Madeline eyed the large band around her husband’s finger, the emblem an hourglass with wings. Strange, she thought. She’d never noticed the ring before tonight. “What does the symbol mean?”
“Time getting away. It appeared on some pirate flags at the time, hoisted just before an attract, warning the other ship her luck was running out.”
“I’ve never seen you wear the ring.”
He twisted the band around his finger. “It belonged to Belle. It was a gift from our father for her twentieth year. A reminder not to flitter away time. It’s too precious.” He paused, then, “Belle gave it to me tonight, as a wedding gift.”
He seemed moved by the gesture from his sister, but the ring—or rather its message—unnerved Madeline.
“What happened, then?” she asked, shaking off the unsettling sensation. “Between your father and Dawson?”
“After two years touring the Caribbean, Father had paid his debt to Dawson. He asked to be released, to return to his family in England. Dawson didn’t want to lose my father’s carpentry skills, but he agreed—reluctantly—on the ground of their friendship. He let my father go with his fair share of the stolen bounty.
“The years had been hard for us without Father. James and I assumed him dead. But Mother never lost hope he’d come home. And one day, he did. Belle and the others came along soon after, until Mother died in childbirth to Quincy.”
“I’m sorry, William.”
He rubbed his brow. “James and I reared the babes, while Father took to the sea as captain of his own ship, the Bonny Meg, named after our mother. We later joined him. A governess was hired to look after the fledglings, until they, too, came of age.”
“So you travelled the world with your father, trading at exotic sea ports, meeting exotic peoples. You and Grandfather have so much in common.”
“Exotic sea ports, aye, but we didn’t travel as merchants.”
“Oh?”
He stopped there.
“Go on, William. Were you privateers? Explorers, like Grandfather?”
“Pirates.”
As the word seeped into her pores, her blood simmered, and she scrunched the pillow harder and harder. “P-pirates?” She almost choked on the word. “You’re a pirate?”
“Retired.”
As if that made a bleedin’ difference. She thumped his shoulder, then pounded it, then slapped him so hard, her fingers ached. “You hypocrite!” She crawled away from him, kneeling on the bed. “You threatened to hang me for theft, called me a pirate when we first met, and you’re the rotten buccaneer?!”
“Retired,” he repeated.
She slapped him again. “How dare you! I can still feel the threat of the noose around my neck?”
He blocked her blows. “Maddie, I was protecting Edmund and Amy at the time.”
“I know,” she hollered, her heart hammering. “You’re still a wretched hypocrite!” She dropped on the bad and turned her back toward him, heaving.
“Maddie . . .”
“I’m tired. Goodnight.”
A second later she shrieked as he pulled her into his arms, smothered her in an intimate embrace. “You will not go to sleep angry with me, woman.”
“And what do you intend to do about it?”
At first, he made no movement . . . but then his treacherous fingers caressed her arm in sensual strokes, and his hypocritical lips bussed her throat, and his manipulative tongue slipped into her mouth, stirring every nerve and muscle to sensuous arousal.
She nipped his tongue.
“Bloody hell, woman!”
“I’m still mad,” she huffed. “Do not seduce me, pirate.”
He sighed, licking the blood from his lips. “Maddie, it’s been six years since I was a pirate. As soon as Belle married the duke, we all retired from piracy, to protect her. When I met you, I didn’t want my past catching up with me. Or my family.”
She could accept that—though she was still furious.
“Pirate,” she mumbled, still in disbelief. “I married a bloody pirate.”
CHAPTER 18
His arm around his wife’s shoulder, his cheek pressed over her brow, William slumbered in easy rest—until heaven split apart and hell rained down on the ship.
At first, he thought the slashes of light and shuddering deck boards a night terror, but when the rig lurched at a sharp angle, the violent pitch sent him tumbling out of bed and slamming into the ground.
His every bone ached under the thrashing, his eyes captured lights of ethereal beauty before the bow crashed back into the sea, tossing him against the other side of the cabin.
