Love's Rescue (4 page)

The way she’d left her brother. Never again would she turn away from family in need.

“We’ll get out of here,” she added, though with the door jammed shut she didn’t know exactly how.

As if in answer, silvery moonlight streamed through the window overhead, revealing the extent of their difficulties. Aunt Virginia’s small trunk was now partially underwater, as was the bottom portion of the door. At this rate, the cabin would fill within the hour. The passageway outside must be halfway submerged. If help didn’t arrive soon, their only avenue of escape was the window overhead.

The slap of waves and scraping of the reef continued for long, agonizing seconds while Elizabeth considered the window. Aunt Virginia would never fit through it, but Anabelle could. Then she could send one of the crew with an ax to hack open the door. But first Anabelle needed something to stand on so she could climb out the window.

Elizabeth tugged on the desk. It must have been hammered into the wall, for it didn’t budge. She considered the options. Perhaps a drawer would give enough of a boost. The bottom one opened easily. Elizabeth tested its soundness with first one foot and then the other. This would work.

She reached for the window.

At that instant, a large wave hit the hull, and the drawer slid from underfoot, spilling its contents all over the floor. Elizabeth grabbed the window frame and managed to hold on. Aunt Virginia screamed. Anabelle consoled her. With a shudder, the entire room tipped backward. Elizabeth lost her grip and fell onto her backside. She grabbed the desk.

Then everything stopped.

Elizabeth gulped in air. Her hands ached. Her limbs trembled. “Is everyone all right?”

Aunt Virginia and Anabelle gave quiet confirmations.

Slowly Elizabeth got to her knees. Then, in the flicker of moonlight, she saw something glitter inside the hole where the drawer had been. Elizabeth felt around until she could grab it. The object was cold and hard and round in shape. She opened her fingers. In the moonlight she could see the fire of gems and the warmth of gold shaped into a delicate filigreed brooch.

What was that doing inside the first mate’s desk?

A knock sounded on the cabin door. The mate?

After several shuddering thuds, the door scraped open. “Ma’am? Miss? You all need to go topside right now.” The lantern revealed the wild-eyed visage of a deckhand.

Not the first mate. Elizabeth slipped the brooch into her watch pocket. She’d get it to him later, once everyone reached safety.

Guided by the moon, Rourke crossed Hawk Channel, safely traversed the reef, and neared the foundered schooner. The seas battered her larboard side, which rose high above the water. The starboard had clearly holed, for it was sunk. A goodly number of men clung to the bulwarks between the forecastle and the great cabin aft. A single lantern illuminated their plight. From what Rourke could see, they’d launched the ship’s boat and were preparing to abandon ship. He counted quickly. Appeared to be a full complement.

The heaviness in his gut lightened.

“Glory be,” John said, a smile easing onto his face. “Dey be safe.”

Rourke could have echoed those words. He ordered the helmsman to keep the
Windsprite
well off the schooner. Usually he came alongside in the lee, but the schooner’s position made that impossible. The reef jutted nearly to the surface alee of the wreck. He’d keep his distance and take his boat across to the wrecked vessel.

A large swell crashed over the
Windsprite
’s bow, and the helmsman lost her to starboard. The next wave drove her parallel to the wreck—and the reef. One more and they’d find themselves on top of the wrecked schooner.

“Bring her into the wind,” Rourke yelled.

The wild-eyed helmsman struggled to bring the
Windsprite
about, but the force of the seas was too much for one man. Rourke joined the effort, and together they brought her into the wind and out of danger.

“Drop anchor,” he ordered.

Only after his men had set anchor fore and aft could Rourke turn his attention to the schooner.

“Lower the boat!” Rourke fingered the license in his pocket, which he would produce as proof he could complete the job. Masters usually insisted they did not require assistance. This one could not, or he was a fool. He could, however, ask Rourke to tow the wreck off the reef in the hope it would float. The
Windsprite
’s boat was already equipped to bring the necessary lines for such an operation.

Rourke flung one leg over the bulwark and reached for the rope ladder to descend to his boat, but he paused when he noticed the schooner’s boat heading for the
Windsprite
. Two oarsmen flanked the master and another officer, likely a mate or pilot. If the master was coming to him, the man must have accepted his need for assistance. That made Rourke’s task easier.

