Christie (38 page)

"Garrett?" whispered Christie.

"Shhh," came the response, and her husband's fingers closed lightly over her mouth. Obediently she remained silent.

Again they waited, the minutes feeling to Christie like hours as they passed. Their bodies grew taut, their muscles cramping in rebellion against the restraint of movement.

At last, Garrett moved from atop her, signaling for her to remain quiet. Stealthily, he crept to the edge of the low brush and shrubbery which shielded them and peered out.

Christie held her breath, carefully stretching her cramped muscles as she watched him.

Finally Garrett spoke, but only in a whisper. "Whoever it was, may still be out there. We'll have to walk back, but we can't chance taking the open trail. How do you feel?"

"Frightened," answered Christie, "but not nearly
so much as I would be if you were not with me."

Garrett moved carefully back to join her, wrapping his big arms about her and holding her close.

"I'd have gone mad if anything had happened to you," he whispered. "I now begin to understand the rationale of the man who has abundant wealth and seeks to hoard it. Finding I have all I want in you, I'm tempted to play the miser and hold you so close, and away from outside danger, you might never see the rest of the world again—only me. Such is the madness of love." He smiled.

"Not such madness," she said, her lips curving into an answering smile. "I've had similar thoughts myself. But Garrett, who could be threatening us? This is the second such incident of late. Jesse's experience—"

"I'm not about to guess," he said grimly. "But the double incidence indicates design, and not accident. It bears close examination, and care must be taken for our safety. Come, let's make our way back to the big house. I'm afraid the way we must travel will be harsh on this tender skin." He smiled apologetically. "But, here," he said, picking up the shirt he had dragged along, from where it lay on the ground nearby, "wear my shirt over your own. It will help."

"And leave your back to the briars and thorns?" she asked indignantly.

"Yes." He grinned.

"But—"

"And you will do it because I ask it," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

"Yes," answered Christie. "Because you ask it."

When they reached the front door of the big house, it was already dark. Inside, Jesse greeted them, taking one look at their torn clothing and Garrett's scratched and scraped torso, exclaiming, "Good God! Where have you been? I've been out looking for you ever since your horses returned; but when it grew dark, I had to come back for a lantern. What in hell happened?"

Briefly, Garrett, having sent Christie upstairs for rest and care, told him; several servants were summoned to help.

"But what does it mean, Garrett? Who bears any one of us any ill will? And from what you describe, those bullets were aimed in deadly fashion."

"Yes," said Garrett darkly. They each looked at each other for a long moment, remembering an earlier time when bullets had flown at Riverlea.

"Well, it's clear we cannot venture out unarmed from now on," said Jesse.

"And we'll be wise to post guards outside all buildings at night, and around the clock here at the house," said Garrett.

"What about alerting the authorities?" queried Jesse.

.
"We might do that, but I'm not sure how much good it will do," answered Garrett. "Riverlea's too big, actually, for anyone to cover or search thoroughly. Tomorrow we'll organize a group to go out to where this afternoon's incident occurred. Perhaps, with Laughing Bear's help, we can locate some tracks."

Jesse looked at Garrett's scratched arms and shoulders.

"Right now, I think you'd better clean up those scrapes and apply some of the herbed unguents Lula's been making."

"I will," said Garrett. Then, remembering his brother's mission to Charleston, "Did you find the plow blade?"

"I did, and the item from Carlisle." Jesse grinned. "It's in the study. I'll send Jasper up to your room with it. She knows nothing?"

"Nothing." Garrett grinned as he headed up the stairs. "Send someone up to prepare a bath for me, will you, Jess? We'll see you at dinner."

When he reached their chambers, he found Christie soaking lazily in her big brass tub which was filled almost to the brim with scented bath water.

"Sybarite!" he accused, placing a kiss on her lightly sunburned nose.

"Mmm," murmured Christie, opening her eyes only enough to gaze at him through the heavy fringe of her dark lashes.

"Feeling better, I take it." He grinned as he traced his finger across her shoulder and down one rounded breast until it touched the pink peak there.

"Continue thus, my love,"—Christie smiled, her turquoise eyes now open wide—"and I shall have to show you how much better."

