Tristan glanced around the table, pleased and oddly humbled he had such good friends, until his gaze met Caralyn’s over Jemmy’s head, and for a moment, as if in a dream, they weren’t in the common room of Finnegan’s as partners in a treasure hunt. They were in the dining room of the Winterbourne estates, a warm and loving family, the likes of which he’d never known. He closed and opened his eyes, but the vision remained, and he wished with all his heart such an image could come true.
• • •
The chapel Pembrook built came into view exactly how Donal had described it—high on a cliff top, bathed in an ethereal light, both beautiful and eerie at the same time. Waves crashed against the rocks at the bottom of the escarpment, a constant explosion of sound. Tristan inhaled deeply, astounded by the stark splendor of the small building, and though he saw no ghosts of Pembrook and his wife, wondered if perhaps they shouldn’t interrupt their rest.
He studied the faces of his crew and knew they thought the same. Superstitious by nature, his men might not be inclined to enter the haunted sanctuary. Caralyn, on the other hand, seemed more than anxious to bother sleeping ghosts. She stood beside him at the wheel, her body fairly vibrating with anticipation.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she breathed on a sigh.
Tristan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His gaze remained on her face and once again, he found her to be the most remarkable, captivating, and beautiful woman he’d ever met, even in the trousers and loose shirt she’d changed into on the ship. Her disappointment, indeed, her frustration and tears over finding her valise missing did nothing to dampen her excitement or drive to find this treasure. In fact, she’d become more determined.
They sailed past the chapel and followed the shoreline until Tristan found a small beach then released the wheel to Mad Dog’s confident hand. “Mr. Anders, blow the whistle for me.”
The bosun tooted several times on his whistle and the crew jumped into action. In moments, the sails were furled and the anchor splashed into the crystal turquoise water. When the men were finished, they lined up on the quarterdeck.
“I need volunteers to explore the chapel.”
Not one man raised his hand. Tristan wasn’t surprised.
Mac stepped forward and pulled the knit cap from his head. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but I believe I speak for everyone. We won’t be disturbin’ no ghosts.”
Tristan nodded. He understood. “No one will be forced to go into the chapel.”
“Be that as it may, we’d rather stay here.”
Again, Tristan nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at his men then met Caralyn’s eyes. “Caralyn?”
“I’m ready.” She grinned at him as she twisted her hair into a tail at the back of her head, her eyes sparkling. “Just say the word.”
Temperance shrugged and sighed. “If she goes, I go,” she stated, although her features were pale and worry clouded her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses.
“If she goes, I go,” Stitch echoed her sentiments as he moved closer to Temperance and slipped his hand into hers.
“I’m in,” Graham said as he grabbed the burlap sack filled with lanterns and sturdy ropes and other tools they might need.
“Can I go, Papa?” Jemmy tugged at his father’s hand.
“May I,” Tristan corrected then crouched down so he could be eye level with the boy. “Not this time, son. We don’t know what we’ll find. I want you to stay with the crew.”
Disappointment radiated from the boy. His head drooped and he shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Aye, Papa,” he whispered.
Tristan ruffled the boy’s hair. “Next time. I promise.”
“Aye, Papa,” he repeated but this time, the disappointment seemed less, his voice much stronger.
“No other volunteers?” Tristan asked as he rose to his full height. Not a man among them raised his hand. “Mr. Callahan, please lower the longboat.”
The sailor was quick to obey but not before he said a word or two to Caralyn, who simply nodded and gave him her brightest smile. Moments later, the five of them climbed into the longboat where Tristan picked up the oars and began rowing toward the small beach.
• • •
Caralyn took a deep breath in an effort to still the excitement bubbling within her as she followed Tristan up the torturous dirt and rock path twisting perilously close to the edge of the escarpment. The chapel loomed ahead awash in sunlight. Wild flowers, blooming in brilliant colors, surrounded the house of worship. She glanced to her right and saw nothing except a broad expanse of blue and the white crested waves in perpetual motion. One false move, one false step could find her dropping to the jagged rocks below.
