A Treasure Worth Keeping

by Marie Patrick

  “He’s taking too long,” Caralyn murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She took her eyes off Tristan for a second and turned to Mrs. Beasley.

  The chaperone’s eyes went wide in her red face, and she shook her head adamantly. “Don’t you dare think such a thing, young lady.”

  “But—”

  Mrs. Beasley interrupted her before she could finish her thought. “Have you taken leave of all your senses? You can’t just blindly jump into the unknown, Miss McCreigh. That’s your biggest fault in my opinion,” the woman continued. “You are rash and reckless and do not consider the consequences of your actions.”

  Anger simmered within Caralyn and her hands balled into fists as she glared at her companion, but now was not the time to argue. She returned her attention to Tristan. Her heart leapt into her throat. He was gone!

  Panic raced through her. Regardless of Mrs. Beasley’s unkind words or perhaps in spite of them, she sat on the rocks and began to remove her boots just as he emerged from the water right in front of her. Relief shot through her and brought beads of perspiration with the flood of emotion. Her relief turned to something deeper and more primitive when she stared at his half-naked body covered in water droplets.

  The urge to kiss every last one of them off his muscular chest caused her skin to flush hot. Caralyn knew her face had to be flaming red, but the realization could not, would not let her pull her gaze away from his beautiful, sculpted body.

  Tristan rose from the water like King Neptune, sleek and graceful. A wide smile spread across his handsome face. He closed the short distance between them and pulled her into his wet, strong embrace.

  Caralyn’s head buzzed, the sound of thousands of exotic birds cawing and squawking in her mind. She faintly heard Mrs. Beasley’s admonishment. Water dampened her clothes but did nothing to quell the fire raging within her. Trapped by his sherry-colored gaze and strong arms, she raised her head to await his kiss.

  And kiss her he did.

  Caralyn’s toes curled inside her boots as Tristan pressed his warm lips against hers. All too soon, he pulled away and held her at arms length. “You did find something, Cara. There are steps notched into the rock behind the waterfall. They lead up to an opening. And this is what we saw shimmering in the darkness.” He held out his hand. A diamond twinkled in the center of his palm. “I saw a handful of these scattered on the steps.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and blurred her vision as she handed him his shirt. A thousand words filled her head, but none could get past the lump in her throat. She swallowed hard. Though only one lone diamond sat in his hand and a few more were scattered on the steps, the promise of much more made her heart pound in her chest, made everything she had planned worthwhile, made the possibility of ruining her life acceptable.

  “I’m afraid we’ll all have to get wet,” Tristan told the group as they gathered around him. “I didn’t see another way to get behind the waterfall and the steps.”

  There were few protests. His gaze met and held hers then swept over her head. “Where’s Jemmy?”

  “He was here a minute ago.”

  They started looking for the boy who’d been chattering non-stop until only a few seconds ago. He couldn’t have gone far, and yet they all knew how fast his little legs could carry him.

  “Jemmy!” Tristan yelled above the constant rush of the waterfall and the squawking of the birds. Fear and worry for his son evident not only in his expression, but also in his voice, he hollered again. “Jemmy!”

  “Up here, Papa.” Jemmy’s sweet voice came from above.

  Tristan swung around to find Jemmy about twenty feet up, standing between a slab of granite and the waterfall. “Come down from there before—” He never finished his sentence. The boy took a step to his left and disappeared from view.

  “Jemmy!”

  His son’s blond head appeared, an impish grin on his lips. “There’s a path, Papa. It goes behind the waterfall.” He spun around, arms spread wide. “It’s wide enough to dance and you don’t even get wet.”

  Tristan laughed with relief, the thundering boom of it startling the birds from the trees. Caralyn jumped as well. Mrs. Beasley shook her head, her mouth open as if a reprimand hovered on her tongue.

  “Come down here and show us.”

  While Jemmy chattered and climbed over the rocks, Caralyn took the opportunity to watch Tristan slip into his shirt, disappointed he covered the taut, muscled chest she’d been admiring. He sat on the rocks to pull on his boots then handed the machete to Mac.

