Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  "Dandyish," Diego finished for her.

  She nodded with a smile.

  "Justin does look the savage these days, but believe me, he owns many faces. I have seen him look quite the gentleman, both refined and noble. You'll see once you're rescued from here."

  Christina looked down, unconsciously scratching the cut on her arm while her other hand held the whistle at her neck. Not for the first time she wondered what that would be like.

  "I imagine, though," Diego said softly, seriously, "that some of my friends' ah, faces can still frighten you?"

  She looked at him directly, startled by his understanding. She nodded. "Yes," she whispered, turning away. "Sometimes..."

  "Christina." He took her hand, seeing an expression that revealed all the trouble of a young girl's heart. "Justin has many faces because he has to. You know he would never hurt you—"

  "No, of course not," she replied still softly, solemnly. "It's just that sometimes I feel there's two Justins; one that, yes, scares me so, and one... one that I fell in love with—" She waved her hand, suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy of her conversation. "Oh, you must think me quite ridiculous."

  Diego shook his head, smiling at her self-effacing withdrawal. Nothing could be further from the truth and he was just about to tell her so when a strange look crossed her face, part curiosity, part concern.

  "I was wondering," she began, not able to imagine a crime, any crime, that he could possibly have committed—

  "Yes?"

  "What has occurred that causes... friction between you and Justin?"

  "That's between Diego and myself, Christina." Justin startled her as he stepped through the door. Then to Diego, "You're better."

  While startled, Christina caught the unmistakable intensity of Justin's simple benign statement, and Diego's sudden tension. It was as though "you're better" was a demand. Just as suddenly, Diego relaxed and smiled at Christina as he replied, "What man would not feel better with such company? I've enjoyed our visit immensely, Christina."

  "I should like to come again. May I?"

  "You'll have to ask Justin that." He looked up at Justin and the tension immediately returned. "For in truth I'm not always this, ah, well."

  Christina looked up at Justin, too, as though for an explanation. He only smiled and took her by the arm to show her off. "Come, Diego needs his rest."

  She bid him good-bye, leaving Justin with him, wondering still. She never wondered how long Justin had stood by the door listening, though she might have known. For that night Justin kept his passion down to make love to her with a startling gentleness that lasted long into the night.

  CHAPTER 7

  Stealing the knife had been easy enough. Most of the men—what Carolyn called the wolf pack, a pack that now included all the men who had been on the Defiant's lifeboat—had gone off on a hunting trip. The men craved red meat as much as the sight of the merry streets of London. Only two men had remained and they remained solely because they had one precious bottle of rum left and they had not wanted to share this treasure. After a drunkenly boisterous night, the two men had finally fallen asleep and she had simply slipped quietly by their sides to steal one of their daggers. A knife she would use to demonstrate that she was perfectly capable of defending herself.

  After all, she had killed for far less reason and while she'd prefer the gentler, easier means of poison, the situation called for far more drastic means. So, when the pack returned and they forced her to pick one of them, she'd charmingly, sweetly oblige. She knew which one too; it would be their leader; she'd pick the man named John to die.

  She supposed they could kill her in turn and probably would but she would infinitely prefer death than to ever, ever condescend to choosing one of them.

  Thinking, plotting, thinking, Carolyn Knolls stepped out into the warm morning sun, vigorously fanning flies and mosquitoes from her person. She turned at the sound of laughter and caught sight of Justin chasing Christina into the water. Laughing, Christina ran to the water's edge, dove in, and began swimming out. Justin caught her within a few feet. Christina's arms came around his neck and the embrace was completed with a kiss. Long and passionate, as though they had not a care in the world. And watching them sent her thoughts turning in a different direction...

  Why did he dislike her so? And what in heaven's name could a man like Justin Phillips see in such an insipid, silly girl like Christina Marks? She was pretty enough, she supposed generously, but so timid, so utterly ridiculously feminine! What was it Lady Everett used to call her?

  Oh yes, a "scared little mouse."

