Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  And then she knew. The Meridian was turning. It was turning to flee. Selena remembered that Slyde had told her of pirate attacks on these sea-lanes.

  Even the drop into the trough of the sea did not punch the breath from her, after such knowledge, and when the great whale came to play with her life again, he lifted not only Selena and Slyde and the dinghy, he lifted a heart so full of hope that it might have been newly born. The ship at the edge of the horizon offered nothing more than hope, however. Selena had to attract the attention of someone aboard the vessel, and that was no simple matter.

  Once more, the bottom dropped out of the sea, and Selena fumbled frantically in her mind for a plan. The second ship was bent upon the Meridian; it was not moving in her own direction. And, with each passing moment, her chances of being seen at all were grievously diminished. Sailors, hungry for battle and plunder and blood, would have their eyes on the ship they were pursuing, not on a tiny splinter of a boat tossing far away.

  She had to think of something that might catch the eye of even one man.

  The waves swept her up to their crest once again, and she saw the strange ship closely now, full-sailed, dark, knifing powerfully through the deep. Massed clouds of an approaching storm towered behind her sails. Selena saw it in an instant: pure white of sails, darkness of storm clouds, and the swirling colors of the wild sea.

  Color was the answer!

  Her timing would have to be perfect, and her balance as well, or she would be lost for certain. The sea, for all its power, moved ponderously, with all of time at its command. Riding the crest, Selena tried as best she could to judge direction and distance, as the second ship homed in on the fleeing Meridian. Several times, the dinghy rose and fell. There might be a chance. As nearly as she could judge, with the roar of the water breaking on the shore of her brain, with the angry froth of the sea in her face, the pursuing ship would pass her at no more than hundred to a hundred and fifty yards. So she had one chance, but it had to be right.

  Down again the dinghy went—now the approaching ship was big and black and fast—and when it rose Selena was ready. The dinghy tilted as always when the ocean took her, and then, for a timeless moment at the top of the crest it was perfectly balanced, as it might have been lying at buoy in calm water. And Selena was balanced perfectly, too, on the seat in the stern, standing only in a chemise, lilac colored, so fine that it was no more than a veil. She waved the scarlet gown toward the second ship, one second, no more, until the floor of the sea beckoned her again.

  Halfway down and dropping—her stomach in her throat, her hands grabbing at the gunwales—her mind framed the situation and placed the elements together. Randolph, in flight had turned back in her direction only to bring the other ship near by. Not necessarily to save her life, but only to slow down the progress of the pursuit. Which, if the second ship stopped, was what would happen.

  But would she stop?

  Because, as the howling, concave sheets of water enshrouded Selena again, her mind recreated the ship and made its interpretation: It had risen, black of hull and white of sail, against the purple thunderclouds, mighty and magnificent against the sky. And on the mast not even a flag, not even a Jolly Roger. Nothing but a rich, bright swath of Campbell plaid.

  That was enough. It was the Highlander, slicing through the ocean, seeking prey.

  Selena knew it, but she had no time to think, and when the ocean threw her into the sky, she stood near naked, clutching the tom, scarlet robe.

  She could hear the orders being shouted on deck before she fell again. She had been seen, and the great ship would stop for her. Its three tiers of black cannon swept the sky, and the strong black timbers of the masts slanted into the clouds as the bow plunged and rose. The wind beat the plaid flag; it stiffened.

  She would be saved, but what would happen now?

  Or would she be saved? She fell again into the angry sea, which did not take lightly to the unexpected salvation of its captives. On the bridge, Selena could see Royce Campbell gesturing, giving orders, attempting to get the Highlander as close to her as possible, and next to him the dour, unpleasant Lieutenant Fligh, whom she remembered with distaste. But anybody would do now, even the devil would do—and Father had referred to Royce once as the devil!—as still again the waters parted and she swooped down and out of sight.

  The wind continued rising, and it became certain that if a rescue was not attempted in minutes, there would be no chance for one at all. Putting a boat down from the Highlander and sending it out to Selena’s dinghy was already impossible, and on board the ship Sir Royce had decided upon the only other practicable alternative. Lines with grappling hooks were cast into the water, floated with buoys to prevent them from sinking. He had done all he could; now it was up to Selena.

