by Cate Masters
Many hands pushed at Livvie’s back, crushing her against Mrs. Locke. “Get up top, Martha—now!”
At the top step, Livvie gave a final shove at Martha’s back, and she fell across the drenched planks. The gale-force wind tossed waves over the rail and across the unnaturally angled ship.
Livvie dragged Mrs. Locke to her feet. “We must take hold of the mast.” Panic mounted inside her, but she swallowed it back and focused on steadying Martha.
The ship lunged upward. Livvie’s boot slipped on the slick wood. Wind-driven spray lashed her face. People scrambled to take hold of whatever was nearest, their screams heightening her fear. All along the rail, men and women clung, some holding crying children. Relentless waves drew sputtered moans and screams from all, soaked through to the bone.
The captain’s voice carried over their heads. “Take down the remaining sail, men! Look lively!”
Livvie clutched Mrs. Locke’s waist, pulling her along the slippery planks. Someone grabbed Livvie’s waist.
Peter’s body warmed hers. “I’ll help you,” he yelled against the gale’s roar.
His strong arms comforted Livvie while he propelled them to the mast, a rope dangling from his outstretched hand. “Take hold. Don’t let go for anything.” His wet hair hung in wisps around his face.
Livvie placed the rope in Mrs. Locke’s fingers, then strengthened her hold on it.
Peter yelled, “I’ll check back in awhile. I have to go–”
The ship lurched sideways. His arms and legs flailing, Peter skidded to the rail, his gaze locked on Livvie’s. Her hand shot toward him, reaching as far as she dared, though it was no use. For an eternal moment, gravity pinned him against the side. Another sharp tilt of the ship, and he flipped over its side. Churning waves swallowed him.
The sight dumbfounded her. For a moment, her lungs could take in no air. She let out a cry and whispered, “Peter.”
Another man followed Peter’s awful path. A girl descended to the sea without a scream, her face frozen in shock.
The deck shuddered, and Livvie clutched Mrs. Locke. The hold must be filling up with water. The ship seemed somehow unable to move past whatever barrier had captured it.
Uttering constant, high-pitched cries, Mrs. Locke clutched the rope, her eyes glazed with panic.
A great groan filled Livvie’s ears, and the Elizabeth Rose rolled on her side. Livvie lost her foothold on the planks and clung to the mast as it lowered toward the sea. The tilting deck tossed men and women downward, their screams silenced when they plunged into the water. The very axis of the world had tilted.
Livvie’s grasp of Mrs. Locke gave way. The woman floated down through the air until she landed in the water, small as a raindrop. A splash flew up around the outline of her form, and she disappeared.
The mast split from its base in a loud crack. Clutching the rope, she hung above the water, rising to meet her. Through the driving rain, a fleet of shadows bobbed across the white-capped waves toward the ship like phantoms coming to claim the victims.
Unable to sustain her grip, one hand gave out, and then the other. Dreamlike, Livvie sailed down into the jagged waves. The water closing around her erased the awful sounds of screams and chaos. A terrible peace settled over her until long shadows passed overhead. Forms jettisoned into the sea above her, bubbles exploding around them like cannonballs. Death sought her in the shadows. Even owing Hell as penance, she wouldn’t give herself over without a fight.
Chapter Two
The Florida cut ahead of another schooner along the reef. Samuel Langhorne grimaced against the lashing rain, silently urging the vessel onward. The boat’s mascot, Barnaby, sat beside him, his long black fur and ears pinned by the force of the wind. The schooner neared the tall ship as it fell to its side, bucking in its death throes, its magnificence lost in tattered sails and broken planks.
Sam clasped his mate Liam’s hand in triumph when The Florida reached the ailing ship first. Now no one would challenge Captain Howe for the title of Wrecking Master, in charge of the salvage operation.
Captain Howe shouted orders to the men. Other schooners arrived and positioned around The Florida, a show of acknowledgment.
“Wonder what her cargo is?” Sam called to Liam over the howling wind.
Liam checked the life lines were secure. “I’m hoping for a cargo of gold, meself.”
