The earth parted above her, and James, white-faced, seized Honoria beneath the arms and dragged her up and away from the hole.
"Wait," she sobbed. "Christopher is still down there."
James hauled her quickly to the tree to which she'd been tied, and with one stroke of his knife, freed her. Honoria whirled back to the tunnel, where men were already digging with hands and spades to reach Christopher.
There was another roar, and the digging men leapt back. St. Cyr swore loudly in French. James seized Honoria around the waist and ran.
The entire hillside came down. Boulders, sapling trees, and torn roots, loosened by the mud and rain, tumbled down the hillside to cover the opening to the tunnel. The slide buried the ground around the opening and two of the caskets that had not yet been moved to the sled.
James had run with Honoria about fifty feet before, as suddenly as it had begun, the mudslide ceased. A few rocks and tree branches crackled and slid on down the hill, and then everything went still.
The roar was replaced by deafening silence, except for the quiet sound of the abating rain.
*****
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Christopher!" Honoria screamed.
She raced back to the tunnel, now blocked by boulders, scrub, and broken debris. She plunged her bare hands into the mess, trying to scrape away the layers and layers that buried her husband inside.
Honoria pounded and scraped until her fingers bled, and streaks of her blood smeared the boulders that shut her out.
A strong arm snaked about her waist, and James lifted her from the pile. Honoria fought and cried, but he carried her away from the site and sat down with her on a fallen tree, she in his lap. Honoria's muslin gown was plastered with black mud and slime, smeared with the blood from her hands.
Her sobs finally came, Honoria who prided herself on never crying. "We must dig him out. Please James, get him out."
"Shh," James said into her hair. "They're digging, Honoria, as fast as they can."
She saw through burning eyes that St. Cyr and O'Malley had organized the men with picks and shovels. Honoria could scarcely comprehend what they did--she only knew they did not do it fast enough. She must go over there and dig him out herself.
Honoria found herself dragged back to James. He held her firmly in his strong arms. "No. Let them work."
"They have to get him out."
"I know."
Honoria collapsed against him. James offered her no reassurance, not the man whose younger brother died in his arms, who knew too much of the world to mislead her with false hope. She wished he'd try to comfort her with at least a little bit of false hope. Her heart felt like lead.
This shock was worse, much worse, than when she'd thought she'd lost Christopher to the hangman. She'd barely known him then. Now she'd been married to him in every sense--she'd slept in his bed, made turbulent love to him, argued with him, laughed with him, helped him, hindered him. He was her husband, much more now than when they'd signed the piece of paper.
"I can't lose him, James," she repeated brokenly.
James held her, rocking her slightly, as he'd done when she'd been a little girl frightened by a storm. Honoria had always believed James strong enough to face anything, no matter what. When their parents had died, even in her grief, Honoria had known that she and Paul would be all right, because James was there to take care of them.
Honoria had felt the same warmth and strength--and love--from Christopher.
She felt nothing now, only a hollow of panic where her heart used to be. She could only sit numbly in the circle of James's arms, while his men dug and dug and uncovered nothing.
The rain slackened, the lowering sun reached through torn clouds, and still the entrance to the tunnel remained stubbornly evasive, as if it had never existed.
The sun sank completely and night came and the cold. Still they dug, to no avail.
*** *** ***
Buried alive to guard the treasure, the thought sifted through Christopher's half-dazed mind. What a wonderful idea, my wife.
The mudslide had swept him from the tunnel's edge and across the cave and crashed him into the cave's back wall. Sharp edges of rock cut his flesh, and water and mud flooded over him.
The deluge finally subsided, and the cave floor, covered with slime and water, at last settled. Christopher was left at the far end, dirty, wet, and cold, and walled off from escape. Where the tunnel had been to the outside was nothing but a pile of debris.
Christopher's first coherent thoughts as he climbed to his feet were for Honoria. Thank God she'd been pulled out before the worst of it hit. Ardmore would have seen to that. Whatever Christopher thought of the man, he knew Ardmore would keep Honoria safe.
His second thought was, How the hell am I going to get out of here?
At least six feet of debris, packed solid, blocked him from the entrance. Who knew how many feet had fallen to cover the outside?
The mud, still loose, came away easily in his hands, but Christopher feared to shift too much, lest the whole pack give way and smash down on him.
The picks, shovels, and ropes had all been hauled outside before the slide began. The only things in the cave with him were a small chest of gold, which now had a few tons of mud on top of it, and a lantern, which rested on a jut of rock in the far wall.
Incredibly, the candle was still burning. The lantern's panes had protected the flame from the huge rush of air that had come with the mud. The candle burned merrily on, the flame tall and flickering, its light shimmering on the noisome muck on the floor.
Christopher stared at the light for a moment before he realized what it meant. The lantern flickering told him that the cave had air from some source other than the entrance.
Of course, if he discovered the air came only from tiny slits in the ceiling far above, openings he'd never reach, he'd simply die of hunger and thirst here, instead of suffocating. Not a happy thought.
Then again, the air might come from somewhere accessible, which meant another way out.
Christopher slipped and slid over to the lantern, lifted it from the rock, and began to explore.
