Bound by the Heart (12 page)

"There you are. Thorny sent me to fetch you . . .
Summer?" His jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

"I'm getting off this ship!" she cried.
"I'm getting off it here and now, and if you don't want to come with me,
that's fine, but I won't stay on board another minute."

"What happened! There's blood all over your
cheek!"

"Just a friendly attempt," Summer hissed,
"by your fine captain's crewmate to become a little friendlier."

Michael gasped. "Did he hurt you? Who was it? I
shall tell the captain, and he—"

"No!" Summer cried, and tears filled her
eyes. "No, Michael. The captain won't do a blessed thing. Do you honestly
think he'd take the side of one of us against one of his own men?"

"But he would have to believe you."

"Michael," Summer grasped his shoulders,
"are you coming with me or not?"

His face twisted with indecision. "Yes," he
whispered, "yes, of course I'm coming with you. But we have to hurry. The
cargo is all transferred, and they're getting ready to try to sail out of this
beastly channel."

"Quickly then," she urged and took his hand.
"Is there a gangway off one of the lower decks somewhere?"

"Off the gun deck," he murmured, frightened
almost as much by the unnatural brightness in her eyes as by the prospect of
stepping into the ocean again.

"Do you think you can make the swim?" she
asked, knowing the reason for his fear. "The water is calm, and it's only
a couple of hundred yards. I'll be right there to help you."

"I can make it," he said determinedly. He
led the way along the narrow passage and up the ladder to the gun deck. They
both paused at the top of the hatch, staring at the double row of long guns
that made up the
Chimera's
main battery. Each monster was eight feet long and was
capable of hurling twenty-four pounds of solid iron more than a thousand yards
with deadly precision, further if the gunners counted on luck. Here the
planking in the outer hull was four feet thick, the air reeked of iron and old
gunpowder, and the deck underfoot, although scrubbed regularly with soapstones
and varnished often, bore the dark stains of past battles.

"There," Michael whispered, pointing to a
wooden hatch. It was raised by means of a pulley and opened onto a railed
platform that jutted out from the
Chimera's
side. Beneath it, running all the way to the
waterline, were wood slats which formed the rungs of the gangway ladder.

The water directly below them was dark blue and
slapped gently against the hull of the ship. Further out it became silvery as
the last glare from the sun reflected off its surface. With any luck at all, anyone
glancing off the side would not be able to distinguish two extra bobbing dots
from the dark caps of the waves.

"Let's go," she murmured and stepped out
onto the platform. It would have been an easy dive of fifteen feet, but the
noise would have drawn attention. Summer used the rungs, pausing to guide
Michael's feet after her, and in a few moments felt the cold water of the
channel swallow her feet, her knees, her thighs, her shoulders.

She waited for Michael to adjust to the shock and
kicked off strongly from the side. They were dwarfed beside the huge frigate,
and for the first time Summer felt a pang of doubt as to the wisdom of what she
was doing. She pushed it resolutely to the back of her mind, needing only to
think of the sailor in the storeroom to bolster her courage.

Fifty yards out they were in a direct line with the
blazing glare of the sun as it dipped toward the horizon. Summer dared not look
back. She forced herself to stroke slowly and cleanly, to listen to Michael and
gauge her speed to his. She stopped now and then to tread water, waiting for
her brother to catch up. He seemed to be struggling after only a third of the
way, and she realized he must have been working hard on the deck all day long
to prove his manliness to Wade's crew. He was gasping as he churned the water
laboriously beside her, obviously straining to keep abreast.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Are
you feeling any cramps?"

"No," he gasped and coughed out a mouthful
of seawater. "No, I can make it."

"We'll go slower. We'll stop every ten strokes,
okay?"

"Yes," he coughed, "ten."

She reached out again, watching Michael closely as he
desperately kicked after her. She had not gone even five strokes when she heard
him gag and shrill her name . . . and at the same time she heard a loud,
continuous clanging of the
Chimera's
alarm bell mustering the crew to gun stations.

