Love in the Wild: A Tarzan Retelling

by Emma Castle

  “No. Do not be sad, Uncle Cameron. Life is pain, life is scars, life is fear.” Those were the laws of the jungle, but they weren’t the only ones. “Life is also love, family, joy, and bravery.” He put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder in a mirroring gesture. “You cannot live in the past. I had a full life in the forest. The forest brought me to Eden, and she brought me home to you.”

  Cameron’s smile quivered. “You know a good British gentleman never cries.”

  “Then do not be that. Be yourself,” Thorne said simply.

  “That’s your mother speaking, you know. She was unflinching in her devotion to Jacob, but she never let being a countess change who she was. I’ve heard people speak of children being living tributes to their parents, but I’ve never truly understood that until now.” Cameron pulled Thorne in for a hard hug, then let him go. “Why don’t we find Lofty? It’s wise to keep an eye on that man—he can drink a man out of his best brandy.”

  Cameron and Thorne left the ballroom together. “We’ll discuss with Eden and Isabelle later what to do about Holt. If he is indeed our man, it’s time to start unearthing evidence against him.”

  Thorne’s hands curled into fists. Then there would be a time for justice.

  Eden left Thorne and his uncle to speak privately. She and Isabelle, along with the amusing and outspoken Lord Lofthouse, escorted those who wished to leave to the front door, after which Lofty headed off to the library to refill his brandy.

  “Well, that could have gone better,” Isabelle said after dealing with those who’d wanted to leave right away.

  “What about Lord Lofthouse?” asked Eden.

  “Oh, Lofty’s a dear friend. I’m sure he’ll want to stick around and make sure we’re all right before he goes. I’m more worried about Thorne. What on earth do you think came over him?”

  “I have no idea,” said Eden. “I’ve never seen him like that, not even when we were attacked by a lion.”

  “But what about the poachers?”

  Eden hadn’t truly seen his expression when he had rescued her from them, but yes, that was the only time she could remember seeing anger on his face. Perhaps someone had triggered a memory of his past?

  Only then did Eden realize that someone had splashed red wine over the stunning blue dress she was wearing. It must have happened during the chaos of the fight in the ballroom.

  “Isabelle, do you mind if I go change?”

  “Of course, dear. Perhaps one of the maids can still save that gown.” Isabelle hugged her, careful not to get wine on her own silver gown. Then she headed in the direction of the library to check in on Lofty.

  Eden started toward the stairs but halted when she saw the door at the end of the hall start to close. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. None of the servants were here in this part of the house just then. Was it one of the guests? Isabelle had warned her that sometimes British house parties—even one-night parties like this—could be wild. Guests could get drunk and wander into places they shouldn’t be. It wouldn’t hurt to check and see.

  When she reached the door, she eased it open and saw nothing but her own shadow filling the floor—and then a second shadow rose up behind her. She gasped as something struck her, and she fell into darkness before she even hit the floor.

  Eden came around slowly, gradually recognizing the interior décor of a private plane. She was buckled into a seat, and from the sound of things they were already in the air.

  “Here, drink this,” a voice with a cultured French accent said next to her.

  She weakly accepted the bottle of water that was pressed into her hands. The man who’d spoken sat down next to her, and she got a better look at him. He was a fairly attractive man, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes, but there was nothing truly remarkable about him. He was the sort of man Eden imagined could easily walk into a crowd and be forgotten. Eden drank the water greedily, feeling it fill her empty stomach. Her body was stiff and sore, her muscles protesting even the smallest movements. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as water spilled past her trembling lips.

  She tried to speak. “Who are you?”

  “I was worried you’d been struck too hard. Monsieur is not a subtle man when threatened. I fear what he did with you was an act of desperation rather than logic.”

  Eden didn’t recognize the man at first, but then as her memories clicked into place, the water came right back up and she vomited onto the carpet.

  “Jesus!” The man leapt up and began to curse in French.