  Forgetting her situation, unconscious even of her appearance in the wet chemise—the gown was now a reddish rag on the floor of the dinghy, out of which the dye was seeping—Selena felt the survival instinct take over. Once, twice, three times the lines were cast toward her, and as many times she leaned out over the gunwale of the tossing craft and stabbed her hand toward them, only to be caught again by the mocking sea. Life beckoned her on the crests of the waves, but death sought her in the roiling troughs.

  “Now, Selena,” Royce called from the deck of the Highlander, and she saw him there with a harpoon gun jammed into his shoulder, and a lifeline attached to the spear. Only one line. Of course, the men on the ship could not see Slyde! She did not know if he was dead or alive, and as Royce fired the harpoon and the line lanced out toward her, a curving trajectory bent by the wind, Selena thought: He’s dead! He’s got to be dead! But when the spear crashed against the hull of the little boat, the arrowlike iron embedding itself in the wood, Selena knew she could not let the man go.

  The sea was crashing all around, and it was all but impossible to hear what Royce and the sailors were trying to tell her. Something like, “Get out! Get out of the boat!” They expected her to tie the line around her body and leap from the dinghy; she could not tell them of Slyde, and so grasped the line and called for them to pull her in. Finally, they did, and the dinghy drew up close to the Highlander, rising and falling with it. Royce ordered ropes dropped—he saw Slyde now—and the scowling Fligh passed on the orders. Working frantically, at the edge of endurance, Selena roped Slyde around the waist, and they hauled him up. He looked dead. It might have been all right had she let him go…

  No. And then it was all right because she was being lifted up, up, not even feeling the rope as it cut into her bare skin, not even caring about the sailors’ eyes, or anything else. Except safety. And Royce Campbell, whose well-remembered eyes had no ice in them, none at all, as he took her into his arms, called for blankets, and bore her down into the shelter of the mighty ship. Selena knew then that everything was going to be all right. She felt herself slipping, fading, sliding into the darkness all around, but that was all right, too, that was fine, and it was warm as love or home had ever been.

  Selena knew, upon awakening, that she was in Royce’s cabin. The ship rolled gently, Sun came through the portholes. The hammock creaked slightly as it swayed. She moved the leopard skin covering slightly, and turned her head.

  “So you’re awake,” said Lieutenant Fligh. “It’s better than being dead, but a lot more trouble.”

  The tone of his words was neutral, and his face as well, but instinct told her to be wary of him.

  “Where is…”?

  “The captain? On bridge. But you needn’t be concerned. He’s been with you almost every moment for the past two days.”

  “Two days?”

  Fligh nodded. “And I’ll say this for you. You’re a tough one. I’ve seen strong men die of exposure from the same kind of thing you’ve gone through.”

  Selena decided he was not entirely pleased with her endurance.

  “And the captain has had someone here with you, at all times. I’d best go up on deck and tell him you’ve come around.”<
br />
  He started toward the door.

  “Wait,” she cried, thinking of her appearance. “Can you…can I…have a few minutes to make myself presentable?”

  Beneath the covers, she felt herself in a rough gown of some coarse fabric, and beneath that nothing. Fligh grinned sourly. “You’ll find a standard uniform hanging on a peg behind that door. It’s the only clothes aboard, and it will have to do. I believe you’ve worn a similar outfit before.”

  “But…” Surely there was something else. For Royce, if not for herself.

  “This is a ship, madame,” Fligh snapped, “not a seagoing bordello. And right now we’ve an unnecessary battle coming up. In which good men might die.”

  His voice turned bitter for the first time. “Die,” he repeated, for Selena’s benefit, “And all because of you. Now, get dressed and I’ll notify the captain.”

  Abruptly, he was gone, leaving her there to steep in his anger, which she did not understand. Battle? Because of her? It made no sense, but she got out of the hammock, dashed cold water on her face, neck, and wrists, steeled herself for the mirror and found, to her considerable surprise, that she looked rested and reasonably fit, except for her tousled, sea-bleached hair. Quickly, she pulled on the uniform, just in time for the knock at the door.

