Care and Feeding of Pirates (31 page)

Mud pattered to Honoria's face, the droplets
fast becoming splatters, then clods. Then mud and water rained down
around her, turning to a steady fall of wet earth pouring past her
to Christopher still waiting in the hole.

"It's coming down!" James shouted above the
noise. "Pull her out!"

The tunnel began to collapse in on itself.
Honoria watched in horror as its walls cascaded down to the
upturned face of her husband.

"Christopher!" she screamed. "Grab my hand.
James, pull us out!"

Honoria felt Christopher's strong fingers
close around her wrist, then a deluge of water and mud crashed onto
her, filling her nose and mouth, threatening to carry her back down
into the rapidly flooding cave.

The harness around her went taut, and Honoria
was dragged upward, her body scraping the narrowing walls of the
tunnel. Christopher's hold on her wrist vanished.

"James, wait! Christopher, grab my hand!"

She felt Christopher's fingers scrabbling
through mud, but she could not see him. A wall of earth rushed at
her, and at the same time Honoria was yanked upward. Her shrieks to
stop were drowned by the roar of the cave-in.

The earth parted above her, and James,
white-faced, seized Honoria beneath the arms and dragged her up and
away from the hole.

"Wait," she sobbed. "Christopher is still
down there."

James hauled her quickly to the tree to which
she'd been tied, and with one stroke of his knife, freed her.
Honoria whirled back to the tunnel, where men were already digging
with hands and spades to reach Christopher.

There was another roar, and the digging men
leapt back. St. Cyr swore loudly in French. James seized Honoria
around the waist and ran.

The entire hillside came down. Boulders,
sapling trees, and torn roots, loosened by the mud and rain,
tumbled down the hillside to cover the opening to the tunnel. The
slide buried the ground around the opening and two of the caskets
that had not yet been moved to the sled.

James had run with Honoria about fifty feet
before, as suddenly as it had begun, the mudslide ceased. A few
rocks and tree branches crackled and slid on down the hill, and
then everything went still.

The roar was replaced by deafening silence,
except for the quiet sound of the abating rain.

*****

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Christopher!" Honoria screamed.

She raced back to the tunnel, now blocked by
boulders, scrub, and broken debris. She plunged her bare hands into
the mess, trying to scrape away the layers and layers that buried
her husband inside.

Honoria pounded and scraped until her fingers
bled, and streaks of her blood smeared the boulders that shut her
out.

A strong arm snaked about her waist, and
James lifted her from the pile. Honoria fought and cried, but he
carried her away from the site and sat down with her on a fallen
tree, she in his lap. Honoria's muslin gown was plastered with
black mud and slime, smeared with the blood from her hands.

Her sobs finally came, Honoria who prided
herself on never crying. "We must dig him out. Please James, get
him out."

"Shh," James said into her hair. "They're
digging, Honoria, as fast as they can."

She saw through burning eyes that St. Cyr and
O'Malley had organized the men with picks and shovels. Honoria
could scarcely comprehend what they did--she only knew they did not
do it fast enough. She must go over there and dig him out
herself.

Honoria found herself dragged back to James.
He held her firmly in his strong arms. "No. Let them work."

"They have to get him out."

"I know."

Honoria collapsed against him. James offered
her no reassurance, not the man whose younger brother died in his
arms, who knew too much of the world to mislead her with false
hope. She wished he'd try to comfort her with at least a little bit
of false hope. Her heart felt like lead.

This shock was worse, much worse, than when
she'd thought she'd lost Christopher to the hangman. She'd barely
known him then. Now she'd been married to him in every sense--she'd
slept in his bed, made turbulent love to him, argued with him,
laughed with him, helped him, hindered him. He was her husband,
much more now than when they'd signed the piece of paper.

"I can't lose him, James," she repeated
brokenly.