What he found for his efforts was a hole near the cave floor, opposite the entrance, now half blocked with mud. It might, when cleared, just admit the bulk of his body. A long shot, Christopher knew. The tunnel might lead to a dead end, or become to small to move through.
But it was better than sitting here wondering whether Ardmore and the others could dig him out. If Ardmore would even try.
Christopher could imagine the pirate hunter dusting off his hands and saying, Good riddance, returning to the Argonaut with the gold, and crossing another pirate off his list. Ardmore would take Honoria with him too.
The hole seemed the better effort. Christopher scooped out the worst of the mud, shoved the lantern in, and crawled inside behind it.
He would get out, one way or another. He had to. Would Honoria believe herself rid of an inconvenient husband, and make ready to return home with her brother and Diana? Christopher would emerge from this hole, covered with dirt and mud, and say, "Hello, dear. Did you miss me?"
He wondered if she'd stare in dismay, or if her face would light up with her pretty smile. Either way, it did not matter. He was determined to make her love him, no matter what. Even if it took him every day of every year of his life, even if he had to make love to her every night and argue with her every day, he would make her love him.
Christopher loved her with every ounce of his strength.
He pushed his way along the tunnel, flat on his belly, shoving the lantern ahead of him. The light showed a long, low tube, just big enough to admit him. Dry rock jutted overhead, and damp rock under him scraped his bare chest.
Christopher had been close to death many times before, especially when struggling through China and Siam. He'd pushed through then, just as he pushed through this tunnel now. He'd made himself live by thinking of Honoria.
He'd imagine her e
yes, deeper green than emeralds, the scent of her skin, the taste of her mouth. He'd close his eyes and remember kissing her, the caress of her tongue, the softness of her lips as she kissed him back. She was his flame, guiding him through darkness.
She'd implied it wasn't fair of him to make her his flame. He didn't care. They belonged together, Christopher Raine and Honoria Ardmore. She could not escape it. He would not let her escape it.
He realized suddenly that he'd closed his eyes. Christopher jerked alert, banging his head on the rocks above him. Cursing, he shoved the lantern along and kept crawling.
At one point, a small piece of rock jutted down, impeding him. He pounded it with his fist until it broke, then he pried it off and dropped it behind him.
He had to lie still a few minutes after that, wheezing from the small effort. The close air and the battering from the mudslide was taking its toll.
Christopher jerked awake again. The candle had burned halfway down. He cursed out loud, making the harsh sound of his own voice rouse him.
He wondered why he'd drifted off, then realized that the candle flame had slackened and was beginning to burn blue. His air was running out.
He'd have to go back. He prepared his aching muscles for the prospect.
No, a part of his mind said. Never go back. Hadn't he taught that to Manda? Never go back, always move forward.
He woke up again. Bloody hell. The candle had gone out. Christopher was alone in blackness under a mountain.
He moved determinedly forward, pushing the lantern along. He had no way of lighting it again, even if any of the candle remained.
I don't want to die here, his mind hummed. I want to kiss Honoria one more time. She's worth kissing, any man would agree.
She was worth other things as well. Christopher pictured her with her hair coming down, her head tilted back, her lips parting softly. She had true and unashamed desire, and she desired Christopher.
Whenever he'd mention this fact to her, she'd give him her prim look and tell him she was allowed to desire him--they were married after all. But that was her excuse. She pretended she did her duty, but she was a little liar. She wanted him. Christopher chuckled.
He wanted to remember her all tousled with lovemaking, but the image that came to him most vividly was of Honoria standing on the cove the day before, hands on hips, sunburn cream on her nose, informing him that of course she was coming up the hill with him to see the gold.
Christopher raged at himself for letting her in the cave at all. She might still have been inside it when the mudslide started--it might be Honoria buried under all that rubble. Stupid. Christopher should have carried her back to the ship and locked her into their cabin, threatening her with flogging if she would not stay.
Honoria would not have believed him, of course. Christopher wondered briefly what it must be like to have a wife who actually obeyed her husband. Probably bloody boring.
Christopher jumped awake again. His breathing was labored. Damn it. He had to go back. There was air in the cave. St. Cyr and Colby might succeed in digging him out. Maybe in a few years, if the entire cave didn't collapse on him first.
He pushed the lantern on a few more inches, crawling after it mindlessly. Christopher pushed again, and the lantern disappeared.
He halted, uncertain what had happened. He shook himself a little, in case he'd fallen asleep again.
Cautiously, Christopher stretched out his hand. His fingers touched rock and then, nothing. A puff of cold air brushed his arm.
Christopher inched forward as quickly as he could. He took hold of the lip of the hole, pulled his face over the opening, and breathed deeply of the faint air that wafted to him. He could hear water trickling somewhere far below. The rock was slippery with it.
He groped a little farther, trying to find the other side of the niche, to see if the tunnel continued beyond it. His body, tired and heavy, slipped.
And then he fell. It was a silent fall, his throat too parched to let him cry out.
Christopher slid down and down through a long, rough-walled tube, banging from rock to rock. With the last of his strength, he covered his face with his arms, trying to protect himself.
