Prisoner of Desire (30 page)

"Water barrels broke during the storm. We'll not be done praying for deliverance yet."

The sunlight suddenly took on a different meaning. Glancing back at it, Lorena noticed how

strong it was. The water soaking the walls and floor was evaporating while she watched.

"How far is port?"

"It better be close and the wind steady."

He handed her the pitcher and went back to his work. The ship was still rolling, so she wrapped a strong hand around the small pitcher and kept her opposite one on the wall. She took only a few sips of it before securing it in her cabin. Her mouth was still dry but her suffering would be worse if she drank too much now. Climbing to the command deck, she looked out over the ship.

Men were in the rigging, collecting water from the rolled-up canvas sails with their mugs and small barrels. It was a desperate effort which sent a chill through her. Every man was stripped down to his shirt and vest to keep them cool without perspiring.

A sense of foreboding kept her company as she hurried down to her cabin to strip her socks off.

If the wind died, she swore she was going to strip the petticoat off as well. Suffering the thing was idiotic considering the lack of water. But something needled at her. Something that wanted her attention.

"Of course..."

It burst on her and she hurried back up onto the command deck. Mordaunt's ship wasn't

anywhere in sight. The fury of the storm seemed to have separated them.

"Such tender concern." Lieutenant Bridges was watching her from the corner of his eye. He turned to assess her with a harsh look.

"You don't know the commissioner very well if you somehow hope the storm took him under."

Disgust edged his voice.

"And you, sir, are a presumptuous clod if you think you know anything at all about me."

Surprise appeared on his face.

"I am heartily tired of being hauled about like a convict. In truth the only thing missing are the chains. Oh yes, and of course the conviction. I never transgressed against the law, sir, and yet I find my person being delivered like any common thief to your fort for incarceration and

punishment," she informed him. "So do not expect me to continue being polite."

"You were betrothed, madam. An arrangement steeped in tradition."

Lorena arched one eyebrow. "Truly? I believe being met with a strike across my face was the end of my willingness to honor that agreement. Do you have any sisters? Or daughters,

Lieutenant?"

His demeanor changed, his expression turning guarded, a hint of indecision flickered across his gaze.

"That is not relevant."

"If you stand by while other wives are treated so poorly, do not be surprised when your own family members suffer the same at the hands of your fellow naval officers. You'll be expected to turn your back the same as you are doing now. I for one am not so interested in marrying a good name that I will endure such atrocities simply to have others envy my position."

"I believe you've made your point, Miss St. John."

His words were chilly but they lacked the condescending edge she'd always heard before.

He surveyed the crew, looking up into the rigging before casting a glance back at her.

"This is a crown vessel, madam. Keep your words low. But do me the service of recalling that many of us were raised as gentleman and we are as caught in the net of what is expected of us as you are."

Lieutenant Bridges took his own advice. His voice was so low she had to strain to make out the words. Anyone looking at them would not have known he was actually talking with her. The

man faced the open deck, his hands locked firmly behind him.

"That is a delight to hear, Lieutenant."

She let her own voice trail off. A strange sense of comradeship wrapped around her. It would appear she was not the only one caught up in Mordaunt's grip.

"It shouldn't be." The lieutenant turned to consider her with a grave look. "You are as trapped as I am. Mordaunt rules absolutely on Bermuda."

She'd noticed that before...

Today she almost wished for ignorance. But that would mean not knowing what it felt like to kiss a man. She had kissed Warren and enjoyed it. To think she might never have known what

passion freely given felt like was a tragedy. She would have that memory to cherish. Mordaunt couldn't take it from her.

But that wouldn't stop the man from taking everything else he wanted once she was back in his fort. She stared out to sea, wondering if surviving the hurricane was lucky or not. Her heart rejected such a pitiful yearning. She wanted to live. Where there was life there was hope. She refused to give up.

"Sails ho!"

Up on the yardarm, the look-out pointed off the port side of the ship. In the distance a ship sailed toward them, British colors flying atop her main mast.

