“No, that was not the case. Your brother…relied on her.”
“Relied on her for what? Justin has always had contempt for soft, gentle creatures of her kind.”
“Justin has changed, Philippe. He has made peace with your father. I believe has has come to value many of the things he once discarded so lightly. His cavalier attitude and wildness seem to have been replaced by a new caring…and Celia has been—” She stopped and looked at him helplessly.
All at once Philippe understood. His blue eyes held a stricken look as he read her thoughts. “My God. You’re trying to tell me there is something between Justin and my wife. That is why she is gone now, isn’t it?” He closed his eyes. “No, don’t answer. Don’t tell me any more. Not right now.”
He seemed utterly lost and alone. Lysette wanted to comfort him, but she knew it was beyond her ability. “Philippe,” she said hesitantly, touching his sleeve, “shall I send for Briony?”
The name seemed to pierce through his numbness. “Briony,” he repeated gloomily. “She wouldn’t come if you did send for her. Aside from you, she’s the one person in the world I’ve never had to fear being hurt by. I should have worshipped the ground beneath her feet. And instead I hurt her.”
“Philippe, Briony understood why you had to choose someone else—”
“Yes, Briony understood,” he said bitterly. “In my vanity and self-importance I felt she wasn’t good enough for me. She wasn’t educated or refined, she wasn’t born a lady.” He focused on a distant memory, his lips suddenly touched with a smile. “She’ll never be able to speak a word of French. I tried to teach her, and it was hopeless. If I had married her, everyone in New Orleans would have laughed and gossiped.”
“Perhaps for a little while,” Lysette conceded. “Would that have mattered?”
“I thought it would.” Philippe shook his head listlessly. “What I did to her was unforgivable. Now it is too late.”
“Is it?”
“There is no reparation I can offer her, nothing but shallow, useless apologies that she’ll only throw back in my—”
“Shall I send for her?” Lysette interrupted gently.
Philippe gripped her hand and stared into her hazel eyes. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Justin was awakened by the shock of cold water thrown on his face. Groaning faintly, he lifted his chin from his chest. His arms were fastened high above his head—it was useless to even try to tug at them. Gradually consciousness came to him. He had been beaten on the journey to Crow’s Island. He was fairly certain one of his newly-mended ribs had been refractured. His entire body ached.
“Open your eyes, Captain Griffin.” Dominic Legare stood in front of him with a feral smile. He smoked a thin cigar, exhaling through his narrow nostrils.
Justin discovered that his hands were fastened with iron manacles and attached to a hook on the ceiling. The chains had been pulled tight so that his heels just grazed the earthen floor. His shirt hung off him in tatters. He was somewhere underneath the fort on the island in a large cell that was sometimes used to hold unruly slaves. The room was one of many flanking a wide corridor that gave access to other passageways and rooms in an underground labyrinth of wood, stone, and shell-studded caves.
A considerable crowd of Legare’s crew was packed inside the cell. They were lounging on crates, smoking, drinking, their expressions avid with enjoyment. Risk was there also, regarding Justin without emotion. Justin was filled with hatred and self-disgust. He’d been a naive fool. He’d never have believed Risk was capable of watching him be tortured. He wondered when Risk had decided to betray him. It must have been yesterday, when Risk had come to the island to find out if Philippe was alive. Legare would have used the opportunity to talk to him, promise him security and wealth, whatever had been necessary to make Risk change his allegiance.
Noticing the direction of Justin’s gaze, Legare seemed to read his thoughts. “It was quite easy to convince him to join me, Griffin. You disappoint me—I assumed you were more intelligent than to place your trust in a parasite. The world is full of little bloodsuckers like him. I fully expect that he’ll try to turn on me when I stop being of use to him. But unlike you, I’ll cut his legs out from under him before he has the chance.” He smiled at Risk as if anticipating that day.
Risk stared back at him and shifted uncomfortably, for once having no cocky replies.
