Bound By The Heart

by Canham, Marsha

  Bull took up the story from there. "Seems the lad bribed a boatman to bring him out. After we found out who the hell he was and why the hell he was on my ship, we figured it would be smart to put on sail and leave with all haste. We were kind of held up some when an armed boarding party sallied forth out of nowhere and ordered us to strike the colors. Some fancy popinjay stood on my deck under a white parlay flag and said he was claiming my ship in the king's ruddy name."

  "What happened?" Morgan asked warily.

  "Captain Bull broke the lieutenant's musket in his bare hands," Michael whispered in awe. "He just snatched it out of the lieutenant's hands and jolly well bent the barrel in half over his knee."

  Bull chuckled. "Aye. Then we tossed the lot of them into the drink with their bloody parlay flag and their fancy blue uniforms. We ran up sail faster than a peppered dog and would've given them a warm round to remember us by, but the harbor was full of boats and Winfield's ship was blocked by a couple of schooners. Didn't seem to give him pause though. He sounded his bells and had his guns run out before we had cut the anchor free."

  Bull's tale commanded the attention of every man on deck, for they knew the Caledonia carried better than eighty guns and was even larger, in tonnage, than the Northgate had been.

  Bull maintained the suspense as long as he dared before his face broke out in a huge grin. "We would have been in fine pickle too, if someone hadn't snuck on board that first night we were in port and poured wax into the British bastard's touch-holes. Stupid bastards never even checked their guns and most were jammed up tighter than a whore's cunny." He stopped and looked around the ring of faces. "Where is that clever bastard despoiler of a son-in-law of mine anyway? It isn't every day Bull Treloggan has the mind or the reason to thank any man for saving his ship and crew. Roarke!"

  "Stuart has been injured," Morgan said quietly.

  "Eh? Injured, you say? How badly?"

  "Badly enough. And you haven't mentioned anything about your own damages. I'm sure you didn't manage to get out of port completely unscathed."

  Treloggan was still frowning over Roarke. "We heard your thunder from a dozen leagues out. My lads were itching to come in and lend a hand—hell, they'd've come in the dog-boats if I'd let them, but I thought it best to stay put and keep a sharp eye on the horizon. Hell, I knew you wouldn't need us anyway."

  "And the Gyrfalcon?"

  "Bah. You know I've never run from a fight in my life, Morgan Wade. The minute Winfield ran out his guns my lads were winching up the ports and unlashing the barrels. On the whole we put up a damned fine showing against an eighty-gun Goliath. A couple of my boys went down, including my chief gunner, Fortby, but we gave near as good as we got, then shook out our sails and got the hell away from there."

  "You did the wisest thing," Morgan insisted. "And the only thing, under the circumstances. You're damned lucky you weren't chewed to splinters, even if he only had half his guns. Did he give chase?"

  "Aye, he tried. He called for sail as soon as he saw our sheets shaking out. Canvas was falling like clouds around his ears," he chuckled. "I reckon it took six, maybe eight hours just to replace the rigging Roarke and his men sliced through, and another twelve on top of that when he tried to steer that great bloody sow out of the harbor and discovered the cables had been cut to his rudder."

  Summer, standing quietly with Michael, recalled the smile on Stuart's face. They were so busy watching the Chimera, he had said, no one bothered to watch the Caledonia. Fools. They deserved to lose to men like Wade and Roarke and Treloggan; men who were willing to take nothing for granted and risk everything for an ideal.

  "There's nothing out there but a cat's paw moving over the water," Bull said, "so we'll have to haul this fine lady a ways before we catch a breeze. Right now though, I think I'll take a pint of your best down and share it with my son-in-law. Injured, you say? Bah. I'll put such a fear into his soul as to what I'll do to him if he tries to make a widow out of my Bett, he'll be on deck dancing a jig for us by morning."

  Morgan watched him go, knowing full well Bull was blustering to cover his deep concern. The big man took great pleasure in tormenting Roarke, but he knew full well his daughter could not have found a finer man, nor one who loved her more.