"Sails aft!"

Lieutenant Bridges turned in a flash, his eyes scanning the area behind his ship. Two more ships were rapidly gaining on them. They sailed out of the remains of the storm with the wind aiding them. Their sails were still wet but billowed out with the strong wind. They held the advantage of the approaching ship in front of them.

"American colors!"

"Come about!" Bridges shouted at his men, his gaze returning to the two ships gaining on his vessel. They were sailing wide enough apart to pass on either side of them. A position no

commander wanted his ship in. With their cannon windows open, they could fire a volley into the belly of the ship, ripping her to shreds.

"Does that American have a reason to come after you, Miss St. John?" "I...I don't believe so," she floundered, trying to recognize the ships bearing down on them. For all the time she'd spent on board the Huntress, she didn't recall what the ship's bow looked like.

"Let us hope he does. If not, you may die along with the rest of us."

"But we are not at war with America."

Lieutenant Bridges face was set into a hard expression, one she recalled seeing on Warren a time or two. "That matters little out here."

The grim certainty in his tone unleashed a ripple of foreboding. The muscles tightened along her back until they ached. She turned to look at the approaching ships, her mouth going dry.

"Powder's wet, sir."

Bridges turned to stare at his crewman. "Check the forward stores."

"Aye, sir."

Men ran across the deck, their footfalls sounding like thunder. Lorena flattened herself against the rail as the junior officers all crowded the small space of the command deck.

"Full sail."

"Stations."

Men climbed the masts and untied the sails without regard for the water they dumped when the canvas was freed. They'd all die of battle wounds and drowning faster than the elements might take them.

"Forward powder wet, sir."

Profane words drifted over the deck, mixing with muttered prayers. The combination sent a

prickle over her skin and she wasn't sure which she'd rather do. Pray or cuss.

"They're going to pass us."

The lieutenant sounded grave. He held a telescope out to her, his eyes deadly serious.

"See if there is any salvation for us standing aboard that ship."

It was two against one. Her earlier joy at seeing Mordaunt's ship missing suddenly seemed very short sighted.

Her hands shook when she slid the brass sections into place. In spite of never holding so large a version, a telescope didn't take much skill to use. Keeping it steady against the roll of the ship she stood on and the one she was looking at was the challenge.

Her throat constricted, tightening until she couldn't get a single word out. Her mind froze with shock. Why would he come for her? Never in her life had she thought to matter so much to

anyone. She peered through the telescope, trying to believe what she viewed on the deck of the Huntress.

Disbelief held her in its grip even after she allowed the telescope to lower.

"Let us hope they don't have dry powder." Lieutenant Bridges took the telescope from her.

A cannon fired off, the shot sailing over the deck. The men aboard cursed. The lieutenant's face tightened.

"She's got dry powder."

"I say throw the bitch overboard. She ain't worth dying for," Bart Carroll yelled from the main deck. He pointed a thick finger at her. Many of his shipmates turned ugly scowls her way.

"Keep order there, sir."

The Huntress closed the gap, her cannon windows clearly open. The other ship sailed on the

other side, her crew already standing at the rail with ropes in their hands. Horror gripped her because every man had weapons tucked through his belt. Bart and his fellow seamen were

pulling swords from storage while she watched. The impending bloodbath horrifying her.

"Do it. Throw me over," she said.

Lieutenant Bridges scowled at her. Pride lighting his eyes.

"Enough blood has been spilt, sir. Do not allow more to run today."

Bridges gritted his teeth. A muscle jerked along the side of his jaw.

"I cannot throw you over the rail." He stared into her face. "It would be ungentle manly and unbefitting of an officer to do anything of the sort, I cannot do it or allow you to jump."

His gaze shifted, lowering to his wide belt. He stared at the polished handle of a hand pistol. His lips barely moved.

