by Kresley Cole
When she ventured a look over her shoulder, she could see Chancey's scowl as he tottered back to the helm.
"Let go! I've got to take the helm," he shouted. Without warning, a rope whining past them slashed at his face like a whip.
With a growl, he looked from her to the rope. "Tie up then, damn it. Strong knots!" He turned to find the source of the rope and scuttled off again.
She tied herself to the wheel, fighting to keep it steady as the ship continued to buck. When she'd achieved a measure of success, she looked up and scanned the ship. She bit back a scream. Chancey's great bulk crashed across the deck as another merciless wave broke over the bow and tossed him as if he were a rag doll.
Her heart thundered in her chest while she waited for him to rise. Chancey, get up, damn you. Get up!
As though wrestling his lumbering body, he managed to stand and trudge back to the whipping line he'd been securing. She held her panic at bay while she could see him. But masses of foam were heaving up in all directions as the wind began keening even more violently. When she finally lost sight of him altogether, the harshest, most biting terror gripped her. She choked back the screams bubbling up.
She prayed for him as she willed his return. Then she prayed for her crew's lives--for the men struggling all across the ship, yelling into the wind, laboring to prevent the destruction awaiting them. She prayed that her father would eventually remarry and get on with his life without his daughter and crew.
In the midst of the fury unleashed around them, she also prayed for Sutherland....
All on board knew their lives were in the hand of an arbitrary sea, and the certainty of death drummed in every mind. Nicole knew they were lost. And she knew she had failed.
Although it had arrived like an explosion, the fierce storm lingered in indecision for hours. During that time, Derek couldn't locate the Bella Nicola. He'd told his men they would take Lassiter's ship and all the necessary supplies and impress the crew. Then he'd simply anchored in the middle of the channel and waited, because the Irisher would have no choice but to sail dangerously close. He'd signal them, and if they came to, so be it. If they did not, he would cannon a warning shot over their bow and force them to stop. A simple, effective plan.
He had not factored in a storm that had burgeoned into one of the worst he'd ever seen. The rain soon began battering them not from above but from the side as it seemed to rise up from the ocean. He'd had no choice but to weigh anchor and get the ship to safer waters.
With a little luck, Nicole could slip right past him in the dark of the storm. His fury grew, but he also caught himself feeling something he hadn't in a long time.
Fear.
He wanted to dismiss it at first. Yet his chest tightened every time he thought about Nicole on a ship that could easily be ripped apart on the rocks surrounding them. He wanted to convince himself that the only thing he felt for her was loathing.
But even if she was an evil, lying witch, he didn't want her to die. If they hadn't gotten clear when this storm reached them, it would be an all-too-likely possibility. He fought not to imagine how frightened she must be, trapped down in a sloshing, freezing cabin, hearing the timbers groaning under the water's pressure.
Impatient as he hadn't been since he was a boy, he waited until shafts of sunlight finally stabbed through the dense black clouds. His own skeleton crew thankfully had weathered the storm without major damage to the ship, and when he'd gauged it safe enough, they were able to make all haste to find the Bella Nicola. But for hours, the only sign of the ship they found was part of a splintered mast.
Seeing that sure sign of destruction had filled him with a maddening feeling of impotence. It was as if someone relentlessly kicked him in the gut during the hours when there was no other sign of the little ship. He nearly swore he wouldn't punish her for her treachery, if he could only find her alive.
"Cap'n, the crew has started grumbling," Jeb said from behind him. "They want to cut their losses and get to the Cape."
Derek turned. "We'll search until sunset."
The salt began hesitantly, "We've covered a big patch of sea today. Do you think they'd be blowed out this far?"
"I don't know," Derek admitted, wondering how this weary tone had replaced his own. "With a mast gone, they've got to be sitting somewhere."
"Unless--"
"That's enough, Jeb," he snapped, unwillingly finishing the sentence in his mind. Unless they went down. "We'll keep searching. Tell the crew I'll double their rations for the next week."