He tumbled down for a long time while his skin grew slick with blood. He at times tried to stop his flight on ledges and rocks, but they cut his hands, evading his grasp. After a while, Christopher became so numb he scarcely felt the pummeling, and stopped trying.
The sloping tunnel abruptly ended, and Christopher fell through empty air. Just when he decided he was dead, something freezing rose up and swallowed him whole.
*** *** ***
Honoria's sobs had long since ceased. She sat alone, James's coat over her shoulders, staring at nothing. Night had fallen, but under the light of lanterns, the men still dug.
Without success. The black boulders that blocked the entrance wouldn't budge. They'd either have to dig around them, which was proving impossible, or find another way into the cave.
James's tall form blocked the light. "Honoria," he said. He waited a moment for her to respond, then when she didn't, continued, "We're going back to the cove."
Honoria shook her head without looking up. "I don't want to."
James sank to his heels, his face at her level. "You can't do anything here, love. You need to get warm, and to sleep."
"I don't want to sleep."
"You need to," James repeated stubbornly. "In the morning, I'll take you back to the Argonaut."
Her head snapped up. "You are abandoning him."
James looked to where his men and Christopher's still labored. The lamplight made the hard planes of his face harsher still. "They may eventually break through. But it might be too late."
He meant that Christopher might already be dead, suffocated in the closed cave or buried by the debris. Honoria bowed her head.
She felt her brother's touch on her hair, surprisingly gentle. "It's best you come with us, Honoria. On the Argonaut. Diana will look after you."
Honoria shook her head. "Not yet."
James cupped her face, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "We should go back to the cove now. I don't want you to see . . ." He broke off. "We'll take you back to Charleston. A few days sailing, and we'll be there."
"It is not my home any longer. It's yours, and Diana's."
James's usual growl softened. "Is that what you think? It's not true. The Charleston house has always been your home. I can't imagine it without you in it."
Honoria stared at him dully, not really hearing him.
James went on. "I never worried about our home no matter how long I was away. I knew you'd be there, watching over it better than anyone else ever could. I knew I could always find rest there." He brushed back her dirty hair. "I want you there, Honoria. I like knowing you are there."
Honoria looked up at him, her despair making her bleak. "And what do I know, James? You knew I'd always be at home. What did I know about you? That you'd come home when you took the whim? Never mind that two, three years would pass before I saw you or had word from you, when I didn't know whether you were alive or dead? But that was fine. You'd knew I'd wait. After all, what choice did I have?"
"I know. You're right. I've been a man obsessed. It's different now, now that I have Diana. But no matter what, we need to go down now."
"I can't go. Christopher is my husband. Do you know what that means?"
"I have some idea," James said.
"No." Honoria rose to her feet. Her legs shook, and hot pains shot through them. "You have no idea what he means to me. You do not know anything whatsoever about me."
James caught her as her knees buckled. "Damn it, Honoria, I'll put you over my shoulder and carry you if I have to."
She looked into eyes made dark by the lantern light. James cared, she sensed that, but he did not understand.
"I have to stay here," she said. "I have to know."
James put his arms around her and gathered her to him, her older brother who had so se
ldom showed affection since Paul had died. "I promise, love, the moment he's found, I'll tell you." He brushed back a lock of her hair. "But I think you already know."
In the pit of her stomach rested fear Honoria did not want to name. She couldn't say a word, couldn't voice what would take Christopher from her forever.
Without waiting, James led her down the hill. Honoria collapsed very soon, and he had to carry her the rest of the way.
*** *** ***
Honoria did sleep, because James made her drink quite a bit of rum, which filled her with false lassitude. She lay on blankets in the soft sand, half dizzy. The fire warmed her feet, the rum warmed her body, and treacherously, she drifted into slumber.
She dreamed of Christopher. She remembered the first time she'd seen him, when he'd been young and stunningly handsome, waiting in the garden room at home for her.
He'd turned when Honoria had pattered in then given her a long look and a slow grin. "Who do you belong to?" Christopher had asked.
Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but Honoria had only been able to stare in delight. Here was her idol, her fantasy, come to life. She'd stammered something and handed Christopher the pamphlet that she wanted him to sign, and he'd used it to tease a kiss from her.
Honoria relived it in her dream. As soon as Christopher's lips had touched hers, his playfulness had vanished. Honoria had found herself wrapping her arms around him and holding on. Christopher had slid his hand to the small of her back and dipped his tongue inside her mouth.
The kiss had swiftly turned frenzied. Christopher had scooped her against him, and she'd felt his very masculine hardness through her thin skirts.
After thoroughly kissing her, Christopher had lowered Honoria to the floor, his gray eyes heavy with longing. Strong fingers had loosened her clothes, and then he'd touched her. Christopher had entered Honoria only with his fingers, but he'd given her a taste of what it would be like for him to be inside her fully.
When it was over, Christopher had raised her to her feet and helped her straighten her clothes. He'd then given her a quiet look, his arrogance gone, taken her face in his hands, and drawn his thumbs across her cheekbones.
The Care & Feeding of Pirates Page 23