Bound by the Heart (46 page)

Summer, standing quietly with
Michael, recalled the smile on Stuart's face . . .
They were so busy watching
the
Chimera,
no one bothered to watch the
Caledonia.
. . . Fools, she thought. They deserved to lose to men like these, who were
willing to take nothing for granted and risk everything on an ideal. She looked
up proudly as Bull spoke again.

"There ain't nothing out there
but a cat's-paw moving over the water. We'll have to haul this fine lady some
to find the breeze. Right now, though, I think I'll take a pint of your best
down and share it with my son-in-law. Injured, you say?
Bah!
I'll put
such a fear into his soul as to what I'll do to him if he tries to make a widow
out of my Bett, he'll be on deck doing a jig for us by morn. You coming,
Wade?"

"I'll be along," Morgan
said, spying Thorny walking back from the forecastle. "I want to make sure
all the rubbish is cleared from the decks."

"Aye, best I see him alone
first at that." Bull guffawed loudly and strode to the stern, followed by
a wake of crewmen.

Morgan watched him go; then the
dark blue eyes probed the darkness and the fog as if willing it to lift so that
he could see what lay beyond. Winfield was out there somewhere, he knew,
tasting the same kind of rage that had driven them all against the
Northgate
this
afternoon. Together the
Chimera
and the
Gyrfalcon
might be
equal to the task of meeting the huge warship, but both of his ships were
damaged. He would not know the extent of the
Gyrfalcon's
wounds
until he went on board and inspected for himself. He could only conclude the
damage was worse than Bull was willing to admit or there would have been no
keeping him out of the fight with the
Northgate.

Both crews were short of men. The
British had released six who claimed to be Americans, but Wade alone had lost
ten. The
Chimera's
crew would face the entire British fleet if it thought it
was what he, Morgan Wade, wanted . . . but was it? Ashton-Smythe's words still
rang clearly in his ears: It would indeed be a waste of brave lives.

His attention was drawn to a loud,
plaintive wail that seemed to reach out to him from the listing hulk of the
Northgate.
The groan
became louder and continuous, and as he watched, the battered hull lost its
remaining strength and slid down into the water. All that was left behind was a
frenzy of bubbles and churning white foam.

Chapter 26

B
ennett
W
infieild
stood over Summer, his face expressionless, his pale
blue eyes flat and impassive. His uniform was crisply white, a glaring affront
in light of the terrible destruction surrounding them on the
Chimera's
main deck. He was holding
something behind his back, something Summer could not see in the shadows, but
something she instinctively feared. She felt the scream rising in her throat
and covered her mouth with her hands. Bennett only smiled and moved closer. He
brought his hands forward into the light, and she saw what it was that he held.

"No! No, oh God . . .
no!”

"Summer?"

"Noooo!"

"Summer!"

She opened her eyes and the echo of her scream was
still ringing in her ears. Her brow was bathed in sweat, and her fingers were
clutching the tangled cloak she was using as a blanket. Morgan stood over her,
not Bennett. His face was taut and anxious, his grip on her shoulders was firm
as he tried to calm her wild thrashings.

"Morgan?" she gasped. "Morgan, you're
alive!"

"Of course I'm alive, why wouldn't I be?"

"But
...
I saw Bennett.
...
He was here!"

"No one was here," he said gently. "You
were having a dream. A nightmare."

"A . . . dream?"

"That's all it was. Hush now—" He stroked
her shoulders and smoothed the silky blonde hairs back from her face as she
tumbled gratefully into his arms. "It's all over. You're safe."

Summer blinked away her tears and peeked past the
crook of Morgan's shoulder. She saw the lamp on the desk and the charts, the
familiar diamond-paned gallery windows and even the smoking stub of a thin black
cigar thrown hastily into the tin cup.

"A dream?" she whispered. "But it was
so real."

Morgan held her away from him a moment, and his thumbs
brushed lightly over her cheeks to remove the residue of tears.
"Nightmares usually are. Do you feel better now?"

She nodded and welcomed the solid comfort of his chest
again as he held her close.

Summer could not remember when she had come to bed,
and she had no idea of the time. It was dark; she could see that much from the
windows. She could also feel the steady thrumming of water beneath the keel of
the
Chimera,
telling
her they were sailing fast and easy.

By contrast, the tow had taken long, laborious hours,
and when they had arrived beside the
Gyrfalcon,
it was to discover that the calm had followed them
out. There was no possibility of towing both ships for any length of time, so
Morgan and Bull Treloggan had ordered their crews to work steadily on repairs.
They kept the masts fully rigged and the canvas wetted down to make use of the
faintest puffs of wind.

