Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4 (42 page)

Dr. Robaire shook his head. “But she is heavily sedated, so I doubt she will understand anything you say.”

The doctor placed his stethoscope in his worn leather bag and bade them good-day. He wanted to be gone from there. If the imposing-looking stranger wanted to pester a dying woman, that was not his concern.

Travis stared down at Alaina. He felt no remorse at the welling up of hatred within him. She was an evil woman, had been hurting people for years and causing grief to everyone whose path she had ever crossed.

“Alaina,” he said harshly, loudly. He did not touch her. He didn’t want to cause her further pain by rattling broken bones around. He wasn’t a sadist. He just wanted information—and he intended, by God, to have it. “Alaina. Talk to me.”

Alaina was in a world of gnawing, white-hot pain. She could feel the flames of hellfire licking at her. The agony was so terrible, it just melded together in one clawing fist that was pulling her down, down toward those hungry flames.

“Alaina. Answer me.”

Suddenly the black clouds parted and she saw blue sky. There was warm sunshine. Beneath her bare feet was the cooling bluegrass of her beloved Kentucky. And above, bending over to look at her, was the dear face of a man she had hated and loved.

“Travis,” she whispered. The pain in her throat was unbearable. She coughed, tasted blood. “Travis Coltrane. You…want me, don’t you? Just like…”

Travis winced ever so slightly. “Yes, Alaina, I want you,” he lied. Where was the harm? “But you must help me. You have to tell me where Gavin Mason is.”

She frowned, and that also hurt terribly. Was there no movement that wouldn’t cause excruciating pain?

“Mason,” Travis said sharply. “Where is he, Alaina?”

The never-ending nightmare was coming back. She remembered the knife slicing through the air, the plunge into the void. Then the all-consuming pain.

“I don’t think she’s going to tell us anything,” Colt whispered. “I can see from here that her breathing is getting shallower. Her color is bad, too.”

Travis silently agreed. Death was hovering over Alaina. Her eyes were starting to look glassy. “Where did Mason go?” he urged. “Alaina? Help me, please.”

Alaina shuddered with pain.

“Greece… He went to Santor…” She could not go on, did not want to make another excruciating effort.

She tried to lift her arm, the closest to Travis, but it, too, was smashed. She managed to move her fingers, like the opening and closing of crab claws. Travis saw and understood. He laid his hand on top of hers, hoping it comforted her. Her lips moved, and he leaned closer so as to catch the faint whisper.

“Tell…me…” She was hardly able to enunciate. Blackness was closing in. “…you love me.”

Travis leaned over and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Yes, Alaina. I
love you,” he said firmly.

This time, she was able to smile past the pain. The smile was frozen on her lips forever. In that moment, Alaina Barbeau deBonnett died.

Travis straightened. Glancing at Colt, he saw the faintest glimmer of condemnation in his son’s eyes.

“Never condemn a man for leaving a woman happy,” he told him.

Colt nodded. It was all right. His father had done what had to be done, and Alaina had died a little less miserable because of it.

Chapter Thirty

Through the mist of despair surrounding her, Briana looked at her small cabin. There was only a chair, a small table, and her bunk. A single porthole offered a view of the endless ocean. The bleak vista suited her. Colt was dead. Charles had been taken away. And she was imprisoned on a ship, Gavin’s prisoner—and Dirk’s.

The day faded, but she did not stir from bed. As the cabin faded into darkness, there came the sound of her door being unlocked. She tensed, waiting, ready to fight with every ounce of strength.

Suddenly a young Frenchman murmured, “It is so dark in here. Where are you? I have brought your dinner,
mademoiselle
.”

“I’m not hungry,” she snapped. “Go away.”

She heard him, fumbling in the dark, finding the table and setting down the tray. “I have orders,
mademoiselle
. Wait. I will light a lantern.”

