Bound By The Heart

by Canham, Marsha

  Fifty yards out they were in a direct line with the blazing glare of the sun. Summer dared not look back at the ship. She forced herself to stroke slowly and cleanly, to listen for Michael and gauge her speed to his. She stopped now and then to wait for her brother to catch up, for he seemed to be struggling after only a third of the way. He would, of course, have been working hard on the deck all afternoon to prove himself to Thorny and she cursed herself for not thinking to bring a rope to bind their waists together.

  He was gasping, spitting out sea water as he churned the water laboriously behind her.

  "Are you alright?" she asked. "Can you make it?"

  "Keep going," he spluttered. "Don't stop."

  "We'll go slower. We'll stop every fifteen strokes, okay?"

  "Yes." He coughed out a mouthful of water. "Fifteen."

  She reached out again, watching Michael closely as he struggled to keep abreast. They had not gone even five strokes when she heard him gag and shrill her name, then get sucked under as if some giant hand had grabbed him from beneath the water.

  At that same moment, she heard the loud, continuous clanging of the Chimera's alarm bell urgently calling for the crew to man the guns and clear the deck for action.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Captain Morgan Wade was disgusted. At himself, at the leak in the hull, at the sun for dropping faster in the sky than it normally did. He would have liked another twelve hours to complete the temporary repair on his ship, but he could not risk it. Not when the only warning of danger would be seeing the sails of an enemy ship slide around the tip of one of the islands. He had recalled the men in the jollyboats. The last of the cargo was ashore and camouflaged; the winch was stowed below and men were on the boards ready to haul the anchor in.

  He would have to limp as best he could to Bounty Key and pray not to meet with any hostile vessels in the next six hours. He had the darkness, and that was good. The Chimera would respond to the helm. Sluggishly to be sure, but she would respond. The leak was under control, and the pumps were keeping the water level from rising. All he needed was six unmolested hours.

  He glared down at his scratched and bleeding hands. A large chunk of coral had slashed into the Chimera's hull when they had been blown up against a reef during the storm. The Frenchmen who had assisted them on Saint Martin had supplied them with inferior materials and the unseasoned timber on the patch had buckled with the strong currents leading to the mouth of the channel. The oakum and pitch mixture had more or less washed away, leading Wade to suspect the sabotage had been deliberate.

  Wade's mood did not improve when he saw Thorny emerge from the shadows of the crew's quarters. The arm must have been a brand of fire all day, judging by the way he held it cradled against his chest, but would be a cold day in hell indeed before the old sailor would complain.

  "Well?"

  Thorny scratched his head. "Couldn't find 'em. Lad wanted ter show yer 'ow good ee is at settin' the fore's, but I can't find 'im nowheres. Looked fore. Looked aft. Even looked down the 'oles in the beak'ead case he fell through, but no. No sign o' them. N'owt unless ye count this."

  He held out a long, thin length of red silk ribbon. Wade stared at it a moment and his frown deepened. "Where did you find it?"

  "Forward storeroom. Back where she was 'elpin with the lanterns."

  "Who else was down there?" Wade asked, his eyes narrowing to blue slits.

  "Tim-boy, Pow'll...and that new man, Beavis. First two seen 'er by the step one minute an' gone the next."

  "And Beavis?"

  Thorny leaned over and spat. "Couldn't find 'im neither. Put a couple of lads sniffin' after him. Aye—" he turned at the sound of a faint scuffle— "'an 'ere they comes now. Jaysus spank me..."

  Morgan Wade's face blackened like a gathering storm cloud. The man, Beavis, was struggling as he was led by two of his mates up the quarterdeck toward the bridge. He had signed on a month before in Aruba and was not liked by many of the regular crew. He saw the captain and his jaw stiffened—a jaw covered with spidery runnels of blood leaking from fresh scratch marks. Wade noted them the same time he noted the shifty, darting eyes, and his voice came out low and ominous.

  "Where is she?"

  "Dunno what you're talking about. Where's who?"

  Wade advanced, flexing his hands into fists. "I am not a patient man, Beavis, and I rarely enjoy asking the same question twice."