  Too bad those scars didn't leave a bigger mark...

  And him? What was it about Justin Phillips that attracted her so? She had certainly known far more handsome men—at least more handsome in a refined way. Which was not to say Justin Phillips lacked anything, anything at all. But it seemed more his manner than anything else, his unusual masculine strength. He was the only man she had ever met who was stronger than her, and at least as sharp. The only man too, who didn't succumb easily—or at all for that matter—to her charms. He was a challenge. A worthwhile challenge if he was only half as good in real life as he was in those dreams she had been having.

  Perhaps after she settled this other problem, she'd see what she could do to get little Miss Marks out of the way...

  * * * * *

  Christina didn't quite understand. After eating fish for so long and an occasional piece of fowl, she didn't have any appetite for the wild boar Justin's men had killed and brought back to the camp. A much larger pit was created for the catch and it had been hanging over the flames, cooking slowly since morning. Even the rich scent seemed distasteful.

  It was a warm and pleasant moonlit night, filled with a festive air. With one exception, everyone on the island gathered around the campfire waiting for Samuel, who had been ship's cook, to begin the carving. The English soldiers now mixed amicably with Justin's men and one could not tell the two groups apart. Even the colonel seemed a changed man. He was quiet and reflective now and though Justin watched him closely, he never gave Christina more than a passing glance. And to Justin's amusement, the colonel made many attempts to lure Cajun into conversation, some successful too.

  The men broke into a loud cheer as Samuel stuck the pig and announced it was done. They quickly formed a loose line and, with a long dagger, Samuel began the carving.

  Watching this, Hanna whispered to Christina and Elsie, "Don't look so good to me."

  "Me neither," Christina replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "Even the smell is somehow distasteful."

  "I don't know what it is," Elsie agreed, sharing their sentiments. "I used to love a nice piece of pork or bacon, but now, after so much fish, it's like... like—"

  "Eating dead flesh," Hanna finished for her.

  "Oh Hanna!" Christina half grimaced, half laughed. "I wish you hadn't said that. I fear I'm going to be ill."

  "What are you ladies going on about?" Jacob asked incredulously, overhearing. "My mouth's been watering all day just thinking of our first decent meal in months! Can 'ardly wait to sink me teeth into—"

  "Wait's over," Justin interrupted, presenting him a large piece on a shell. "As for me, I haven't tasted anything so good since," he looked at Christina, "our last kiss."

  "Oh dear, my kisses are being compared to—"

  "A bloody boar's!" Hanna laughed as she declined a piece. No amount of persuading could tempt any of the ladies to even taste it and they instead picked on the various fruits accompanying the feast. Justin gave Beau a large leg bone and the poor dog seemed almost overwhelmed by the present. Beau fit the treasure securely in his mouth and looked to both sides to determine who might be willing to fight him for it. Seeing no immediate threat but not willing to take any chances anyway, he pranced down the beach to devour it in the safety of privacy.

  By the time all the men were served, half of them were up for seconds and for a long while it seemed no one could get their fi
ll. The festive air continued as all manner of compliments and exclamations over the fine fare continued.

  "Reminds me of my sweet Susan's cooking, one man, Henry, said in a tone of sadness, reminiscing out loud. "Every time the ship sailed into port, I'd just wander over to 'er rooms above the tailor shop and don't know 'ow she always knew, but she always 'ad a feast fit for a king just waitin' for me. Lord," he added after a pain-filled pause, "she must think me good as dead."

  Another man added, "I remember your Susan," he said, wanting to lighten the mood, "and that ain't all she 'ad waitin' for you!"

  The men laughed at this and immediately they broke into a ribald sailor's song about the love-starved lass waiting patiently for her sailor. The song put everyone in a sentimental mood and no sooner had they finished than another man spoke up on this, their most popular subject.

  "Never thought I'd miss home like this. Was 'ardly feeling me land legs a day afore gettin' the urge to sail the seas and now, now—"

  "It's all you can think of," Brahms finished, asking rhetorically, "Shall we ever see those merry shores again?"

