Christie

by Veronica Sattler

  His mouth moved to the hollow where the base of her neck joined her shoulder. "Christie . . . sweet, sweet Christie." And with a sudden shift of weight, he threw his body over hers.

  Once again, Christie panicked. Finding her voice, she cried to him, "Garrett—no, please, I didn't want—Oh, God, no!"

  This time she began a terrified struggle in earnest as she finally realized the gravity of their imminent act. But Garrett was caught up in his own fierce passion, and parting her thighs savagely with his hands, moved to enter her. Then, as he felt the membrane which years of riding astride had been unable to tear, he hesitated, and she saw through her tear-filled eyes a brief look of chagrin on his face.

  "Little fool," he whispered. But in the space of time it had taken to acknowledge the import of the obstruction, he had already gone too far. It was too late to stop or muster any kind of restraint, and with a savage thrust, he pushed cruelly home.

  Christie felt a sharp, searing surge of pain and she cried aloud with it. But Garrett was moving on her now, and, slowly, with the ebbing of the pain, she began to feel him within her. On he worked, moving rhythmically, carefully, but the last surge that brought release was to be singularly his. Then, with a final thrust, it was over, and Garrett found his senses returning as he listened to the soft, quiet sobbing of the girl in his arms.

  "I should have known," he whispered, "to believe your eyes, or what my instincts told me, and not your foolish, lying little lips. Forgive me, Christie."

  Gently, tenderly, he began to wipe the tears from her cheeks as he held her to him, kissing the damp curls that clung to her forehead, and he murmured soft little comforting sounds to her. She seemed to quiet at this, and he laid her carefully down against the pillow.

  Then he stood and quickly donned his clothes and went to cover her bare, trembling body with a blanket, but she cowered timidly in the corner, looking to him much like a frightened deer. Instantly, he was overcome with a wave of self-disgust. Feeling total remorse, his arms reached slowly out for her, and his words were bitter on his tongue.

  "I think I wanted you so badly that I only needed the flimsy excuse you gave me to lie to myself. You had to be a virgin and, as such, I shouldn't have touched you. I am sorry." And wrapping her tenderly in the blanket, he held her as she continued to sob gently against his chest.

  Part Three

  Chapter Nine

  It was growing dark in the cabin as Christie awakened from a troubled sleep. Slowly it dawned on her, where she was, and her cheeks turned crimson as she drew the blanket up around her nakedness. At that moment, with all the details of the episode which had brought her to this state crowding in on her mind, she realized she'd never before felt so lost.

  "Oh, what a fool I've been," she thought. "What am I going to do?"

  With a creak, the door to the cabin opened and Garrett entered.

  "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up," he said matter-of-factly. "I've arranged to have some supper brought for lis. It'll be here in a few minutes."

  Wrapping the blanket more snugly around her, Christie forgot the despair of moments before.

  "Supper! I don't want any supper now—I. . ." Slowly, with a growing dread, she began to realize the ship was moving! "Where—where are we going?

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "To New York. With good sailing conditions, we would be there in about three days."

  "New York?" she said in disbelief. "In three days?"

  "Sounds like an echo in here," he mused.

  "But you can't be taking me with you—New York! "It seemed like the end of the world to her right then, and she almost choked as she mentioned the destination. "Turn around—at once! Do you hear? I've got to go home!"

  "My dear Christie. Home is, at this point, several hours away. I couldn't take you there now if I wanted to—which I don't. We've been at sea for five hours."

  Incredulous shock was about to give way to fury when there came a knock at the door. At Garrett's request, it opened, and there, with a large tray of food his hands, stood the boy she'd left in charge of Thunder.

  Ain't dropped nuthin' yet, boss," he chirped. How's ah doin'?"

  "Just fine, Jasper," said Garrett. "Set it down over there, on the table, please."

  The boy complied, and shooting a broad grin at, first Christie, then Garrett, he made to leave. "Anythin' else, boss?"

  "If you're going to learn to be a proper cabin boy, Jasper, the correct term of address is 'sir.' Can you remember that?"

  "Sho', boss. Yas, suh!"