Chapter 7

Captain Morgan Wade
was disgusted. At himself, at the leak in the hull, at
the sun for dropping faster in the sky than it normally did. He would have
liked another twelve hours to complete the temporary repair on his ship, but he
could not risk it. Not when the only warning of danger would be seeing the
sails of an enemy ship slide around the tip of one of the islands. He had
recalled the men in the dinghies. The last of the cargo was ashore and
camouflaged; the winch was manned and ready to haul the anchor aboard.

He would have to limp as best he could to Bounty Key
and pray not to meet with any hostile vessels in the next six hours. He had the
darkness, and that was good. The
Chimera
would respond. Sluggishly to be sure, but she would
respond. The leaking was under control, and the pumps were keeping a steady
level of water. All he needed was six unmolested hours.

He glared down at his scratched and bleeding hands. He
and Mr. Monday had pried and torn at the ravaged copper sheathing to bare the
timbers and find what was causing the leak. A large chunk of coral had slashed
into the
Chimera's
hull
when they had been blown up against a reef during the storm. The Frenchmen who
had assisted them at Saint Martin had supplied them with inferior
materials—deliberately, he wondered?—and it had given with the strong currents
leading to the mouth of the channel.

Wade's frown smoothed suddenly when he saw Thorny
emerge from the shadows of the crew's quarters. The arm must have been a brand
of fire all day, judging by the way it was cradled against the old sailor's
ribs, but it would be a cold day in hell indeed before he would complain.

"Well?"

"Cain't find 'em. Lad wanted ter show yer 'ow
good ee is at setting the fore's, but I cain't find 'im nowhere. Looked fore.
Looked aft. Even looked down the 'oles in the beak'eads case they fell in, but
there ain't no sign o' them. N'owt less'n ye count this."

He held out a long, thin length of red silk ribbon.
Wade stared at it, and his hands tensed on the deck rail. "Where did you
find it?"

"One o' the men give it ter me. Ee found it in a
storeroom for'ard o' the 'old where she was 'elpin out."

"Who else was down there?" Wade asked, his
eyes narrowing to blue slits.

"Tim-boy, Pow'll. . . the new man, Beavis. First
two seen 'er by the step one minute, gone the next." "And
Beavis?"

Thorny thrust out his jaw. "Sent two o' the lads
ter fetch 'im. Aye, 'ere they come . . . jaysus."

Morgan Wade's face blackened like a gathering storm
cloud. The man, Beavis, was struggling as he was led by two of his mates up the
quarterdeck toward the bridge. He had signed on a month ago in Aruba and was
not one of the regular crew. He saw the captain and his jaw sagged; a jaw
covered with spidery runnels of fresh scratch marks. Wade noted them, noted the
shifty, darting eyes, and his voice came out low and ominous.

"Where is she?"

The man licked his lips. "I dunno what you're
talkin' about. Where's who?"

Wade advanced on him, flexing his hands into fists.
"I am not a patient man, Beavis, and I rarely ask the same question
twice."

The two men holding Beavis tightened their grips as he
snarled and jerked back.

"I ain't done nothin' wrong! Ain't done nothin'
nobody else ain't wanted to do since she come on board. The bitch was askin'
for it, I tell you. She was waggin' it all around the hold, and—"

Wade's fist smashed into the undefended jaw, snapping
the burly head backward. He felt and heard the crunch as several teeth broke.

"Where is she?"

"I
didn't
do nothin'! I swear I didn't do nothin'!" Blood and bits of teeth
spluttered onto the man's chin. "She wanted me to, begged me to, but I know'd
you wouldn't like it so—"

Wade swung again, this time burying his fist in the
man's belly. Beavis doubled in two, meeting Wade's knee squarely as it crushed
his nose into bleeding pulp. He screamed and tried to wrench away, but Wade's
next blow—a cutting right to the man's jaw—knocked him nearly senseless.

"Mr. Thorntree!"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Put this man in the shrouds. Spread-eagled and
stripped the way Mr Monday likes them. We'll start him off with fifty lashes to
see if it loosens his tongue."

"Aye, Cap'n," Thorny nodded grimly and
signaled to the men holding Beavis. The order was interrupted, however, by an
urgent shout from high up on the mizzenmast.

