Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(91)

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—”