by Lisa Kleypas
You have a husband coming home to you…Philippe is coming back…I’m finished with you…After he’s returned here safely I’ll be gone…
She thought of Risk and how strangely buoyant his manner had been, considering the fact that Justin’s would soon be in Legare’s hands. But then, she had the feeling that Risk did not value human life as others did.
Justin…Philippe…
“Dear Lord,” she whispered through dry lips, “please don’t let anything happen to him…protect both of them…please…”
She buried her head in her arms. She remembered Justin’s face just before she had left him, the hunger in his gaze, the harsh set of his mouth. No matter what he had said, she knew he wanted her. He wanted a lifetime with her, he wanted to be free to love her. But she would never see him again.
A soft sound broke through her agonized thoughts. She lifted her head and looked around the room. Nothing but the sigh of the breeze against the window. Justin was out there, riding through the night. Minute by minute she was losing him.
“Come back to me.” She wasn’t certain if she spoke aloud or was merely hearing the echo of her own thoughts. “Come back, come back…”
She thought of his blue eyes, and her chest ached. She felt as if she were drowning in ice-cold water that froze her veins and forced all the air from her lungs. And then…then…she was in the middle of her nightmare again, the ship and the water, and Philippe drowning before her eyes. Only this time it wasn’t Philippe, but Justin. Legare was holding her, laughing in triumph while she reached for Justin. Justin was dying, slipping away from her, sinking beneath the water…
“No!” Celia raised herself from her knees and stood up, gasping unsteadily. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she brushed them from her cheeks.
Something terrible was going to happen to Justin.
She felt the danger drawing around him. He was being led deeper inside a trap. Something would go wrong with his plan. There was no explaining how she knew, all she could do was trust the feeling she had inside. She had to warn Justin. Chances were that she wouldn’t be able to find him, but she had to try. Rushing from the room, she hurried toward the stable.
The meeting point, Devil’s Pass, was a section of swamp between the river and Lake Borgne, roughly ten miles from the Vallerand plantation. If trouble arose during the exchange, it would be easy to disappear into the nearby salt marsh with its numerous bayous, channels, and coves. From there it was an easy journey to the archipelago, the stretch of water studded with islands including Isle au Corneille. The pirate island was a day’s travel away.
During the ride, with the wind rushing against his ears and the horses’ hooves creating a thundering rhythm, something of the old recklessness came over Justin. He experienced the peculiar freedom of a condemned man—nothing he said or did mattered now; he was in the hands of fate. In the cold night air, suddenly the past weeks seemed like a dream, the memories blurred. He was almost back where he’d begun. But he was different now. His luck, that invisible aura of protection he’d had ever since he could remember, was gone. He was keenly aware of its absence.
Strangely Justin was not afraid; he was filled with unfocused tension that felt like anger. It was directed toward everyone, even Celia. He was not grateful for the brief taste of happiness she had offered him. Given what was to happen, it would have been better if he’d never known her.
The irregular shoreline was covered with shells, swamp sand, and live oak trees. Risk joined them in the cover of the woods, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed the threesome dismounting from their horses. “A skulk o’ Vallerands,” he said quietly, his green eye alive with interest and irreverence. Justin knew that to Risk the situation, with all its danger and possible complications, was the highest entertainment.
Justin glanced across the channel, only about a hundred yards wide. “Have you seen them yet?” he asked.
“Aye, but they’re keepin’ their arses well out o’ sight now. Look alive—Legare’s had them compass the area round about.”
“What about Philippe?”
“Yer brother’s with ’em. Looks fair, standin’ on ’is own.”
Noticing that Risk’s inquiring stare was directed toward Alexandre, Justin gestured toward him briefly. “My Uncle Alex.”
Risk chuckled. “Damned if I knew ye had an uncle.” He met Alex’s cool stare with a jaunty smile.
Alex slid a sidewise glance to Justin. “So this is the kind you’ve chosen to keep company with for the past years, Justin?”
