More Than You Know (38 page)

The skirt of Claire's gown was spread in a circle around her. She felt a shift in the fabric as Tipu's small, bare toes touched the hem. She gathered a few inches in her fingers, making the circle smaller and drawing him in. Claire didn't stop until she felt him nudge her knees. She knew they were almost eye to eye now. She could hear his light breathing, could almost feel it on her face. “I won't hurt you,” Claire said quietly. “You can touch me. There is no tapu."

She had, of course, gone to the heart of his fear. It wasn't only that she might not recognize him that kept him away, but that somehow the powerful tapu could steal his sight as well. He looked back at his mother for reassurance. This time Tiare provided none. Her beautiful features remained solemn and unencouraging. It must be his decision, she said, without saying anything at all.

Claire sat as still as the stone around her. She did not sense Tipu raising his hand, but then the heat of his palm was near her cheek. She fought the urge to press it against her face. “Tipu?” she whispered.

"Hullo, Claire.” His decision made, Tipu threw his arms around Claire's neck so forcefully that he knocked her off balance. Her shoulder hit the altar but Claire hardly noticed the pain. She hugged him to her, laughing, pressing kisses on his forehead, and stopped only when she sensed his face contorting in an effort to avoid her spontaneous display of affection.

"I don't suppose it matters where in the world you are,” she told Rand. “Boys of a certain age don't like kisses."

"We get over it,” Rand said. He looked at Tiare. She was watching Tipu and Claire, a slender, even indulgent smile on her face.

Claire set Tipu from her. She ruffled his dark hair, then pushed it back were it fell over his eyes. It was thick and soft. In her mind's eye she imagined it still had the lustrous blue-black sheen of Tiare's. Smiling, Claire tugged on Tipu's earlobe, eliciting a giggle from him. “You've grown so tall,” she said, drawing an imaginary line from the top of his head to the top of hers. He puffed out his small chest and held himself straighter so that he was an inch or so higher.

"Taller than you,” he said.

Claire nodded. She didn't point out that she was kneeling. They had always measured his height in this manner. Claire's fingers swept his cheek and rested momentarily on his small chin. Tipu's face was rounder than she remembered, his chin sturdier. She touched his wide brow and ran her finger along the length of his nose. There was nothing about his features that reminded her of her father: no bump along the bridge of his nose; no gently receding chin. She knew his complexion was no fairer than the warm honey tones of his mother's.

Claire realized that one of Tipu's fears had almost come true. Had she waited much longer to return to the islands, she wouldn't have recognized him. He had grown up speaking Tiare's Solonesian dialect and English equally well, but now Claire detected more Solonesian influence. The few words he spoke to her had the soft vowel sounds of the islanders. It was as it should be, she thought. Claire hugged Tipu to her again. He was wearing a lava-lava wrapped around his waist. His sun-kissed shoulders and back were warm. “Tiare?” she said.

"Yes?"

"Thank you,” Claire whispered hoarsely. She let Tipu squirm free. “I needed to know he was all right. Thank you for that. I've been ... I've been afraid for so long."

Tiare nodded. “It is understandable. I have never doubted that you love him. I was less certain about your intentions."

Rand helped Claire to her feet. He felt Tipu watching him closely. He looked at the boy, a question in his own eyes.

Tipu continued staring boldly, less afraid of the
papalagi
stranger than he had been of his own sister. “Is the big ship in the harbor yours?"

Tiare touched her son's shoulder and shook her head.

"I don't mind his questions,” Rand told her. “Yes. I call her
Cerberus."

Tipu tried out the unfamiliar word. “Is that your mother's name?"

Rand laughed. “No. It's the name of a three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the underworld."

The boy blinked widely. “I like tiki better."

"I do too.” He pointed to the tikis mounted on the pillars. “Will you tell me about these?"

Tipu was happy to oblige. He led Rand away to study the first one.

Tiare watched them and nodded approvingly. “Your husband is giving us an opportunity to talk,” she said, taking Claire's arm. She looked over her shoulder at Macauley. “The other one ... the liar ... is still hovering.” She waved him back with an imperious flick of her fingers, then drew Claire to the far side of the temple platform.

The tip of Claire's cane tapped lightly on the black rock. She found the edge of the platform with it, then backed up several inches.

"I am not going to push you over the side,” said Tiare.

Claire smiled. “I didn't think you were, but it will make the doctor more comfortable if I'm away from the edge. I was light-headed earlier."

"Were you?” Tiare asked.

It was the absence of inflection in Tiare's voice that let Claire know she was suspicious. “A trifle,” Claire said.

