More Than You Know (39 page)

He shook his head. “It is your work. It's been that way for longer than you've known."

"I've never known."

Trenton laughed outright then. “I told you she was blind."

Griffin threw a right hook that lifted Trenton off his feet and put him flat on his back in the water. Before either Tiare or Claire could stop him, Sir Griffin jumped into the lagoon after his assistant. They thrashed around awkwardly, each of them trying to push the other under or land a blow that would end the match. Trenton had youth on his side. Sir Griffin had anger.

Lightning creased the sky, illuminating their struggle at odd moments. Claire stepped closer to the edge, wanting to join the fight. Tiare stayed where she was, watching intently, her lips moving around the sacred words of a powerful spell.

"No tapu, Tiare,” Claire said when she realized what Tiare was saying to herself. She placed her hand on Tiare's forearm. “No tapu."

Tiare shook off Claire's hand. Her words had the strength of a whisper now. In the water Trenton was fending off Griffin's attack by waving the bottle.

Claire shook her head. “I don't...” She closed her eyes as Trenton's weapon grazed the top of Sir Griffin's head. “I don't believe this.” Claire put one hand over her eyes. It was too painful to watch now. Neither of them seemed to realize they were behaving foolishly. Behind her, Claire could still hear Tiare speaking softly. The cadence was lilting, the intent deadly. “There is no tapu,” she said almost angrily.

It was then that Claire heard the dull thud of Trenton's bottle make contact with her father's skull. Her hand flew away from her face and she saw Sir Griffin start to sink below the water. “Tiare!"

Claire's sigh was almost inaudible. Lying beside her in bed, propped on one elbow, Rand watched the gentle rise and fall of Claire's chest as her breathing calmed. His eyes lifted to hers and he was witness to the tears that formed there. She blinked once, and a few of them slipped from the corners of her eyes, fell past her temple, and disappeared into her dark hair. She knew the lantern was burning in their cabin. She knew he could see her pain clearly and she didn't try to hide from it or him.

"Is this Tiare's version of events?” he asked her. “Or your own?"

"My own,” Claire said. “At the temple ... as she was telling me things ... I realized my mind was running ahead of her words. I knew what she was going to say before I heard her. I suppose that's when I understood I was actually remembering what happened."

"I knew something was different when you joined us again."

"You didn't say anything."

"I thought you would tell me in your own time.” He hesitated, wondering what he wanted to tell
her.
“And I didn't want—"

Claire interrupted him, her smile slight but genuine. “You didn't want Dr. Stuart to know anything had changed."

One of Rand's brows kicked up. He shouldn't be surprised, he reminded himself. Claire always heard more than was said. She knew the extent of his distrust for Stuart. “That's right,” he said. “I didn't.” He thumbed away the traces of tears at the corners of her eyes. “There's more to your story,” he said gently. “Do you know what it is?"

Claire nodded. “The blow to my father's head was a fatal one, but Trenton didn't wait to find that out. He started swimming for the outrigger as soon as Sir Griffin slipped under the water. Tiare jumped in to help my father, and I went after Trenton."

"Then you didn't know Sir Griffin was dead either."

"No,” she said quietly. “I didn't know. Not for certain. Tiare screamed for me to come back, but I didn't understand. Or perhaps I didn't want to. I remember thinking I
had
to stop Trenton. There was nothing else on my mind. I hung onto the canoe until we were in open water. I thought I could tip it."

Rand shook his head. “Not an outrigger."

"No one was there to explain that to me. I discovered it on my own.” Listening to herself, Claire was astonished at her own folly. She could only imagine how foolish she sounded to Rand. “Trenton wasn't able to stop me from pulling myself into the canoe. He needed both his hands for maneuvering. It wasn't raining yet, but the lightning and thunder were closer and the wind was picking up. Trenton was operating the sail, so the oars were free. I picked one up and hit him with it across the back. He fell, but then so did I. The sail whipped around and knocked the oar out of my hand. It went right in the water. We both tried to get it back. I warned him we needed to head for shore. We could have returned to Pulotu easily at that point, but Trenton had his own ideas about where he wanted to go."

"Here?” asked Rand. “Did he know about this place?"

"I don't know. He never said. We headed straight into the storm. I think he had some navigational equipment but he wasn't adept at using it. He was not a skilled sailor either, merely a competent one. By the time we passed through the storm we were hopelessly lost. He blamed me but he was afraid to get rid of me. I was able to help him with the outrigger and he knew it. There were some supplies on the canoe. He rationed them in his favor but he never tried to starve me or keep the water away, at least not in the beginning. I think if we had seen land at any point, Trenton would have pitched me overboard and made for it alone. He kept me alive because I was useful. That changed when it became clear to him that the supplies were going to run out. He hoarded everything then. He slept with the waterskin under his arm to keep me from getting it."