  Pleasantly full, Eric leaned back into Elsie's arms and, like everyone else, he thought longingly of a place called home, then the prospects of rescue. Abruptly his gaze turned to Cajun. Cajun and his prophetic dreams. "Cajun, have your strange dreams spoken to you?"

  A quick silence settled over the men as they each turned to Cajun in anxious wait for the answer to a question no one previously thought to ask. Each was familiar with Cajun's auspicious talent and while some like Justin chalked it up to coincidence or clever after-the-fact interpretation, no one would discount any hope he might give. And it was hope they waited for, waited for so intensely that Christina felt the entire group hold their breath as one.

  Cajun stared intently into the fire and Christina had the unmistakable impression he was deciding something, weighing the choice: to tell or not to tell. "Yes," he finally answered. "I had a dream not long ago, one of a ship coming to the island." He added before anyone could respond to this good news, "But it offered few of us any hope. In my dream I saw a British military ship."

  "A man 'o war! Geez—"

  "Wouldn't that be beggar's luck," John said, kicking sand in disappointment.

  "Hell, I'd be 'alf willin' to take my chances with the noose than to stay on this godforsaken island," someone else added.

  "I don't advise it," Justin said with an ironic smile. "I daresay they'd bring back the keel haul for the lot of you."

  The men laughed in agreement at this, no one wanting to even think of the horror of being stripped and dragged around the keel of a ship, your skin scraped by a million barnacles only to feel the sting of the salt water; a horror few men had ever lived past their first screams to tell about. It was an outlawed means of maintaining discipline among the hardened, the lowlifes, the criminals—men most common of the sea—and presently an effective deterrent among Justin's men for ever risking stepping on to a British military ship.

  "I have the solution." Carrington's voice rose above the general murmurings of the group. "Should Cajun's dream come to life, I and the others from the Defiant can still enjoy safe passage to England. You," he directed his gaze at Justin, "must tell us whom we should speak to about your deliverance from the island."

  "Aye!" two of the men from the Defiant declared simultaneously.

  A different kind of silence then fell over the crowd as each man waited to see Justin's response to the unexpected offer from the unexpected source. The events leading to the animosity between the two men were commonly known and then, too, it was a British military officer offering this hope. The opportunity for deception and treachery were plain, and no one knew how to take such an offer. They all looked to Justin for their cue.

  By this point Christina was thoroughly confused. She had no idea what a keel haul was; she was certain she didn't want to know. She vaguely understood that Justin and his men could not leave by British military ship—because obviously they were considered criminals—but the idea had never before occurred to her. But Carrington's suggestion made sense to her, for he could surely send word of the island's location to one of Justin's other captains. So why the tension and hesitation?

  "I shall take your offer at face value," Justin first replied. "Should that scenario unfold, you should see a Captain Eli Steward in England or a Mister Richardson in Boston." Justin paused with a wry smile and his men remained silent, each knowing there would be more; each knowing their captain. Justin would not leave himself or his men open to deception.

  For Justin had yet to be bested by anyone or anything; the victories and successes of his ventures spoke for themselves. Except for that one time his ship was undermanned and stuck on a sand bar and then met with no less than three British men-of-war— the situation that had resulted in his capture—Justin had never let his men down.

  Nor did he let his men down now.

  "You made the offer, Carrington, and I shall hold you to it—should a British military ship actually venture to this island. And so I should warn you; if you alert the military to our presence here, you will cause a bloodbath such has not transpired on earth or in hell. And I will personally see that you are one of the first to go down. Make no mistake, as small as my group is here, our reputation speaks for itself. We are perfectly capable of defending ourselves."

  A chorus of unanimous "Ayes" rose from his men but Justin silenced them. "However," he continued, "it occurs to me that your offer gives chance for different kind of deception. You might simply decide not to tell anyone about our presence, leaving us marooned here. So, if we are not rescued within six months of your departure, when I get off this island— and believe me, I will get off this island—I will track you down and if you are not already dead, you will certainly wish you had been."