James held her, rocking her slightly, as he'd
done when she'd been a little girl frightened by a storm. Honoria
had always believed James strong enough to face anything, no matter
what. When their parents had died, even in her grief, Honoria had
known that she and Paul would be all right, because James was there
to take care of them.

Honoria had felt the same warmth and
strength--and love--from Christopher.

She felt nothing now, only a hollow of panic
where her heart used to be. She could only sit numbly in the circle
of James's arms, while his men dug and dug and uncovered
nothing.

The rain slackened, the lowering sun reached
through torn clouds, and still the entrance to the tunnel remained
stubbornly evasive, as if it had never existed.

The sun sank completely and night came and
the cold. Still they dug, to no avail.

*** *** ***

Buried alive to guard the treasure,
the thought sifted through Christopher's half-dazed mind.
What a
wonderful idea, my wife.

The mudslide had swept him from the tunnel's
edge and across the cave and crashed him into the cave's back wall.
Sharp edges of rock cut his flesh, and water and mud flooded over
him.

The deluge finally subsided, and the cave
floor, covered with slime and water, at last settled. Christopher
was left at the far end, dirty, wet, and cold, and walled off from
escape. Where the tunnel had been to the outside was nothing but a
pile of debris.

Christopher's first coherent thoughts as he
climbed to his feet were for Honoria. Thank God she'd been pulled
out before the worst of it hit. Ardmore would have seen to that.
Whatever Christopher thought of the man, he knew Ardmore would keep
Honoria safe.

His second thought was,
How the hell am I
going to get out of here?

At least six feet of debris, packed solid,
blocked him from the entrance. Who knew how many feet had fallen to
cover the outside?

The mud, still loose, came away easily in his
hands, but Christopher feared to shift too much, lest the whole
pack give way and smash down on him.

The picks, shovels, and ropes had all been
hauled outside before the slide began. The only things in the cave
with him were a small chest of gold, which now had a few tons of
mud on top of it, and a lantern, which rested on a jut of rock in
the far wall.

Incredibly, the candle was still burning. The
lantern's panes had protected the flame from the huge rush of air
that had come with the mud. The candle burned merrily on, the flame
tall and flickering, its light shimmering on the noisome muck on
the floor.

Christopher stared at the light for a moment
before he realized what it meant. The lantern flickering told him
that the cave had air from some source other than the entrance.

Of course, if he discovered the air came only
from tiny slits in the ceiling far above, openings he'd never
reach, he'd simply die of hunger and thirst here, instead of
suffocating. Not a happy thought.

Then again, the air might come from somewhere
accessible, which meant another way out.

Christopher slipped and slid over to the
lantern, lifted it from the rock, and began to explore.

What he found for his efforts was a hole near
the cave floor, opposite the entrance, now half blocked with mud.
It might, when cleared, just admit the bulk of his body. A long
shot, Christopher knew. The tunnel might lead to a dead end, or
become to small to move through.

But it was better than sitting here wondering
whether Ardmore and the others could dig him out. If Ardmore would
even try.

Christopher could imagine the pirate hunter
dusting off his hands and saying,
Good riddance
, returning
to the
Argonaut
with the gold, and crossing another pirate
off his list. Ardmore would take Honoria with him too.

The hole seemed the better effort.
Christopher scooped out the worst of the mud, shoved the lantern
in, and crawled inside behind it.

He would get out, one way or another. He had
to. Would Honoria believe herself rid of an inconvenient husband,
and make ready to return home with her brother and Diana?
Christopher would emerge from this hole, covered with dirt and mud,
and say, "Hello, dear. Did you miss me?"

He wondered if she'd stare in dismay, or if
her face would light up with her pretty smile. Either way, it did
not matter. He was determined to make her love him, no matter what.
Even if it took him every day of every year of his life, even if he
had to make love to her every night and argue with her every day,
he would make her love him.

Christopher loved her with every ounce of his
strength.

