More Than You Know (33 page)

"No, ma'am,” said Whittier.

"It wasn't fair for my husband to leave the explanations to you, Mr. Whittier, but there you have it.” Claire shrugged out of the harness. Now that she was forbidden to go anywhere, it was an unnecessary precaution. “I'm waiting."

Whittier craned his neck to see past Claire and the tiki beyond her. The canoes were almost upon
Cerberus
now. It was as if the clipper was going to be swallowed by a bloom of algae. “It's the Solonesians,” he said. “Their navy's here."

Claire frowned. “The Solonesians don't have a navy."

Whittier tugged on one of his brows nervously. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Hamilton, but when one group of people put together this many boats, it's a navy."

"It's a fishing fleet."

"I make about fifty outriggers carrying six men each."

"Fifty?” Claire felt her heart trip. She had never heard of so many canoes being amassed. “That can't be."

"It surely is."

Claire realized belatedly that she had offended her guard. It did not surprise her that she thought of him in that light now. She understood it was what Rand intended when he left her with him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Whittier. I don't doubt you. The men must come from all the islands in the Solonesian group. No one island has such a fleet."

"That's what I'm saying, ma'am. It's a navy."

Claire shook her head. “What makes you think they're not here to welcome us?"

"It would be the spears,” he said flatly. “I've seen the like before, and their kind ain't for fishin'."

The ground suddenly felt soft and uneven beneath Claire's feet. Her stomach lurched. “Where has the captain gone?"

"After Brown,” he said. “They both mean to find Cutch and the others. Like as not Cutch won't be able to see what's happening until it's too late."

"It's already too late, isn't it?” Claire said.

Even as she asked the question the fleet divided. Fully half the canoes surrounded
Cerberus
while the others sped toward shore.

"What's that sound, Mr. Whittier?” Claire strained to make it out. At first she thought it was the beating of the wind in the sails. “Is it drums?"

"Not drums,” he said. “The men are chanting. Reckon it's a battle-ready song.” He watched as the islanders around
Cerberus
tossed ropes over her rails and shinnied up the sides as swiftly as spiders. The crew on board the clipper could not possibly repel the force. Their only hope was to surrender quickly and pray for mercy.

Claire shivered as a great cry was carried to her ears from across the water. “Is it
Cerberus?"
she asked. “Have they taken her?"

"Aye,” Whittier said softly. “She's theirs now. Not that they'll have any use for her. Great clumsy thing compared to the skiffs they use on these waters."

"What about the crew? Can you see if they're all right?"

Whittier couldn't know with any certainty what had happened on board, but he spoke to ease Claire's fears. “There's been no fighting. That's what the captain would have wanted."

Claire nodded. “Are there canoes just off shore?” she asked.

"That's right. The half that didn't take
Cerberus.
I thought they were coming in, but they stopped short. They're flanking the entire shore from the lagoon to about sixty yards west of here."

"They won't come ashore,” she said. “Not all of them. This is sacred ground. The priests are the only ones who will brave the tapu.” Claire knew that by setting foot on Pulotu in front of so many witnesses, the priests would have their authority from the spirit gods confirmed. Rand would have to tread carefully if he wanted to come to terms with the priests. She hoped he remembered that. “Take me to my husband."

Whittier swallowed hard. “Now, Mrs. Hamilton, that's just what the captain said I wasn't supposed to do. And you shouldn't ask me."

Claire managed not to stamp her foot in frustration. She found Whittier's sleeve and tugged on it. “What can you see?” she demanded with growing impatience. “Is there one outrigger moving forward?"

Whittier edged them both cautiously to the edge of the clearing. “One canoe,” he said, holding out his arm to bar Claire from going forward. “The men are all in fancy headdresses."

"Those are the priests."

"Mostly,” Whittier said, his eyes narrowing on the central figure.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they're mostly men. The one that's leading is sure enough a woman."

Claire's breath caught. Her fingers tightened on Whittier's arm. Her voice barely reached the level of a whisper. “Tiare,” she said. “It must be Tiare."

Rand took a single step toward the open beach and found his way immediately blocked by Cutch. “Step aside,” he said.

Cutch did not move. He was aware of the others watching him. “Tell me what you're thinking,” he said quietly.

Rand had to tilt his head back to look into Cutch's dark eyes. “I'm going to ask for the return of my ship and the men."

He made it sound so reasonable that Cutch could almost believe this bold tactic had some chance of success. “There are three hundred of them."

"I only need
her
permission."

Cutch looked over his shoulder. Beyond the shade of the palms that protected their small band, he could see the Solonesian priestess and her entourage begin to fan out. She was directing them toward the tikis. “Claire,” Cutch said softly. The danger to her was unclear, but he knew Whittier would not let the priests reach her without a fight. He felt Rand simply step around him. This time he did not try to halt his progress.

There was a faint disturbance on the edge of the forest as Rand moved through the undergrowth. When he reached the perimeter of the pale sand, his arrival was greeted without surprise. The priests had closed ranks again, clearly protective of the woman in their midst. Their attention, for the time being, was on Rand, not on the tikis.

