panic had died away and her stomach was comfortably full, Celia placed the pouch and canteen back where she had found them. Now that her most pressing needs were satisfied, she twisted to look at the smarting soles of her feet. Her attention was diverted by Griffin’s cutting voice. “I’ll see to those soon. In the meanwhile do what you can to keep yourself covered.”
Celia flushed, yanking down the hem of theblack shirt. Watching Griffin as he rowed, she wondered who he was and where he had come from. He looked like nothing more than a dirty backwoodsman, but his French was perfectly accented, spoken as if he were an aristocrat. He had the muscled torso of a laborer, a seaman, but his eyes contained keen intelligence, and she had the feeling that he had once known far better circumstances than these. He was a powerful man—a crew of pirates would not follow him unless he were greatly feared and respected—and yet he had risked his life for the sake of a helpless woman. Why?
The sun climbed higher, and the pirogue traveled farther down the quiet bayou to a place where it ended at a tiny island and branched off into several smaller courses. An ancient tree trunk bridge crossed one of the streams. Celia looked at the men in the pirogue closely, sensing anticipation in the atmosphere. They were all quiet as the vessel drifted toward the right bank.
The chittering whistle of a bird interrupted the silence. Celia frowned curiously as Griffin whistled back in a like manner. She was startled to see movement in the woods, swarthy faces appearing in the midst of the greenery, muskets and axes clutched in filthy hands. The men in the pirogue seemed to recognize them.
“Our next crew,” Griffin said to Celia.
“They are friends of us?” she asked doubtfully, gazing at the motley bunch.
“Not exactly,” he said dryly. “Rivermen owe their allegiance to no one. But I pay them to carry contraband and luxury items through the lakes to the river.”
“Why cannot this crew row us?”
“It’s just possible they are tired, enfant. ”
One of the oarsmen looked up at her and grinned. “Tired, sure mebbe, but I’d row ye to China if ye wanted, ma’am!”
Not understanding but deciding the comment was friendly, Celia smiled faintly.
Aug leaped off the pirogue and secured it to a half-buried tree trunk on the bank. Groaning in relief, the men put down their oars and climbed off the vessel. Celia sat still, watching Griffin anxiously. He tied a small, flat leather pouch to his waist and hung a cutlass at his left side. “Hold that jug of whiskey,” he said. She picked it up, cradling it in her lap. He slid his arms under her knees and back and lifted her easily into his arms.
As soon as they saw her long blond hair, the rivermen gave wolf calls and lusty shouts of appreciation. Celia clutched Griffin’s neck in alarm while he carried her over the bank toward the tree trunk bridge. The men crowded around her. She flinched as rough hands brushed over her bare legs.
“This all the cargo ye brought, Cap’n sir?” one of the rivermen inquired.
“Finest little bit o’ cargo I ever seen!” another exclaimed gleefully.
Someone yanked at a lock of her hair, and she squeaked in surprise. Griffin stopped suddenly, his cold blue gaze sweeping over the eager men. A thin smile appeared, nearly hidden by his wiry beard. “The woman is my property. If any man touches her again, I’ll rip his privates off.”
The group chuckled heartily, none of them seeming to take offense. The insulting hands withdrew. Celia hid her face against Griffin’s hairy chest. “I think,” she said in a muffled voice, “that without you here, they would—”
“Yes,” Griffin said wryly. He set his foot on the creaking bridge. “Now, my charming bit of alligator bait, don’t look down. And for God’s sake don’t throw me off balance or we’ll both be up to our necks in mud.”
Alligators? Philippe had entertained her with
Celia flushed, yanking down the hem of theblack shirt. Watching Griffin as he rowed, she wondered who he was and where he had come from. He looked like nothing more than a dirty backwoodsman, but his French was perfectly accented, spoken as if he were an aristocrat. He had the muscled torso of a laborer, a seaman, but his eyes contained keen intelligence, and she had the feeling that he had once known far better circumstances than these. He was a powerful man—a crew of pirates would not follow him unless he were greatly feared and respected—and yet he had risked his life for the sake of a helpless woman. Why?
The sun climbed higher, and the pirogue traveled farther down the quiet bayou to a place where it ended at a tiny island and branched off into several smaller courses. An ancient tree trunk bridge crossed one of the streams. Celia looked at the men in the pirogue closely, sensing anticipation in the atmosphere. They were all quiet as the vessel drifted toward the right bank.
The chittering whistle of a bird interrupted the silence. Celia frowned curiously as Griffin whistled back in a like manner. She was startled to see movement in the woods, swarthy faces appearing in the midst of the greenery, muskets and axes clutched in filthy hands. The men in the pirogue seemed to recognize them.
“Our next crew,” Griffin said to Celia.
“They are friends of us?” she asked doubtfully, gazing at the motley bunch.
“Not exactly,” he said dryly. “Rivermen owe their allegiance to no one. But I pay them to carry contraband and luxury items through the lakes to the river.”
“Why cannot this crew row us?”
“It’s just possible they are tired, enfant. ”
One of the oarsmen looked up at her and grinned. “Tired, sure mebbe, but I’d row ye to China if ye wanted, ma’am!”
Not understanding but deciding the comment was friendly, Celia smiled faintly.
Aug leaped off the pirogue and secured it to a half-buried tree trunk on the bank. Groaning in relief, the men put down their oars and climbed off the vessel. Celia sat still, watching Griffin anxiously. He tied a small, flat leather pouch to his waist and hung a cutlass at his left side. “Hold that jug of whiskey,” he said. She picked it up, cradling it in her lap. He slid his arms under her knees and back and lifted her easily into his arms.
As soon as they saw her long blond hair, the rivermen gave wolf calls and lusty shouts of appreciation. Celia clutched Griffin’s neck in alarm while he carried her over the bank toward the tree trunk bridge. The men crowded around her. She flinched as rough hands brushed over her bare legs.
“This all the cargo ye brought, Cap’n sir?” one of the rivermen inquired.
“Finest little bit o’ cargo I ever seen!” another exclaimed gleefully.
Someone yanked at a lock of her hair, and she squeaked in surprise. Griffin stopped suddenly, his cold blue gaze sweeping over the eager men. A thin smile appeared, nearly hidden by his wiry beard. “The woman is my property. If any man touches her again, I’ll rip his privates off.”
The group chuckled heartily, none of them seeming to take offense. The insulting hands withdrew. Celia hid her face against Griffin’s hairy chest. “I think,” she said in a muffled voice, “that without you here, they would—”
“Yes,” Griffin said wryly. He set his foot on the creaking bridge. “Now, my charming bit of alligator bait, don’t look down. And for God’s sake don’t throw me off balance or we’ll both be up to our necks in mud.”
Alligators? Philippe had entertained her with
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