Captain's Bride (20 page)

Nicholas returned to their makeshift campsite, made
a fire, and prepared Glory a “tasty” meal of roasted sea gull.

Glory choked and gagged and downed enough of the meat
to keep her from starving, while Nicholas pretended to relish the
delicious taste of the tough, stringy meat; his earlier meal of
succulent squirrel had been enough to keep him till morning.

“I’m going to bathe and wash my hair,” Glory
announced after supper. “I’ll still be salty, but anything’s better
than all this sand.”

“Don’t go out past your knees,” Nicholas warned.
“Tiger sharks prowl the waters this time of year.”

“Sharks?”

“Big enough to swallow a man whole. Tigers have been
known to weigh eight hundred pounds.”

“Oh, Lord, what next?” Dejectedly, Glory sank back
down cross-legged on the sand. “I can’t wash my hair in water up to
my knees. The waves chum up the sand too much. Surely it’s safe to
go out farther than that.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” He lifted one comer of
his mouth. “You wouldn’t want one of those long, pretty legs of
yours to wind up shorter than the other.”

“Oooh,” Glory growled beneath her breath. “I don’t
know how much more of this I can stand. When do you think the
rescue boats will be looking for us? Shouldn’t we make a fire or
something?”

“It’ll be a week before they’ve had time to discover
we’re missing and organize a search, even if one of the shore boats
made port. We’ll worry about a signal fire before then.” Nicholas
leaned back against the trunk of a tree, as relaxed as if this
whole episode were just the merest of adventures. He had shaved
during the day, and his black hair glistened in the firelight.

“How did
you
do it?” Glory asked.

“Do what?”

“Wash your hair.”

“I can swim, remember?”

“But what about the sharks?”

“They prefer pretty young girls.”

She could see the arrogant curve of his lip profiled
in the firelight. “I know you’re trying to make me miserable,
Captain Blackwell. And I just want you to know I expected nothing
less from a rogue like you.” With that she stalked away from the
fire and settled at the base of a distant pine tree. The hot sun
and lack of food had taken their toll, and she finally fell
asleep.

Sometime after midnight, the wind began to howl. The
sting of sand against her skin brought Glory fully awake. Scanning
the island for Nicholas, she found him resting beneath a tree, his
broad shoulders turned against the needlelike blasts. She wanted to
go to him, to nestle in the curve of his arm, to feel safe and
protected the way she had before. But all that was past. He’d made
clear exactly how he felt about her, so instead she curled up
against the stinging fury of the wind and tried futilely to go back
to sleep. On the morrow, she vowed, she would build some sort of
shelter—with or without the captain’s help.

The breeze had abated by the time Glory awoke late
the following morning. Nicholas had a fire going.

“Hungry?” he asked, again looking refreshed. She
wondered how he managed to look so well groomed while she was a
pitiful, bedraggled mess. Her lacy petticoat hung in tatters, her
chemise was dirty, ripped, and tom, and her hair . . . God in
heaven, would her pale hair ever look beautiful again?

“What?” she asked listlessly. The heat, wind, and
sand were continuing to take their toll. “Oh, yes, I suppose
so.”

“I cooked some crab.” He broke off a claw and handed
it to her. “All you have to do is figure out how to get it
out.”

Glory felt like crying. The tantalizing crab made her
mouth water, but the determined little claw wouldn’t part with its
bounty. “How did
you
get it out?” she asked.

“I cracked it with my teeth.”

“Your teeth?”

“My teeth.”

Why didn’t she believe him? Desperate for a bite of
the succulent meat, Glory bit down on the stubborn shell. The shell
split apart, but so did a tiny chip from her tooth.

Nicholas chuckled softly. Taking his knife to a
second claw, he broke it open and handed Glory the snowy white
meat. Nothing had ever tasted as good. She ate every bite he gave
her, paying no attention to the juices running down her arms. When
she was full, she felt better than she had in days.

“God, that was good,” she said. As she wiped her
mouth with the hem of her petticoat, Nicholas watched her, but he
didn’t say a word.

“I thought maybe we could build a shelter today,” she
told him, and waited for his reaction.

“What for?”