  She had no time to plan how it would be, or even to imagine what it would be like. Seeing him again. So when he entered and pulled shut the door, they stood looking at each other for a long time. His dark, strong face showed nothing, but his eyes were lit from deeply within, with a pale fire.

  “Thank you” was all she could think of to say.

  He smiled. Not the cynical smile she remembered, with which he faced the world, but a smile almost of relief, from a hidden wellspring of warmth.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, “if you’ll accept that sentiment from a despicable bastard like myself.”

  Violently, she recalled the words she had screamed at him on the Highlander that terrible morning last December. She had not understand certain things he had said, then, nor had she understood him. Even now, she was no wiser, had no clearer intimations of what made him as he was. But none of that mattered, not at all, as they came to each other in an embrace, tender, passionate, full of all things unspoken, and things for which there are no words. At first it was more tender than carnal, and he held her so gently, yet so close, that it seemed he almost doubted her very presence, feared her leaving. Their kiss was reverent and joyous, and then it was flaming. Yet she felt in him that maddening hint of something held back. He broke away and looked-into her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, the hollow feeling growing again, the hovering sense of an unwanted surprise.

  “There is no time, that’s what’s the matter. We’re chasing and closing on the ship that cast you adrift, and I’ve no idea in the world how you got there. Your battered friend is in sick bay, and close to death. We can’t read his symptoms. And you must be…”

  “I was never better,” she said, and snuggled close to him.

  “Ship off the port bow,” came the cry from the bridge, drifting down to them. “Target ship off the port bow.”

  “All right,” Royce said, ending their embrace, grim and businesslike now. “Tell me what happened on that ship.”

  Selena tried not to feel any of it, merely to tell it, as if in that way Father’s murder and Brian’s death and the torment aboard the Meridian could not hurt her anymore. But when she reached the part about the mock wedding on Captain Randolph’s deck, with the leering men ready to take her, she broke down.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed, holding her again. “I don’t need to know anymore right now, but…”

  “Captain, sir,” called an excited sailor, banging on the door. “We’re getting into cannon range now. Should we prepare to fire?”

  Royce looked iron-hard now. Hearing her story, he had felt vengeance come alive in his heart.

  “Aye,” he vowed, “by all means. The law of the sea has been broken, and the tempest follows him who does not mend it. Aye, ready the cannon, and ready the boarding parties. We’ve many a score to settle before the night.”

  Fascinated, and a little afraid, Selena watched him ready the ship for battle. From a sheltered position on the main deck, she saw the Meridian out ahead of them, every sail unfurled, and bobbing in her wake were strange, waterlogged hulks. “’Tis the bastards’ cargo,” sneered a sailor. “Thrown overboard t’ lighten the ship and build ’er speed. But nivir fear, ain’t nothin’ on the seven seas the Highlander can’t catch.”

  Lieutenant Fligh carried out his orders coldly, effectively, but he was of a different mind. “Outrageous,” she heard him mutter, “waste of time. No profit in this, and a pile of needless trouble.”

  But Royce did not seem to mind. If anything, he was exhilarated by the prospect of the battle, quickened as much by the impending fray as by the hot spirit of revenge which had provoked it. She gauged that part of him with a measure of caution and doubt; it was the reckless, instinctively rebellious element of his nature which she could understand—far better now, after what had happened to her—but which seemed disturbingly beyond the control of logic or reason.

  The Highlander tracked the merchantman off her starboard stern, constantly gaining, edging closer all the while, and turning degree by degree as the Meridian sought to angle away from the pursuit. Royce was on the bridge, full of the flight, rapt, lost in it as a man can be lost in the act of love, and that part of him frightened Selena most. Or was it envy she felt?

  “Topsail out!” he called, and Fligh repeated the command, “Topsail out!” and then the cry came from the sailors at work in the rigging, as one more white triangle of cloth caught the wind. Selena felt the ship lift and buck beneath her, and the expanse of blue between the ships narrowed still more. She could see the crewmen of the Meridian scrambling up the masts, trying everything to milk a fraction of a knot more speed out of their craft. But it was useless.