  The men responded with low murmurs of approval but Christina looked away in horror, frightened again by this—the other Justin. She had no doubt he could, would, cause a bloodbath or track a man down only to leave him wishing for a quicker mercy that never came. Crimes he had probably already committed. This was the man with whom she had fallen in love. How was it possible?

  "I understand your threats," Carrington coolly replied after a considerable pause. "I assure you that I have no intention of deceiving you or your men, for—" he turned now to Cajun, "I owe you my life, perhaps even a good deal more." He more than anyone was aware of how much he had changed. This was all he said, and then with surprising dignity, he rose and left the campfire.

  Hanna and Elsie began gathering the shells, placing them in a large fishing net to take to the pond for washing, quietly talking over the evening's events between themselves. Christina made no move to join them and instead watched as Justin, Jacob, and some others strolled down the beach for a private discussion, one surely involving plans. She then turned to Cajun.

  She found Cajun staring at her, perhaps through her, and for a moment she thought his look of concern was owing to the fact that he had read her distress.

  It was not. Cajun was still remembering his dream, the unspoken part. He saw Justin standing on the island's highest peak to look down to the water where Christina stood on the deck of a British military ship. Cajun's remarkable capacity to empathize allowed him even in his dreams to feel all the pain and anguish and anger written on Justin's face as he watched her

  "Cajun, why are you looking at me so?"

  Cajun at first made no reply but she had a horrible feeling he was looking at her unkindly. She started to question him but before a word was uttered, the man John drew attention to the campfire.

  "Lads, the night calls for a celebration," he loudly suggested. "One with toasts. First to our 'imminent' rescue and secondly," he smiled, "to this night, the night of our lady's choice." He stopped the men's response by holding up his hand. "Sammy here and I wouldn't want you to have to toast such a fine night with babe's milk so we brought out the very last— honest to God—tankard of ale."

&nbs
p; It was becoming the common joke. It seemed almost every night someone would manifest what they swore was the very last—honest to God—tankard of ale. No one actually knew now many of the twenty or so tankards had been stashed away, but it was beginning to seem like the island had a never-ending supply.

  While the men laughed heartily, raising their cups in toast to what the night might bring, Christina, knowing it was no longer a place for a woman, left to be alone.

  Carolyn Knolls had listened to much of the night's discussion. She made her own plans based on her own need for retribution. Should that nigger's prediction come true—unlikely but just in case—she would leave and once she saw the shores of England, she'd not hesitate to make it known and to the highest military official just who was stranded on the island. This, even if she did manage to suddenly find favor with Justin Phillips. After all, should she have him, Justin would merely be an interesting diversion, hardly more than a pastime and certainly nothing more. And to turn him in would even the score for all her trouble and humiliation.

  Trouble she saw coming to the door.

  She carefully placed the dagger underneath the makeshift moss mattress and close to the edge for easy retrieval. These things could be tricky, she knew. She shook her hair loose from the knot and brushed the attractive locks smooth with Christina Marks's stolen brush, a brush the poor chit had imagined lost in the sand. She had enjoyed watching the girl vainly comb the sands for over an hour, indicative, she thought with self-disgust, of how little it took to amuse herself these days. Hoping her skimpy dress and unbound hair were enough to deceive the wretched monsters of her intentions, she went to answer the door.

  Cold blue eyes greeted the men and she stood perfectly poised in front of them, a catlike smile on her lips.

  "A very good evening to my lady," John said magnanimously, blatantly pausing to enjoy the fine looks so seductively revealed. His smile spoke of his pleasure. "Well now, we've come to hear your choice as you know. To make it easier on yourself, what is surely 'a lady's sensibilities,' " he sarcastically emphasized her title, "we've narrowed the selection to the five of us who built your house for you. Seems only fair after all. Gentlemen," he said in mockery, motioning behind him.