More Than You Know (30 page)

"I'm afraid so."

"What made you get into the canoe? Leave the island?"

"Fear, I suppose."

"Of what?"

"Isn't that one of the reasons we're here?” she asked a little impatiently. “Did you think it would all come flooding back to me once I came ashore?"

"No ... I don't know. I didn't...” Rand's voice trailed off.

Claire sighed, regretting her shortness with him a moment ago. “It's all right. I didn't know what to expect myself. There was part of me that hoped that coming back to Pulotu would be enough. Then I thought coming ashore was what I needed to do. Now it merely seems that Dr. Messier was wrong and every other physician was right. It's not your fault. You came down on the side of everyone who tried to talk me out of it."

"I'd have rather been wrong,” he said quietly.

"I know.” She felt his arm come around her shoulder and she leaned into him. She pointed in the direction of the fire pit. Flames were crackling, but she still couldn't smell their dinner roasting. “Have they decided who's gutting and who's cooking?"

Rand looked over at the quartet hunkered down beside the fire. “It looks as if they're casting lots. How hungry are you? I can tell them to—"

"No. Let them work it out. I can wait."

"I saw some wine in the supplies that Cutch delivered. Would you like that?"

"Yes. Very much."

Rand left Claire's side long enough to root through the crates for glasses and wine. He poured them both some, then set the bottle securely in a sand mound beside him. He touched her glass with his and was rewarded with Claire's serene smile. It left Rand wishing he was alone with her. “I should have ordered Cutch to take everyone with him."

Claire understood the direction of his thoughts. “Tonight I'll let you take me to the lagoon,” she said. “While they're all sleeping, we'll go swimming."

Rand wondered how he could hurry nightfall. “Have you done that before?” he asked.

"Alone,” she said. “Many times. I used to go off by myself often, mostly at night when no one would miss me. I've explored most of the shoreline of the island on foot or by boat."

"But not the interior?"

"No. Not without the others. It's too dense to go far without help. I explored the tikis on my own or with Tipu, but that's all.” Claire sipped her wine. “Do you think the treasure's here?"

Rand was quiet for a moment. The truth discouraged him. “I don't know,” he said.

Claire found his forearm and ran her hand along its length. “Tell me the legend."

"You know it."

"I know some version of it. Everyone does. But I've never heard it from a Hamilton or a Waterstone. What is it your family passed on to you?"

Rand topped off his glass before he answered. “You have to know that James Hamilton and Henry Waterstone were friendly rivals first, friends second. They each enjoyed favored status as privateers. Queen Elizabeth issued them letters of marque which allowed them to prey on the Spaniards at will. They were successful independently, in part because of their rivalry, but the large prizes, the kind that would bring them great fortune and notoriety, eluded them.

"I don't know who first suggested collaborating—that's been lost in the retelling—but James and Henry agreed to take the Spaniards together. They made a modest fortune for the crown until they seized the prize meant for Pope Gregory. In addition to gold, there were gems that were chosen because of their graduated colors. Placed side by side they would be a rainbow of precious stones. The captains knew too well what they had. It both awed and frightened them. The wealth of the prize was beyond anything they could have imagined."

Rand glanced at Claire. Her expression was rapt. She nudged him with her elbow to make him continue. “They decided not to return to England immediately. Although they captured their prize in the Atlantic, the voyage they had set out to make was supposed to take them to Peru. They saw no reason to alter their course. They continued to capture Spanish ships and gold around South America, but they gradually grew more cautious, afraid of losing what they'd already taken. Finally they stopped pirating altogether and set out across the Pacific.

"James and Henry couldn't agree on how to divide the prize or what portion should be returned to the queen. When it looked like the two crews were going to turn on each other, the captains reconciled long enough to form another alliance. They split one fifth of the booty among the men on both ships. Another fifth they agreed to carry back to Elizabeth. Three fifths, including the seven sisters, they determined to hide. They knew that if they returned to England with the entire treasure, they would see very little of it for their efforts."

"But they didn't hide it together,” Claire said. “Why not?"

