Pirate Wolf Trilogy (73 page)

“There is an
easier way around the point,” she said with vulgar cheerfulness.
“But I thought you might appreciate the view from up here.”

Throughout the
climb, he had deliberately resisted the urge to look behind him. He
was not particularly enamoured of heights and knew that as steep as
the path had been on the climb up, it would seem twice as
precipitous looking straight down.

He stumbled
over a crust of rock and used it as an excuse to catch his breath.
Sweat crawled through his hair and down his neck, soaking his shirt
to his back in great wet patches. Insects—who had blessedly
remained behind under the shade of the trees—had stung his neck and
arms in a dozen places. He spared a scowl upward at the boiling
yellow glare of the sun, but when Juliet turned to glance over her
shoulder, he smiled and waved her on.

“Just stubbed a
toe.”

“It is not much
further. I could carry you, if you like.”

Her laughter
drew another scowl, but when he looked up again, she had
disappeared behind a gnarl of rock, leaving him alone and drowning
in his own sweat on the goat path.

Biting off a
soundless oath, he scrambled up the last few feet and saw her
standing on the crest of the volcanic ridge. A quick and
justifiably breathless glance around in all directions told him
they had also reached the highest peak on the island. The endless
shimmering blue of the ocean surrounded them in a vast blue circle,
the surface gleaming pewter where the sun glanced off the waves.
Varying shades of aqua, cobalt, and turquoise ringed the island,
the shadings and striations created by the sandbars and reefs. The
four outlying atolls looked like barren cones of rock, tossed there
by some giant’s hand to be beaten by the surf, while far below they
could hear the thunder of the waves smashing against the cliffs of
Pigeon Cay.

Turning a slow,
full circle, Varian could also see down into the bowl of the
volcanic crater, the green of the pastures, the swaying tops of the
palm trees that looked like green-haired men listening raptly to
some unheard chorus. He guessed the island was ten, twelve miles
long at its widest point and rose perhaps a thousand feet above the
sea. The roof of the big house was hidden from their vantage point,
but the harbor looked like the inner surface of a seashell, deep
blue in the centre rising to a pearly gray along the beach.

This was
Dante’s kingdom. The secret lair of the Pirate Wolf, and although
Varian had found many veiled references to such a mythical place in
the ledgers and documents he had studied before embarking on his
voyage, he never dreamed it actually existed.

“Tell me, your
grace, when you are at home in your English castle, can you walk
outside your door and see a sight such as this?”

She had her
face turned into the sun and tendrils of her hair were streaming
back like rich dark sheaths of silk. She had her arms stretched
wide to catch the wind and her shirt was molded against her chest,
outlining the perfect shape of her breasts, the tantalizing peaks
of her nipples.

“I confess I
cannot,” he admitted softly. “But then, should one not fear that to
see such beauty every day might render it less spectacular?”

“When I was
young, I climbed up here every day and always found something new
that I had not seen before. The color of the water, the pattern of
a bird gliding on the air currents, the passage of a cloud... it
was never the same as the day before.”

“Have you no
desire whatsoever to see what lies beyond the scope of the
horizon?”

“‘Beyond this
place, there be dragons’,” she quoted softly. “It was the warning
written on all sea charts by the ancient mariners who believed the
world was flat. Father has sailed over that edge, and I will too
some day. He says there are islands far on the other side of the
world that are as different from these as the sun and moon, with
volcanoes that spew molten rock into the night like crimson
fountains, and where spices are so plentiful you can smell them a
week’s sail away.”

When he said
nothing—and good God, what could he say when it was taking all his
strength not to reach out and pull her into his arms—she turned and
looked directly into his eyes.

“Tell me about
your England. Is it always cold and wet, as I have heard?”

“We endure more
than our fair share of rain and fog, true enough. But when the sun
does shine, the land is almost greener than you can bear.”

“Not in the
cities, surely.”