  “Load the port cannons!” Royce called, and again the cry was repeated. Well-drilled crewmen with long-handled rams packed powder in the muzzles of the big guns, and drove the heavy balls down the greased, black tubes, then stood aside with fired torches ready for the fuse.

  “Cannons loaded,” came the cry, with a quiver in the voices, a passion for blood and plunder that was almost sexual. And Selena realized for the first time since she’d come aboard that this was indeed a pirate ship, as dangerous in its own way as the Meridian had been.

  “Where is Selena?” Royce called. “Bring her here.” To Fligh’s immense displeasure, she was brought to the bridge.

  “Any cannon aboard her?” he demanded. She might have been a subaltern, summoned for hasty debriefing.

  “I saw some. Half a dozen, maybe. I didn’t have time to…”

  He cut her off with a gesture of dismissal. Disappointment.

  “Too bad,” he said. “It won’t be much of a fight.”

  “Nor much of a profit, either,” Fligh muttered, giving her a significant look.

  “First tier of cannon, stand by for firing,” Royce ordered.

  Far above, on top of the mainmast, the Campbell plaid snapped and rippled in the wind.

  “To the Highlands,” Royce cried then, an exclamation of joy and exultation so intense that it startled Selena. “To the Highlands, FIRE!”

  Simultaneously, the sky was blotted out, filled with fire and smoke and roaring sound, a cataclysmic firestorm. The Meridian was lost in it, and even the Highlander rocked backward in the waves, stung by the cannons’ recoil.

  “Tier two. FIRE!”

  And again the roar.

  “Tier three. FIRE!”

  The sound rang in her ears. Her eyes were stung by the dust and smoke. The very air seemed to be burning, hung with veils of umbra, orange, and blue, dull yellow, and chartreuse. But mostly Selena was frightened, sensing something indefinable in Royce that made him pace the deck of the bridge like a captured leop
ard, peering through the smoke.

  “Is she sinking yet?” he demanded of Fligh, who could see no better. “Have we got the bastards where we want ’em?”

  Directly behind her, Selena felt rather than heard a sickening, crashing explosion. Her entire body shook with tremors, and suddenly she was down on the deck. Royce lay on top of her, and Fligh was getting to his feet, wiping blood from a deep gash in his forehead. Part of a mast bent over the railing of the bridge, snapped like a toothpick.

  “We’ve been hit,” Royce explained, with no apparent concern. “They’ll pay for it, but at least they’re fighting. Ready the cannon,” he cried.

  The sea wind moved the smoke away, and the two ships stood out clearly, the crews of each taking measure of the other. The Meridian’s main mast was still up, but the fore and aft masts, sheered by cannonballs, had fallen across the decks. Huge sails fluttered like wounded swans. Crewmen were fighting their way from beneath. Several jagged holes showed black and ominous in the hull. The Meridian was taking a lot of water. The list became apparent as they watched, and two cannon crews were working fast.

  “Seems they want another exchange, sir,” Fligh said.

  But, to Royce’s disappointment, a white flag—more like a towel or small blanket—fluttered up the mast.

  “I see our Captain Randolph is not much of a fighter when the advantage is not one hundred percent his,” he said scornfully. “Get the boarding parties prepared, and close the gap. We’ll tie onto the Meridian and…”

  He stopped. There would be no need of further preparations. Cannon fusillades from the Highlander had apparently caused severe damage below water level, because the merchantman listed steeply and dropped visibly into the water, right before their eyes.

  “Sail near, forward,” Royce told Fligh, who passed on the commands, and Selena saw Captain Randolph, in his elegant attire, come up on deck and make his way to the railing. Roberta was with him, in another of his bright gowns, and it looked as if they might be taking a stroll before dinner. If so, it was their last aboard the Meridian. Waves lapped over the main deck now, washing the bodies of dead crewmen overboard. Survivors were wrestling with the dinghy-sized lifeboats, and gulls circled the teetering mast. From far away, Selena heard a faint, menacing hum, an eerie sound that thrilled her spine, tingled the skin at the back of her neck. She was about to ask Royce what it was, when she noticed hundreds of small black objects bobbing in the waves.