Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4

by Patricia Hagan

  In fact, Travis was becoming angrier with each word, for he was finally learning a truth he’d never guessed. The depth, the sheer awfulness of what Alaina had done astonished him.

  Dani explained about the deception and theft Gavin had perpetrated, and Travis found himself stunned anew. How could Gavin have gotten away with so many lies?

  “My friend Briana is missing,” Dani finished. “I could hear her screaming far away, but we had no idea where to find her. One of the nuns dared to walk farther down the trail…” She paused, swallowing hard. “She was the one who found Mr. Pope’s body. He had been stabbed, but he wasn’t dead. He said the name Hollister to the sister, and then he died.”

  Travis got to his feet and moved slowly to the window to stare, unseeing, at the autumn forest behind the convent. The world was dying. His son was dying. A friend was dead. His family had been swindled.

  It took all his will to stop himself from driving his fist through the glass.

  Finally Travis shook himself. “I’ll move Colt, take him to Paris, as soon as it’s safe for him to be moved. He can at least be close to me…and his mother.”

  Dani was quick to remind him, “The doctor who came yesterday said he could regain consciousness at any time. You can never predict what will happen with a blow to the head, you know.” Then she asked, “Colt? I call him ‘John Travis’.”

  Her father grinned. “The nickname’s obvious. I like ‘John Travis’ better, but ‘Colt’ stuck.”

  As if their discussing him was bringing him back to the living, Colt began struggling out of the nightmare that held him prisoner. His head throbbed terribly, and he felt as though a giant spider had spun a massive web around his brain, preventing him from thinking clearly. Who were the people talking beyond that thick black fog clouding him? What was the matter with him?

  Dani got up and went to her father. “I want to go with you, but…I must stay here.”

  “It’s what you chose,” Travis reminded her softly. “I don’t imagine you made your decision hastily. Somehow I feel you aren’t an impulsive woman.”

  She agreed, but she needed to explain. “Had things been different, had I not felt my family didn’t love me, perhaps I would not have become a nun. If I’d felt I had a place in life, well…”

  Travis frowned. Of course he wanted her with him and Kitty, but he did not want to encourage her to throw everything away because of this sudden, emotional upheaval in her life. He embraced her, whispering, “Give it time, sweet one. Think it through.” Lord, he thought, she was so much like her mother!

  He hadn’t loved Marilee as he loved Kitty, but he’d respected Dani’s mother and loved her in a different, softer way from the way he loved Kitty. Marilee had been one hell of a woman.

  As he held Dani against him, time turned backward, and Travis remembered vividly the night Marilee gave birth to Dani.

  Weakly, Marilee had lifted her hand to touch his cheek, her breathing ragged as she struggled to speak. “Remember what I told you, darling? Remember…I told you that no moment lasts forever?”

  Travis relived the anguish of holding Marilee, knowing she was dying. She wasn’t fighting to live, not really. He tried to prevent her from talking any more because she needed the little strength she had.

  Marilee swallowed hard, looking deep into Travis’s eyes. “You said to make more moments,” she told him. “You make them, my beloved. Make them with the only woman you ever truly loved…”

  Pain consumed her then, and blood gushed. It could not be stopped.

  He would never forget the agony of watching Marilee’s eyes lock in a gaze with eternity.

  She had gotten out of the way so that he would be free to love Kitty, his first wife, the wife he had believed dead.

  But Marilee’s baby had lived, and now he held that baby close. She reminded him so much, dear God, of that tender, loving woman whom he would never forget—would never wish to forget.

  A voice broke into the painful remembrance: “Let’s go get the bastards!”

  Dani gave a little scream, and Travis whirled around. It was Colt!

  And then the three of them were clinging together, there in a whitewashed room in a convent on top of a mountain in France, three who had come so far, from such different places, and who belonged—at least for a little while—together.

  They had each been terribly wronged, but by the strength of their Coltrane blood, they were going to make things right.

