Gallant Match (19 page)

He came toward her, carrying a sheaf of wide, flat leaves in his hand. Kneeling as before, he dropped the leaves beside him, then selected a layer and began to wrap it around her foot.

“What is it, what are you doing?”

“Making shoes of a sort.” He kept his eyes on the green, solelike padding he was fitting over her bandage. Reaching for her stocking he had removed, he wrapped it quickly around her ankle and foot like the lacing of a Greek sandal.

She turned her foot this way and that in inspection. It seemed amazingly secure. “I must thank you for the thought,” she said without quite looking at him. “It was…a kindness.”

“Don't mention it.” He paused while he adjusted the wrapping, and his voice was gruff when he spoke again. “It's best if I deliver you in fair condition.”

“Yes, of course.” What else? “But…where are yours?”

“My feet aren't as tender,” he answered as he began to work on similar makeshift protection for her other foot. “I went barefoot from spring to fall as a boy. Even now, I sometimes give lessons on the fencing strip in stocking feet. Takes away the unfair advantage of my height.”

A quick glance at the tough skin on the bottom on his foot that was turned up as he knelt confirmed what he'd said. She absorbed the rest, with its intimation of fair play, while watching him work.

After a moment, the quiet began to feel uncomfortable. She snatched a glance at his face. It was inscrutable as he concentrated on his task. His hands were warm and sure on her ankle, around her instep. The sensations they set off radiated up her calf, settling heavily at the juncture of her thighs.

She licked her lips that were suddenly dry, saying the first thing that came into her mind. “Did you see anyone on our trail?”

“Not a soul. Didn't hear anything, either. If we were followed at all, it seems we lost them.”

“They may have been too busy with the others to notice us.”

He tipped his head in agreement.

“I can't help worrying about Tante Lily.”

He gave her a brief look from under his brows. “She was picked up with the others, I would imagine.”

“If she made it off the ship.” Her voice was subdued as she surveyed the flat knot he had just tied at her instep.

“She did, you know. I saw Captain Frazier handing her into his lifeboat.”

Hope rose inside her, along with her spirits. “Truly?”

“Thought you knew, or I'd have mentioned it before. Madame Pradat and Madame Dossier and her children were in another. Gervaise fell overboard, but his mother was doing her best to pull him in, last I saw of them.”

“Merci, le bon Dieu.”
She made a quick sign of the cross. “And Reverend Smythe?”

“God saw fit to put him in the first lifeboat lowered,” Kerr answered, his tone dry.

“I suppose they will be all right.”

He looked up, perhaps at the doubt in her voice. “What, you don't believe in your papa's ideas of Mexican gallantry?”

“Do you?”

“To a point. The ladies pose no threat so will probably be put off at the nearest port, maybe even at Vera Cruz since it's a military-supply point. Could be they'll make land ahead of us. Besides, your aunt is the kind of woman who always lands on her feet.”

Was he saying those things to relieve her mind or because he believed them? Either way, they were good to hear. “And the others, the men?”

“They may have to answer a few questions, but the results should be the same.”

“I pray you're right.”

“Depend on it.”

What else could she do? In any case, she preferred his view. To say so was going a little far, however. She made no reply but only rose and followed after him as he struck out again.

The improvised sandals were a great improvement over bare feet, but she still had to stop now and then to wrap them tighter, retying the stockings that held them. Kerr made no further offers of assistance, but seemed to be keeping his distance. That was an encouraging
sign, she thought with some optimism. He wouldn't be so wary if he wasn't attracted to her.

He had kissed her, of course, which might be proof of a kind. She did not set great store by it. Her aunt had told her even the most refined of gentlemen would take advantage in that way, given the right circumstances. It was simply their nature. Such attentions were a compliment of sorts, even if they must be turned aside.

Sonia had no intention of spurning any advance the sword master might care to make. If the opportunity arose, she might create one of her own. And if the prospect made her breasts tingle and her lower abdomen feel heavy with anticipation, that was her secret.

How very strange, she thought with a minute shake of her head. Only a week ago, she would have laughed any such idea to scorn. Now it seemed not only reasonable but necessary.

It would not do for her acquiescence to come out of the blue, she realized. His suspicions would be aroused rather than his emotions, and who could blame him? They had made some small progress toward greater accord, but she thought further give-and-take between them might be helpful. She limped on for several yards while searching her brain for topics that might lead to a more accommodating mood.

