Love's Rescue (5 page)

The woman jutted out her chin. “The young should go first. Someone my age is expendable.”

“No, Aunt Virginia.” Elizabeth retreated into the darkness to affirm her decision.

With a creak, the hulk shifted a bit lower. The women cried out. Rourke steadied the matron and then reached for Elizabeth.

“I am all right,” she said from deep within the passageway, each word firmer than the last. “Please bring my aunt to safety.”

Rourke hated to leave Elizabeth behind. That settling of the wreck meant the hulk could break apart at any moment. Yet he couldn’t ferry them both at once. He must make a choice. Four years ago he’d chosen the beauty over her brother, only to lose her.

This time he extended his hand to her aunt.

The moment Elizabeth heard Rourke’s voice, her resolve shattered. The feelings she’d had for him hadn’t diminished over four years. If anything, they’d grown stronger. She’d begged him to rescue Aunt Virginia in the hope that another crewman would come for her. She couldn’t trust herself in Rourke’s arms.

She drew in a deep breath. Charlie needed her. Father needed her. That had to be her focus, not some childish infatuation. Once Rourke left with Aunt Virginia, Elizabeth blew out that breath and collapsed against the passage wall.

Relief soon gave way to fear. It gnawed at the pit of her stomach and weakened her knees. The ship was breaking apart. The spars now dipped into the ocean. The starboard rail was underwater. Each large wave shook the wreck. If it sank before someone came for her, she could perish. Though she knew how to swim, the weight of her clothing would drag her to the bottom.

She closed her eyes, knowing she ought to pray, but she had stepped away from unquestioning faith the day Charlie was hurt. Her prayers then had gone unanswered. What God let the innocent suffer? Cook had scolded her, saying that God wasn’t to blame, but she’d still cast fault in His direction. It was easier than the truth.

“Hold on!”

Rourke’s shout opened her eyes. He was inching Aunt Virginia forward, almost completely supporting her bulk. The memory of his strength only intensified the longing she was trying to quench. When he asked for her, she had wanted to run from the passage and take his hand. She wanted to feel again the beat of his heart against her cheek. In his arms, she would be safe. How she wanted that, but it could not be. Her father held wreckers in contempt. He would never approve of Rourke as a suitor.

Yet her gaze followed Rourke forward. Time had not changed him. His dark hair was still drawn back at the nape. He still cut an impressive figure, tall and strong. His rich baritone still reached deep into her soul. Four years had not changed him, but it had changed her.

Elizabeth clung to the door frame as a large wave doused the shipwreck. After wiping the seawater from her eyes, she looked for Rourke and her aunt. They had survived the deluge, Rourke balancing Aunt’s weight like a cotton bale. After two more steps, he assisted her into the arms of two waiting seamen.

Now someone would come for her. Perhaps Rourke.

The thought sent a hum of conflicting emotion through her tired limbs. Father had made the marriage requirements clear. She must choose a husband from her own class or higher. Mother had seconded that. Rourke O’Malley did not qualify unless his fortunes had risen dramatically since she left.

Rourke made his way toward her, moving quickly along the rescue line.

Her pulse accelerated. Soon he would reach her. They would be alone together. No chaperone. No hovering relatives. Not even another crew member. Only the two of them were left on the wreck.

She drew in a shaky breath. He’d passed the midpoint of the rope. Soon he would take her in his arms. Soon she would feel his heartbeat and hear his whisper in her ear. Would he speak of love or blame? His emotional cry for her suggested it would be the former. She gripped the door frame until her fingers hurt. How dreadful to receive the one thing she wanted most, knowing that she must cast it away.

He slung an arm around a winch and yelled something in her direction.

The wind snatched his words away.

She shook her head.

He pointed to larboard.

A towering wave loomed above the wreck. She ducked into the passage and grabbed the railing just as the wave hit. It knocked her feet out from under her. She slammed into the wall but held on. With eyes squeezed shut, she dared not breathe as the water gushed around her, first in and then out. The force ripped her fingers from the railing. She grabbed for anything as the ocean sucked her down into its bowels.

Her knees hit solid wood when the wash of the wave subsided. Cloth slapped her hands, and she grabbed hold. With a yank, her downward progress came to a halt. She gulped for air and opened her eyes to the sting of salt water.

“Take my hand, Elizabeth.”

Rourke’s voice brought hope. Though her arms ached and a terrible weight was pulling her down, she might yet survive. After blinking away the tears, she spotted his hand far above her. He was hanging upside down, one leg hooked on the rescue line and the other braced against the great cabin. His hand was beyond reach. The distance between them was too great. He could never reach her. She must somehow get to him.

