The Pirate Bride (9 page)

She was dead, or soon would be….

She could hear it all again. The screams of the children. She could see it all again. The endless spill of blood.

No, she told herself. The scream was the wind.

The blood was the sea.

Then there were arms around her. Surely they belonged to those who now were only vague memories, whispers of what love and family could be. There was a world beyond, and she had to make it through this maelstrom to reach them where they waited for her.

“Breathe!”

Something vised violently about her chest. She spat out seawater, and her lungs instinctively dragged in huge drafts of air, but even the air was wet, and she gasped and choked. The pain was so great that she longed to slip below the cold surface again and let the water cradle her and draw her under.

“Breathe, damn you! Live!”

She gulped in air again. She was being dragged. Dragged through the water and the waves. She tried to breathe, but the waves were sweeping over her again and again.

“Hold on!”

Hold on? To what?

Then she could feel something. Something solid. Wood. And it was holding her above the waves. She felt someone tugging at her feet, and suddenly she wasn’t being pulled down so heavily. She felt…her toes. Her boots were gone. And she heard a voice. “The coat…dammit, it has to go. We need to lighten you up…”

She felt like laughing. She wasn’t a ship! But something logical in the back of her mind fought against the shock that had seized her, and she knew the boots would have dragged her down, and she had to hold on and kick to stay afloat.

The ghosts of the dead had
not
come for her….

She was dimly aware of Logan Haggerty’s face, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his amber eyes like strange beacons of fire, anger and determination.

“Hold on,” he commanded again.

So she did, managing to wrest herself half out of the water, clinging to what she saw now was a barrel. He was next to her, one arm around her, the other clinging to the barrel literally for dear life.

The world was dark, the sea a swirling vortex from which there could be no salvation. The rain lashed at them, so cold, until she felt as if her fingers could grip no more…

Then…

The banshee wail began to fade.

“Kick!” he ordered.

And she tried, oh, God, she tried….

And after that…

What seemed hours later, she felt her feet scrape against sand. Then she was standing, struggling, the waves lapping around her feet….

She staggered forward. The world was still wet and dark and cold.

She fell.

But she fell on solid ground.

L
OGAN REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS SLOWLY
.

First he heard the waves, gentle now, easing up on the shore. There was a cadence to them, a rhythm. It was pleasant, inducing him to close his eyes again and sleep….

But then he felt the sand, gritty beneath his cheek and in his clothing, caked along his jaw.

And there was a breeze. Something balmy, such a pleasant touch, inducing him to forget everything else, to fall asleep and dream.

There was the sun. Growing warm overhead…

Suddenly his eyes flew open, and all the force and fury and desperation of the storm returned to him. He remembered.

Red going over the side.

Brendan screaming.

And himself…

Following her into that storm-tossed hell.

There had never been a question. He remembered diving over the rail, praying that a sudden wave wouldn’t tilt the ship over on top of him, that he wouldn’t crack his head wide open before he had a chance to save her.

And then…

The water. Deep and churning. Violent. He had dived deep, terrified that he would never find her. But he had, and then he had surfaced and found the barrel, and somehow they had both ridden it as the storm raged and finally passed. He had talked to her throughout, but she hadn’t heard him. And he could remember seeing land at last, and kicking for it with the tail end of his strength…

Well, he had evidently made it. He was alive, judging by the sunshine, the breeze and the gritty sand.

He sat up.

His shirt was sodden, molded to his body. His boots were gone. He had one stocking left. He vaguely remembered struggling out of his coat and vest. And Red…He had gotten rid of her boots, as well, tried to rid her of what weight he could. And she…

Panic suddenly locked his throat and soul.

Where was she?

He struggled up, looking around.

Where the hell was she?

He looked down the beach and saw the broken barrel that had been their salvation. There was other flotsam and jetsam on the shore, as well.

But he didn’t see Red.

He started running barefoot down the beach, his heart pounding furiously as he raced past the barrel and skidded to a stop.

He exhaled, shaking and falling to his knees at her side. She lay there, clad much as he was himself, torn white shirt, ripped breeches and, amazingly, both stockings. With the wig gone, her eyes closed, her features pale, perfect and fragile, and the radiant color of her hair, she appeared as delicate as a kitten.

His throat seemed to close again.

Was she alive?

He reached out and touched her throat, seeking a pulse.

It was there.

As her eyelids began to flutter, he pulled back his trembling fingers.

Her eyes opened.

She stared at him in confusion. For a moment her gaze was innocent and questioning….

Then she bolted up, staring at him in horror, as her hand flew to her head.

