Boldly, she opened to him, then met his tongue with hers in an erotic dance that took her to the edge of danger and let her glimpse the pleasures that beckoned beyond this lingering kiss.
“Caroline, you are a wonder,” he whispered huskily when they paused for breath. “You’re all fire and honey.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, then nibbled on her fingertips, sending waves of bright desire up her arm. Gently turning her palm, he planted warm, damp kisses on the underside of her wrist.
She could the heated blood pounding in her veins . . . feel her will weakening. I want him to make love to me, she thought. I want him as I have never wanted another man. He is my lawful husband before God. Why shouldn’t I—
This is not the time. Kutti’s warning came loud and clear inside her mind. There is great danger. You must flee while there is still a chance. Caroline’s eyes widened. The Incan wasn’t here—she knew he wasn’t. She and Garrett were alone. Kutii had never intruded on her privacy before.
What harm will this do? she argued mentally.
Kutii’s voice in her head was relentless. This is the man but not the time.
Garrett’s tongue brushed the pulse at her wrist.
“That tickles,” Caroline said, pulling back. She swallowed, trying to make sense of her confused emotions, trying to regain the control she had nearly lost.
“Caroline.” The husky way he said her name sent shivers up her spine and she sighed.
Kutii’s message had broken the spell. Garrett’s arms were just as warm, his smell as inviting, but cold reason had returned to guide her.
Another time, she thought. And there would be another time. Unwilling to let the last notes of the magic fade, she stroked his strong jaw and slid her fingers into his silky brown hair. “You are somewhat of a wonder yourself, Garrett Faulkner. I don’t know what to make of you. I feel like a hunter who set a snare for a pigeon and caught a hawk instead.” She smiled at him. “Pigeons are good for pie, but I’m not yet certain what good a hawk may be.”
“I didn’t want a wife,” he said.
“Nor I a husband.”
He glanced toward the poster bed, wondering just how compliant she was prepared to be and how much grief his wound would give him in a delicate situation.
She chuckled, and the sound reminded him of water trickling over rocks. “I don’t consider going to bed with you part of our arrangement,” she murmured.
He sighed, partly disappointed, but also intrigued that the chase would not end so soon. “You can’t blame me for hoping,” he answered.
“Nay, I do not.” She slipped out of his arms. “I like your kisses. In fact, I think I may say that I like them very much.”
“And I like yours.” How had she managed to affect him so deeply? he wondered. She was shapely and pleasing to look at, but he had known many lovely women. And Caroline Steele was not his type. He smiled. He hadn’t thought she was his type. But now . . . He was glad the folds of the banyan covered his loins.
“You may as well take the bed, Garrett,” she said. “You couldn’t pay me to sleep there after . . .” She trailed off and he saw that her cheeks were tinted pink. “You are an exasperating man,” she continued, “but I suspect I’m telling you nothing you haven’t heard before.”
He returned to the high-backed chair near the fireplace. “Then neither of us will sleep well tonight,” he answered. The ache in his groin reminded him of just how disappointed he was. “It’s been a long time since I allowed my actions to be dictated by a woman . . . even a desirable woman such as yourself.”
“You’re a stubborn man.” She rested her hand on the back of the matching chair.
“I’ve been told that before too.”
“Not too stubborn to see reason, I hope.”
“Whose reason. Yours or mine?”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her lower lip was full and sensual. He remembered the taste of it, and he began to wonder if even a ship would be worth the trouble she was bound to cause him.
She stiffened. “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she said.
A tightness filled his chest. “Go on,” he urged. “Don’t stop just when it’s getting interesting.”
“I promised you money if you would marry me.”
“You did and I’ll have it.” He felt his temper rising. What excuse was she going to make to avoid giving him his due?
“I don’t have any.”
“What?” He leaped up, forgetting his bad leg, and the pain nearly knocked him back in the chair. Gritting his teeth, he glared at her. “What lies are you—”
“No lies, but the truth,” she said, putting the chair between them. “I have the money. I just can’t get to it. Father never believed there would be a war. Most of our wealth is in London. I can’t release it as long as Bruce—”
Garrett swore under his breath. “You led me to believe—”
“Wait!” She threw up her hand. “I never meant to cheat you. You’ll get everything I promised. It’s just that you will have to take me south to the Caribbean to get it for you.”