  That will do. Go ask Cook what help he needs in the galley and send Lula to me, please." With a final "Yas, suh," the boy left, and Christie recovered some of her wits.

  "You've kidnapped him, too? And what about Thunder? You can't have left him, tied up on the dock like that—"

  "Easy, easy, little one. Thunder is safely secured in the hold, in the berth reserved for Gypsy, my brother Jesse's horse, when he makes a trip. Wish I could say the same for the comfort of my Jet. That horse of yours doesn't take too kindly to another stallion quartered so close to him. He's already bitten him twice."

  "You've kidnapped us all," she said dully.

  "Nonsense. Jasper and his mother—you'll meet her in a minute—are freedmen, and I've hired them to work for me. Jasper isn't sure whether he wants a life at sea or something landlocked, so I've offered him an opportunity to choose. Lula is needed at Riverlea." He was uncovering the tray Jasper had placed on the table, and with the aromas drifting over to her, Christie knew she was hungry.

  "Food looks good. Come, sit down and eat."

  But Christie's anger stubbornly got the best of her. "How can you suggest eating when I'm being taken to New York against my will?" She began to raise her voice as her anger found vent now. "Why are you doing this? Doesn't it mean anything to you that I don't want to be here? I demand you answer me!"

  "My dear Christie," he replied. "Hear me. I am captain of this ship, and in all future dealings with me, you will address me with greater respect than you seem inclined to show now. We are at sea, and I have complete authority on this vessel. When you speak to me properly, then—and only then—will I answer your questions. In the meantime, you will obey me without question. Is that understood?"

  Rage, pure and unadulterated, choked at her throat. Forgetting her state of undress beneath the blanket, Christie rose from where she sat on the bunk and lunged at him, raking her nails across his face as she screamed, "Kidnapper!"

  Hands with grips of steel came up and caught her wrists. Twisting them severely behind her back, he imprisoned her in a trice.

  "On second thought, I don't think you've yet the manners to eat," he said. "You'll just ha veto sit there until you acquire some."

  Grabbing the sash to a robe he was going to offer her, he jerked her down into a nearby chair and began to tie her hands with it, behind her own and the chair's back. Her feet were also bound, one to a stretcher on each side, with a length of rope he found in a chest lying on the floor.

  "One scream, and I'll gag you as well," he said. "Don't try it. Now, when you tell me you can behave like a lady, I'll release you and you may dine. Meanwhile, I think I'll eat while it's hot."

  He sat down, then, and began to pour himself a glass of wine from a decanter nearby.

  Christie's humiliation at being thus trussed up was bad enough. Added to that were her feelings at being so bound without her clothes, and she passed beyond the ability to deal with it with words. Angry tears began to fall silently.

  "I hate you," she managed to get out.

  "Mmmm. Delicious meal," he said. "You really ought to try some." He looked up at her from his meal for a moment. "All you need do is give me your word you'll behave," he added, "and you can join me. I really hate dining alone."

  "You bastard!" she spat.

  "Looks like the manners aren't there yet."

  He took another bite when a knock came at the door. Laying down his fork, he grabbed his
robe from where it was hanging from a peg behind the door and wrapped it around Christie, chair and all.

  "Yes?"

  "It's Lula, Cap'n Randall."

  "Oh, yes, Lula. Come in."

  The door opened. Through it walked a small black woman of about thirty. She was barefoot and wore a red blouse that looked slightly too large for her, with a printed skirt of bright green and red, ruffled at the bottom. Her tiny, shell-like ears sported bright gold hoops, and her close-cropped hair revealed a finely molded head that framed a beautiful face of chocolate brown. The brow was high and wide, with a perfectly proportioned African nose to compliment it, the nostrils delicate and slightly flaring. Her small, pointed chin seemed to countermand the heaviness of proud, full lips, all set carefully above a high, graceful neck. But her eyes were a study in themselves. They were jet black and seemed to have the capacity to penetrate whatever they saw; and one look at them revealed there was little that escaped their notice.

  "Lula, this is Miss Trevellyan. She seems to have come aboard without her lady's maid. Can you fill in?"