"But you survived him,” said Rand. “How did—"

Claire shook her head. “I don't know,” she said. “I really don't. I was too weak to move or even talk. I went in and out of consciousness. Trenton was there ... and then he wasn't. The canoe just kept drifting. I don't know if he was missing days or hours before I reached Raiatea. By the time I arrived I had forgotten he was ever with me."

"When did you know you were blind?"

"I was unconscious when my rescuers pulled me from the outrigger. It was when I came around later that I realized I couldn't see."

"And couldn't remember,” said Rand.

She nodded. “The doctor on board the British frigate had many more questions than I could answer. There were things I recalled gradually that helped explain what happened, but it wasn't until I stood with Tiare at the temple that the picture became complete.” Claire's sigh was a little uneven, not quite a sob, but not entirely composed. “I understand why you thought Tiare had placed a tapu on me. I confused a lot of things during my illness."

"I put the wrong construction on the only things you said aloud. The tapu was for Trenton."

"Yes. As far as Tiare is concerned, the tapu worked."

"I wouldn't argue otherwise."

"Neither would I,” she said quietly. “Tiare and Tipu were taken from Pulotu by the priests the morning after my father died. She told me we were always being watched. My father's assistants were exiled to other islands. They'll never be able to tell what happened that night. Evidence of the camp was eliminated. Tiare wanted to show me where she scattered my father's ashes. It's here on Arahiti. She said you can see it from the temple.” The words caught in her throat. Claire felt an ache building behind her eyes. She blinked, drew in a shaky breath, then continued. “A new variety of hibiscus is blooming there now. Sir Griffin would like that. It's a fitting tribute."

She paused. Rand's fingers slipped between hers and squeezed. Claire returned the gentle pressure, assuring him she was all right. “I know now that Tiare was right: toward the end my father was losing sight of his work ... and himself. Finding the treasure took more and more of his time. It was how he decided which islands we would visit and how long we would stay. Trenton was always there, pushing him. I don't suppose Sir Griffin thought he could say no, but I don't think it takes away from what he
was
able to accomplish. He earned his knighthood. He contributed something to science as a naturalist."

"No one is going to take that away from him,” Rand assured her. “But it's only part of his legacy, Claire. You're the other part. He trained you, guided you, probably bullied you, but he made it possible for you to carry on his work. He never completely abandoned what he loved; he passed it on to you."

"Then I've failed him.” It was impossible to keep all the bitterness she felt out of her voice. “I can't exactly carry on now, can I?"

Rand did not try to hold Claire. Placing his arms around her just then would have provided neither comfort nor consolation. It would have added to her despair, made her seem less strong than she was. She could not see the tears that blurred his own vision. He would not let her know that at the moment when he was offering to be her eyes, he could see nothing at all.

It was still dark when Claire woke. She eased herself out of bed, careful not to disturb Rand, and washed her face at the basin. Her eyelids were faintly swollen and tender from weeping. She wondered if she would ever be reconciled to the losses in her life. Her mother. Sir Griffin. Her sight. Even Tipu would be gone to her. Claire shook her head, hating the self-pitying slant of her thoughts. It was time to take something back.

She left the cabin quietly. Although she carried her cane, she didn't use it to tap her way down the passage. She needed no special assistance to find Macauley Stuart's cabin. His door opened soundlessly and Claire entered without announcing herself. She was prepared for a confrontation, but it didn't come to that. Macauley was snoring deeply, unaware of her presence.

Claire found the jacket he had been wearing easily enough. It was stretched across the back of the only chair in his room. The Hamilton riddle, however, was no longer inside it. Claire wondered how much opportunity Macauley had had to study it. She had given him little during the day or evening. It was only after they retired to their respective cabins that he was alone with his stolen prize.

Claire patted down Macauley's writing desk. The open bottle of rum helped explain his deep slumber. She wondered if he had gotten drunk in celebration or frustration. Claire set down her cane so she could hold the bottle in one hand and raise the desktop with the other. None of the papers inside had the distinctive markings of the riddle. She rearranged them neatly and closed the lid.

Macauley stirred. Claire didn't move at all. She held her breath until she heard him snoring again. The resonance had changed, and now Claire realized he was facing the wall. She grew a little braver in her exploration, methodically searching the cabin as she circled outward from the desk.

Claire found his medical bag at the foot of his bed. She was so certain it was where he had put the riddle that she contemplated just leaving with the bag. She reconsidered when it opened easily under her questing fingers. Macauley had slipped the riddle under the lining of the bag. She would have missed the opening if she had been searching with her eyes. It wasn't visible that way. It was the subtle change in the plane surface that her fingertips acknowledged. The riddle was easy to find and remove after that.

