Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(30)

He was silent, watching her closely.

Celia shook her head, suspicions burgeoning in her mind. She could not ignore the fact that there were similarities, albeit superficial ones, between Griffin and Philippe. Was that purely coincidental? Could it be? If what she was thinking was true, then she was the greatest fool and he was the most heartless scoundrel that had ever lived. “You have admitted that you are acquainted with the Vallerands,” she continued slowly. “Perhaps it is more than just an acquaintance…Perhaps it is some sort of…kinship?”

Still he did not reply. But those unfathomable blue eyes continued to rest on hers, and she felt her knees weaken. Had she not been so confused and frightened during the last two days, she might have guessed before now. “S-somehow you are related to Philippe,” she whispered, swaying unsteadily. Immediately his arm was there to support her, and she accepted its strength without thought. “You are helping me because I am Philippe’s widow, and you…are a Vallerand.”

Chapter 5

When Celia had found her balance, Griffin let go of her and spoke very quietly. “I’m helping you at the risk of my own life. If you make any kind of a scene, or try to alert anyone between now and the time we reach the plantation, I’ll have to kill you for the sake of my family and my own neck. Understand?”

She could not help but believe his threat. She had seen for herself that he was a ruthless cutthroat. Her fear of him, however, was outweighed by indignation and a sense of terrible injustice. “You must have known Philippe,” she accused. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to blurt it out to the men on the island, or the relay crew.”

“How could you have done what you did to me last night—especially if you knew Philippe?” she whispered angrily. “Are you a Vallerand? Or of some related family? Are you one of Philippe’s cousins? Mon Dieu, why did you take me last night if—”

“Because I wanted you. Now keep still.”

A temper she did not even know she had flared out of control. “I will not,” she said, her voice rising. The two men working the oars glanced at her. “I will not be silent! I asked you a question, and I have the right to an answer! How can you have been so vile as to—”

She was cut off with astonishing quickness as his hand clamped over her mouth with a pressure so firm that she could not open her jaw enough to bite him. Eyes wide, face mottled with rage, she clawed at his hand as he snapped an order at one of the men. A sweat-stained kerchief was brought over, and Celia managed a half-scream before a wad of cloth was shoved in her mouth and Griffin tied a length of foul-tasting cotton over it. She struggled furiously as her hands were bound behind her with the cord from Griffin’s hair. He turned her to face him, shaking her slightly. His long sable locks fell over his face and shoulders.

“I should have done this two days ago,” he growled. “Now stop wiggling or you’ll fall overboard. And if you do, I won’t go in after you.” Despite the harshness of his words, his grip on her arms was gentle as he pulled her to a wooden crate. “Sit down,” he said. She stiffened her legs and stared at him challengingly. His eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t trouble me in the least to force you.”

Slowly she eased down, her eyes fastened on the horizon, her chest burning with hatred. After experimenting with a few twists of her wrists, she realized Griffin had left no possibility of her untying the cord by herself. Oh, it had been wise of him to silence her! The way she felt right now, she would have no hesitation in shouting his identity at the top of her lungs. She wished there was some way she could have him sent to the Cabildo, the filthy Louisiana prison Philippe had described to her with such horror after he had attended some sick inmates there. She wished she could see Griffin hanging from the end of a rope! Was he a Vallerand? Justin Vallerand…Feverishly she racked her brain. Philippe had told her the name of his father Maximilien, stepmother Lysette, cousins, and half-sisters. The name Justin was not in the least familiar.

The flatboat reached the bank, drifting into a tiny cove framed by a dense growth of trees. “Good work,” she heard Griffin’s voice rumble softly, and he paid the men for their passage across the water. He picked Celia up as easily as if she were a doll, stepped from the craft, and ventured into the copse. Celia tensed in his arms, her velvet-brown eyes widening as she saw what they were heading into. This swamp was darker and more oppressive than the one they had traveled through before. Limbs of immense oak trees blotted out every trace of sky, while vines and gray moss streamers choked off all but a few shafts of sunlight. Everything was dank and ominously still, permeated with a moist rotting smell. Heaven knew what kinds of creatures seethed underneath the stagnant water. The swamp was a living being…she felt as if they were entering the mouth of a monster and traveling down to its belly.

Two small wooden boats equipped with oars were tethered to the arched root of a half-submerged tree. Carefully Griffin stood Celia on a bit of firm ground. “Don’t move,” he said. “I don’t want you stepping on a snake or landing yourself in a sinkhole. I’m going to see which pirogue is in better condition.”

Don’t move? Celia couldn’t even blink. She watched as Griffin poked around the tiny vessels. It was the middle of the day, yet the swamp was a tunnel of murky gloom. If they became lost, no one would ever find them. They had no provisions. How could Griffin possibly find his way through this endless maze of trees, water, and slime? She would almost rather take her chances back on Isle au Corneille than face this.