“Risk is a cut above most of the company I’ve kept,” Justin said dryly.
Risk produced a length of rope and approached Justin, his carefree manner evaporating. “They want yer hands tied. One o’ the conditions,” he muttered. “I row ye across at the same time they row Philippe.”
Everyone was quiet. Slowly Justin put his arms behind his back. Risk bound his wrists securely. Max watched the procedure closely, his eyes on Risk’s averted face. Max spoke then, his voice low and soft. “Why is it that I don’t trust you, John Risk?”
Justin’s head snapped up, and he scowled at his father.
Max’s stare was unrelenting. “I’m aware that you consider him a friend, Justin—”
“I’d sooner question your loyalty than his,” Justin growled, fiercely defensive. He would never forget that Risk had lost an eye for him. “What reason have you to doubt him?” he asked. “Your infallible instincts?…Bien, that’s a good enough reason for me to mistrust a man who’s saved my life a dozen times, isn’t it?”
Max frowned and turned away, contemplating the smooth water.
Celia dismounted from her horse and led it into the woods. She had pushed herself and the horse as hard as she could. The closer she got to Devil’s Pass, the stronger her sense of danger grew. Every nerve was prickling with fear. She followed the deep tracks left in the soft ground by the horses’ hooves until she heard the quiet murmur of voices. Cautiously she dropped the reins and drew closer to the water, wary of stumbling into the middle of a dangerous situation.
She leaned against a sturdy tree trunk and peered through an opening in the thicket. The white light of the three-quarter moon filtered through the curtain of mist that hung over the swamp. Everything was quiet except for the small ripples against the shore and the dip of oars into the water. From her vantage point, Celia could see everything: the two sides of the channel, Legare’s men standing on one shore, Vallerands on the other. Legare was not visible, but Maximilien was. He stood with his feet slightly apart and his hands clenched. The exchange had already begun. Pirogues were being rowed away from the shallow banks, two figures in each small vessel.
Mesmerized, Celia watched and chewed the inside of her lower lip. Justin sat with his hands tied behind his back while Risk rowed him across the water. His head was turned toward the other pirogue. Celia knew he was staring anxiously at Philippe to ascertain his brother’s condition. The vessels passed within ten yards of each other. How odd and dreamlike it was, the pirogues gliding across the water, one taking away the man she loved, the other bringing back a husband she had thought was dead.
Her nails dug into the tree bark. That shaggy bearded figure, bound and gagged…could it really be Philippe? He looked exactly as Justin had five months ago, except that his hair and beard weren’t as long, and his skin appeared eerily pale. The sight of him sent a chill down her spine. Part of the past she had thought was gone forever was now returning.
She remembered how she had thought of Philippe as a prince who would sweep her off to some enchanted land. It had been like a fairy tale come true. He was a kind, loving man. It was not his fault that she had discovered needs in herself that only Justin could fulfill. How unfair, how wrong that any of this should have happened to Philippe! Guiltily she thought that now they would seem like strangers to each other. But he was her husband. In the eyes of the church or any moral person, it was her duty to stay with him if that was what he wanted.
/> Justin moved his gaze from the bank where they were headed, his eyes unfocused. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply.
Risk glanced at him, rowing mechanically. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice.
Justin wanted to look behind them, but he didn’t dare. For the first time in his life he was so alarmed he had trouble speaking. He felt that Celia was somewhere nearby and he was helpless to do anything about it. “Celia’s here,” he said.
“Celia?” Risk looked startled. “Have ye seen her? Where?”
“I don’t know, back there…” Justin felt the blood pumping through his body. “After you hand me over to Legare, go back and find her. Make certain nothing happens to her.”
“There’s a look about ye…” Risk murmured, staring hard at Justin. “I’ve nivver seen ye afraid before, Griffin.” Then he shook his head and spit.