“What for! Because that wind last night was miserable
and sooner or later it’s bound to rain.”

Nicholas only shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t
expect any help from me. I like sleeping out in the open.”

“Would you at least cut some branches for me? I’ll
tie them together with strips of lace from my petticoat.”

Try as he might, Nicholas couldn’t stifle his grin.
“Better watch out, Miss Summerfield. You keep using up your skirt
and you’ll be sleeping out here in the raw.”

Furious, Glory kicked her slender foot in the sand,
stubbing her toe on a pebble buried beneath. She gritted her teeth
against the stab of pain. “You are the most infuriating, most
despicable cad I’ve ever met.”

Nicholas raked her with his eyes, his look traveling
with deliberate slowness from the top of her tangled locks to the
toes of her slender feet. They came to rest on the high curves of
her bosom above her lacy chemise.

“And you, Glory, are without a doubt the most
delectable morsel on the island. Be careful what you say or it’s
you I’ll be having for supper, instead of another sea gull.” Glory
blushed crimson. It was the first time he’d paid her the least
attention since they’d reached the island and she wasn’t sure
whether to be insulted or relieved. Without another word she
stalked indignantly to the opposite end of the island. She didn’t
return until he’d accumulated a pile of branches large enough for
the task she’d set herself.

“Have at it,” Nicholas said dryly. “I think I’ll take
a swim.”

Her eyes went wide. “But what about the sharks? What
if something happens to you?”

“I’ll do my best not to get eaten.” He walked to the
shoreline and pulled off his boots; then his long brown fingers
worked the buttons of his breeches.

Glory couldn’t look away. He slid his breeches off
and, naked, walked immodestly toward the water. His long legs,
narrow hips, and muscular buttocks held her like a spell. The scars
on his back intrigued her, and again she wondered how he got them.
Waist deep in the water he turned to face her. Glory quickly
averted her eyes, but her rosy blush betrayed her, and Nicholas
chuckled mirthlessly at her embarrassment.

“Join me?” he called out. “I promise I’ll keep the
sharks away.”

How she would have loved to. She could have washed
her hair and gotten rid of this endless sand. But there was no way
in the world Gloria Summerfield was going into the water with a
naked man.

“No, thank you,” she called back stiffly as she set
to work on her lean-to.

She had no idea where to begin, so she started by
tearing the lacy strips from her petticoat. Next she bound the
branches together as tightly as she could. She’d use the area
between two trees. If only she had some rope and a few blankets.
Sighing resignedly, she continued with her task.

By dusk of that day she had finished. Her fingers
were cramped and sore, and her back hurt fiercely. Nicholas had
watched from afar. She cursed him endlessly. As she took in his
smug expression, she prayed the wind would blow up a gale tonight.
She wouldn’t share an inch of her shelter with the captain.

The wind did indeed come up. And to Glory’s chagrin,
her shelter blew apart like lint in a whirlwind. Nicholas slept
nearby, never even looking up. Tired and discouraged, she slept off
and on until Nicholas called her to a breakfast of large tough
mussels—all he claimed he could find. Afterward Glory set to work
to rebuild the shelter and again Nicholas looked on, but today he
seemed out of sorts.

Nicholas’s amusement had waned. He had watched Glory
for days, expecting her to break long before now. So far she’d
amazed him. She’d made do with the foulest bit of water, eaten
whatever he put in front of her, albeit grudgingly, and generally
held up better than some men he’d known. In truth his conscience
was beginning to prick him sorely.

He’d already stayed on the inhospitable island a day
longer than he’d intended. The girl looked ragged and weary and
forlorn. He’d been certain that by now she’d have thrown herself at
his mercy, begged him to take care of her. But things hadn’t worked
out as he’d planned. She wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t come crawling.
He didn’t know how much longer he could stand to watch her
suffer.

By afternoon she’d rebuilt her shelter. Tiny bits of
lace waved in the gentle breeze, and Nicholas found himself smiling
at her ingenuity and determination. He decided it was time to put
aside his anger and make peace with her. He intended to bed her. He
preferred she be willing, but it really didn’t matter. She had
deceived him, made a fool of him. He owed her nothing now. He
wondered if she’d fight him. She hadn’t before. Tonight he’d find
out.