"Really?"

Claire sighed. “No, not at all.” She turned so Macauley could not read her lips. “Is he watching us?"

"Yes."

It was as Claire expected. “He wanted to come with us,” she said. “Rand would not have permitted it if I hadn't invented some reason."

"I am surprised
you
permitted it."

Claire shrugged. She was not going to tell Tiare about the stolen riddle. There had been no mention of the treasure, and Claire was not going to bring it up. It had never been part of her relationship with Tiare, and she did not want it to intrude now. “I wanted to keep the peace,” she said. “Dr. Stuart and Captain Hamilton have not always dealt well together."

Tiare accepted this as fact. “Now that you know Tipu is safe, what are your plans?"

Behind her Claire could hear Tipu discussing the spirits residing in the tikis. His youthful voice was filled with a mixture of reverence and pride. He had not merely grown taller and broader in her absence. There was also the maturing influence of responsibility. “You intend he should become a priest,” Claire said.

"It is his blood."

"In
his blood, you mean,” Claire said.

Tiare shook her head. “No. I do not mean that. Your father spoke often of such things. You English make it weak. Like your tea with milk. It
is
his blood."

"As it is yours."

"Yes."

Claire nodded, understanding in a way she had not before. Her voice was just a whisper. “I am not going to take him from you, Tiare. I know what my father wanted, but it would not be right."

"It is difficult not to honor the wishes of one's father, is it not?"

Frowning slightly, Claire nodded again. Tiare spoke as if from her own experience.

"I was not supposed to have his child,” Tiare said softly. “I was taught how to prevent it, but I ignored the teachings of my own mother and the wishes of my father. Griffin wanted a child, and I wanted to give him one.” She paused when she saw Claire's features go from clouded to clear. “What is it you think you know?"

"It's just that I had begun to question if Tipu was really my brother. I wondered if—"

"But he isn't,” Tiare said, interrupting her. “Trenton is Tipu's father."

Claire's mouth opened, then closed. This confession was like nothing she expected to hear. “I don't understand,” she said finally. “Did Sir Griffin know?"

Tiare hesitated. “You really don't remember, do you? It was the last evening we spent on Pulotu..."

The evening air was humid. Claire untied the flaps of her tent and opened them. Even the breeze from off shore felt thick. She stood there a moment, listening to distant thunder and watching lightning rend the night sky. Ducking back inside, Claire returned to her worktable. She did not sit down but leaned over the microscope instead, absently massaging the small of her back as she studied the slide. She stopped to adjust the lantern light. The droplet of blood under the microscope came into clearer focus.

Claire's slender shoulders drooped. “No change.” She sighed deeply and made a note in her journal. Removing the slide, she marked it and replaced it with another one. What she saw remained the same. She did not like this feeling of discouragement. It was because she had hoped for something more than she was finding. She thought this time the blood would clot.

Now Claire sat down. Sir Griffin would have to be told. He would not be as discouraged as she was. He did not invest so much of himself in each experiment. He would, however, be disappointed. He would wonder aloud if Claire had followed his instructions exactly.

Claire slid the notebook toward her. She thumbed back several pages and reviewed what she had done. Every step was recorded in her precise handwriting. Measurements. Time. Method. Pressed between two pages was a flower like those she had used to make the serum. There were detailed pictures drawn by her own hand. The location of this particular hibiscus variety was noted. She could not find a mistake.

It was the sound of Sir Griffin's voice that pulled Claire's attention from her work. At first she thought the sound was only in her head and she tried to ignore it. It was difficult enough to accept her father's censure when he delivered it in person. She did not want to hear his critical voice when he wasn't around.

Sir Griffin had been more single-minded of late—distracted, but not in the familiar manner when his work absorbed his interest. He was willing recently, even insistent, that Claire do more of the research. He went out to explore the island for new flower varieties and made copious notes himself, but he left the distilling and slide preparation to Claire. She liked the work, the time alone to reflect and discover, and she did not miss Trenton's presence in the palm-frond shelter that was also their laboratory. It would have been a mostly satisfactory arrangement if Sir Griffin had evinced trust in Claire's findings. There were times he seemed to find fault as a matter of course rather than as a matter of science.

Frowning, Claire closed her notes. What she heard was not coming from inside her head at all. It was clearly her father she heard, but his voice, like the thunder, was at some point distant. Claire stepped outside the tent. She turned her head. The heavy air carried his voice to her.

