There was no answer and bracing for the worst, Christina slowly opened the door. It was dark inside. The reed shades were drawn tight against the morning sun. At first they saw nothing. The room looked vacant. Only a bed of moss, a chair from Justin's ship, and a small makeshift table as furnishing. A bouquet of dying flowers wilted in a coconut shell on the tabletop. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they spotted her in the same moment and Christina could not stifle a gasp.
Completely naked, she crouched in a tight ball in the far corner of the room, shaking still. She was watching them wearily through red and swollen eyes while hiding herself like a tormented and frightened mouse hides from a cat. Upon approaching, they saw the various bruises marring her pale white skin. Her hair—the thick blond tresses that any woman would consider her best asset—had been cut, cut by a cruel and careless knife.
"Go ahead! Stare at me! See what they've done to me!" she cried through trembling lips. She covered her face in her hands. "I don't care... I don't care...
"Elsie," Christina whispered, "run to Diego's cabin and fetch his blanket, and then get a bucket of warm water."
"Aye," Elsie replied, staring still as she turned to leave.
Christina knelt by her side, staring with wide, worried eyes. She cautiously reached a hand to the cut tresses. Carolyn looked up, and in a moment of desperation, she fell against Christina in a torrent of tears, reduced to a frightened and hurt child. Christina's arms came around her and she held her tight, then gently rocked her, as she whispered words of comfort.
Carolyn could hardly speak through her tears. "I'll kill them for this... I'll kill them, I swear it! No... matter what... I'll see them hanged..."
"There, there."
* * * * *
Darkness claimed the light. Cloud cover hid the night sky and promised rain, but the air was warm and unnaturally still. Justin made his way up the beach toward the campfire with a torch light, followed by his dog. It had been a long hard day, one of Diego's worst and he had only just seen Diego finally to sleep.
Merciful sleep.
Thinking of Diego and in a foul mood to say the least, Justin cursed out loud to himself, to God, to whomever was listening. Damn, if even Cajun wasn't beginning to look at him to do what was unconscionable.
It was a small, noticeably quiet group gathered round the campfire finishing dinner. Christina was not there and Justin asked Elsie forthright. "Where's Christina?"
Elsie did not look up. "She's still sittin' with 'er."
"Has she eaten yet?"
"Not that I know of," and with an accusing tone, "awful 'ard to eat when ye've been sittin' with a ruined woman all day."
"Lord," Jacob groaned. "I'm tired of the tither you lasses have been in all day," he said more to Hanna than to anyone. "That woman survived and that's a hell of a lot more than she deserved."
Elsie and Hanna both cast Jacob hard stares as they simultaneously rose and left wordlessly. Jacob leaned back in the sand and he announced with a wry smile, "I can see it's gonna be a long lonely night for me.
Carolyn had finally fallen asleep. Christina sat in the chair just outside the door planning to stay the night in the event Carolyn woke. A torch blazed overhead and she worked furiously on weaving a basket. Not that they needed another basket, they didn't. She just needed something to do. She looked up briefly as Justin approached but returned at once to her work.
He stared at her for a few minutes, watching her fingers attack the task. Her anger was obvious and though Justin rarely entertained banal thoughts, he did so now. She was beautiful even angry.
"Come on, Christina, we'll get you some food."
"I'm not hungry," she said softly, not bothering to stop her work or look up. "And I'm quite able to look after myself."
"I'm hardly convinced," he replied dryly.
She pretended not to hear.
"Christina," he tried again, "I'm tired and want to retire."
"I'm going to stay here the night."
"No, you're not."
She stopped her work but still didn't glance up. "I don't want to sleep with you anymore."
Justin paused to consider her, the statement, and all it meant. "That may be," he finally replied, "but I'll be damned if you're sleeping anywhere else, with anyone else. Now you can walk or be carried."
Christina's gaze shot up to him. Those very same words he had used that first night together. And he looked exactly the same, so tall and threatening and, yes, slightly amused. You would force me to sleep with you?"