His stride was confident, not threatening. Rand kept his hands at his sides, palms out, clearly showing he had no weapons and no reason to think he needed them. He did not know if this gesture made him courageous in the eyes of the Solonesians, or merely foolish. He halted when no more than ten feet separated him from the priests.

"Captain Rand Hamilton,” he said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment of the woman in his presence. He saw his name cause a stir among the priests. There was an exchange of glances. Only the woman remained unmoved by this information. Rand went on, “Master of
Cerberus."

"No longer,” came the softly spoken reply. “I am Tiare. And the ship is mine.” Lifting one arm in a graceful gesture, Tiare parted her protectors. She closed the distance to Rand before anyone could stop her. For a moment her eyes strayed past his shoulder to the edge of the forest. “How many are watching your back?” she asked.

The directness of the question did not startle Rand. He found he had no capacity for surprise left. “Tiare.” He said her name under his breath, his lips barely moving. Did Claire know? he wondered.

Tiare's sloe eyes returned to Rand, but the mask of calm she wore was impenetrable. Her small chin lifted slightly, arrogantly. Her bare, honey-skinned shoulders were set back. She wore the mantle of authority as if it were tangible, her proud carriage brooking no refusal. “How many?” she repeated.

"Six,” Rand said. “Watching my back."

"You will tell them to come forward."

"To what purpose?"

"To
my
purpose."

Rand shook his head. If she was angered by his refusal, she didn't show it. But then, Rand reminded himself, she had three hundred men to do her bidding. His lack of cooperation was hardly worth noting. Perhaps she was even amused, though Rand could not glimpse any hint of a smile on the wide curve of her mouth. He watched her head tilt slightly to one side as she regarded him with detached curiosity. He recognized the look. It exactly mirrored his own expression when he stumbled upon a particularly peculiar specimen. Her eyes pinned him back.

It was not entirely possible to determine her age. Her honeyed complexion did not hint at her years. There were no creases at the corners of her eyes or mouth, and the slender stem of her neck was smooth and unlined. Her thick hair, dark and glossy, fell all the way to her hips. She wore it without ornamentation, simply parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears so that it rippled softly past her shoulders. Unlike the priests, she had no headdress and displayed no tattoos. Their chests were bare while she was modestly covered by a pale yellow sheath. The lava-lava draped her from breast to ankle, and it was only when she walked, and the material parted along her calf, that a glimpse of the elegant line of her leg could be seen.

"What are your intentions?” Rand asked.

"I have the same question."

"We pose no threat to you."

"No threat?” She used one arm to indicate the expanse of shoreline. “This island is sacred,” she said. “Your presence off shore was a threat. Your presence here is a violation."

"In a few hours we would have been gone."

She gave no indication if she believed him. “You will be gone now. Order your men to come out."

"What about my ship?"

"I have not decided. However, as long as your men offer no resistance, they are safe."

Rand wondered if she could be trusted.

As if she could read his mind, Tiare asked, “What choice do you have, Captain?"

Rand looked out to
Cerberus
again. The men lining the rail were all Solonesian. His own men, he imagined, were bound on deck or already in the hold. His gaze wandered to the armada of outriggers along the shore. It hardly mattered that Tiare's followers would not set foot on the island. As long as they held his clipper, Rand knew he had no leverage. His resistance could cost the men on board their lives. As Tiare said, what choice did he have? He lifted one hand and indicated to Cutch that he and the others should reveal themselves. He stepped to one side so Tiare could watch their approach without moving herself.

As though a light breeze moved through the trees, palm fronds swayed one after the other until the group passed into the open. Cutch didn't pause at the edge, but the others did. Taking their cue from him, they hurried to catch up. Macauley Stuart brought up the rear.

"You can see they're unarmed,” Rand told Tiare.

"They have no weapons I can
see,
” she said. “There is a difference."

"We are not soldiers."

"There was never any doubt about that, Captain Hamilton. If there had been, your name was enough to put it to rest. Hamilton-Waterstone. It was only a matter of time before you reached us."

Rand assumed that she had learned of his search for the treasure from other islanders.
Cerberus
was not an unfamiliar sight in the South Seas. Even separated by hundreds of miles of water, the island chains had astonishingly swift communication. The inhabitants of Polynesia were no longer as isolated as they once were. The European trade joined them in ways that hadn't been possible when the islands were first explored and settled. “You were expecting us,” Rand said.

It was the first time Tiare smiled. “For three hundred years, Captain."

Rand merely stared at her, not certain he could have understood her correctly. Clearly her smile indicated that she relished her answer and his stupefied response.

"You have come for the treasure that bears your name.” She said it without inflection, merely as a statement of fact. “Your name and the name of one other.” Tiare pointed to Cutch as he closed in on them. “Is
he
a Waterstone?"

Rand shook his head. “There are no Waterstones."

Tiare's eyes lifted to take in Cutch's large frame. It wasn't enough. In the end she conceded to his size by tipping her head back. She blinked once when he grinned broadly and introduced himself.

"Cutch, ma'am. I'm called Cutch."

Rand did not think he imagined the faint color that tinged Tiare's cheeks. His eyes shifted to Cutch, regarding his friend and mentor in a new light. If Cutch was aware of Tiare's reaction, he didn't show it.