She pulled her gaze away from the dizzying sight and concentrated on the sea of trees to her left. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and yet the constant breezes from the ocean kept her cool. Palm fronds rattled overhead and dried leaves crackled beneath their feet. Birdsong filled the air, as did the constant surge of the surf. We don’t need Pembrook’s journal. The treasure is here. I know it.
She looked up and sighed. From the sea, the chapel had been beautiful, but upon closer inspection, the small structure was even more so. Despite time and hurricanes, the structure itself seemed as sturdy as the day it had been built. Moss left a rich patina on the pale stones and flowering vines clung to the walls but left the stained glass windows untouched and intact.
Perhaps, as rumored, ghosts protected this sacred place.
Caralyn studied the windows as she hiked closer. They were not portrayals of saints as she would have expected. Indeed, the colored glass depicted the Island of the Sleeping Man as well as the two other islands beside it. How odd to see such things on a chapel, but how like Pembrook, who seemed to be a most unusual man.
“Are we ready to meet Pembrook’s ghost?” Tristan asked as he moved toward the thick wooden door in the center of the building.
“There are no spirits.” She grinned at him. “But even if there are, we’re not truly troubling them.”
The door screeched on its rusted hinges as Tristan pushed against it, further evidence no one had come here in a very long time. Rainbows of light from the windows filled the small room and illuminated the finely patterned cobwebs in the corners. Dust covered the stone floor of the nearly empty chapel though not a human footprint disturbed the fine layer of dirt. The ornate marble resting places of Arthur and Mary were side-by-side, peaceful, untouched in decades, the effigies carved into the tops of the sarcophagi reaching out to touch each other’s hands.
In front of the tombs, a prie dieu, the bench where one kneeled, covered in tattered burgundy velvet . . . and a statue of the Virgin Mary on a foot-high pedestal, her arms outstretched, palms up. Made not of plaster or carved from marble, but of wood, the paint faded and peeling, though kindness and serenity still radiated from the Blessed Mother’s face.
A haunting moan echoed through the chamber, becoming louder then fading into silence only to become louder again. Caralyn grinned at Tristan although goose bumps broke out on her skin and a shiver raced down her back. “There’s your ghost. It’s just the wind.”
Undaunted, she took a deep breath and strode up the aisle while Stitch and Temperance inspected the inscriptions written on the marble caskets. Graham pressed his palms against the walls in various locations and twisted the brass sconces, looking for hidden passageways.
Without hesitation, Caralyn knelt before the statue and began to pray.
She crossed herself and stood when she finished. “What did Pembrook’s clue say?”
“Take the hand of the Blessed Virgin,” Tristan replied as he stepped up beside her. Dust swirled and covered his fine black boots. A mouse skittered across the floor, drawing a small screech from Temperance, but other than that one tiny sound and the constant moan of wind, silence permeated the chapel.
Caralyn moved to her left, away from the prie dieu, and reached for the statue’s outst
retched hand, as instructed. She didn’t know what she expected—a secret panel in one of the walls revealed perhaps—but nothing happened.
She took a deep breath and moved to the right side, once again placing her hand on the Virgin Mary’s. It moved, ever so slightly, the wood possibly rotted by time. She squeezed tighter and pushed down a bit, but the hand in hers still only moved a fraction. She stepped closer and inspected the icon, noticing that the statue was not carved from one single piece of wood but by several pieces joined together.
“Be careful,” Tristan said as he took a step closer as well.
Again, she placed her hand in the Virgin’s, but this time, she didn’t push down. This time, she twisted. A solid click echoed in the silence, followed by a deep rumble. The stone slate beneath her feet began to tremble. Indeed, the whole room seemed to shudder.
A startled gasp escaped her as she released the statue’s hand and Temperance gave another small shriek. The woman moved toward the door, ready to flee the building should the need arise. Stitch stood beside her, his hand in hers, whether to offer comfort or to help with a hasty exit, Caralyn didn’t know. Graham backed himself into a corner, the expression on his face one of doubt . . . and perhaps fear?