After Rourke’s crew secured the schooner’s boat alongside, the white-haired master climbed aboard, followed by a fussy gentleman that Rourke instantly recognized as the most worthless pilot in Key West. The man—Poppinclerk by name—had the gall to brush at his wool coat as if the
Windsprite
had dirtied it. No wonder the ship had foundered. Rourke fisted his hands. If any lives were lost due to that dandy’s incompetence, Rourke would pound the man so far out of Key West that he’d never set foot on the island again.

The master approached. “Captain Cross of the schooner
Victory
out of Charleston. Are you a wrecker?”

“I am.” Rourke introduced himself and presented his license. His pulse accelerated. A ship out of Charleston could be hauling valuable tobacco.

John held up a lantern, and the master gave the wrecking license a cursory glance. Procedure dictated Rourke ask what services the master required. He scanned the horizon for any sign of other wrecking vessels. It wouldn’t take long before the first arrived.

“Do you want us to haul your vessel off the reef?”

“Name your terms,” Captain Cross said briskly.

“Flat fee if we can float her. Salvage rights if not.” Standard procedure.

“She’s fast aground and taking on water.” Cross rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Try floating her first.”

That was no surprise. Masters hated turning over their vessels to salvagers. “The cargo?”

“Mostly rice and raw muslin bound for Havana.”

Rourke fought disappointment. If the vessel was bilged like he suspected, he didn’t stand to make much of an award. This cargo and its destination pointed to goods intended for slave consumption. That meant poor quality. Even though the cloth could be salvaged, salt water would ruin the rice. He would make almost nothing off salvage.

“If you can’t float her,” the captain added, “we’ll need passage for our crew and passengers.”

“Passengers?” That snapped Rourke from his calculations. “How many?”

“Two. Both women.”

Women! That would make the rescue more difficult, for women usually did not handle adversity well. Some swooned. Some succumbed to hysterics. Others appeared calm but slipped
climbing into or out of the ship’s boat. Women often had offspring with them. “Any children?”

Poppinclerk, who’d stood near during the negotiations, absently polished a gilt button with his handkerchief. “Not unless you count the darkie wench.”

Rourke held his tongue at the derogatory term. A tongue-lashing would be lost on Poppinclerk. Instead, he focused on the master. “Then there are three passengers.”

“Two ladies and a Negro,” Cross confirmed.

“From Charleston?”

Cross nodded.

John’s eyes widened.

Rourke shook his head. A city the size of Charleston boasted thousands of women, any of whom might book passage on a schooner. Moreover, Miss Benjamin would not be bound for Havana, and Cross had not indicated a planned stop in Key West.

John would not let it go. “Dis Negro, what her name?”

The master shrugged. “How would I know? She belongs to Miss Benjamin.”

Rourke choked.

They both knew what that meant.

John looked ready to leap over the side of the
Windsprite
regardless of the heaving seas. Rourke grabbed his arm, even though the same desire thundered in his ears.

Elizabeth was on that ship. He’d expected her to return after her mother’s death, but when the months passed without so much as a rumor of her return, he’d given up hope. “Miss Elizabeth Benjamin?” He held his breath.

Cross looked surprised. “You know her?”

Rourke more than knew Elizabeth Benjamin. He’d spent the last four years dreaming of her soft skin, sun-kissed hair, and
deep blue eyes. Whenever he smelled jasmine, he looked for her and was always disappointed. He painfully recalled the day she’d left Key West without a word. But most of all he remembered with absolute clarity the moment when he’d realized that the girl he’d teased for years had grown into a woman he would never forget.

H
e’d appeared out of the mists, like a specter, but Elizabeth knew at once that it was Rourke. The breadth of his shoulders, the cut of his waist, the commanding presence. He’d come for her—for them.

She lifted her arm into the howling winds and called his name.

That moment of incaution cost her. The tempest ripped her from the fragment of roof. She reached for the jagged corner. Missed. Tried again. Her fingertips grazed the edge before the surging water pulled her away from her brother.

“Charlie!” Her cry flew away on the gale.

She clawed at the earth bumping along beneath her and grasped only gravel.

The water was coming up too quickly. Soon it would cover Charlie. Rourke was too far away. She alone could save him.

With her last ounce of strength, she fought the surging sea. One foot found solid ground. The second followed. She tried to stand, but the flood knocked her down and carried her farther from the warehouse. Her next gasp for air brought only water. She coughed and choked while the seas tumbled her farther and farther away.