He pushed his way along the tunnel, flat on
his belly, shoving the lantern ahead of him. The light showed a
long, low tube, just big enough to admit him. Dry rock jutted
overhead, and damp rock under him scraped his bare chest.

Christopher had been close to death many
times before, especially when struggling through China and Siam.
He'd pushed through then, just as he pushed through this tunnel
now. He'd made himself live by thinking of Honoria.

He'd imagine her eyes, deeper green than
emeralds, the scent of her skin, the taste of her mouth. He'd close
his eyes and remember kissing her, the caress of her tongue, the
softness of her lips as she kissed him back. She was his flame,
guiding him through darkness.

She'd implied it wasn't fair of him to make
her his flame. He didn't care. They belonged together, Christopher
Raine and Honoria Ardmore. She could not escape it. He would not
let her escape it.

He realized suddenly that he'd closed his
eyes. Christopher jerked alert, banging his head on the rocks above
him. Cursing, he shoved the lantern along and kept crawling.

At one point, a small piece of rock jutted
down, impeding him. He pounded it with his fist until it broke,
then he pried it off and dropped it behind him.

He had to lie still a few minutes after that,
wheezing from the small effort. The close air and the battering
from the mudslide was taking its toll.

Christopher jerked awake again. The candle
had burned halfway down. He cursed out loud, making the harsh sound
of his own voice rouse him.

He wondered why he'd drifted off, then
realized that the candle flame had slackened and was beginning to
burn blue. His air was running out.

He'd have to go back. He prepared his aching
muscles for the prospect.

No,
a part of his mind said.
Never
go back.
Hadn't he taught that to Manda? Never go back, always
move forward.

He woke up again.
Bloody hell.
The
candle had gone out. Christopher was alone in blackness under a
mountain.

He moved determinedly forward, pushing the
lantern along. He had no way of lighting it again, even if any of
the candle remained.

I don't want to die here,
his mind
hummed.
I want to kiss Honoria one more time. She's worth
kissing, any man would agree.

She was worth other things as well.
Christopher pictured her with her hair coming down, her head tilted
back, her lips parting softly. She had true and unashamed desire,
and she desired Christopher.

Whenever he'd mention this fact to her, she'd
give him her prim look and tell him she was allowed to desire
him--they were married after all. But that was her excuse. She
pretended she did her duty, but she was a little liar. She wanted
him. Christopher chuckled.

He wanted to remember her all tousled with
lovemaking, but the image that came to him most vividly was of
Honoria standing on the cove the day before, hands on hips, sunburn
cream on her nose, informing him that of course she was coming up
the hill with him to see the gold.

Christopher raged at himself for letting her
in the cave at all. She might still have been inside it when the
mudslide started--it might be Honoria buried under all that rubble.
Stupid. Christopher should have carried her back to the ship and
locked her into their cabin, threatening her with flogging if she
would not stay.

Honoria would not have believed him, of
course. Christopher wondered briefly what it must be like to have a
wife who actually obeyed her husband. Probably bloody boring.

Christopher jumped awake again. His breathing
was labored. Damn it. He had to go back. There was air in the cave.
St. Cyr and Colby might succeed in digging him out. Maybe in a few
years, if the entire cave didn't collapse on him first.

He pushed the lantern on a few more inches,
crawling after it mindlessly. Christopher pushed again, and the
lantern disappeared.

He halted, uncertain what had happened. He
shook himself a little, in case he'd fallen asleep again.

Cautiously, Christopher stretched out his
hand. His fingers touched rock and then, nothing. A puff of cold
air brushed his arm.

Christopher inched forward as quickly as he
could. He took hold of the lip of the hole, pulled his face over
the opening, and breathed deeply of the faint air that wafted to
him. He could hear water trickling somewhere far below. The rock
was slippery with it.

He groped a little farther, trying to find
the other side of the niche, to see if the tunnel continued beyond
it. His body, tired and heavy, slipped.

And then he fell. It was a silent fall, his
throat too parched to let him cry out.