What came to her instead was another surge of niggling doubt. Her plan could well make matters worse. It troubled her sense of fair play as well. But the alternative was to give up and accept her fate, becoming
the bride of a man she despised. A little guilt was a small price to pay for freedom.

“I've been thinking,” she said as she avoided a low-hanging branch to which clung great wads of wiry gray-green plants. “About this man you were going to see in Vera Cruz, I don't believe you mentioned his name.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” She frowned at his broad back, allowing her gaze to shift for an instant to her garters that he still wore on either arm.

“I didn't mention it. Doesn't matter just now.”

“I can't say I agree as he seems to be the reason I'm here.”

He grunted by way of answer, and she thought his pace increased as if he meant to outdistance her curiosity. A disquieting thought struck her, but she dismissed it almost at once. Jean Pierre had been in New Orleans for only the briefest of visits in the past four years. It was unlikely he and Kerr had met.

“You can't tell me,” she said finally, “that you would have accepted the job as my escort except for your quest to find this gentleman.”

“Right now my quest, as you call it, is for water.”

“Which I pray you find, since I'm so parched my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. Still—”

“Not so as a man could tell.” The glance he gave her over his shoulder had an ironic edge.

“You prefer a silent companion, trailing along behind you like a Choctaw and his woman at the French Market? Forgive me, but that isn't my way.”

“I've noticed.”

“Excellent,” she said with a bright smile. “Then you won't be surprised if I put my question again.”

“Surprised, no.” He paused as they emerged from a tangle of greenery onto what had the look of another jungle path. Whether it was made by animals or human was impossible to tell. That it was in use seemed plain since otherwise the rampant vegetation around them would have closed it off in short order.

“You should have an answer ready for me then,” she informed him. “We have disposed of the issue of the guns. At least so I suppose since you seem set on going on, and you wouldn't be if selling the lost arms had been your object.”

“Thank you for that much.”

“I do try to be fair, as difficult as it may be with some people. As I was saying—”

She stopped abruptly as he made a slicing signal for quiet. For a split second, she was incensed at the imperious gesture. His stance was too rigid, however, his attention too focused on the jungle around them. She stood listening to the hum of insects, distant calls of birds and the rustling of some creature moving away from them, deeper into the trees. She was about to demand the cause of his order when she saw it.

A mere spotted shadow, it hovered at the edge of the trail, blending so beautifully with the sun-dappled foliage around it that it was almost invisible. It was a great cat, resplendent and powerful as some beast of legend, the jade-green stare unblinking.

“Jaguar,” Kerr said, the word a mere breath of sound.

Untamed, preternaturally alert yet unafraid, with physical perfection in every line of his body, the great cat reminded Sonia irresistibly of the man at her side. Sudden death was inherent in the animal's stance and stare; only its will held it in check. Her breath caught in her throat and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her every muscle turned to stone.

Leisurely, as if in disdain for such poor prey, the jaguar glided into movement. It crossed the path in the glow of the afternoon sunlight before vanishing into the thick growth on the other side.

Sonia released the air from her lungs in a sigh. Beside her, Kerr eased his stance. It was only then that she noticed the knife in his hand, the open pocketknife he had used to such good purpose since the sinking of the
Lime Rock.
He had meant to meet the great beast with that puny weapon. It was all he had, yes, but what manner of man was he that he could even think of trying?

She could hardly imagine, didn't want to consider it. If she thought too much she might lose all hope, might give up and let him take her where he would.

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she asked, “You don't think he…might come back?”

“Who knows?” Kerr shrugged. “If he was a swamp panther, I'd say not. That is, unless he was too old to chase down his usual fare.”

“You're such a comfort.”

“My purpose in life.”

He threw the words over his shoulder as he set out down the jungle track once more. Sonia, following after him, was pensive as she stared at a spot between his shoulder blades. His true purpose, as she well remembered, was to see her safely to her destination. He was prepared to do just that no matter what he had to face. She would not forget it again.

No, she would not. Neither would she forget that he had avoided, yet again, the answer to her question.

It began as a whisper, a distant murmur not unlike the wind among treetops or the tumbling surf they had left behind. Slowly, it grew louder, more definite.

