Christie (51 page)

Lula noticed a low-hanging branch up ahead and
carefully slowed down, finally grabbing it and holding it up, out of Christie's way as Thunder passed by. Christie never saw it. Staring straight ahead of her, she merely held Thunder's reins between slender, kid-gloved fingers and continued
to
move ahead.

As Lula caught up to her and began to ride alongside the gray, her thoughts again strayed to the night of their ordeal.

Immediately after the shot had been fired, it seemed dozens of people filled the upper chambers of the Setting Sun. She remembered the ashen look on the face of the tall mulatto who had led them when he saw Lucille's disfigured features. There had been pain, but more than that, pity, as he led the whimpering woman away. Then one of the fancy women had come and untied Lula's feet and had been about to release her wrists, but a buckskin-clad figure had suddenly appeared as from nowhere, and her beloved "Bear" had completed the job, quickly-wrapping her in a blanket and holding her close as the two of them watched Jesse go to Garrett and Christie.

The sheriff who had also arrived, along with Mr. Carlisle, had taken charge then, clearing the rooms of spectators, directing someone to see to the baby howling in the basket.

But Jesse had insisted on holding Adam, having joyfully assured Lula and her brave that Garrett was alive. Dr. Barrett had arrived, confirming the head wound to be nothing serious and they had revived Garrett with some potent brandy. But Christie had continued to remain unconscious for some time
despite similar efforts to restore her, and although repeated attempts at reviving her through spirits and smelling salts had failed, the hungry crying of her infant son finally had succeeded.

But then the true horror had set in, for in minutes it became clear that Christie's mind had been altered. Garrett had seen it first as she had appeared to look right through him, as he unfastened the tight lacings of that garish costume she wore to free her breasts to nurse. She resembled a strange marionette on strings manipulated by some ghastly jokester-puppeteer.

Then there had followed the long, dreadful days at Riverlea. Garrett had called in every available medical authority and even White Fire Woman, all without results. He had sat with his wife around the clock, holding her, assuring her,, telling her over and over that he was alive, they were together, and at last, safe from harm.

He had begun to devise ways of attempting to jolt her memory, as one doctor had suggested he might. A trip to the stables to visit Thunder—no reaction. Witnessing the breeding of the stallion to Gypsy— nothing. Charles and Miss Celia were summoned, to no avail. Through all this, except for the moments when she nursed her son and sang her mournful little ditties, Christie spoke not a conscious word, although Lula and Garrett could tell of nightmares she had, where she awakened screaming, "Garrett's dead! My Garrett's dead and won't come back! Oh, God, my Garrett's dead!"

Now, as they neared their destination and she could see the city in the distance, Lula said a prayer to
her God—and threw one in to Bear's Great Spirit, just for good measure. She knew what Garrett planned on the
Marianne.
And she prayed it would work positively, and not the other way. If he forced Christie to relive that incident in which she had lost her innocence, brutal as it might have been, perhaps the shock . . . Better to continue praying for a positive outcome and not think of the worst.

Lula had to admit, she had a personal stake in all this beyond her love for Christie. Her wedding to Laughing Bear had been postponed owing to the tragedy, and yet she longed for it to take place. Her man and his family would be adopting Jasper, but the brave wanted sons of his blood, too, and she wasn't getting any younger. Also, Chief Long Arrow, had determined, since his future daughter-in-law had no adult family to present her at the ceremony, the Randalls should act as such, and when the old man heard of Christie's condition, he had urged them to wait at least one moon and had commanded all his people to pray for her recovery, sending his wife immediately to Riverlea to see what medicine magic she could invoke to that end.

Lula sighed as they reached the edge of town and she led them down the nearest street which headed toward the wharves. "Damn!" she scolded herself. "I hope Garrett's plan works, and I know what he's going to do to try to bring it off—but I forgot to bring Christie an extra change of clothes!"

Chapter Thirty

Garrett stood on the deck of the
Marianne
as he watched John Baxter help Christie and Lula into the whaleboat in which they would be rowed out to the ship. He watched as another of his crew led Thunder and Hoss Sense away to the livery stable where rented stalls awaited them for the night. Then his eyes once more found Christie. Even from here he could see how lovely she looked, despite the lack of animation in her manner. This had been the crudest part—to have her look so fresh and beautiful, as enchantingly, wonderfully, perfectly exquisite as ever on the outside, and so awfully hollow and dead within. For a moment a flash of his old bitterness returned and his green eyes flickered in pain. Sweet Jesus, the torturous irony of it.
He
himself had
promised
her this very thing would not happen! There, in the warmth of their bed he had told her, "Nothing outside can harm us, I promise you." Her green eyes took on a look of anguish. Was this all her loving him had brought her? Better they had never met— no . . . no, he couldn't even finish the thought. He and Christie, already in their brief time together, had
touched heaven itself, breathed rare air and beheld wonder. They had seen their love, like a shining sun, give forth life to those it touched, healing, uplifting, birthing miracles. . . . Well, more miracles could happen to bring it all back. Tonight. . . maybe tonight would -work. By damn, it
had
to! Or something, very soon! He looked at his hand as it held die rope attached to part of the nearby rigging and noticed it was trembling. Impatiently he released his hold and decided to go below to await her arrival.

Lula opened the door to Garrett's cabin and led Christie inside. The small, neat chamber had not changed since she'd last seen it. Gently she ushered her young friend toward the desk in the corner and, as she had been directed, seated her
in
the chair there. Then she spoke the words Garrett had told her to say, wondering if only Christie's ears would hear the sounds, or whether they actually reached her poor, tortured mind.