"Yes. Now move."
Christina froze for a brief moment in an effort to control herself. Then, without a word, she dropped her work, stood up, and began walking toward the cave. Justin followed behind with the torch, not seeing how she bit her lip to stop it from trembling with either tears or fear or anger, she did not know which.
He watched the long hair falling neatly over the small proud back, the gentle sway of her hips, the ever-so-feminine gait of the shapely bare legs, and he suddenly sighed, wondering just how long his enforced celibacy could last.
Hopefully not past the morning sun.
Christina slipped inside the cave while Justin left to pull the canvas over the skylight in case it rained. She lay down on the bed, turned away, and curled up into a tight ball. Nervously, unconsciously, she gnawed on a finger of her clutched fist as the humiliation of the past night burned on her cheeks.
She could not bear it! He would force her again! Make her want him like that, forcing her to love him when...
When she no longer wanted to. This she knew for a certainty. She could not escape the nightmarish vision of his callous indifference to Carolyn Knolls's screams, his amusement at her pain. She didn't want him to touch her and yet the moment he kissed her—
What could she do?
Justin returned and eyed her position with some patient amusement. He calmly removed his boots and clothes and lay down beside her. It was time for a talk, a very long one, he supposed. He moved about to take her into his arms and position her backside against himself in the way that they often talked, for not seeing him while hearing his voice somehow permitted her startling intimacy. But suddenly he saw that she was crying.
"Christina," he said as he gently forced her around and held her face to him. She kept her eyes closed, biting her lip and obviously afraid. Afraid of him. "What's this?"
"Please... don't force me again. You don't know what it's like—"
"To be raped?" He was furious at her obvious train of thought. "No, I don't know what that's like, but neither do you. I'm forcing you to sleep with me, that's all, and the only reason is to prevent that very thing."
"I thought—"
"I know what you thought. Rest assured, I shall endeavor—somehow—" he added sarcastically, "to keep my hands from you." He paused to watch her embarrassment and confusion yield to fresh tears. "Look at me," he said in a different voice. She looked up slowly to confront both his anger but, yes, concern too. "I'm willing to wait for you—I have no choice. But, Christina, I'm at my wit's end with this fear of yours. You must learn to trust me."
She searched his face for a long moment. The torchlight danced across his features, accenting and highlighting his dark hair and beard, the dark brows arching over finely shaped and intense blue eyes. He was indeed every bit the pirate of her imagination. She turned away to hide her thoughts, then frantically searched her mind for the comforting image of another Justin, the one she had loved.
No such image surfaced and she hugged herself tightly, finally facing the fact that the other Justin existed only in her imagination.
She wondered if she did love him anymore, or if she did could such love be a mistake? She wanted to tell him this, that should he wait for her, he would have a very long wait. Words were not easy though and the matter seemed far better demonstrated than spoken.
* * * * *
Justin's increasing frustration manifested in his dreams. Common everyday glimpses of Christina fo
rmed vivid pictures in his sleep: Christina brushing out her hair till it flowed like gold silk, Christina stepping out from the pond, her thin cotton shift molded to her form to accent every delicious curve; Christina lying naked beneath the sun—that warm, shy smile of hers just before he lowered his lips to hers—the sound of her laughter as they played in the waves. And these innocent pictures inevitably led to not so innocent ones.
Each morning, he woke from just a dream to find Christina sleeping soundly in his arms. He cursed softly, and dared not to move to relieve the pressure. She'd only come back against him and any movement disastrously heightened his frustrations. He lay perfectly still, watching her sleep and wondering—not for the first time—how much longer he could last. He had never been very good with celibacy for any length of time but after just a week of it with Christina, he was very near his breaking point.
Perhaps if he showed her just what he went through each blessed day, night, morning...