Black rage clouded his vision. Veins pulsed in his temples. He covered his face with his hands and swore again—a sailor’s oath so foul that it scorched his tongue. He’d been had. By a woman. He’d been so eager to get another ship under his feet that he’d been led into the lion’s den like a green farm boy. He wanted to hit something. Someone. “Son of a swiving seacook,” he muttered. He raised his gaze to meet hers and his fingers clutched the wooden back of the chair. “You’ve nerve to stay within reach of me,” he said between clenched teeth, “when I’d like nothing better than to wring your pretty little neck.”
He could read the fear in her eyes. She trembled, but she stood, chin high, small hands balled into fists, and faced him like some ancient warrior queen. “I want control of my money as badly as you do,” she said huskily. “If I’d told you before, I was afraid you wouldn’t marry me. I can get gold in the islands—I swear it.”
“Like you swore before?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Garrett. I just didn’t tell you everything.” Her composure faltered. “Please, you must believe me. I need you. If you’ll take me and my sister to Arawak Island near Jamaica—to our sugarcane plantation there—I’ll give you whatever you ask.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Whatever you ask.”
“All I’ve ever wanted from you was a ship.”
“I have ships in the Caribbean. Bruce doesn’t know of any of our affairs there.” Tears welled in her huge dark eyes. “There’s no one else I can turn to, Garrett. My cousin raped Amanda, and now he’s threatening to sell her south. I need to get her away from Fortune’s Gift—away from Maryland. And I need to get my hands on enough of my money to ransom Reed.”
“You want me to take you to the Caribbean?”
She nodded. “Me, Amanda, and Amanda’s son, Jeremy.”
He studied her delicate features. Was she lying again? “How do you expect me to trust you?”
“I’ll wager my soul that you’ve not been honest with me either,” she dared. “I’d have to be a complete ninny to believe the story you gave me when you invaded my bedchamber the night the powder magazine was blown.”
“You know for a fact that there’s money and ships to be had on Arawak?”
“I have gold there. I’m not sure where the ships are, but my steward will know. They sail the Caribbean on trading voyages.”
“How much gold?”
“Enough. Yes or no?”
Garrett considered her offer for several long seconds, then realized he’d probably not get a better one. He’d been a fool not to think her cousin would tie up her ready cash. If she was being honest with him this time, his plans would only be delayed. He could find a crew in the Caribbean. He pursed his lips. Where better to find fighting men who knew a gunnel from a yardarm. With gold in his pocket, he could buy sailors who didn’t care what flag they sailed under.
“Pl
ease,” she murmured. “We must get away quickly.”
“I’ll take you,” he agreed, “but my price has just doubled. Twenty percent. And heaven help you, woman, if you’re lying to me again.”
Chapter 7
Fortune’s Gift Plantation
Maryland’s Eastern Shore
The clock on the hall landing had just struck midnight when Caroline slipped quietly out of the house and hurried toward Laborers’ Row, the cluster of cabins beyond the orchard where her workers and their families lived.
Two awkward days had passed since her wedding to Garrett Faulkner. When they’d returned to Fortune’s Gift the morning after the ceremony, Major Whitehead had found a letter from Lord Cornwallis assuring him of the loyalty of his cousin. Garrett had been released from house arrest and had left immediately to settle affairs on his own land.
Caroline had wanted to seek out Amanda before tonight, but even with Bruce still in custody, she had been unable to leave the house without alarming the sentries.
This evening, the guard at the kitchen door was sound asleep. Caroline’s special spiced wine had assured that. She had delivered the drugged spirits to the young dragoon with her own hands, so that if something went wrong none of her servants would be blamed.
The night was icy cold. She shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. Clouds scudded across the sky, hanging low over the plantation, and Caroline smelled a threat of snow on the raw, salt breeze that blew from the Chesapeake. There were no sounds but the dry crackle of frozen grass under her feet and the rattle of branches as she left the path and moved into the total blackness of the orchard. She had never been afraid of darkness, not even as a small child, but tonight she felt a strange uneasiness and wished she had brought a weapon with her.