“No,” he
smiled. “Not in the cities. Nor can I think of a one that smells of
anything closely resembling a spice. But a great country cannot
survive without thriving cities, and in order to thrive they must
house the people who keep the factories and shops full.”

“I do not think
I could survive in a city. I detest walls and crowded places.”

“You would like
Harrowgate. It is well out in the country, surrounded by miles of
green, rolling hills. There are sections of the house that are
three centuries old, with rooms so large you have to shout to be
heard from one end to the other. As children, my brother and I were
only allowed in certain areas lest we become lost and get dragged
away in chains by the ghosts.”

“You had
ghosts?”

A sinfully
roguish smile crept across his face. “Ask Beacom if you doubt me.
He’ll tell you there are noises and odd occurrences that cannot be
explained, and he is convinced one of our more shadowy ancestors
creeps into his room some nights and rearranges his belongings
while he sleeps. It was just brushes and shoes in the beginning,
but then they started moving desks and chairs. Once they reversed
his entire suite and when he rose to relieve himself, he did so in
his wardrobe by mistake. It drove him quite mad for a while. He
even threatened to leave Harrowgate Hall and seek employment
elsewhere but Father said he was far too valuable a man to lose and
sent me away to school instead.”

Juliet’s
eyes sparkled. “
You
were the
ghost?”

“He was easy
prey, as you can imagine.”

Juliet was
imagining far more than he was inviting her to do. She was
imagining him as she had seen him when she stormed back to the
house, his arms still clutched around the bolster pillow she had
given him as a substitute when she crept out of bed earlier that
morning. Seeing him like that, realizing he would still be holding
her so closely had she stayed, had taken the wind out of her sails,
had stripped her of her anger, had left her standing there in the
doorway feeling helpless and bereft.

Some of that
helplessness flooded back now as she gazed into the midnight eyes.
His face was unreadable, his thoughts untouchable, and she had no
way of knowing if he was aware of how the blood pounded sluggishly
through her veins each time he looked at her. Indeed, why should
he? He’d made no attempt to touch her or broach the subject of what
had happened between them last night. True, she hadn’t mentioned it
either, but that was only because she didn’t know quite what to
say. It was also true that he didn’t need to touch her. The simple
act of him standing there looking at her made her feel as if his
hands were running up and down her body, stroking the tender
places, making them hunger for more.

He smiled, and
after a small hesitation, she smiled back.

“We can take
the easier way down, if you like,” she said casually.

“I am entirely
in your hands, Captain.” He bowed slightly and when he
straightened, she caught her breath, for the guarded look in his
eyes was gone. In its place was something else, an apology
perhaps—to her, to himself—for his inability to pretend he did not
want something that he wanted very much indeed.

Juliet felt a
shiver deep down inside. It was a strangely isolated sensation, for
the rest of her body had gone suddenly numb. She was vaguely aware
of him moving closer, of his hand reaching out to catch at a lock
of hair that had blown across her face. He tucked it behind her ear
then smoothed the backs of his fingers along her cheek and the
resultant thrill of pleasure that rushed down her spine nearly took
her down onto her knees.

Seconds ticked
away on heartbeats and still he held her at arm’s length. Then,
just as he tucked his hand beneath her chin to tip her mouth up to
his, she shook her head and warned him away.

“There are
lookouts on every point of every ridge around the island. Easily
six or seven are watching us right now.”

He dragged his
eyes away from her face with an effort and looked along the crest
of rocks. She could see by the way his gaze flickered, then halted,
flickered, then focussed again that he located at least two of the
sentries.

His thumb
caressed her chin and without looking back at her, he murmured,
“Then you might very well have to carry
me
back down the hill, Captain, for I am not
altogether sure I can walk without grave difficulty.”

Juliet glanced
down. A second welter of prickles and shivers washed through her
body and it was with some difficulty of her own that she took a
subtle step back, then turned and started walking down the
path.

