Andrea Kane (10 page)

Drake grinned at her choice of words. “Would it be foolish to ask if you were intimidated by the thought of the storm?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you are intimidated?” He raised questioning brows.

She walked past him, laughing and shaking her head. “No. I meant, yes, it would be a foolish question. I find the thought of a storm at sea fascinating.”

Drake gave an exaggerated sigh. “I was afraid of that. I suppose that also means that I would be wasting my breath if I insisted that you stay below.”

“Correct, Captain.”

“All right, princess. You may remain topside—under two conditions,” he added quickly, seeing her jubilant expression.

“Which are?”

“That you stay out of the men’s way while they are working
and
that you obey me and go below
without question
if the storm is a bad one.” Seeing her forthcoming protest, Drake shook his head emphatically. “I have made many concessions to you, Alexandria, but this is one I will not make. I expect my orders on this ship to be followed unconditionally, especially in times of danger. Do you understand?”

Alex recognized the unyielding glint in his emerald eyes. With a sigh of defeat, she agreed. “All right, Captain. You’ve made your point. I will bow to your command.”

Drake smiled to himself as he watched her go below. Her sarcasm had not been lost on him. He would have to keep a sharp eye on her during the afternoon hours, for she was about as submissive as a wild stallion. In truth, however, he was not overly concerned, for he did not expect the storm to be severe.

By late afternoon the crew had readied the ship for its bout with the elements. The cargo had been secured, all hands were ready on deck, and still every sign indicated to Drake that the coming storm would be insignificant.

Before dusk he changed his mind.

All at once it was upon them. There was no time to react. Suddenly, without warning, the world erupted. The winds turned bitter cold and relentlessly fierce. Rain exploded from the sky, pouring down in icy sheets on the gleaming decks. The seas, taking their cue from the heavens, surged wildly upward from the blasting winds, rolling the helpless ship from side to side and flooding its decks with wave after turbulent wave.

The crew worked frantically to better secure the rigging, the lines biting into their flesh from the strain. No amount of forethought could prepare a ship for a storm of this magnitude, and the men had no choice but to bend to its command.

“Bloody ’ell, Cochran, restrain the mainsail!” Jamison demanded urgently, his voice muffled by the roar of the ocean.

“I can’t,” Cochran gasped back, tightening his grip. “The wind be too severe!” He shook his head, blinded by the rain, drenched from the downpour.

Thomas Greer clung to the lines beside the top platform of the mainmast. “The main topsail is set!” he called above the roar of the wind. He had reefed as much of the sail as he could to the boom, praying that it would catch the wind well above the waves, which were already breaking over the stern deck. The close-reefed main topsail might be their only chance to catch the wind and carry them out of the storm. He tried not to look down into the surging waves and imagine himself catapulting to his death. He had never weathered a storm of this severity. Terror gripped him.

Another huge wave swept over the stern, flooding the quarterdeck. Drake caught his breath, holding the wheel more tightly. The storm had a mind of its own and battled him for control of the helm. Thus far he was in command. But neither his strength nor his ship could hold out forever.

A huge crash resounded from the ship’s hold.

“Damn it, Smitty, the cargo!” Drake yelled above the uproar. “Wasn’t it secured?”

“It was, Captain!” Smitty called back from the main deck, having just assisted with the forward rigging. “But the ship is pitching too badly to keep it steady!”

“Well, send someone down to secure it again!” Drake shot back, bracing his feet wide apart in preparation for the sea’s next onslaught.

“No one is free to go, Captain. Every man is working to keep
La Belle
from capsizing!”

Drake shook his drenched hair back from his face. “Then you do it.”

Smitty looked stunned. “Captain, you can’t manage the helm alone!”

“Smitty, I must deliver the cargo intact! Don’t argue with me. Go!”

Smitty hesitated for a second longer, then hurried to obey. He descended to the berth deck and moved toward the steps leading to the hold.

“Smitty?” Alex called to him.

He turned. “Yes, my lady?” For the first time he actually sounded impatient with her.

Alex could see his worry. “Can I do anything to help?”