  Alaina could hardly breathe. Each time her lungs struggled to expand, they pushed against her smashed ribs. The pain was excruciating. Not only was her chest cage smashed, every major bone in her body was broken. No one could understand how it was possible that she was still alive three days after a fisherman saw her lying on the rocks.

  Dr. Geoffrey Robaire was as puzzled as anyone. He listened to her heart once more, then stepped back from her bed and shook his head. “She cannot last much longer,” he said matter-of-factly, seeing nothing to be gained by lying. Surely the woman knew she was dying. He had never been close to the Countess, or, for that matter, to any of his patients. He kept his feelings out of things.

  Travis and Colt stood near the door. They didn’t want Alaina upset by the sight of them, but they had to find out where Gavin Mason had gone.

  “Has she been conscious at all?” Travis asked tightly.

  Dr. Robaire shrugged. He had not been around her that much. He had been summoned when she was found, and he’d done what little he could, plainly surprised that she continued to live. In his opinion, she was merely stretching out the inevitable—and causing him the inconvenience of running back and forth to give her injections to ease the pain.

  Looking at the wife of the fisherman who had found her, he asked the woman if she’d heard the Countess talk, or whether she’d even opened her eyes.

  She shook her head. “She has trouble breathing, Doctor, but even the pain doesn’t wake her.” She didn’t care.

  The only reason she was sitting in Alaina deBonnett’s bedroom was that her husband had said Mr. Mason would be ever so grateful that she had cared for his aunt in his absence. There would certainly be a nice remuneration from Mr. Mason for their kindness, her husband had told her.

  Travis stepped forward, eyes glinting. “I’m going to see if I can get her to talk to me. It can’t harm her, can it?”

  Dr. Robaire shook his head. “But she is heavily sedated, so I doubt she will understand anything you say.”

  The doctor placed his stethoscope in his worn leather bag and bade them good-day. He wanted to be gone from there. If the imposing-looking stranger wanted to pester a dying woman, that was not his concern.

  Travis stared down at Alaina. He felt no remorse at the welling up of hatred within him. She was an evil woman, had been hurting people for years and causing grief to everyone whose path she had ever crossed.

  “Alaina,” he said harshly, loudly. He did not touch her. He didn’t want to cause her further pain by rattling broken bones around. He wasn’t a sadist. He just wanted information—and he intended, by God, to have it. “Alaina. Talk to me.”

  Alaina was in a world of gnawing, white-hot pain. She could feel the flames of hellfire licking at her. The agony was so terrible, it just melded together in one clawing fist that was pulling her down, down toward those hungry flames.

  “Alaina. Answer me.”

  Suddenly the black clouds parted and she saw blue sky. There was warm sunshine. Beneath her bare feet was the cooling bluegrass of her beloved Kentucky. And above, bending over to look at her, was the dear face of a man she had hated and loved.

  “Travis,” she whispered. The pain in her throat was unbearable. She coughed, tasted blood. “Travis Coltrane. You…want me, don’t you? Just like…”

  Travis winced ever so slightly. “Yes, Alaina, I want you,” he lied. Where was the harm? “But you must help me. You have to tell me where Gavin Mason is.”

  She frowned, and that also hurt terribly. Was there no movem
ent that wouldn’t cause excruciating pain?

  “Mason,” Travis said sharply. “Where is he, Alaina?”

  The never-ending nightmare was coming back. She remembered the knife slicing through the air, the plunge into the void. Then the all-consuming pain.

  “I don’t think she’s going to tell us anything,” Colt whispered. “I can see from here that her breathing is getting shallower. Her color is bad, too.”

  Travis silently agreed. Death was hovering over Alaina. Her eyes were starting to look glassy. “Where did Mason go?” he urged. “Alaina? Help me, please.”

  Alaina shuddered with pain.

  “Greece… He went to Santor…” She could not go on, did not want to make another excruciating effort.

  She tried to lift her arm, the closest to Travis, but it, too, was smashed. She managed to move her fingers, like the opening and closing of crab claws. Travis saw and understood. He laid his hand on top of hers, hoping it comforted her. Her lips moved, and he leaned closer so as to catch the faint whisper.

