Pirate's Wraith, The (23 page)

She stared at the sight of her hand in his. Her hand appeared so small, so swallowed up by his huge strength. Was it any wonder he had a cannon in his britches?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How could she ever cleanse her mind of his magnificent attribute.

“Are you sure you can handle this horse?” he asked with a note of concern.

“Let’s do it.” She opened her eyes and swung her leg over the horse’s back.

Sea Biscuit kicked, bucked, and lunged in an attempt to dislodge her.

“Do not let go of that mane.” Harlan untied the ropes that secured the horse.

Lesley clutched at the mane with all her strength. Sea Biscuit reared and pawed the air. Lesley hung on. Whenever she had ridden bareback at camp, she sat upon a horse known for its gentle manners. Sea Biscuit had more spirit than any horse Lesley had ever known. Her mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

Harlan slapped the pinto’s rear end and she sprang away. She continued bucking and rearing for a few minutes, but eventually she ran out of energy. As she reached the water’s edge, she slowed to a walk.

Lesley’s racing heart slowed to normal as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Giving the pinto a loving pat, she said, “You see, I’m not so bad. Let’s go exploring. Maybe we can find a
zanahoria.
”

Sea Biscuit whinnied and they headed east on
the edge of the water.

* * * *

Harlan burned. The smooth, round feel of Lesley’s nether regions ignited his fuse. Yet, the woman confused him with her obsessive fear of things he could not see—those tiny things called germs. At other times, she awed him with her courage and knowledge. She surprised him at every turn.

Her personality bore no resemblance to that of his dead wife. Still, Lesley had appeared on deck with the power of a lightning bolt and carried the wooden pony he had carved, an enchanted toy that glowed and from which a spectral being had emerged.

Perhaps the elusive phantom had not been the ghost of Elsbeth. It may have been the soul of one of the newly dead on the other side of the island. Still, it struck him as odd that Lesley did not appear frightened by the phenomena. While she claimed not to be a witch, the startling manner of her own arrival spoke of her magical abilities. 

Gilly had set up the experiment, but he had conducted many scientific tests that resulted in no discernible outcomes.

Burdened with the conundrum of Lesley, he could not stop himself from focusing on her fine form. He watched her black hair bouncing on her back in the sunlight while the pinto cantered along at the edge of the water. Her laugh reminded him of the merry sound of bells as she urged the horse into a gallop.

Finally, she and the horse disappeared around the bend. Forcing himself to go back to his task, he set up a place to dry the wild plums he had found. He had picked a great many of them. They could live for many months on the island, but if he did not lie with Lesley soon he could go mad.

An hour later, she came riding up to the campsite screaming, “We’re saved! A huge ship sent out a boat to pick us up.”

Harlan’s blood went cold despite the warm air surrounding him. “What are their colors?”

“Colors? The ship is black and brown, I guess.” She slid to the ground, neatly landing on her good foot. “I whistled and waved and they did that thing to stop the ship—you know where the sails go like this.” She held up her hands.

“Heave to.”

“Right. You better pack up because we’re going home.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Well, not home, but back to civilization—such as it is.” She used the pinto for a crutch and then ducked inside her small shelter whistling a cheerful ditty.

With his heart pounding ominously, he ran to the edge of the water. He could see the ship at the eastern tip of the island. The ship’s boat was about to run through the breakers.

He pulled out his glass and peered through the lens.

Spaniards
.

Chapter
Fourteen

Harlan cursed as he ran back to the camp. He
could not blame her. She did not understand.

Fortunately, he had searched for a place to hide last night. If he and Lesley were lucky, they could reach it without leaving an easy trail for anyone to follow.

When he reached the shelter, he lifted the canvas. “They are Spaniards. We must hide. Now. Take nothing.”

Her face paled. “You’re sure about that?”

“They will hang me and make you a slave.”

She grabbed the wooden pony and hurried out.
“Where’s Sea Biscuit?”

“
A horse cannot be trusted to be quiet.” Harlan stated. “I will carry you on my back. Say nothing.” He lifted her with ease and ran for the jungle. 

Shouts came from the landing party. He could only hope they would take some time to feast upon the turtle meat and plums. However, within the span of a quarter hour, he knew at least a few members of the party followed him and they were not far behind for he heard their raucous shouts.

Lesley did not make a sound but her breath blew hot on his neck, filling his mind with unholy thoughts of what he wanted to do with her if they escaped the foe. His own heart thundered loud enough to echo through the heavy canopy of vines. 

Struggling through the dense underbrush, he became tangled in vines and slid in mud. At one point, the Spaniards caught sight of him before he hid behind a wide tree. When they fired their muskets, the bullets hit the tree. He and Lesley slid into the ditch beneath the tree. The wide overhang created by the tree’s roots made a small, dark hiding place. He barely breathed as the Spaniards walked past the tree above them. Lesley’s nails dug into his hand but he did not shake her off.

The Spaniards followed the river, but did not cross it. They cursed every time they stumbled as they blundered through the jungle. Once, they shot at a colorful bird but missed it and then spent an inordinate amount of time grumbling about the poor marksmanship of the gunner. Their loud voices reverberated through the jungle, which helped him for as long as he could hear them, he knew their location. Still, they continued to doggedly search for him.

When their voices faded away, Harlan assumed they had wandered toward the west side of the island. He and Lesley scurried from their hiding place. Once more he hefted her upon his back. He could do nothing to cover his tracks, but the small river he had found the previous night would help confuse his pursuers. He waded into it and headed upstream. The cool water did not chill his wayward ideas for he held Lesley’s soft thighs in his hands and as he carried her he envisioned the tender juncture where those limbs met. 