  “You’re . . . ,” Eden panted. “You’re one of Cash’s men.”

  “So you do remember me? A shame, mademoiselle. I’d hoped you would not. And I did not work for that oaf.” He retrieved another bottled water and handed it to her.

  She dragged herself back upright in her seat. “Then who do you work for?”

  “Drink, slowly this time, and eat.” The man handed her a protein bar. “We had to keep you asleep until it was safe to wake you.”

  “Who do you work for?” she asked again.

  “I work for Monsieur Holt.”

  Holt. The man Thorne had attacked last night. Cash and this man had worked for him? A number of pieces fell into place. Cameron had mentioned him when they were arranging the guest list for the party. Archibald Holt. He had companies all over Africa, including Uganda. Cameron had mentioned that Holt might prove to be helpful to them—how wrong he’d been.

  “Holt had those tourists killed? Why?”

  “I believe you know why.”

  “But why kidnap me?”

  “Ah, well . . . After your friend attacked him, Holt made that rather rash and impulsive decision on his own. I believe he felt his hand was forced. In all the confusion, it wasn’t hard for him to hide out and wait until you were alone. Quite frankly, I’m amazed he wasn’t caught. But then, Monsieur Holt did not get where he is without knowing when to take risks.”

  Eden looked around. “Why isn’t he here?”

  The Frenchman gave a shrug. “Appearances. Abducting you in the middle of the night is one matter. Taking you through an airport without raising suspicion is quite another. He contacted me and arranged for this little journey. He will be taking a commercial plane to avoid any connection and then meet us at our destination.”

  “So what’s your plan, then?”

  “My plan?” He smiled. “I am not the villain of the story, mademoiselle. I care only about the gemstones and evaluating them. Mr. Holt is paying me quite well to escort you to him. When my job is done, I will leave Africa and return to France.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Where? Back to the beginning, of course.” The man leaned back in his chair, smiling pleasantly. “Do you know why Monsieur Holt sent that brute Cash into the jungle?”

  “To steal a treasure that doesn’t belong to him,” said Eden.

  The man waved a hand dismissively. “A treasure of a people that history itself has forgotten. Fair game, as you Americans would say. And he already found the treasure, long ago. It’s how he started his fortune. But there was so much more to find. However, Holt has never been able to return there. Not in twenty years. And not for a lack of trying.”

  Eden raised an eyebrow at this, but she said nothing.

  “Holt has come to believe that something is preventing him from finding the cave, sending him around in circles. That is why he sent people with no connection to it instead. But that attempt was thwarted by your primitive friend. Holt does not believe that was by accident either.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What is it that Shakespeare once said? ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Holt believes there is something in that jungle that is beyond anything any of us have dreamt of.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re saying the jungle has some kind of magical power?” Eden had begun to wonder that herself, but she wouldn’t dare tell this man that.

  “I
am saying nothing. I am simply doing a job. But Holt believes it. And I think, perhaps, you do as well.”

  Eden tried not to think about all the times Thorne had talked about his strange dreams or how he seemed to understand the animals. The man smiled as if this somehow confirmed his hypothesis.

  “Rest, mademoiselle. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Where is Eden?” Thorne demanded. The house had become quiet since the guests had left, but there was still no sign of her. He had last seen her with Isabelle, but she was not with her now.

  “She’s not with you?”

  “I have not seen her since I attacked that man.” He would not say Holt’s name. Monsters did not deserve names.

  “Eden?” Isabelle called out. When no one answered, she turned back to Thorne. “She was supposed to be getting changed upstairs. Perhaps she’s still there?”

  Thorne rushed up the stairs. Something was wrong. Eden wouldn’t have left him alone for so long, not after what had happened.

  The bedroom was empty. No hint of her scent in the air, no evidence that she had been here in the last few hours. Thorne met his uncle and aunt back at the stairs.

  “Did you find her?” Isabelle asked.