Kerr increased his pace. Sonia kept up with him, walking faster, running a few paces, though her feet ached with every step and she felt light-headed with heat and thirst. Neither dared speak their hope for fear of making the disappointment greater if they were wrong.

The game trail turned, winding downhill around rocky outcroppings, almost fading away among them. It snaked past enormous trees with exotic flowers growing in the crotches of their limbs then wound down an embankment. Without warning, it broke from cover, stopped at a fern-covered lip.

Water.

A few steps more and it lay before them. Cool and inviting, it was a pool tinted viridian and raw sienna as it reflected its basin of moss-covered rock. A thin waterfall spilled over a rocky, wall-like cliff above it and clouds of dragonflies danced over its surface. At its far end, it flowed away around an obstacle course of rocks
as part of a stream that might be wide enough to be called a river, if one were charitable.

They were so inclined since it promised a direction to follow, maybe even rescue.

“Wait here,” Kerr said, placing a hand on her arm, the first time he'd been within touching distance in the hours since he had tied her sandals onto her feet.

Sonia's tongue was swollen, her eyes burned, and her skin itched from the saltwater that still coated it. Her clothing, scant as it might be, was so stiff from its saltwater soaking that it had chafed her raw in places she didn't want to think about. Every inch of her body cried out for the cool, clear water that lay in front of her.

She didn't move. With compressed lips, she watched as Kerr made his way down to the pool. Leaping from one rock ledge to another, sliding in a wash of gravel before recovering his balance, he moved with lithe caution to the water's edge. Kneeling, he scooped up a handful of the clear liquid, sniffed it, tasted it.

He looked back up to where she stood and gave a slow nod. She smiled in return, holding his gaze.

The slashing indentation in his cheek took on intriguing depth as his mouth curved in a grin of thankfulness, triumph and a frank need to share them with her. And the light in his eyes was like the sun rising bright and glorious over a gray sea.

S
onia needed no other invitation. Slipping, sliding in her makeshift sandals of leaves, she made her way down the bank and plunged into the water. She gasped as its chill struck, but did not stop. Wading out until she was hip deep, she scooped up the fresh sweetness in her cupped hands, splashing her face and neck so it ran over her shoulders and into the valley between her breasts, drinking her fill. It was only when her initial thirst was slaked that she realized she was alone in the water.

Swinging around in sudden panic, she scanned the rocky bank. Kerr was there where she stepped past him, sitting on his haunches.

“Aren't you coming in?” she called.

“I'd rather watch…keep watch until you're done.”

The penetrating look in his eyes made her self-conscious. She backed away a step, skimming her hands back and forth over the water's surface. “I won't be long.”

“Take your time.”

It seemed better to put distance between them, which
was strange considering her intentions of not so long ago. She didn't care to look into it too closely, however, not while her hair was stiff with salt and her skin cried out for the cooling wetness that surrounded her. She moved deeper, dipping her head into the water and drawing her fingers through her hair to wash away the salt stiffness. She submerged, swam, floated with her eyes closed. She used her hands to rinse her corset cover, corset and pantaloons, also Kerr's shirt while the soft linen clung to her body. She drank, scrubbed her face, wrung the excess water from her hair while standing neck deep in the coolness. And all the while she worked her way back toward where Kerr rested, mindful that he must be as anxious to plunge into the pool as she had been herself.

Streaming water from every stitch, every strand of her hair, she rose up before him like a naiad, her smile beatific. “Now you,” she said, her voice husky, “while I watch.”

He blinked, as if her offer required mental processing. An instant later, his gaze flashed down her body.

A white line appeared around his mouth. Rising to his feet in a single fluid movement, he backed away from her.

She had half expected him to offer his hand for her support as she covered the last few steps to where mud and rock met, but he did not. As her knees cleared the water, he stripped off his waistcoat and let it fall. With a muscular leap off the slope, he launched into a flat, fast dive that took him three-quarters of the way across the pool.

Sonia glanced down then gave a hissing gasp. She had thought the shirt she wore covered her. She was
mistaken. It gaped, exposing the wet transparency of her unmentionables. Beneath the fabric, the rose-pink areolae and beaded nipples of her breasts were clearly visible, as was the shadowy dark wedge where her thighs came together.

With stunning clarity, she recognized that if her body was so plain to be seen now, it must have been even more so when she and Kerr first crawled out of the gulf. She had just been too stunned by the disaster, too exhausted, to notice.

