Andrea Kane (22 page)

The men were already finished reloading, and Alex heard them muttering among themselves.

“I dunno what the ’ell ’appened,” Cochran said, shaking his head. “That shot should ’ave ’it ’em.”

“Mine, too,” Jamison agreed, realigning the muzzle of his gun. He drew in a deep, nervous breath. “We’ve got to get ’em next time.”

But they didn’t. Not the next time or the next. The two ships moved in a zigzag pattern down the narrow river, their paths at times seeming to intersect, then move apart, giving each vessel ample opportunity to attack. Despite Drake’s success at moving closer just prior to firing, the crew’s volleys landed time and again far short of their mark, while the Americans had already destroyed
La Belle’s
jib and fore-royal sails.

Alex swallowed and eyed the shattered sails. Thank God they were small, inconsequential ones. But how much longer could Drake’s clever handling at the helm hold up against the warship’s tremendous power?

Thomas Greer gasped, raw fear in his eyes. “That was me last cartridge.” He stepped hesitantly away from his gun. “I’ll ‘ave to get more from the ‘old.”

“We ’aven’t time,” Jamison shot back.

“Well, what the ’ell are we goin’ t’ do without ammunition?”

“I’ll get the cartridges.”

The men spun about at Alex’s firmly delivered words. She could see the indecision on their faces, but then it was too late. Cannon fire exploded again, a chain shot piercing the main topgallant, causing the ship to roll precariously. The men steadied themselves, turning back to their guns.

“Aim for their rigging and try to slow them down!” Drake commanded. He gripped the wheel tightly in frustration. Something was wrong. He knew it. “Fire, now!” he ordered.

The roar of cannon fire filled the sky, but when the air cleared, he saw that the other ship had remained unscathed.

The balls had once again fallen short of their mark. The men were frantic. Alex waited no longer, but ran over to the hold.

“Mannings!” she called down. “I need those cartridges,
now!”

She saw his stunned face below her, as well as the pile of powder-filled cartridges beside him. He hesitated.

“Now,
Mannings!” Was that authoritative voice really hers?

Apparently, it was, for Mannings immediately began to pass the packets up to her.

She ran back and forth, piling them up beside the desperate men. On the quarterdeck Smitty turned, then paled as he saw what Alex was doing.

Drake heard Smitty’s low, inadvertent gasp and turned his head, following Smitty’s gaze. He froze with an outrage born of stark terror.

“Dear God …” he breathed. “What the hell is she doing?”

“Captain, they’re about to fire again!” Smitty interrupted, seeing the larger ship pulling along their larboard side.

As he spoke, the balls were released, flying purposely toward
La Belle Illusion.
Water erupted all around them, and with a surge of panic Drake saw one ball fly just beyond where Alex stood, striking the fore-topsail and shattering it.

Alex screamed, clutching a wooden beam for support, realizing how close she had come to dying.

“That sail ’as to be changed or we’ve ’ad it,” Jamison groaned.

“I’ll change the sails,” Thomas called out.

He was never given the chance. Another explosion of cannon fire rang out, and seconds later the sickening sound of splintering wood pierced the air as
La Belle Illusion’s
mainmast disintegrated all around them. Drake shielded his eyes from the slivers of wood cascading into the water.

Smitty gave Drake a grim look. “We’re in trouble, Captain. We’re not going anywhere without that mast.”

The Americans seemed to know that, too, for seconds later another round of fire, aimed much lower, was released. The crash was deafening, and
La Belle
pitched violently, propelling all those on deck against the rail.

“Cap’n! We’ve been ’it!” Mannings’s frightened voice came from below. “We’re takin’ on water!”

Drake had known immediately that the hull had been hit, but Mannings’s words still caused a sharp pain in his gut.

“Can it be plugged?” he shouted.

“No way, Cap’n. They’ve ripped out our ’ole larboard side!”

Drake closed his eyes for a split second, calling up his strength for what was to follow.

There was never a question of whether to fight. His crew was badly outnumbered. They would be slaughtered in hand-to-hand combat. And their lives were more important than anything else. Theirs and his wife’s.

