It was strange being on a ship's deck and not being the one giving orders. This was one of Guildford's ships, soon to be his. He could taste victory. It lay ahead on the green island they were heading toward. He'd never been on Pina Island, had had no reason to go there. Legend was that the Spanish missionaries who had died of yellow fever haunted the place and pirates were usually a superstitious lot—hence the island was left deserted.
He wasn't sure what was to come, but he was looking forward to it. Turning, he looked over at Miss Nears, standing on the other side of the ship, holding onto a piece of rigging and staring ahead at the island. Just the two of them now. Lieutenant Havencourt stood behind her and Christian's scrutiny brought the man's attention.
Christian wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do with Miss Clara Nears on the island. In some ways, it was amazing that she was here, a contestant in the final challenge. One thing he would say for her: she had a knack of using the resources around her. There certainly weren't as many on this island, but he would still be wary of her. She wasn't past using what was at hand. But then she was so easy to manipulate.
They were coming in close and the seabed was rising, showing all the life and corals underneath them. It was as if they were floating on glass.
Tuber's hobbling steps approached. "The chest with treasure is there on the island. Clues tell you how to find it. There is, of course, the chance that you'll just stumble across it, but I doubt it. First who opens the chest—no keys are needed—and claims the treasure wins this challenge. Now get going."
"Where's the dinghy?" Clara asked.
"No dinghy, lass. You're on your own from here."
Christian laughed at her frown and moved to the front of the ship as it was slowly gliding around. Havencourt approached him. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."
"Fighting words, Havencourt." Christian considered the man. Maybe the naval man had designs on the girl. The man was too honorable to seduce her and she blushed brightly at even the remotest mention of fucking, so there was no doubt she was still chaste. "Can't promise anything," he said with a grin. "She has shown a willingness of sneaking into my bed to get what she wants." He smiled at the man's deepening frown and decided to climb up on the railing and dive into the water before Havencourt mustered some notion of defending her honor. No point in going through an exhausting duel with Havencourt before this challenge. The coolness of the water shocked his skin for a moment and he heard a splash behind him. Turning, he saw her head emerge from the water, around a pool of bubbles from when she'd jumped in. So she hadn't baulked and changed her mind. He’d half expected her to.
Swimming until he could stand, he waded up on the beach and sat down on the sand quickly heating from the morning sun. She was an awkward swimmer, but if he guessed right, it was a skill recently learned.
Leaning back on his elbows, he crossed his ankles and let the sun dry him. As she emerged from the water, she had placed her arm across her chest, hiding her breasts which would be visible underneath the wet, white linen. He was sorry she was robbing him of the sight he'd seen once before. "Just you and me now, girl. I'll take your surrender."
"You should pursue a strategy based on that happening. Why don't you wait here, I'll be right back," she said and kept walking past him and into the jungle skirting the entire stretch of beach.
Christian smiled and returned his gaze to the ship that was turning away to sail back to Tortuga Bay or wherever they were going to hole up. He could almost see Havencourt swearing at him. Closing his eyes again, he lay back on the sand, feeling the sun’s warmth. He was looking forward to this challenge, particularly sparring with Miss Nears, with her eyes that flashed with anger and annoyance.
It didn't matter—he would still win this challenge and he would do whatever it took. This was what he'd been working toward for years, and some snippy girl wasn't going to remotely threaten it for him. And there were so many possibilities for dealing with her.
After he was somewhat dry, he got up and headed into the jungle. There was an abandoned settlement here somewhere. It would be too obvious a place for Guildford to place the chest. Tuber had been quite educational in his statement, saying he doubted they would find it by stumbling across it, which meant it was hidden.
First thing he did was head up the mountain at the center of the island. He needed to get the lay of the land, create a mental map of the island and its features. No doubt the clues would involve those features.
He climbed for an hour or so until he had a good view of most of the island. He could see the ruins of the settlement through a sparser patch of trees, but otherwise most of the island was covered in jungle. If there had ever been any roads on the island, they were well gone by now, so the beach would be the fastest way of traveling.
No doubt the girl had headed for the settlement, seeking shelter. The settlement would have a fresh-water stream. Even the Spanish were not hapless enough to build a settlement away from drinking water. The settlement was the obvious focal point and Tuber would have placed the first clue there.
Christian walked around the mountain, getting a good look at the whole island before heading down toward the settlement along a stream, which provided a natural path through the jungle. There was little point in going all the way up to the rocky peak as he'd seen everything he needed to. His anticipation grew heavier as he got to the edge of the settlement, where he crouched down and studied the structures built of wood and stone. The tallest building was the church, where a tree had broken through the roof. That was where she would go, he expected. Where else would a convent girl go?
It was time to deal with the competition. Might as well get it done now, so he could find these clues in peace. The large doors to the church were slightly cracked open, but the hinges were rusted. He doubted they would open. They certainly wouldn't do so silently. A better option was the broken windows.
Peeking inside, he saw her standing by one of the wooden pews and wondered if she thought the church would give her sanctuary. There were still many who believed in that notion. He wasn't one of them. God had likely abandoned this place like everyone else.