  Morgan's dark eyes probed the fog, willing it to lift so he could see what lay beyond. Winfield was out there somewhere. Together the Chimera and Gyrfalcon might be equal to the task of bringing the mighty panther to its knees, but both ships were damaged and Morgan would not know the extent of the Gyrfalcon's wounds until he went on board and inspected it himself. He could only guess the damage was worse than Bull was willing to admit or there would have been no keeping him out of the fight with the Northgate.

  Both crews were short of men. The British had released six men who claimed to be Americans, but Wade had lost ten. The Chimera's crew would face the entire British fleet if he asked them to, and hang the odds. But as Ashton-Smythe said, it would indeed be a waste of brave lives.

  His attention was drawn to a loud, plaintive wail that seemed to reach out to him from the listing hulk of the Northgate. The groan became louder and continuous, and as he watched, the battered hull, shrouded in fog, lost it's remaining strength and slid under the surface of the water. All that was left behind to mark its passage downward was a frenzy of bubbles and steam and churning white foam.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Bennett Winfield stood over Summer, his face devoid of expression, his pale blue eyes flat and impassive. His uniform was crisply white, a glaring affront in light of the terrible destruction surrounding them on the deck of the Chimera. He was holding something behind his back, something Summer could not see in the shadows, but something she instinctively feared. She felt the scream rising in her throat and she covered her mouth with her hands. Bennett only smiled and brought his hands forward in to the light so she could see what he held.

  "No! No, oh God...no!"

  "Summer?"

  "Noooooo!"

  "Summer!"

  She opened her eyes. The echo of her scream was still ringing in her ears. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her fingers were clutching the woolen cloak she was using as a blanket. Morgan stood over her, not Bennett. His face was taut and anxious, his hands gentle where they gripped her shoulders, trying to calm her wild thrashings.

  "Morgan?" she gasped. "Morgan, you're alive!"

  "Of course I'm alive, why wouldn't I be?"

  "But...I saw Bennett...he was here."

  "No one was here," Wade said evenly. "You were having a bad dream. A nightmare."

  She pushed up onto an elbow and looked wildly around. "Where is Sarah?"

  "Sarah is right here, in her cradle, sound asleep."

  Summer raised trembling fingertips and pressed them to her temple. "It was a dream?"

  "Not surprising after what you have gone through these past twenty-four hours." He sat on the edge of the berth and smoothed the silky blonde hairs back from her face so she could clearly see the lamp on the desk, and the charts, the familiar diamond-paned gallery windows, even the smoking stub of the cigar tossed hastily into the tin cup.

  "A dream," she said on a sigh, curling forward into his arms. "But it was so real."

  He smiled and petted her. "I've had one or two in my day that had me reaching for my pistols."

  Summer had no idea how long she had been asleep. It was dark, she could see that much through the windows. She could also feel the steady thrumming of the water beneath the keel that told her they were sailing fast and easy.

  The tow had taken long, laborious hours, and by the time they had maneuvered the Chimera out to where the Gyrfalcon waited, the calm had followed them out. There was no possibility of towing both ships for any length of time, so Morgan and Bull had decided to put the crews to work making repairs instead. They kept the masts fully rigged and the sails doused in water to make use of the faintest puffs of wind, but by morning they had barely moved half a league.

 
Dawn had broken over the spine of Martinique, showing the island still capped in mists and offering no relief by way of winds or motion on the glassy surface of the sea. Morgan had been plainly ill at ease being becalmed so close to the French port, for although the land was just a green slash in the distance, it blocked out two-thirds of the horizon. There could be a dozen British warships laying off Cap Saloman and they would not know it until the sails appeared around the tip of the land.

  All through the long, hot day the men toiled. The fog, at least, had burned off in the sun and Morgan had been appalled to see the full extent of damage to the Gyrfalcon. Aside from sail and rigging damage, which was well under repair, her mainmast was cracked mid-way down and threatened to give under any kind of strain. Her port battery of guns was reduced by a fourth through direct hits and a fire had caused an explosion in a forward hold that left the outer hull badly weakened. Her casualties numbered fewer than Wades, but there were more wounded who would be unable to work or fight at full capacity.