  Excitement visible all over his face, Jemmy skittered to a halt in front of them. “It ain’t—”

  “Isn’t,” Tristan corrected automatically.

  The boy continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “—hard to get into the cave if you know where to go.”

  Tristan tied the bags of sand to his belt and beckoned the boy closer. Jemmy did as he was told, and Caralyn held her breath. She hoped Tristan wouldn’t scold his son as badly as Mrs. Beasley had scolded her. No one liked to be chastised, especially in front of others.

  Once again, the captain of the Adventurer surprised her. His voice lowered but still rang with love and patience. “I thought I told you to stay close. I thought we agreed you wouldn’t wander away without an adult with you.”

  Jemmy nodded with enthusiasm as he did everything else. “Yes, Papa, but—”

  “Listen to me, son. There are dangers here we don’t know, don’t expect. You could have slipped and fallen from those rocks, and it’s a long way down. I love you, boy, and it would break my heart if something were to happen to you. Do you understand?”

  The boy shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes, Papa.”

  “Good.” Tristan ruffled his son’s hair then rose. “Lead the way, my little explorer.”

  The small group followed Jemmy through a maze of jumbled rocks, some rounded with age, some jagged and sharp as diamonds. Caralyn paused and took a deep breath. To her right, granite wall, to her left, the green expanse of tropical forest punctuated by beautiful, colorful blooms. In front of her, Tristan’s broad back . . . and her future. Her heart beat so quickly, she heard it over the sound of the thundering water. A fine mist cooled the humid air as she stepped into the narrow passageway behind the waterfall.

  Mac cleared his throat and drew attention to himself. Face pale and shiny with sweat, he handed out the candles he pulled from the sack. He removed the lantern last and thrust it toward Tristan.

  As he took the lantern from the man, concern caused Tristan’s eyes to narrow slightly. “What is it, Mac?”

  The quartermaster’s hands shook as he struck a match and lit the lantern and the candles each person held. “Cap’n, ye know I’d sail off the edge of the ocean if’n ye asked me, but I canna go in there. I canna breathe with the walls so close.”

  “You don’t have to go inside, Mac. You can wait for us here, at the entrance.”

  As captain, he could have forced Mac to accompany them or forced everyone else to stay outside while he explored the cave alone, and yet he had noticed the Scotsman’s pale face and the fear so evident in his eyes and graciously offered him a reprieve. Tristan’s kindness and understanding knew no bounds and Caralyn’s admiration for this man grew. Drawn to his thoughtfulness and compassion, she moved closer to him and thrilled when he casually draped an arm around her shoulders.

  She almost smiled when he focused on Mrs. Beasley and said, “I’m certain Mrs. Beasley has no desire to explore the cave either.”

  “You’d be mistaken, Captain,” Mrs. Beasley muscled her way in between the two of them. “I will not allow you to be alone with her!” The woman puffed up her already ample bosom and frowned at him. “You have already taken too many liberties, sir. I go where she goes.”

  And with those words, Mrs. Beasley grabbed Caralyn’s hand and pulled her into the cave. Tristan’s startled shout of warning followed; however, Mrs. Beasley rushed forward without stopping.

&n
bsp; Chapter 10

  The passage twisted and turned, wider in some places, so narrow in others they had to slide against the walls damp with moisture. The farther along they went, the darker their path became, the ambient light from outside growing dim until there was none.

  The others were behind them. Caralyn heard their footsteps, their low voiced conversation and her name echoing in the small corridor. Candlelight flickered and danced, shadows grew and diminished, only to grow again.

  She held her candle higher, as did Mrs. Beasley, until the passage ended and they stepped into a long chamber. A putrid smell slammed against her and stole her breath for a moment. Her stomach lurched and tears sprang to her eyes. She held her finger beneath her nose to block out the worst of the odors, but nothing helped. Above her, the ceiling undulated like black waves on the ocean. She raised the candle for a closer look and wished she hadn’t.

  Bats. Thousands of them hung from the roof of the cavern. A startled scream built in her throat, but she swallowed it away. She hated bats almost as much as she hated snakes.