Legare walked around Justin. “In spite of your surprising streak of naiveté, Griffin, I still must admit to admiring you. You’ve been a challenge. Few men can claim such a distinction. On the other hand, you killed André, the one man on earth I cared for. I’ll make you suffer unmercifully for that.”
“Your brother,” Justin said, “wasn’t worth a stinking heap of fish offal. And you—”
Legare sank his hard fist into the healed-over wound in his side and then backhanded him across the mouth, causing Justin to grunt and cough. “Enough about André,” Legare said coolly. “Let’s discuss a bit of information that Risk was not able to supply. Apparently you were wise enough not to confide everything to him.”
Justin had always found that Risk was most effective when given simple, straightforward tasks rather than being told the entire plan. It distracted Risk to have to worry about too many things at once. Now Justin was thankful he hadn’t told Risk about the naval force that was coming to attack the island. But there were ships in the harbor that were always ready to defend the island against the approach of hostile vessels. If they weren’t taken care of before the expedition arrived—
“I know about Aug and the brace of men he brought onto the island,” Legare continued. “Tell me when and how he smuggled them here.”
The implications of the question struck Justin like lightning. They hadn’t caught Aug and the men yet. Aug was still loose somewhere. He gave Legare a bloody-lipped jeer. “Still looking for them?” he asked. “How long have they evaded you? One day…two? They couldn’t have done that alone. They must have had help from someone. Maybe from some of your own men.”
Suddenly the chuckling and murmuring among the assemblage was silenced.
Legare looked at Justin contemplatively. He reached out and crushed the lit cigar against his chest. Justin’s body arched, and he hissed through his clenched teeth as the pain blazed through his skin and needled every part of him. Sweat broke on his face, and the smell of his own scorched skin and hair was rank in his nostrils.
“Next it will be your eye,” Legare said calmly.
“Go to hell,” Justin gasped.
“But perhaps I’ll allow you to keep your eyes for a few minutes more. There is something I would like you to see.” He gestured toward Risk. “Mr. Risk, why don’t you go and fetch our lovely guest?”
Justin froze. He couldn’t mean Celia. Celia was safe at home, taking care of Philippe. They were bluffing. He watched Risk leave the cell. Then he was no longer aware of the others, even Legare. His whole being was suspended in anticipation, as if he were falling from a great height and waiting for the moment when he hit the ground.
An enormous roar of approval echoed throughout the cell as Risk brought in Celia’s writhing form. She struggled against Risk’s restraining arms and cried out as he twisted a handful of her hair in his fist and yanked roughly. The pirates pressed forward, a multitude of hands reaching out to her dress, her hair, but Legare gestured for them to fall back. They obeyed him quickly, grumbling and hooting. Celia’s glittering dark eyes met Justin’s, and she went still, although her slim body was trembling visibly.
“Now tell me about Aug,” Legare said softly.
Justin forced his gaze to Legare’s face. She has nothing to do with any of this. She’s my brother’s wife—”
“Ah, but Mr. Risk claims you’re quite fond of her.”
“Aye,” Risk spoke up. “Made him into a soft-headed cully, she has.”
Justin looked at him with murderous fury. “I’ll kill you,” he snarled, his hands twisting violently in their
shackles until his chains rattled. The pain of his ribs was forgotten. The cheering of the men in the cell approached a fever pitch, for in his growing rage Justin resembled a rabid wolf.
Legare took Celia’s chin in one hand and struck her soft cheek with the other. She reeled back against Risk, and stared at Legare with hatred.
Justin exploded, yanking at his chains in a frenzy. “Damn you! I’ll kill you…I swear it!”
“She’s just a woman,” Risk said coolly. “No different from a thousand others, Griffin.”
“Tell me about Aug,” Legare said, and produced a knife with a long, wicked blade. “Shall I carve your name across her pretty face?”
“No!” Justin breathed in ragged gulps. “Don’t touch her!”
Legare grinned, and with the flat of the knife traced an invisible V from Celia’s temples to her chin. It did not leave a mark, but the gesture demonstrated his intentions perfectly. “How did Aug bring the men here?” he asked.