All night long the men had toiled. In the stillness
both ships had rung with the sounds of hammer, and nail, saws and shouted
commands. Dawn had broken over the spine of Martinique, showing the island
still capped in mists and giving no relief by way of winds or motion on the
glassy surface of the water. Morgan had been plainly ill at ease at being
becalmed so close to the French port, for although the land was just a purplish
splash in the distance, it blocked out two-thirds of the horizon. There could
be a dozen British warships laying off Cap Salomon and he would not know it
until the wind appeared.

The work had continued in shifts throughout the day.
Summer was kept as busy as any crewman. She and Gabrielle had tended the
wounded while Thorny accompanied Morgan across to the
Gyrfalcon
to see if he could be of any
assistance with their injured. Gabrielle had cared for Sarah's needs on top of
her other duties, and Summer had found the girl's silent courage a much-needed
inspiration.

The
Gyrfalcon's
damages were worse than Bull had implied, but not as
severe as Morgan had imagined. Aside from sail and rigging damage which was well
under repair, her mainmast was cracked midway down and threatened to give under
any kind of strain. Her port battery of guns was reduced by a fourth through
direct hits from iron shot. Her casualties numbered fewer than Wade's, but
there were more wounded to balance it out.

Both captains had to agree
reluctantly that it would be wise to head north when the calm lifted and make
for Bounty Key. That was the last thing Summer recalled—seeing Mr. Phillips in
the doorway of the surgery announcing that Captain Wade was back, the wind was
picking up, and the
Chimera
was going home.

"How long have I been
asleep?" she asked.

"Not long enough," he
said sternly. "It's been hardly an hour since I found you asleep in
Stuart's arms and carried you up here. You're lucky I am not a jealous
man."

"I should go back," she
began and started to move out of his arms.

"You are not going
anywhere," Morgan frowned.

"But Stuart—"

"Roarke is fine. Thorny is
with him, and there isn't a thing you could do for him that Thorny can't. He
has orders to call me if there is any change. Besides, Bull's talk must have
truly put the fear into him; Thorny says he's gained a little strength
back."

"Couldn't we bring him up
here? It's so damp and cold down below—"

"We'd only have to move him
again if there was any sign of trouble, and it would be harder on him for it.
He's resting comfortably; I want you to do the same."

"Sarah?"

"Right here," he said and
moved to one side so that Summer could see the cradle and the sleeping baby.
"Gabrielle is asleep in the next cabin, and I believe I even managed to
convince Mr. Phillips to close an eye."

Some of the tension left Summer's
face. "Who is sailing your ship?"

"Mr. Monday never
sleeps," Morgan said and added with a grin, "And there appears to be
a new and mighty determined addition to my crew standing right up there
alongside him."

Summer had forgotten all about him.
"Michael?"

"He's requested to be formally
added to the muster roll—and not just as a cabin boy. He claims to be both a
sharpshooter and an expert swordsman."

"You didn't do it, did
you?"

"I couldn't see the harm. He
was so emphatic he won a smile from Mr. Monday and permission to share the
watch on the bridge—a rare feat by any standard."

Wade turned his face toward the lantern light, and
Summer was shocked to see the dark smudges of weariness underscoring his eyes.
She bit her lip to hold back the tears and laid her cheek on his shoulder.

"You should be the one trying to sleep."

"Aye, so I've been told. I just thought I'd go
over the charts one last time—"

Summer turned his head forcibly and silenced him with
a kiss. She moved back toward the far side of the bed and held out her arms to
him, hearing a sigh as he capitulated with a murmured "Only for a
minute."

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head
between her breasts. Summer stroked the black waves lightly, lovingly, and was
soon rewarded by the sound of his deep, even breathing.

Was it her fault, she wondered? Was she the cause of
his troubles? He would never have gone to the Governor's Ball if he had not
received the phony note and thought it a plea for help. He would not have sent
the
Gyrfalcon
into
Bridgetown's harbor if not for the need to distract Glasse's spies long enough
to spirit her away.

She closed her eyes and tried not to relive each and
every wound she had treated during the battle with the
Northgate.
She tried not to think of
Stuart Roarke lying in his dark, dank berth below . . . but the images would
not go away. Nor would the tears that began to flow hot and fast down her
temples into her hair.

