Beyond Sunrise (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Bad eyesight was a severe handicap to a travel writer, particularly to one without the fortitude to venture too close to a volcano's edge. Or rather, the fool-hardiness; India told herself it would definitely be foolhardy to risk sliding to such a terrifyingly hideous end.

Standing well back from the steaming rim, she balanced the edge of her notebook against her midriff and squinted at the rock ledge that jutted out precariously over the bubbling, rumbling inferno. It must be from this very rock, she thought with a thrill of illicit excitement, that the natives used to hurl sacrifices to the fiery god below. Was the ledge a natural formation, or not? Impossible to tell from here, yet impossible to get any closer to make certain. She thought wistfully of Jack Ryder's spyglass, and decided in future to add one to the collection of necessities she carried in her knapsack.

Ever mindful of the oppressive, ticktocking passage of time, India set to work capturing the image before her in quick, bold pencil strokes. One more minute. All she needed was one more minute—

"What the bloody hell are you doing up there?"

The harsh, colonially accented voice, so unexpected and so near, broke her concentration. With a startled gasp, she swung about so quickly her boots slid on the scattering of small stones at her feet and she had to throw out her arms in a panicked and rather undignified maneuver to preserve her balance. Her fingers tightened on the edge of her notebook just in time to keep it from flying into the glowing red oblivion below. Her gaze fell on Jack Ryder, clothed, for once, in the attire considered suitable for his culture. True, his shirt hung unbuttoned halfway down his dark chest, and the sleeves had been rolled up to reveal tanned, muscular forearms. But he was wearing rugged canvas trousers and—wonder of all wonders—boots. She watched him climbing purposefully toward her up the blighted crest of bare rock that rimmed the volcano's edge, and a surge of indignation swelled within her. "Of all the inconsiderate, unthinking—"

"Shut up and get down here, fast, or I swear to God, lady, I'll let them eat you."

"Them?" she repeated in a squeaky voice that was not at all like her, for what she saw in his face took her breath away.

"So far, I've seen three natives, all watching you." He paused just below her, one hand on the machete at his side, his sweat-streaked features lifting into an odd, chilling smile. "And you can bet your bustle there's more."

All her senses brought to instant, quivering attention, India stood perfectly still, only her eyeballs moving as her gaze searched the edges of the dark tangle of rain forest surrounding the open summit.

"No, don't look. Just get down here, now."

Hastily stowing the notebook in her knapsack, India plunged down the rocky slope, sliding the last few feet to his side. As she reached him, his hand closed over her upper arm, his fingers digging in hard. "We're going to walk fast, but not too fast," he said in a low, calm voice. "We don't want them to think we're scared."

Scared? She was so scared, her fingers were tingling, but she forced herself to walk beside him with calm dignity. "The death grip on my arm is unnecessary," she said after a moment when he continued to hold on to her as they crossed the bare stretch of poisoned rocks that yawned between them and the path back down to the beach. "I understand the gravity of the situation. If you had explained yourself more clearly at the outset, then I—"

"Save your breath. We might need to run."

India saved her breath. Her long legs in their split skirt easily matched his man's stride, but the pace he set was brutal.

Leaving the sun-blasted bare rock face of the summit behind, they plunged again into the dark thickness of the rain forest, the tall, creeper-hung mass of beeches and laurels and pandanus instantly cutting off sight of the shimmering sea and the cooling trade winds that blew across it. Here all was shadow and steamy, smothering heat and the heavy
smell
of damp, fecund earth. Plunging down the steep, rocky hillside, they passed the bubbling thermal pond with its faintly lingering odor of cooked meat, and then the first hot springs India had seen. And still the primeval forest yawned around them, seemingly empty and silent except for the furtive rustling of small unseen creatures, and the loudly screeched complaint of a vivid-hued parrot.

"Are they following us?" she finally asked, when she could bear the suspense no longer.

The man beside her didn't slacken his pace, although he did throw her an amused look. "Shall we linger for a while and see what happens?"