"They didn't trust each other. There was a cartographer on Henry's ship who was in the queen's employ. They chose him to find a place to hide the treasure. The man must have suspected it was a death sentence, or perhaps he believed he'd be left behind. He was either clever or desperate when he devised his own plan. He hid the treasure but left the captains separate riddles to recover it. They could find the treasure again if they let him live or if they worked together to solve the riddles. Evidently James and Henry thought they could work together because the mapmaker was killed."

"Who did it?” asked Claire.

"Henry Waterstone,” said Rand. “And if his descendants had survived, I'm sure they'd say with equal certainty that it was James Hamilton. It's another of those things lost in the retelling."

"Like the significance of the holes in the paper,” she mused.

"Or even if there's any significance. Henry and James were further divided after the murder. It's an irony that their names are both attached to the treasure."

"Who was the cartographer? Does anyone remember his name?"

Rand chuckled. “I've never been able to discover it, but I have a name for the clever bastard.” He saw Claire's quizzical expression. “I call him Mercutio."

Understanding Rand's dark humor did not take Claire long.
"A plague on both your houses,"
Claire quoted softly. “From
Romeo and Juliet."
Her features became troubled. “I don't like it, Rand."

He shrugged. “You have to admit it's fitting. It's not the treasure that's been cursed all these years, but the houses of Hamilton and Waterstone."

The lagoon was quiet, almost unnaturally so. It was as if the stillness had substance. Claire found herself reluctant to move once she discovered it. She stood on a slip of smooth rock, her body poised for flight, and breathed deeply of air redolent with hibiscus and humus.

From the water Rand watched her slender figure rise on tiptoe. If there was fear, it was not evident to him. If there was hesitation, he couldn't find it. Claire's body made a graceful arc before it broke the lagoon's placid surface and disappeared entirely.

Claire broke the water again a few feet away. “Rand?"

Until that moment Rand was unaware that he was holding his breath. Now he let it out slowly and closed the distance between them. “Right here."

Treading water, Claire turned. “Will you take my hand?"

Rand found her wrist and pulled her toward him. He drew Claire toward shallower water, where he could comfortably stand. He didn't mind that she didn't test the depth, but chose to attach herself to him instead. Her legs circled his hips and she placed her hands on his shoulders. She dipped backward, wetting her hair again so that every strand was pulled away from her face. When she came back up, Rand's mouth was waiting for her.

He kissed her deeply. At the small of her back his hands tightened. Her thighs cradled him more intimately. She lifted her hips, searching instinctively. It was the thrust of Claire's body that joined them. She was the one who stole his breath.

Claire broke the kiss. Her fingers covered the wet trail from his shoulders to the nape of his neck. Her thumbs brushed his jaw. “Are you watching me?” she whispered.

"Hmmm."

She tugged on his hair. “Are you?"

"Yes.” Even with no moon it was still possible to make out the shadowed features of her face. The canopy of palms did not cover the entire lagoon. There was a natural skylight at the center and starshine was mirrored in the water. “Yes,” he repeated, his voice husky. “I'm watching you."

"Don't."

"How's that?"

"Close your eyes. See me the way I see you."

Rand shut his eyes. A moment later Claire's fingers brushed his lids. He smiled. “Didn't you think I would do it?"

"Sssh,” she said, touching his mouth. She raised her head and replaced her fingers with her lips. She kissed him gently with her damp mouth. Her breasts rubbed against his chest. Her nails lightly scored the length of his spine.

Rand felt every muscle in his body grow taut. Beneath his skin there was a shudder of sensation, not of release but of anticipation. He waited for her to move, to rise and fall on the part of him she held as if it were a part of herself. She didn't. His penis remained rigid inside her and she remained motionless.

He became aware of her breathing. He heard the same cadence in the gentle surge of water against the rocks. It was a softly primal rhythm, untouched by time. It resonated through him until he was deaf to everything save that sound and it became a dull roar in his ears.

Claire's mouth was on his neck. She sipped his skin. Her tongue flicked at the base of his ear. Her teeth caught his lobe and tugged. She was weightless in his arms, yet he had never been so aware of her. The planes and angles of his own body were defined by the curves of hers. His chest tightened when Claire's breasts swelled. She rubbed her nipples against him, arched, and began to move in his arms.