"Can you swim, ma'am?" He locked his hands behind his back in the formal position she'd come to expect from him. His teeth gritted but this time she recognized how much effort it took for this man to allow himself to be so vulnerable. The crew was watching them, the two ships closing the distance.

She reached for the pistol, yanking it out of his belt. The telescope clattered onto the deck. The lieutenant's eyes flickered with satisfaction even as he brought his hands up to try and grab the weapon back.

"Stay still," she ordered him.

He froze but she didn't think he was truly intimidated by her. No, not this man. The crew shouted from below them, their voices so jumbled she couldn't make any of the words out.

"Good luck," Bridges muttered under his breath before lifting his chin. "Give it back now, ma'am.

No need to do anything rash. It is my duty to protect you."

No, it wasn't. But she couldn't voice the words. Couldn't mutter the thank-you she owed this gentleman. He was everything she valued in Warren and all the things she wanted to believe her countrymen still were.

Keeping the pistol steady, she aimed just a bit off of him in case the thing fired. Backing up, she slid her shoes along the deck to avoid stepping on her petticoat. The rail pressed into her back and her heart accelerated. Lorena didn't look behind her. She didn't want to risk losing her nerve.

With one hand on the rail she pushed up with her legs. Her bottom sat on the polished wood for a mere second, but it felt like an hour. The ship rolled and gravity tumbled her right off her perch.

The pistol fired up into the air as she fell over the rail.

She smacked into the water, pain spiking along her body from the impact. It was not the smooth entry she'd come to expect from stepping off a bathing machine. This was hard, the breath

rushing out of her lungs. She sank quickly, the surface receding above her head while she fought to gain command of her aching limbs. Her lungs burned and the sunlight looked impossibly far above her. She kicked,

but her petticoat was four times its weight now, dragging her down.

But she refused to give up. Kicking harder, she reached for the surface with her hands, dragging her body up a precious few feet. It wasn't enough. Her lungs were starving, panic beginning to wrap around her.

Her head broke the surface and she gasped. Desperately dragging in huge breaths of air. Her heart hammered so hard against her ribs it felt like it might break the bones. The ships had passed one another now. The British man-of- war sailing east while the Huntress was turning in a wide circle. Crewmen were in the yardarms, taking up the canvas.

Her clothing pulled her head beneath the water again. She kicked and struggled to keep its

weight afloat. But her fingers were going numb. Whether from the cold or the hard impact, she didn't know.

Something broke the surface in front of her. Water spraying up. She struggled to keep her head high enough to see what it was. Someone reached for her and she fought against them, fearing her countrymen might have decided to retrieve her rather than face Mordaunt empty handed. But her dress hampered her efforts, and a strong hand helped keep her head above water.

"You are insane, Lorena."

Warren's voice drew a cry from her and she tried to turn to see him.

"Throw your arms over the rope."

He didn't wait for her to understand him. He pushed her forward and over a length of rope. Each end was tied through a large piece of cork. Her body weight pressed down on the rope, catching it under her arms, but the cork wanted to remain on the surface. It held her up, helping her keep her head above water.

"A fall from the command deck can leave bones broken," he growled.

"Well I certainly wasn't about to watch men fight over me."

His face was set in an angry expression. But they didn't have time to argue further. The Huntress was circling them, men peering over the rail with ropes in their hands to try and catch them. Her teeth chattered, earned her another glare from Warren.

He pulled her toward his ship. She kicked as hard as she could but the current still dragged them where it wanted. She wasn't afraid, but she should have been. They were in peril. The ocean tides far stronger than either of them. The chill bit into her flesh, making her muscles hard and painful to use. Rope ladders were flung over the rail of the Huntress. Garrick climbed down one and hung off the lowest rung not covered in water. She and Warren fought their way to him, reaching for the sanctuary the ship offered.

Warren shoved her the last few inches, Garrick capturing her outstretched wrists and pulling her up. The water felt like it wanted to keep her, sucking on her lower body in some sort of struggle between man and element.