting scheduled at the end of the week
with the dean of Harvard. The New World far surpassed anything he had dared to
hope for.

Hearing
a carriage pull up in front of his house along with the clamor of horses'
hooves, he looked to the window. An emergency, he knew. He set down his tea and
rose to meet them at the door.

Justin
swung open the door without knocking just as Richard ran into the hall.

"Oh
my God!" he said, seeing who rested unconscious in his arms. "What
happened?"

"I
hit her."

"You—"
Richard stumbled over the word but, trained to act in emergencies, he snapped
into action. "Bring her in here." He pointed to his examining room
while he moved to light the room.

A
half hour later he finished examining her and saw her up to his own bed. Her
vital signs were good, and he had seen worse head bumps that did no harm. She'd
either wake soon or slip from unconsciousness into sleep. Justin was lucky; his
blow could probably kill a lesser man, yet alone a woman.

How
in heaven or rather in hell's name could he have done such a thing?

Justin
leaned against the fireplace, staring into the flames. He did not look up when
Richard finally joined him in the study. "Is she all right?"

"I
think so," he replied solemnly. "What happened, Justin?"

"I
hit her," he repeated.

"You're
drunk," Richard suddenly noticed.

"Yes.
Quite."

"God,
Justin, did you just get so drunk that you—" He could not say it.

"Yes
and no. It's not so simple." Justin started through the events in an
effort to explain. Richard kept interrupting with questions and Justin
answered, hoping somehow Richard could explain it, but soon seeing he could
not.

Richard
had only one response to the fantastic tale that finally ended. "Christina
did not do that."

"I
saw her. I saw her put the pistol to my head and pull the trigger."

"Think
on it!" Richard demanded, coming to him. "Christina? Christina could
not hurt her own worst enemy yet alone the man she loves more than life itself.
And you," he suddenly accused, "you have condemned her before hearing
her explanation!"

"She
would deny what I saw! She can give no explanation because there is none, save
that she has hated me," he suddenly realized, "probably from the
start."

A
violence still radiated from Justin and Richard knew better than to defend
Christina; he had no weapons in which to defend her anyway. He would have to
wait until she woke and explained.

"My
men will be waiting outside," Justin said in a voice that registered
sudden exhaustion. "When she wakes and when you feel she is well enough,
they will see her on board a ship that is sailing to Jamaica. She and Justin
will stay with my relations there. Little Justin is already on board."

His
son! He would lose his son in this as well. Lose him because he had not the
strength to hurt her as much as she him. The silence filled his pain and then
he resumed in a distant whisper, "Tell her though that it will not be
forever. Tell her that someday and soon, I will find the strength to take him
from her. Someday," he whispered passionately, "I will be able to hate
her that much."

He
looked up as though waking from a dream. Richard stared with unspeakable
sympathy, wanting desperately to say something, anything to ease it, anything
to stop him from sending her away. Justin was too torn to notice, yet alone
respond to Richard's sympathy.

Until
Richard found what he'd say. "When Christina lived with me she used to
have a recurring dream."

Justin
first thought he was going to describe the nightmare with which he was only too
familiar.

"A
dream where she spoke to you. Over and over again she'd cry in her sleep,
'Don't let me go, please don't let me go.'"

The
whispered promise they made as lovers... Justin felt a dagger pierce his heart.

"Don't
do it, Justin," Richard deplored. "Don't send her away before she
explains."

"If
only she could explain," he said after a pause, and then he would hear no
more. He moved to leave. As he opened the door he realized he would probably
never see Christina again. He suffered a fleeting moment in which he fought not
to turn back. His hand shook as he shut the door and thereby broke the promise
made to the only woman he would ever love.

* * * * *

Chessy
woke in the middle of a cold night, having no idea what night it was. He
immediately perceived a number of arresting facts. His head felt like it was
split open with an ax and his jaw was broken. His pants were soiled and he
smelled worse than a dead skunk. He was chilled to the bone; he might have been
sitting in the fires of hell.

He
spit out two teeth, the raunchy taste of old blood. Damn, but he'd be a
grinnin' like old Hope afore his time! And that weren't the worst of it, no
sir.

No
the worst of it was he was sittin' on a bed of prickly needles with his arms
and legs embracin' the trunk of a pine tree like a dog humps a bitch in heat.
'Cept that he had none of the pleasure and all of the pain. Ropes bound his
wrists and ankles and this made him wolf bait.