The Canadian shore lay just ahead. The currents were strong, but they could make it in the lifeboats. They had to make it.

He turned toward the tense faces of his men. “Abandon ship, men,” he ordered, his own expression tormented. “We can make it to the Canadian shore in the boats before they board us.” He drew in a shaken breath. “Now!”

The men took off to ready the boats. Drake turned to Smitty. “I want Alexandria off on the first longboat,” he told him. “I don’t care if she screams and kicks all the way down. Get her on that boat!”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And I want you with her, Smitty, to keep her safe.” He shook his head sharply at Smitty’s protest. “I’ll stay behind and evacuate the crew.” He put his hand on his first mate’s shoulder. “I would prefer it to be a personal favor … but if I need to, I will make it an order, my friend.”

Smitty’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “I will see to it, Captain.”

“Thank you.”

Without another word Drake turned to help the men ready the lifeboats. Alex worked her way along the lame ship until she reached his side.

“You are leaving on the first boat,” he said without looking at her.

“Drake, no … I want to stay here with you.”

“I don’t give a damn what you want, Alexandria.” He stood glaring at her, but she saw the agony in his eyes. All around them men called out to one another, their voices tense, their faces ashen, as the boats were lowered into the water.

“I am staying,” she announced.

“Over my dead body.” His tone was lethal. “You are going if I have to heave you over the side myself. This isn’t a game, wife. Any minute the American crew is going to board this ship and try to kill us all.” He cast a worried look at the enemy vessel beside them, wondering why they hadn’t yet begun to throw their grapplings on board to lock the two ships together. They had certainly had ample time. Perhaps they didn’t know how severe the damage was they had inflicted …

Drake had barely completed the thought, when a final explosion thundered through the heavens, destroying
La Belle’s
remaining rigging and striking the foremast.

The crippled foremast shuddered as the stays snapped, swinging its boom forward wildly. Drake saw it happen and let out a choked warning, but it was too late. Alex saw the terror in his eyes as he leapt toward her. Before she could turn around, she felt the impact of the boom as it grazed the back of her head, propelling her over the side of the ship. And then the waters closed over her, carrying her down to certain death.

Drake was at the railing before she hit the water.

“Smitty!” he screamed. “Get the men off the ship! I’m going after her!”

He didn’t wait for Smitty’s answer, but dived over the side of the ship, cutting cleanly into the river at the spot where he had seen his wife disappear. He scanned the river for Alex, fighting the swift currents that threatened to overtake him. How could his tiny wife hope to survive?

Alex was wondering that as well. Dazed by the blow to her head, she struggled to come to the surface. An excellent swimmer, she was nonetheless weighed down by her gown and petticoat. She kicked frantically, trying to counter their effect. Her lungs were bursting for air, her heart pounding from exertion. Just when she thought she had lost, she broke the surface of the water.

Gasping in air, she screamed Drake’s name. She could see
La Belle Illusion,
now farther away, slowly sinking. Beside the mutilated ship, Alex could make out the lifeboats, as the men abandoned the doomed vessel. She called for Drake again, splashing wildly as she tried to save herself, hurting at the sight of the proud ship that was now nearly submerged in the Saint Lawrence.

Drake saw it, too. But the pain he felt at seeing his beloved ship go down was overshadowed by the joy that surged within him as he heard Alex call his name, saw the splash of color in the water that was his wife.

“Alex!” he screamed back, waving frantically at her. “Hold on, love. I’m coming!”

His words, his presence, made her heart soar.

Her elation was short-lived. The currents swept her up, dragging her downriver. Her head throbbed beyond endurance, and she searched frantically for something to cling to.

It found her.

A tiny island of rock jutted just out into the water. For the second time Alex felt the impact of something solid striking her head.

And then she felt nothing at all.

H
E SAW HER GO
down.

Drake felt his heart lurch as Alex crashed into the sharp edge of rock and disappeared from view. He was but fifty feet away. With long, powerful strokes he reached the spot where she had been. He combatted the force of the river and dived beneath the surface.