Rand thought it was possible he would come out of his skin. Her lips slanted hungrily across his and her tongue was thrust into his mouth. Her body moved insistently, sinuously. His response came without thought. He did not know where she was going to touch him or how. He only knew that he did not want her to stop.

Claire buried her face in the curve of Rand's neck as he came. She held him tightly, as if it were her body supporting them both and not his. The water seemed cooler than it had moments earlier. She shivered a little as she felt herself being lowered. When her feet finally touched bottom she was shoulder deep in the water. She still leaned against Rand and covered his heartbeat with her palm. Neither of them spoke.

Rand bent his head and kissed the damp crown of Claire's hair. The scent of English lavender had been replaced by the island fragrances of hibiscus and torch ginger. He led her to a blanket of ferns at the edge of the lagoon, and with his eyes wide open this time, he made love to her.

"It's like drowning,” she whispered. Her words were faintly slurred as she turned sleepily in his arms. Claire had let Rand help her into her shift, but she wouldn't let him take her back to camp. At daybreak they could return, she'd told him. “Even with the ground at my back, it's like that."

Rand's smile was wry as he listened to Claire's dreamy tone. “We almost
did
drown,” he pointed out.

Claire lifted herself on one elbow. She found Rand's mouth with her fingers, then with her own lips. The kiss was sweetly tender. She touched the side of his face. “That was for not minding."

Rand's chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Go to sleep."

She did, but only for a short while. In spite of the pleasant weariness that made her resist moving from Rand's side, Claire found herself wide awake.
A plague on both your houses.
She turned Mercutio's dying curse over in her mind again. Montagues and Capulets. Hamiltons and Waterstones. Rand was not far off the mark in comparing the animosity that existed between the two families. James Hamilton and Henry Waterstone would have been contemporaries of Shakespeare, and the legend was born during that time. Was it possible the bard found inspiration for his feuding family there?

Claire sat up. Drawing her legs toward her chest, she smoothed her shift over her knees and tucked the hem under her toes. Her mouth twisted to one side as she remained deep in thought. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
A plague on both your houses.
It had taken three centuries to eliminate the Waterstones, but it was done. Claire did not want to believe that the Hamiltons were on a course toward the same fate, yet it was difficult to ignore that the line of men whose responsibility it was to secure the riddle was approaching extinction. Shelby, David, and Rand's father were all gone. Bria might never have children.

Claire felt a stirring in her womb and a longing so intense that it was almost painful. The fear that followed robbed her of breath.

"Claire?"

She had not realized she made any sound until he said her name. A second sob rose in her throat and threatened to choke her when she tried to hold it back. Tears rushed to Claire's eyes and she shuddered.

Rand sat up. Without a word his arms went around her. He could feel her entire body trembling. “I'm taking you back to camp. Dr. Stuart—"

Claire gulped for air. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. I'm not sick. Not—"

Then Rand understood. Claire was frightened. She was experiencing the same intense fear she had on
Cerberus
after her illness. “Nothing's going to happen,” he whispered. “I won't let anything hurt you."

But that wasn't the problem, Claire thought. “It's you,” she said raggedly, turning in his arms. “Nothing can hurt
you."

He tried to soothe her, his tone vaguely patronizing. “All right, nothing can hurt me."

Claire pushed at his chest and released herself from his embrace. “You don't know about curses,” she told him, her body rigid now. Her hands were folded into fists and her knuckles dug into her thighs. She spoke the words of the riddle like a mantra.
"Blood will run. Flames will come. Blazing sun, blinding some. Blades lifted high across the plain. Flood water rising, months of rain. A plague will ink clouded skies. Grieving, shadows beneath thy eyes."
It was difficult for Claire to breathe again. She started to get to her feet.

Rand grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. “There's no curse, Claire."

She shook her head. “Mercutio,” she whispered. “You said so yourself."

Rand's eyes widened. He swore softly as he held her to him again. “I didn't mean it, Claire. Not a word."

"You meant it."

He just held her then. Rand recognized the futility of trying to argue his point. He changed his strategy and applied his energy toward helping Claire become calm again. He absorbed her restlessness and dried her tears. His fingers combed through her damp hair. He rubbed her back, warming her. Rand had no measure for the passage of time. It might have been only minutes that he held her, or the better part of an hour. What he knew with certainty was that Claire's slender frame grew heavy against him as her breathing steadied. He held her long past the point that she was sleeping deeply.