  “No.” Thorne tried to ignore the worried hum inside his head, like a hive of bees had been disturbed.

  “Call the staff. Let’s search the house,” Cameron suggested.

  They divided up, enlisting the servants to help search the grounds. A maid’s shout brought them all running to the ground floor. The young woman held up a piece of paper.

  “I found this in the Green Bombay drawing room, Lord Somerset.” She handed Cameron a slip of paper. His face turned ashen as he read it.

  “What does it say?” Thorne demanded.

  Cameron cleared his throat.

  “You will take me to the cave, or I will destroy all that you love. Meet me by the plane in two days, or I’ll leave her body in the jungle for you to find.”

  “Holt,” Isabelle whispered. “But how? I saw him leave.”

  “There was a lot of confusion with the guests departing. He no doubt snuck back in and lay in wait.” Cameron closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger.

  Thorne was only half listening. His body shook as he tried to keep his rage and fear at bay. Eden was at the mercy of the monster who had stolen Thorne’s family from him and left him to die.

  “I must go,” he said.

  “We’re coming with you,” Cameron said, a hard glint in his eyes.

  “Too much danger.” The last thing Thorne wanted was to lose the rest of his family. “Get me to my jungle. I will do what needs to be done.”

  “My boy, you forget that Jacob was my brother. Besides, you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

  Thorne nodded reluctantly, but when he looked toward Isabelle, she crossed her arms. “Don’t you dare order me to stay here.”

  “Are we going on a hunting party?” Lofty asked, appearing as if out of nowhere with a billiard cue on his shoulder.

  “Christ, Lofty,” Cameron yelped and shook his head. “Thought you’d gone home.”

  “Home? Just passing the time in your billiard room, waiting for things to settle. But it seems like intrigue is afoot. Nothing I enjoy more.” Lofty’s tone then grew serious. “Jacob was my friend, and I’m a damned good shot, especially with a rifle.” He patted his slightly rotund stomach. “Don’t let this fool you. I can keep up, old boy.”

  “Whoever is coming, we leave soon,” Thorne replied, and he headed to his room to pack his things. Once inside the room, he stood still for a moment, feeling the bedchamber’s emptiness and the fear that Eden’s kidnapping had left behind.

  Thorne curled his hands into fists. His father’s ring felt cold and hard, echoing the fury he would unleash upon Holt when next they met. The others could come if they wished, but this was not their fight. He alone would find Holt and kill him.

  18

  Eden struggled through a tangle of blurry nightmares of a man grabbing her in the darkness before she woke up. The last thing she remembered was that awful man on the plane, the Frenchman, jabbing her again with another drug-filled needle just before they landed. No doubt he wanted to keep her subdued, confused, and weak. The bastard. She blinked, her eyes dry, her lips chapped, and her muscles stiff as she tried to move. Her blue silk gown slid against soft leather, and she realized she was lying upon a couch.

  She was in a huge office with a mahogany desk and expensive-looking oil paintings on the walls. A large stuffed gorilla stood in a corner. Its menacing pose could have been mistaken as threatening, but she saw only a poor creature, afraid, defensive . . . dead.

  Its glass eyes were reddish-brown, meant to mimic the animal’s natural eyes if it had been alive, but the sheen on them only emphasized just how dead the poor creature was. Eden repressed a shudder as she sat up and dropped her feet to the ground.

  A soft clicking sound and the feel of cold metal against her wrist made her look down at her hands. She was handcuffed. The metal chain between the cuffs was attached to the leg of the leather couch. She tried to lift the leg of the couch to free herself, but the sudden movement swamped her with dizziness and her vision cartwheeled.

  Clutching the armrest, she waited for the sense of vertigo to fade. The door to the room opened, and a tall broad-shouldered man stepped inside. He wore no suit, only a black shirt and khaki cargo pants, but she recognized him as the man Thorne had attacked at the party. Archibald Holt. He held a stack of clothes, which he tossed onto the couch. He then removed the key from his pocket and came over toward her.