  “Tell…me…” She was hardly able to enunciate. Blackness was closing in. “…you love me.”

  Travis leaned over and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Yes, Alaina. I love you,” he said firmly.

  This time, she was able to smile past the pain. The smile was frozen on her lips forever. In that moment, Alaina Barbeau deBonnett died.

  Travis straightened. Glancing at Colt, he saw the faintest glimmer of condemnation in his son’s eyes.

  “Never condemn a man for leaving a woman happy,” he told him.

  Colt nodded. It was all right. His father had done what had to be done, and Alaina had died a little less miserable because of it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Through the mist of despair surrounding her, Briana looked at her small cabin. There was only a chair, a small table, and her bunk. A single porthole offered a view of the endless ocean. The bleak vista suited her. Colt was dead. Charles had been taken away. And she was imprisoned on a ship, Gavin’s prisoner—and Dirk’s.

  The day faded, but she did not stir from bed. As the cabin faded into darkness, there came the sound of her door being unlocked. She tensed, waiting, ready to fight with every ounce of strength.

  Suddenly a young Frenchman murmured, “It is so dark in here. Where are you? I have brought your dinner, mademoiselle.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she snapped. “Go away.”

  She heard him, fumbling in the dark, finding the table and setting down the tray. “I have orders, mademoiselle. Wait. I will light a lantern.”

  A few seconds later the room was flooded with light. Briana saw her visitor. Still a boy, he was no more than sixteen. He was tall and thin, with dark hair that reached almost to his shoulders. He stared at her, wide-eyed. She decided he was not to be feared.

  “My name is Raoul,” he said eagerly. “I have been assigned to bring your meals to you.”

  Then, gravely, he announced, “I know you are being confined here by your uncle, Monsieur Mason.

  I must warn you that I will not let you escape. I am strong, so you mustn’t try.”

  He frowned, trying to look fierce, and Briana smiled to herself.

  So Gavin had said she was a disobedient niece? That would make the whole ship’s crew reluctant to help her if she appealed to them. Whatever she told them about Gavin, they wouldn’t believe her. It was a smart thing for Gavin to have done.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him softly; “I won’t make trouble for you.”

  He seemed to relax a little, and he turned to indicate the tray. “It’s simple fare, but excellent. Fish. Potatoes. Cheese. Wine. Fruit. If you want more, I can get it.”

  “That will be fine. Thank you. By the way,” she added brightly, attempting to appear friendly, “my name is Briana.”

  He grinned. “I know. I think it’s a beautiful name, just like you—” He fell silent, his face flushing.

  He turned to leave, and Briana called softly, “Thank you, Raoul. I hope we can be friends.”

  He rushed out, locking the door.

  Briana smiled.

  The next morning, Raoul brought her water for bathing, then left her alone for half an hour before bringing her a breakfast tray of porridge, fruit, and chocolate.

  She began to ask him questions, and he stayed for a while—eager, she realized, to tell her all he knew about sailing. He explained that they were in the Ligurian Sea, heading through the Tuscan Arch between the islands of Elba and Corsica. Next, they would enter the Tyrrhenian Sea, eventually passing through the narrow Strait of Messina and into the Ionian Sea.

  “You have sailed this route before?” she asked him, glad to see that he was not anxious to leave.

  “Oh, yes, many times. I’ve been at sea since I was twelve, a mere boy.”

  Briana suppressed a smile.

  He told her that he was born in the tiny province of Grasse, west of Monaco. “This ship belongs to my uncle,” he said proudly. “And my cousin is the captain. We travel to Greece and back, transporting goods to and from the Cyclades Islands.”

  Briana nodded, hopeful. If the captain was a relative of this boy’s, then she needed Raoul on her side more than she’d thought.

  She urged him to tell her about the Greek islands, especially Santorini.

  He grinned. “The real name for that island,” he was proud to correct her, “is Thera. It’s the farthest south of the Cyclades. It is actually the remains of a volcano that they say erupted about fifteen hundred B.C., the same eruption that destroyed Atlantis.