Sunrise brought pale yellow light into the lagoon. The dark green canopy was speared by shafts of light wherever there was an opening. One of them fell across Claire's shoulder as she slept on.

Rand knelt at the edge of the lagoon and cupped his hands in the water. He sluiced his face and neck and raked back his hair with damp fingers. In the distance, where the shallow channel opened up to the sea, Rand could make out the tall masts of
Cerberus.
Cutch had returned with the ship sometime during the night. Rand did not allow himself to hope that Cutch's mission had been more successful than his own.

Claire was sitting up when Rand turned around. She was stretching her arms and trying to hold back a yawn. In every way the effort was a comic contortion. She froze when she heard Rand's deep chuckle.

"May I have a private moment?” she asked with some asperity.

Rand cleared his throat. “Of course. I'll turn around."

Claire didn't believe him, but she finished stretching anyway. Rising to her feet, she asked for direction, then padded softly and unerringly to Rand's side. She knelt and performed her morning ablutions in the same manner as Rand had. She imagined his eyes on her as water trickled down her throat and dampened the neckline of her shift. “I can feel sunshine on my face,” she said.

Her skin glowed. The light lifted red highlights in her hair to the surface. In profile her features were serene, and when she turned to Rand he saw that it was no trick of the sunlight. Claire's expression was untroubled, her smile genuinely unaffected.

He couldn't imagine not kissing her, so he did.

"Why did you do that?” she asked as he drew back. She had an urge to touch her mouth, to reaffirm the fading imprint of Rand's tender kiss.

"Because I wanted to."

Her smile deepened. “Hedonist.” She thrust her hands forward, intending a playful shove. She miscalculated her own strength and Rand's position and nearly toppled them both in the water. Laughing, Claire scrambled to her feet and neatly eluded his grasp.

Rand shook his head as his arms came up empty. His eyes were admiring as they followed her progress back to the bed of ferns. Her sense of direction was unerring. She had found her neatly folded pile of clothes and was beginning to dress by the time he joined her.

Rand sat down and picked up his socks and boots. “We need to discuss what happened last night,” he said.

Claire was smoothing her stocking from ankle to knee. Her fingers paused briefly. Her faint smile was self-mocking. “So it wasn't an unpleasant dream."

"No,” he said. “Not a dream."

She nodded slowly. It was not what she wanted to hear, but it was what she expected. “Can you forgive me?"

Rand's puzzlement was real. “Forgive you? For what?"

"For being so ... so...” Words failed her.

"So female?” he suggested.

"You only said that because I haven't anything to throw at your head."

Rand grinned. There was some truth to that. “I said it because it's as ridiculous as you supposing you need forgiveness.” His effortless smile faded as his tone grew more serious. “I want to explore Pulotu more thoroughly this morning, especially around the tikis. I can send you back to the ship if you'd like. There's no reason for you to stay if being here frightens you so badly."

"I want to be here,” Claire said. “With you. Last night ... last night my thoughts tumbled out of control. I'll do better today."

Rand could tell it was still difficult for her to talk about. The strain showed at the corners of her mouth and in the small crease between her dark brows. “Tell me about your thoughts."

Claire slipped on her other stocking and smoothed it over her calf. There was a sensation of tightness in her chest, but it was no more than she could bear. “I never realized so clearly how the curse has affected your family. With your father and brothers gone, and your sister unlikely to ever marry, I recognized for the first time how much the curse rides on your shoulders. Those words in the riddle—the ones you think describe a rainbow of precious stones—they could just as easily be describing the war you fought."

"They could describe any war,” Rand said. “I imagine those who came before me considered that. There have been wars and plagues and floods enough these past three hundred years to make every part of the riddle seem prophetic. That was the cartographer's talent."

"There are no more Waterstones,” she said quietly.

"Families come and go. It's the nature of nature. You've studied Darwin. It's only arrogance or superstition that sets forth an argument that excludes humans from natural law—just as if we weren't part of the animal kingdom."