"You are awaiting Garrett Randall aboard his ship, the
Marianne.
You've come to make a deal about Thunder."

Then she kissed Christie on the forehead and walked to the door. Under her breath she muttered, "Good luck, baby!"

Outside she met Garrett and nodded to him. "Ready, Captain!"

Garrett smiled gratefully at her and Lula thought she detected a weariness to the lines surrounding his mouth.

"Good luck to you, too, Garrett," she intoned softly. "God knows, you deserve it!"

Then Lula went toward her old sleeping quarters
to await what might happen.

Garrett took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then he threw open the cabin door with deliberate force, causing it to slam loudly against the wall as he entered. He held his stance, legs spread firmly apart, hands on hips, a fierce look in his eyes as they found Christie's.

Christie seemed to be looking straight at him, but she merely blinked and said nothing.

"Well," said Garrett, "if it isn't the haughty Miss Christie Trevellyan, come to brave the wolf in his lair!"

Christie remained silent, but Garrett thought he saw a slight crease on her brow as she stared at him.

Ignoring her silence, Garrett pushed on. "I'd ask you to sit, but since you've already made yourself comfortable, what is it you want?" He forced a careless grin across his features. "Was it only a day ago you were asking what it took to be rid of me?"

He moved toward her then, closing the door behind him with his booted foot.

The silence continued, but Christie's eyes, he noted, had stopped staring dead ahead and were following him.

"So you are here on a horse-breeding mission," Garrett continued. "You're wasting your time, Miss Trevellyan. It was foolish of you to come here."

Christie still didn't speak, but she raised her hands to her temples as if to soothe some pain there and then looked back at him, frowning and looking bewildered.

Garrett thought he could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he pushed further.

"You were foolish, but not in your estimation of Garrett Randall's understanding. Foolish, rather, in your underestimation of Garrett Randall, himself!"

With this, he placed his hands on Christie's shoulders and drew her up from the chair, pulling f her to him in an insistent, crushing embrace as his mouth swooped down and covered hers.

This was the most difficult task he had assigned himself, for ever since that tragic night, he had been unable to attempt making love to her, or holding her with any semblance of passion, finding the emptiness inside her, the lack of any promise of a response as arresting as a block of ice. Forcing such attentions on her in such a state would be tantamount to rape in his eyes, and even if his body had been willing, which it was not, he would have been unable to pursue it with his mind and conscience. But now he forced himself to ignore her limp arms that hung idly at her sides and to concentrate on trying to act as if she were responding with all the fiery fury and struggling she had mustered on that earlier occasion. Fiercely, almost brutally, his mouth forced her lips apart and his tongue searched while his hands roamed over her curving form at will, stroking, fondling, caressing.

At length, he released her and stared fiercely into her wide-eyed visage.

"React, damn it," he shouted, and with a sound very much like a pleading snarl, he curled his fingers around the piping at the collar of the riding habit and tore the bodice apart in one savage movement.

Christie winced and then let out a piercing scream, hopping to her knees on the cabin's floor as she bent
forward to clutch the rent garment together over her breasts. Then she raised her head and shot him a venomous look.

Garrett dropped to the floor in front of her, also kneeling, and, pushing her hands down, made short work of her shift.

"React!" he thundered. "React!"

"No!" shouted Christie. "Garrett, no—don't—" Her voice softened. "Garrett?" She whispered then, "Garrett's dead. I saw—he . . ."

She raised her face to look at him and Garrett's heart thudded wildly. That strange, veiled curtain which had seemed to cloud her look was gone. She was looking at him as if she really
saw
him!

"Garrett?"

He thought his name sounded like a prayer on her lips.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, and began sobbing his name, over and over. "Garrett, Garrett. . ."

But her words were muffled in the softness of his shirt as he held her, oh so tightly, in his embrace. As he felt her warmth in his arms, he closed his eyes, and" poured out his love in one great, overwhelming moment as he felt the anguish and the pain leave him and the joy return.

Then they were kissing each other, soft, anxiously tender exchanges, wet and salty, and Christie knew from the emerald brilliance of his eyes, the moisture their lips spread over eyes, cheeks, and hair was not from her tears alone.

Tenderly, almost tentatively, as if he feared she would break if he held her too hard, Garrett cradled her in his arms. His voice shook with emotion as he spoke to her.

"Christielove, oh, love, I was afraid I had lost you . . . little one . . . thank God."

Christie clung to him, memory flooding back to
her with all that had transpired since that hellish night. "I—I thought I had lost
you'."
she whispered against his chest. "But you're alive! Alive!" She looked up at him. "Oh, Garrett, how much time have I wasted? How long since—oh, what a fool I've—"

Strong brown fingers closed her lips as he looked tenderly down at her and smiled. "Don't you dare go assigning yourself blame!
That
would be the only thing foolish!"

Then his mouth found hers, and Christie returned his kiss, all the pent-up longing of their weeks of mental separation crashing in about her, telling her how much she had missed him.

They both felt it; the relief and joy of discovery had washed over them, cleansing the pain, and now something new began to work in its place. Desire, warm and eager, welled up and spun its silken threads about them like a cocoon, locking them together in their yearning need of each other.

Suddenly Garrett felt the palpable roundness of her naked breasts against his open-shirted chest and he knew he was hungry for her.

As Christie felt him stroke one rosy peak, she looked up and beheld the desire in his eyes. Her heart did a tremulous little flip-flop and she experienced the familiar tightening in her core.

"God, how I've missed you!" he whispered
hoarsely and his lips pressed against the throbbing flesh at the base of her neck.