Heart of Gold (22 page)

She could hear the muffled, heavy, rattling sound of boxes being thrown about around her. The ship’s cabin continued to rock, and Elizabeth, completely disoriented, began to crawl helplessly forward. Around her the darkness was deathly.

“Mary!” she called. “Mary! Are you here?”

Elizabeth had fallen sleep holding her sister. The troubled young woman at last had settled quietly to rest, and Elizabeth had stayed beside her.

Suddenly the cabin floor seemed to drop away below her, and Elizabeth heard the crash of another box a foot from her head. Her hands flew up instinctively, and she rolled away from the spot. She dragged herself quickly to her hands and knees, and scrambled in the direction she thought she’d come. But the wild motion of the ship fought to thwart her attempts.

“Mary!” she called loudly. But the hollow sound against the walls was answered only by the roar of the wind beating against the ship’s sides.

So dark. There was no glimmer of light, no hint of which direction the door could be. And the storm. Panic began to crawl up from the small of her back. She had to open the door. Where was Mary? Where were Jaime and the others? She had to get out.

Elizabeth moved, pushed hard as she struggled to her feet. Her hand reached a wall. Good. The cabin was not that large. But then the boat shuddered and dipped and rolled her once more, downward and into the wall.

She heard the noise from above and behind her. The sound of more trunks and boxes ready to crush her.

As they reached the crest of another mountainous wave, Gavin scanned the rolling seascape for some sign of land, but there was nothing to be seen beyond the wind-whipped foam of a gray-green sea and the blackness of the low-hanging clouds.

“Damn the sky,” the Scot cursed into the stinging salt spray. “It was blue not two hours ago.”

As the galley slid uncontrollably into the trough between the waves, Gavin gripped the railing of the high stern deck. This is a lunatic’s life, he thought. Give me a good battle and firm ground to stand on. He looked forward at the troop of Scottish warriors huddled in the bow and guessed more than a few of those brave men were thinking the same thing. Around the place where he stood, groups of travelers were sitting on the wooden deck, and the prayers of a number of them were as audible as the weeping of the old couple sitting directly at his feet.

Ambrose had just gone below again, having herded most of his own charges out of the tiny cabins. Gavin couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the seamen’s expression when the baron had so emphatically made his intention clear. Crowded deck or not, those in Ambrose’s care were not going to be below decks if the ship went down.

Gavin glanced downward over the short rail in front of him at the painter’s sister. She had been standing there looking out over the wild and frothy sea for some time now.

The Scot’s gaze lingered on her as she clung to the railing on the far side of the ship and began slowly making her way forward. She was a bonny lass, and Gavin had heard her name was Mary.

Always uncomfortable in the company of women anyway, Gavin could only wonder now what could possibly be going through the young woman’s mind. So unlike others, who needed a group of people to keep their company, this one was such a loner. So much like him.

Gavin had first seen her on the pier. From a distance, it had looked as if she were standing there waiting...waiting just for him. Her eyes, her smiles had seemingly been directed solely at him. He had turned around—actually looked about—to make certain there was no one else she was looking at. But there wasn’t. And then Gavin had strode toward her. She must know me, he thought. Perhaps we’ve met somewhere before. No, that would be impossible. Gavin was certain he would remember.

A step away, he had stopped. No, he had never spoken with her before, but he knew she was indeed waiting for him. Before he could even speak, it occurred to him that she seemed to need something—something from him.

But she was so beautiful, and his tongue had knotted up in his head. He thought for a moment that she was about to speak. And whatever she had to say, Gavin was willing to hear.

Then Ambrose had called. They needed to finalize their agreement with the captain of the ship before they departed.

He had not seen her again before the galley sailed in the gray predawn light.

The ship heeled over slightly as it began its ascent up the side of the next watery mountain, and suddenly a crossing wave crashed over the gunwales, hammering free the great wood casks of olive oil that had been lined up and secured with such orderly precision. The galley’s crew scrambled about, attempting to secure the huge barrels that now floated as free as twigs upon the flood. The shouts and curses came back to Gavin in snatches as the howling wind and the roaring sea overwhelmed all other sounds that struggled so feebly before them.

