by Brenda Novak
“I’m not trying to kill anybody.” She pressed her back against the wall as two long strides brought Nathaniel so close she could reach out and touch him. “I’m trying to save myself, and possibly that boy you injured, before anyone else gets hurt.”
“The best chance that boy’s got at saving his hand is with Nanchu. The Horizon’s own surgeon would have hacked it off directly. And that’s what will happen to him still, if he returns now. Why do you think I brought him here in the first place?”
Alexandra shook her head. “I have no idea, but perhaps you’ll forgive me if I didn’t see it as an act of charity.” She let sarcasm enter her own voice, using it to conceal her fear as Nathaniel’s face twisted into an angry grimace.
“Don’t make judgments on matters you know nothing about,” he snapped. “That boy asked for everything he got. And as for you and your safety, I’m taking you home directly.”
“You’re what?” Alexandra dropped her shield of outrage as surprise took its place.
“You heard me.”
“So what now?” She stared at the shards of glass at her feet. They reflected Nathaniel’s dark image, contorting his handsome face into something more akin to a monster.
“That depends on what the Voyager makes of your little mirror trick.” He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the room. “If they open fire, there’s no telling.”
Alexandra shivered, remembering the morning’s battle against the Eastern Horizon. The Vengeance had rocked violently, making her stomach churn with seasickness. Smoke had burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes, and her ears still rang with the blast of cannon. The worst of it was the fear: not knowing whether they’d take a ball and sink into a watery grave, or be captured, or come off victorious, which, for Alexandra, might prove just as bad.
If they open fire... she heard Nathaniel’s words again in her mind. The schooner had seemed like a lifeline. She was desperate to get away from Nathaniel before... before what? Before he refused to shield her from Rat? Before she witnessed any more proof that he was the blackguard she had originally thought he was?
She remembered the powerful response his touch evoked in her, and felt a deep-seated panic nearly overwhelm her. She craved the kiss of a criminal, a thief, a pirate. Somehow she had to protect herself from that alone.
But the Vengeance couldn’t surrender. Nathaniel and his crew had to fight, or they would probably hang. And how many might be killed in the process?
Nathaniel retrieved a bit of rope when they reached his cabin, but Alexandra raised a hand to forestall him.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said in resignation. “I’ll stay put.”
The pirate captain quirked an eyebrow at her, obviously skeptical, but shrugged. “It’s probably too late anyway,” he said, throwing the rope back into the corner. “The damage has already been done. Besides, if something should happen to me, I wouldn’t want you trapped below.”
He moved to go, but Alexandra reached out, catching him by the arm. “I’m sorry,” she said when he turned back. “I—I suppose I panicked.”
Cupping her chin in his hand, Nathaniel tilted her face up. He studied her for a moment as she gazed into his eyes, blue eyes of almost unfathomable depth. Then he dropped his hand and disappeared down the corridor without another word.
* * *
Alexandra almost screamed when the sound of cannon fire shattered the still night air. Peering through the porthole, she saw a series of small orange flashes in the vicinity of the other ship, and nearly swooned. It was happening. The schooner was attacking.
The Royal Vengeance shuddered as Nathaniel and his crew returned fire, causing Alexandra’s stomach to turn queasy again. The ship already swayed drunkenly against a strong breeze, rising and falling on great troughs of water like a horse jumping hedges, and the weather promised only to make matters worse. Dark clouds obscured the stars, revealing only a faint slice of moon, and the wind whistled through the rigging above. Its keening wail, though barely audible in the cabin, sent a chill of foreboding down Alexandra’s spine all the same.
A second round of shot barked from the big guns, and Alexandra threw herself on the bed. What fate would befall her? What fate would befall them all? How could she have been so thoughtless? She had wanted only to escape and to save the injured Jake before matters grew even worse, but she had probably signed the boy’s death warrant along with her own.