Jesus!
His features grimacing, he gathered his strength and balance and searched for Madeline. He spotted her clinging to the bedpost, the bed sheets coiled around her body like a snake.
“William!”
As the rig rolled again, they both lobbed at its mercy, but the sound of his wife’s desperate scream for help filled him with unbound energy, and he snatched a leather belt skittering across the floor.
Thunder drummed. Wood splintered.
William ignored the cataclysmic sounds as he plowed toward Madeline. He lashed the belt around her waist and secured her to the bedpost. After a hard, reassuring kiss, he ordered, “Stay here!” And prayed the woman obeyed him just once.
Amid heavy swells, William managed to pull on his trousers and head topside. He stumbled into walls and staggered under reeling surges before reaching the hatch and scaling the ladder into the swirling squall.
For a moment, his heart stopped pumping as he gawked at the billowing black clouds funneling water into the sky. A ravenous comber rammed him, then. The foamy wave swiped everything not fastened to the ship, and William grabbed hold of a rope before being sucked into the churning waters.
Had the world turned upside down?
The ship listed dangerously to one side. A glance toward the unmanned helm shot a chill down his spine—the ship was adrift.
He wrapped his wrists around the ropes lashing in the gale, making his way toward the helm, hunkering every time another hungry breaker beat the decking, taking his breath away.
When he finally reached the helm, he latched onto the ship’s wheel. The pressure from the monstrous storm had him grinding his teeth as he shifted all his weight to the wheel, keeping the vessel afloat.
Under streaks of lightening, William spotted figures reefing the sails. Another flash illuminated the Bonny Meg on the distant horizon. But the next blue blaze of electric light silhouetted a mountaintop.
An island.
“Hard to starboard!” he shouted, warning the crew as he rotated the wheel to avoid landfall, but it was far too late for the evasive maneuver. His draft too low, the water too shallow, the rig ran aground with a tremendous lurch and groan.
William hit the deck. Hard. The dark sky descended on him. He heard the hull breaking apart on the rocks and thought of Maddie, his heart splintering like the ship, before he blacked out . . .
~ * ~
When William opened his swollen eyes, the soft glow of dawn invaded his vision. It took him several more moments to adjust to the dusty pink light and focus on the debris scattered across the beach.
What the hell had happened?
He moaned under the weight of planking across his chest, and with a tortured breath, tossed the jagged wood aside. As the gentle tide caressed his bare feet, the sensation roused him from his muddled mindset. He was half buried in the sand and rolled to one side, his features twisting in agony.
A snake slithered passed him: a yellow boa.
His head soon crowded with memories. A ship. A storm. A wife.
“Maddie,” he rasped, his throat burning with salt water. “Maddie!”
The coast was littered with wreckage, bruised and battered tars. He sighted Edmund and Quincy on their uneven feet, assisting the injured seamen. The Bonny Meg wasn’t on the horizon anymore. Had she drifted to the other side of the island? And Maddie. Where was
Maddie?
He scanned the tropical shoreline, but there was no sign of his wife.
God, no!
He struggled upright . . . and his heart dropped at the sight of the Nemesis, her hull cracked in two. Her stern was low in the water, her bow pitched on a peninsula of boulders. Her masts had collapsed under the force of the impact, her sails draped over the decking like burial shrouds.
Conviction replaced confusion. He trudged through the wet sand and surf, cutting the soles of his feet on sharp rock, ignoring the stinging pain as he waded toward the shattered ship in desperate strides.
He reached the massive crevice and climbed inside the hulk, water up to his waist, and plodded through the passageways, making his way up the decks. As he neared his cabin door, he noticed it was shut. His heart pounded in his chest like a steam engine, the pressure building as he reached for the latch.
Jammed.
He slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking it down.
“Maddie!”
But Maddie was gone.