Silently, he climbed in and down into the church. Her head shot up at a small noise and she spotted him with wide eyes. He grunted in vexation, wishing he'd been upon her by the time she’d noticed he was there. Hopefully, if she had a pistol, like him, her powder was wet. Her sword made a rasping sound as she drew it.
"Drawing a weapon in a church. What are you thinking?" he teased. She didn't take her eyes off him, instead stepped away from the confining pews. "Come now, let's discuss this."
"There is nothing to discuss. Get away from me."
Christian slowly advanced on her, still not having drawn his sword. He saw a censer lying on the ground with a length of rope attached. Perfect. "Alright then. Let's not discuss." He drew his sword out of his scabbard.
She leapt from her spot and started running down the length of the church, on the far side of a set of pews. Toward the end, he stepped up on one of the seats and took a flying leap to block her way. She slid to a halt, then lunged for him with her sword and he parried her attack. The sound of their swords meeting echoed through the church.
He swung and she blocked it. "Havencourt has been teaching you," he said and made another cut, which she successfully diverted. Havencourt had done a good job, too. Disengaging her, he shifted his blade around hers’ until he had her blocked with his crossguard pressing down on hers. The move had them standing close as their swords locked together. "Would you cut me?" he asked softly, knowing she had likely never hurt anyone. "Or would you hesitate? Did Havencourt teach you that hesitating gives your enemy an advantage? Can you cut me without hesitating? Pierce my flesh?"
As he expected, he saw uncertainty in her eyes. She was utterly useless at hiding her emotions, struggling to get out of his hold on her sword; he wasn't giving her room to. There was no way around the fact that he was plain stronger than her.
Ma
ybe he was a little too cocky, because he left himself open to being kneed where it hurt and she took the opportunity, sending blinding pain threatening his consciousness. He stumbled back and she pushed herself out of his hold, running down the church. He really did deserve that for being too assured.
Taking off after her as she ran toward the altar, he shook off the pain. "Cruel, Miss Nears, and careful, or you'll ruin our chances of having children." The statement was absurd and it had the intended effect—astounding and confounding her.
He swung and she blocked awkwardly, as he knew she would. He had no intention of hurting her, but obviously she was less picky on the subject. He really wanted to rearrange himself and soothe some of the ache, but he had to focus as she would cut now, any second. He easily blocked her when she did, using his thigh to knock her off balance, letting him grab her wrist and twist it around her back. With force, he swung her around as well and he had his sword arm around her chest, pressing her to him. Havencourt had taught her well with regards to technical fighting, but there was more to it than that. His mouth was just by her ear. "And here we are. I would say I have you in my clutches." Her arm was crossing her back and her wrist was pressed to his thigh, her backside to his aching manhood—which really wasn't helping, because her soft flesh was twisting that pain into something more compelling. The thought of bending her over one of these pews and having his way with her snuck into his mind, but he dismissed it. As much as the thought appealed, it was all a little too crass. He had more style than that.
Sliding his hand down from around her wrist, he forced her sword out of her hand and it clattered on the stone floor. Bringing his sword hand down around her hips, he pressed to her so she couldn’t pull her hand away and grabbed her other wrist so he had both in his grip. "Now, where were we? Oh yes," he said and moved her forward and away from him, bending down to pick up the censer with its long rope. "Let's head outside. Not sure I entirely trust this building not to fall down. Wouldn't want that, would we?"
There was a back door off what must have been the vestry. It was open and sand had transgressed into the building. Christian pushed her outside, still with a steel grip on her wrists, toward the edge of the town, down toward the beach. Again she struggled and he had to pull her to him until she stilled. Obviously she was getting the message that if she struggled, he would bring them close, very close. She stilled.
Making a knot at the end of the rope, he pulled her over to a tree and forced her arms around its trunk, slipping the knot over her wrists and pulling it tight. Not cutting tight, but tight enough to mean business.
"You're tying me to a tree?"
"What else do you suggest I do? I can't have you getting under my feet." He wound the rope around her and the tree, holding her tight from knee to chest. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. "Unless you are ready to surrender."
Her mouth pressed into a tight line and Christian smiled. "I didn't think so," he said with a chuckle. "Now, I bet you've seen that first clue, haven't you?"
She remained stubbornly silent, glaring daggers at him. She'd seen the first clue alright, and she wasn't going to tell him. "You don't have to tell me. It's here somewhere, but now it's getting dark." It wasn't dark just yet, but if he wanted to eat, he would have to sort that now. "Don't get up to any mischief while I'm gone."
"You can't leave me here." Anger and resentment forced a quiver into her voice.
Ignoring her, he turned away. "Careful of those ghosts," he said with a smile and headed for the beach.
Chapter 21:
* * *
For the hundredth time, Clara struggled against the rope that held her, leaning her head back against the trunk when it refused to give. She had a blade in her boot, but she couldn't reach it. It was growing dark and Rossi had been gone for some time. Sighing deeply, she shook her head, not believing that this had happened. She was in his power; he had her subdued and tied to a tree, and she didn't know what was to come. Maybe he would torture her to get the clue from her—although he already seemed to know it was nearby. A hermit keeps his secrets, the clue had said. What was that supposed to mean? A hermit. That was someone who lived away from others, from this community. There must have been a hermit on the island. Hopefully, there wasn't currently a hermit on the island. Opening her eyes, she looked around, jumped when she heard a noise behind her.