He
tensed and looked around the eerie darkness of the forest, the idea of being
wolf bait choked the cry in his throat and left him in an unnerving silence.
Thoughts spun quickly. He thought of Christina heading into town with the
letter. And when he thought of the trap those Frenchmen would surely set for
her, of her lying on the road dead or bleeding, or wishing she were dead, he
started screaming. One loud, long scream that lasted for hours. Wolves or not,
his vision screamed for help.

* * * * *

Rosarn
was finally returning from having spent the night at Jane's. Waiting on the
front steps for the first sight of her and bursting with the news, Aggie ran
out to meet her. "Rosy! Rosy! You won't believe what happened to the
missus! I swear—"

"Oh
I know all about it," Rosarn informed her with a dismissing wave of her
hand. "I was there, you know—why, I even saw the missus off! Then I spent
the night with Jane. You should have seen us," she laughed, "sitting
up in bed, clacking away like two old hens in the coop. All the way to dawn.
Oh!" She clapped her hands in excitement. "Wait till I tell ye the
latest—" She looked at Aggie's stricken face. "Well, what's wrong,
Aggie? Ye look like ye just passed judgment day."

"You
know about it? About the missus findin' the letter?"

"Aye!
I said I was there with Chessy when she found it. I went to fetch Raymond to
drive her into town to see it to the master. Don't tell me!" She suddenly
realized why Aggie was so excited. "We still get the bonus! Mr. Phillips
will see us get the bonus even though 'twas his missus that found it!"

"No,
no!" Aggie was shaking her head. "The missus betrayed him! She was
the one! She turned the letter over to the Frenchman herself! He saw it! He
caught her red-handed! Can ye believe it?" Aggie still could not.
"Our own sweet missus doin' such a wicked thing? And he went up there last
night and, and he struck her! Knocked her out cold and then he took her to
town! But, and this is it—he took her trunks! I was told to pack 'em
myself."

"What?"
was all Rosarn could say.

"I
says..."

It
took Rosarn a good half hour to understand that something was horribly wrong.
Something that no one knew yet. Something that had to do with... "Chessy?
Where's Chessy?" she asked in a sudden panic after Aggie and the other
servants went over the incredible story yet again.

Everyone
gathered in Hope's kitchen looked around.

"Chessy
ain't back yet," someone realized. "His wife's out back in the
garden—"

"Oh
dear!" Rosarn cried, and in a rush she tried to explain.

* * * * *

Christina
woke at dawn's light and opened her eyes to Richard sitting by the bedside
watching her sleep. Why was Richard watching her sleep...? "Richard?"
she said in a question.

"Don't
move, darling," he said in a voice all concern. "You've got a nasty
bump on your head."

A
bump?... She felt her head, and as she did so, her memory returned with a quick
panic. She was afraid to move, to even look, until she knew. "Where... is
he?"

"He
left you with me."

She
cautiously glanced around the room to ascertain the truth of this and, once
done, ignoring all medical advice, she fell into Richard's arms. "Oh,
Richard," she cried. "I didn't do it... I didn't do it!"

"I
know... I know," he had to repeat a dozen times, for at first all she
managed through her tears was this short denial of any guilt. Finally, with
some effort, the story tumbled out, and after questions and answers and a
hundred too many tears, the urgent point was grasped.

"He
never received my message and they knew I was coming with the letter, so...
Chessy! Oh, I'm afraid they... Oh please, someone must be sent to look for
him!"

"Yes...
yes, I see. I'll send for Justin immediately."

"No."
This was whispered but firmly, as she wiped her tears.

"Christina,
you have to explain to him what happened! My God, the man thinks... Why, right
now two of his men waiting outside to escort you like a common prisoner to a
ship that's bound for Jamaica. He's sending you away to live with relations
there."

"He
would send me... away?" The full import of this slowly sunk into her
consciousness. "Little Justin?" she cried abruptly. "Oh no,
Richard, he would try to separate me—"

"No,
no. Little Justin is waiting on board." Pacing the floor now, Richard
would not venture more of what Justin had said about his son in the heat of his
anger.

Christina
stared off into space. Never! He had always promised never to let her go—and
now he would break that vow, a vow more sacred than the words uttered before a
minister. Love was trust and yet he did not trust her. He would send her away
and she would go—that was all. She would leave him again.