A tear in the hull’s siding let in the morning light: a tear wide enough for a woman to fall through—and be swept out to sea.
He staggered toward the hole and latched on to the rough siding. There, floating in the water, was a belt: the very belt he’d used to secure his wife to the bedpost.
His heart stopped.
Hope died.
As blood rushed into his brain, William collapsed on his knees. He girded every muscle, suppressing the swirling grief in his soul from spilling out, but there was nowhere for the insufferable pain to hide, and at last, he howled like a wild animal trapped in a snare.
His chest cramped until air was scare, making his vision blur. As he gazed, listless, out to sea, he spotted a trail of debris up the coast. He inhaled a much-needed breath and observed the distant shoreline, his foggy mind swelling with a distinct memory.
He whispered, “She can swim.”
Her grandfather had taught her to swim as a child, a skill most sailors didn’t even possess. Could she have washed further ashore? Could she have survived?
His heart beat with renewed hope. She had survived scandal and banishment. The death of her first love. The possible death of her grandfather. She. Had. Survived.
And she had survived the wreck, he was sure.
William slogged through the tangled ship. Once on the beach, Quincy approached him, his face bruised, a cut under his eye.
“Six men missing, Captain, including the first lieutenant.”
William nodded. “Take the rest of the men into the bush. Treat the wounded as best you can. And wait for help.” A dagger in the sand captured his attention. He swiped the weapon. “Eddie!”
His middle brother approached. “Aye?”
“You’ve been promoted to first lieutenant. Let’s find our missing men. And my wife.”
CHAPTER 19
Madeline released the driftwood and crawled ashore, spitting up seawater. Her lungs burned. Her chest cramped. She crumpled onto the sandy beach, gasping for air. Disoriented. Bemused. Weak.
She hardly remembered what had happened, her mind a whirl of deafening thunder and lightning that sizzled and streaked the sky. She had been tied to the bedpost, she thought. William had kissed her. And then the walls had come apart, and a tremendous force had broken the bed. After that, water. Unbound water.
The surf brought in bits of wood and rope, pots and mugs. She spotted a white garment and scooped it from the receding tide, wringing the fabric for she was as naked as Eve before The Fall.
Grimacing, she wriggled into the linen chemise. At least one of her ribs were broken, if not more, and she scoured the bank, seeking the crew, her husband . . . but she was alone on the coast.
Was she the sole survivor of the wreck?
A sob welled in her throat. She choked on her tears. What about the Bonny Meg? If still afloat, she would have rescued the men of the Nemesis.
Madeline cradled her battered side as she searched the horizon for the Bonny Meg, but there was no sign of the other schooner. She needed to find the Nemesis. She need to know if the others had lived. She needed help. And hope.
Struggling to gain her footing, she stumbled and plopped on her bottom. The storm had flogged her mercilessly. She felt numb. Parched. But she couldn’t stay on the beach. As the sun climbed, the temperature also mounted. She needed shelter or the rising heat and humidity would ravage her.
She cast her bleary eyes toward the tree line, about a hundred feet away. And as she dragged her body across the coarse sand, she cried out with each awkward movement. But she had to reach the shade of the palms. She had to find water. And she had to hide.
What if there were pirates on the island? The very ones holding her grandfather for ransom? She still had to rescue the old man.
Leaves rustled.
Madeline stilled.
Slowly she lifted her head, eyeing the greenery—and noticed the ferns fluttering. “Is anyone there?”
A colonist? An animal? A seaman?
Or a pirate?
She winced as she propped her upper body on her elbows. “Hullo?” she croaked.
The ferns flickered again and gangly fingers spread apart the foliage, revealing a scrawny lad of about twelve hunkering in the sand. He stared at her with a wide-eyed expression, scruffy, his skin smudged with dirt, but Madeline trusted him despite his bedraggled appearance. She sensed he had a kind heart.
“I need help,” she said, stirring into a sitting position. She huffed, exhausted. “I can’t walk.”