Varian’s hand
remained hovering in empty air for a long moment and did not drop
to his side until the crunch of her footsteps had faded away. He
hung his head a moment and cursed his own stupidity, then forced
himself to follow after her.

The path she
had taken wound around the outer rim of the rocks where there were
fewer trees and sharper breezes, but the descent was markedly less
steep and gave the hardness in his body a chance to ease. Twice
Varian caught sight of her ahead of him, but then he would round a
bend or traverse a clutter of rock and she would be gone. He
continued to curse himself ten ways to Sunday and almost missed the
narrow fork in the trail that broke off from the main route.
Something lying on the path caught his eye and he slowed.

It was Juliet’s
swordbelt.

He hurried
forward and picked it up, a flash of alarm sweeping through his
body as he unsheathed the blade and looked around.

He searched the
path, the surrounding bushes...

There! Just
ahead, something else...

It was a boot.
A tall black kneeboot, and ten yards further on, its mate.

Almost running
now, Varian’s first thought was that a wild animal had been
stalking them, had leaped out of the bushes and attacked her. His
second, more rational but equally paralysing thought was that it
might have been a two legged animal laying in ambush. An animal who
could remove a belt and boots and...

A splash of
white turned him off the path and had him slashing through the
tangle of ferns and vines to snatch Juliet’s cambric shirt off the
branch. He saw an opening just ahead, hardly more than a deep
fissure in the wall of rock, and looked around one more time, his
fist gripping the hilt of the sword.

There was no
one else in sight. There had been no sounds of a struggle, no torn
branches to suggest she had been dragged here against her will. He
looked at the shirt again and realized how precisely it had been
placed, with an arm stretched out and pointing to the crack in the
rocks. He glanced at the boots, at the belt, and realized they had
all been left as markers as well, guiding him toward the
fissure.

Bending low, he
ducked through the split in the wall. Ten feet on the other side,
he emerged into a cavern, the ceiling rising to a thirty foot
vault, the sides spanning fifty or more feet across. The pungent
smell of damp stone and thick moss mingled with the warm steam that
rose off the pool that took up much of the space inside. Although
there were no torches, no visible cracks in the ceiling overhead,
no other sources of light that he could see, the water shimmered an
iridescent green. It was so clear he could see the pale, sandy
bottom and the dark coiling shape that streaked below the
surface.

Juliet rose to
the top with one strong stroke, her hair and face streaming sheets
of water. She saw him and swam easily to the side where it was
shallow enough to stand. There, she rose like some gleaming marble
goddess, her skin shining, reflecting green lights from the pool,
her hair clinging in a sleek curtain down her back and over her
shoulders. She walked right up to him, naked as a sea nymph, and
drew his mouth down to hers.

The kiss was
brief, lush, and full of wicked promises as she smiled and backed
slowly into the water again, the steam curling around her thighs
like soft caressing fingers.

“You will
forgive the brief delay, will you not? Everyone on the island would
have known within the hour that you kissed me and I let you.”

Varian waved
the sword ineptly. “You had me worried that some wild beast had
caught you and dragged you off into the bush.”

“Like most who
bear the Dante name, I am not that easy to catch.” She laughed once
then dove beneath the surface and streaked away.

Wordlessly,
Varian thrust the sword back in its sheathe and set it aside. He
stripped off his shirt, tugged off his boots, flinging them into
the moss as well, then peeled his breeches down, hopping through a
moment of acute discomfort as his enormous erection sprang
free.

Juliet was on
the far side of the pool, her body hanging in the water, her hair
spread out in a wet fan around her shoulders. When she saw him walk
into the soft sand, she jack-knifed under again and vanished
briefly in the shadows below.

Varian’s long
body cut cleanly through the water, reaching the spot where he had
last seen her in a matter of a few powerful strokes. He tread water
for a few moments, trying to see through the filtered layers of
light and shadow to where she might be hiding but did not see her
until a splash told him she was back on the opposite bank.