Claire slipped it under her own sleeve, closed the bag, and left Macauley's cabin.

She ran full tilt into Rand in the companionway. He didn't say anything, and she didn't explain. When he gripped her by the elbow, Claire sensed she was about to be dragged back to their cabin if she didn't accompany him willingly.

Once inside, Claire made a small show of rubbing her arm where he had held her.

Rand was having none of it. “I didn't hurt you,” he said. “Don't make me wish I had. What were you doing in Stuart's cabin?” Claire stopped massaging her arm. He had never spoken in quite that tone to her before. She was sure she didn't like it. “Are you accusing me of something?"

Was he? “If I am,” he said finally, “I'm not prepared to admit it."

She smiled a little at that. It seemed he was as surprised by his reaction as she was. Claire took pity on him. “I didn't want to tell you about this until I could make it all right again."

"If you think you're relieving my mind, let me explain: you're not."

Claire crossed the room to him. He was sitting on the desk, one hip anchored on the edge. His other leg was stretched out in front of him. He made room for her but his mouth didn't soften much the first time she kissed him. It was better the second time. “Does that help?” she asked.

"I'm reserving judgment."

She sighed. “That's probably wise,” she allowed. Placing some distance between them, Claire removed the riddle from under the sleeve of her robe and handed it to Rand. “Yesterday, before Tiare arrived and while you were gone to find breakfast, Dr. Stuart surprised me in the workroom. At first I thought he was you. I didn't have time to hide the map we were looking at when I realized I was wrong. I didn't know your journal was lying on the table.” She told him about the coffee spill and Macauley's discovery.

Rand carefully unfolded the riddle. The left edge was ragged where it had been torn from the book. The coffee stains were evident, but so was the writing. What the spill
had
done was to swell the paper and make the holes disappear. If Claire had never found them, no one would ever know they had existed. He told her that.

"Dr. Stuart knows they existed,” she said. “The spill must have seeped through to the page under it. He commented on the pattern. He saw the same one on your chart.” She drew in a deep breath and said in a rush, “I think he's working for my godfather. Stickle wants to be certain you don't cheat him of his share of the treasure. Stuart must have an arrangement similar to the one Trenton had. Do you remember what I told you I overheard at the lagoon? Sir Griffin said Trenton was an idiot; he didn't know why Strickland thought he could carry out his work. They had been talking about the treasure earlier. It must be all related, Rand. It
must
be."

Claire's earnestness made Rand smile. He wasn't able to keep it entirely out of his voice. “It sounds plausible enough, I suppose."

Claire's eyes narrowed. Her hand lifted and struck like a cobra, but there was no sting in her touch. She felt the shape of Rand's mouth with her fingertips. He had no time to school his features. In any event, he didn't try. “You know!” she said. “You've always known."

His smile deepened. He held her hand to his lips and kissed the pads of her fingers. “Are you accusing me of something?” Rand didn't wait for her answer. “I haven't always known,” he said. “In fact, until you returned the riddle, I've only ever had suspicions."

"But you've never said anything."

"What could I have said that you would have accepted? You weren't even prepared to believe he wasn't a doctor. You found reasons to defend him when he cared for my mother at Henley, remember?"

Claire did remember. She blushed a little. “Perhaps he's just not a very good one."

Rand chuckled. “I think that's probably true. It doesn't really matter, does it? He hasn't caused anyone harm. As you pointed out, his care of my mother was at least adequate. On board here he's set some bones and managed to help you through your illness. He never understood very much about your blindness, though. Your godfather expected too much from him in that regard. I suppose in his own way Macauley's tried to protect you—from me."

Claire found the chair behind the desk and sat down heavily. Her shoulders drooped. “My godfather,” she said, more to herself than Rand. “What can he be thinking?"

"He wants the Hamilton-Waterstone treasure, I imagine.” Rand's voice was matter-of-fact. “Just as I do."

"But you have some claim to it."

Rand shrugged. “After all these years? I don't know that my claim is any more valid than any other. The treasure was stolen in the first place. I think it properly belongs to the person who can find it. The Duke of Strickland wants to be that person. He can't do it himself, so he's made his bargain with others."

"My father."

"Yes."

"He arranged for my mother to marry my father."

"Yes.” He wasn't certain if Claire would understand how long ago Strickland's manipulation had begun. Finding the treasure had consumed most of the duke's life. Rand could almost pity him. He understood too well what that was like. “Strickland would have chosen your father after a great deal of thought. Not just anyone could be persuaded to go on a treasure hunt, then be expected to deliver that treasure intact. The duke didn't want to lose it all after it was found."