“Don’t tell him, Justin,” Celia said unsteadily. “It will not make a difference, he will do it anyway.”
“Not necessarily,” Legare informed her. “If he is cooperative, I may allow you to live. I am acquainted with several merchants in Africa who could sell you at a handsome price on the slave market. Skin as fair as yours is highly prized there.” He glanced at Justin. “Well, Griffin?”
Justin’s gaze did not leave the knife, which weaved back and forth in front of Celia’s waxen face. “He smuggled them here in barrels. Your men thought it was a shipment of wine taken from a prize ship.”
Legare raised his reddish brows in surprise. “Where have they been hiding? In the village? It couldn’t be the fort. We’ve searched every inch of it.”
“I don’t know.”
The knife hovered under Celia’s jaw. “Come now, Captain Griffin.”
“Damn you, I don’t know!”
Legare turned his back on Justin and caressed Celia’s taut throat. “We must convince him to be more talkative, n’est-ce pas? I believe I’ll allow my men to amuse themselves with you. Not all at once, of course—you might cause them to quarrel.” His low voice cut underneath Justin’s bellowing rage as he addressed two of the men. “Boles, Luc, take her to the next cell. My reward to both of you. And make certain there is something entertaining for Griffin to hear.”
Eagerly the pair tore Celia from Risk’s possession and dragged her from the room. She screamed shrilly, clawing and biting as if she were possessed.
Justin lifted his legs, and smashed his booted feet into Legare’s head. In spite of the men’s fear of Legare, they all shouted with laughter as they saw that he had been taken unaware and knocked to the floor. Astonished, Legare struggled up and regarded him with disbelieving fury. But in a part of his mind, Justin noticed something else—that he could no longer hear Celia’s screams. He was wondering what that meant when Legare raised his knife high and strode toward Justin purposefully.
As Celia was dragged down the corridor by Legare’s men, a dark figure leaped from nowhere. A gleaming knife slashed through the air. The brutal hands holding her became loose and slipped away. Celia’s screams died abruptly. She was paralyzed. Suddenly Aug’s hawkish features and lustrous black eyes were before her, and he took her arm. She stared at him in bewilderment and let him pull her away from the two fallen bodies.
“Aug?” she managed to whisper, coming to her senses. “Aug, Justin is back there, Justin—” She tried to stop their forward progress, but he continued to pull her inexorably.
“Quickly, quickly, they will be coming,” he said.
“Yes, but Justin—”
“Do not worry about him.”
Just then a thunderous blast came from the direction of the cell, causing her to gasp and stumble. The floor and walls shook around them. “What was that?”
The moment Legare reached Justin, the wooden wall to Justin’s left exploded, sending splinters and burning ash flying everywhere. The force of the explosion sent the men closest to the wall flying backward. Dazed, Justin hung limply by the chains. There was a ringing in his ears that drowned out all other sound. Time passed with disjointed slowness.
For a few seconds he blacked out, and then he was vaguely aware of men scrambling, fleeing, falling to the floor. “Celia,” he mumbled. He began to stir, raising his head groggily. A few familiar faces swam before him…He was lifted from the hook, and burly arms supported him as he staggered a few steps, the chains dragging on the floor.
The world steadied itself, and a small crowd of his own crew poured through the demolished wall. Among them, the faces of Sans-Nez and Duffy appeared directly in front of him.
“The woman—” Justin said.
“She’s all right, Aug’s got her.”
His gaze darted around the room. Legare had disappeared. Once released, Justin limped to the prone bodies on the floor and crouched by one of them, ignoring the ache of his bad leg. “Jack…” It was Risk. He had been caught in the blast. His green eye was open and staring, and the patch had been dislodged from the ruined one. Justin searched for a pulse, and realized that Risk was dead.
Justin was surprised that after the worst of betrayals he could still feel such grief. He wanted to howl in denial and outrage and sadness. Gently he pulled the patch over the disfigured eye socket and closed Risk’s good eye. He stood up and stared at the lax features in a kind of trance. He understood why Risk had turned against him. After all they had been through together, Risk had felt as if Justin had deserted him. He had felt there was no other choice than to follow Legare.