She was looking for that stupid wig.

He could see in her eyes as it all came back to her.

The storm…

Going overboard…

Then…

“You!” she gasped.

He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected her to fall all over him with gratitude for saving her life, but he hadn’t expected such pure horror, either.

“Me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The storm, the ship…remember? Then there was me—jumping overboard to save you.”

“You…you know who I am.”

She backed away from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “Of course I know who you are. Did you hear what I said? Yes, it’s me. The man who jumped overboard to save your hide!”

She backed away again.

“I…I am a pirate. I am Red Robert!”

“Fine, you’re Red Robert. Now stop worrying about the fact that you’ve lost your wig and you’ve very evidently a woman. This may shock you, but I was too busy being concerned about whether you
lived or died
to care much one way or the other!”

She stood very tall and wary, and clutched her arms around herself, as if that would somehow disguise her again.

“Where are we?” she asked suspiciously.

“On a beach.”

“The ship?”

“I don’t know—I dived in after you.”

“You didn’t have to,” she informed him.

“Yes, I did.”

“The others?” she asked, her eyes downcast with fear for her crew.

“She’s a good ship. They probably rode it out.”

“They’ll come back for us.”

“We can hope. We can also hope they’ll figure out where we washed ashore.”

“And now you know,” she said miserably.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“
Now
I know?”

She stared at him, stunned.

“Of course I know. I knew all along.”

“You did?” she demanded.

He stared back at her, irritated. His heart had practically broken when he had thought she’d died, and now this.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to take a walk. I’m going to try to figure out if there’s any water on this island.”

He turned, heading into the tangle of palms and brush that grew not far from the shore. Hopefully that abundance of growth meant there was fresh water somewhere.

His back was to her, but he could feel her staring after him as he walked. The sand was still cool from the night before and the battering of the storm. He saw that the trees were coconut palms, so at the least they could drink coconut milk and eat the coconut meat.

He heard her when she came racing up behind him.

“You
knew?
” she repeated furiously.

“Of course,” he said, moving into the shade of the palm trees.

“From the beginning?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said. It wasn’t a complete lie.

She caught hold of his shirt, spinning him around. “That first day on the ship. The first day. When you fought me and slashed my cheek. You knew
then?
”

“Yes.” Well, he’d known
something
wasn’t quite right.

“Bastard!”

The word stunned him. He stood dead still and stared at her coldly.

“You chose to fight, and you fought like a hellion,” he reminded her.

It didn’t help the situation.

“Bastard,” she repeated.

He shrugged, walked on, then turned back. “Look, we need to find water and—”

To his amazement, she charged him. And to his deep humiliation, he wasn’t prepared. He went over backward, with her on top of him, her fists pummeling wildly. Luckily for him, she was so furious that she wasn’t being her usual cool and calculating self, and her energy was quickly spent as he went for her flailing arms, trying to avert serious physical harm.

“Of all the despicable, horrid, obnoxious, wretched men in the universe…!”

She stopped raging at him only because she ran out of breath. He took advantage of the moment to gain the edge, clutching her arms and rolling her over so that he was on top, straddling her and pinning her to the sand.

She never stopped thinking, planning, conniving. He could see it in her eyes. Knowing she was wasting her efforts, she went dead still and stared up at him with twin blue beacons of blazing fury. She seemed beaten, but he knew her better.

She was just waiting for a hint of weakness, of vulnerability, on his part. He wasn’t going to give it.

“I’m despicable? Because you’re playing such a dangerous game?”

Her eyes narrowed with an ever greater anger. “This is no game,” she assured him.

“You are no pirate.”

To his amazement, her anger seemed to fade, but her demeanor was still icy. “I’m afraid that I am very much a pirate.”

“The great and fearsome Red Robert?” he mocked.

“I took down Black Luke,” she reminded him.

“I heard about that—
all
about that.”

Her eyes widened then, and she cursed.

Like a pirate.

“Which one of those demented idiots told you…anything?” she demanded.

He had to hand it to her. One would have thought she was the one wielding the power.

“The cat sang,” he told her.

She cursed again and struggled then.

“Stop it!” he told her. “Stop fighting and listen to me. You are amazing and incredible. What you did…it was foolhardy, but it was also brilliant and valiant, and you saved yourself and a lot of men. But…do you know what will happen eventually?” he asked softly.

“I cannot come to a worse end than what was intended for me.”

He couldn’t help but grin, and he relaxed back on his haunches, still wary that she might fly into another rage and attack, and then grew serious. “But you can stop now,” he assured her. “The wretched woman who held your indenture papers is dead.”