"Sails, Captain!”

Wade's dark head jerked up. The lookout was thrusting
a knotted fist to the eastern exit of the channel. There, seen only as a ghost
of an outline in the eerie light, were the sails of an approaching ship.

Thorny was by Wade's side in a flash. "Who the
'ell might that be, d'ye suppose?"

Wade called for a spyglass and mounted the bridge.

"D'ye t'ink she's seen us?"

"She's seen us," Wade snarled, holding the
glass to his eye. "We're standing on the horizon like a bloody
silhouette."

"Colors?"

"None yet."

"How far?" Mr. Monday asked, joining Wade on
the bridge.

"An hour. Less if she has the wind." The
blue eyes glittered, and he sucked in a deep breath. "And by God she does.
She's running up more sail! Sound the alarm. I want the decks cleared and the
crew standing by. I don't know who she is, but I have no intention of inviting
her aboard."

"Aye, Cap-tan. Shot?"

"Double and round, but wait until we see how she
blows before you give the order to load."

"Aye."

"Mr. Phillips!"

The second mate stepped forward eagerly.
"Sir?"

"I want every scrap of canvas on that she'll
hold. And get that deck cleared . . .
now!”

"Aye, sir!"

"Oh, me bluddy sweet jaysus," Thorny
muttered.

"What is it?" Wade demanded, his voice
rising over the sound of the insistent, clanging bell.

Thorny lowered the spyglass. "In the drink,
Cap'n. Over yon.
 
Two o' them—the lass
an' the lad."

"What!"
Wade followed Thorny's
outstretched finger and did not need the spyglass to see the two bobbing heads,
one surrounded by a halo of yellow hair. "By all that's holy—"

He raised the glass and swung to mark the progress of
the approaching ship.

"A boat, Cap'n?"

"There's no time!"

Thorny's eyes bulged from their sockets. "Ye
ain't just goin' ter leave 'em in there, are ye, Cap'n? The currents—"

"Mr. Phillips!" Wade shouted furiously.
"Get this ship under way!"

He flung the glass into Thorny's hands and vaulted
over the bulwark, landing catlike on the deck below. He ran for the rail,
cleared it, and plunged into the channel water, breaking into a powerful front
crawl before he was fully afloat. Ahead of him he saw the girl struggling to
keep Michael's head above the rippling water. Another two, three yards and they
would be in the rip current, an incredibly strong undertow that divided the two
sandbars. She was in trouble even now. The boy was panicking and thrashing his
arms and legs in all directions. The water was swirling over her head, and she
was being blinded and choked by her own hair.

Wade reached the two of them just as Summer's arm
slipped from Michael's shoulders. Her mouth filled with water, and she was
sucked under by the current, her head reeling from a blow from Michael's fists.
Wade had to dive to catch her. He hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her
back to the surface against the tremendous pull of the water. He draped her
ice-cold hands and arms over his shoulders and tilted her head upward so that
she could cough the water out of her mouth.

"Hold on to me! Do you hear me, dammit? Hold on
to me or I'll have to leave you here!"

The gray eyes fluttered open and focused on Wade's
face.

"You're going to have to hold on to me," he
repeated urgently. "Can you do it? Can you tighten your arms around
me?"

She coughed and nodded, and her arms quivered feebly
as she leaned on his shoulder. He started kicking back for the
Chimera,
with Michael supported by one
arm and Summer clinging to his back. He had covered only a few yards when the
gleaming black head of Mr. Monday appeared by his side, and the chief mate took
hold of Michael.

Half-a-dozen helpful hands were waiting to take
Michael and Summer up on deck. Wade came up the rope ladder a pace behind them,
his great body shaking off the water as he shouted orders to the crew. The
Chimera
was beginning to glide forward
as the first of her sails filled in the erratic breeze.

"Steerage, Mr. Phillips! Hold that rudder fast!
Get those bloody sails rigged or we'll be up to our throats in coral!
Thorny—take these two down below and lock them in a forward storeroom. See they
stay put if you have to tie them hand and foot!"

