Captain's Bride (19 page)

“Aye, Mr. Pintassle.” Heart heavy, eyes still
searching the whitecapped seas, Mac ordered the men to make for
land. It was nowhere to be seen, but it lay to the west, and if
they could keep the tiny shore boat from swamping, they just might
make it.

The hours blurred and ran together, just a series of
aching muscles and burning lungs. Glory’s fingers had gripped the
braided line so long she couldn’t bend them. She and Nicholas
hadn’t spoken for hours in an effort to conserve their strength.
Eventually they’d fallen into an exhausted half-stupor that passed
for sleep and had awoken to find the seas had calmed. A cloudless
sky and a burning sun were their companions now.

Nicholas removed his torn and soggy shirt and draped
it over Glory’s head and bare shoulders. His own sun-browned torso
had long ago become immune to the sun’s searing rays. Glory managed
a grateful smile then faded back into her exhausted sleep.

They drifted for hours. Nicholas scanned the endless
horizon, hoping to spot land or at least one of the shore boats.
When his eyelids became so heavy he couldn’t stay awake, he, too,
succumbed to the drug of sleep.

When he awoke hours later, it was to the rhythmic,
grating crash and roar of sea against sand. At first he couldn’t
identify the sound; then he realized the raft wasn’t moving. He
turned to see a sandy beach and the short, stiff marsh grass that
marked the shore.

After untying himself with brittle, wind-chafed
fingers, he untied the line around Glory and shook her gently. “We
made it, love,” he told her softly.

“Nathan? Nathan, is that you?” She lifted her head
but stared at him blankly, as if he weren’t even there.

Nicholas felt as though he’d been kicked in the
stomach. In the long hours at sea, fighting for survival, he’d
almost forgotten her lover. In truth he wished he could forget.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he told her bitterly. “It’s only
me.”

She blinked several times and started to speak, but
he turned and stalked into the shade of a nearby pine tree. He
watched as she untied the rope from around her waist with trembling
fingers, climbed from the raft, and walked toward him.
“Nicholas?”

“Stay here,” he said sharply. “I’ll scout around, try
to find out where we are.” It was all he could do to be civil. He’d
risked his life to keep her alive, and all she could think about
was Nathan. Damn, how many times would he play the fool? Of course,
as captain of the ship and her father’s friend he’d had no choice
but to see to her safety, he told himself. But every time he looked
at her, his temper fired again.

Though he still felt weak, his strength returned a
little more with every step he took. He scouted the sandy beach and
found the tiny island they’d been washed ashore on was separated
from a larger strip of land by a swampy marsh nearly a quarter-mile
wide. He sloshed through the marsh, careful to watch for alligators
and poisonous snakes, and finally came out on the other side. The
terrain on the gradually sloping strand was much more inhabitable
than the island.

There were tall pine trees, soft grassy flats, and
even a string of rain-filled freshwater pools. Following a game
trail inland, Nicholas felt satisfied he could find plenty of game
for food. The strand was the perfect place for the two of them to
rest and recover, and await a rescue party.

Nicholas knew the searchers would come sooner or
later. When the
Black Spider
didn’t make port on time, or
certainly within a few days thereafter, a search vessel from his
company would be launched. It would be easy to trace the
Spider's
movements as far as Cape Fear. And the storm off
Hatteras would be common knowledge. With the help of a signal fire,
someone would find them. Of that Nicholas had no doubt.

In the meantime he had days, maybe even weeks, alone
with the lying little vixen he’d rescued. The isolation of the
island would provide the perfect opportunity to teach the pampered
Miss Summerfield the lesson she’d been needing for so long. Then
he’d bed her—one way or another.

Nicholas returned to the beach where Glory lay asleep
beneath one of the island’s few pine trees. The island was an
inhospitable stretch of land made up of sand crabs and prickly
marsh grass, with very little shelter from the wind. The only
drinking water was a small rainwater pool covered with a silty
scum.

Nicholas smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see
how Miss Pampered and Spoiled Summerfield survived the next few
days.

Propping himself against a rock a few feet away from
where Glory slept, he waited for her to awaken.