Justin would have stayed there longer, but he was aware that the others were watching him. He turned back to them and held out his wrists. “Get these off me,” he said. “Legare will organize his men quickly—we don’t have much time.” Busily they set to work on the shackles with iron implements, smashing the bolts that had held the manacles around his arms. “You blew a hole through the wall…” Justin shook his head to clear his brain. “Dammit, how did you know I wasn’t strung up against that wall?”
They grinned. “We hoped you warn’t,” Sans-Nez said.
The irons dropped from his bruised wrists. “You’re certain Aug has the woman?” he asked.
“Aye.”
They were all looking at him expectantly. Justin assumed command automatically, snapping out instructions to the men. As he spoke, his mind raced with options. Risk was dead, Celia was in danger, and Aug was doing God knew what. The plans Justin had made would have to be carried out, but with a few alterations. Before he did anything else, he had to find Celia and make certain she was safe.
“A naval squadron of eight or more ships will be approaching,” he said rapidly. “Get to the cannon on the two main batteries of the fort and fire on any pirate vessels in the harbor that aren’t dismantled. Legare’s men will be trying to assume battle stations. Don’t turn the guns on anything flying an American flag. Set fire to the tavern and the munitions warehouses.” He paused before adding gruffly, “I’ll find Legare.”
“Look sharp, Griffin,” Duffy advised him. “We set the spring guns in the places ye wanted, and aimed ’em high. Trip over one of them wires and ye’ll be shot in the belly.”
Justin glanced down at his already battered body and the cigar burn on his chest. “I’m not sure I’d notice,” he muttered, and gestured for them to split up. Duffy handed him a knife and a rapier. Justin sheathed the knife in his boot and examined the sword. It was a simple and well-balanced weapon, the hilt constructed of a short grip and a guard that was little more than a rimmed saucer of steel.
Justin moved toward the corridor, and they all scattered to their tasks. He was aware that Duffy lingered behind, watching him. Justin swiveled to face him. His limp, nearly undetectable most of the time, was sharply pronounced. “What is it?” he growled.
“I’ll go after Legare with ye, Griffin.”
Justin stared at him with penetrating blue eyes, half his face lit in torchlight, the other h
alf in shadow. “Nay, I’ll do it alone. The devil himself couldn’t stop me.”
Duffy turned away, evidently satisfied with what he saw in Justin’s face.
Requiring no urging to keep pace with Aug, Celia scampered after him down a dim, sloping passageway. He stopped, causing her to slam into him with a muffled sound. With exaggerated care he pointed out a strange contraption mounted in the center of the floor. It looked like part of a gun. Glinting wires were stretched outward from the wooden casing, blocking off the passageway. Aug stepped over the wire and beckoned for her to do the same. Hitching up her skirts to her knees, she followed suit.
The passage went ever deeper into the ground, and ended in a honeycomb of caves. As Aug led her into one of them, it took a minute or so for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. The cave was filled with empty crates and barrel staves. There was a gaping hole in the floor, about two feet wide. Aug pushed her toward it. “Down there,” he said. “It leads away from the fort. Go to the end, and hurry.”
Celia stared at him blankly. He wanted her to crawl into that dark hole in the ground? “I can’t do that,” she said.
“It is safe. Quickly, now.”
Her stomach twisted sickly. “There must be another way, somewhere I could hide until…” She fell silent as Aug reached his hand to her.
“Take hold.”
Miserably she clasped his proffered hand, dangled her feet over the edge of the opening, and allowed him to lower her down. Her feet encountered smooth stones and a steeply graded incline. She stared up at the dim outline of Aug’s head. “Take care of Justin,” she said desperately.
“Yes.”
Then he disappeared. Surrounded by darkness, Celia sat on the slope and gave a few hysterical sobs. The thought occurred to her that if Risk had betrayed Justin, perhaps Aug had also. Perhaps Aug was not on their side. She reached up toward the opening, but her body only began to slide deeper into the pit, stones and sand cascading all around her.