She was hanging on a remnant of the sail, her feet dangling into the sea. The heaving waves spun her around. Her arms ached. Her fingers slipped. The weight of her skirts dragged her down. If she let go with one hand, she would fall.

“Climb, Elizabeth!”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. I’ve seen you swim in pounding seas. You rowed around the island.”

“That was years ago.”

“You still have it in you.” A trace of desperation colored his pleas. “You are strong, Elizabeth Benjamin. Hold on a little longer, and I’ll come to you.”

Help me,
Lord.
The prayer came from desperation and with little hope, yet when Elizabeth looked up, she saw Rourke moving down the line, a short rope between his teeth. He stopped and slung his legs over the rescue line. It bowed under his weight, but it held. He reached for the dangling spar. Then he began to lift. His face contorted with effort, but she felt herself move upward.

He was attempting to pull her up.

His effort opened a well of strength she didn’t know she possessed. She inched upward, gaining some ground.

His fingertips brushed her hand. “A little more.”

Her hands ached. She hadn’t any more to give.

“Come to me, Elizabeth,” he urged, his fingertips trying to coax her hands off the sail. “Let go with one hand, and I will lift you to safety.”

Oh, his touch! It resurrected feelings and memories and hopes that couldn’t be. The feel of his arms would shatter every vow. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.

“I can’t!” she cried.

“You must.”

Rourke or death. The choice was simple, but in her fevered mind Elizabeth could not save her life simply to propel it into the risk of Rourke’s embrace.

“Better to suffer with grace than to unequally yoke oneself,” Mother had counseled before Elizabeth boarded the ship to Charleston. Her letters had expressed disappointment that Elizabeth had turned away every suitor, explaining that no man was perfect.

Mother hadn’t understood. Rourke was perfect for her. No other suitor had ever come close.

“I’m sorry.” She needed to say more, to explain what a coward
she had been four years ago and beg his forgiveness, but even with death knocking she could not find the words.

“Hold on!”

A wave tossed her against the deck, and her burning fingers slipped. Something between a scream and a moan tore out of her. She couldn’t hold on a moment longer.

Then she felt him grab her left hand. His grip hurt, but he pulled her out of the sea and onto the spar.

“Hold on,” he said. “I need to let go a moment so I can get this rope around you.”

Though his touch left her, she now knew she would be safe.

Then another wave slammed the wreck. The spar gave way. Elizabeth slid down, down. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact. Old memories flitted past. Rourke tenderly touching her bruised lip. Father scowling. Mother weeping at Charlie’s bedside. Father demanding answers. The disappointment that flashed across Rourke’s face when she let him take the blame. The sinking knowledge that all was lost.

Elizabeth cried out.

Something yanked her upward. God? Was she rising to heaven like a prophet of old?

Her eyelids flew open. Somehow Rourke had swung the spar so it deposited her right into his arms. He gathered her close and pressed his lips to the hollow below her ear. “I thought I lost you.”

Elizabeth choked back a sob. He did not know it yet, but he had.

D
awn’s orange glow revealed three wrecking ships approaching from the west-southwest. As wreck master, Rourke decided which of those vessels would ferry the passengers to Key West and which would help with the salvage. He must reach an agreement, or consortship, with them on the division of the spoils. Since the cargo lacked substantial value, most would leap at the chance for an equal share.

He strode toward the lookout, his boots clattering on the deck. Shoes pinched his toes and slipped on the damp planking, but he couldn’t very well go barefoot in front of Miss Benjamin and her aunt. John had laughed when Rourke appeared with combed hair and dress coat. Rourke claimed he’d donned the fancy garb in order to convince Captain Cross and the other wreckers to accept his counsel, but John knew better.

Rourke shouted up at young Tom, “Can you spot whose ships they are?”

“Not yet, Cap’n!”

Rourke itched to know. He wouldn’t trust some wreckers—such as the Littlejohn fleet—with his enemy, least of all Eliza
beth. Oh, they all knew the repercussions of mistreating the only daughter of Charles Benjamin, but some crews were more genteel than others. The worst vessels culled crew members from the grogshops and alleyways. Those men required a strong hand and a sharp blade to prompt obedience. He couldn’t place her in such hands.

“Let me know the instant you make them out,” he called up to Tom.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

He chuckled at the lad’s exuberance. Soon enough Tom would offer the same muttered reply as any other seaman.