When the sun had moved far enough toward the horizon
for her shade to be gone, Glory felt the heat and bright light in
her eyes and awoke. She didn’t move for a moment, searching the
cloudless sky visible in patches through the branches overhead;
then she looked out at the flat blue-green surface of the sea. She
lay still, remembering the shipwreck and her perilous escape from
death, when something moved against her arm and something bony
touched her leg.

She bolted upright. Dozens of huge crabs, some nearly
two feet long and each with a red horseshoe-shaped shell,
surrounded her. Stifling a scream, she leaped to her feet and ran,
threading her way through the minor invasion till she reached
safety some distance away.

Trembling all over, she searched the island for
Nicholas, until she heard his low laughter, bitter and amused.
“What’s the matter? Your little friends bothering you?”

“You . . . bastard!” she stormed. “Why didn’t you
wake me up? One of those . . . those horrible creatures could have
bitten me.”

“They won’t hurt you,” he told her. “They’re
horseshoe crabs. Harmless. They’ve come ashore to mate.” She
shuddered and looked back to where the creatures clustered and
crawled. “Harmless or not, I don’t like them.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a lot of things here you don’t
like.” He leaned nonchalantly against the trunk of a pine,
shirt-less, one long leg crossed over the other, a smug expression
on his face. “You’ll just have to adjust.”

Glory regarded him closely. His manner seemed almost
hostile. “I assure you I’ll do my best not to inconvenience you.”
Another chilling laugh, unlike anything she’d heard from him
before. She forced herself to ignore it. “What do you think
happened to the others?”

“If they kept their boats afloat, they probably made
shore.”

“Near here?”

“I doubt it. We were all pretty spread out.” His
voice sounded brittle, and again Glory wondered at his anger.

As she glanced at her surroundings—the barren
shoreline, the lack of shelter, little or no water—realization
dawned. Nicholas was shipwrecked on this dismal stretch of land
because of her. If he hadn’t stayed aboard the
Spider
to
search for her, he could have been on one of the shore boats with
his crew. They might have reached a port or city by now. Instead,
he was stranded on this lonely, barren chunk of land because once
again she had disobeyed his orders. He blamed her for what
happened, and now he was angry. Furious, in fact.

Damn him! Damn him to hell, Glory silently raged. It
wasn’t her fault that crate fell on top of her. She’d been headed
back to her cabin, intent on waiting just as he’d said. The nerve
of the man! Good Lord, she’d almost drowned out there, and here he
was acting the injured party. How she could ever have thought she
loved an arrogant ass like Nicholas Blackwell was beyond her.

Glory sought the shade of another pine some distance
from the rattling, crawling crabs and settled in. She was thirsty
and hungry, and her body ached all over, but she’d be damned if she
would say a word to the almighty Captain Blackwell. Instead, she
sat down and pulled her legs up beneath her chin. Ignoring her,
Nicholas stalked away.

For the first time she noticed the scars on his back,
thin, light lines that had faded over the years. She’d seen those
same scars too many times not to recognize the marks of the lash.
Though she tried to ignore it, she felt a rush of sympathy for
Nicholas. Then she thought of the boy he’d had whipped on the deck
of the
Spider
and wondered what crime Nicholas had
committed. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

When he returned, he carried an armful of driftwood
and with the help of flint and steel made a small fire. The evening
air was warm, but the beckoning light of the fire drew her from the
lengthening shadows.

“I don’t suppose you found any water while you were
out there?” she asked peevishly, still angry at his mistreatment of
her.

“There’s a pocket of rainwater near that far pine
tree.”

Surely he’d known she was thirsty. Without a
thank-you, she padded barefoot across the sand toward the water. It
looked brackish and undrinkable, but it was all they had, so she’d
have to make do. Holding a floating layer of scum aside, Glory
filled her hand and drank until her thirst was slaked. With a sigh
of resignation, she returned to the fire.

Nicholas had something roasting over the spit he’d
fashioned from fallen branches. “You’ve found something to eat?”
she asked, her mouth beginning to water from the succulent
aroma.

“Cottonmouth water moccasin,” he replied.