  Apparently, Mrs. Beasley hated bats as well. The woman, still grasping her arm, stopped short. A surprised squeal escaped her, the sound enough to send the winged rodents into flight, their piercing shrieks bouncing off the walls in the chamber.

  Generations of the flying creatures left their mark on the floor, but without hesitation Caralyn crouched low and brought Mrs. Beasley down beside her. “Open your umbrella.”

  The woman dropped her candle, snapped the umbrella open, and held it close over their heads. With only one flickering candle burning, darkness hovered, and the walls of the cavern seemed to draw in around them. The sound of wings flapping as the bats made their way to the outside world became overwhelming. Chest tight, palms sweating, the awful smell tickling her nose, Caralyn concentrated on not vomiting.

  A shriek of fear escaped Mrs. Beasley each time one of the bats flew too close and bounced off the protective sunshade. Caralyn held her breath to avoid the fetid stench and silently recited the Lord’s Prayer.

  In moments, the melee ended. Except for the steady plop, plop, plop of water dripping from the stalagmites, silence permeated the grotto.

  Caralyn helped Mrs. Beasley to her feet. “Here, you hold this while I find your candle.”

  The woman closed the umbrella with a snap and grabbed the candle, her knuckles white. In the glow of the dancing flame, Mrs. Beasley’s face appeared ghostly. Tears glittered behind the lenses of her glasses and her chin trembled, but she held herself rigid. “I’ve never been so afraid in all my life,” she whispered, her voice shaking as much as the candle in her hand.

  “They’re gone now and they won’t be back as long as we’re here.” Caralyn patted her companion’s hand. “You were very brave.”

  Mrs. Beasley harrumphed but said nothing more as Caralyn retrieved the fallen candle from the guano-covered floor.

  Light flickered as the rest of the group joined them. Without hesitation, without the least bit of embarrassment, Dr. Trevelyan rushed to them and enfolded Mrs. Beasley in his embrace. “Lovey, are you all right?”

  As she melted against him, Mrs. Beasley nodded against his chest. Her breath hitched, as if she fought off the urge to cry.

  “Are you hurt?” Tristan stood not a foot away from Caralyn. Concern etched lines on his face, but his eyes still contained all the excitement of this adventure. Nothing, it seemed, not bats, not the fetid smell suffocating them, could dampen the exhilaration of being here. He moved a step closer and gently raised her face with the touch of his finger at her chin.

  “I’m fine, just a little startled.” Caralyn couldn’t help the shiver that raced down her back, and yet the simple touch of his hand, the very nearness of him, calmed all her fears. “I hate bats.”

  “I’m not fond of them, either.” A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you, Mrs. Beasley, and Jemmy waited outside with Mac.”

  Caralyn shook her head. As much as she would love to remove herself from this dark, damp cave and the overpowering smell, the lure of finding Izzy’s Fortune wouldn’t let her. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Tristan.”

  “What about you, Mrs. Beasley?”

  The woman shook her head. “If she stays,” her voice trembled but grew stronger within the doctor’s embrace, “I stay.”

  Though frightened, her companion displayed an uncommon amount of heart, and Caralyn had to admire the woman’s courage.

  “Jemmy?”

  The boy slid his small hand into his father’s larger one. “I wanna be with you.” A lump rose to Caralyn’s throat. The love between Tristan and Jemmy touched her heart and reminded her of the adventures she’d shared with her father. Daniel McCreigh would have loved this journey into the caves deep beneath the earth. She shook off the pang of loneliness and regret that her father no longer wished to search for Izzy’s Fortune.

  Tristan gazed at this son and finally nodded, then glanced at Graham, who stood near the entrance to the tunnel. “What about you, Graham?”

  The man grinned. “I’m not fond of bats or caves, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Shall we explore this horrid place?”

  Candles held high, Tristan’s lantern brighter than all of them combined, they explored the cavern. With every step Caralyn and her companions took, they released more of the stench from the cave floor. Her boots would be ruined, as would everyone else’s. Indeed, the hem of Mrs. Beasley’s gown showed stains that would never be removed. Once they found the treasure, Caralyn vowed she would buy the woman twenty gowns to replace the one she now wore.