Again, despite her vows, her nightly promises to herself, she woke up in his arms. Sometime in the middle of the night she inevitably came against him, seeking his great warmth, some primal comfort she was certain she didn't understand. And now, like every morning for the past week, she found herself nestled intimately against the long length of him, enduring the amusement in his dark blue eyes as he in turn considered her and her dilemma.
She looked at him accusingly.
"You can hardly blame me, Christina," he chuckled lightly, lifting the long braid of her hair, drinking the sweet scent of coconut. "Can I help it if your desire manifests as you sleep?"
Somehow his amusement, the long week of enduring his constant teasing and baiting, only increased her determination to make him accept the sad fact that her affection had irrevocably changed. But it had become clear this was impossible; he steadfastly refused to take her or the matter of her heart seriously. And this both hurt and infuriated.
"Please..." she said, shifting to pull from his arms. The movement brought sudden awareness of his aroused manhood pressing against her abdomen, only the thin cover of her shift between them. She looked at him, part startled, part frightened.
He made no move to disengage her. "Tell me, Christina, which frightens you more, my desire or yours?" And as he asked this, he ran his hand lightly over the beckoning tips of her breasts, smiling at the easy response this brought. Alarmed, she tried to pull back, bracing her hands against his shoulders but she was suddenly held still.
His hand traveled over the curve of her waist and hip and she drew a sharp breath, managing only a weak "Nooo..."
"No what, sweetheart?" he asked innocently as his hand slipped beneath her short shift.
"No... you promised—" She started up but stopped, gasping as his hand slipped gently between her legs. She clasped her legs together but her movement only clamped his hand against her. Justin chuckled and held her immobile with ease as he skillfully began caressing her there.
"Promised what?"
"No... I—" She stopped as a shocking tremor of warmth shot through her, then another, and instinctively her back arched to permit him greater access.
"You seem to be having trouble speaking, sweetheart," he noticed with lazy indifference as his fingers slowly flamed the fire of her desire. She caught her breath, weakly trying to twist away from his most insistent touch, only finding that any movement heightened, ignited the fires he caused. Her mind tumbled in confusion, though her body was quite certain of its part in this and she moistened in an ever so painful answer to him.
Far more than an adept lover to begin with, and after hundreds of hours of pleasure with her, Justin knew every inch of her body and just how it worked. And he used this knowledge to expertly bring her to an edge, then carefully keep her there until her arms swept unwillingly around his neck and quite obviously mindless, she softly cried for him, for all of him.
And abruptly he stopped.
"Speak up, sweetheart. What's on your mind?"
His voice pulled her from the sweet depth of passion he had just so effortlessly brought her to. She opened her eyes and suffered a long moment of confusion.
"Hmmm? What is it?" he queried, then questioned hopefully. "Is there something you want from me?"
Sudden embarrassment spread on already flushed cheeks. Oh, she could die! Just die! How could he do that to her? Forcing her desire, and against her will, then, then making her ask for his touch!
"No! No!" she blurted, but embarrassingly soft, her voice never able to convey harsh emotions no matter how she tried. "There's nothing—nothing! that I want from you!" And torn between tears and fury, she forced herself away from him, stopping just short of slapping his amused face again and only by sheer force of will.
Justin merely laughed and rose to don his breeches. "I could have sworn there was something you wanted. If you happen to think of something—anything—by all means let me know." And with that, and still chuckling, he left to start the day.
* * * * *
Christina still fumed over Justin's morning shenanigans as she bent over beside Cajun to pick roots. They were lost in the jungle's forest in search of herbs, roots, and plants that Cajun might use for medicine. She was thankful for the task, more thankful for Cajun's silent companionship. She thought she would cry should she have to talk.
Patches of huge billowing clouds pushed against an expansive blue sky, a bright afternoon sun. Like shades drawn against light, the moving clouds caused intermittent darkness and bursts of sunlight to fall over the island. It was still warm, even hot, and the ever-present humidity was a challenge to endure uncomplainingly.