An owl hooted and she started, then chuckled when she recognized the familiar sound. “Kutii?” she whispered. “Is that you?” When she was young, he would sometimes tease her by imitating birds. Owls were his favorites. “Kutii?”
Nothing.
She waited, holding her breath, straining to hear. Again, all she heard was the wind’s eerie song through the leafless branches. A lump formed in her throat as she exhaled softly and began to walk on.
And heard the loud snap of a twig behind her.
“Who is it?” she demanded. “Who’s there?”
It could be a deer, or an opossum, or even a family of raccoons, she told herself. Food was scarce in winter. Wild creatures did come near the house when they were hungry. She swallowed; her mouth was dry. Frosty fingers of dread brushed the back of her neck.
Something is there.
Not something, her instincts shouted. Someone.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she called out boldly. It was a bald-faced lie. She was terrified.
Caroline took a step backward, then another, and heard the unmistakable crunch of a human footstep on the frozen soil.
She wanted to run back to the manor house, but even her courage wasn’t enough for that, so she whirled and dashed toward Laborers’ Row. Her heart thudded wildly as she fled the lonely orchard, but she heard no pursuit. She kept running until she’d left the apple trees far behind her.
Breathless and feeling somewhat foolish for panicking at noises in the darkness, Caroline slowed her pace to a jog. She could smell wood smoke and barely make out a lighted window in one of the cabins.
A dog barked inside. She heard a man’s gruff voice order, “Quiet down!” Firelight illuminated a patch of interior in the small, neat dwelling. She saw a man, naked from the waist up, cross in front of the glowing hearth. Something thumped against the door, the dog yipped, and there was silence.
Not here, Caroline decided. That hut was being used by two brothers who worked with the lumbering crew. Neither of them was married. Amanda wouldn’t seek shelter with them. The next cabin was occupied by Willy Jenkins and his wife. Amanda didn’t like Willy; she and Jeremy wouldn’t be there either. She would hide with one of the black families.
Caroline crossed the rutted dirt road and sought out one of the larger cabins. Mazie Adamma and her two daughters, Ruth and Jane, lived here. Mazie was a skilled weaver. She’d been born on Fortune’s Gift, married here, and buried two husband in the family graveyard. Mazie was respected among the bondmen and women, and the free workers. If Amanda and Jeremy weren’t here, Mazie would know where they were. Caroline rapped on the low wooden door.
“Who is it?”
Caroline recognized Mazie’s voice. “It’s Caroline. Let me in.”
Caroline heard a rustling, and then the door opened a crack. Outlined in the light from the hearth was a kerchief-covered head and the business end of an ancient wheel-lock musket.
“Miss Caroline? That you?”
“Yes, Mazie. It’s me. Put the gun down, and let me in.” The door opened wider, and Caroline stepped inside. Immediately, she heard a baby fussing. “Amanda?” she called.
“Caroline?” Her sister’s sleepy voice came from the loft. “Is it safe?”
“You think I would have let her in if it wasn’t?” Mazie protested. The tall, broad-shouldered black woman dropped a thick wooden bar across the door. “What you doin’ here in the middle of the night, Miss Caroline? You got trouble with your new man? Manda told us you was gettin’ married over to Oxford with that boy from Faulkner’s Folly.”
Caroline smiled. “No, Mazie. I don’t have trouble with my husband.” Not yet, she thought. It was warm and cozy inside, and the cabin smelled of sage and drying tobacco. Sheaths of cured leaves hung from the rafters, along with smoked hams, gourds, and bundles of herbs. In one corner stood a waist-high corn mortar carved from the trunk of a tree. Over the door was a horseshoe with the open end up for luck, and a painted African mask that Mazie swore kept away witches.
“That Cap’n Bruce slinkin’ around outside?” Mazie lowered her musket and peered out her single glass-paned window into the cold darkness.
