More Than You Know (26 page)

No, he thought; he couldn't. Claire gave so few clues. “Do you love me?” he demanded.

Except for the blink she could not help, Claire went perfectly still. She had the sense that she wasn't standing on her own any longer, but was being held up by him. She felt as weightless as the breath she exhaled. “Yes,” she said.

Rand hauled her back into his arms. He laid his cheek against the crown of her dark hair and held her steady. “Then don't tell me you don't know what you'll do.” Every word was delivered with clipped ferocity. “No matter what happens, you'll be with me. You'll live with me, grow old with me, and when my sight fails, you'll teach me everything you've learned in these dark years."

Claire was too shaken to speak.

"I thought you understood what it meant that I brought you here.” His voice softened. “Teaching you the riddle, showing you its location, was meant to prove that you matter to me beyond that damn treasure."

She drew back slightly. Reaching up, Claire touched the side of Rand's face with her fingertips. “When you say it like that,” she told him, “it's almost as if you think I might betray that trust."

"I was trying to say I don't care if you do."

"But I wouldn't."

"It doesn't matter."

"But say that you know I wouldn't,” she insisted.

"I
want
to say that I love you."

"You can say that in a moment. Just now I want to hear that you trust me."

Rand stared at her. She seemed perfectly earnest. “You are a perverse creature."

"Yes."

"Whom I trust without reservation."

Relief washed Claire's features. She nodded faintly. “And?” she prompted softly.

"And whom I love very nearly to distraction."

"Only very nearly?"

"It's your perverseness,” he said, “that keeps me anchored."

Claire's thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. She traced the shape of his slight smile. “That's all right, then,” she said. Standing on tiptoe, Claire laid her own mouth across that smile. She held him to her just like that, stretched flush against his solid frame, her fingers wrapped around the base of his neck, her eyes closed, and her mouth moving dreamily, unhurriedly over his.

"Can we go back to my cabin?” she asked when she finally broke the kiss.

A little dazed by what had transpired, Rand murmured something that he hoped she would accept as agreement.

Claire lowered herself back to a flat-footed stance. The ship rolled familiarly beneath her. “Check the companionway,” she told him. “I'll return your journal to the shelf.” She found the heavy journal with no difficulty. It was still lying open on the table just where she and Rand had pushed it when they were otherwise occupied. Claire ran her hand over the page, blushing a little. How would she call the riddle to mind again without thinking of him? Every line bore the imprint of his mouth and hands.
Blood will run ... Flames will come ...
She shivered. The tips of her fingers grazed the lower corner of the page, slipping off the journal onto the table.

Behind her, Claire heard Rand open the door to the cabin. She shook her head. The erotic image faded, and with its passing came a certain clarity. Memory was not something that was confined to her head, she realized. She carried it in her fingertips as well. “Rand?"

"It's clear,” he said. “Not a soul around."

She barely heard him. Dragging the book closer, Claire fingered the corner of the open page again. There was an edge of urgency in her tone. “Come here."

Rand glanced over his shoulder. Claire hadn't moved from the table. He shut the door and returned to her side. “What is it?"

She pointed to the area of the page she had been examining. “What's this?"

Rand looked. His polished chestnut eyes narrowed as he tried to make out what Claire was pointing to. The pale cast of the moon's light was insufficient. “I need a lantern,” he said. “I don't know what you think you've found."

Claire stopped him. “That's because you're not trying to see it through my eyes,” she said. “Close yours."

"All right."

"Give me your hand."

It required some peeking on Rand's part to place it in Claire's. If she knew, she didn't admonish him for it. “Now what?” he asked.

Claire lifted the corner of the page carefully. “Feel this,” she said. “Both sides."

Now Rand understood and he was astonished. “Do you mean you noticed the holes?"

"Well, yes. You knew they were there?"

"Of course."

"Then why didn't you say so when I asked?"

"I didn't realize that's what you were looking at. There's nothing to see."

Claire squeezed his fingers in frustration, hoping that would open his eyes.

"Ouch,” he said softly.

She smiled sweetly and let him go. “Why are there holes in the paper?” she asked. “What do they mean?"

"I don't know, and I don't know."

Claire sighed. “Is there any writing around them, something to distinguish them?"

"No."

She touched the small, raised bumps on the obverse side very carefully. “What made them?"

"I have no idea. I've never speculated."

"Speculate now."

"Well, they're each larger than a pinprick. I told you the riddle was once sewn in the lining of a cocked hat. It could be the needle was pulled through the paper. It also was kept in the heel of a shoe. A cobbler's nail might have pierced it."

"In this fashion?” she asked. “Seven holes arranged in just this way?"

Rand had never observed any particular arrangement. “What are you saying, Claire? That the holes serve some purpose?"

"Might they?"

He shrugged. “What?"

"I don't know."

"Then concede they might be no more than they appear. That paper is three hundred years old. It would be understandable if it were in shreds by now."

"No.” Claire shook her head. “No, it wouldn't. Your family has taken great care to make certain that hasn't happened. Generations of Hamiltons have found a way to preserve it. The edges aren't tattered. I don't think it spent very much time in that hat or shoe. The paper hasn't been permanently creased. The folds have been flattened out again. You've done the most damage to it by binding it into this journal. If these holes had been on the other side of the paper, they could be overlooked completely."

"They've been overlooked for three centuries,” Rand pointed out wryly. “What I don't understand is why you think they have any significance."