  The black eyes missed nothing. Eying Christie from head to toe, she gave a snort. "Dis chile be needin' mo' dan a lady's maid, if you ask me! Cap'n Randall, no offense, suh, but kin you make yo'se'f scarce fo' a whahl? Ah needs t' talk wid dis baby."

  "Tell you what, Lula. Give me ten minutes to finish eating and I'll leave you and her alone here together. In the meantime, could you take these to your own quarters for mending?" He handed her Christie's torn riding habit and shift. "I'm afraid they met with an accident."

  "Raht away, Cap'n." Then, giving Christie an admonishing yet not uncaring look, she said to her, "Chile, you bettah eat sumpfin' fo' ah gits back. Ain' gonna do you no good, nohow, not eatin'. You gonna need yo' stren'th—fo' sho'," and with this, slipped the tattered garments under one arm and marched out.

  When the door had closed again, Garrett looked at Christie. "Well, what will it be? Do I leave you trussed up all night, or will you act with some sense? Ready to promise to behave?"

  Dully, she nodded.

  Garrett smiled. "Good girl." Quickly he moved to untie her, but to do this, he first had to remove the robe, once again exposing her nude body. Then, as he bent to undo her hands, his hard belly brushed against the taut-tipped roundness of her breasts. The effect was electric for both of them.

  Hot blood began to pound in his temples, and as he bent lower to untie her feet, he clenched his teeth in an attempt at restraint. Christie, meanwhile, felt a wild shiver of excitement go through her at his touch, and when he rose, he found her blushing.

  Softly, he chuckled. "Ah, little one, it doesn't take much when I'm near you."

  Pulling her to her feet, he wrapped the robe carefully about her, pulling her into his embrace as he did this. The hair on her head tickled his chin and he could smell the sweet scent of it as he held her. Taking a deep breath, he handed her the sash she'd been bound with.

  "Here," he said gruffly. "Put this around you."

  The robe, even when tied, was swimming on Christie, and once again she had the feeling of being small and dependent in the face of his great size and strength. He had taken to calling her "little one," and she had been about to protest that she was too tall to be little when she noticed him towering above her and thought better of it. Silently she went to take her seat at the table and to her surprise, Garrett drew the chair out for her.

  "I hope it isn't all too cold," he said, placing several tasty-looking morsels on her plate. "Wine?"

  Christie nodded, and he filled her glass. Then he looked at her, his green eyes sparkling.

  "Would you like some questions answered now?"

  At the unhoped-for kindness in his tone, Christie responded with a wide, dazzling smile that went all the way to her eyes, endowing her face with an angelic sweetness. It had an explosive effect on Garrett. He felt a sharp lurch in the pit of his stomach and a constriction in his chest as if someone had tied some wire tightly across it. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What is it you would like to know first? Why I've decided to take you to New York?"

  The soothing feeling of once more having food in her belly together with the mellowing effects of the wine worked positively on Christie, and this, combined with his changed mood, gave her spirits a lift that was not at all unpleasant, and she responded with increased warmth in her tone. "Yes, please, Garrett."

  "I'm afraid I'm taking you to New York," he began, "because, frankly, I don't know what else t.o do with you. It was imperative that I sail with the tide, and at that time, you were in no condition to go anywhere." He smiled weakly at her. "I couldn't just leave you in Fredericksburg without the clothes you came in, you know. Perhaps we can discover some suitable story to explain your disappearance between now and docking and send an explanatory message to your father at that time while we put you safely on a ship returning to Virginia. Do you have any friends up north?"

  "N-no. The only time I ever even heard anyone mention New York was when Father was discussing some business interests there with Barnaby Rutledge—that's his partner/factor of sorts. They're very close," she added.

  "This Barnaby—where is he now?" He took another sip of wine.

  "I'm not sure. I only know he left Fredericksburg this morning on some matter common to his and Father's interests. But I could never, even if we could find him, ask Uncle Barnaby to lie for me. We Trevellyans were raised on the truth," she said proudly.

  Garrett took a final bite of veal on his fork. "Well, it's going to have to be a story somewhat removed from the truth that we concoct to conceal what's really happened," he said firmly, "or your reputation—not to mention your father's heart—is liable to be shattered. I'll try to work something out. In the meantime, I've ordered a bath prepared for you, and then I think we all need to get some sleep."