"Not a bad idea." Garrett chuckled as he began to remove his clothing.

"Oh, Garrett!" exclaimed Christie. "Look at your back! We'll have to put something on it right away!"

Just then, a knock came from the door of the sitting room which adjoined the room Garrett had used before moving permanently into the master bedroom
with Christie.

"Yes?" called Garrett.

"It's Jasper, sir. Ah've got a bath set up for you in your old room, and some herbed greases man mamma sent."

"Ah, well." Garrett sighed, eying his wife's seductively curving form in the bath. "It seems we must find out later how well my wife is feeling. Meet me in my old chamber in half an hour, will you, love?" he asked as he gathered up his clothes.

In answer, Christie blew him a kiss with slender, wet, bath-scented fingers.

Half an hour later Christie floated into Garrett's old room. She wore a narrow-waisted ivory silk dressing gown with deep green embroidery on the sleeves' edges and hem. It had a neckline cut so low as to be what Almeira or Aunt Celia would once have termed "indecent." A gift from Garrett, it had been ordered and sent from Charleston just a few days before, along with the seamstress who had made it and who had orders to supply his wife with a grand new wardrobe in the latest mode. Her hair was still piled high atop the crown of her head in a cluster of curls and ringlets, as she had worn it for her bath, and the softly curling tendrils which had pulled loose here and there framed her face enchantingly, endowing it with an angelic sweetness that was not past being fraught with womanly allure.

Garrett rose from the chair he occupied near the fireplace as he heard the door open. Then he stopped, folded his arms across his chest, and looked at her.

Christie stopped, took one look at her husband's face, and made a low curtsy which exposed the rest of
what her decolletage left bare. When she rose, there was an impish smile on her face.

"Does my husband approve?" she asked coyly.

"As well you realize, minx!" He grinned. Then he opened his arms to her and Christie came into them eagerly.

Finally, after much kissing and fondling to show her how much he did approve, Garrett murmured, "Indeed, I had asked you in here for a purpose apart from this which I definitely deem more important; but after I make love to you, lest my befuddled brain completely forget, remind me to show you my surprise, will you, love?"

"Surprise?" questioned Christie, wonder bright in her eyes.

"Later, love," breathed Garrett. "Later."

And so, later, much later, Garrett saw Christie move from where she lay curled in his arms and prop herself atop his chest, her large eyes, still full of the passion-laden sensuality of their love-making, gazing openly into his.

"It's each time so different," said Christie. "How is it that one reads and hears tales of lovers growing tired of each other, when there's nothing tiresome about love-making?—
nothing!"

Garrett smiled at her, pausing to pick up and nibble the tips of her fingers which rested on his chest. "Christie—little innocent, I almost hate to disillusion you, kitten, but I suppose I must. Most lovers fail to find what we have. When you and I make love, each time is like the first time with us because of the bottomless splendor of our love for each other. If our love has no limits, then neither can
the modes of its expression—in our pleasure. These bored lovers we hear of from time to time—perhaps they do not love at all, but only taste their bodies' delights. Without love, these quickly pale or grow surfeit. Lacking the stronger tie, what passes between such poor wretches is doomed to fade away and cannot begin to match the shining wonder you and I have shared. Believe it, love. What we have found, you and I, is the rare stuff few mortals ever taste. Poets and dreamers sometimes speak of it, but few ever know it."

Christie gazed at him with a dreamy look in her eyes. "We are indeed blessed, then?"

"Blessed, surely," he replied, taking her lips with his again. Then, when he had kissed them, he suddenly bit the tip of her nose, saying, "Minx! You've let me forget the surprise!"

"Surprise?" murmured Christie. "Was there a surprise?" And she snuggled closer to him, pushing her nose into the hollow at the base of his neck.

Garrett chuckled and squeezed her tightly. "You've become a complete wanton, Christie Randall."

"Mmm," came the reply.

"But it is a very special surprise, love," he whispered.

Sighing, his wife raised her head. "Very special?"

"I promise." Garrett laughed. "But come, first let's put you back in your gown. A man's got to be able to

concentrate some time!''

When they had done so, and he, too, had dressed, Garrett walked over to the lowboy near the door and took from it a long, black, leather-covered box.