"Aye, sir." The man paused and turned to Derek with a frown, then began hesitantly, "Cap'n...about the girl, she was--"
Whatever the man was about to say was cut off by the watch's weakened call of "Ship ahoy!"
Derek yanked out his glass. He spied a glimpse of tattered sail clinging to the one remaining mast of the Bella Nicola as she barely bobbed over the waves. A strange elation was overrun by surging impatience as he ordered his crew to full sail.
Though the sun continued to battle with still-laden clouds, Derek could see that the ship was dangerously low and obviously sinking. Her main mast had snapped and shot through her upper deck, where it remained in a bizarre tableau like nothing he'd ever seen before.
Groans sounded as some of the unconscious crew awakened, and he felt an involuntary twinge of pity for the hell they'd obviously been through. He stifled it. Lassiter had a core crew for this ship, the majority of whom had sailed with him for two decades. It was logical to think that some, if not all, knew of the poisoning.
Derek was also disgusted with himself to find that he scanned the decks, irritated beyond reason that he couldn't find Nicole. Did the malicious little chit still cower in her cabin? No longer could he simply call her thief or spy. By poisoning the water, she was now a would-be murderer.
No one had died...yet, some part of him argued, but his men continued to fall.
I simply want to find her alive so I can wring her lovely little neck.
While his ship closed in, he and his crew watched the scene unfold. A small figure was slumped over the wheel, frozen except for small, jerky movements. As they got closer, he could see what seemed like yards of hair spread out over the body. Nicole had the helm.
So much for cowering in her cabin.
Nicole lay dumbly, mute, unable to think of anything but the pain as she decided whether her bones were broken or her skull cracked.
Hearing a moan from the deck, she shook her head to try to clear it. The movement made her fall, but the ropes around her waist held her up. Squinting, she looked down in confusion. She was tied to the wheel?
She pushed at the knots, reverse threading. When free, she took a step back and collapsed, then scrambled up again. Fighting down a rising panic, she shoved her hair out of her eyes. She'd taken about ten limping steps when the unfamiliar roiling of the ship reminded her.
Her eyes snapped open in alertness as she recalled the endless hours of the storm. Water poured in below decks. Not this ship. Not this one! But she'd known the Bella Nicola was sinking even hours ago? days ago?--when they'd first encountered the gale.
She half-walked and half-crawled as fast as her flagging body could manage to where Chancey lay tied to the deck. She shook him, and he woke after a minute. After a few more, he groggily assessed the situation.
It did not look good.
"The lifeboats?" he croaked.
"One lost. One b-broken."
She knew many sailors never learned to swim. Purposely. Because being trapped on the open sea, much less in the sea, was worse than death. Her thoughts made her hands shake too wildly to make any headway with the ropes. Chancey had to help her with the lines that had carved deep, bloody grooves into his soaked, bloated skin.
"Signal. We might yet get out a signal." He hauled himself up and hobbled to the stern of the ship.
She lay there, stupefied. She wasn't sure she could get up again. Chancey would send up a flare. If Sutherland hadn't gotten too far
, they might be saved....
Suddenly, he stomped his foot and clapped his large hands in a mystifying display of energy. "Nic, buck up," he called out drunkenly. "Yer captain has come to save ye." His voice was thick as obvious relief infused him. "It's not what I'd have ordered up, but considerin' the other choices..."
She turned slowly, not believing, too afraid to hope.
And there he was. Lord, he was beautiful.
She'd never seen a more welcome sight than Sutherland standing on the deck as his ship slipped in beside them. She thought she'd remember forever the way his thick black hair ruffled in the wind, the way he nonchalantly rested a boot on the bottom rail with his muscular arms crossed over his wide chest. She smiled at him like a simpleton. Although her head hadn't cleared as it should have, pure pleasure thrummed through her, as strong as the despair it replaced. Not only did she know he was safe, he would save them....
Grappling hooks bounced over the Bella Nicola's deck.
