The threat of fever aboard the Kaatje had been enough to convince the Dutch captain to anchor at the French colony of Saint Domingue on the west coast of Hispaniola. Sailors lowered a longboat and rowed Garrett, Caroline, Amanda and the baby, Noah, and his brother Eli to the dock at Port-au-Prince. Garrett found lodging for them and insisted that Caroline see a physician. Naturally, he had pronounced her as sound as a Dutch daalder.
In Port-au-Prince, they were able to purchase an aging sloop and supplies to last them until they reached Arawak. “You’d best produce that fortune in gold quickly,” Garrett had warned Caroline. “My pockets are empty.”
Noah had spotted the twin mountaintops of Arawak Island early that morning. Now they had sailed close enough to wonder at the sheer limestone cliffs that rose from the sea. Beyond that lay a tangle of green jungle and craggy outcrops of stone heaped in tumbled stairsteps to the rising flanks of the bare-topped mountains.
The contrast of blue-green sea, white stone, and green forest beneath a sapphire sky was breathtaking. Palm trees and lacy vines hung down over the exposed rock, and waves splashed against the cliffs, sending sprays of white foam into the air. Seagulls and frigate birds screeched and circled overhead; tiny schools of fish leaped from water so clear that Caroline could see forty feet straight down to an underwater kingdom of multicolored coral and swaying plumes.
Shadows of fish darted beneath the boat, and a few hundred feet away, a gray form sliced the water. “A shark,” Caroline cried pointing. “Look.”
“Not a shark,” Garrett corrected her as the creature leaped out of the waves. “Dolphin.” He smiled at her. “They’re supposed to bring good luck.”
The dolphin leaped high out of the water, followed closely by a second one. Together they performed a series of spinning dives in perfect unison, and Caroline laughed. “I’m glad they’re not sharks,” she said, remembering the sudden death of the boy. “I don’t care if I never see another shark.”
“Where is the plantation house?” Garrett asked. “I don’t see any signs of habitation.”
“On the west side of the island is a natural cove,” she answered, shading her eyes with her hand. “There’s a dock and safe harbor between the coral reef and a sandy beach.” The sun was hot; even though Caroline was wearing a broad-brimmed hat, the unrelenting heat burned through her wool bodice and made her perspire. “There’s a waterfall,” she remembered. “We can bathe there. The water is cool and sweet. It comes down from the peaks of the mountains.”
“Watch the reef,” Garrett warned as Noah guided the sloop closer to shore. “Coral’s sharp enough to rip a hull open like butter.”
Noah shook his head. “Not this boat. I could sail her in two feet of water. She’s shallow draft, made for these islands.”
“Papa told me there’s a channel through the reef, but it’s hard to find. Larger vessels can dock at the landing,” Caroline said, “but only if they know the secret of getting in safely.”
Noah smiled at Jeremy. “There’s one boy who will be glad to have some sand to crawl around in.”
The baby giggled and clapped his chubby hands together. “Da-da-da-da,” he cooed.
Amanda averted her eyes. “Ma-ma. Say Ma-ma, Jeremy.”
“He’s a bright boy,” Noah said.
Caroline noticed that he had turned his attention to Amanda, and from the slight flush of her sister’s cheeks, she knew that Amanda was aware of his gaze. “He’ll be walking before he’s a year old,” Caroline predicted, keeping the conversation safely on the baby.
“I’ll be glad to have solid ground under him again,” Amanda said. “He’s getting heavy to carry, and he’ll never learn to walk confined aboard ship. Will you, darling?” She kissed the top of his curly head. “Mama’s boy needs solid ground under his feet, doesn’t he?” Jeremy giggled and planted a wet, slobbering kiss on Amanda’s cheek. Laughing, she bounced him on her knee.
Caroline smiled at the picture the two of them made. Jeremy had been the first to acquire a tan. Only a few hours of the tropical sun had turned his beautiful skin to a golden-tawny shade. He had Amanda’s huge liquid brown eyes, but his lips were thin and his nose narrow. Whoever his father was, it was clear that Jeremy would grow up to be an extremely handsome man.
