Kissed; Christian (34 page)

“Improved, I hope.” He lifted a brow. “I’d like to see him walk tall and proud to the gibbet, m’dear.” He turned from her once more, leaving Jessie confused and speechless. “Oh,” he said, turning to address her yet again. “And you will give my felicitations to Hawk, will you not? that is, if you ever happen to see him again.” With a dirty little laugh, he turned and strode confidently to the door.

“Wait!” Jessie implored. She could not simply stand by and see Christian hanged—and Ben! She shuddered to think what punishment would be meted them both. “I’ll go with you.”

“I rather thought you would,” he said with little surprise, and laughed hideously.

Despite the way things had been left between them, Christian found himself eager to return to Shadow Moss—to see Jessie.

While her silence had not been promising, he realized, neither was it hopeless, and bearing that in mind, he made his way quickly up the staircase, his footfalls echoing throughout.

“M’lord!” Quincy exclaimed, appearing in the landing above, his face contorting miserably. Christian halted in his step, sensing something was wrong.

“’Tis Miss Jessie!”

Christian took a step upward, then another, staring expectantly at Quincy as he ascended the stairwell. The hair at his nape prickled.

“St. John was here, my lord.”

Christian’s jaw grew taut and his eyes began to burn with fury.

“He took her with him, my lord.”

Christian halted in his step. “What the hell do you mean he took her with him?”

“She didn’t go willingly,” he said, and then, as quickly as he was able, related all that he’d overheard.

“When?”

“Not long ago, m’lord—just before you arrived.”

Even before Quincy was finished speaking, Christian had turned and was bolting down the stairwell, racing for the docks.

“I hope you’re not overly attached to him,” St. John said, lifting an imperious brow as he rowed. “I cannot simply allow him to go free.”

Cold prickles swept down Jessie’s spine.

She knew precisely to whom he was referring, but asked nevertheless, “Him?”

His smile was forbearing. “Hawk, of course.”

“But you swore you’d leave him be if I returned with you, my lord—you gave me your word! Would you break it now?”

“I know what I said, Jessamine... but it is out of my hands, m’dear. Hawk is a traitor to the Crown and he’ll hang for his crimes. ’Tis as simple as that—Moore would never set him free. Certainly not now that he has proof against him at last.” He shrugged noncommittally. “Ben, on the other hand, is another matter...”

Jessie resisted the sudden uncontrollable urge to fly at him and thrust him overboard—lying, misbegotten cur that he was! She wanted to tell him that Christian had proof of his innocence—at least this time he did—but what if St. John had already named him as Hawk? She had to know. “Have you accused him as yet?”

“Not as yet,” he admitted. “There was no one to come forward till now... not with Hawk free to wreak his vengeance upon them. Now, of course, with him in gaol, it shouldn’t take much to convince McCarney to step forward. He wants revenge, you see, because Hawk killed his brother. Still”—he smiled coldly—”you must take comfort in the fact that your dear cousin is free... for now,” he added in cautioning tones. “Though perhaps he shan’t be for long if you don’t prove worthy of my troubles. Perhaps you should remember that,” he taunted, his face flushing slightly. “Perhaps you should remember that tonight.”

Jessie shuddered with revulsion. Panic burst through her, for in that instant she knew Ben would never be safe. St. John had lied to her. And Christian—she couldn’t bear to stand aside and see him hanged. Well, she wasn’t about to! She had to warn them. Her mind raced. But how?

She glanced around wildly, and to her surprise, she spotted a small boat approaching swiftly from behind them. Her heart leapt, for somehow she knew it was Christian. Her gaze reverted to St. John, and she wondered if he’d spied the skiff as well, but when he continued with his crowing, she decided he was too full of self-admiration to be aware of anything but his own voice as he spoke. If only she could catch him unawares... jump into the river... but her clothing would make it impossible to out swim him should he decide to come after her...

She worried her lip, for jumping seemed her only option. She forced herself to inhale slowly and calm her ragged nerves.

One, two, three, four,
she counted silently, trying desperately to quell her fears.

Five. Six. Seven.

Could she do this? Lord help her, it didn’t seem to be working. She wasn’t calm at all. In truth, she felt weak with fright. Would Christian reach her in time? Would St. John come after her?

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Perhaps there was no need to jump, after all, she reconsidered, for she had every faith in Christian. Hazarding another glance behind her, she drew in a deep breath and released it, for it seemed he would never close the distance. And then, her gaze reverting to St. John, she happened to spy the gleaming silver of his pistol beneath his frock coat, and she froze at the sight of it. God help her, she knew instinctively he would kill Christian if given the chance, his hate was so deep. It was there in his eyes. Christian would reach them, she was certain, but somehow... before then... she had to seize the weapon from St. John...

Recalling that night so long ago when Christian had been so concerned that she would tip the boat, she lit upon an idea. Not daring to spare the time to think it through properly, she stood abruptly and screamed like a shrew, hurling herself at St. John, scrambling toward him, feigning hysteria. “Oh, my Lord! Something... there’s something in the boat!”

Snatching at his leg frantically, she attempted to stand.

