Read Online Beyond Sunrise by Candice Proctor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Candice Proctor
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consideration for the unfortunate man's modesty. But even though it was self-imposed, she found the isolating darkness oddly terrifying. In the end, she reluctantly opened her eyes again, but she kept her head tilted back, her gaze fixed on the thick green canopy overhead.
"Now you," Ryder said, nodding to one of the seamen after the captain's smallclothes had joined the rest of his possessions in a heap at the base of the cliff. "That's right. You. Start with your boots."
India kept her gaze resolutely fastened on the tropical tangle of leafy branches overhead, but Ryder's low-voiced, explicit instructions and the subtle sounds of clothing being removed in response kept her painfully aware of what was happening.
He took them, one by one, through the same slow striptease. At first India thought he did it to humiliate them. But then she heard him say, his voice deadly cold and even, "Move one step closer to that rifle, sailor, and we'll all have a chance to see what color a Scotswoman's blood is." And she realized that this was the only way he could hope to keep control of the situation, that in the confusion of seven men moving about undressing it would have been all too easy for one of them to make a lunge for the rifles that still lay on the jungle floor.
The strain of keeping her head tipped back was starting to give India a cramp in her neck, but she refused to look down. She would not look....
"You there," Ryder said, when the last of Her Majesty's men had stripped to the buff.
A high-pitched voice squeaked, "Me?"
"That's right, you. I want you to pick up each of those rifles, one at a time, and toss them over the cliff. "Look lively now."
There was a pause, then the sounds of shifting underbrush and a muffled "Ouch!" that told her the man in question must be moving, barefoot, to comply.
"And remember," said Ryder, "try anything, and Miss McKnight here will pay for it."
In spite of her best intentions, India's gaze wavered. She
had one swift, shocking impression of a group of red-faced, white-bodied men standing rigidly erect, elbows bent, hands folded over their crotches, and another man, fair-haired and rib-thin, his body hunched over, one hand still protectively cupping his privates as he bent to retrieve a rifle. Then her gaze snapped back to the jungle canopy overhead.
"I think that will be all, gentlemen," said the hatefully laconic voice behind her when the last of the rifles had clattered down the cliff face and an expectant hush fell over the jungle.
India felt her body tense up, tighter and tighter, in anticipation of what would happen next. She'd been wondering for the last ten minutes what she would do if he ordered her, too, to strip. She'd finally decided he could slit her throat with his machete if he wanted; she wasn't removing so much as a handkerchief.
"You may leave now," she heard him say. "One at a time. Just turn around and walk back down the trail single file. No, not you," he added softly in her ear, his voice deepening with amusement and his hold on her tightening when India would have moved away from him.
She was no longer bothering to keep her gaze carefully trained on the tangle of vivid green vegetation overhead. Suddenly, the men's nakedness was of far less importance than what was about to happen to her. She could see them scurrying away, one after the other down the trail, their unshod feet slipping in the muck, their bare bodies glowing a discordant bluish white in the jungle gloom. Only Simon Granger stood his ground, his hands no longer shielding his groin but clenched instead into two fists at his sides. "And Miss McKnight?" he said, his head held high, his voice strained but crisp.
Jack Ryder's reply was slow and taunting and laced with a smile. "She's coming with me."
Chapter Eight
India let out a gasp that brought the strained sinews of her neck into uncomfortable proximity to the machete's sharp edge. She went instantly, quiveringly silent. Captain Granger said,
"Now you," Ryder said, nodding to one of the seamen after the captain's smallclothes had joined the rest of his possessions in a heap at the base of the cliff. "That's right. You. Start with your boots."
India kept her gaze resolutely fastened on the tropical tangle of leafy branches overhead, but Ryder's low-voiced, explicit instructions and the subtle sounds of clothing being removed in response kept her painfully aware of what was happening.
He took them, one by one, through the same slow striptease. At first India thought he did it to humiliate them. But then she heard him say, his voice deadly cold and even, "Move one step closer to that rifle, sailor, and we'll all have a chance to see what color a Scotswoman's blood is." And she realized that this was the only way he could hope to keep control of the situation, that in the confusion of seven men moving about undressing it would have been all too easy for one of them to make a lunge for the rifles that still lay on the jungle floor.
The strain of keeping her head tipped back was starting to give India a cramp in her neck, but she refused to look down. She would not look....
"You there," Ryder said, when the last of Her Majesty's men had stripped to the buff.
A high-pitched voice squeaked, "Me?"
"That's right, you. I want you to pick up each of those rifles, one at a time, and toss them over the cliff. "Look lively now."
There was a pause, then the sounds of shifting underbrush and a muffled "Ouch!" that told her the man in question must be moving, barefoot, to comply.
"And remember," said Ryder, "try anything, and Miss McKnight here will pay for it."
In spite of her best intentions, India's gaze wavered. She
had one swift, shocking impression of a group of red-faced, white-bodied men standing rigidly erect, elbows bent, hands folded over their crotches, and another man, fair-haired and rib-thin, his body hunched over, one hand still protectively cupping his privates as he bent to retrieve a rifle. Then her gaze snapped back to the jungle canopy overhead.
"I think that will be all, gentlemen," said the hatefully laconic voice behind her when the last of the rifles had clattered down the cliff face and an expectant hush fell over the jungle.
India felt her body tense up, tighter and tighter, in anticipation of what would happen next. She'd been wondering for the last ten minutes what she would do if he ordered her, too, to strip. She'd finally decided he could slit her throat with his machete if he wanted; she wasn't removing so much as a handkerchief.
"You may leave now," she heard him say. "One at a time. Just turn around and walk back down the trail single file. No, not you," he added softly in her ear, his voice deepening with amusement and his hold on her tightening when India would have moved away from him.
She was no longer bothering to keep her gaze carefully trained on the tangle of vivid green vegetation overhead. Suddenly, the men's nakedness was of far less importance than what was about to happen to her. She could see them scurrying away, one after the other down the trail, their unshod feet slipping in the muck, their bare bodies glowing a discordant bluish white in the jungle gloom. Only Simon Granger stood his ground, his hands no longer shielding his groin but clenched instead into two fists at his sides. "And Miss McKnight?" he said, his head held high, his voice strained but crisp.
Jack Ryder's reply was slow and taunting and laced with a smile. "She's coming with me."
Chapter Eight
India let out a gasp that brought the strained sinews of her neck into uncomfortable proximity to the machete's sharp edge. She went instantly, quiveringly silent. Captain Granger said,
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