"Are we staying here from now on?" Ian rocked in the hammock.
"We'll go back to the beach."
"It's going to rain soon, and that hut looks watertight."
Grant shook his head. "No, we go back."
Ian flashed him an impatient look that turned defiant, then leapt up to untie and steal the hammock. Grant let it go and followed him, pausing only to glance back one last time. After reading the journal, he recognized that Victoria had compiled the notes in those books. He'd wondered if she could still read, but now knew she'd made a study of all of those texts. Her intelligence continued to impress. Except when she used it against him.
When they dragged into camp, Dooley greeted them with coffee and stew. After being assured of the food, Grant ate, not tasting. The pain from his muscles grew more intense now that he'd slowed from the day's pace. He reached for his pallet, unrolled and followed it, every inch of him protesting as he eased down. Though he could scarcely keep his eyes open, he lit a lantern and pulled out the journal.
Victoria as a child of thirteen had written with a clarity belying her young age. The words describing her mother's burial weren't maudlin. In fact, Grant got the feeling that as she wrote of her mother's death, she didn't accept it. There was an underlying tone that read like someone recording a bizarre dream they'd had the night before.
A drizzly misting of rain began, dousing the fire in a series of hisses, and splattering on the fragile journal pages. He and his crew were ill prepared for camping on land. He could order the tarpaulin brought to shore, but that would be admitting he might be here longer than one more night.
Not likely. He yanked his jacket off his back and shielded the journal.
...at the first glimpse of sail, we hurriedly dressed in our best and ran to the water. The sailors were unsettled to find us, but seemed polite, their captain acting the gentleman. That night around the fire on the beach, the crew drank spirits, became boisterous.
Grant turned the page, perplexed to find his ship wasn't the first to land here.
The first mate sat beside Cammy--close--and put his arm around her. She stiffened but appeared not to know what to do. When the man reached to touch her chest, Cammy slapped him. The entire group grew silent.
I was almost between them when he slapped her back, so hard her teeth snapped together and her lip split. I helped her up and forced myself to be calm. I told him we were tired and that we would see them in the morning, then bade him good night. We turned and slowly walked away. As soon as we entered the brush, a loud cry broke out. They yelled and laughed, and we could hear them readying for the chase and making claims on Cammy and the "young one."
Grant tensed when a bolt of lightning flashed nearby, punctuating the words. The drizzle persisted, and the lantern flickered. He thought more insects had settled on the glass, until the light completely guttered out. He lifted the lantern, brows drawn. Bloody hell.
Out of oil.
He could read by the fire. He jerked his glance over, but the embers were wet. Rigid with irritation, he folded the journal into an oilskin pouch. He pulled on his jacket and turned up the collar, attempting to sleep. A futile gesture. Victoria had lived, but what had she lived through?
No wonder she'd been so frightened when he chased her. He rubbed a hand over his face, flinching from his actions. He wanted to find her and assure her that he was there to help. He wanted to comfort her as best as someone like him was able.
He wanted to read on so badly, the pouch seemed to burn.
"So, how's the campaign?" Cammy asked from beside the popping fire. Though it was wet and gusting outside, they were relatively snug in their hideaway.
Tori leaned back and placed her hands behind her head. "Today he'll get a delightful view of the twin seep holes on the west side. And for tomorrow, I planted a trail through the mangrove thicket that won't wash away." She hoped she appeared utterly confident, but the truth was, she had no idea if she was proceeding in the right direction. They showed no signs of leaving, nor staying for that matter.
"What else have you planned?"
"Now, just hear me out before you say anything." Tori leaned in and lowered her voice, as if what she was about to impart would be disturbing. "I was thinking that I could--" She broke off. "Why are you looking at me like that? I haven't even told you--" The look of horror on Cammy's face made her freeze. "Something's directly behind me?"
Cammy slowly nodded, gasping. Tori spun around, placing Cammy behind her.
Only to come face-to-face with a thick, black-
mottled snake, so close that her breath fanned it and would have made it blink, if scaly serpents had eyelids.