The small boat tipped precariously, and St. John bellowed in fear, his face paling. “Nay! Jessamine, do not—be still! You’ll topple the boat!” Jessie ignored him and threw herself at him once more, as though seized by panic. “Nay, but I cannot swim!” He threw up his hands to gain his balance. Catching him unawares, she suddenly snatched away his pistol, and St. John, comprehending too late her ploy, lunged at her to retrieve it. Heaven help her, but Jessie, refused to give him the opportunity to murder Christian in cold blood! She tossed it within the water, but he seemed not to notice, for he continued to struggle. The boat rocked treacherously as she fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed.

Christian’s heart lurched as he recognized Jessie’s petrified screams. Rowing furiously, he turned to watch from his own skiff as she lunged at St. John, then toppled backward into the small boat with St. John grappling over her. For an instant his blood ran cold as he stared at their struggling forms behind him, and then suddenly their boat pitched violently and overturned, toppling them both into the river.

There was no time.

“No!” he exploded, rowing faster, losing precious seconds as he turned again to watch the boat drift away from the struggling pair. “Jessie! Noooo!” All he could think of was that by some sordid twist of fate, he would lose her now—and God help him, he could not bear it!

Sputtering and kicking wildly, Jessie tried to free herself from St. John’s fatal grip. He wouldn’t release her! Try as she might, she couldn’t break free.

Dear God, she was going to die here!

She wasn’t going to make it!

Her sodden skirts weighed her down... down... and with sudden inspiration, she took a deep breath, allowing herself to sink with them. Her ploy worked. St. John released her at once, catapulting desperately toward the rippling surface, freeing her.

Relief flooded her—short-lived, for as she tried to resurface, the impossibility of it struck her like a blow to her breast. She panicked. And still her skirts carried her down ... down... down . . .

Nay! She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it!

But nay—she refused to!

God help her, but she refused to die! Her breast ached terribly with her pent-up breath, but she remained composed enough to know that she needed to dispose of her sopping skirts. Tearing wildly at her garments, she struggled free of them. It seemed to take a lifetime, but with that done, she shot back toward the surface, desperate for even a small breath of sweet, lifesaving air.

Yet the light was too far now! The air, too far! And her lungs felt near to bursting.

Breaking through the surface suddenly, she sucked in a desperate breath, but it was immediately stolen from her when St. John once again seized her by the shoulders, climbing atop her, pushing her down, struggling to remain aloft at her expense.

His words came back to her then:
Nay, Jessamine... I cannot swim.

Oh, dear God! What cruel fate! She and St. John were going to die here together! She would breathe her last without ever having told Christian that she loved him first and foremost, that nothing else mattered as long as they were together, that she did not blame him for what he claimed to have done to her father.

Oh God, Christian, I love you... I love you so very much, her heart cried out, but she couldn’t speak the words, for her lungs were burning for air... and she was entombed in ice-cold water...

“Son of a bitch!” Christian roared. “Get off her, bloody whoreson!”

Christ! He was so close now, so close—yet not nearly close enough! And then he spotted the gator, gliding swiftly through the water, converging upon its struggling prey, and he lost priceless seconds over the shock of the sight.

His blood pounding through his temples, he began to row more furiously still, shouting warnings, cursing the beast at the top of his lungs. Jessie and St. John were so involved in the effort to stay afloat that he doubted either of them heard a word or sensed the danger. His gut twisting, he realized there was no way he could make it in time; but his heart would not surrender. A strangled, keening sound escaped him as he rowed, hoping against hope, watching with pent-up breath as the gator sped in Jessie’s direction.

God help him, he had the sudden urge to stand and hurl the oar at the beast, but that would be the worst thing he could do, he knew, for if by chance the gator chose St. John instead, he would need both oars to reach Jessie still.

“Ah, God,” he prayed aloud, casting his head back as he rowed, “she doesn’t deserve to die! If You’ve never listened to me before... please... please... please... listen to me now.”

Even as he spoke, the enormous beast submerged, and Christian watched over his shoulder, fear gripping him as never before. An instant later, both Jessie’s and St. John’s heads jerked beneath the surface, and then an explosion of bubbles ripped the water as the river churned violently against the deadly struggle.

There was little blood, for the gator’s kill was a clean one. Clamping its jaws about its victim, it thrashed over, and over, and over again, beneath the water, until every last trace of air emptied from the victim’s lungs. Christian could little bear it were that fate Jessie’s.

Neither St. John’s nor Jessie’s head resurfaced, and Christian rowed toward them with all his might, muttering angry curses at God, at St. John, at Jessie for going with the bastard to begin with!

His relief was tangible as he spied Jessie’s glistening locks rising from the silvery water, at last. Her face upturned, she gasped for air, and he nearly cried out for joy. Just then, another splash caught his attention and yet another gator slipped into the river. Christian swore he’d kill the son of a bitch if it touched even a hair on her head. He reached her as the beast approached the midway point in the river. Tossing the oars into the skiff, he hauled Jessie quickly aboard, and drew her into his arms.

Her hands clutched at him wildly as she sobbed, not quite mindful of her surroundings. She was like a dreamer in the throes of a nightmare, unable to wake. She was drowning still, clutching for life.

“Jessie!” he shouted, anger vying with relief. He held her so tightly that he wondered she did not cease to breathe. “Damn you! Why did you go with him? Why did you go?” He released his hold only slightly and shook her gently, his eyes stinging raw with tears he couldn’t shed. Tears he didn’t know how to shed. “Jess...” His voice broke. “Jessie... love... listen to me, you’re safe. I have you now,” he crooned, clutching her desperately.