More excited than frightened, Caralyn remained where she stood, in front of the Virgin Mary. Anticipation surged through her. Laughter bubbled up from her chest and threatened to pour from her mouth.
She reached for the statue’s hand once more and twisted again. The deep rumble continued to grow louder until it became a horrible roar. Caralyn jumped as another shudder shook the floor. She tried to take a step away but not soon enough. The large stone beneath her dropped several feet. A surprised scream escaped her as she fell with the stone . . . until a strong hand caught her wrist. She looked up to see Tristan, his face set with determination as she dangled above the gaping black maw that had once been solid stone.
As if she weighed nothing, Tristan pulled her to safety and gathered her in his arms.
“You need to be careful, Cara mia,” he whispered in her ear. She felt him tremble as his arms tightened around her.
“I’m all right. Truly.” She pressed her hands against the hard planes of his chest, the muscles beneath his flesh tense. That tension reflected in his eyes and the tightness of his lips.
“Be that as it may, you still need to take care. Finding the treasure wouldn’t be half as exciting without you.”
Though she loved being in his arms, and his words warmed her to the tips of her toes, curiosity made her pull away. She knelt in front of the black hole in the floor and peered into the darkness. “Graham, please bring me a lantern.”
The soft glow of the lantern expelled the inky blackness and Caralyn held her breath. “There’s a cavern beneath the chapel.”
“Graham, toss me the rope.” Tristan held out his hand but instead of receiving a coil of rope, Graham handed him a rope ladder, complete with metal hooks to hold said ladder in place.
“I’ll go first,” Tristan said as he secured the hooks of the ladder on the pedestal beneath the statue and flung the rest of the rope into the hole. His gaze held Caralyn’s, the warmth of his eyes mesmerizing. “Wait until I give the all clear before you start down.”
Caralyn nodded even though anticipation swept through her. In truth, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to see what lay beneath the floor of the chapel, what treasures had been stored for almost two centuries, untouched by human hands. She watched his head disappear as he lowered himself into the passage, the glow of the lantern he held diminishing.
“It’s safe,” he called up from the depths. “Send down the other lanterns then join me but be careful. It’s amazing down here.” His words ended on a sigh.
Graham made quick work of tying a length of cord to the burlap sack and lowering the bundle into the hollow. Soon, a warm glow dispelled the darkness and jewels, tossed carelessly in the dirt, caught and reflected the light. Caralyn released her breath in a huff of air. A multitude of colors twinkled below her. She recognized emeralds and lapis lazuli, amethyst and topaz, rubies and diamonds, the gems scattered as if Pembrook had spilled the contents of a small chest and hadn’t bothered to retrieve them.
She climbed down the ladder and waited for Temperance, Stitch, and Graham to join her and Tristan. Cold, clammy moisture seeped into her clothing; indeed, it seemed to seep into her bones, but didn’t dampen Caralyn’s excitement one bit. Nor did the fact that no other chests filled with jewels or gold lined the walls of the chamber.
From her position, she couldn’t tell how far the cavern extended in either direction; however, the constant breeze and dull roar of the ocean led her to believe the grotto began where the sea crashed against the cliff, hidden from prying eyes unless one knew where to look.
More determined than ever to find the blasted treasure and live her life as she chose, Caralyn raised her lantern high and started walking toward where the thunder of the ocean sounded loudest.
“Have a care, Cara,” Tristan called after her. “We don’t know what we’ll find. Better yet, wait for me.”
“I’ll be careful,” she responded but as soon as the words left her mouth, the promise left her brain. The cavern twisted and turned, the floor sloping downward at a sharp angle. Her feet sank into sand and her fingers traced the wet walls on her left. Strange, she had no sensation of the walls closing in on her, no fear the low ceiling would fall upon her head. The constant breeze smelling of brine ruffled her hair. Sunlight and shadows played over the rocks ahead as she explored the long corridor. A crab scuttled toward the opening in front of her, its pinkish shell glistening. Caralyn stood at the entrance of the cave and breathed deeply. She felt small and insignificant as the vastness of the turquoise sea spread before her. Waves crashed against the tumbled rocks below her, sending up a fine spray that settled on her skin, and she imagined when the tide came in, this entire cave became flooded.