  They weren’t the first to be here; some of the previous visitors hadn’t made it out alive. Human bones littered the floor above and beneath the coating of bat guano. An involuntary shiver shook Caralyn to her core, and the flame from her candle flickered as her hand trembled.

  What had killed these people? Fighting among themselves, all for want of the treasure? Had they become lost and disoriented, unable to find their way to freedom? Would the same happen to them? She shook her head, determined that it not be so, but her stomach clenched and once again, she fought for control as she tried to step around the bones.

  Others were not so cautious. The crack of bones snapping echoed in the chamber. Caralyn jumped with each sharp pop. Her throat constricted and she tasted bile, but she continued on, edging along the wall, Tristan just a short distance away, Jemmy, for once, quiet. All of this—the atrocious odor, the bats, the bones, the feeling the cave was too small and stealing her breath—would be worth it when they found the treasure.

  Within the chamber, flickering candlelight created ghostly shadows that danced on the walls. Perception and distance changed. Sound echoed. Darkness beyond the small pools of light closed in around her. She gripped the candle tighter to keep her hand from shaking then took a deep breath and forced her legs to carry her forward.

  “There’s another tunnel.” The light of Caralyn’s candle shined into a gaping chasm but only for a short distance before being swallowed in inky blackness.

  “I found one as well,” Graham called out from the other side of the chamber, the sound of his voice close, yet far away at the same time.

  “So did we,” Stitch remarked from the farthest reach of the cave to the north, his hand clasping Mrs. Beasley’s as they approached the opening, the flame of the candle flickering. “I feel cool air.”

  “Which one should we take?” Tristan asked as he held his lantern higher to cast more light.

  With a shrug, Stitch replied, “You’re the captain. You choose.”

  Tristan’s gaze went to each one of them. Finally, he gave a slight nod of his head. “Since you feel cool air, Stitch, I think that might be our best bet.” He eyed each member of his small group. “Is everyone ready?”

  The purpose of the bags of sand Tristan carried became clear. He made a small slit in the corner of one sack and let a steady stream of white mar
k their progress as the small group made their way into the first tunnel. Pride at his resourcefulness swelled in Caralyn’s chest as she gazed at Tristan’s wide shoulders ahead of her.

  Like the chasm that led to the chamber, this passageway twisted and turned as well, the walls drawing closer until no one, not even Jemmy, could slip inside the small opening. They could go no further.

  A shiver snaked its way down Caralyn’s back. Is it just my imagination or is the roof of the cave coming closer?

  Tristan sighed, disappointment evident in his stance, the sloping of his shoulders, the grim set of his mouth. “It’s a dead end. We’ll have to turn back.”

  “But I feel cool air.” Dr. Trevelyan watched the flame of his candle move as if carried by a breeze. “Where is it coming from?”

  “Perhaps we missed another tunnel.” Tristan held the lantern high. Shadows and light danced on the moist walls. “In any case, the space is too small. None of us can fit through.”

  “I don’t like this,” Jemmy whispered as he sidled closer to his father.

  “You can still wait outside with Mac,” Tristan suggested but the boy shook his head.

  They turned around as one and this time, Graham led the way back into the main chamber.

  “Since I chose so poorly, perhaps someone else would like to try,” Tristan said.

  Graham dug a coin out of his pocket. “Heads, we take this tunnel to the south. Tails, we take the one leading west.” He tossed the coin high in the air, caught it in his hand, and slapped it on his wrist. “West it is.”

  Another dead end of sorts. Instead of the walls closing in, the passageway led to an opening . . . and a drop of several yards to the ocean below. Though the view was nothing short of amazing and the warm air circulating around her eased some of the nausea roiling in Caralyn’s stomach, they could proceed no further.

  As one, they turned and went back to the main chamber.

  The last tunnel led upward at a slight grade. Caralyn heard rushing water. She thought it could be the river, which fed one of the waterfalls on the island, but couldn’t be sure. Strange. The sound came from above her. The sides of the cave gleamed with moisture. Small puddles of water shimmered on the ground. She glanced at the ceiling of the channel, which was so low, it seemed to scrape the top of Tristan’s head. For once, she thanked heaven for her short stature.