Smitty shook his head. “Just remain in your cabin, my lady. I must check the hold. The cargo might be in jeopardy.”

“But who is with Captain Barrett at the helm?” she asked in amazement.

“No one. Now excuse me, my lady. I must go.” He disappeared down the steps.

Alex did not hesitate for an instant. In three seconds she had propelled herself up to the rolling main deck.

Drake was struggling; she could see it. His strong muscles were taut and straining, outlined through his drenched shirt. The cords in his neck stood out, his hands were white from wrestling the wheel against the violently raging sea.

Alex gripped the wooden railing and made her way to the quarterdeck. “Let me help,” she gasped when she was beside him.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Drake roared. “I told you to remain in the cabin. Damn it, Alexandria, go below!”

“No!” She was unmoved and unmoving. “You need help.” She began to choke as a wave slapped against her, forcing her to swallow a mouthful of water. But valiantly she moved to stand beside Drake, determined to stay by his side.

Her loyalty staggered him. At the same time he wanted to beat her senseless. She was so slight that one overpowering wave could drag her to her death.

Fear gripped him.

“You stubborn chit, go to your cabin!”

Alex didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. Beyond Drake had risen the most towering, fearsome wave she had ever seen. And it was bearing down on the stern of the ship at an alarming pace, rearing its angry head. She wanted to scream, but the sound was trapped in her throat. All she could do was stare, horror registering in her eyes. And then it was too late.

Drake saw the terror-stricken look freeze Alex’s features. Abruptly he whirled around just as the wave hit.

An icy, suffocating blanket descended upon him, blasted his face with its frigid spray, and knocked the breath from his chest. He struggled to surface, but the wave was unrelenting and dragged him down with it, rendering him helpless under its forceful impact. He felt himself strike the deck, the water washing over him in torrents, forcing his head back. He felt the crash explode inside his skull, excruciating pain burst forth in bright lights.

And then … nothing.

“D
RAKE!”
ALEX SCREAMED AS
his head struck the mainmast. Her cry was lost in the howl of the wind. Horrified, she watched his powerful form crumple, then go very still.

Fighting the force of the gale and the tossing of the ship, Alex made her way to Drake’s side. Cautiously she lifted his head, searching for any sign of consciousness. There was none. She pressed her ear to his chest, but no sound was audible over the roar of the storm.

The ship rolled wildly to larboard, tossing Alex to the deck. Frantically she looked up, realizing that the unmanned wheel was spinning out of control, sacrificing the ship to the storm’s destructive force.

“Drake,” she whispered, half to herself. She lifted one hand from behind his head, ready to ease him back to the deck. Blood. Her hand was covered with blood.

Alex’s heart contracted with fear. Drake was badly injured. He couldn’t help her now. Her frightened gaze moved up and down the deserted decks. Every man was either securing the rigging or down below. It was up to her.

She laid Drake’s head down gently, then struggled to her feet, pushing dripping strands of hair from her face. Slowly she made her way to the helm. Her hands closed over the spokes, desperately trying to still their motion. The wheel fought her, battling to be free. Alex yanked with all her strength. The ship lurched, attempting to right itself. Alex couldn’t hold on; she hadn’t the strength. With a whimper of pain she felt the wheel slip from her shaking hands, tossing the ship to starboard. The severe motion sent Alex sprawling to the deck again and at the same time shifted Drake’s unconscious body toward the rail. Alex lunged for him and, with an unnatural strength born of fear, steadied his powerful body. She positioned herself behind him, her legs cradling his body on either side, and lifted his head, carefully laying it back against her chest. Then she braced herself and, using her legs for leverage, hauled him inch by inch across the quarterdeck. As soon as the mainmast was within reach, she grabbed hold of it and pulled herself and Drake to it, thus anchoring their bodies. Then she prayed.

Smitty knew something was amiss. In making his way back to the main deck he had been thrown against the bulkheads several times from the impact of the pitching ship.
La Belle Illusion
was out of control, which could only mean that the captain was in trouble.

He groped his way toward the stern, but could see nothing through the blinding rain. He cupped his free hand around his mouth. “Captain!” His voice echoed along the length of the ship.