She turned around and almost slammed into Tristan.
“I thought I asked you to wait for me.”
“I’m perfectly safe, Tristan.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You almost fell into the hole in the floor. You could have broken your fool neck.” His voice lowered to a growl. “It was only by the grace of God I was able to catch you.”
He took her in his arms and smoothed the wispy tendrils of hair that escaped the tail at the back of her head. “I meant what I said. Finding this treasure wouldn’t be half as satisfying if you weren’t with me.”
Caralyn acknowledged his feelings with a slight tilt of her head and pressed her hands against his chest. How she loved being in his arms, the way the heat of his body warmed her all the way to her soul. “I will endeavor to be more careful.”
“And you’ll wait for me from now on?”
“Yes, I’ll wait for you.”
“Good.” His voice rumbled in his chest and vibrated against her fingertips before his head dipped and his lips touched hers in the gentlest of kisses. For a moment, for a heartbeat, Caralyn ceased to think. The crashing of the waves died away, leaving just the rush of blood to pound in her ears. His mouth slanted over hers and his tongue pushed against her lips, begging entrance, begging permission. With an eagerness that surprised her, Caralyn complied and drew in her breath as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth. Her knees grew weak beneath the tender onslaught and her hands stole around his neck, pulling him closer.
Tristan broke the kiss with a chuckle, his smile brilliant. “Let’s see if Pembrook really stole Izzy’s Fortune and hid it beneath the chapel.” He took her hand. The warmth of his touch, combined with the heat of his kiss, made her clumsy and awkward and she tripped twice as they followed the twisting passage back to rejoin the rest of their party.
Caralyn resisted the urge to giggle when she saw Stitch and Temperance. They were busy picking up all the jewels scattered in the dirt and dropping them into the burlap sack Graham held. If they found no other treasure here, at least they had t
hose jewels.
They continued walking in the opposite direction, Caralyn’s small hand in Tristan’s until the tunnel ended in a small chamber. No treasure chests were piled in the middle of the hollow, no gold displayed for the taking, although a sprinkling of gems sparkled in the light of the lamp. Caralyn let go of Tristan’s hand, raised her lantern, and gasped as the glow revealed a mural painted on the wall.
“Oh my!” Her voice echoed in the chamber. Her heart pounded within her chest and excitement made her stomach clench. Within moments, Temperance and Stitch joined them, as did Graham. “Pembrook didn’t come here to pray. He came to paint, to remember.” She stood back so she could see the entire image. “There’s the Island of the Sleeping Man and its sister islands. Look at this.” She moved closer and her fingers grazed the wall of the cave, over the mural, and came to rest on lines of jewels embedded into the rock. Rubies and lapis lazuli marked the paths they had already explored on the Island of the Sleeping Man, however, there was another path, this one outlined in brilliant emeralds, on the island in the middle. A heart-shaped emerald glistened at the end.
“The map was a ruse, as we know. Pembrook never hid the treasure on the Island of the Sleeping Man, he just wanted everyone to think he had.” Caralyn traced her finger along the line of emeralds. “It’s here.” She turned and caught Tristan’s grin. “Will you take us back to this island?”
He gave an exaggerated bow, the lantern in his hand reflecting light on the path of jewels. “As my lady wishes.”
Euphoria filled her. Though the cave was not filled with the treasure she sought, she would find Izzy’s Fortune. The certainty of it strengthened her resolve.
• • •
“Well?”
Porkchop jumped, dropped the spyglass from his eye, and shivered as Captain Entwhistle sidled up beside him. He’d been so intent on watching Caralyn, he hadn’t heard the captain, hadn’t felt his presence until it was too late.
“Nothin’ te report, sir,” he said and raised the glass to his eye once more. “They’re leavin’ same way they went in. Only carryin’ one burlap sack. I’m thinkin’ Izzy’s Fortune weren’t in the chapel like they thought.”
A Treasure Worth Keeping Page 18