A few seconds later the room was flooded with light. Briana saw her visitor. Still a boy, he was no more than sixteen. He was tall and thin, with dark hair that reached almost to his shoulders. He stared at her, wide-eyed. She decided he was not to be feared.

“My name is Raoul,” he said eagerly. “I have been assigned to bring your meals to you.”

Then, gravely, he announced, “I know you are being confined here by your uncle,
Monsieur
Mason.

I must warn you that I will not let you escape. I am strong, so you mustn’t try.”

He frowned, trying to look fierce, and Briana smiled to herself.

So Gavin had said she was a disobedient niece? That would make the whole ship’s crew reluctant to help her if she appealed to them. Whatever she told them about Gavin, they wouldn’t believe her. It was a smart thing for Gavin to have done.

“Don’t worry,” she told him softly; “I won’t make trouble for you.”

He seemed to relax a little, and he turned to indicate the tray. “It’s simple fare, but excellent. Fish. Potatoes. Cheese. Wine. Fruit. If you want more, I can get it.”

“That will be fine. Thank you. By the way,” she added brightly, attempting to appear friendly, “my name is Briana.”

He grinned. “I know. I think it’s a beautiful name, just like you—” He fell silent, his face flushing.

He turned to leave, and Briana called softly, “Thank you, Raoul. I hope we can be friends.”

He rushed out, locking the door.

Briana smiled.

The next morning, Raoul brought her water for bathing, then left her alone for half an hour before bringing her a breakfast tray of porridge, fruit, and chocolate.

She began to ask him questions, and he stayed for a while—eager, she realized, to tell her all he knew about sailing. He explained that they were in the Ligurian Sea, heading through the Tuscan Arch between the islands of Elba and Corsica. Next, they would enter the Tyrrhenian Sea, eventually passing through the narrow Strait of Messina and into the Ionian Sea.

“You have sailed this route before?” she asked him, glad to see that he was not anxious to leave.

“Oh, yes, many times. I’ve been at sea since I was twelve, a mere boy.”

Briana suppressed a smile.

He told her that he was born in the tiny province of Grasse, west of Monaco. “This ship belongs to my uncle,” he said proudly. “And my cousin is the captain. We travel to Greece and back, transporting goods to and from the Cyclades Islands.”

Briana nodded, hopeful. If the captain was a relative of this boy’s, then she needed Raoul on her side more than she’d thought.

She urged him to tell her about the Greek islands, especially Santorini.

He grinned. “The real name for that island,” he was proud to correct her, “is Thera. It’s the farthest south of the Cyclades. It is actually the remains of a volcano that they say erupted about fifteen hundred B.C., the same eruption that destroyed Atlantis.

“There’s a lagoon there,” he went on excitedly, “over sixty kilometers wide. In the middle of the lagoon are two little islands with volcanoes on them. One is called Néa Kaméni, which means New Burnt Island, and the other is called Palaia Kaméni, which means Old Burnt Island. They still have smoke coming out of them, which means they might blow again.”

Briana nodded. “Tell me about Santorini…Thera.”

Raoul described the island as having a small settlement along the east coast. The island was made mostly of lava and pumice, and the lagoon was rimmed by red-, white-, and black-striped volcanic cliffs three hundred meters high. “On the top of Thera there is the Mount Profitus Ilias, over five hundred meters high. Not many people live up there, because it’s too hard to get there. They use donkeys to carry supplies.

“Then,” he went on, eyes shining brightly; for he was enjoying the way she hung on his every word, “there are other settlements to the south, Emborion and Pirgos. The port at the north entrance of the lagoon is called Oia.”

Wanting him to know that she was impressed, Briana gushed, “You certainly are knowledgeable, Raoul. I…”

Her voice faded as they heard footsteps outside the door. Raoul held up a hand for silence.

Whoever it was stopped directly outside the door. After a short pause, the steps continued on, their sound fading into the distance.

Raoul quickly got to his feet. “I have other work to do,” he said apologetically. He rushed out, locking the door.