She stared back at him without comment.

“You can live an…an honest life.”

She shook her head. “It’s too late. I can’t turn back.”

“You could work for me,” he said.

“As what? Your scullery maid?” she asked, and her fists started flying again.

“I didn’t say that,” he told her.

“Oh, I should perhaps be your mistress? Or merely your whore?”

“Never. I intend to honor the woman I marry.”

She went still, staring at him. For a moment he thought there was a sheen of dampness—maybe even tears?—in her eyes.

Then she struck out at him again, and it was all he could do to stop her.

“Bobbie!” he said. The name he’d heard Brendan use with such affection came easily to his lips. “For the love of God, I don’t want to see you at the end of a hangman’s noose. Or at the mercy of such a man as Blair Colm.”

She went dead still.

What was it about Blair Colm that upset her so? he wondered.

Had she already been at his mercy?

But she was alive….

“I am what I am,” she said primly. “And that is a pirate. And now, if you would get off me, I would greatly appreciate it.”

He slowly relaxed, but he didn’t let go of her wrists.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Are you going to hit me again?”

“You’re worried that I’m going to hit you again? You sound like a little girl,” she snapped.

He laughed.

“So
are
you going to hit me again?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “No.”

“Promise?”

“Pirate’s honor,” she said with aggravation.

“Then…” He leapt up, then reached down for her hand. She eyed his offering suspiciously, then accepted and let him help her to her feet. They were both still damp and sand-encrusted, but she was definitely different from the Captain Red Robert he had come to know. It was easy to see why she had come by the name. With the black wig gone, her own hair—even sea-tossed and salt-covered—was beautiful. It was a rich color, not as dark as Brendan’s, but red and gold and still somehow deep and lustrous. Definitely unusual. He found himself imagining it clean and dry and cascading softly down her back in sunlight—or the moon’s glow.

She cleared her throat.

“Water,” she said. “We need to find water.”

“Yes. Have you been shipwrecked before?” he asked.

“No. Have you?”

“No.”

She smiled suddenly. “I
have
careened my ship in places similar to this, though.”

“That’s good. You won’t be afraid.”

“Afraid? Why would
I
be afraid?”

“Everyone is afraid of something.”

“And what are you afraid of?” she asked him.

“Oh, I’m not so brave, really. I’m afraid of shot, swords, cannons…and of dying before making my mark on the world.”

He had spoken lightly, but with the last words he had taken on an air of gravity. She studied him, frowning with concern.

“What?” he asked.

“I guess that’s what I’m afraid of, too,” she said.

“Cannon, shot and steel blades?” he queried.

“No. Well, I’d rather not be injured or lose a limb,” she agreed. “But…it was the other. I just don’t want to die before I’ve…”

“Really lived?”

“Well, that all depends on what you mean by ‘living.’”

“Let’s get on with this search for water, then we can discuss philosophy,” he said. “Come on.”

He led the way through the thick underbrush. If there were any trails through it, they were overgrown and long unused.

“What makes you think you can find water?” she called after him.

“Look around you.”

“It does rain in the Caribbean,” she reminded him.

“Do you have something better to do?”

“Maybe?”

“And that would be…?”

“We could build a fire on the beach, so my crew can find us,” she said.

He was silent. Despite what he’d said earlier, there was no guarantee her crew had survived, and they both knew it.

“Okay, another ship,” she said.

The idea made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure why. Even if a merchantman were to find them, he wasn’t a pirate, and with her red hair and bedraggled beauty, she would never be taken for the infamous Red Robert. Still, he was uneasy about the possibility of rescue.

Maybe it was because they were almost certainly in a pirate alley. Any ship that came upon them would probably be a pirate ship. And most pirate captains would either think his plight was amusing and leave him stranded or put him to work on their own ship. Or maybe just decide he should be slain on the spot.

The pirate code stated that no decent woman should be taken against her will. Female captives were usually ransomed. But the rules were not hard and fast. Red could be in serious trouble if they were discovered by the wrong ship.

And building a fire might bring the wrong kind of rescue.

And yet, what other option was there?

As they headed deeper into the brush, the going became harder. There were roots to trip over, and pebbles and rocks to cut their feet. The palm fronds grew low and thick. There were several varieties of palms, sea grape trees, fruit trees bearing what looked like little green limes and others apparently bearing figs, and more. The limes were a blessing, he thought. And there had to be a fresh water spring somewhere on the island.

“There!” he said suddenly, pointing.