Somehow, the thought of Nathaniel floating in the briny water gave her little solace. She might have practiced a thousand forms of revenge upon the pirate captain in her dreams, but his slow, sardonic smile always taunted her in the end.
She groaned aloud and covered her ears, attempting to block out the din of battle. Grabbing one of the pillows, she buried her head beneath it until the sound of feet running down the companionway made her sit up and take notice. What was happening?
Crossing to the portal, Alexandra poked her head out just as a thin young man she didn’t know came charging down the hallway.
“What is it?” she asked in alarm.
“Just goin’ for more powder, miss. Can’t store powder near the big guns, ye know. Might explode the whole ship. With the storm it’d only get wet anyway.”
He hurried on as Alexandra closed the door. So they were preparing for a serious fight. Returning to the window, she clung to the bedpost for support, straining her eyes to see beyond the darkness.
Lanterns dimly lit the opponent’s ship between the brief, fiery flashes of cannon fire. The schooner wasn’t more than a quarter of a mile away.
Vaguely Alexandra wondered about the Vengeance’s chance of survival. How many men vied for their destruction? What kind of firepower did the schooner have? She knew next to nothing about cannons or gunfire or sailing, but the danger of battle after nightfall and in the middle of a storm seemed obvious enough.
The ship lurched to one side, and Alexandra yelped as she landed hard on her backside. She could scarcely rise for the ship’s movements, but when water began to creep beneath the door, covering the floor like a thin layer of ice, she sprang to her feet.
They were sinking! Why else would water be rising so quickly?
Alexandra’s fear of closed places once again reared its head, and she sloshed toward the door. The water reached her ankles now, making the polished wood slick. But she wasn’t about to be caught in the cabin, buried by water, pressed somewhere to the ceiling.
The door opened easily against the pressure of the water coming down the corridor, but Alexandra had to fight that same current as she made her way forward. Were they taking on water from above because of the storm, or below due to a ball, or both?
A man came up from behind, startling Alexandra as she waded through the icy coldness. He shoved her aside in his haste, carrying more powder, no doubt. The sound of cannon still reverberated above all else, despite the water, despite the storm, despite everything.
This time Nathaniel was not at the wheel when Alexandra emerged on deck. She was almost completely drenched, doused by the water pouring down upon her head as she climbed up the slippery ladder, but it didn’t matter because the storm finished the job, quickly wetting her to the skin. Rain slanted into her face, stinging droplets that pelted them all, though the men, who yelled and cursed and rushed about cleaning cannon muzzles and trimming sails, seemed oblivious.
Alexandra instinctively searched for Nathaniel. She had to see that he was in control to give herself some small scrap of hope and perhaps relieve her fear. But she couldn’t identify one man from another. A palpable urgency ran like a current through all on board as they ducked against the elements and fought to control the ship while getting off another round of shot.
Alexandra hugged the mast to help keep her balance. Then she saw him. Nathaniel stood near the binnacle, muscles taut as he kept his footing on the rollicking deck. His shirt gaped open to the waist and billowed in the wind as spray from the frothy ocean mingled with rain to course down hi
s bare torso in rivulets. His black hair dripped water onto his chiseled face; his teeth gleamed as he shouted instructions to his crew.
“Nathaniel,” she cried, shoving away from the mast to force her way toward him. Her voice was drowned out by pistols that popped like toy guns as the crews of both ships drew firearms and began to pick men off from the opposing deck.
Alexandra took a deep breath and called Nathaniel again. She didn’t know what she wanted to tell the pirate captain. No doubt he already knew about the water filling the ship; his men slogged through it to retrieve the gunpowder stored below. But Nathaniel was always so self-assured. Surely his confidence would comfort her now.
“There’s water down below. Are we sinking?” she cried above the cacophony of storm and bullets when she reached him.
He turned, apparently noticing her for the first time, and scowled. “What are you doing up here?”
“I can’t stay below.”