He glanced toward her just as she tied the final
branch in place. Out of the comer of his eye, a movement near the
marsh caught his attention. Nicholas turned to see the sharp tusks
and bristly snout of a feral boar searching the brush for the only
pool of water on the island. For a moment the animal sniffed the
air, and Nicholas spotted blood on an injured shoulder. Then the
great beast lowered its head and charged—straight toward the young
woman sitting beneath the pines.

“Glory!” Nicholas cried out, drawing his knife and
racing toward her. With a glance at the boar, she screamed and
scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with terror. Clutching her
petticoats out of the way, she raced toward Nicholas. He caught her
in his arms and pulled her aside, just as the boar reached them.
Spinning away from the flashing tusks, Nicholas plunged his knife
into the animal’s back. The wild pig screeched and squealed, then
charged into the makeshift shelter. Pine boughs went flying; blood
covered the branches and turned the lace red.

Nicholas tugged his knife free of the wildly charging
animal and sank the blade again, this time into the boar’s neck,
just beneath the skull. The animal thrashed and rooted, tearing the
shelter to shreds and finally falling on its side, kicking and
snorting in its final death throes.

Taking several steadying breaths to calm himself,
Nicholas shuddered at what might have happened. The wild boar was
deadly; its razor-sharp tusks could rip a man apart. He closed his
eyes against the haunting image of Glory mutilated and dying,
covered in the animal’s blood.

Close. Too close
. His glance searching, he
found her slumped against the base of a tree, arms wrapped around
the knees drawn beneath her chin, her body shaking with the fury of
her sobs. Nicholas had never felt more rotten in his life. As his
long strides carried him across the sand, he cursed himself for the
fool he’d been, knelt beside her, and gently pulled her into his
arms.

In a feeble attempt to free herself, she pushed
against his chest. “Go away and . . . leave me alone,” she ordered
raggedly between breaths.

“No.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t care if you see me
cry. I’m tired of being brave.” A trail of tears rolled down her
cheeks. “That horrible creature tore up my shelter. I need a
bath—and I’m hungry. Oh, God, I wish Papa were here.”

Nicholas tightened his hold. He hadn’t meant for
things to go so far. He certainly hadn’t meant to endanger her
life. Seeing her like this, her pride gone, her face pale, her body
shaking with sobs, he felt a surge of protectiveness that twisted
his heart and constricted his chest until he could barely
breathe.

More tears rolled down her cheeks. “Papa would know
what to do.”

“I know what to do,” he whispered beside her cheek.
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her toward the marsh, a
quarter of a mile through the ooze, and up onto the strand without
even noticing her weight. She clung to him, crying all the while.
He didn’t stop until he’d waded to the middle of the freshwater
pool he’d been using each morning to bathe. Only then did she lift
her head from his chest to look around.

“Nicholas?”

“It’s all right, love,” he told her. “Everything’s
going to be all right from now on.” Still she clung to him. He let
go of her knees, and her toes sank into the soft sand at the bottom
of the pond. With firm but gentle motions, he pulled her chemise
over her head, slid her filthy petticoat and ragged drawers down
her thighs, and helped her step free of the clinging garments.

With his hands around her tiny waist, he steadied her
while she slipped beneath the surface to cleanse the sand from her
face and hair. When she stood up, beads of water trickled down the
wet strands of pale hair that clung to her neck and shoulders.

Nicholas thought she had never looked more beautiful.
His gaze fixed on her full breasts, which pointed upward, just as
he remembered. He ached to hold them in his hands. His arm circled
her waist and he pulled her against him. Still a little dazed, she
didn’t resist. He hadn’t planned to take advantage of her—at least
not now—but feeling the warmth of her body, the smoothness of her
skin, he groaned and covered her lips with his. The heat he felt
sent a ripple of pleasure the length of him—and a surge of blood to
his loins.

Deepening the kiss, he felt her lips part beneath
his, and the first tentative touch of her tongue. When her arms
slid around his neck, Nicholas felt a wave of desire like nothing
he’d known. He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, the place beneath her
ear, then moved along the slender column of her neck.