There were no lanterns burning in any of the other tents. Tiare and Sir Griffin shared one. Trenton had his own. Tipu often slept on the open beach and sometimes with Claire. Tonight he was lying in a sand pit he had dug for himself earlier in the day. He had taken care to line it with fresh ferns. His mother had warned him a storm was coming, but she placed a blanket over him anyway and stayed with him until he fell asleep. He didn't stir as Claire passed by.

Neither did the man posted as guard for the small camp. He slept as soundly outside his tent as his two comrades did inside. Claire supposed this often happened. She found her own foolishness remarkable in that she had trusted these men to follow Sir Griffin's orders.

Claire crossed the beach to the lagoon almost soundlessly, her footsteps absorbed by small shifts in the sand as she went. She did not try to be particularly quiet. Her intent was not to eavesdrop on the argument, but to stop it. Both voices were recognizable by the time she reached the tree line. Claire heard Trenton swear forcefully and her father respond in kind. She slowed her steps, surprised by the animosity and wary of it. Sir Griffin was Trenton's mentor. She could not recall that they had ever exchanged words. Trenton deferred to her father in all things scientific.

Thunder rumbled. Supported by the heavy, humid air, it rolled overhead and seemed to shake the tops of the palms. It covered Claire's attempt to make herself known. Neither her father nor Trenton heard her clear her throat.

"You're a damn fool,” Trenton was telling Sir Griffin. “There's nothing here. It's time to move on."

"You're guessing,” Griffin snapped back. “We've explored less than a third of Pulotu."

"And we haven't seen anything that merits a second look or continuing.” He pointed to the outrigger anchored in the lagoon. “I'm prepared to leave even if you're not."

"Don't threaten me. There's Claire's work to consider."

Trenton's laughter was dismissive and bitter at the same time. All thoughts Claire had about revealing her presence fled. Stepping off the path, she leaned behind a palm and waited to hear how her father would respond.

"She's the only one who hasn't lost sight of why we're here,” Griffin said.

"That's because she doesn't know why we're here. You've managed to keep her in the dark for years. Your wife kept her in the dark."

"Claire was a child then. She didn't need to know."

"And now? What excuse is there?” Trenton's laughter was derisive this time. “You're afraid she won't want to continue the work you started. Your scientific legacy will end in your lifetime, not hers."

"Go back to the camp,” Sir Griffin ordered. “You don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about. I have no belief that will change when you're sober, but at least I won't have to smell every breath you're wasting. Here, let me have that bottle."

Claire edged forward slowly. The shadows in the lagoon were deep and made it difficult to see. A streak of lightning gave Claire her first clear glimpse of Trenton clutching his whiskey bottle. Behind him the outrigger bobbed. The lagoon waters were no longer still. She was left with those images when the sky went black again.

"No, thank you,” Trenton said with mock politeness. “I like being drunk. You would too if you were dying."

"I've told you, you're going to be an old man before the syphilis kills you."

Trenton snorted. “Not if Tiare has her way."

"What do you mean?"

"She didn't tell you? She's cursed me."

"Oh, for God's sake,” Sir Griffin said, disgusted. “You're an idiot. Why Strickland ever thought you could carry out his work...” His voice trailed off as he turned to go.

"We're not finished here,” Trenton called after him. “Where are you going?"

"I'm finished."

Claire's hand flew to her mouth, stifling her gasp, as she watched Trenton tackle her father. The whiskey bottle thumped to the ground a moment before their bodies hit it. Sir Griffin and Trenton followed the path of the bottle, rolling down the embankment toward the water. They stopped just short of the edge.

Sir Griffin's breathing was labored but his voice carried clearly. “Get off me.” He pushed at Trenton's shoulders. “These actions hardly alter my opinion."

Excessive drink had added creases to Trenton's features, making him look older than his years, but there was no accompanying toll on his fitness. He was still lean, still strong, and he had no difficulty keeping Sir Griffin pinned to the ground. Even when he sat up, he kept Sir Griffin immobile by straddling him and resting most of his weight on the older man's abdomen.

"I say we move on,” Trenton repeated, his words only slightly slurred. “Tiare's leading you around by the nose and you're too full of yourself to realize it. You think it was your idea to come here when she's been pointing you in this direction all along. There's only one idiot here—and I'm sitting on him."

It was an effort for Sir Griffin to speak, but he managed to get out, “Tiare had to be threatened to leave the ship. She didn't want to set foot on Pulotu."

Trenton shook his head vigorously. “She wanted you to believe that. The longer you're occupied here with the search, the less chance you have of ever finding the treasure."