Noah reached over the side and scooped up a handful of water and sprinkled it on the baby. Jeremy giggled and squealed with delight.
It was plain to Caroline that Noah liked the boy and his mother. What Amanda felt toward the shipbuilder was as much a mystery as most of Amanda’s thoughts.
Caroline liked Noah. He was open and friendly, a good traveling companion, and someone to depend on—the exact opposite of his brother Eli. She didn’t like Eli and she didn’t trust him. He was sullen and a constant complainer. She glanced back at him over her shoulder and he stared at her with equal distrust. She sighed and looked again at the island, unable to rid herself of the notion that they should have left Eli behind in Charleston.
Another half hour’s brisk sailing took them to the landing spot. There were no limestone cliffs there. Instead, surf rolled gently onto a wide expanse of sloping sand beach. Beyond that, swaying coconut palms rose thick and green, interlaced with gum and pine trees. A huge mossy-backed turtle paused in its slow stroll across the sand to stare at the sailing vessel. The only sign of a dock was a few rotting posts sticking out of the water.
“They must have moved the landing farther along the cost,” Garrett said, “but we’ll go ashore here. I don’t like the looks of those clouds. There may be a storm, and I want to get under a roof before it hits.”
They anchored in the shallow water inside the reef, and Garrett carried Caroline ashore. The turtle gave a final stare with round, black, glassy eyes, pulled in its head, and hid in its shell. Nothing moved on the beach but a platoon of fiddler crabs and some long-legged seabirds.
“How far is the house?” Garrett asked.
“Not far.” Caroline pointed to a grown-over rutted track that led into the trees. “I think we follow that road.”
He looked dubious. “That’s a road?”
Noah set Amanda on the sand, and she hurried to take a fussing Jeremy from Eli. The women waited while the men waded back and forth, bringing the supplies and their personal belongings ashore. Then, leaving Eli as a guard, the others set out in search of the manor house.
As they entered the trees, a green and yellow parrot squawked and flew from one branch to another. Something small and brown scampered along the ground and vanished into a heap of rotting palm fronds.
“Let me carry the boy,” Noah offered, reaching for Jeremy.
“I can manage,” Amanda insisted, shifting him to her hip. Caroline still couldn’t get used to seeing her sister dressed as a servant. It seemed strange to see Amanda, who had always worn silk and satin, wearing homespun. Jeremy wore only a nappy and a short dress. He was growing so fast, they could hardly keep garments on him.
The air was cooler here in the forest. Off to the right, among the rocks, Caroline heard what could only be the bleating of goats. She was beginning to feel nervous. Where was everyone? Arawak Hall didn’t have as many workers as Fortune’s Gift, but there should still be servants, field hands . . . children. Where were they?
No member of the family had been here for years. All business was conducted through their trusted stewart, Angus Frazier. And she’d not heard from him or received a deposit from Arawak since before she and Wesley were married.
“I want a proper bath and a feather bed with pillows and a goose-down coverlet,” Amanda said.
“And I want something for dinner that hasn’t been salted or dried,” Noah chimed in. “A little roast pork wouldn’t be bad, or a juicy beefsteak.”
They rounded a bend and stopped short. The manor house stood in the center of what had been a sweeping lawn, but was now a morass of vines, banana trees, and waist-high grass. The massive structure was two and a half stories high, of gray brick laid in Flemish bond, with doubl
e chimneys at each end of the main house and dormers set into the hip roof. A grand portico with four Greek columns graced the front of the house, accessible by tall French doors on both the first and second floors.
The house was magnificent and completely deserted. Window shutters hung open and sagging; leafy vines wound up the portico and encircled the columns. A shaggy brown and white goat stood on hind legs on the second-story porch, nibbling a flowering plant that grew down from the red tile roof.
“This is Arawak Hall?” Garrett demanded.
Stunned, Caroline nodded. Her stomach did a flip-flop. The awful thought that Kutii might not appear hit her like a splash of icy water. What if he didn’t come? Where on this tangled island would she search for the treasure, and what would she tell Garrett?
Amanda stopped dead in her tracks and pointed to a black cat sitting on the front step. “Look,” she said. “It’s Harry.”