The bow of Philippe’s pirogue approached the land, and Max clambered into the knee-deep water. Ignoring the warning from the lout who pulled at the oars, Max reached into the pirogue and lifted his son from it bodily. The craft bobbed violently, and Philippe’s legs splashed in the ice-cold water. After helping Philippe up the bank, Max pulled off the gag that had kept him silent while Alexandre cut the rope that had secured his arms. Gasping, Philippe stared at him with bewildered blue eyes.
Only the eyes were recognizable to Max. Every other resemblance to his elegant, impeccably groomed son was obscured by the long hair and beard, and the tattered, roughly made garments that Max would not have tolerated on one of his slaves. His cheekbones stood out like knifeblades and his skin was gray-white.
Max reached for him and held him tightly. “My God, Philippe,” he said hoarsely, his arms strong and secure around his son. They were both silent for a moment, and then Philippe pulled away, twisting to see Justin being dragged out of the pirogue on the opposite side of the channel.
Philippe turned back to Max. “Why?” he asked desperately. “Why did you let Justin do it?”
“It’s all right,” Max said. “We have a plan—”
“No, no, you’ll never win against Legare! He’ll kill Justin…He’ll…” Philippe’s thin, ragged form swayed, and Max braced him up.
“I’ll see to your brother, mon fils,” Max soothed. “Everything will be all right. Alex will take you home now, d’accord? Go with him. Lysette is waiting and so is Celia.”
“Celia?” Philippe repeated numbly.
“Didn’t Risk tell you when he visited the island that she is alive?”
“I didn’t believe…”
“It is true,” Max reassured him quietly. “She is alive and well, Philippe.”
Philippe slumped in exhaustion and murmured something incoherent. Max looked at Alexandre. “Get him whatever he wants, Alex. And send for Dr. Dassin.”
“What about Risk? Isn’t he rowing back here?”
Max’s gaze shot to the other bank. “I don’t know what that little one-eyed whelp is doing,” he muttered.
Justin fell to his knees as he was shoved to the ground. Someone cuffed him on the side of his head, making his vision blur and ears ring. When the sparks cleared away, he saw Legare standing in front of him, his lips drawn back in a saw-toothed smile. “By God, I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, and struck him again.
Justin tasted blood. He kept his head bent, deciding not to entertain Legare any more than necessary. Philippe was all right now. All Justin had to do was just stay alive until Aug reached him on the island and the attack began.
He heard Risk’s voice nearby. “…I should tell you,” Risk was saying.
“What is it?” Legare demanded.
“He claimed the woman might be hiding somewhere nearby. If ye choose, it won’t be difficult to sniff her out.”
Time seemed to stop. Slowly Justin raised his head and stared at Risk through a mist of hatred, realizing everything all at once. Risk had betrayed him. If he could no longer sail with Justin, he would choose to follow Legare rather than stand on his own legs. He’d tried to tell him before, and Justin hadn’t listened. “No,” Justin rasped. How much of the plan had Risk told Legare? Aug…what about Aug…
Risk met Justin’s eyes without shame. “I would of followed ye the rest o’ me days, Griffin. I would of fought for ye, died for ye. Ye were the one who ended it.”
Legare smiled in satisfaction. “Find Madame Vallerand, then, and bring her along,” he said crisply. “Captain Griffin seems to have a taste for her company.”
Before Justin could make a sound, there was a crashing pain at the back of his head. He fell heavily to the ground. Dazed, he tried to roll to his side. It took a second blow to bring him down, and then everything went dark.
Celia could not see the action on the other side of the water. She stayed hidden and watched as Alexandre lifted Philippe onto a horse, swung up behind him, and rode away from Devil’s Pass. Max remained by the water, staring at the opposite shore. Risk did not return. After a few minutes had passed, Max turned with a curse and strode to his horse.
Celia thought about approaching Max. Surely he must be going back to the plantation now. It would be safer for her if she rode with him. He would be furious to discover she was there, and would probably give her a blistering lecture, but she knew that deep down he would have sympathy for her. Picking her way through the muddy thicket, she took her horse’s reins and began to lead it out of the woods. Max was about fifty yards ahead. She opened her mouth to call to him.
