Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(86)

While Justin worked on the plantation, Celia spent the entire day with Noeline in one of the slave cabins, caring for a mother and two children who had fallen ill. Justin was glad of the time spent apart from Celia. He did not want to face her just yet, not with the knowledge that he was going to lose her. Last night he hadn’t been able to stay away from her. But the more he loved her, the more important her safety had become, more important than his own life or his own needs. She would be safe with Philippe, and she would come to find contentment with him. That was all that mattered.

Risk strode in solitude from the beach on Crow Island to the fort, illuminated by the red glow of sunset. In less than a minute he was besieged by three men bent on divesting him of his weapons. He held them at bay with his cutlass. “Blast ye, keep yer paws off,” he said. “I’m here at the invitation o’ Nicky Legare, ye stupid bastards.”

Growling insults and warnings, the three of them forced him to surrender his sword, pistol, and knife, then accompanied him toward the fort. Risk adopted a cocky grin, calling out cheerfully as he caught sight of a few men who had formerly sailed with Captain Griffin. “Ahoy, ye slimy traitors!”

Roughly he was ushered inside the fort to Legare’s private rooms. He would have guessed that a man with Legare’s unimaginable wealth would surround himself with treasure and finery, but instead the rooms were painfully spare. No objects of art, beauty, or luxury adorned the place. Risk had seen prison cells that offered more comfort. It confirmed the opinion Risk had always held that the man wasn’t quite human. Legare sat on a low, hard bench, his arms resting on a rectangular table.

“Mr. Risk,” Legare said crisply. The lamplight struck a crimson glint off the dark pupils of his eyes. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Risk gave him a mocking bow. “Aye, Griffin delivered yer kind invitation, Cap’n Legare. Now, if ye don’t mind, I’d like to see about that other victim of yer hospitality, namely Dr. Vallerand.”

“By all means, let us pay him a visit.” Legare stood up and walked to him. “And on the way, Mr. Risk, perhaps we can discuss a few things—”

“Aye, the arrangements for the exchange.”

“Perhaps first we should talk about your future.”

“Talk all ye want,” Risk said airily. “I’m hard of hearin’, meself.”

Legare opened the door, his gaze sharp on Risk’s face. “Perhaps not as much as you think. In my view, Griffin has made a poor bargain with you, Mr. Risk. You do something for him, and he repays you with nothing.”

“’Tis called loyalty,” Risk muttered.

“An expensive proposition, this loyalty. Expensive for you.”

“Ye’re wastin’ yer breath,” Risk said stiffly.

“I’m not finished yet,” Legare murmured, leading the way down to the underground prison.

Step by step, Risk followed him.

The next evening Justin went down to the bayou to wait for Risk. He had not seen Celia for twenty-four hours. She had kept a vigil all night and day with the fever-ridden mother and children in the slave cabin. In the meanwhile, Justin was certain that Risk would bring the news he wanted, and their plans would proceed accordingly. It would be a relief to have it confirmed that his brother was alive. He loved Philippe, and would have even if his twin hadn’t been the most gentle-spirited and honorable person he’d ever known. Philippe had never been exposed to real violence before. God only knew what five months of imprisonment might have done to him. Oh, he was going to enjoy killing Legare!

Justin’s thoughts were interrupted by the awareness that Celia was coming to find him. He knew it even before he heard her footsteps and her soft voice.

“Justin…you have been avoiding me.”

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to sound brisk.

“To wait with you.”

Justin glanced at her. Although the night was cold, Celia wasn’t wearing a cloak or shawl. Her long-sleeved dress was blotched on the bodice and under the arms with perspiration. It was clear she was tired from hours of leaning over sickbeds and stirring herbs and syrups in boiling pots. An acrid medicinal scent clung to her, instead of the usual fragrant lavender. Her hair was drawn back in an uneven coiled braid, while several locks straggled over her forehead and cheeks. He wanted to take care of her, to put her in a hot bath and rub the soreness from her back. “You’re going to be cold,” he said gruffly.

“No, it was stifling in the cabin. I wanted fresh air.” But she was already beginning to shiver as the breeze blew against the damp patches on her dress. She protested as he took off his coat and put it around her. “Justin, do not, vraiment, I am not cold, and…oh…” The thick wool was warm from his body, and it held his scent. She snuggled deep into the garment, making him laugh.

“Justin,” she asked, her voice muffled, “if Risk brings the news that Philippe is alive, what will we do then?”

He sobered immediately. “We’ll discuss that when we know for certain.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said.

He studied her with his dark blue eyes. “No matter what the outcome of all this is, it won’t be easy for anyone. You understand that, don’t you?”

She gave him a faltering smile. “I will be happy as long as we are together.” When it became clear he wasn’t going to reply, her smile vanished. “Justin,” she whispered, “please hold me.”