Nicole watched in horror as they were snatched in, scraping along her already splintered deck before violently catching her recently whitewashed railing. Grappling hooks? The abuse of her ship, even though it was dying, chilled her. Why would he...Did Sutherland think they would fight him? She needed to think. Why couldn't she think?
Nicole stared, not comprehending, when his men skulked aboard, armed as if they were taking a resisting crew. Her head snapped up to meet Sutherland's chilling gaze. Her heart slammed in her chest. Only this time it was not from the thrill and excitement she'd experienced on seeing him a few moments before. This time it was fear.
Because Captain Sutherland looked like he wanted her dead.
Now that he was finally close enough to see Nicole, he wanted to see the guilt on her face. No, damn it, he wanted to see regret.
So he was not just surprised but startled when he looked down to find her gazing up at him with a blinding smile, as though a shutter had opened on some intrinsic light. Derek couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from the smile that used to have such an effect on him. Still had--damn her.
She seemed not to notice his intent look, and she was so pleased about...well, he had no idea why she would be so happy to see him. Yes, he would save her hide, but surely she must know he would have determined who'd poisoned his men. She had to know that he would exact revenge. Yet she looked up at him with her eyes shining, as if he were a hero of old come to save her.
It was unnerving.
Her gaze locked on another sight, and as the expression on her face changed, a strange feeling of disappointment passed through him. When his men threw the hooks to secure her ship, that beautiful smile guttered out, fading to a look of incomprehension.
He couldn't be sorry. He told himself it was with satisfaction that he watched her eyes follow his men. When she realized they were armed, the little fool turned to him, her chin lower than usual, her shoulders slumped. She was afraid. He'd known she would quake before him--beg him. But her next action stopped that thought cold.
Jumping up and planting her boots on the deck, her hair whipping across her face in dark, wet streams, she shook off any trace of fear. And replaced it with what could only be called rage. Then she bellowed at him. That little thing bellowed.
"What in the hell do you mean by this, Sutherland?"
His reply was calm even as his deep voice carried. "I mean to confiscate what's left of your supplies and impress all of your crew."
Her mouth flew open, then closed wordlessly.
He had to conceal his surprise over her reaction. Glaring down at her, he drawled, "You seem to be surprised that I am pillaging your ship and taking your crew captive"--he paused--"although we both know you shouldn't be."
She stood staring at him, bringing her hands up to her temples. She looked shaky and confused, but then it was as if a sudden realization crumpled her composure. Her face fell.
He had to strain to hear her next soft words. "You...all along." What did that mean?
She took a deep, ragged breath, and then louder she said, "You're right, I know exactly why you've taken us."
She wasn't even going to deny what she'd done. Had some part of him wanted her to deny it, and deny it so convincingly that he would believe her? Instead, she only looked lost and beaten. As she sank down and huddled on the deck, he couldn't help but notice how very small and fragile she appeared in her oilskins.
He involuntarily winced when one of his men hauled her to her feet again, sending her reeling. With what looked to be one last burst of energy, she turned on the man and kicked him so hard he released her. Derek watched as she unsteadily swung her head back and forth, surveying the scene to come up with some means to fight.
He knew she was a fighter. What he didn't know was why he caught himself almost pulling for her.
There was nothing Nicole could do. Nothing but become Sutherland's prisoner. Her ship lay so low, her deck nearly met the Southern Cross's waterline. The...the end was close. Chancey and most of her crew, many of whom were still unconscious, had already been taken aboard his ship and bound. She shook free of the sailor's hand that had once again pinned her. If she had to surrender, then she would do it her way.
She walked with shoulders jammed back, her pride keeping her battered body ramrod straight as she marched to the steep gangway.
Sutherland had the gall to smile. He was enjoying this.
He hadn't come to rescue her. Foolish girl. No, she'd been right about him after all. He was behind all the accidents. And it wasn't enough to harm his competitors' ships. He had to crush them completely.
The pain in her head raced from severe to splitting, and her thoughts made it ache even more. No wonder his ship hadn't been moving; he'd simply been waiting for his sabotage to cripple her ship in the storm. And it was sabotage. He and his lackeys hadn't been in Recife by mere coincidence.