Then strong arms caught her. She lifted salt-stung eyes. He would save her. He would save them. His hair whipped in the wind, lashing her cheek. He knelt beside her and cradled her to his chest. Then he lifted her from the waters and headed away from the waterfront and away from her brother.

“Charlie!” She pounded on his chest. She pointed. She had to make him return.

But he carried her in the opposite direction. Helpless, she watched her brother’s prostrate form vanish in the mist.

“Bring my trunk,” Aunt Virginia demanded, pulling Elizabeth from her past.

The harried seaman standing in the doorway made no move to obey.

“Over there,” Aunt insisted. “The small one.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but the wreckers’ll get it.”

“Wreckers are here?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes’m.”

Her spine tingled. Could it be Rourke? Like all wreckers, he patrolled the reef, but he was only one of dozens. Most likely it would be someone else, someone who didn’t torment her thoughts and dreams. But it
was
possible. Caroline’s letters had kept her informed of all the local news, including the fact that Captain O’Malley had not yet married. But her last communiqué had arrived over a month ago.

“Which wrecker?” she asked so breathlessly that her aunt gave her a sharp look.

The man shrugged. “How’m I ta know?”

How indeed. He was from Charleston, not Key West. He wouldn’t know one wrecker from another.

“They’re all a villainous lot,” Aunt grumbled.

“Yer right about that, ma’am.” In one small sentence the deckhand undid all of Elizabeth’s work. “They’ll pretty near strip us clean.”

“Strip?” Aunt gasped.

“He’s speaking figuratively,” Elizabeth said quickly, before her aunt got hysterical again. “He means that the wreckers will claim everything of value, but it’s not true. They are licensed under the admiralty court and must abide by the law or lose their license. You have nothing to fear. I’ve met many a woman saved by a wrecker. Not a one had a word of complaint.”

She took her aunt’s hand and guided her into the slanted passageway already knee-deep in water. Anabelle followed, with the seaman bringing up the rear. His lantern revealed the extent of the disaster. Beyond the missing outer door, strips of sail slapped against the sloping deck. A mast or spar hung at an odd angle. Elizabeth slogged ahead with great care. Bits of wood bobbed in the black water. Any misstep could twist an ankle.

“Step carefully now,” she instructed, “and use the walls for support.”

A sniffle was her only response.

At least Aunt still had her wits. Slowly they traversed the short distance to the gaping doorway. Only then did Elizabeth see the enormity of the challenge. Men clung to the rail, awaiting rescue. Between the doorway and them lay a steeply sloped, wet deck. Earlier in the voyage she’d learned how slippery a deck became when wet. Her incaution had landed her on her posterior. That experience had been humbling. This was
impossible. None of them could manage the slope when there was nothing to hold on to.

“What will we do?” she muttered.

“Wait here, miss.” The deckhand handed her the lantern. “We’ll send someone ta haul ye off.” He then scrambled up the deck, reaching the rail with a final leap.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Virginia said. “We have to do that?”

“There must be another way. The men will rig something to assist us.” But she spoke with greater confidence than she felt.

She’d seen the bodies of women whose skirts had dragged them to a watery grave. For all her assurances, many did perish.

The wrecked ship shuddered beneath her feet. If it gave way before help arrived, none of them would see Key West.

Help must be on its way.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she ought to pray but unable to believe that it would do any good. It hadn’t helped Charlie. Yes, Rourke had saved her brother, but Charlie had to live with the wages of her sin. So did Rourke. She had betrayed him, let him take the blame, and then left for Charleston without a word. He must despise her.

She hoped the wrecker wasn’t him. Dozens of men wrecked. Surely it would be another.

Elizabeth peered into the moonlit night, but the slope of the deck hid the wrecking vessel from view. She could only make out its mast. One mast. More than likely a sloop, just like Rourke’s ship.

Her stomach clenched. What if it was him?

Rourke beat John to the ship’s boat, but he could not persuade the man to wait aboard the
Windsprite
. Under ordinary
circumstances, Rourke trusted John with his life, but a man’s inclinations changed when desperate. If the colored maid proved to be Anabelle, John might disappear with her into the night. Rourke would if he was in John’s place.

Rourke pulled hard on his oar, but he couldn’t match John’s fervor. The man hadn’t seen his wife in four long years. Elizabeth had left with her maid and without a word.

In short order they neared the wreck. The waves hammered it. The spray shot high in the air, silvery in the moonlight, before raining down on them. The three masts pointed away from him like trees toppling over a cliff. Each swell ground the hulk against the reef. The schooner wouldn’t hold together long, and some twenty souls clung to the rail, wide-eyed and desperate.

