Bound by the Heart (11 page)

"S'nothin, lad," Thorny scowled and peeled
back thesleeve. "Cut meself on a splinter, is all."

The wound was jagged and uneven. The hunk of pale oak
that had done the damage was still buried in the leathery flesh, raising the
skin into a shiny welt from the pressure. Thorny cussed voraciously and grasped
the end of the splinter between thumb and forefinger, prying it free. It was three
inches long and shaped like a wedge, and the hole it left behind filled
instantly with bright red blood, which overflowed and poured down his wrist and
hand in a thick stream.

Summer fought the instinct to gag as she pushed
Michael out of the way. One of the crew had already stepped in to take charge,
tearing off the neckerchief he wore and using it as a tourniquet to tie off the
supply of blood to Thorny's arm. A second and third bandanna went around the
wound itself, soaking red as they sealed the horrible gaping hole from sight.

Thorny looked paler for the experience. His tongue was
thrust into his cheek, and his jaw twitched spastically as more bandages and
rum were called for. Summer stared at the blood on the deck, at the blood on
the clawed hand, at the splatters staining the clothes of the man bending over
to help.

"Come away, Michael," she murmured.
"He's all right. He's being looked after."

Michael swallowed hard and nodded. They moved away
just as Morgan Wade swung himself up and over the bulwark. He was shedding
water like a sheepdog; his hair was smeared over his face, his shirt was
transparent where it clung to his chest like a thin, wrinkled layer of skin.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back with
an angry impatience. "Thorny? What the bloody hell have you done to
yourself?"

"Bah! N'owt but a nick, Cap'n."

"A nick, eh?" He glanced at the hatch.
"Have we men on the pumps?"

"Aye. Bailin' lines as well. She's fillin' fast,
though."

"I don't wonder. She's got a piece of the reef in
her timbers. Monday and I are trying to get it out, but it may take a while.
Are you sure you're all right?"

"Aye, Cap'n, fine. Fine. No call ter stand 'ere
gawkin' on me—get on with yer business."

Wade's scowl eased. The blue eyes scanned the crew a
moment. "Hawkins . . . Willard . . . we'll need your backs below. Mr.
Phillips— "

A youngish-looking man stepped forward. He was of
medium height and slight build, and his expression was as earnest as his reply.

"Aye, sir!"

"You'll take the deck watch to make sure we don't
bring in more water than we can handle. Put everyone to bailing if you must,
but see that she's kept from dropping too low."

"Aye, sir."

"And get some men started on a patch we can shore
up from the inside. Tear up a section of decking if you have to, but I want a
strong patch."

"Aye, sir!"

"And Mr. Phillips—I'll want two gigs in the
water, one at each end of this blasted channel. Tell them to keep a sharp eye
out for company. I've no taste to be caught sitting here like a lame
duck."

The young man blinked. "Aye, sir."

"And when you've got the pumping under control, I
want every able hand down in the cargo hold. We're going to have to off-load
the lot of it to keep her nose above the waterline."

Thorny peered up. "Eh? Ye're not aimin' ter chuck
it in the drink, are ye, Cap'n? We be only six 'our from the Key, give 'r take.
Why n'owt unload 'er on shore an' come back fer it later?
 
Won't take any longer ter do, an' the lads
might feel better fer it."

Wade glanced over, quelling his impatience at the
sight of Thorny's pale face.

"If n it's still 'ere, we win. If n it's gone, we
lose, but leastwise we hain't t'rowin it away."

Wade consulted the expressions on the faces of his
men. "Aye, you're right. No sense drowning good profits. I'll leave you in
charge, then, if you're up to it."

"Up ter it?" Thorny beamed and straightened
at once. "Ye'll 'ave 'er weight gone in a twink."

"You just make sure you get that arm tended to
first."

"Bah! N'owt but a—"

"Thorny!"

"Aye, Cap'n, aye. Stitch 'er meself if n I'ave
ter."

Wade's smile had not faded completely when he started
back to the side of the ship. He saw Summer and Michael out of the corner of
his eye and grunted in passing, "If you're going to stay up top, make sure
you are in no one's way."

"Are we going to sink?" Michael asked.

"Not if I can help it, lad."

"But are we in danger?"

Wade halted. "Can you swim?"

"Yes, of course—"

"Then you're not in danger," said Wade,
indicating either side of the ship. "You've a choice of two islands to
swim for."

He continued to the open gangway, peeling his shirt up
and over his shoulders as he walked. He tugged the wide belt from around his
waist and unlooped the thong holding his breeches. Summer caught a glimpse of
taut buttocks and sinewed thighs before he was arching over the side into the
water.

Michael stood at the rail again to watch, but Summer
was gazing thoughtfully at the conical island off the port side. It could be
done. They were both strong swimmers—the day and night spent in the stormy
ocean proved as much. The distance from the ship to the first sandbar was no
more than three hundred yards.

"Michael?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you suppose"—she lowered her voice,
conscious of the sailors milling past them—"we would find on those
islands?"

"Nothing, most probably. They certainly don't
look big enough to have people
...
or
much of anything."

"What about food and water? Do you think two
people could manage to survive until another ship came along?"

Michael frowned up at her. "I think you're potty.
It could take weeks or months for another ship to come along. And even if it
did, how could you signal it? How do you know it wouldn't be full of Frenchies?
How do you know we wouldn't starve to death long before anyone found us?"