Briana lay down on the uncomfortable bunk. He might become an ally. With his help, she could find a way to escape.

And then what?

She closed her eyes. Somehow, she would find the orphanage where Charles was. There would, thank God, be Charles. But the emptiness in her heart would never be filled, the pain never assuaged. For a time, she had loved and been loved. And in that precious instant, when, miraculously, she knew her love was returned…it had been stolen away from her forever.

She grieved terribly for her beloved Colt, and for what might have been. And within that wrenching sorrow there burned a rage so hot she often felt as though her blood actually were boiling.

There, in the shadows of the damp cabin, feeling the rhythmic pitch and roll of the ship against the sea, Briana vowed revenge. For taking Colt’s life…for taking Branch’s life…for all he had done to her…Dirk Hollister was going to die.

When Dirk and his men kidnapped her, dragging her back to the deBonnett château, Dirk had taunted her with the grisly details of how he had murdered Branch. When he and Butch and Artie saw Branch riding alone, they decided not to sound an alarm by shooting.

Dirk waited behind a group of boulders, and when Branch passed by, he leaped onto Branch’s horse and plunged his knife through Branch’s throat, falling to the ground with him.

Briana had died a little bit more with each word, as though the knife that had taken Branch’s life was twisting in her soul.

Each time Raoul went to Briana’s cabin, they talked. He lingered as long as he dared, talking about the ea, the ship anything to keep a conversation going, obviously hating to leave her. Briana encouraged him, desperate to win his friendship. She had to be warm and kind, aware of what Gavin had probably told the crew about his “niece”.

One evening, Raoul brought her a whole bottle of wine instead of the usual single glass. She offered him some, and he shook his head, stammering, “Oh…I wouldn’t dare. It isn’t allowed. I’d be keelhauled, for sure.”

She was quick to reassure him. “No, you mustn’t break any rules. But what harm is there in your staying a while to keep me company?”

He stared at the floor. “My orders are to bring your trays and then leave. I’m not supposed to spend time with you, because…” He glanced at her nervously, then quickly lowered his eyes again.

“Why?” she asked gently. “Why were you told not to stay? What has Monsieur Mason told you about me that makes you think I am so terrible?”

Quickly he said, “I must go.” He edged toward the door. “I’ve said too much.”

Briana did not try to dissuade him from leaving. It would not do to frighten him or pressure him. She would just have to be patient.

They had been at sea for two days before Gavin made his first appearance in her tiny cabin. He came in with an arrogant, gloating smile and inquired, by way of greeting, “Well, my dear, have you calmed down?”

She merely regarded him with a look that, she hoped, transmitted all her hatred.

He laughed, delighted. “Oh, if looks could kill, my darling, I would be dead at your feet.”

“I only hope,” she murmured, “that one day you will be.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, “Perhaps,” he warned, “we ought to see what a few days without food does to that nasty disposition of yours.”

After a silence, Gavin informed her that he was having a terrible time keeping Dirk Hollister away from her. “He wants revenge for your scarring him, and he couldn’t do anything about it while he was bringing you back to Monaco. No time. He’s also furious that you double-crossed us by telling Coltrane everything.”

Briana decided to let herself gloat for a change. “It wasn’t me, you fool—though I had every reason to, after
you
double-crossed
me.
It was Alaina who set it up for me to be rescued.”

She paused to enjoy herself, watching Gavin squirm. He looked truly mystified at hearing that he was not as brilliant as he’d thought.

“I don’t believe you,” he said uncertainly, pushing back a clump of blond curls.

She shrugged. “How else would he have known where I was? He had been to the house earlier that day, so Alaina knew he was in Monaco. Colt told me that she went to find him that afternoon and set it up for him to see me.”

Gavin looked skeptical, and Briana elaborated on this bad news. “She told him his sister was imprisoned in the cellar. She didn’t tell him I was an impostor. She saved that for me. Maybe she didn’t want to go all the way in betraying you, Gavin—only
part
of the way.”