When its tongue slid out close enough to touch her cheek, Tori, in turn, piped out her lip to blow a curl from her eyes. "This is the last time, snake. The cave is our dry place, not yours." She hefted up the weighty boa and began to lug it out into the rain.
"Tori?" Cammy said in a squeak. Tori turned, the snake still casually looped over one shoulder. "Do you think you could take it farther away this time, so it won't slither right back?"
"All right, but I don't know where to put..." She trailed off as an idea came to her. Absently patting the snake's plump torso, she said, "I know just who would appreciate your company."
An hour after dawn the next day, Grant still hadn't set out, but continued to read, engrossed.
"Put the bloody book down," Ian hollered from his hammock. As he had for the last two outbursts, Grant ignored him.
...I'd never been so frightened. Not even the night of the wreck. But we knew the island better and escaped. I'd found a jut of land with hidden accesses, like a lip plateau against the bare rock wall, and took Cammy there. We left our soft sand camp and moved within the roots of the banyan, among the night bats and creatures. I felt safe within the grand old tree, but we were running out of food. We fought like spitting cats over who would leave, each wanting to protect the other. In the end, I planned to wait until she slept, then creep out before dawn. When I woke Cammy was gone....
"Are you going to read or are you going to search?"
Grant reluctantly glanced up and found Ian standing over him, readied for another day. "I thought you'd had it."
"Walking until my feet rot off actually beats staying here--"
"So, we're out of liquor?"
Ian didn't even have the grace to look shamefaced. "Quite so. And bloody boring without it. Besides, when I found the shelter, it whetted the explorer appetite in me."
"You found the shelter?"
"Would you have found it without me?"
Grant scowled before looking down at the words covetously.
"Don't you feel guilty reading her journal?"
Yes, he struggled with it at every page. "I might be able to find a reference to another hiding place."
"You might put the journal down and find her sitting in her hut."
"She's too smart for that."
"So, now you know her?"
He knew she was courageous and wily and loyal. He held up the journal. "I know her."
Four
&n
bsp; Just after midnight, Tori padded into their camp, her footsteps silenced by the sand. She dragged her woven sack with difficulty and crept closer to the shadowy form of the captain, an imposing form even at rest.
When she stood directly over him, she knew she should hurry away, but she was curiously content to watch him by the light of the dying fire and the waxing moon. His brows knitted in sleep, and a lock of hair teased his eyes. If she were objective, she'd admit that he was a particularly good-looking man, with his strong chin and chiseled features.
After several moments, the contentment faded as the curious urge to touch him surfaced. What would his skin feel like? She'd wondered since she'd seen him in the pool. And the faint beginnings of his beard? Would his face be rough where hers was smooth? Captivated, she inched closer.
And promptly kicked over a lantern.
She tensed to run. He mumbled something in his sleep, his voice a deep rumble, and rolled over, but he didn't wake. Relaxing somewhat, she noticed a book tucked by his side. Setting down her roiling sack, she leaned forward, wondering what a man like him would read.
My journal. The bastard was reading it. She pulled it free, heart hammering as he muttered again. The pages opened to where he'd placed a mark, and she read, the journal trembling in her hands. As though it'd been the morning before, she remembered finding the captain of that other ship attacking Cammy, remembered the rage she'd felt that he would dare try to hurt her. Tori had been blind with it.
Yet at the end of that harrowing trial, Tori had known she and Cammy could do whatever it took to stay alive. That realization had made her strong. The same knowledge seemed to frighten and weaken Cammy....
Tori shook her head hard. Reminded of why she was here, she gathered up her prize once more and guided it from the sack. When it coiled under his blanket, she sprinted away, hearing the captain bellowing in the distance. After another five minutes of racing away, she wondered if she could slow a bit.
Until loud footfalls crunched the ground behind her.
The blood left her face, making it cool. Her run returned to a sprint as she pumped her arms for speed. He couldn't catch her. All she had to do was make it to the line of downed trees. He was too tall, too lumbering to run beneath them. The horizontal trunks were too high to scale. To the trees. Seconds more. She had them in sight.