"I am Tiare."

Cutch's smile faltered, then faded. He glanced at Rand for confirmation. “Tiare?"

"Apparently so."

Macauley Stuart pushed his way through the men behind Cutch. “Claire's Tiare?"

Stuart's intrusion in the conversation registered first with Tiare, then the import of his words. A small furrow appeared between her dark brows. “Claire?” she asked. “Claire Bancroft?” It was not properly a question the way Tiare said it. It was as if she knew the answer but found it suspect.

Rand ignored Tiare and resisted the urge to look back at the face of Mauna Puka. If Whittier was following orders, then Claire was safe. Tiare did not give him the impression that she would have welcomed Claire's presence. It might go badly for all of them if the priestess knew Claire was on Pulotu. “Tell me what you're going to do with my ship,” he said.

Tiare gave Rand as much attention as he had given her. Her eyes narrowed on the doctor's face. She pointed to him and motioned him to come forward. She saw him look to Rand, then to Cutch for instructions. “They are not in command here,” she reminded him. “Not on Pulotu. Now come here.” She indicated the ground in front of her. When Macauley obeyed, the priests moved to surround the group. “What is your name?” she demanded.

"Macauley Stuart."

"Tell me what you meant."

The doctor did not pretend to misunderstand. “I have heard your name before,” he said. “I wondered if you might be the one of whom Miss Bancroft spoke."

"How do you know Claire Bancroft?"

"I am her physician."

Rand watched Tiare closely. Stuart had confirmed the answer to the question she would not ask. Now Tiare knew Claire was alive.

"Claire is here?"

Belatedly it seemed Macauley realized he had said too much. He hesitated, weighing his answer, then looked squarely at Tiare and lied to her. “No, not on Pulotu. On Raiatea."

Tiare said nothing. Her upper lip lifted in a sneer as soft as the lilting accents of her native language. She stepped back from the circle of men and peered into the dense forest undergrowth. Her eyes moved slowly along the tree line and then lifted to the foothills of Mauna Puka. She studied every one of the tikis. Finally she pointed to the two priests closest to her and spoke an order in her own tongue.

The men seized Macauley Stuart and began dragging him toward the water. Cutch started forward to rescue the doctor, but Rand grabbed him by the arm and held him back.

Tiare smiled thinly. “Your captain is wise,” she said. “You might render some assistance on shore, but you will surely be pulled into the surf. Once there, my men will overpower you."

Rand let his arm fall away from Cutch and watched as the priests pressed Macauley's head under the water. The doctor thrashed and heaved but they held him down. ‘What did you tell them to do?"

"I told them to drown the liar.” She saw that Rand was skeptical. “Do you think I wouldn't kill him for his lack of respect?” she asked quietly. “You don't know me at all, Captain Hamilton."

The priests yanked Stuart to his knees and let him suck in a breath. He tried to struggle to his feet but they held him fast. A wave washed against his chest and the breath he took was a mixture of air and water. Before he could clear his lungs they pushed him under again.

Tiare watched calmly. “He does not want to give her up,” she said. “Even to save himself. How odd."

Rand could not decide if she found the doctor's loyalty peculiar or the fact that Claire inspired it. “Stop them,” he told her.

Tiare merely glanced back at him, her satisfied smile still very much in evidence; then she turned to watch Stuart's labored struggle again.

Rand lunged at Tiare, striking so quickly that even Cutch was caught off guard by the movement. There was a terrible cry from the men in the canoes. Their roar carried across the water and surged with the next wave onto the shore. The sound of it chased a shiver down Rand's spine, but he did not release Tiare. He pulled her away so that she was out of easy reach of the remaining priests. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Macauley lurch to his feet. His captors only had a loose grip on his wrists now. He could have shaken them off if surprise hadn't kept him immobile.

"Teee—arrrr—eee.” Her name was carried on the back of the wind. Tiare and Rand heard it together, and they both looked up to find the source. The voice came again, lifting the name of the priestess so strongly into the air that it could be heard by the now hushed armada. “Teee—arrr—eee."

Rand scanned the face of Mauna Puka, his gaze moving quickly from one tiki to another in search of Claire. He saw her step out into the clearing where he had left her. She looked impossibly fragile next to the strength and fierceness of the stone tiki. Whittier hadn't let her leave, but apparently he couldn't stop her making herself known. She wasn't even wearing her harness. Rand released Tiare. His hands were shaking.

Tiare put one hand to her throat. She massaged the place where Rand's forearm had tightened against her skin. “Tell her to come down,” she said to Rand. “Unless you want your men murdered in front of Claire, tell her to come down."

"I don't have to tell her,” he said, watching Claire turn. Whittier stepped onto the outcropping and took her by the elbow. “She was letting you know she's coming of her own accord."

Tiare pointed to the priests holding Stuart. She spoke to them in her own language again, this time directing them to move the doctor to one of the outrigger canoes. When this was done, they returned to shore and took another of Rand's men. By the time Whittier was escorting Claire across the open sand, only Tiare and two of her priests remained. Whittier was removed next, his protests coming to nothing.