Rourke leaned on the gunwale and surveyed the task at hand. The gathering daylight revealed what he already knew. The seas were flattening. Swells still lifted the
Windsprite
above the remains of the foundered schooner, but they no longer had the force to tear the hulk to bits. Unfortunately, those waves had sunk the
Victory
’s boat overnight, leaving only his boat to run between vessels. The minute the master gave permission to proceed with salvage, Rourke would draw the
Windsprite
alongside and off-load cargo onto his vessel. To hurry that decision along, he had sent John down to examine the extent of damage to the schooner’s hull.

He watched the heaving swells for John’s reappearance.

The master ambled alongside. “I don’t see why you had to send your man down. It’s a waste of time. Just pull my ship off that blasted reef.”

“If I do that without first examining how badly it’s holed, you’ll lose everything.”

“I know my ship, and I know my rights under the law. Don’t think you can steal my cargo.”

Rourke gritted his teeth. No doubt Poppinclerk had planted
that idea in the master’s mind. “If the hull can be patched, we’ll haul her off.”

“I know my vessel better than some profit-seeking salvager. I order you to haul her off the reef at once.”

Rourke set his jaw lest angry words cross his lips. Too many masters saw wreckers as little better than pirates out to take their profit, thanks to unsavory wreckers of the past like Jacob Housman. Captain Cross was clearly one of those. These days, a few less scrupulous wreckers might attempt to negotiate a high salvage fee, but the deceptive dealing of the past was over. Unfortunately, few masters believed it.

“Send your own man down then,” Rourke said.

“I can’t risk one of my men. None of them know these waters.”

Neither did the pilot he’d hired, but Rourke did not point that out. “Then we wait.”

“Coward.” The master stomped off when the insult didn’t generate the response he wanted.

Rourke had heard worse. From bribery to threats, he’d faced them all down and survived. After last night’s rescue, Cross couldn’t say a thing to upset Rourke. Elizabeth had returned. For four long years he’d waited. Now she was here on his ship.

He eyed the women, who were huddled together under blankets amidships, sipping the coffee he’d had sent up earlier. After depositing Elizabeth on board earlier that morning, he’d had no opportunity to converse further with her. Now her aunt and Anabelle effectively buttressed her from any masculine attention.

Their wet gowns could not be comfortable, but with the sun rising and in the fresh breeze, their clothing would soon dry. Elizabeth cradled the rude tin cup like a porcelain teacup. Even though she was soaked to the bone with salt-stiffened locks,
he’d never seen a more perfect example of femininity. Her coral pink lips nestled like a shell beneath sky-blue eyes. Since she didn’t wear a bonnet or carry a parasol, the sun would soon grace her complexion with the freckles that he’d so teased her about when she was a girl. The memory brought a smile to his lips, but he also realized the discomfort the sun would bring.

He strode down the deck to stand before them. “I can rig a tarpaulin overhead to give you shade.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shimmered with what he hoped was gratitude.

Her aunt snapped, “A gentleman would give us a cabin.”

He instinctively glanced at the low quarterdeck, well aware that the only cabin—one he shared with John—would not meet the woman’s expectations. “As soon as another ship arrives, ma’am, you will board that vessel and sail for Key West.”

“And when will that be?” The woman somehow managed to look down her nose even though she sat well below him. “We are horribly indisposed sitting on this filthy, rotted wooden structure.”

“Hatch cover.”

The woman glared at him. “I don’t care what it’s called. No lady should be forced to endure such discomfort.”

As she railed on, Rourke watched Elizabeth, hoping for more than that single glance. She gave the cup to Anabelle and averted her gaze. How different she’d become! The Elizabeth he’d known ran about town hatless and barefoot. This one sat stiff-backed and silent. The modest mourning gown had been cut of the finest fabric. Her salt-stained skirts were carefully arranged to hide even the toes of her shoes. She had become a lady, too polite to complain. As soon as the sun blazed high, she would be overcome by heat.

“Rander,” he said to the nearest crewman, “fetch a tarpaulin to shield the ladies.”

Elizabeth lifted her gaze with gratitude, but the moment he smiled back, she again looked down at her folded hands.

“Well, that’s something,” her aunt sniffed. “This coffee is terrible. I don’t suppose it would be possible to get a decent tea service.”

“I will have the cook send tea and breakfast at once.”

This time Elizabeth mouthed her thanks. In her eyes he saw something else. Embarrassment? Worry? She was not as calm as her expression would lead one to believe.

Her aunt dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “That will be all.”

Rourke wasn’t used to receiving orders, but he had the sense to ignore the insult. Clearly Elizabeth’s aunt had taken it upon herself to guard her niece against men in general and him in particular. He stood no chance of speaking to Elizabeth unless he could get her away from the watchdogs.

Anabelle’s gaze met his. Fierce, proud, strong. She exemplified every one of those qualities, yet he could see a hint of concern beneath the careful exterior. Her gaze darted to the rail. John!