“A snake!” The word came out in a hiss. “I can’t eat
a snake. Why it’s . . . it’s barbaric. What about a nice fish or
something?”

“Did you catch one?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I guess it’s snake or nothing.” He seemed
almost pleased.

“Oh, Lord,” Glory said, sinking down on the sand
beside him.

When the meat was cooked, he thrust the stick toward
her until she finally pulled off a tiny, tentative bite. Nicholas
cut off a chunk with the big knife he still carried at his waist.
He ate with relish, licking his fingers noisily. Glory took a tiny
bite that lodged in her throat. The taste was not unpleasant, but
thoughts of the slimy creature turned her stomach, and she nearly
gagged.

“I think I’ll wait until tomorrow, if you don’t
mind,” she said primly. “Maybe one of us can catch a fish.”

“Suit yourself” was all he said. He rolled away from
the fire, laid an arm across his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

Hunger gnawing at her stomach, Glory tried futilely
to do the same. The stars were bright, and the constant sea breeze
kept the mosquitoes at bay, but still she tossed and turned. The
ground was hard and uncomfortable, and it seemed she had sand over
every part of her body. She thought of Nathan and wondered if he’d
made it to shore. If anything had happened to him, she was sure she
would have felt it. That was the way with them. They’d always been
that close. She turned on her side, ignoring the grit in her teeth,
and finally fell asleep.

* * *

Nicholas woke early and headed toward the strand. He
needed a bath and a shave and a good solid meal beneath his belt.
Upon reaching the strand, he noticed an added bonus. During the
night, the current had carried some of the remains of the
Black
Spider
to shore. The beach was littered with crates and boxes,
lines and spars, trunks and sea chests. He smiled to himself. Once
he’d repaid the spoiled little blonde for her treachery, he would
build a modest shelter and they’d be able to live a fairly
comfortable existence. Until then he would enjoy his revenge, make
the girl as miserable as he possibly could.

He thought of the way she’d looked when he left.
Petticoat hiked up to her thighs, blond hair tangled about her
face. Her smooth skin looked gritty with patches of sand. She was
exhausted and hungry, and though she’d tried to stay in the shade
as much as possible, her skin had taken on a rosy burnished hue.
She looked bedraggled and wilted—and lovely. It was all he could do
not to take her right there on the sand.

He stayed on the strand all morning, unbraided some
of the line he’d found among the litter on the shore to set rabbit
snares, then bathed and shaved with his knife. A fat gray squirrel
had the misfortune to cross the path of the first snare he’d set,
and Nicholas dispatched it readily. After skinning it, he made a
small fire, cooked, and ate it.

On returning to the island, he felt only a twinge of
guilt when he saw Glory knee deep in the sea fishing with a strip
of lace attached to a hairpin.

“Catch anything?” he asked, his voice thick with
sarcasm.

“Just a sunburn,” she told him, and Nicholas almost
smiled.

“I brought you a nice sea gull. That should fill you
up.”

She groaned aloud and tossed her makeshift line back
into the sea. She’d pulled the back of her petticoat between her
legs and tucked it into the waistband, leaving her calves exposed.
Nicholas felt a tightening in his loins. Damn the girl for the
vixen she was. He prayed the next few days would soften her up for
him. He’d hate to bed her against her will, but looking at her now,
he knew he would only wait so long. She deserved whatever she got,
and that included a stint on her back, tending his needs.

With an inward smile, Nicholas sauntered to the shore
behind her. “You don’t have any bait,” he said. Pulling off his
boots, he sloshed through the low waves till he stood calf deep in
the water. While Glory fished, he unsheathed the knife at his
waist, dug in the sand till he found several small clams, and pried
open their shells. Walking up beside Glory, he lifted her slim hand
and dumped the slippery shellfish into her palm.

“Here. These ought to do it.”

Glory shrieked at the slimy feel and tossed the clams
into the sea. Nicholas howled with laughter.

“Not much of a fisherman, are you?”

“Damn you, Nicholas Blackwell. If I didn’t know
better, I’d swear you were enjoying every moment of this.”

“Come on,” he said, pulling her toward shore. “I’ll
fix your supper.”