Lightning flashed across the sky, momentarily illuminating the entire scene and freezing it in Alexandra’s mind’s eye like the painting of some famous naval battle. The other ship approached just off the bow, so close she could nearly jump from one deck to the other. It looked for all the world as though they would collide.
In the same moment she saw a man high in the schooner’s rigging. He held a pistol trained on Nathaniel. She knew its ball was meant for the captain just as she could feel its owner’s concentration, sense his struggle to keep his aim steady despite the wildly bobbing ship. And she knew the instant he pulled the trigger.
Nathaniel motioned her to go back, distracted by her presence and obviously preoccupied by the menace of collision. He yelled something to Trenton at the wheel that Alexandra neither heard nor understood. Time seemed to stand still as the crack of the pistol resounded, singularly loud in Alexandra’s ears but probably negligible amid the general tumult.
“No.” Alexandra mouthed the word and launched her body toward the pirate captain. She noticed the look of stunned surprise that claimed his features right before something hit her shoulder, knocking her down with such force that she wondered if he had struck her. Certainly a bullet didn’t feel this way. There was no sting.
In the next instant her shoulder was on fire, sending white-hot, searing pain radiating throughout her chest and back.
Her hand rose to examine the wound. Something warm and sticky burned her fingers like hot water tingling frosty toes. She found a hole, how big she had no idea, nor did she trouble herself to feel further as she lay on her back, staring into the black expanse of sky overhead.
“She’s been shot.” Nathaniel’s anxious voice came to her as though from a distance. She understood his words; she knew by then, too, that she had taken the bullet intended for him. But strangely enough, she didn’t regret her actions. His well-sculpted features appeared above her, worry etched into the crease of his brow, just as the Vengeance suddenly keeled and nearly upended in the mountainous waves.
Alexandra felt herself slide across the deck, carried by the icy cold tongue of the ocean, and began to flail in panic, despite the pain in her shoulder. She was being swept overboard. She felt Nathaniel try to grab her, felt her arm tear away from his fingers, then screamed as her body plunged into the freezing water.
Chapter 8
Nathaniel slid across the deck, struggling to reach Alexandra, until he smacked into something rock hard. He reached out, instinctively grasping the mizzenmast with his good arm as the same hungry waves that had swept her overboard licked at his feet.
“Alexandra!” Fear born of something worse than battle shocked Nathaniel’s system. Where was she? She had disappeared into the churning, angry sea. He knew it would not be easy to spot her amid the wind and the waves and the darkness.
The ship righted itself, and Nathaniel staggered to his feet. He dashed to the bulwarks, frantically searching the white-foaming waves.
“Alexandra!” he cried again, praying for a glimpse of her blond head. Deep down he knew the chances of rescuing her, of rescuing anyone under the circumstances, were remote. Alexandra would die. The cold would seep into her muscles and slow her movements until she simply went to sleep. If she couldn’t swim, water was probably already filling her lungs.
“Nathaniel, no! It’s too dangerous,” Trenton called from behind, but Nathaniel ignored him. Alexandra had saved his life. Though he couldn’t begin to understand why she would risk herself on his behalf, the fact remained that she had taken a bullet meant for him. And she could survive in the water only a few minutes at most.
The thought of her death wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed until he thought he’d die himself. The battle ceased to exist. The storm ceased to exist. There were only the two of them and the greatest of all enemies in such situations—time.
Trenton’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Let me. I’ve got two good arms.”
Nathaniel shook his head, singularly intent as his eyes caught sight of something in the water.
It was her! Alexandra bobbed up and down in the swirling blackness like a piece of driftwood.
“Hang on,” Nathaniel murmured. He quickly tied a length of rope around his waist, secured the other end to the mast, and dived overboard.
The jolt of the cold water stole Nathaniel’s breath away. He struggled to fill his lungs with air as he fought the turbulent waves and swam with all his strength toward the place he had last seen Alexandra.