Rourke hurried over and scanned the heaving sea from stem to stern. No sign of John. He should have finished by now. What if he’d ventured into the hulk and got pinned? Rourke stripped off his coat, ready to plunge into the warm waters.

John knew better than to take such a risk. Rourke would wait a few more seconds.

He gripped the gunwale, muscles tensed.

Anabelle drifted to a position beyond reach but not hearing. “He wants to take the boat.”

“What?” But even as he asked, Rourke understood. John would be desperate to escape with his bride. Key West meant continued enslavement for Anabelle, but if John could get her to the British waters of his native Bahamas, she would be free.

Below them, John surfaced, drew a deep breath, and dove again.

Anabelle watched before turning to Rourke again. “All night they fret, and now they sleep.” She glanced toward Elizabeth and her aunt, both of whom had indeed drifted into slumber. “Tell him to wait. Now it is not possible.”

How bitterly John would take that news. All night, when the difficult escape might have been possible, Anabelle’s mistress had stayed awake. Rourke eyed Elizabeth at rest against a cushion of blankets. How peacefully she slept, as if without a care. Of course that couldn’t be true. She must mourn her mother’s death bitterly. Rourke knew the pain of losing a parent. A year later, it still hurt.

The doomed schooner’s master drew near. Upon spotting Anabelle, he sneered and strode away.

Anabelle stiffened. With a swish of her drying skirts, she returned to her mistress’s side.

“Hull’s breached bow to amidships,” John shouted from the base of the rope ladder. “Another hole aft starboard.”

Captain Cross, poised within hearing distance, scowled at the report.

“Then we salvage?” Rourke waited for the master’s decision.

Cross gave no answer.

“It’s the
Eva Marie
, the
Joseph M
, and the
Dinah Hale
,” Tom called down from the lookout.

All Littlejohn boats. The bad news kept coming. Harold Littlejohn ran the most ragtag fleet in the Keys and manned
them with the hungry and the derelict. Rourke hesitated to send any passenger on a Littlejohn boat, least of all Elizabeth Benjamin, but they could not stay here.

“Any others?” he called up.

“No, Captain.”

Rourke made the decision in an instant. Only one man could ensure Elizabeth’s safety. He crossed to the ladder and waited for John to climb aboard.

The moment his mate set foot on deck, Rourke barked out, “You’re in charge of the salvage. I’m escorting the passengers to Key West.”

John instantly looked to Anabelle. “On de
Windsprite
?”

“On the
Dinah Hale
.” It was the best of the lot.

“But you de wreck massa.”

“I’m turning that honor over to you.”

John shook his head. “Massa not listen ta Negro.”

Rourke hated the truth in that statement, so he ignored it. “I must guard the women’s safety.”

“I go.”

“No.” Rourke could not trust John to stay with Elizabeth until they reached Key West. If an opportunity arose, the temptation to steal Anabelle away would be too great.

The crew of the
Dinah Hale
slid into view as the ship came about. At least three of them had been kicked off every respectable vessel in the wrecking fleet. Rourke could not put Elizabeth on that vessel unprotected. Neither could he trust John with her safety.

“I go,” John reiterated.

“No.” Yet Rourke knew his commands weren’t enough. “Anabelle told me that it’s not the right time. You must wait.”

Bitter disappointment twisted John’s features before defiance set in. “If’n you don’t mind, I ask meself.”

“Ask.”

But Anabelle now tended an awakened Elizabeth, and they both knew the question could not be posed or answered. Miss Benjamin would take Anabelle with her to Key West, and John would lose his wife mere hours after rejoining her.

Rourke could not bear John’s pain. “I will get her to Bahamian waters.” Since severe punishment had just become law for anyone caught assisting a fugitive slave, this vow could cost him dearly.

John’s dark eyes glowed with feverish intensity. He knew the danger. If their marriage was discovered, Charles Benjamin wouldn’t hesitate to claim John as property, and there wasn’t a justice on the island who would question the legitimacy of that claim.

“Promise before God?” John demanded.

“Before God.”

John seemed satisfied with that. “Who you send with dem?”

With a surge of disappointment, Rourke accepted he could not escort Elizabeth, just as John could not make the voyage with Anabelle.

He scanned his crew. They were all decent men. He demanded that of even the lowliest deckhand, but he needed every one of them for the salvage. His gaze settled on Tom Worthington, who was climbing down from the lookout. The lad was young and green but sufficiently adept with a blade if his last scrape was any indication. He also had little experience in salvage.

“Come here, lad.” He motioned to Tom. “I have a job for you.”