“Where?” Garrett said. “I don’t see a living soul.”
Caroline stared at the black cat. “It’s not Harry,” she assured her sister. “It’s just a stray . . .” But as she watched, the animal stretched and strolled lazily behind a column and disappeared from sight.
“It’s Harry,” Amanda insisted with a trace of uneasiness. “I know it’s him.”
Caroline forced a chuckle. “Not likely. We have an old tomcat that looks just like that,” she explained to Garrett and Noah. “Amanda doesn’t like cats. She’s afraid of them.”
“Not all cats,” she said, “just . . . just that one.”
Garrett crossed the shell drive to the front of the house and tried the door. It was locked tight. “I’ll go around to the back,” he said. “We’re bound to find something that—”
Suddenly, the door swung open. Standing in the entranceway was a small brown woman holding an ancient wheel-lock musket. “Get you ’way from dis place!” she cried. “Dis place no belong you!”
Garrett held up his hands. “We mean you no harm,” he said. “I’m Garrett Faulkner, husband to Caroline Talbot Faulkner. She owns this plantation.”
“Yeah, sure you be,” the little woman retorted. “You looks like rich folk, you surely does. And I be de royal governor. Now, get you ’way, ’fore I puts a hole in you a dolphin can jump through.”
Garrett glanced back at Caroline. “Wife,” he called, “you’d best come and talk to this misguided woman.”
Caroline hurried up to the steps. “I am Caroline Talbot,” she said. “There’s a terrible war in the American Colonies. I’m looking for my steward, Angus Frazier. Is he here?”
“You be Miz Talbot, fer certain?” The woman lowered her gun and a smile broke over her freckled face. “I be Mr. Frazier’s wife, Pilar. Come you in. We got pollo and black beans for dinner. Come you in and eat.”
By evening, the storm that Garrett had expected whirled around the island. Palm trees bent under the force of the wind, and driving rain beat against the windowpanes. In the master bedchamber of Arawak Hall, Garrett sat in a chair beside the huge poster bed draped in filmy gauze and sipped a glass of Jamaican rum. Caroline stood by the window brushing her hair.
“Your steward, Angus Frazier, has obviously been crippled for a long time,” Garrett said.
Caroline nodded. Arawak Hall was not what she’d expected. Although Pilar had kept the interior of the mansion in acceptable condition, the rest of the plantation was a disaster. The stables were empty, the horses stolen, dead, or roaming loose on the island. The staff of servants consisted of Pilar and her invalid husband. The cane fields had gone wild, and no other crops had been planted or harvested in years.
“Arawak is haunted with all manner of unholy beasties,” the cheerful Angus had told them at dinner. “No freemen will work here, and slaves build boats and sail away.”
“De old people,” Pilar had chimed in, “de Arawaks, dis be de place where de ghosties live, up there on them mountains. Dey don’t scare Pilar. Pilar’s grand, she be Arawak—full blood. Dem ghosties, dey don’t hurt Pilar or her man, Angus. But I seen dem, yes. Pilar seen dem many a night, dancing on beach and in de treetops. And I hear de drums on the mountain. Arawak drums.”
Garrett joined Caroline at the window and took the ivory-handled brush from her hand. “Let me do that,” he said.
She sat in a chair and looked out at the rain as he began to brush with slow, lazy strokes. Garrett had not asked about the money yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time. For weeks, she had wrestled with the problem of telling him that she’d brought him all this way to chase down a family legend related to her in part by the ghost of an Incan Indian who’d been dead for a hundred years.
She closed her eyes, taking pleasures from the bristles of the brush dragging across her scalp and down the length of her hair. Garrett would be very angry with her—she knew he would. And that anger would destroy the fragile bonds they had woven with their lovemaking.
To her surprise, she found she genuinely liked Garrett Faulkner. He was funny and smart. He made her laugh, and they were never at a loss for things to talk about. Garrett was one of the few men she’d ever met who respected her ideas, even when he didn’t agree with them. In short, he was a perfect match for her—or would have been perfect if he shared her belief in independence for the Colonies.