"You want a woman,” Griffin said. “That's all it is. Claire won't have anything to do with you and Tiare is mine. You think you'll find someone again once we've left Pulotu.” His laughter was strained. “Don't you realize that no woman in Solonesia will have you? Tiare will make certain of it."

"I told you, she's cursed me."

"She's protecting her people from the spread of your pox and you damn well know it."

"Tiare hates me,” he said. “She wants me dead."

Sir Griffin pushed at Trenton again and tried to wriggle free. Trenton lifted himself momentarily, easing Griffin's breathing, then sat down hard. Whatever Griffin had been trying to tell him was released in an unintelligible rush of air.

"Do you want to know why?” Trenton asked.

Claire leaned forward. Her fingers still pressed the trunk of the palm, but she was more exposed now. No one noticed her. Then like a wraith from the spirit world, Tiare appeared without warning. She wore a shift that was bleached of color when lightning rent the sky. It rippled around her slender figure as she walked toward them.

Trenton's chin lifted aggressively. “Tell him,” he challenged her. “Tell him why you hate me."

Tiare said nothing to Trenton. She knelt beside Sir Griffin. “Are you all right?"

Sir Griffin nodded. “Trenton's out of his mind."

"Yes,” she said softly. Her eyes strayed to the whiskey bottle. “I can see that."

Swearing under his breath, Trenton finally stood. He brushed himself off, then picked up the bottle. Holding it by the neck, he took a long swallow. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Tiare help Sir Griffin to his feet. He lowered the bottle. “I've been telling him what a fraud you are, Tiare."

Tiare ignored him. “Let us return to the camp, Griffin.” She slipped her arm in his.

It was when they both turned that Trenton struck. He brought the butt of the bottle down hard on Griffin's shoulder, just at the curve of his neck. Pain shot down Griffin's spine. He staggered forward as his knees buckled. It was Tiare's surprising strength that kept him on his feet.

"I said, don't walk away from me."

Uncaring of the consequences, Claire ran out of the trees and launched herself squarely at Trenton. He fell backward into the water while she teetered on the edge of the bank until Tiare grabbed a fistful of her gown and yanked her back. Water splashed all of them as Trenton surfaced. He stood waist high in the lagoon and raised his fist. He had managed to hold on to the bottle, but its contents were now more water than whiskey. His features were a mixture of anger and triumph as he waved the bottle at them.

"Do you think you're protecting him?” he yelled at Claire. “You need to hear the truth as much as he does. Tipu's my son, Griffin! Tell him, Tiare! Tell both of them!” He waded toward the bank. “She seduced me when you couldn't give her the son you wanted, Griffin. When she was certain she was carrying a child, she sent me on my way, pointed me in the direction of a dark-eyed beauty she knew was infected with the pox. She thought it would kill me as quickly as it does her own people.” Lightning flashed as Trenton's mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. For a moment his teeth actually gleamed. “You've wanted me gone because of Tipu!"

"I want you gone because of the treasure,” Tiare said. Releasing Sir Griffin, Tiare stepped in front of Claire and effectively blocked Trenton's exit from the water. “Your search is destroying him. He came here to discover the secrets of our plants, secrets our gods put there for healing our people. This is the work for which he is meant. Not your work, or the work of the one who sends you to watch over him."

"Get out of my way,” Trenton fairly growled. He started to heave himself up to the bank, but Tiare pushed him back.

"Leave,” she told him, pointing to the outrigger. “I heard you say it is what you want to do."

"No!” Griffin put his hand on Tiare's shoulder. “He can't leave. There's a storm coming. He may be lost."

Trenton laughed. “Stay. Go.” He looked at Claire. “You must have an opinion."

"I have one,” she said. “I don't think you want to hear it."

"So self-righteous, Claire. You still don't see, do you? Your father doesn't want me to leave because he knows I control the money that supports his work. Your work now."

"But you're his student."

Griffin looked at his daughter. Heavily, reluctantly, he said, “He's more than that, Claire."

Trenton was satisfied Claire understood when he saw her take a step backward. “The scales are being lifted from your eyes, eh? Seeing more clearly now?"

"Leave her alone,” Sir Griffin said tiredly. He nudged Tiare to one side and extended his hand to Trenton. The younger man ignored it. Still holding the bottle, he hauled himself out of the lagoon. Water dripped from his clothes.

"It's all true,” Trenton said to no one in particular. He shook himself off, spraying water in every direction. He stamped his feet several times. “Every word."

Claire looked at Tiare, then her father. “Is it?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Sir Griffin's broad shoulders sagged. “It shouldn't matter to you, Claire. You're not part of it. I've made sure of that. The work you're doing here is all that should be important."

"But—"