  Both captains had to agree, grudgingly, that it would be wisest to head north when the calm lifted, and make for Bounty Key. That was the last discussion Summer recalled overhearing only minutes before Mr. Phillips appeared at the door to inform them the wind was picking up and the Chimera was heading home.

  She rubbed her eyes. "How long have I been asleep?"

  "Not long enough," he said sternly. "It has been hardly an hour since I found you asleep in Stuart's arms and carried you up here. You're lucky I am not a jealous man."

  "It was my turn to bathe his fever; I must have nodded off between basins of water." She pushed the cloak aside. "I should go back."

  "You are not going anywhere," Morgan said with a frown.

  "But Stuart—"

  "Roarke is in good hands. Thorny is with him, and there isn't a thing you could do for him that Thorny couldn't. He has orders to call me if there is any change. Bull's talk must have worked; Thorny says the fever isn't any worse and he's even gained a little strength back. Not much, mind, just enough to ask for a sip of water. But it's something."

  "Couldn't we bring him back in here? It's so damp and cold down below."

  "We would only have to move him again if there was any sign of trouble, and it would be harder on him for it. He's resting comfortably. I want you to do the same. Gabrielle is asleep in the next cabin, and I believe I even managed to convince Mr. Phillips to close an eye."

  "Who is sailing your ship?"

  "Mr. Monday never sleeps. And there seems to be a new and mighty determined addition to my crew right up there alongside him."

  "Michael?"

  "He has formally requested to be added to the muster roll—and not just as a cabin boy. He claims to be both a sharpshooter and an expert swordsman."

  "You didn't agree to it, did you?"

  "I couldn't see the harm. He was so earnest he won a smile from Mr. Monday and permission to share the watch—a rare feat by any man's standards. Half my crew is still leery of Monday; they would sooner swallow their own tongues as offer to give him a demonstration of their shooting skills, with...I might add...a wager attached as to who could make the best shot."

  Summer almost smiled. "He didn't."

  "He did. And apparently won the bet, ergo the shared watch."

  Wade angled his face into the lantern light and Summer was shocked to see the dark smudges of weariness underscoring his eyes. His face was drawn, his shoulders seemed a little less squared; his eyelids looked as though they were being dragged down by weights.

  "You should be the one getting some sleep," she said.

  "I will. I just want to go over the charts one last time."

  Summer turned his face forcibly back to hers, cradling his stubbled cheeks in her hands as she kissed him long and hard and deep. She wriggled to the far side of the berth and held out her arms to him, hearing a sigh as he capitulated and stretched out beside her with a murmured, "Only for a minute."

  He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head between her breasts. Summer stroked her fingers through the black tangle of his hair and in short order was rewarded by the sound of his deep, even breathing. Just when she thought he was asleep, his hands moved up beneath the folds of her clothing, freeing her body to the heat of his flesh. She held him and responded willingly to his hunger. She welcomed the roughness of his need and the swift, desperate release he sought.

  She cried out and dug her hands into his massive shoulders, moving with him, moving for him, frantic for every last ounce of strength and courage she could steal from him. She heard the groan that was her name, and she continued to spiral higher and higher, tearing into the man who was her love and now her life. An emotion that was no part of anything frightening or fearful claimed her, and she soared on its crest, knowing her destiny was locked to his forever, and no matter what the outcome of the next few days or weeks or years might be, she would forever belong to the raging sea and sun that was Morgan Wade.

  Commodore Bennett Winfield leaned against the high-backed chair and took a deep swallow of brandy while he contemplated the pale features of Captain Emory Ashton-Smythe.

  "The Admiralty will not take the loss of the Northgate lightly," he said at length, "nor will they view your conduct as being anything less than deplorable. You were entrusted with one of the finest ships in the fleet—on my recommendation, I might add—and this is how you respond. By lowering your colors to a smuggler."