  “Try anything and I will break your jaw.” His blunt, emotionless warning sent shivers through her. Eden was not a fool. She would wait. There would be a moment to fight or flee, and she would not miss it.

  The man, Holt, unlocked the handcuffs, and she rubbed the reddened skin where the metal had chaffed her. She reached for the clothes left for her on the couch. He did not leave the room and give her privacy, but instead walked over to the tall windows and opened the shutters. Early-morning light broke through the panes, whitewashing the dark, lush office. Holt crossed his strong arms over his chest, exuding an air of barely leashed menace.

  Eden quickly stripped out of the dress and put on the khaki shorts and T-shirt, then sat on the couch to pull on the socks and hiking boots. They were all her size. Something about that bothered her. It went to show that he could plan ahead, even when he was being “impulsive,” as his lackey had put it.

  “You need Thorne, don’t you? That’s why I’m here.”

  “Clever creature, aren’t you?” His false praise was layered with sarcasm as he faced her. His jaw was purple where Thorne had landed a blow. There was a feral beauty to him, she had to admit, but rather than attract her, it frightened her. He was perhaps in his early forties, which meant he had been barely twenty or so when he’d killed Thorne’s parents.

  “You can’t find the treasure cave from twenty years ago, but you think Thorne can?”

  “I’m counting on it. You have only yourself to blame for being involved, you know. Though you never mentioned the cave directly in your interviews, you left more than enough clues for me to surmise that Thorne had indeed found it.”

  Eden didn’t admit that she and Cameron had specifically planned for her interviews to draw Holt out into the open. She just hadn’t expected him to come out so soon.

  “Is that why you came to the party?”

  “Certainly not. I had hoped to curry favor with Lord Somerset, to assure him that I was in a unique position to help his crusade to protect the jungle, and to get Thorne to willingly act as a guide.” He snorted and touched his jaw. “When it became clear that would never work, I had to improvise. Which brings us here.”

  “Why do you need him as a guide? The Frenchman said you can’t find the cave anymore. Is that true?”

  A tic worked in Holt’s jaw. “I found that cave the first time I entered the jungl
e. It . . . called to me. I took all that I could, along with my men. But we left so much behind.” He suddenly pulled out a stone from his pocket. “This was my first conquest, a diamond large enough to choke an ostrich.” His fingers curled possessively around the diamond. “When I went back a second time, I couldn’t find the cave. I kept going in circles. No matter what direction I started in, I always found myself at the same waterfall over and over. But it sounds like Thorne knows the way and has been there more than once.”

  “So what happens once he shows you the cave? You’ll just kill us and leave us in the jungle? That’s what your man who kidnapped me said you’d do.”

  Holt’s pale-blue eyes sharpened. “Jean has a loose tongue. I shall keep that in mind. People in my employ are valued for their ability to hold their tongues.”

  “Cameron and Isabelle—?”

  “They’ll be joining you in the jungle. They insisted on coming with the boy, naturally. It will make it so much easier. Accidents occur all the time in the forest, and there’s always a new band of rebels somewhere to throw blame at.” Holt picked up a light khaki vest from the back of his chair and put it on. He slipped the diamond inside and patted the breast pocket as if to make sure it was there.

  “You think no one will question your involvement? People saw Thorne attack you at the party. Someone will make the connection.”

  “Perhaps, but my resources and connections make for a very long list, Ms. Matthews. I worked harder than you can imagine for that.”

  Eden tasted a bitterness in her mouth as panic set in. Thorne, Cameron, and Isabelle were coming here to their deaths. Holt came toward her and gripped her arm, dragging her from the room.

  “Where are we going?” she gasped. They exited his office and passed through an elaborate lobby. When they left the building, she found they were standing on a city street, with the jungle encroaching on the edges of the city in the distance. This wasn’t Kampala, but it was somewhere in Uganda. She guessed they were in Fort Portal.