Suddenly a hand clapped over her mouth and pinched her nose shut. She tried to scream. She struggled against a cruel grasp. Her lungs worked frantically, but she could draw in no air.
Jack Risk’s voice burned into her ear. “Ye’ve been his downfall every damn step o’ the way.”
She felt a moment of sickening dizziness, and then she fainted, plummeting into an endless chasm of darkness.
Lysette welcomed Alexandre and Philippe inside the house with a cry of gladness. She was like a small whirlwhind, embracing Philippe fiercely, asking countless questions without waiting for answers, checking him for injuries, giving instructions to the housemaids to begin heating water for a bath. Philippe declined to go upstairs to rest. “I want some decent food,” he said wearily, “and I want to stay awake for as long as possible, and try to make myself believe I am really here.”
Noeline rushed to bring a steaming bowl of gumbo and thick wedges of bread from the kitchen. Lysette dragged him to the cushioned settee in the parlor and hovered over him worriedly. Philippe seemed numb, not fully aware of what was happening around him. His stepmother was relieved to see that he had no serious injuries. But it worried her, the scarecrow-thinness of his limbs and the emptiness in eyes that had always been warm and smiling.
Taking his hands in hers, Lysette examined them and breathed a prayer of thankfulness that they were undamaged. It had been a particular worry of hers that the pirates might have injured Philippe in a way that would prevent him from resuming the medical practice he loved. Philippe’s long, thin fingers tightened over hers. There had always been an affinity between them. In many ways they were very much alike, genial and good-natured, the peacemakers in a family of volatile personalities.
“Where is Celia?” Philippe asked.
It was the question Lysette had dreaded. “She is not here,” she said. She had discovered Celia’s absence only a short time ago, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
“What?” Alexandre braced his hands on the back of the settee and leaned toward her. “Where the hell is she?” Alex demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lysette said, giving him a frankly worried glance. “She is not in the garçonnière and one of the horses is gone. Apparently she left without telling anyone where she was going.”
“You don’t think she tried to—” Alex began, and stopped as Lysette’s eyes flashed a warning. It would not be wise to upset Philippe with speculation.
“I am certain she will return soon,” Lysette said evenly.
&nb
sp; Alexandre frowned. “I will go for Dr. Dassin,” he said. Lysette nodded to him, and he left with a purposeful stride.
Philippe’s face was drawn. “Is Celia in trouble?” he asked.
“Of course not…you are not to worry about anything, comprends? Bien, here is Noeline with some soup, and after you eat you will see Dr. Dassin and have a long rest.”
Philippe looked at her with the shadow of his old smile. “You almost make me believe everything will be all right, Belle-mère.”
“But it will,” she said, so reassuringly that she almost believed it herself.
“No. Justin is at Legare’s mercy,” Philippe said huskily. “He traded his life for mine.”
“Justin is very resourceful. And he has lived among men like Legare for many years. He knows how to take care of himself—and how to get what he wants. Mon Dieu, he managed to rescue Celia from the pirate island and bring her here safely.” She handed him the spoon. “Try some of the gumbo,” she urged, and he began to eat slowly. The spoon shook in his hand. Lysette wanted to take the utensil and feed him as if he were a child, but she did not offer, knowing he would rather do it himself.
“Alex said that Justin has been masquerading as me,” he said after the first few mouthfuls.
“Yes. We thought you were dead. When Justin was brought here wounded, we thought it was the best way to protect him.”
“Badly wounded?”
“Oui. At first we thought he might die. But Celia…” Lysette hesitated, wondering how much he should be told. “Celia nursed him back to health.”
Philippe put down his spoon. “And while he took my place she has been posing as his wife,” he said quietly.
Lysette nodded.
“He did not try to take advantage of her? Celia is an innocent. She would not understand someone like him, his dark side—”
“No, I believe she…understands him very well,” Lysette said uncomfortably.
“Really.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at Lysette in a puzzled way. “I would have thought someone like Celia would hate him, be frightened by him.”