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Mr. Phillips lowered the spyglass as Wade mounted the
bridge. "She's a second rating, sir. Fifty-two guns if she's a one.
Full-rigged for speed and coming on us fast."

"Colors?"

"She's showing the Union Jack, sir."

"The
Northgate?"
Wade blinked the salt water
out of his eyes and swept the horizon with the spyglass. "It would have to
be. She's the only fifty-two-gun in the area."

"But the
Northgate
is a warship, Captain. Her commander has no grounds to
attack us."

"Care to tell him that, Mr. Phillips?" Wade
murmured dryly.

The young second mate looked out past the channel
again. "He won't have the light much longer, sir. What do you suppose he
is after?"

Wade lowered the glass. "He's coming straight on,
so he's not shy."

"He's going to come through the reef?"
Phillips's eyes widened. "At night?"

"The British Navy is plagued with fools, Mr.
Phillips. They don't consider a chase sporting unless they fly it by the skin
of their backsides."

"Yes, sir. Shall we take evasive action,
sir?"

Morgan was studying the warship. She was coming on
with amazing speed while the
Chimera
was barely moving. "There is nothing we can do
until we clear this blasted channel. On the other hand, he has a choice: He can
try for the strait and use his speed to catch us, or he can—
by Christ!"
The spyglass shot up again.
"He's tacking for position! The bastard is going to lay a broadside on us
and hope to take us where we stand.
Monday!"

He did not wait for a response. He leaped down the
ladderway and headed for the stern, noting as he went that his men were
standing anxiously silent by the cannon. Thorny darted out from the afterhatch
in his crablike step and followed a few paces behind the captain.

"He'll aim high," Wade shouted for the
benefit of his men. "He'll be going for the sails and rigging. Monday—how
do we stand?"

"Crew is ready, Cap-tan, but we doan' have
position. We got free, maybe four gun we can use."

"Damn," Wade muttered and stood at the rail.
His hands grasped the polished oak, and his eyes blazed furiously as he watched
the British frigate pull sharply to port. There was nothing he could do. The
islands sliced the wind currents to pieces, and even with every sail furled,
the
Chimera
was
laboring to maintain a slow drag. There was not enough leeway to maneuver. The
four swivel guns he had mounted on the stern rails were six-pounders and not
worth a bucket of spit at this distance. He had no option but to hold steady
and pray the techniques of the British Navy had not changed over the past dozen
years.

"Here it comes, lads," he said quietly,
seeing that the frigate had completed her turn. A score of tiny white puffs of
smoke blossomed from her gunports, followed seconds later by a staccato of deep
bellowing booms. Wade barely flinched as the shots whistled by. He heard one
tear through the upper royals, but for the most part they fell harmlessly into
the water, sending up fountains of spray.

"The bluddy fool done it," Thorny gasped.
"Ee opened fire!"

"Aye, and he has a feel for the range now,"
Wade reasoned. "This next round will be hotter. He'll have to make it
count before he swings too far astern . . .
damn!"

Another eruption of smoke poured through the gunports,
and this time the
Northgate
fired from both decks. Wade braced himself
instinctively as the spouts of water shot up all around the hull of the
Chimera,
dumping spray onto her decks.
He heard a terrible screech and cracking of timber and several more hot
whistles as the iron shot tore through the sails.

Wade glanced to either side of the
Chimera.
There were fifty yards or more
to go before he could order a reply. They were through the channel, but there
was still the outlying reef to juggle past. . . just a little more speed
...
a little more wind . . .

"Mr. Monday, have every gun on the starboard side
ready when we take the turn. Double shot them. You'll have ten seconds, no
more, to let loose a clear volley."

"Ten is good, Cap-tan." His chief mate
grinned. "Damn good."

The thunder of the
Northgate's
third volley ripped across the
Chimera's
stern,
setting the masts, the rails, the decks underfoot to quaking. There were
screams now and a call to tend the fires that were starting from the burning
shreds of canvas that floated down over the deck. A crewman lost his footing on
the mainsail yard as the lower spar was shot out from under him. For one
sickening moment he appeared bound for a crushing blow up against the spiked
mast, but he fumbled free and managed to fling his arms around a taut line.