  At the question in her eyes, his tone became harder again. "You'll sleep in my cabin. This is a merchant schooner, built for carrying cargo, not passengers. If you don't remain here, the only alternative is a hammock in the crew's quarters, which is where Lula and her son are staying. Of course, Lula can handle herself. But I hardly think you'd be able to do the same. However, the choice is yours." There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he laid his napkin down.

  Feeling, somehow, a vanishing of the pleasant mood of few moments before, Christie sat up stiffly in her chair.

  "If you think—"

  A knock at the door interrupted her words, which was probably fortunate because Garrett's face had hardened with her tone, and, given the chance, he would have renewed the hostilities between them.

  Garrett opened the door to admit Lula, followed by a contingent of three crew members carrying a large brass tub already partly filled with water. Behind them came Jasper with two large buckets of steaming water in his hands. They looked heavier than he was. Issuing orders briskly, Lula had them set up the bath in one corner of the already crowded cabin.

  "You, man, easy how you set dat down, now!" came the command. "Boy!" She indicated Jasper. "Don' jus' stan' aroun' gapin'—fill dat tub! Cain't you see dis chile's tah'd? She gotta have huh baf in a hurry so's she kin git some sleep!"

  With not a little speed, they complied. Then, together with Garrett, who was chuckling merrily at the whole scene, they hurried out, leaving Christie alone with Lula, and the bath.

  Dutifully, Christie allowed Lula to disrobe her, and with a weary sigh, settled down into the warm water. The effect was one of absolute luxury, and her tired muscles slowly relaxed in the wet warmth.

  "Oh, Lula," she exclaimed. "You're a godsend. Thank heaven you're here! Where'd you find this tub?"

  "Don' go thankin' me. Dis heah wuz de cap'n's idea. Whut yo' name, chile?" She began to wash Christie's long hair.

  "Christie—Christie Trevellyan. Garrett—the captain—tells me you and Jasper are freed blacks."

  "Jus' me's been freed. Me'n mah po' dead William. We got freed when de ol' massah died. But Jasper— he nevah had t' b
e freed," she said proudly. "He wuz bo'n free. Happen jus'a week aftah wegotdepapahs, de yeah befo' his daddy went 'n got hisse'f kilt. Damn fool! But don' let's be talkin' 'bout me! How'd you git yo'se'f in dis mess, Christie, chile?"

  She poured the one remaining bucket of clear water over the girl's lathered head as a rinse.

  "Oh, Lula! I'm so ashamed! I can't talk about it."

  "Nonsense, chile. 'Sides, ah guess ah knows already." She eyed the sheet on the bunk, still bearing traces of Christie's virginal blood on it. "De 'po'tant pahts, anyways."

  So, as she helped her young charge through the rest of the bath, Lula got Christie to part with the details of how she came to be there. The black woman listened while she worked, giving appropriate grunts of disapproval at certain spots in the tale.

  " 'Peahs whut you need raos' 'bout now is a friend, chile," she said finally. She was toweling dry the long, wheat-colored hair while Christie lay, face down, on the freshly sheeted bunk, wrapped only in a large towel. "An' ah 'spec' ah'll do bettafT'n mos'. Don' you worry, baby, we gonna figgah a way home fo' you."

  Then, giving Christie a final pat on her back, she moved toward the door. "If you need me, jus' sen' word. Jasper's on watch outsahd dis do'. Hell come 'n fetch me."

  "You're not leaving?" Christie sounded frightened.

  " 'Fraid ah gotta. Cap'n's o'dahs. Dey's a lotah kin do to make it easiah fo' you, chile, but it don' include flauntin' o'dahs from de man dat pay mah wages. Ah'll be back in de mo'nin'. G'naht."

  She left and seconds later, Garrett entered. He looked the part of a captain of a seagoing vessel. He wore a dark coat of deep blue wool over tight-fitting seaman's breeches of a lighter hue. His head was bare, the hair tousled and windblown, and there was a fine coating of sea spray on it. Removing the coat, he hung it on a peg near the door and moved to warm his hands at the small iron stove which glowed warmly at one end of the room.