  The two men holding Beavis's arms pinned had to tighten their grip as he snarled and jerked back. "I ain't done nothing wrong. Ain't done nothing nobody else ain't wanted to do since she came on board. The bitch was asking for it, wagging it all around the hold and—"

  Wade's fist smashed into the undefended jaw, snapping Beavis's head back and to the side.

  "Where is she?"

  Beavis cursed and spat out a bloody, broken tooth. "I didn't do nothing to her. She wanted me to, begged me to in fact, but—"

  "Mr. Thorntree!"

  "Aye, Cap'n?"

  "Put this man in the shrouds. Spread-eagled and stripped the way Mr. Monday likes them. We'll start him off with fifty lashes to see if it loosens his tongue."

  "Aye, Cap'n." Thorny jerked his thumb and the two men holding Beavis dragged him toward the nearest webbing of rope. They stretched his arms wide and bound his wrists to the lines, then kicked his ankles apart and strapped them securely to ringbolts on the deck. A knife made short work of his shirt and by then Mr. Monday had approached and was slowly uncoiling the long, well-oiled tails of a leather flogger. He was still naked from his sojourn in the water, the black marble-hard muscles gleaming. His face was expressionless as he walked around Beavis and studied him through cold, black eyes.

  "I t'ink he scream like a pig after two strokes, Cap-tan."

  "Do your best, Monday."

  "Wait!"

  But Beavis's cry was overshadowed by an urgent shout from high on the mizzenmast.

  "Captain! Sails!"

  Wade jerked his head up, then to port, following the lookout's pointed alarm. There, seen only as a ghost of an outline in the eerie light, were the sails of an approaching ship, emerging, as Wade had feared, from behind the concealing shape of the island.

  Mr. Monday was by Wade's side as he called for a spyglass and vaulted up the ladder to the bridge.

  "Do you t'ink she's seen us?"

  "She's seen us," Wade snarled, holding the glass to his eye. "We're standing against the horizon like a bloody great silhouette."

  "Colors?"

  "None yet. She has the weather gauge though and coming on fast." The blue eyes glittered and he sucked in a deep breath. "She's running up more sail and opening her ports. Sound the alarm. I want the decks cleared and the crews at their guns. I don't know who she is, but I suspect she doesn't want a parlay."

  "Aye, Cap-tan. Shot?

  "Double and round."

  Monday whirled away.

  "Mr. Phillips!"

  The second mate stepped forward eagerly. "Sir?"

  "Run up every sheet of canvas we've got. And get the anchor up...now!"

  "Aye, sir!"

  "Oh, me bluddy sweet jaysus," Thorny muttered, his one good hand clutching the rail.

  "What is it?" Wade demanded, his voice rising over the sound of the insistent, clanging bell.

  Thorny lowered his own spyglass. "In the drink, Cap'n. Arf way twixt 'ere an' shore. It's them, the lass an' the lad."

  "What?" Wade followed Thorny's outstretched finger and did not need the aid of a spyglass to see the two bobbing heads in the water, one surrounded by a halo of yellow hair. "By all that's holy—"

  He turned and swung the glass up, marking the progress of the approaching ship.

  "A boat, Cap'n?"

  "There's no time."

  "Ye ain't just goin' ter leave 'em in there, are ye Cap'n? They be headin' straight fer the rip current—"

  "Mr. Phillips!" Wade shouted furiously. "Get this ship underway!"

  He flung the glass into Thorny's hands and
jumped over the bulwark, landing cat-like on the deck below. He ran for the rail, cleared it, and dove twenty feet into the channel water, breaking into a powerful front stroke before he had carved his way back to the surface. Fifty yards ahead, he saw the girl struggling to keep Michael's head above the rippling water. Another two, three yards and they would be sucked into the rip current, an incredibly strong undertow that divided the reef from the sandbars. They were in trouble even now, swirling in circles. The boy was panicking and thrashing his arms and legs in all directions. The water was churning over the girl's head and she was being blinded and choked by her own hair.

  Wade reached them just as Summer's arm slipped from Michael's shoulders. Her mouth filled with water and she was sucked under, her head reeling from a chance blow from Michael's flailing fists. Wade had to dive to catch her and haul her back. He hooked an arm around her waist and had to use all of his strength to counteract the tremendous sucking pull from the current. He draped her ice-cold hands and arms over his shoulders and tilted her head up so that she could cough the water out of her mouth.