  Ashton-Smythe reddened, and his mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

  "You took a ship of the line that mounted fifty-two heavy guns against a rum-runner who carried women and children on board, and you invited humiliation on yourself and on His Majesty's Royal Navy. Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

  Ashton-Smythe's jaw flexed as he searched for the appropriate words. "Wade's men are incredibly well trained, sir. His gun crews managed three rounds to every one of mine. And his tactics—"

  "Yes, do tell me about his tactics. I have been told he likes to fight in close quarters."

  "Close?" The captain blew out a puff of breath. "He came well within hailing distance before he even presented his broadside...and when he did, he was carrying far too much speed for my gunners to adjust their aim. Most of our shots passed too high to do any damage. As it was, his ship circled us like like a gull, hitting us on all sides. He must have some newer system for raising and lowering sights, for he seemed to be able to shoot high or shoot low without wasting precious time with chocks and winches. I for one have never seen anything like it."

  "And so your crew panicked?"

  "No, sir. They continued at their posts in spite of the relentless barrage, in spite of being slaughtered where they stood. Once the main battery was destroyed, I could see no hope for the situation. Brave men were dying; I could not justify continuing the carnage."

  "I see. And I suppose you had no choice but to accede to Wade's demands where Mr. Glasse was concerned?"

  "Mr. Glasse's conduct was reprehensible. It was totally out of the bounds of reasonable behavior, and had I known his intentions to hold a woman and child at gunpoint, I would have flogged him myself."

  "Indeed. But had his plan succeeded, he would have captured Wade and the Chimera without firing a single shot."

  "Yes. And he would have hung an innocent man in the process."

  "So you say."

  Ashton-Smythe pushed to his feet. "Are you questioning my word now, sir, as well as my loyalty and ability?"

  "If I was, Smythe, you would have even less flash on your back than Glasse does. Now sit and down and control your histrionics. I merely find it distasteful that you would defend the man who is responsible for kidnapping my wife and child."

  Ashton-Smythe was genuinely shaken. "Your wife? Your child?"

  "You didn't know?"

  "I was not informed of their identity," the captain said, showing signs of uncertainty for the first time. "I was only told that two women and a child were on board. Glasse neglected to
mention their identity."

  Bennett glanced away and gazed thoughtfully out of the windows of his cabin. His spacious quarters aboard the Caledonia were luxuriously furnished, boasting a separate sleeping compartment and working area. The former contained a four poster bed, the latter included a long dining table that could seat ten officers. His desk was carved from the finest teak, his service was china and sterling silver. The brandy he enjoyed was the best, commandeered from his past raids on French merchantmen.

  "Did you happen to see my wife at all?" he asked in a low voice.

  "No, sir. Both women remained below."

  Bennett clenched his jaw. "Then we must assume she is still being held against her will, otherwise, if she was free to do so, she would have been released into your care. In any event, we must also assume she is in need of a merciful and swift return to the bosom of her family."

  Ashton-Smythe met the cold, pale eyes of his commanding officer. He could see the hatred there, the arrogance, the smoldering jealousy and he knew, suddenly, that the 'kidnapped' Mrs. Winfield was no more a hostage than Morgan Wade was guilty of murder thirteen years ago.

  "I'm afraid I have no knowledge of the conditions on board the Chimera after the confrontation," he said quietly. "The ship itself did not appear to have suffered much damage, so—"

  "So I may surmise that wherever Wade is holding my wife and child hostage, they are unharmed?"

  Ashton-Smythe bit his lip, adding the taste of blood to the bile in his throat. "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Let us hope they remain that way. I have a burning desire to see my wife again." Bennett flicked a thumbnail over the catch of his gold pocket watch. "You estimate he has ten hours on us, give or take?"

  "He wasted no time when the calm lifted."

  Bennett nodded grimly. "He will be heading north, for Bounty Key. Two damaged ships; it shouldn't be too difficult to make up time and catch them. You will remain on board the Caledonia, in an advisory capacity, of course."