Christian appeared and she almost sighed with relief, then chided herself for being so stupid. There was only one threat on this island, and it had just walked back into her view, dragging a gnarly and bleached tree branch, and something else in his hands. His shirt was tucked into the waist of his breeches, hanging limply down by his leg. He was wet; he'd been in the ocean. His hair was slicked back off his face and was dripping down his bare shoulders and back.
Using his feet, he broke the branch into bits and piled them up. Obviously, he was starting a fire. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but kept her mouth shut. "Are you going to keep me tied here all night?"
"Would you rather sleep with me?"
"No."
"Unless you're with me, how am I going to know you're not up to something—about to cut my throat while I'm sleeping?"
"I suppose my promise counts for nothing."
He snorted. "I'd rather trust restraints than your promises."
Crouching down, his lean muscles straining as he placed some kind of dry grass and was twisting a stick until it smoldered. She'd never seen anyone start a fire like that, but the grass ignited and he placed the dry wood pieces on top. Before long, the fire was roaring and she could see his features again. The noisy jungle was starting to quiet as darkness settled.
As she watched, he placed some sea creatures on the fire. Was he going to eat those? She had never seen anything like it before. At the convent, they ate herring at times—goose at Christmas and the occasional beef stew. These things had claws and shells, and beady eyes. She couldn't imagine eating them.
Sitting down with his legs crossed, his eyes came up to hers. He opened his shirt and revealed berries of some sort, popping one into his mouth. Clara felt her stomach twist in hunger. It growled.
"Hungry?" he asked with that grin that made her want to hit him. She refused to answer. "Do you even know what's edible in the Caribbean?"
She looked away. That had been something overlooked in Havencourt’s tutelage. He had shown her a map of the island. It was in Spanish, but he had explained all its features and she had done her best to memorize them. Unfortunately, there had been no mention of a hermit's cottage. "Bananas, citrus, fish."
"And how will you catch fish?"
"With a spear." She had seen some of the younger men do it off the rocks down the end of the beach.
He smiled. "I could just imagine you chasing around fish with a spear."
"It doesn't matter," she said haughtily. "I'd rather focus on finishing this challenge."
"Big words from someone tied to a tree."
There wasn't actually much she could respond with. He had decidedly won this skirmish.
Shifting closer to the fire, he grabbed one of the crustaceans, which was apparently hot because he could only hold it for no more than a second at a time. He let them be when he had them off the fire and sat back letting them cool. His chest was bare for her to see. She'd seen him like this before, but he had no qualms about his undressed state.
"Has Havencourt informed you of his designs on you?" he asked.
"He doesn't have designs on me," she said, shocked at the assertion.
"Why else do you think he is helping you?"
"Just to subvert my father's plans. Maybe he just doesn't want you to win." Still, she couldn't help blushing. She couldn't quite bring herself to think of Havencourt in that regard, perhaps because he was quite a bit older than her, not disturbingly old, but also, he didn't want to be here, be with someone like her. He might bring himself to settling on his fate, but she didn't want to be the person someone settled on. "He is not a saint," sh
e said, not meaning to say it out loud. It was true. Havencourt grappled against that part of him that belonged here, the part that was wild—the part that had seen him ostracized from his own kind.
"Are you looking for a saint, then?"
This was not a conversation she intended or wanted to have. She stubbornly closed her mouth. Christians smiled and shifted closer to his meal, testing their heat with his fingers, deciding they were cool enough to handle. He broke one in half in a brutal move, discarding the top half, cracking down the length of its tail. The shell was now red and it gave way to white flesh.
Christian pulled out the whole piece of meat from the tail and placed it in his mouth. Appreciative moans showed he enjoyed his meal. Clara felt her stomach clench again and she watched as Christian tore a claw off the creature and bit its shell between his teeth, cracking it. The creature had no hope against his merciless hunger.
Repeating the treatment, he ate another of the creatures. Then cracked the third, pulling out the flesh of the tail. "Hungry?"
She couldn't deny that her stomach was aching for food. She had no idea what this white meat tasted like, but she wouldn't deny some if he gave it to her. Standing, he moved closer, pulling a piece off it. He brought it to her mouth and waited for her to open. Hunger made her comply and she opened her mouth to receive the morsel. His fingers touched her lips as he placed it in her mouth. The meat was sweet and succulent on her tongue, and her stomach screamed for more. "If you release me, I can eat it properly."
"Where would be the fun in that?" he asked and held another piece for her, his attention focused on her mouth. This felt dangerous, but she was too hungry to say no, needing more. The air stilled between them and she could feel his presence along her skin, drawing painful goose-bumps as it contracted. With her arms tied behind her, she had no defense against him if he decided to touch her. He wasn't even remotely touching her, except for the slight touch of his fingers on her lips. One last piece and his finger lingered, the pad of his thumb pressing down on her lower lip. She looked up at him, but his gaze was still on her mouth.
A Pirate's Ruse Page 12