Fortune carried a burden of its own, requiring careful looking after. To Sam, wealth represented a liability, causing others to react differently to its owner. Causing women to see the gifts he might give them rather than the man himself.
Best to use it up while he still had his youth and could enjoy its benefits.
Sam scanned the surface waters for signs of life. “Like the captain says, passengers first.”
“Aye, I know ye’ll be first to reach the females.” Liam peered at him, grinning.
“You can’t blame a lonely man in need of company. Right, Barnaby?” Sam laughed and patted the dog’s head.
At the captain’s urging, divers jumped into the choppy waves.
Sam tagged Jasper’s shoulder when he leaned against the rail. “A bottle of rum.”
Jasper’s wide smile filled his black face. “Ready whenever you are, partner.”
Filling his lungs with a reserve of air, Sam plunged into the white-capped sea. If he lost Jasper’s bet, he’d gladly buy him two bottles. The game–who could save more people than the other–provided less gratification than the deed itself. The element of challenge made their task no more fun.
Beneath the surface, the tumultuous waves and winds were obliterated by the slow, otherworldly atmosphere where peace reigned equally alongside horror. He aimed for the first sinking body–a woman. Liam would have his laughs once he rescued a female first. Yet Sam had other reasons: weaker-limbed, women proved less likely to save themselves than men, and their saturated skirts became heavy, making the effort doubly hard.
He swam toward the light blue fabric, sinking faster than usual. Kicking hard, the girl ploughed deeper, her hands plunging ahead. Her fall must have confused her into swimming downward rather than toward the surface. Such confusion was common in shipwrecks. He slipped his arm around her slim waist.
She turned, her eyes wide, and pushed at his hands. Her golden hair swirled in cascades, as magical as a woman of the deep. No mermaid ever looked so angry–or so determined.
He tightened his grip and pointed up.
Scowling, she shook her head and pointed down.
Sam followed the direction of her finger. The turbid sea revealed nothing beyond churning debris.
She broke loose from him. Her foot caught him in the stomach, forcing a burst of bubbles from his mouth.
Precious air lost. He had to move fast. He locked his grip across her ribs and labored upward. She twisted beneath his arm and kicked at his legs, making the journey to the surface an arduous one. He’d never encountered anyone so intent on drowning. She wasn’t going to bring him to the depths alongside her.
Struggling against her flailing, he broke through the surface exhaling a forceful gasp. “I need help with this one.”
Liam appeared at the rail. “Jasper, some assistance please.”
Still wet from his dive, Jasper leaned over and glanced back to the girl. In the spring, he’d saved an older woman from sinking to Davy Jones’ locker. She’d complained bitterly of the indignance of having to endure the touch of a Negro. Jasper had grown reluctant to assist any woman since.
Liam took hold beneath her arms, but lost his grasp to her struggles. “Well, come on.”
Jasper reached down for her other arm. Together, they hauled her into the boat, gasping and crying. And kicking.
The moment her feet touched the deck, she hurled herself over the side of the boat toward Sam. “What are you doing? You must go back and find her.” Her chest heaved, her lips parted by the effort of refilling her lungs.
In the choppy seas, he nearly forgot to tread water until Li
am extended a hand overboard.
Sam grabbed it and flung his leg over the rail. “Find who?” He climbed into the schooner and plopped to the floor.
She coughed to regain the oxygen she lost beneath the sea. Her glare bore into him. “Mrs. Locke. She fell into the water just before I did. I was trying to save her but you dragged me up here. Why did you stop me?”
“I saved you!” Ungrateful wench. Why couldn’t he have happened across one of the others huddling on board? Silent and shivering, they made no complaint against Jasper or Liam.
Poor manners aside, the girl was striking. Her honey-colored tresses and tawny brown eyes, even turned on him in anger, made his blood churn in a whirlpool. Her wet dress clung to her curves, stirring something deep inside him. She was nothing short of magnificent. Ripe for the plucking. Sam might volunteer for the honor, but preferred labors of love. He suspected she would simply be a labor, but oh, what a tempting one.