"Can you hold the page up to the light?"

"I suppose."

"Do it."

Rand picked up the journal and carried it over to the porthole. He held it up so that only the page with the riddle hung free. He turned it a little to the left, then the right. Moonlight coming through the leaded glass defined the exact position of each hole. There were seven of them, he noticed. Seven. Why had that never imprinted on his brain before? It made him wonder how long ago the knowledge of them had been lost. At what point had one Hamilton father neglected to relate the importance of the tiny holes to his son? And when had someone neglected to relate their existence?

"Can you see them?” Claire asked. She sat on a stool.

"Yes,” he said, lowering the book.

"Does it remind you of anything?"

"The Big Dipper.” Rand closed the journal and returned it to the shelves. “Is that what you meant?"

She nodded. “I thought the same thing."

"And you believe that's significant to the treasure?"

"Couldn't it be?"

"I don't know. We're far below the equator. The Dipper isn't visible in the southern skies.” He came to stand in front of her and considered her thoughtfully. “I've always given you full marks for intelligence,” he said. “And quickness."

A small crease appeared between Claire's brows. There was something in his voice that made her doubt he would go on in this complimentary manner.

"But this is astonishing,” he continued. “Even for you."

She nodded. “I've seen something like it before."

Rand's eyes narrowed fractionally. “Where?"

"Abberly Hall. In my godfather's personal museum."

"When?"

"Not long before I left London. It was the first time I'd been in his treasure room in years.” She reached for him and found his forearm. “Could we go back to my cabin now? I don't mind explaining it to you. I would just rather do it there."

He took her by the wrist and led her to the door. The companionway was still clear. Rand ushered Claire into it. There was no reason to hurry other than his own need to know what she did. It seemed to take an interminably long time to reach her cabin.

Claire shrugged out of her robe and hung it on the inside door of the armoire. She crawled back into bed and scooted back to leave a space for Rand. “We can talk as well here as there,” she said practically. “It's warmer here."

Rand shucked his trousers and joined her. Claire's knees bumped his as she made herself comfortable. He drew the blankets up to their shoulders and propped himself on one elbow.

Claire had no trouble sensing that he was waiting. “You're going to be disappointed,” she said. “I really know so little. I found a paper similarly marked in one of Stickle's illuminated manuscripts. I suppose your brother Shelby was not the only one with the idea of hiding something in plain sight."

"So it seems."

"This was not attached as yours was. Which is how I found it. It came away in my hand as I was looking through the book.” Claire's mouth curled to one side as she realized how odd that would sound to him. “I know,” she said flatly. “Why does a blind woman look through a book?"

"I hesitated to ask."

Claire pressed her fist lightly into Rand's hard belly. She had to be satisfied with the small grunt he gave in response. “I was reacquainting myself with the duke's treasures, if you must know. You can't imagine what he has there. Broadswords from the Norman invasion. Suits of armor. Tapestries. Bracelets from Egypt. Coins. Precious stones. Books. I was touching almost everything, trying to remember what it was like when I could see all of it. It sounds silly now, but then ... then it seemed so very important."

"I understand,” said Rand.

Claire lay back. Her smile was gentle. “I believe you do.” She paused, picking up the threads of her thoughts. “I came across my discovery by accident. The paper was of a different quality than those that properly belonged to the manuscript. I suspect it wasn't as old actually. A sighted person would have known immediately it didn't belong. Stickle wasn't quite so clever as you."

"Clever enough."

"The holes were arranged in the same manner as they are on your paper. I thought it might be some sort of celestial map."

"Not likely."

"I realize that now. Do you think I was really holding the Waterstone riddle?"

"That's what you think, isn't it?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly. “I suspect the duke is your biggest rival for the treasure."

"Is he? Then why have I never known that? I've been searching for it for years. This is the first time he's ever approached me. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I.” It bothered Rand because he suspected Claire was right. The Duke of Strickland probably
was
his foremost rival. It begged the question of why he would have been content to remain so long in the background. “I don't suppose you know how your godfather might have come by the Waterstone riddle?"

"No.” She sighed. “Do you know, I meant to ask him about the paper in the manuscript. I was rather pleased with my discovery, but then there was so much to be done before I sailed that it left my mind. I might never have thought about it again if it hadn't been for your riddle."

Rand was not unhappy that she had failed to mention her find to Strickland. He said nothing to let her know that. “Do you think the duke's interest is because of the gems?"

"I suspect so. Especially the sapphires. I don't think there is a collection anywhere to match his."

"You remember it well?"

"I don't know how well, but yes, it's not the sort of thing one forgets. I was a child the first time I saw it. My mother accompanied me to Abberly Hall.” Her laughter was a trifle self-mocking. “Do you hear how self-important I thought I was? It would be more correct to say I accompanied my mother. I was the duke's goddaughter, of course, but she was his friend. He let me wander through his museum and touch anything I liked. It made Mama nervous, but Stickle didn't seem to mind. I wore an ornamental headdress that belonged to an Egyptian queen and ropes of silver and gold around my neck. My mother pronounced me spectacularly garish. Stickle said I was bedazzling.” Her smile deepened. “I'm certain Mama was in the right of it. I remember sitting on the floor, playing with the duke's sapphires and rubies while he and my mother walked and talked. Some of the stones were nearly as big as my fist. Remember, though, in those days it was a small fist."