And she wasn’t sure if he did, or didn’t. There were many mysteries surrounding her new husband, not the least of which was why he had agreed to marry her. He’d said it was for her money, which made sense. Except that the more she came to know Garrett, the more certain she was that he didn’t give a damn about how wealthy she was. And if not for money—then why?
Garrett stopped brushing. “Neither of us had a bath since Port-au-Prince,” he said. “I wonder how warm that rain is? I’ve got so much salt caked on me, I feel like a salt mackerel.”
She laughed. “You want me to stand out in the storm?” She took hold of his hand and rubbed the back of his palm against her cheek. She loved the smell of him, and she loved to feel his skin against hers. If they were going to fight over the treasure, they could just as well do it tomorrow or the next day. Tonight, she would sleep in his arms. Or . . . She smiled provocatively. Perhaps they wouldn’t sleep at all.
“I only said I wondered if the rain was warm,” he said. “I didn’t tell you to stand in it.” He put down the brush and stripped to his breeches. Then he pulled her to her feet and kissed her.
She laid her cheek against his chest and listened to the rhythmic throb of his heart, all the while massaging his skin with her fingers. “Why go out in the rain?” she murmured.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he coaxed. “A Caribbean shower-bath is an experience no wife should miss.”
“You’re serious? You’re going out in the rain?” He kissed her again, slowly, tenderly. He ran a hand down the curve of her back and molded her against him. “Surely you’d not send me out into the night alone?”
Caroline laughed and made no protest as he began to unlace the back of her gown. “You’re getting so good at that, there’ll be no need for me to have a lady’s maid,” she said. He kissed the back of her neck and trailed kisses to her ear.
Warmth spread through her at his touch. “Garrett,” she whispered huskily. But he already had her halfway out of her gown. She cupped his face between her hands and caressed him lightly. Her eyes never left his.
“You are a rare woman, Caroline Faulkner.”
“And how is that, pray tell?”
“Your blood is as hot as any man’s.”
“Warmer, perhaps.” She moistened her lips suggestively and ran her hands down over the taut muscles of his shoulders and upper arms as delicious shivers ran through her. He had only to touch her . . . to murmur her name, and her desire for him overpowered her every conscious thought and reason.
Her breathing quickened as he outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue and then caught her lower one between his teeth and nibbled at it gently. Fire shot through her. Sweet Jesus. Had a
nything ever felt as wonderful as Garrett’s half-naked body pressed against hers? She let her head fall back, and he kissed her throat.
Her mouth went dry as he slowly untied the ribbons on her stays. When she would have helped him, he whispered, “No” and kissed her bare shoulders and the valley between her breasts. “I want to do this myself.”
Her stays dropped to the floor, followed by her cotton chemise. “Oh,” she gasped as Garrett dropped to his knees and began to slide one silk garter down her thigh. His face was so close to her cleft that she could feel his breath stir her curls. “Ohh.” The flame had become a burning that threatened to engulf her.
He kissed her thigh and knee as his fingers unrolled her linen stocking. She swallowed hard and stroked the crown of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair.
“Come with me,” he whispered when he’d removed her other stocking and kissed her left thigh, and knee, and ankle. He picked up a bar of French soap from the washstand and took a step toward the double doors that led to the second-story porch.
She would have followed him anywhere.
“I think I like your island already,” he said. He paused just long enough to shed his breeches.
“So do I.”
A gust of wind struck them as he opened the glass-paned doors. The rain was warm on her naked skin, the air hot and soft. Grains of damp sand and bits of leaves littered the porch under her bare feet, but she didn’t care.
The storm was coming from the west, hitting the house straight on. Garrett slipped an arm around her and led her to the front of the portico. The rain struck them in solid sheets, instantly wetting her hair and skin.
“What do you think?” he shouted in her ear.
“I think you’re crazy,” she answered.
“A little mad, maybe—mad for you.”
She circled his neck with her arms, and he kissed her full on the mouth. Her lips parted and he filled her with his tongue. Caroline shut her eyes against the downpour and clung to him while the rain cascaded off their entwined bodies and wrapped them in a velvet cloak of togetherness.
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