The moment they reached the schooner, Rourke grabbed its ladder and scampered up the tilted hull. John followed.

“Get as many on board the boat as possible,” he shouted to the mate who’d helped him onto the larboard bulwark. “Women first.” He looked around but saw no feminine figures nearby. “Where are they?”

“Great cabin.” The mate looked anxiously toward the larboard side of the sloping structure where a black doorway loomed. “Should be waiting in there.”

Rourke peered into the darkness but could see no one. Hysterical women might have retreated or flung themselves overboard. Except for the hurricane, Elizabeth had displayed calm under pressure. Unfortunately, that exception had cost her brother the use of his legs.

The hulk shivered from the impact of a large wave. He had to get everyone off soon. The reef edge plummeted in this location. If the schooner broke free, it would sink to the depths. Anyone inside would perish. No wrecker received a
penny for saving a person’s life, only for salvaged cargo, but even the most villainous wreckers rescued stranded passengers and crew.

John started ahead of him, ropes slung over his shoulder, but Rourke held the man back. “Follow me. I want someone at my back in case I slip.” In truth he wanted to keep his chief mate under control. A man in such heightened state of emotion was liable to take deadly risks.

The slick, tilted deck would prove difficult for a seasoned seaman to navigate. Women would find it impossible.

“The long rope,” he shouted to John as another wave crashed over them. “String it between here and the poop deck.”

John set about securing a line that would give the women something to hold on to while they traversed the deck. Once he secured their end, he held up three smaller lengths. “Ta put round ’em.”

“Good thinking.” Even if the women lost their footing, the line would keep them from sliding into the churning sea.

Rourke grabbed the coiled long line and worked his way along the sloping deck by climbing on capstans, winches, and other deck structures. At three spots on the way, he wound the rope around something solid. His pulse pounded, urging him to race toward the gaping entry, but his head kept that impulse in restraint. One wrong move and he’d slip into the sea. That wouldn’t help anyone. It wouldn’t save Elizabeth.

When a particularly large wave hit, he braced himself, always keeping his gaze on the entryway. Already water surged into it. If this hulk slipped any more, the women could drown.

As he drew near, a familiar face poked out of the doorway and into the moonlight.

“Anabelle!” John’s whoop brought a flicker of a smile to
the stunning woman’s face. In her native land, Anabelle would have been a queen. Tall and straight-backed, she carried herself with undeniable grace.

Though she could captivate a man’s attention, Rourke peered past her into the black doorway, looking for the woman who’d danced through his thoughts every day for the past four years. She’d been lovely then. How much more beautiful she would be now. Why had she left without a word? Why hadn’t she written? If not for her friend Caroline, he wouldn’t even know where she had gone or that she was still unwed. That news had sustained him and given him hope.

Soon he would know if that hope had been misplaced.

He headed for the doorway, but John pushed past him to get to Anabelle. Instead of rushing into her husband’s arms, the woman extended her hand, a signal that she dare not embrace. That meant her mistress was near. None but Rourke and the minister knew of their marriage.

“Elizabeth?” Rourke peered into the inky void.

Instead of the golden-haired object of his dreams, a plump elderly woman stuck her head out of the deckhouse. “Who are you to use my niece’s Christian name?”

Rourke froze. The captain had said there were two women plus Anabelle, but in his eagerness to reach Elizabeth, he’d forgotten. “Forgive me. Is Miss Benjamin all right?”

A slender figure moved behind the matron. “I-I-I’m fine.”

Though Rourke could not make out her features, the trembling voice was Elizabeth’s.

John, meanwhile, had looped the safety rope around Anabelle’s waist.

“Tell your man to stop helping that slave girl,” the elderly woman demanded. “Ladies must be rescued first.”

John looked like he would knock the portly woman to her backside.

Rourke pushed past him. “We’ll bring all of you to safety.”

“My niece and I first,” the woman demanded. “Tell your darkie to take my niece and leave the slave until last.”

“No, Aunt Virginia. I will wait.” Elizabeth appeared, so lovely in the moonlight that for a second Rourke could not think or move.

Before the matron could protest, John whisked Anabelle away.

Rourke extended his hand. “Come with me, Miss Benjamin.”

Her wide eyes shimmered in the moonlight. “Please escort my great-aunt.”