Trying to remain calm, he counted his strokes to provide some measure of time and distance, but the churning water pushed him back again and again, making progress difficult. He would never reach her in time. Maybe he would never find her. Some nether region of his brain wondered if he would be able to fight their way back even if he did.
Nathaniel’s chest soon felt as though it would burst. His lungs burned; he tasted blood at the back of his throat. Still he pressed on. Alexandra had to be close now. He lifted his head to try to catch a glimpse of her, and instantly swallowed a mouthful of water as a wave crashed down on his head.
When Nathaniel finally surfaced, he turned back toward the Vengeance, hoping for some direction. The cold was sapping his strength, and he could no longer see Alexandra. Nothing but great mountains of water rose before him, churning and plunging and plunging again.
On deck, Garth yelled, waved, and pointed, but Nathaniel could barely make him out. Just a little farther, he thought, just a little farther. Making one last Herculean effort, he lunged forward and his hand thumped against something solid. Alexandra!
Her struggle to save herself had thrown her into a frenzy, and she was stronger than Nathaniel had anticipated. She almost drowned them both before he managed to encircle her waist with his rope and begin the long haul back.
Seconds later Nathaniel felt the rope become taut as Trenton and the others tried to reel them in. He helped by continuing to swim, though his muscles screamed with the effort and his body was numb with cold. Alexandra wasn’t struggling anymore, but with his one arm, towing her behind him was awkward and difficult.
At least he had her. At least she wasn’t going to drown. Those thoughts alone gave him the strength to continue. But when Trenton and Tiny and several other members of the crew succeeded in hauling them back aboard, Alexandra lay white-faced and still, her eyes closed.
Nathaniel wanted to pound the deck and scream at the injustice of it all—except that he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs or enough strength in his limbs. His own body shook almost as violently as the storm-battered ship, and darkness fringed his mind, threatening to overcome him. “Is she alive?” he croaked.
The chalky whiteness of Alexandra’s skin gleamed in the pale moonlight as Nathaniel waited for Tiny to press two fingers to her slim throat. The wind whipped at her wet hair and clothing. He wanted to shelter her from that icy blast, alive or not. But he couldn’t move.
Without speaking, Tiny pulled Nathaniel’s hand across Alexandra’s body and held it to the indentation above h
er collarbone. An almost imperceptible heartbeat drummed softly beneath his touch.
She was alive.
Nathaniel began to laugh as relief surged through his body, causing a type of euphoria. “Get Nanchu,” he coughed. Only then did the silence of the guns register in his mind. What had happened to the schooner?
Straining to lift his head, Nathaniel peered toward the bow just as Garth arrived with blankets and covered Alexandra, then himself. Trenton, still trying to recover from hoisting the two of them back onto the ship, gasped for enough air to speak.
“They’ve turned away,” he said, answering Nathaniel’s unspoken question. “I guess the storm was more than they bargained for. When we nearly collided, I think Captain Errington realized that he risked more for our capture than he was willing to lose. If the storm passes soon, we should be all right, though we’ve taken on a good deal of water.”
“The pumps?”
“Still going.” Trenton fell silent as Nanchu approached.
Nathaniel nodded, then looked to the Chinese doctor. “She’s alive,” he said.
Nanchu’s face was somber as he examined the gunshot wound in Alexandra’s shoulder. “Perhaps not for long.”
* * *
The pain in her shoulder brought dreams of Willy. Fragments floated piecemeal through Alexandra’s consciousness, memories mostly, none of which were very pleasant: her stepfather’s drunken voice bellowing from the doorway, his clothes reeking with alcohol and tobacco smoke, his shoulders shaking as he vomited into a chamber pot.
Alexandra flinched, causing the dream to shatter, and blinked. Her eyes felt gritty and would not focus, as though they resented the intrusion of light into their quiet, dark domain. And her body seemed unnaturally heavy. She was tired and sore in a way she had never experienced. What had happened?