Alex heard him. Instantly alert, she sat up as tall as she dared without releasing Drake’s body. “Smitty! Help me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

My God, that was Lady Alexandria’s voice! Frantic, the older man fought his way along the larboard side of the ship until he neared the quarterdeck. At this point he could make out the two forms sprawled against the mainmast.

Relief washed through Alex as she saw him. “Smitty, help me! Drake is hurt!”

Smitty asked no questions, but grabbed hold of the mast and lowered himself beside them. A small pool of blood had gathered beneath Drake’s dark head.

“We must get him below, my lady,” Smitty called over the wind. “I’ll get help.”

At Alex’s nod, he stood and assessed the status of the surging ship. The helm could wait; his captain could not. He looked up from the base of the mast. Through the driving rain he could dimly make out the near-invisible form of Thomas Greer.

“Thomas!” he shouted. “Abandon the rigging and come topside at once!” He had to repeat the order three times, each time his voice growing more hoarse from the strain. At last he was rewarded by a faint shout from above, and moments later a soaked Thomas Greer dropped down beside them. Smitty gestured toward where Drake lay beside a white-faced Alexandria. Thomas needed no explanation. He moved with Smitty beside their captain. Slowly they lifted him, being careful not to touch his injured head.

Smitty turned to Alex. Left alone on deck, she was in danger, but there was nothing he could do. Thomas could not manage Drake’s large body alone. And while the blow to Drake’s head did not appear to be fatal, he had lost blood and the swelling was worsening. He needed the attention of the ship’s surgeon.

“My lady,” Smitty called to her, “I will send the men from below to assist you.”

“No!” Alex shouted back. “I am going with you. I’ll be fine, Smitty.” Her frightened gaze returned to Drake. “He’s lost so much blood.”

Smitty saw no point in arguing with her, for he knew he would lose, and they had no time to waste. He merely nodded and returned his attention to the delicate process of getting Drake below.

Their progress was slow. As soon as the steps were in sight Smitty ordered Cochran, Jamison, and Mannings to go topside and man the helm. This done, he and Thomas half carried, half dragged Drake to the captain’s cabin and eased him down on the bed.

Smitty turned to Alex. “My lady, can you locate the ship’s surgeon?”

“Of course.” She made her way to the officers’ quarters, where she found John Billings preparing his medical supplies. When he heard that the captain required his attention, he immediately accompanied Alex to Drake’s cabin.

Smitty and Thomas had stripped Drake of his sodden clothing and covered him with warm blankets. Billings set down his tools and performed a cursory examination. Moments later he turned to the room’s occupants and frowned.

“It is most definitely a concussion,” he determined, looking up at Smitty’s anxious face. “The wound will need stitching, then cold compresses for the swelling.” At his words Drake shifted slightly and moaned.

“I would prefer to stitch the wound before he is fully awake, to spare him the pain.” Billings glanced over at Alex, who stood in the doorway, listening. “I would ask that all of you leave, except Smitty. I need Smitty to remain, should the captain awaken and need to be restrained.”

Drake moaned again, tossing his head on the pillow, then groaning in agony at the pain that movement caused. His eyes opened, dazed and unfocused. Clearly he was not fully conscious. “Alexandria,” he whispered, frowning as he said her name. “Alexandria.”

The surgeon raised surprised brows and turned toward Alex.

“He is calling for you.”

Alex went forward and leaned over Drake’s supine form. “I’m here, Drake,” she answered softly, stroking his face.

Her voice seemed to soothe him, for he immediately relaxed, the frown disappearing. Alex raised her face to meet Billings’s curious gaze. She was beyond caring what people thought.

“Let me stay,” she asked. “Please.”

Billings glanced down at Drake and considered. Then he shook his head. “The stitching of a wound is not easy to watch, my lady,” he told her.

Alex stood, hands on her hips. “I am not squeamish, Doctor,” she began. “Therefore …”

The decision was taken from them. The moment Alex lifted her hand from Drake’s face he began to thrash about.

“Alexandria!” He called her name again in an anguished voice that tore at Alex’s heart.

She did not wait for permission, but sank down on the floor beside the bed.