No wonder Kerr had sacrificed his shirt. She must have appeared the most complete wanton. But if so, why had he not taken advantage of it?

Wrapping the linen covering closer around her, Sonia moved up the bank and dropped down on a rock ledge protruding from the grass. She listened, she looked, but saw nothing that hinted at danger. Leaning to prop her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm, she returned to the puzzle of Kerr Wallace.

The only thing which made sense was that the control of his emotions that allowed his success as a swordsman also allowed him to remain unmoved by her near nakedness. Well, perhaps not unmoved, she amended, thinking of his haste in getting away from her just now, but at least the training reinforced his will to resist. That could be a problem, one that must be surmounted.

She would have to bend her mind to it.

The waistcoat Kerr had discarded lay just below her. With a quick glance toward where he swam at the far side of the pool, she stretched to grasp an armhole and
pull it toward her. The fabric, a light blend of cashmere and silk, was warm to the touch, though it was impossible to say if from the sun or his body heat. She closed her hands on it for an instant, all the same.

The movement dislodged his pocket watch so it slid onto the ground. She caught it by its chain, gathering it into her hand. Of silver chased with gold, it was engraved with scrolls around a pair of crossed swords in a design peculiarly significant. She stared at it with a cool feeling around her heart before pressing the release for the lid.

The watch had stopped not long after they plunged from the
Lime Rock
into the sea. She had expected no less; still it was a disappointment. Time had little meaning while they were lost here, but it was a symbol of events that must be, surely were, proceeding without them.

What would Jean Pierre do when he discovered the ship bringing her had sunk, or when her aunt reached Vera Cruz only to report that she and her escort were among the missing? His first act would surely be to send a message to her father by the next packet to New Orleans. That was, of course, if such vessels were being allowed to leave port.

What would her father think? How would he feel? Yes, and how would he react when he discovered she was alive? What would he do when he learned, finally, that she had miraculously escaped the disaster at sea? Would he appear at Vera Cruz to take her away from a country at war with their own, or only send a demand that the wedding go on as planned?

A silent laugh left her. She had no doubt of the answer.

Tucking the pocket watch away again, returning the waistcoat to where she had found it, she lifted her injured foot to her lap and began to repair the leaf sandal that had loosened. It was a moment before she glanced at the pool again.

Kerr was swimming strongly back and forth, his shoulders slashing through the water in a white-edged wave, long arms reaching with powerful strokes. Concentration furrowed his brow, and his eyes were closed. Some instinct caused him to turn just before he reached the smooth stone cliff, however, reversing with a flip of his body powered by a hard kick.

She wanted to look away, to pretend unconcern or boredom. It was impossible. The westward-leaning sunlight striking through the trees fell around him like a shower of daggers, so he flashed in and out among them as if avoiding their danger. The muscles across his back rippled, gleaming with a silver sheen. Sleek, powerful, almost primitive in his masculine beauty, he seemed to suit the time and place in a way she did not. His eyes, as he lifted spiked lashes and caught her gaze upon him, were as opaque as those of some carved river god.

He changed directions, surging toward the shallows where she sat. Sonia averted her eyes in quick reflex, though she could still see him through the shields of her lashes. She knew perfectly well the moment when he touched bottom, gained his feet and began to wade toward her.

His trousers, she was gratified to see, offered scarcely
more concealment than her pantaloons. The weight of the water draining down his body dragged them low on his hip bones, exposing a considerable expanse of hard, flat belly with an arrow of dark hair pointing downward. Below that, scrupulously molded by wet fabric, was an outline she recognized as corresponding to the male member of stallions seen at pasture.

Like some satyr of legend, half man, half beast, he lifted his arms that were circled by her wet garters and used both hands to rake his hair back from his face. The resulting furrows of wet hair relaxed into waves and wild ends that looked like a crown of tarnished copper leaves.

The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe and more furious grew the race of the blood in her veins. Something about him, some untamed impulse in his face or purpose in his stride, made her breasts tingle and lower body ache with reckless yearning. She didn't move, had no thought of retreat. Never in her life had she felt so alive or so in need of human closeness. The urge was so desperate that even the hint of menace in his approach could not disturb her.