One of the wooden casks tumbled through the midsection of the ship, now awash with the deluge. All eyes in the stern were upon the barrel, but from the corner of his eye, the Scot saw another smaller wave break over the starboard bow, and the water swept aft, engulfing the black-haired lass.

As he watched in horror, the wave knocked the woman flat, submerging her momentarily before she reappeared, floating with terrifying speed across the deck toward an opening where the water was draining overboard.

Without a second thought, Gavin vaulted the short railing before him as the flood carried the woman ever nearer her certain doom.

The warrior waded powerfully against the surging current, driving his brawny legs against the thigh-high water. Gavin’s black hair whipped across his face, blinding him for an instant with brine as Mary neared the gaping hole.

The giant was still a half dozen steps away, lunging wildly ahead, when the woman’s body reached the side of the ship. The vessel tipped again, and the seawater rushed with even more force through the opening.

As the young woman’s head disappeared, Gavin dived into the swirling foam. For a moment the giant thought the lass was gone, but then his fingers closed over one of her trailing ankles.

Driving his knees under him, Gavin Kerr struggled to his feet, dragging with all his strength the unconscious woman back into the ship. With a mighty heave, the giant hauled the young woman up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder. Then, working his way back through the receding water to the short ladder to the stern deck, the Scot climbed quickly and lay the sputtering lass in the waiting arms of the huddled travelers.

Below, Ambrose kicked open the first door. There was no sign of her. After bringing the others up to the stern deck, he had realized she was the only one missing. Why doesn’t this surprise me? he thought to himself. Holding the wick lamp in one hand, the baron held the door open with one foot and peered in. The room lit up slightly, but even in this light, he could see she was not there. He stepped backward into the narrow corridor and moved deeper into the bowels of the ship.

Ambrose’s wide shoulders nearly scraped the sides of the passageway and he needed to keep his head low as he moved toward next cabin—the cabin he’d seen Elizabeth’s sister Mary come lurching out of when he’d come below earlier.

Before he could reach it, though, the ship shuddered with the impact of a wave, and the hatch door behind him slammed open. A gust of wind and spray swept into the passage, killing the flickering light, and Ambrose was left cursing in the darkness.

Feeling his way toward the cabin door, the baron found himself thrown into one bulwark as the galley lurched again, seemingly dropping a yard as it did. Steadying himself, Ambrose found the wooden latch and shoved the cabin door open.

“Uh...Phillipe!” he called into the pitch-blackness of the room. “Are you in here?”

Straining to listen through the sound of the gale and the waves, Ambrose pushed farther into the cabin.

“Here.” The reply was weak and small.

Ambrose stepped in, clear of the door, only to slam his hip squarely into the corner of a large chest directly before him.

“Damn,” he cursed. But before he even had the word out, another abrupt shift of the galley threw the warrior backward against the closing door, leaving him staggered against the bulwark with the offending chest tipped onto his outstretched legs. “The devil!”

“Stop complaining and get me out of here.” Elizabeth pushed the clothing that was inhibiting her breathing away from her face. She wondered vaguely whose chest had been opened by the movements of the ship.

“Where are you?” Ambrose called, as he took a step in the direction of her voice. His knees rammed the side of another chest. “What the devil is all this? I thought I said you were not to bring anything that cannot be carried on horseback.”

“I don’t recall discussing anything of the sort,” she lied into the darkness. Gripping the side of a chest, Elizabeth pulled herself to her feet. She stretched her legs and flexed her hands. Amazingly, nothing appeared to be broken.

Another sharp dip of the vessel once again sent her flying, this time in the direction of the baron’s voice.

“Ambrose!” Elizabeth called as she landed with a thud on the hard wood floor.

“Aye?” His voice now came from the proximity of the floor, as well.

“Please help me. I believe I’ve bruised every bone in my body.” The cabin floor tipped once more and Elizabeth felt herself sliding across the floor, with the sound of luggage sliding after her. “Help me!”