Her sobs were stifled as Morgan's hands moved in his
sleep, up beneath the folds of her clothing, freeing them to the heat of his body.
She held him and responded to his hunger. She welcomed the pain of his need and
the swift, desperate release he sought.

She cried out and dug her hands into his massive
shoulders, moving with him, moving for him, frantic for every last ounce of
strength she could steal from him. She heard the groan that was her name, and
she continued to spiral higher and higher, tearing into the man who was her
love and now her life. A blackness that was no part of anything frightening or
fearful claimed her, and she soared on its crest, knowing her destiny was
locked to his forever and that no matter what the outcome of the next few days
or weeks or years might be, she would forever belong to the raging sea and sun
that was Morgan Wade.

* * *

Commodore Bennett Winfield leaned
against the high-backed chair and took a deep swallow of brandy while he
contemplated the pale features of Captain Emory Ashton-Smythe seated opposite
him.

"The Admiralty will not take
the loss of the
Northgate
lightly," he said at length,
"nor will they view your conduct as being anything less than deplorable.
You were entrusted with one of the finest ships and crews in the Caribbean—by
my request, I might add—and you've thrown it all away."

.Ashton-Smythe reddened, and his
mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"You took a ship of the line
that mounted fifty-two guns against a smuggler who carried women and children
on board and you invited humiliation on yourself and on His Majesty's navy.
Have you nothing to say?"

Ashton-Smythe's jaw worked as he
fought for the appropriate words. "Wade's men had a better command of the
available firepower, sir. He managed three rounds to every two of mine, and his
tactics—"

"Yes," Bennett drawled
interestedly, "tell me about his tactics. He enjoys fighting at close
quarters, I'm told."

"Close?" The captain's
eyes lifted from the snow white table linen. "He came within hailing
distance before he even presented his broadside . . . and far too fast for my
gun captains to correctly adjust their aim. I for one have never seen anything
like it. My men were certain he intended to ram us."

"And so they panicked?"

"No, sir. They continued at
their posts. But the angle was such that only the guns amidships were
effective. Whereas when he opened fire"—Ashton-Smythe paused and shuddered
involuntarily at the memory—"every one of his guns scored a hit.
Repeatedly, continually . . . my men were driven back from the sides, or else
they were slaughtered where they stood."

"Yes, yes," Winfield
prompted, "and then what?"

"Then his helmsman cut in
front of our bow and
..."

"And raked you straight down?
I seem to recall hearing that he used that same ploy against the sultan's fleet
out of Tripoli. But surely a shipload of Barbary pirates can hardly be compared
to veteran sailors of the Royal Navy?"

"No, sir," Ashton-Smythe
said. "But they bleed the same and they die the same. Once the main
battery was destroyed, I could see no hope for the situation. And no choice but
to take in the colors before the
rest
of my men
went down with the ship."

"I see. And I suppose you had
no choice but to accede to Wade's demands where Mr. Glasse was concerned?"

"Mr. Glasse's conduct was
reprehensible. It was totally out of the bounds of reasonable behavior, and had
I known his intentions or his motives earlier, I would never have permitted him
to land at Fort-de-France."

."He was only attempting to
obey a directive, Captain. To capture Morgan Wade and return him for
trial."

"He placed the lives of your
own wife and child in jeopardy along with innocent civilians—and I dare say he
considered the entire crews of both ships expendable for the sake of his own
twisted revenge."

"Had his plan succeeded, he
would have captured Morgan Wade without firing a single shot."

"Yes, and he would have hung
an innocent man in the process."

"So
you
say."

Ashton-Smythe pushed stiffly to his
feet. "Are you questioning my loyalty as well as my ability?"

"If I was, Smythe, you would
have even less flesh on your back than Glasse does. Now sit down and control
your histrionics. I merely find it difficult to understand why you defend a man
who is responsible for kidnapping my wife and baby daughter."

"I did not know they were on
board at the time," the captain said tersely. "Mr. Glasse chose to
keep that information to himself until we were well into the battle."

Bennett glanced away and gazed
thoughtfully out of the windows of his cabin. His spacious quarters aboard the
Caledonia
were
luxuriously furnished, boasting separate sleeping and working facilities, the
former with a four-poster canopied bed, the latter including a dining suite in
oak with seating for ten officers. His desk was carved from the finest teak,
his service was china and sterling silver, and the brandy he enjoyed was the
best commandeered from his past raids on French merchantmen.

"Did you happen to see my wife
at all?" Bennett asked in a low voice.

"No, sir. Mrs. Winfield
remained belowdecks."