Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(101)

A shot cracked in the narrow hall, making Justin’s ears ring.

Legare hesitated and then continued to move. The sickening thought that he hadn’t been hit raced across Justin’s brain. Then Legare began to fall forward, clumsily aiming the point of his sword. Justin jerked to the side, the rapier slicing through the air and narrowly missing him.

Legare let out a howl of fury that congealed his blood. “Damn you, Griffin!”

Then all was quiet. As Justin’s eyes adapted to the darkness and daylight crept timidly into the shattered parapet, he saw Legare’s face frozen in a death mask, eyes staring blankly and lips curled back in a grimace. He had been fatally wounded in the stomach. The spring gun had done its work.

Justin stood up and braced himself against the wall, looking down at the twisted form. Dazedly he wondered why everything was so quiet and still, why the noise and explosions had stopped. The naval siege had ended. Soon military officers would be swarming over the island.

“Griffin,” he heard Aug’s voice from above.

Laboriously Justin left the passage and mounted the steps. He picked up his rapier as he ascended. Aug was at the top, regarding him without surprise. Justin frowned at him. “How did you know Legare wasn’t the one left standing?”

“I have known you too long to doubt you,” Aug said simply.

Another body was crumpled right outside the entrance, one of the two men who had challenged Aug. Justin glanced at Aug questioningly. “Where’s the other one?”

Aug shrugged. “He ran away.”

Justin smiled slightly, and then thought about Celia. “Get me to the entrance of the tunnel.” They set off to the edge of the fort. Aug grabbed a burning torch that had been stuck in the sand. Flames and black smoke leaped toward the sky from the palmetto-thatched village, the tavern, and the brothel. The burning island was a vision of hell.

A copse of twisted oak guarded the entrance to the tunnel. The opening in the ground was nearly concealed by shrubs, fern, and moss. “She should be out here by now.” Aug said, searching the edge of the thicket.

“Celia!” Justin called hoarsely, then took the torch from Aug. “Something’s wrong,” he said, knowing instinctively that searching above ground was a waste of time. He crouched low as he entered the tunnel. Gradually the space widened, but not enough for him to stand up. He was aware of Aug following him. “Celia!” he called. All he could hear was the mocking echo of her name. They forged ahead about one hundred feet and then the course branched off in two directions. Justin paused. “Which way did she come from?” he asked.

Aug pointed straight ahead. “There.”

Justin glanced at the sharp turn to his right. “Where does that lead?”

“The brothel.”

“We’ll try that way first.”

“It is not likely she would have—”

“It’s damn likely she did,” Justin said grimly, taking the path to the right. “I know her. She has a talent, a gift, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

They made their way along the twisting course. Justin smelled smoke, and he frowned as they continued. He stopped short as he was confronted by the collapsed tunnel, heavy rock, dust, and debris blocking their way. Near the top of the pile was a fissure through which small hands were prying. Smothered cries reached his ears.

He dropped the torch and the rapier, his mind going blank. In a frenzy he hurled himself toward the opening, grasping a large hunk of rock and struggling to pull it away. Cursing, straining, he sent the boulder tumbling down the pile. Aug worked beside him, both of them pawing and tearing at the rock wall.

Justin forced his head, shoulder, and arm through the opening they had widened. Blindly he reached out, grabbed hold of a slim arm, and began to pull. Aug helped him drag a buxom woman with brown hair through the hole, and she collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the pile, coughing weakly.

Desperately Justin reached in again. His wrist was grasped by another pair of female hands. A second woman was pulled through the wall of rubble, and a third, and Justin saw that Celia wasn’t among them. Shaking, he threw himself at the opening. “Celia!” His eyes blurred with sweat and tears. “Celia—”

He felt a hand grip his, and he clenched it hard enough to make the delicate bones compress beneath his fingers. He pulled her arm through the hole, reached in and grasped the back of her dress, and hauled her out. Celia lay against him, her body trembling. Justin cradled her in his lap, terrified that it had been too much for her, that she might die. With a low animal groan he rubbed his cheek against her singed hair. “My God…Celia…”

Her arms clenched around his neck. “I’m all right,” she whispered against his ear. “I’m all right.”

After a minute her swollen eyes slitted open. She heard the rough choking of his breath in her hair and realized with astonishment that he was crying. She twisted to sit up in his lap, staring at him. “Justin…” Her voice was hoarse. She wiped his tearstained cheek with her fingers, leaving streaks of black across his face. As he stared at her and felt her reassuring touch, some of the torment left his gaze. “It wasn’t that bad…I haven’t been hurt. Now…get me out.”

She began to push herself off his lap, and his arms tightened. He didn’t want to let go of her.