"Are you saying you'd rather stay on board this
ship? You
want
to be
held for ransom? You
want
to be the cause of holding Father up to ridicule and
disgrace?"

"No, of course not," Michael said, flushing
beneath his tan. "But at the same time I rather like knowing I'm going to
eat and drink and be warm at night. We know Captain Wade has no intention of
killing us—how can you know another captain will feel the same?"

"I don't, but at least we would be free."

"Free to do what? Count sea gulls?"

"Michael—"

"Summer," he said and puckered his brow,
"we aren't being treated like beggars. We haven't been beaten or flogged
or locked in chains. I know you don't like the captain, but he is being rather
decent about the whole thing."

"Decent!" Summer had to bite her lip to keep
from blurting out exactly how decent Wade was. "You're acting as if you
admire that privateer and as if you hope he succeeds in getting his wretched
ship safely to port. What happened to the spy who was out to learn everything
he could to help Father catch the man?"

"He's still learning," Michael said
stubbornly. "But he can't tell anyone anything if he pines away of thirst
on a deserted island!"

Summer sighed in exasperation. Possibly—just possibly
—he was right. They might be trading in one horror for another. Starvation,
thirst, madness: They were all quite possible.

"Right!"

Summer jumped as a strong hand clamped down on her
shoulder.

"The two o' ye come an' lend an 'and 'ere,"
Thorny said. "Ye're both fit ter fetch an' carry. We've an 'old full o'
cargo what needs shiftin'. Lad, ye get on the ropes 'ere an' steady the crates
as they come up over the side o' the bay. Lass—ye can start with a couple o'
lanterns an' move 'em where the boys needs light ter see. Let's move sharp now.
Quicker we lighten 'er belly, quicker we 'elp the cap'n."

Summer had a lantern and a coil of rope thrust into
her hands. She was hustled forward through the cargo hatch, down two steep
flights of ladders, until she reached the lower deck. She was told by a series
of grunts what to do, where to stand, and where to throw more light. All around
her were the sweating, straining bodies of the crewmen, most of them half-naked
in the moist, stale heat of the hold. Boxes and crates were handed up as fast
as hands could stack them into nets and haul them topside. Everyone had to
shout to be heard, and the hold reverberated with the sounds, increasing in
volume until they were an unbroken din.

Some of the remarks were directed at Summer and had
nothing to do with her duties. Several times she was jostled and various parts
of her body were brushed against by design. She had to grind her teeth together
and endure the grinning faces; to do anything less would have been a victory
for them and a dismal loss of dignity for her. She guessed that they knew what
went on in the captain's cabin nightly. No doubt it had happened countless
times before and would happen countless times again with other women. She would
show them, though. She would prove to them she was different. She was not
broken or dispirited, and she was certainly not about to wither under a handful
of bullying louts if she could help it.

By late afternoon her determination to work just as
hard and just as long won grudging smiles of approval. The jeers stopped, the
accidental brushings stopped, and she was even referred to as ma'am and miss
instead of just you. Their work had produced results also. A vast area of the
cargo bay was cleared, and most of the men were shifted to the upper deck to help
load and row the longboats to shore. Summer began to hope for a reprieve, but
there was no sign of Thorny's grizzled head poking into the hatchway to call
her. Her arms ached from holding the lantern, her feet were cold and
waterlogged from the dampness, and her stomach was beginning to rebel from
hunger.

At last there were only the huge rum casks left to
roll onto the nets and hoist above. Summer was only half-heartedly watching the
two men whose job it was to maneuver the casks into position, when she felt an
arm snake around her waist and a hand cover her muffled cry of surprise. She
was lifted off her feet and dragged backward to a dark section of the deck,
well out of sight and earshot of the hold.

She twisted and fought against the grip at her waist,
striking out with her arms and legs to try to kick and scratch her way free.
The hand covering her mouth was choking her. She heard several grunts as she
was repositioned and a healthy curse as her nails raked deeply into the soft
flesh of a cheek.

A scream managed to break through the smothering
fingers, but it was cut off before the echo had a chance to bounce off the
walls. She was dumped flat onto a pile of empty sacks and rolled onto her back
while her captor positioned himself above her.

"Captain's supposed to share all the
profits," a voice rasped. "He's supposed to share the prizes equal. I
hear tell you been givin' it to the old man every night. . . the nigra too.
Don't matter none to me, long as I get what's comin'."

Summer moaned as the pressure on her mouth increased.
She lunged to one side as a hand was thrust roughly between her thighs and
began kneading her through the coarse fabric. She could not see the face of her
attacker. He was nothing but a series of hot pantings and clumsy fumblings.

He slapped away her hands when she attempted to gouge
for his eyes. He slapped at her legs when she kicked him, and she felt the
nails of one of his hands dig cruelly into her flesh as he groped beneath her
shirt.

"Ain't this sweet," he murmured. "Ain't
this just the sweetest
..."

He laughed huskily and groped to unfasten her
trousers.

"Open up, ya bitch. Open up, I'm tellin' you, or
it's gonna come worse for you . . .
Ahhhh!”

Summer felt the crushing satisfaction as her knee
landed squarely against his groin. The pressure on her mouth was released
instantly as the sailor clutched himself and rolled to one side. Summer
scrambled to her feet and ran sobbing from the storeroom, practically bowling
Michael over as he sauntered down the companionway.