Cajun, who often had to use his saber to hack a way through the profusion of lush growth, exercised his keen sixth sense to discover things she would never have found by herself. He constantly amazed her. He stopped but rarely, knowing exactly what was worth picking to place in his fishnet and what was not.
The outing was proving to be an ordeal. She eyed the thick foliage distrustfully, startled by every slight sound and watchful of the changing areas around her feet. Ever since her attack, the jungle had become dangerous and frightening as well as beautiful and exotic. Though she knew she would always be safe with Cajun nearby, every small lizard—and the island was covered with them—sent her heart pounding in fright.
She had to force herself to keep moving. She never would have come on such a venture had she been able to bear seeing Justin after the morning's humiliation. She had met his laughing eyes only once and she knew she had to escape, if only for the day.
Cajun spotted something and leaned over to lift a blanket of moss from a moist bed of earth. His deep chuckle drew her attention and she hastened to his side to peer over his shoulder. Tiny, queer-looking mushrooms grew in the moist bed. Cajun pulled one from the dark soil, turned it around for a close examination, and then chuckled again while shaking his head.
"What are they?"
"Mushrooms." He stated the obvious. Mushrooms for which men will pay a fortune to own. A small sack could bring as much as a thousand licras in some places. He had never known where the valuable toys—for he thought of them as such—grew. It was a well-guarded secret.
"Well, what are they good for?"
"Many things." Cajun smiled strangely. "Primarily for increasing one's... ah, appetite."
"Oh, like a spice? Are they tasty?" she asked as she reached to pick one of the tiny globes.
Cajun's hand came over hers to stop her. "I wouldn't know. But you, la niña—" and this made him laugh, "do not need such things. We will leave them for now."
Cajun turned and moved away to a promising group of rubber trees, but Christina was hardly deterred. Her appetite was indeed fine and she might not need them, nor Elsie nor any of the men. But, on the other hand, Hanna had lost all her pleasing plumpness. Hanna simply could not eat enough on the island and more than once Jacob complained, threatening to turn Hanna in if she lost another ounce—just as soon as trades were possible.
The mushroom
s might be just what Hanna needed.
Christina knelt and picked one. She plopped it into her mouth, wondering if the taste dictated it be mixed in Hanna's food or given to her directly. She chewed and chewed, then swallowed. They seemed curiously bland. She put another one in her mouth and chewed and suddenly—
"Uuugh!" she gasped as suddenly a horribly bitter aftertaste hit her palate. They were awful, just awful! She wouldn't give one to Hanna if it were covered in chocolate! After a quick glance around, she spotted Cajun nearby. While his back was turned to her, it would hardly do to spit in front of him—in front of anyone.
She swallowed and got it over with. She needed something to wash it down with. Already she felt her stomach turning in revolt.
Definitely not a spice.
* * * * *
Sometime later Christina sat on the beach with Hanna and Elsie, sipping coconut milk and finally feeling her stomach settle down. Her friends were engaged in a heated discussion about Carolyn Knolls's latest predicament. It seemed John had decided she was to be his personal servant. He made her see to his every need—washing his clothes, fixing his food, even carrying his fishing pole, giving him back rubs and the like, fetching this and fetching that.
Yesterday the men had a good laugh upon catching sight of Carolyn walking a respectful distance behind John, carrying his fishing pole and net.
"It seems we have a real live taming of the shrew," Justin had laughed.
Christina remembered her absolute fury at the remark, the situation—as if the poor woman hadn't suffered enough, and she demanded that Justin stop it.
"Stop it?" he had chuckled. "Why, Christina, I'm thinking of adopting his method."
Hanna and Elsie were still upset over it and Christina thought she should be but why something so upsetting to her yesterday seemed humorous today, she didn't know. But it did and she giggled suddenly, the idea of the grand Lady Knolls carrying a fishing pole for a man like John striking her as somehow wonderfully absurd.
Horsman, Jennifer Page 19