The sun began its descent into the sea as he caught sight of the small rivulet that branched off toward the island’s singular promontory. The mountain rose at an abrupt angle from the jungle floor. He had climbed to the top last night and been fortunate to see the edge before he tumbled over it. The sheer, sharp cliff dropped straight to the sea. At the bottom lay the wreckage of the other ship amid a colossal pile of wicked rocks.

He soon found himself struggling along the twisting path of the steep incline of the mountain. Lesley tapped him on the shoulder and wiggled her two fingers. She wanted to walk.

He set her down. They both needed to take a break, but only for a minute. The moment the sun dropped into the sea, the heavy canopy of the jungle would smother everything in darkness. He pointed to the crystal clear stream, and motioned for her to drink. He knelt and took in as much water as he could hold. It might be a long time before they dared to venture out and get more.

She drank very little. He knew she feared those invisible germs. She found a sturdy branch in the stream of a good length to use for a crutch. With the stubborn set of her mouth, she insisted on walking. He hoped she would be able to
manage the upward trail. It had proved to be a challenge for him last night.

Yet again, she surprised him when he discovered she could be as agile and nimble as a mountain goat despite her injured
ankle. His larger frame became an impediment to their progress for his big feet often slid on the mossy hillside or slick rocks. Whenever he stumbled, he held his breath and listened intently. He had heard nothing from his pursuers for quite some time.

Wading in the stream might have helped to lose them, but he could not be sure. As the sun dropped into the sea, he found the cave he believed would be ideal for a sanctuary. Shrubbery hid the small opening. The passage for the first twenty feet was narrow and low. He got down on his knees and crawled through it. Lesley clutched his ankle and followed. 

The passageway turned abruptly to the right and opened into a more spacious hall where the echoing sound of gurgling water could be heard. Total blackness lay all around them. Lesley hung onto his shirt with trembling fingers. However, he had prepared for this circumstance. In a small hollow of rock, he had left some bundled rushes. With the flint and steel in his pocket, he lit the end of his handmade torch. He did not fear the Spaniards would see the glow.

His
small light shone on a strange and intriguing landscape  of oddly shaped rocks. Stalactites and stalagmites had formed from the limestone dripping from the ceiling of the cave. He had seen other caves, but this one contained remarkable configurations. Some appeared as if sculptured.

“
That rock looks like a throne.” He pointed to it.

Lesley nodded.
“That one looks like an ice cream cone.”

He sighed, wishing he understood her strange talk.
Ice. Cream. Cone.
He recognized each word, but together they made no sense.

He swung his torch to the left to illuminate the central pool, which refle
cted all the shapes in its flat, mirrored surface.

“
It’s really beautiful, in a sort of creepy dark way,” Lesley whispered.

“They are curious,” h
e muttered. He did not find them beautiful. They were cold and hard. He glanced at Lesley. Her soft skin held a gentle warmth and her eyes lured him. Gazing at her filled him with heat. 

A fresh breeze with the tang of the sea wafted through the c
ave from many fissures and cracks. Sea birds and bats lived in some areas, but he had found a relatively clean room off to the side of that one great hall.

He led her to
the small alcove and lifted her into it, for it stood four feet above the floor of the cave. He climbed in, but he could not stand at his full height for he would bump his head. Unlike the great hall with the pool, the small enclosure had a soft bed of sand.

“
We stay here for the night,” he whispered.

She nodded and glanced around with her eyes wide and fearful. “This just gets weirder and weirder.”

He sensed her unease. “The Spaniards will cease their search in the dark. We are safe for now.” He blew out his torch and her hands grabbed his shirt.

“Can we leave the light on?”

“We dare not waste it.” He drew her close.

“I am sorry I attracted their attention. I didn’t know who they were. I only wanted to be ... rescued.”

The catch in her voice touched a painful place inside him. She longed for home and he remembered the feeling, though he had abandoned the idea of home years ago. For him, all connections to the past had been severed.

“
I know I can’t go back and I’m not sorry about dumping Jim, but my sister, my niece and nephew--it hurts to think I’ll never see them again.” She trembled—every inch of her.

He wiped away the dampness on her cheek. His heart echoed her sorrow. He knew of love and loss. The old pain dug into him.

“Getting back to civilization, even one as prehistoric as this, has got to be an improvement. I’d like to eat regular meals, sitting at a table. I want to feel safe. I don’t want to worry about being drawn and quartered ....”

“
We are safe.” He patted her shoulder, hoping to reassure her, though he doubted his own words. The island was small. He could only hope the Spaniards would soon depart. “We will be rescued.”

With his boast, she calmed.
“You should stop this pirating business. It’s not a healthy lifestyle. Wouldn’t you like to go home, too?”

In the darkened cave the old memories flooded him. Once he had a home, comfortable, warm and secure, but it had been taken from him. All the bright hopes of his youth crumbled. He struggled to care for his own small famil
y but despite his best efforts, that failed, too. Melancholy swept over him as he thought of his son who had been granted few moments of happiness in his brief life.

Weariness began to take hold of him and his eyelids grew heavy.
“I lost everything that mattered.”

“
You can start over. Look at me. I’ve had to make some major adjustments in my life--like pretending to be a different sex. I’d like to see you pretend to be a woman.”

He chuckled.
“I would make a very ugly woman.”

“
Well, you are rather hairy, but waxing might help.”

As usual, he
did not comprehend her words. Exhaustion dropped down upon his shoulders. In the midst of their escape, he experienced powerful yearnings toward her, but now he could not keep awake any longer. He had gotten no sleep last night and though his back leaned against solid rock, her soft babble lulled him into blissful oblivion.