“I didn’t need to be saved. Mrs. Locke did.” She bent over him, her breasts straining at the fabric. “She’s drowning. Please, please go back for her!” Her shrieking barely penetrated the haze of his lust, swarming like a bees’ nest through his blood.
To clear his mind, he pushed himself up. The moment he felt able, he’d dive again.
She clutched his arm. Fire sparked in her eyes. “What are you doing? You can’t leave her down there. She can’t swim. You must go save her!”
Jasper grinned at Sam and dove off the boat. When she removed her hand from his arm, an unfamiliar discomfort pricked at him. Disappointment? No, he’d made himself immune to it. Especially regarding females, who proved more prone to inflicting it.
Sam’s lungs ached from the effort of breathing. Damn Jasper–outdoing him already.
Liam paid little notice. He likely had mentally marked the moment of Jasper’s dive and was counting off seconds. In such rough seas, the men sometimes had to rescue their crew mates. If Jasper ran into trouble below, they’d pull him up. With or without the prized woman.
The schooner rocked, and the girl stumbled to the side of the boat. “At least someone on board has the courage to do what’s right.” Her body moved in concert to the rhythm of the waves, a siren song for a wrecker who hadn’t known the company of a woman in many months. The sea sprayed across her, the wind riffling her long hair, yet neither seemed to distract her. She focused solely on the submerged line.
Clenching his jaw, Sam cursed the waves and the rocking boat. Beckoning him alone, he could hardly take his eyes from her swaying body, taunting him. He forced himself to look away, to picture Jasper diving deeper, searching.
She fixed her fear-filled gaze on him. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
Her guile bedeviled him.
“Soon.” He turned away to signal Liam of his impending dive.
Worry clouded her face. “It’s been minutes. She couldn’t possibly–”
A searing gasp sounded, and Jasper broke the surface and took hold of the life line. His head bobbing in the waves, his words came in short bursts. “Have to…work on...this one.”
Sam reached overboard to reel in Jasper and the woman. “Sit back. Away from the side.”
The girl pushed closer. “I want to–”
“Move now.” He had no time for her scolding. Not while Jasper needed help.
Her nostrils flared as she retreated and swiped a tear from her cheek.
The woman lay limp, unmoving in Jasper’s arms. Sam crouched to get hold of her. Her arms flopped upward when he grabbed beneath them. Liam came to his side, and the boat tilted while they leaned over to take hold of her. Sam released his grasp once they’d cleared the side to grab Jasper. With one pull, he lunged onto the deck.
Liam laid the woman on her back, and pressed his hand against her stomach. Sam knelt by her head. Water spilled out of her mouth. Droplets sputtered as she coughed.
Sam glanced up at the girl. Her distress erased his triumph.
“This isn’t Martha Locke.” Her lip trembled, and she looked out over the sea.
An icy chill passed across him. “I’m going down.” He nodded to Jahner Lang, who took his place propping up the woman’s shoulders.
Sam inhaled deep breaths, holding the air in his lungs as he dove. He plunged further toward the larger ship in hopes of finding other survivors. The rough waters could have carried the woman adrift.
The deeper he swam, the more pressure built in his lungs. It was not in Sam’s nature to give up. Plenty of time later to haul up whatever the ship carried in its hold. People couldn’t wait. If another wrecking crew hadn’t already rescued her, the woman had likely drowned.
A form came into sight. He plunged toward it. A woman. He swiveled her shoulders to turn her. Her wide eyes stared ahead lifelessly.
A movement caught his eye. He dove yet further, his lungs aching for air. A man drifted in the murky depths. He twitched–a sign of life. Sam grasped him beneath his arms and swam upward. Nearly as tall as Sam, yet more sleight of build, the man’s unmoving weight made him seem heavier when Sam reached for the surface. He clamped his jaw shut, fighting the urge to inhale.
His hand broke through the water and caught the side of the schooner. His chest heaved in an effort to refill with much-needed oxygen. Liam and Jasper took the man by the shoulders and pulled him up, and Sam dragged himself aboard.