Caroline almost wished it were he. The last man who had tried to force his way into this house had been dropped in his tracks by one ball from Mazie’s musket.
“Should I bring Jeremy down?” Amanda asked.
“No, let him sleep.” Caroline went to the hearth and held her hands to the fire. Mazie’s older daughter got up and lit a candle. The younger, Jane, crawled out of her trundle bed, pulled on a shift and moccasins, and began to heat a kettle of water for tea.
Amanda came down the ladder and hugged Caroline. “I’ve been so worried about you,” she said. She’d braided her black hair in two long plaits down her back, and in the shadowy cabin she looked to Caroline like an Indian. Amanda’s eyes were red. She looked sad . . . but then Caroline hadn’t seen Amanda smile since Bruce had forced himself on her sexually.
“Is Jeremy all right?” Caroline asked, squeezing her sister’s hand. “I’ve been worried sick about the two of you.”
Amanda nodded. “He’s fine. He wants his toys, but Mazie’s been helping me with him.”
The joy is gone out of her voice, Caroline thought. She doesn’t sound like Amanda anymore. She sounds old and beaten—like Ida Wright. Damn her cousin. All his life he’d hurt people without ever paying the consequences. Why couldn’t it be Bruce who was dead and buried in the graveyard instead of a decent man like Wesley?
“Jeremy ain’t no trouble,” the older woman put in. “Good to have a man-child crawlin’ around underfoot. I raised six boys, and a body don’t forget how to look after them.”
“He’s cutting teeth,” Amanda said.
“I need to talk to you—alone,” Caroline confided. “I don’t want to put Mazie in any more danger than she already is.”
“Go on with you, girl,” Mazie said, shaking sassafras tea makings into a thick earthen pot. “You young ones don’t know what danger is. Jane, Ruth, you two go on up and see to that baby. No sense in fillin’ your heads with stuff you don’t need to hear.” The young women obeyed without question.
Caroline smiled. Mazie Adamma k
ept a strict house. Her sons were grown and scattered, two with their own wives here on Fortune’s Gift. Her four oldest girls had married well and were all living with freemen in their own homes. It was plain that Mazie would keep a tight rein on these last two as long as they lived under her roof. “It’s well you hear what I have to tell Amanda,” Caroline said. “We’re going away, and I’ll need your help to keep the other women at their tasks while I’m gone. My new husband is going to take Amanda, Jeremy, and me south to the islands.”
“You goin’ treasure huntin’, ain’t you, Miss Caroline? Goin’ to Arawak Island and huntin’ up that lost Injun gold,” Mazie said. “No need to fib to me, I know that’s what you’re up to.”
“What makes you think so?” Caroline asked.
“Ain’t you bragged about doin’ just that from the time you was knee high to a duck? All I heard one winter was ’Going for the ghost treasure, Mazie. Goin’ to buy you a horse and wagon, Mazie.’ You think I forgot that?”
“I was a romantic child then. This is real. I need the money to ransom Reed from the British,” Caroline explained.
Amanda shook her head. “But that’s just a legend, Caroline. You don’t know that the treasure actually exists. We can’t go all the way down there chasing a ghost tale.”
“We can and we will,” Caroline answered. She gripped Amanda’s hand more tightly. “Garrett married me for money I can’t get to. The Incan gold will buy him the ship he wants and free Reed. I know it’s real. And I know I can find it if I go there.”
“Mother Mary,” Mazie intoned. “You tell that new husband of yours that you chasing a ghost story? Caves full of gold and pagan idols! That’s stuff for babes still on the teat.”
“The gold is there. I know it,” Caroline insisted.
“You know it. You don’t know anything,” Amanda chided.
“Kutii told me,” Caroline said. “He wouldn’t lie to me.”
Mazie crossed herself. “You quit that crazy talk, Miss Caroline. ”No wonder ignorant people go callin’ you funny. All this talk about ghosts and Injun gold. What happened to my grandmother when she got stole away from her family back in Africky is real. This war ’tween General Washington and the Brits is real. And what some ghost—what ain’t—told you don’t make no sense. And if you done told your new husband you got gold on Arawak Island, he in for one big surprise.”
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