"This is something I wanted to give you weeks ago, but as it was in Charleston, and I was committed
to remaining here with you throughout your recovery, I decided it would have to wait. It is my gift to you for giving me a son, Christie. It's one of the few pieces which remain from my parents' estate, for at the time of the massacre, it was in Charleston for a small repair to the clasp, and for various reasons, remained there all these years, in Carlisle's care, until today, when Jesse was kind enough to retrieve it for us. Open it, love."

Christie took the box from him carefully and slowly lifted its heavy lid. Then she gasped.

Inside, on a black velvet liner, lay a heavy gold filigreed necklace. Set into it were eleven large emeralds, ten of them perfectly matched and set five to either side of a much larger one that hung lower in the center. Surrounding each stone was a ring of perfectly matched, large diamonds, their many facets winking at her from the reflected candlelight in the room.

Christie's head began to spin. She closed her eyes tightly and looked again. When she stared up at her husband's face, her own had gone white as the sheets on the bed nearby.

Expecting to see anything but such an expression on her face, Garrett questioned her, "Christie? Is aught amiss? If this offends you in some way—"

"No!" she said quickly. "It's not that. It's the most exquisite piece I've ever seen—a truly royal gift, but. . . Garrett, was there ever another piece like it? A duplicated piece of some kind, or—?"

Garrett shook his head. "It was made expressly for my mother on the occasion of my birth, designed by my father himself. See, here, on the back of the clasp, the initials 'JR' and 'MR' and the date of my birth— "

"Oh, Lord!" breathed Christie. "Wait here, darling, please. I'm going to fetch something!"

She ran toward the master bedroom, shouting, "Lula! Lula, come quickly!"

Minutes later, Christie and Lula returned to a puzzled-looking Garrett and Christie handed him the bracelet they had taken from Philip Stanhope's valuables box, forgotten all these months as it lay at the bottom of her lingerie drawer.

With the bracelet placed beside the necklace which Garrett still held in its open box, the designed match of the two pieces became instantly obvious.

"Where did you come by this?" questioned Garrett, his voice scarcely audible.

"Was it also your mother's?" asked Christie.

Garrett turned the back of the bracelet's clasp to the light. "Here are the initials, 'JR' and 'MR', and the date of Jesse's birth. There was also a pair of earrings which bore the same date."

"We stole—'borrowed'—the bracelet from my Uncle Philip when we were at his home in Charleston," explained Christie. "I had just discovered I was with child and felt I needed it in my desperation to run away before I became a burden to anyone."

At this, her husband reached out and softly touched her cheek. "You'll never be alone like that, or in any way approaching that, again," he said quietly. Then his green eyes grew somewhat harder.

"What was your uncle doing with this bracelet? We had supposed it lost, along with the earrings, in the fire."

"I'm not sure," answered Christie. "I can only tell you that we found it in a locked desk in his study—of
sorts. ... At least, it was called the study. But I thought of it more as a trophy room. It's filled with all sorts of—that must be it!" she added, brightening. "Uncle Philip collects trophies, as he calls them, mementoes from all sorts of endeavors in which he's gained or won something. . . . There was a lovely-porcelain there which he won in a chess game with Mr. Jefferson. He displayed it as a prize. Perhaps this bracelet was won under similar circumstances! And if it was—"

"Philip might be able to tell us the name of the one who lost it, and, perhaps, the one we seek," finished Garrett.

"Exactly!" said Christie. "Oh, Garrett, to think after all these years, that I should be the one to perhaps provide a solid clue! We must go to Uncle Philip at once! Lula, please have my things packed, and Adam's, too. We—"

"Hold on, love," said Garrett. "Stay a minute. From all you've told me of your Aunt Margaret, we need to first send some warning we're coming. This we can attend to in the morning. Then, once we've a reply, we may travel to Charleston."

Christie looked mildly disappointed, saying, "Of course, you're right, but I shall find it difficult waiting."

Garrett smiled softly at her. "In truth, I'm anxious, too, Christie, but I somehow feel, now I've waited all these years, a few days more can't matter much. And one can't simply barge in on a man like your uncle, unannounced, and begin asking the poor man such serious questions."