His movements slowed, came to a halt. She met his eyes, sustaining the steel-hardness in their silver-gray depths. Her lips parted, and she inhaled with a soft, tried sound that might have been either trepidation or anticipation.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and lower to where the shirt she wore had fallen open, revealing the enticing curves of her breasts above her corset cover and the drops
of water that dripped from her hair to jewel their swells. It moved lower still, to her lap where she cradled her foot.

“You're bleeding,” he said abruptly.

So she was, an ooze of red from under the leaves protecting her injury. Her voice had a trace of huskiness as she answered, “It's just from being in the water.”

The rigidity of his muscles eased, his stance became looser. “More than likely, though I should take another look. It must be sore to walk on, too. Maybe we had better stop for the night.”

“Here?” She glanced around at the stone walls that enclosed the pool except for the slope down which they had gained access. The question was almost at random in the confused disappointment that gripped her. She had thought, had expected…

But, no, it must have been only in her mind.

He gave a quick shake of his head, looking past her shoulder. “This is the jaguar's stomping ground and we don't want to get between him and his watering hole. I thought I caught sight of a cave higher in the rocks above here.”

“That sounds useful,” she said with some strain. “That's supposing it isn't his den.”

His face remained impassive. “As you say. Best I take a look.”

“I could go a little farther if necessary.”

“A mile or two more shouldn't make a difference. At least we have water here, and we may need the daylight that's left.”

He didn't explain further, and Sonia didn't ask. She
had made her effort toward cooperation and was too grateful that it had been turned down, too desperate for the prospect of rest, to care.

It was just as well they had not entered the opening he spoke of in darkness. It was not a cave, after all, but the overgrown doorway of what had once been a dwelling or pagan temple of enormous size. The stone blocks of which it had been built were tumbled and broken, leaving a usable space larger than the average room. Tree roots and vines covered the rubble, insinuating their tendrils into the cracks caused by storm and earth tremors so they grew down the walls inside. Lichen and fungi coated them in spreading crusts, almost obliterating the oddly convoluted characters and symbols that were incised into the rock. Lizards enameled in green, red and blue darted over the surfaces and spiders made nests like silken tunnels in the seams. And over it all hung a breathless, thunderous silence, as if something or someone long vanished would return momentarily.

Kerr checked the dark and echoing interior. Turning back to where she waited just inside the door opening, he pronounced it safe enough. Though it had been used by animals in the past, he said, the signs weren't recent.

“I've heard tell of lost Indian cities,” he went on with a slow shake of his head as he studied the terrain around the opening. “Never expected to run up on one.”

“You think there are other buildings?”

“Bound to be.” He nodded toward where the ground rose behind where they stood. “That rock pile doesn't
look natural. Must be lots of other ruins farther on, half buried and covered over with all the greenery.”

She shook her head in amazement as she stepped deeper into the shadowy refuge. There was fascination for her in the idea of all those who had lived here, who had laughed and cried, played, sung, loved, hated, fought and died. It may have been long ago but their spirits seemed to hover in the stifling heat and silence. To take shelter where they had trod seemed a sacrilege, yet also a privilege.

How long she stood there, peering around the cool, dark space, absorbing its dusty mysteries, she didn't know. When she looked toward where she had left Kerr, he was kneeling in a small area he'd cleared under shelter of the doorway. Before him was a pile of dry leaves, shredded bark and what appeared to be fibers from the hems of his trousers. His ruined pocket watch lay next to him while he held the thick, concave crystal from it in his hand, directing a ray from the sun through it and onto the tinder he had prepared. A small smile touched her mouth as she understood, abruptly, why they had needed sunlight enough to stop while it was still available.

By the time she reached his side, a thin curl of smoke was rising from the pile in front of him. She dropped to her knees and leaned to blow gently on that hot spot. Seconds later, a tiny blaze appeared. They fed it with care, placing another leaf or two on it, a handful of rotted bark, a few twigs. When it was crackling, reaching upward for more fuel, she looked across the yellow-red flames and smoke, beaming.

Kerr smiled back at her, his eyes silver bright.

Perilous delight suffused Sonia. The two of them had survived enemy fire, drowning and jungle danger to find a safe shelter. To be alive was such a miracle. Inside her, some odd, internal barrier seemed to give way. Careless of the smoke and her damp hair strands that dangled near the small fire, she leaned impulsively to press her lips to his.