She had to swallow hard to keep from screaming. For two days, she and the crew had known they would die. They hadn't eaten, slept, or drunk. Then to be taken prisoner by the man who was responsible for their sinking ship.... The realization strangled her, made her feel as though she were falling.
Yet, when forced to walk past him, she kept her head high and her gaze straight ahead.
"Look at me, damn you," he demanded in a low voice. When she didn't, he dragged her around to face him. He looked surprised by her appearance, and she hoped he could feel her hatred blazing out at him. When she looked at that face, still so cruelly handsome to her, she didn't know if she wanted to sink down and weep, or kill him.
When his initial surprise turned into a smug glower, she knew she certainly wouldn't sink down and weep.
The intensity of his reaction to Nicole never failed to amaze Derek. When he grabbed her arms and yanked her toward him, he had to guard himself so he wouldn't give away too much of his feeling. He hadn't seen her for weeks, and now to see her like this.... Her eyes drew him, with their obvious hurt and pupils black from shock. Her skin was unnatural in its paleness, giving her a translucent look. Salt had collected on her brows, lashes, and hair and glittered all around her face in the fading red sunlight. She's still beautiful to me.
Astonishing. With everything he'd learned about her, he still responded to her. Not in a completely sexual way, although that was unquestionably present, but he felt a tremendous pull to her just the same. Obviously, some part of him didn't care that she was a malicious little bitch.
At the memory of his suffering men, his hands shot to her upper arms. "Why?" he demanded harshly. "Why did you do it?" When she stared past him as if unseeing, he shook her. "Did someone put you up to it? Did someone make you do it?"
He dimly heard her crew protesting, and realized the men wanted to distract him from her. She stood as if mute, refusing to look at him. He gripped her arms more tightly and ground out, "Who told you to do it?" Finally, she glanced up, but she frowned as if the question had confused her.
Shaking Nicole had enraged the few conscious captive sailors, and t
hey strained to break away from their bonds and the men who held them. They could struggle all they wanted. No one would ever get in the way of his revenge. As far as he was concerned, she'd transgressed on what was his so much that he could do what he wanted with her now.
She'd toyed with him. She'd definitely outwitted him. He'd believed she'd come to him about her father when in reality she was callously ensuring a win. Worse, much worse, she'd harmed his men.
Now that she was on his ship, he might as well own her. He turned to Lassiter's sailors, and his sneer told them as much. When they fought even harder to get to her, he laughed a humorless laugh before returning his attention to Nicole.
He had to know why she'd done it. He squeezed his fists around her thin arms, until she answered in a biting voice, "No one has made me do anything--I do as I will!"
Telling himself he wouldn't beat her there on the deck, he took her shoulders and shook her.
Until, with a strangled cry, she collapsed in his arms.
Fear crept up his spine when Nicole's body went boneless. He could do nothing else but catch her and scoop her up. When he looked up, the man called Chancey caught his eyes and gave him a stabbing look that said, What did you expect? Derek's face flushed. He hadn't meant to hurt the girl. Damn it! He'd never been angrier with another person. Even Lydia.
Guilt assailed him, and he wanted to get her away from him at once. He strode over and handed the unconscious Nicole to Chancey. The man easily grabbed her and cradled her protectively in his long arms even though his hands were bound.
Derek turned to the edge of the ship and jumped down to the Bella Nicola to join his men in ransacking for supplies. Replaying the scene on deck again, cringing from his own actions, he paid little attention as he made his way, though it was hard to miss that his men had stripped anything not bolted down. Except in the officers' and captain's quarters in the afterhouse, which he'd ordered were not to be searched by anyone but himself.
When he rammed a shoulder against the lodged door to the largest cabin, water sloshed out around his knees. The smell of oil from a broken lamp overpowered. From the desk and the closet full of men's clothing, he determined it was Lassiter's. It was austere with no sign of luxuries.