  "Hold on to me! Can you hear me, dammit? Hold on to me or I'll have to leave you here!"

  The gray-green eyes fluttered open and focussed on Wade's face.

  "You're going to have to hold on to me tightly, Governess. Can you do that? Can you hold on tight?"

  She coughed and nodded, and her arms quivered feebly as she leaned on his shoulders. He started kicking back toward the Chimera with Michael supported by one arm and Summer clinging to his back like a barnacle. He had only covered a few yards when the bald black head of Mr Monday appeared by his side and took the boy. Together they swam hard to catch up to the Chimera, which was slowly picking up speed and moving through the channel.

  Half a dozen helpful hands were waiting by the lower gangway to take Michael and Summer up on deck. Wade bolted past them and ran straight up to the bridge with Monday a pace behind.

  "Mr. Phillips! How do we stand?"

  "The island is cutting our wind, sir. She's sluggish in answering the helm."

  "And the other ship? Is she showing colors yet?"

  Phillips nodded grimly and passed Wade his spyglass. "She flying the Union Jack. She's a second rating, sir. Fifty-two guns. Fully rigged for speed and coming on fast."

  "The Northgate." Wade swore grimly. He swept the water out of his eyes with the back of his hand and raised the glass. "It would have to be. She's the only fifty-two gun rating in the area."

  "But the Northgate is a warship, Captain. Her commander has no legal grounds to stop us."

  "Care to tell him that, Mr. Phillips?"

  The young second mate looked out past the channel again. "He won't have the wind much longer, sir."

  Wade lowered the glass. "He hasn't cut his speed either; he's still coming straight on, the fool."

  "He's going to try to come through the reef?" Phillips' eyes widened. "He'll never make it. She carries too much weight, the reef will rip her keel off."

  "The Yes, sir is plagued with heroes, Mr. Phillips, and those who want to be. They don't consider a chase sporting unless they fly it by the skin of their backsides."

  Wade looked grimly up at the Chimera's sails, still struggling to get a good grip on the wind. The Northgate was coming up fast while they were barely moving.

  "There is little we can do until we clear this blasted channel," he muttered. "On the other hand, our friend there has two choices: He can take a run at the strait and, as you say, risk ripping open his belly on the coral. Or, he can—by Christ!" The spyglass shot up again. "He's tacking for position! The bastard is going to lay a broadside on us and hope to take us where we stand! Monday!"

  He did not wait for a response. He leaped down the ladderway and headed to the stern, noting as he went that his men were standing anxiously silent by the cannon.

  "If that bastard opens fire, he'll likely aim high." Wade shouted so all the gun crews could hear him. "He'll be going for the sails and rigging. Monday...how do we stand?"

  "Still doan have position, Cap-tan. Two, t'ree hundred yards before we can clear the reef and make a turn."

  Wade stood at the rail, his eyes boring across the expanse of water. There was nothing he could do. The islands sliced the wind currents to pieces, and even with every sail unfurled, the Chimera was laboring to gather enough speed for steerage through the channel. There was not enough leeway to maneuver. Wade knew the pass like the back of his hand, knew he needed to clear the mouth before he could turn the ship and make a run for the protective shield of the island. The four swivel guns mounted on the stern rails were six-pounders, not worth a bucket of spit at this distance. He had no option but to hold steady and pray the strategies of the Royal Navy had not changed over the past dozen years.

  "Here it comes, lads," he said quietly, seeing that the frigate had completed her turn. A score of tiny white puffs of smoke blossomed from her gunports, followed seconds later by deep, thundering booms. Wade barely flinched as the shots whistled by overhead. He heard one tear through the upper royals, but for the most part, they fell harmlessly into the water, sending up great gouts of spray.

  Beside him, Thorny muttered, "The bluddy fool done it. Ee opened fire. N'owt even a warnin' shot across the bow first."

  "Aye," Wade said furiously. "And now he has a feel for the range. The next round will be hotter. He'll have to make it count before he swings too far astern."

  Another eruption of smoke poured through the gunports and this time the Northgate fired from both decks. Wade braced himself instinctively as the spouts of water shot up all around the hull of the Chimera, dumping spray onto her decks. He heard a terrible screech and cracking of timbers, and several more hot whistles as the iron shot tore through the sails and smashed the yards overhead.