She lapsed into silence again. The path here ran through an area of rocky outcroppings beside sheer, unexpected drop-offs, and she was finding it difficult at such a pace to keep her footing on the steep,
muddy
path. Once, her foot slid in an unexpected patch of muck and shot off into space, and she found she was grateful for the tight grip he'd continued to hold on her arm, even though he almost dislocated her shoulder pulling her back up beside him onto the trail.

She grabbed a handful of the loose cotton shirt at his chest and held on to it as she swayed slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He gripped her other shoulder to steady her, his straight dark brows drawing together as he studied her. "You doing all right?"

She nodded, determined. "Yes. Thank you. I simply needed a moment to catch my breath. I—"

The crack of a rifle shot echoed through the jungle. Bark flew from a tree just feet from India's face, and she let out a startled yelp.

"Bloody hell," swore Jack Ryder, and yanked her down behind the nearest boulder.

India pressed her back against the moss-covered rock. Her heart was pounding so hard, it hurt. "Those aren't cannibals," she said in a strangled whisper. "Who—"

"Hold your fire, you fool," shouted a crisp, vaguely familiar English voice from below, a voice India had last heard on the docks of Rabaul Harbor. "You could have hit Miss McKnight."

"Good heavens," said India. "It's Captain Granger."

She was aware of the man beside her stiffening, his head whipping around to pin her with a deadly blue stare. "Friend of yours?" he asked in an unpleasant drawl.

India shook her head, confused and more afraid, suddenly, than she had been up there at the summit, surrounded by cannibals.

Jack Ryder's hands descended on her shoulders, jerking her forward so that she fell into him, one hand splayed against an intimidatingly hard chest, her head forced back at an awkward angle as she stared up at him. She knew a fission of fear that took what was left of her breath and left her shaky and cold. "You bloody well set me up, didn't you?" he said, his words low and even, his lips curling back from his teeth in a fierce smile. "You bloody bitch."

India's mouth went dry. She'd thought him easygoing and lazy, an annoying but essentially harmless degenerate. Now she stared into eyes that were glittering and dangerous, and knew how wrong she'd been. She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You might as well give it up, Jack," called the English voice from below. "I've six armed seamen with me. You so much as stick your head around that boulder, and you'll lose it. This is checkmate, Jack."

He seized her wrist, spinning her around in an elbow-wrenching maneuver she didn't even comprehend until she felt her back slam against his chest and heard the bare blade of his machete whip through the air to come to rest a whisper below her chin. "You got me into this," Jack Ryder hissed in her ear, his hard arm crushing her breasts as he pinned her back against him in a deadly parody of a lover's embrace. "You can bloody well get me out of it."

"But I didn't—"

He swung his head away to shout to the men below. "You're forgetting something, aren't you? I have Miss McKnight."

There was a pause, filled with the furtive hush of the jungle around them. Granger said, "You're bluffing. You wouldn't hurt her. I know you, Jack."

"You
knew
me." He waited, as if giving time for his words to sink in. Then he said, "I'm standing up now, Simon, and I'm bringing Miss McKnight with me, which means that anyone trying to take off my head is liable to take hers, too. And did I mention she has a machete dangerously close to her throat?"

India tried to hang back, but his grip on her tightened brutally, drawing her up with him, the sharp edge of the machete close enough that she could feel the cold bite of it against her skin. She let out a little whimper of protest, which was all she could manage. Her fear was like a suffocating weight, stealing her breath, squeezing her chest.

She could see them now on the narrow trail just below, Captain Granger, his hand clenched in furious impotence around the pommel of the sword at his side, and six seamen, their rifles pointed unwaveringly at India and the man who held her. For one unbearable moment, Ryder and the captain simply stared at each other, and it seemed to India that the very air between the two men vibrated with the violent intensity of their emotions. She was aware of the rise and fall of Ryder's hard chest against her back, the warmth of his breath against her neck, the power of the dark, muscular arm that pressed against her breasts and held her pinned back against him.

"Tell your men to lower their rifles.
Now,"
Ryder added sharply when the seamen continued to hold their guns at the ready.

Granger turned his head, the muscles in his lean cheek bunching tight. "At ease, men."

Six muzzles lowered, and India remembered to breathe.