Her hands fluttered about her wildly with the hope of grabbing hold of something. Anything. But to no avail. With another crash, the young painter hit the far bulwark a moment before a collection of trunks, furniture, and loose clothing came tumbling after her.

His hand found her ankle, and Ambrose pulled the limb toward him.

“You are turning me upside down,” she called. “I don’t need that kind of help, m’lord. My stomach is about to empty itself as it is, and it doesn’t need any encouragement.”

His other hand took hold of her leg as he searched for a better grip.

“Ambrose Macpherson, you keep your hands off of me. This is no time to behave in this manner.” While one of her hands tried to fight off his hand as it moved up her thigh, the other reached out in search of the rest of him. Elizabeth was buried under a landslide of baggage, and she needed him to get her out from under it. She struggled against the onslaught. “Where are you?”

“Make up your mind, my bonny one.” His hand slid over her round backside. She tried to squirm away. “Do you want me, lass, or don’t you?”

“Oh, Ambrose. I’m so glad you came for me.” She now clutched him hard around the neck.

The vessel heaved and dropped again. Elizabeth leaped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face in his neck. “Please get me out of here.”

“This is no way to behave, m’lady, if you want out of this cabin.” His voice was hoarse.

“I can’t help...” Another sudden drop made Ambrose lose his balance and fall backward. Elizabeth dropped like a sack on top of him. “...it.”

“Really?” She whispered sheepishly as she struggled to pull one of her legs out from where it was pinned beneath his buttocks.

“I thought I’d never get out of here, Ambrose. And then you came.” She snuggled quickly beside him as she heard the sliding chest. “Though I’m beginning to think we’ll never get out. Is the ship about to go down?”

“It might.” He rolled quickly to his side and pushed her from him as another chest crashed into his back.

Elizabeth heard the groan that escaped his lips as they were pushed across the floor into a pile of clothing.

“We could die! Drown! Where is Jaime?” she asked in panic.

“Right now, everyone is huddled safely on the stern deck. I saw her in the arms of the merchant and his wife.”

“My sister?”

“She came up, as well.” Ambrose reached behind her and found the solid wood of the bulwark behind the clothing. And right at the point where it met the floor, he found the rope. Running his fingers around it, he gripped it tightly.

“Are we the only ones left below decks?”

“The last ones.”

The ship heeled over, but Ambrose held on to the rope and kept them where they were.

Elizabeth felt her body crush against his as the cabin deck sloped sharply toward him. She found her hands planted on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Her chest, her hips, the length of her entire body were molded against him. Her head gave in to the powerful pull and nestled against his neck.

It was almost as if the fear she was feeling had wrought some incredible change in the universe. She’d never felt her senses so alive. The smell of wind and salt water on his skin, the warmth of the cocoon that he’d made for her in his arms, the power of his build—they were all so intoxicating. Seemingly unable to control herself, Elizabeth let her lips brush against the skin of his neck. She found herself wanting to touch him. Her fingers traveled gently over the smooth linen of his shirt and then, finding the opening, moved inside.

“I like your timing, lass,” he growled, lowering his head and capturing her mouth. The kiss was hot and carnal, his tongue thrusting hungrily into her velvety recesses.

She took him in, suckling his tongue with a desperate longing. A longing to take him into her as deeply as she possibly could. She’d not known how much she needed him. Not until today, when she’d thought that the object of Mary’s attraction had been Ambrose Macpherson.

Now the roar of the storm outside, the darkness that engulfed them, everything seemed to add to her overpowering need to have him, to experience him, to wrap herself around him. The world she knew, the solid world of precision, color, and light, was no longer the real world. It was another world, more dreary and unattractive than the undulating blackness she was a part of now. That other world was like some far-off dream, falling away farther and farther with every billowing wave of the sea.

She wanted him, and she would have him.

Elizabeth’s hands tore at the fasteners of his shirt. Her fingers greedily devoured his skin, exploring and kneading every sinewy muscle.