The boy craned his neck, observing one end of the coast then the other.
“There is no one else here,” she assured him, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m alone.”
He looked at her again, agog, before he scampered from the bushes and dashed toward her.
The lad crouched beside her. His lanky arm went around her waist. She curled her own arm over his shoulder and with surprising ease, he hoisted her to her feet.
Together they tottered into the woods. The air cooler, Madeline sighed. She grabbed a palm for support and eased her aching limbs across its sagging trunk.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
As her bones throbbed, she gritted her teeth, holding her broken ribs. The boy watched her, alarmed, then sprinted off.
“Wait!” she cried.
But the thicket closed around him. Damn. Why had he left her?
Or had he?
The sound of crinkling foliage under furious feet prickled her ears. Branches snapped. Vines shimmied. And the boy returned. He handed her a leaf, coiled into a makeshift cup and filled with water. She almost cried at the offering.
“Bless you.”
She captured the leaf and downed the cold, fresh water, and even as it roiled in her gullet, diluting the sand and salt, it was still the most wonderful thing she had ever tasted.
Soon her strength improved in the shade. Her gaze fell back on the boy. He had stepped a few yards away, crouching in the shrubbery.
“Do you have a name?”
His cheeks flushed. Perhaps he was a wild child, she thought with dismay. An orphan? Had he survived in the jungle alone? She had heard of such cases. But there was intelligence in the boy’s wide eyes. If he was mute, he wasn’t dumb.
“I’m Maddie.”
He nodded, smiling.
“Yes, Maddie. It’s my name. You do understand, don’t you?”
He nodded again.
At least she could communicate with him—somewhat. “Do you know the island?”
Another bob of the head.
“A ship ran aground this morning.” She opened her arms, emphasizing, “A big boat. I need to find it.”
The youngster screwed up his face, wary. He waved his hand from side to side before he reached behind his back and retrieved a sack, rummaging through the contents, his worldly possessions, no doubt.
At last he removed an old shirt from the satchel, the rag mostly tattered. He ripped
it even more, knotting the ends until he’d fashioned a long rope. He approached her, indicating he wanted to loop the rope around her.
“No!”
She smacked his hand.
Startled, he jumped.
“Get away!” she cried.
Madeline groped the palm trees, staggering deeper into the woods.
The boy was mad! He wanted to hold her captive. He’d watched her rise from the water, a fabled mermaid, and he intended to keep her, like treasure. Or perhaps he desired a friend? Perhaps he was just lonely?
Still, he was mad. She would not be bound like a slave. She had to find William. She had to find her grandfather. And she had to get off this cursed island! How had she misjudged the boy? How had she missed the madness in him?
“Ma-Maddie.”
He uttered her name. He wasn’t mute after all. And there was something about the inflection in his voice that inspired her to listen.
She glimpsed over her shoulder.
He remained a short distance away, lifting the rope. “Help,” he said. “I help.”
“No, I don’t want your help.”
“Maddie,” he said again, his tone almost chastising. “You need help.”
He pointed at his ribs, frowning.
And then it struck her: dressing, not rope. He had made dressing for her broken ribs, not rope for tying her hands.
She sighed and leaned against a tree. “Yes, help.”
He humphed and trudged through the undergrowth. As he reached her side, he motioned for her to lift her arms, and then bound her ribs with the dressing. The binding worked like a splint, immobilizing the fractured area, making it easier for her to breathe . . . though it still ached like damnation.
“Thank you.” she smiled. “For help.”
He nodded.
Thy boy was intelligent. And kind. A little dictatorial. But he was a young man. She had not misjudged him. And if she ever returned to England, she would take him home with her.
“Well, who do we have here?”
Madeline bristled at the smooth yet callous voice. Slowly the fine hairs on her body spiked, and her breath quickened in uneven rasps.
How to Steal a Pirate's Heart (The Hawkins Brothers Series) Page 10