Liam pressed the man’s stomach. Water burbled from his mouth. The fortyish man gave no other response.
Sam turned to Liam. “I’ll take one more dive. There may yet be some alive.”
Jasper rose and stepped between them. “You just came up. I’ll go.”
Sam glanced at the girl huddled on the other side of the schooner. Her dejected face pumped his determination. “I’ll go.”
Jasper laid a hand on his shoulder. “We both will.” His dark eyes conveyed his concern. He would watch out for Sam.
Together, they went to the side to dive, this time aiming outward of the ship.
Debris drifted through the depths. The storm churned silt up from the bottom, clouding his view. He swam toward a shadowy form. It turned out to be a split plank, yellow fabric caught in its splinters. At the sight of two dresses suspended at the surface like jellyfish, Sam pushed upward. The women screamed in hysterics as he broke through.
He took hold of the piece of wood to which they clung. “Ladies, hold tight. I’ll take you to safety.”
Adjusting their holds, they nodded.
After giving the rope a yank to signal to Liam, Sam took hold of one end of the wood, tugging the women toward The Florida. Their weight doubled the laborious journey. Their hands often slipped loose, their frequent cries piercing Sam’s ears. Divers from other ships must have passed them over in favor of those beneath.
Finally reaching the ship’s side, his muscles burned. Jahner helped Liam draw the women up from the water. Exhaustion robbing his strength, Sam flung a leg over the side and hung there.
The scene repeated on the surrounding schooners: men diving, hauling up men, women, and children. The Florida held more than a dozen people clinging to one another in small groups. Their faces registered shock, exhaustion, relief, and sadness.
Sam’s chest heaved. He looked over at the girl, still huddled on the other side, her arms around Barnaby’s neck. Wiping her eyes, she stared at the two women. A heaviness washed over him. Neither of these women was the one she sought. He’d failed.
Laboring for breaths, Sam watched for Jasper. His shadowy form came into view just before he broke through the surface holding a man about their own age.
When they hauled the two aboard, the girl gasped, rushing toward them. “Amos!”
The man looked in her direction.
She fell to her knees beside him. “Have you seen Peter?”
Amos groaned, closing his eyes. “Gone.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Stricken, she blinked back tears as she shrank away. Two lost; one for certain.
Captain Howe called
Liam, Sam, and Jasper to his side. “Is it worth going down once more?”
Sam wiped his brow. “I saw only one other. Already drowned.” He glanced at the girl.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
Jasper stared at the roiling seas. “Anyone still beneath will be also.”
His voice weighted by dread, Liam said, “Aye, I believe so too.”
The captain set his jaw. “Right. Let’s get these people to shore before we start on the cargo.”
The group broke. Liam called to those on board to go below for safety’s sake. “We’ll get you to shore as swiftly as the storm allows.”
The girl rose and went to Liam. “Please,” she implored. “Isn’t it possible to continue the search?”
“Captain’s orders. We must get you all ashore.” He stepped to her side.
She matched his step in a tense dance. “Can’t I stay?” Her feet planted securely on the boat, she maintained her balance in the rough sea as well as any wrecker.
Liam nudged her arm toward the entrance to below. “Sorry, miss. We need the room for new passengers. And you need to rest.”
She slipped her arm from his grasp. “I need to find Martha Locke.”
“You may find her ashore ahead of you.” Liam’s tone grew less solicitous. “Now get below.”
Unmoving, she stared at him, her eyes glazed in shock.
“Captain’s orders,” he repeated insistently.
Her glance toward shore moved Sam. The wind whipped her wet hair behind her shoulder. Her stern grace gave her the countenance of a warrior princess strategizing her next move, though she had no option except to follow orders. Her gaze met Sam’s almost instinctively, causing his insides to buzz like a hive again. Prickling heat stung him.
She folded her arms across her wet bosom. Despite the schooner’s bobbing in the waves, her stride never broke. The Florida turned toward shore, where the only hope now lay for finding her companion.
Chapter Three