Thank God for the bright color of her gown. With a strength born of fear Drake reached her side and pulled her limp form against him. It took three or four hard kicks until he had broken the surface. He gulped in air and forced Alex’s head above water.

“Alex!” His voice shook. “Damn it, Alex, answer me!”

She did not.

But against his strong forearm Drake could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest that told him she was breathing. She had been under water for only a few seconds, so she could not have taken in much water.

Satisfied that his wife was alive, Drake turned his attention toward reaching safety. A quick look told him that the lifeboats were no longer an option. They were too far off, close to the Canadian shore. The men would never hear his yell.

In the middle of the river
La Belle Illusion
was disappearing from view, as graceful in death as she had been in life. The American ship had deserted the scene, victoriously returning home. Apparently they were satisfied with the sinking of their English nemesis together with her valuable cargo. Possibly merchantmen were not nearly such sought-after prisoners as military men. Or perhaps the Americans believed the crew of
La Belle
to be dead, unable to survive the fatal onslaught. Whichever the case, the battle was over and
La Belle Illusion
was gone.

This was no time to dwell on what had been lost. Drake scanned their surroundings, holding Alex securely with one arm and struggling to stay afloat with the other. The Canadian shore was far off in the distance. Considering Alex’s depleted condition and his own deteriorating strength, swimming there would be impossible. They were, in fact, too close to the American shore for Drake’s peace of mind. There had to be another alternative.

He found it. Just behind them began a sprinkling of the small green dots of land that were scattered throughout the Saint Lawrence.

Those glorious islands that Drake had shown to Alex on their trip to York, the Thousand Islands, known for their lush foliage and exquisite greenery, beckoned to them. To Drake they meant salvation.

He wrapped his arm more tightly about Alex beneath her arms, forcing her head to remain above water. With one savage motion of his other hand he tore her petticoat and the skirt of her waterlogged gown from her body, eliminating the additional weight that hindered them. Then he assessed the islands within swimming distance, contemplating his options. Just off to the west was the answer to Drake’s prayers. A tiny island tucked away in utter solitude. Determined, he set out for the haven it promised.

After what seemed like an eternity, Drake dragged himself and a still-unconscious Alexandria onto the golden shore of the island. He crawled onto the sand and collapsed, gasping, as he lay beside his oh-so-still wife. He felt the rough texture of the sand against his face, grateful to be alive. He was exhausted, utterly spent, but he would not succumb to the allure of sleep. Not until he knew Alex was all right.

Drake rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow, staring down anxiously into Alex’s face. He had been watching her for hours. Evening had long since fallen, but the June night was still filled with lingering rays of sunlight, enabling him to see her clearly. She was so still, so frighteningly pale, with a huge gash on her forehead that would no doubt swell and bruise, and another swelling on the back of her head where the boom had grazed her. Just how serious the injuries were, Drake could not be certain. Nor would he be until she awakened.

Tenderly he smoothed the wet strands of hair from her delicate face. He stroked her cheek, which felt cold to his touch. To reassure himself he lifted her wrist and pressed his fingers to it. The pulse was there—faint, a little erratic, but there. He moved closer, pressing himself against her side and wrapping his arms tightly around her for warmth. He would hold her all night if need be, infuse her with his strength, but damn it, she would live. She had to live.

And then Drake did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy.

He prayed.

It was after dawn before his prayers were answered.

Alex’s first thought upon awakening was that she had died and gone to heaven. The sky above her was brightening to an intense shade of blue, and towering trees filled with plush green leaves rose all around her. The rhythmic sound of flapping wings heralded the appearance of graceful birds that soared about, and the smell of deep grasses and lush, aromatic flowers teased her nose.

She turned her head and abruptly decided that this could not be heaven, after all. Knives shot through her skull, making her moan and close her eyes to block out the pain. Her body felt weak, drained, her limbs too heavy to move. What was wrong with her and where was she?

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Drake’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Everything is fine now. Open your eyes, princess, please.”