  There were still fifty yards to go before he could order a reply. They were through the channel but there was still the outlying reef to clear...he needed just a little more speed...a little more wind. His men were screaming, shaking fists at the other ship, stamping their feet in their anger and frustration.

  "Mr. Monday, have every damned gun on the starboard battery ready when we make the turn. Double shot them. You'll have ten seconds, no more, to let loose a clear broadside and I want every one of those shots to count.

  "Ten seconds is good, Cap-tan." His chief mate grinned. "Damned good."

  The thunder of the Northgate's third volley ripped across the Chimera's stern, setting the masts, the rails, the decks underfoot to quaking. There were screams now as some of the men were struck by flying debris. Burning shreds of canvas floated down over the deck. A crewman lost his footing on a mainsail yard as the lower spar was shot out from under him. For one sickening moment he appeared bound for a crushing blow up against the spikes on the mast, but he fumbled free and managed to halt his fall.

  Wade's face remained impassive.

  The instant the Chimera was free of the reef, Mr. Phillips gave a shout and tore at the wheel, spinning it hard to bring the rudder sharply about. She seemed to skid sideways for an eternity before the sails filled with a fresh wind and sent her leaping forward. The eternity was no more than the ten promised seconds, however, and on a signal from Wade, the Chimera's cannon roared a murderous retort to the Northgate. The starboard guns blasted almost simultaneously from two decks before Wade's arm had finished the arc. The frigate reared with the recoil, and the air filled with hot, boiling clouds of sulphurous smoke and sparks.

  As soon as the shots cleared the muzzles, the cannon were pulled in, swabbed, and reloaded, but the unfettered winds had boosted the Chimera's speed and she sped behind the island. The last glimpse they had of the Northgate was of shredded sail and a blown mast, exploding rails and blasted decking.

  Wade heard his men cheering, yet his face remained grim. His ship had been caught like a duck in a pond and suffered needless damage. The crew was already calling for him to turn about and confront the Northgate in a fair fight, but he knew another hour wou
ld put them into total darkness. His men had heart, and his ship had heart, but by God, they hadn't come this far to throw everything away on a fool's play.

  "Crowd on everything we have, Mr. Phillips," he ordered. "Get us out of here."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Thorny—damages?"

  It was not nearly as devastating as it could have been. The sails could be repaired, as could the length of rail that had been blown away. The patch on the keel would hold until they made Bounty Key. Seven men had minor injuries.

  It was the blow to their pride they were bristling under. The French had sabotaged them, the British had wasted no time in pressing their advantage, and the outrage left a bitter taste in every man's mouth.

  "Mite too close fer comfort, wouldn't ye say, Cap'n?"

  "Just a mite, Thorny. Just a mite."

  "Ye t'ink he'd be ripe damn fool enough ter foller us?"

  If the British commander is suicidal, Wade thought, aye. It would take a madman to turn the heavy frigate and be in a position for a run through the channel after dark. There was no moon and unless the navigator knew these waters, he was asking for an obliterated keel.

  "I doubt it, Thorny. Not this far into dusk."

  "Bah. Prigs, the lot o' them. 'Ere, ye'd best let me 'ave a look at that cut, sar, afore ye bleed all over the deck."

  "What?" Wade glanced down. He had not felt anything, but there was a quantity of blood on his shirt below his ribs. He lifted the wet cambric and saw a deep graze where a flying splinter of wood had found him. "I'll be damned."

  Thorny chuckled. "Aye, that ye will, Cap'n. An' ye'll 'ave the lot o' us along fer company."

  Wade grinned briefly, then turned his thoughts to guiding the Chimera home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stuart Roarke jammed his hands deeper into the pockets of his thin jacket and started pacing the crest of the hill for the hundredth time. This made the sixth night in a row he had climbed to the highest point on Bounty Key, the twentieth since he had begun to consider Morgan Wade overdue. It was not the first such vigil and by no means the longest. It certainly provided fodder for the imagination though. Whole scenarios played themselves out in Roarke's mind, from sea battles to mutinies to tri-country wars, with Morgan blasting and roaring away in the middle of the chaos.