The two men's gazes met again, and clashed.

"Now tell them to lay down their guns."

The tall blond captain's hard stare never wavered. "Do it," he said out the corner of his mouth.

"Nice and easy," added Ryder, his hand shifting on the handle of the machete at India's throat. "I'm a very nervous man. Somebody startles me, and Miss McKnight here might end up with a nasty gash in her neck."

It was said for effect, of course; the fiend who held her was neither nervous nor easily startled, and India knew it. In another situation, she might even have admired his calm coolness. But she also had no doubts about his ruthlessness. He wouldn't hesitate to spill her blood if he thought he needed to. The seamen carefully laid down their guns, and she let out a soft, relieved sigh.

"Now step back. You, too, Simon. That's right, gentlemen, keep moving. There, that'll do." His voice had changed, taking on a vaguely rollicking tone that puzzled her until he said, "Now, gentlemen, you're going to take off your clothes."

The fair-haired captain was so startled, he jerked, while behind him, the seamen murmured and exchanged wary looks.

"That's right," said Ryder. "Don't everyone rush to strip off all at the same time. We're going to do it one by one. Starting with you, Simon."

The tall Englishman gave a curt, mirthless laugh, and crossed his arms at his chest in a blatantly defiant pose. "Over my dead body."

"A laudable attitude, I'm sure. But you're forgetting Miss McKnight's throat." The man behind her shifted and India felt the blade bite, a gasp escaping her lips before she could press them tightly together. "What would the Admiralty have to say about that, hmmm?"

Granger's teeth clenched. "You bastard."

"Just start with your sword, Simon. Easy," Ryder added warningly as the captain moved with seething resentment to comply. "Now throw it over that cliff."

For a moment, Granger hesitated, then sent the sword sailing out into space. India could hear it clanging and bouncing on the rocks below.

"Now your jacket."

It wasn't until the captain was unbuttoning his shirt with quick, jerky movements that India thought to squeeze her eyes shut out of consideration for the unfortunate man's modesty. But even though it was self-imposed, she found the isolating darkness oddly terrifying. In the end, she reluctantly opened her eyes again, but she kept her head tilted back, her gaze fixed on the thick green canopy overhead.

"Now you," Ryder said, nodding to one of the seamen after the captain's smallclothes had joined the rest of his possessions in a heap at the base of the cliff. "That's right. You. Start with your boots."

India kept her gaze resolutely fastened on the tropical tangle of leafy branches overhead, but Ryder's low-voiced, explicit instructions and the subtle sounds of clothing being removed in response kept her painfully aware of what was happening.

He took them, one by one, through the same slow striptease. At first India thought he did it to humiliate them. But then she heard him say, his voice deadly cold and even, "Move one step closer to that rifle, sailor, and we'll all have a chance to see what color a Scotswoman's blood is." And she realized that this was the only way he could hope to keep control of the situation, that in the confusion of seven men moving about undressing it would have been all too easy for one of them to make a lunge for the rifles that still lay on the jungle floor.

The strain of keeping her head tipped back was starting to give India a cramp in her neck, but she refused to look down. She would not look....

"You there," Ryder said, when the last of Her Majesty's men had stripped to the buff.

A high-pitched voice squeaked, "Me?"

"That's right, you. I want you to pick up each of those rifles, one at a time, and toss them over the cliff. "Look lively now."

There was a pause, then the sounds of shifting underbrush and a muffled "Ouch!" that told her the man in question must be moving, barefoot, to comply.

"And remember," said Ryder, "try anything, and Miss McKnight here will pay for it."

In spite of her best intentions, India's gaze wavered. She

had one swift, shocking impression of a group of red-faced, white-bodied men standing rigidly erect, elbows bent, hands folded over their crotches, and another man, fair-haired and rib-thin, his body hunched over, one hand still protectively cupping his privates as he bent to retrieve a rifle. Then her gaze snapped back to the jungle canopy overhead.

"I think that will be all, gentlemen," said the hatefully laconic voice behind her when the last of the rifles had clattered down the cliff face and an expectant hush fell over the jungle.