  “There’s a lagoon there,” he went on excitedly, “over sixty kilometers wide. In the middle of the lagoon are two little islands with volcanoes on them. One is called Néa Kaméni, which means New Burnt Island, and the other is called Palaia Kaméni, which means Old Burnt Island. They still have smoke coming out of them, which means they might blow again.”

  Briana nodded. “Tell me about Santorini…Thera.”

  Raoul described the island as having a small settlement along the east coast. The island was made mostly of lava and pumice, and the lagoon was rimmed by red-, white-, and black-striped volcanic cliffs three hundred meters high. “On the top of Thera there is the Mount Profitus Ilias, over five hundred meters high. Not many people live up there, because it’s too hard to get there. They use donkeys to carry supplies.

  “Then,” he went on, eyes shining brightly; for he was enjoying the way she hung on his every word, “there are other settlements to the south, Emborion and Pirgos. The port at the north entrance of the lagoon is called Oia.”

  Wanting him to know that she was impressed, Briana gushed, “You certainly are knowledgeable, Raoul. I…”

  Her voice faded as they heard footsteps outside the door. Raoul held up a hand for silence.

  Whoever it was stopped directly outside the door. After a short pause, the steps continued on, their sound fading into the distance.

  Raoul quickly got to his feet. “I have other work to do,” he said apologetically. He rushed out, locking the door.

  Briana lay down on the uncomfortable bunk. He might become an ally. With his help, she could find a way to escape.

  And then what?

  She closed her eyes. Somehow, she would find the orphanage where Charles was. There would, thank God, be Charles. But the emptiness in her heart would never be filled, the pain never assuaged. For a time, she had loved and been loved. And in that precious instant, when, miraculously, she knew her love was returned…it had been stolen away from her forever.

  She grieved terribly for her beloved Colt, and for what might have been. And within that wrenching sorrow there burned a rage so hot she often felt as though her blood actually were boiling.

  There, in the shadows of the damp cabin, feeling the rhythmic pitch and roll of the ship against the sea, Briana vowed revenge. For taking Colt’s life…for taking Branch’s life…for all he had done to her…Dirk Hollister was going to die.

  When Dirk and his men
kidnapped her, dragging her back to the deBonnett château, Dirk had taunted her with the grisly details of how he had murdered Branch. When he and Butch and Artie saw Branch riding alone, they decided not to sound an alarm by shooting.

  Dirk waited behind a group of boulders, and when Branch passed by, he leaped onto Branch’s horse and plunged his knife through Branch’s throat, falling to the ground with him.

  Briana had died a little bit more with each word, as though the knife that had taken Branch’s life was twisting in her soul.

  Each time Raoul went to Briana’s cabin, they talked. He lingered as long as he dared, talking about the ea, the ship anything to keep a conversation going, obviously hating to leave her. Briana encouraged him, desperate to win his friendship. She had to be warm and kind, aware of what Gavin had probably told the crew about his “niece”.

  One evening, Raoul brought her a whole bottle of wine instead of the usual single glass. She offered him some, and he shook his head, stammering, “Oh…I wouldn’t dare. It isn’t allowed. I’d be keelhauled, for sure.”

  She was quick to reassure him. “No, you mustn’t break any rules. But what harm is there in your staying a while to keep me company?”

  He stared at the floor. “My orders are to bring your trays and then leave. I’m not supposed to spend time with you, because…” He glanced at her nervously, then quickly lowered his eyes again.

  “Why?” she asked gently. “Why were you told not to stay? What has Monsieur Mason told you about me that makes you think I am so terrible?”

  Quickly he said, “I must go.” He edged toward the door. “I’ve said too much.”

  Briana did not try to dissuade him from leaving. It would not do to frighten him or pressure him. She would just have to be patient.

  They had been at sea for two days before Gavin made his first appearance in her tiny cabin. He came in with an arrogant, gloating smile and inquired, by way of greeting, “Well, my dear, have you calmed down?”

  She merely regarded him with a look that, she hoped, transmitted all her hatred.