"My father must have seemed heaven-sent to Stickle."

"Probably. Griffin Bancroft had a deep interest in the flora of the very part of the world Strickland wanted explored. Your father cared more about his own work than the treasure, so the duke wasn't afraid that Griffin would steal it from him. He probably only had to promise funding all future expeditions. Your father would have been satisfied with that."

Claire smiled wistfully. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, he would have."

"It took some time to arrange. We both know that the duke was in possession of the Waterstone riddle. Your mother couldn't have passed it on to you in any other way."

"But why? Why did she do it at all?"

"A bit of sly revenge, perhaps.” Rand saw Claire's brow pull together as she considered this. “For many things. The duke wouldn't marry her. He arranged her marriage. And he wanted her to go with Sir Griffin to the South Pacific. You told me she didn't want to accompany your father on the trip at all."

"No, she didn't. They argued about it. Stickle was insistent.” Her face cleared. “Revenge,” she said softly. “Yes, that makes sense. My mother realized the duke was using her to watch my father."

Rand nodded. “His eyes and ears. I don't think he expected her to resist going. I certainly don't believe he expected her to take you. Your mother saw to it that he had no choice."

"The final proof that he wanted the treasure more than he wanted her ... or me."

"You don't know that you're his daughter, Claire. He may not even know. Your mother is the only one who could have known the truth and—"

"And he killed her."

"He couldn't have known what would happen."

"He knew there were dangers.” Her head came up. “Why are you defending him? You have as much right to be angry with him as I do. Even hate him. If it weren't for the duke, Stuart wouldn't be here. For that matter,
I
wouldn't be here."

"Exactly."

"Oh."

Rand reached for Claire's wrist and drew her to her feet. He brought her between his legs and rested his palms lightly on her hips. “It doesn't really change anything, knowing that, but it gives me some allowance not to despise him. You have to make your own decision."

"He sent Sir Griffin back here after my mother died."

"Don't you think your father wanted to return?” asked Rand. “You did."

"But he sent Trenton, too."

There was nothing Rand could say to that. The duke was not blameless. Even his motives in allowing Claire to board
Cerberus
were suspect. Strickland had been insistent that she accompany Rand, but they might never know the why of it. Was it that he didn't want to deny her the opportunity to regain her sight, or was it the only way he could put his own spy aboard Rand's ship? He had to have known Rand would never permit Stuart on
Cerberus
otherwise.

Rand watched Claire's expression change as she struggled with some of the same questions. Whatever conclusions she drew, she kept to herself. All save one.

"I think he must be responsible for the murder of the last Waterstone,” she said.

Rand drew his knuckles lightly across Claire's cheek. He tucked a tendril of dark chocolate hair behind her ear. “There's no proof."

"He has the riddle."

"Possession of it does not equal murder. He could have bought it from the murderer."

"You don't believe that."

"No,” he admitted. “I don't. But we'll never know, Claire. You'll have to accustom yourself to that."

Claire didn't know if she could. It seemed of late that she was being asked to accustom herself to too many of these revelations. She wanted something in return for it. “I want to find the treasure,” she said. She stepped out of Rand's reach. “Yours is not the only house it's cursed."

"Claire."

She shook her head. “You don't want to talk me out of it,” she said. “You know you don't."

"I might,” he said. “If you think it's more important to me than you are."

That gave her pause. The surge of anger that had been rising in her was suppressed again. Claire bent her head, ashamed. “No, I don't think that."

Rand leaned forward and cupped Claire's chin. He lifted it and drew her back. He kissed her lightly. “All right,” he said. “We'll find the treasure."

She was a little suspicious of his confidence. “You know something, don't you? Something other than what we realized yesterday."

He knew she was talking about the rainbow.
At the end of one god's promise.
“I know where to find the rainbow,” he said.

"You do?"

"We were there yesterday."

"That's the one?” she asked excitedly. “At the waterfall? But how can you know that?"

"Because I know where we are."

"You mean where we
were."

"No,” he corrected her. “I mean where we are. It's one and the same.” He tapped her lips lightly with his finger when she would have interrupted. “I spent a considerable amount of time yesterday thinking about the Big Dipper. Why would the cartographer use it? I connected the islands on my chart and I still didn't see what he did, not until I thought like a navigator. Our mapmaker saw a shape in the islands that was familiar to him and he exploited it. He used it to identify the island where the treasure would be hidden."

Claire could not remain silent any longer. “But there are seven stars—I mean islands. It could be any one of them."

"It's none of them,” Rand told her. “He was cleverer than that."