The Buccaneer(87)

Now it was her turn to battle for him and she couldn't fail him. She just couldn't.

Troubled by her emotions she shifted again, turning on her other side. She faced Lucian. He lay on his back, one arm beneath his head, the other at his side. She had come to realize after so many nights of sharing his bed that it was a position he had acquired out of necessity.

His arm acted as a pillow, his other hand rested at his side where a weapon would normally lie, and he lay rigid as though if he turned either way he would tread on another's sleeping space.

Of course by morning she would be wrapped around him or snuggled next to him and more often than not he would have himself wrapped around her. Her presence in his bed had helped ease his tense sleeping pattern. And if she continued to sleep with him? He would find peace beside her.

You can't leave him.

She agreed with her silent voice. She had once thought that when she had found the document she would plan an escape. But she had decided of late that escape was impossible. Her heart would break if she ever had to leave him. She loved him beyond reason, beyond madness. She couldn't live without him.

So what were her alternatives? No answers materialized. No voice in her head cried out to solve her problem. She was alone, confused, and frightened. Lately her strength and courage had waned and she found herself fearful and close to tears. She did not like this change in herself.

She shifted again, this time onto her back. She had attempted to talk to Lucian when he had returned to their room later in the evening. But he had insisted she rest and that they would talk tomorrow when she felt better.

Restless and worried she would wake Lucian, she slipped from the bed, reaching for her blue silk robe on the chair near the window. She left the room quietly, leaving the door ajar for her return.

She padded softly down the stairs, making her way in the dark to Lucian's study. She slipped inside, leaving the door partially open. In barely a minute she had lit the oil lamp that sat on the end of Lucian's desk. She raised the lamp and casually walked alongside the shelves of books searching for something to read. She needed to lose herself in words. Words that would ease her troubled thoughts.

Her fingers drifted along the bindings of various books, but none seemed appropriate to ease a weary soul. A smile flashed across her face and she turned, returning the lamp to the desk. She hurried behind Lucian's desk to the floor-to-ceiling shelves flanked by two tall windows. She dropped to her knees and allowed her hand to guide her in the dark along the bindings of the books that occupied the bottom shelf. When her fingers connected with a thick volume, she pulled it out and hefted it up into her arms.

Catherine clutched the heavy book to her chest and plopped herself down in Lucian's chair before depositing her treasure on the desk in front of her.

She lovingly ran her hand across the book. The book she had turned too often when troubled and needed encouragement — the Bible.

Opening it slowly, she carefully turned the pages. What passage would settle her emotions tonight?

Lucifer.

The thought startled her and she found herself searching his passage out. Page after page she turned until —

Catherine stared down wide-eyed at the papers that lay between the pages. Slowly and with some reluctance she reached for the sheets of hastily scrawled print. Aware of their significance, she drank a deep breath, preparing herself.

She read carefully, concentrating on every word. When she finished, she read them again and then again. Finally she shook her head and rubbed at her weary eyes.

"Catherine."

She jumped, startled by Lucian's voice and by the tenderness with which he had said her name.

He walked farther into the room, dressed in only his breeches that hung partially unfastened. His hair looked as though he had hastily run his fingers through the log strands, but his eyes were bright and alert to his surroundings and to the significance of the situation they now faced.

"I'm sorry you found them."

She stood, remaining behind the desk, the papers clutched in her hand. "I don't understand."

Lucian approached her slowly and spoke to her with the sympathy of one who had just suffered a loss. "I know how this must hurt you."

"No," she argued, another shake of her head confirming her denial.

Lucian continued, attempting to ease her pain. "I know how dearly you love your father.

"No, he couldn't have done this," she protested strenuously.

"But he did, Catherine. He signed the papers, condemning me to servitude on the merchant ship." He stood in front of his desk bathed in the faint glow of the oil lamp.

"You don't understand," she pleaded, hurrying around to stand beside him with the evidence of her father's guilt crumpled in her hand.