Savannah Heat (6 page)

Silver smiled at that. She glanced around the cabin, at the glass and books and general havoc she had created. “I guess I did, too.”

Jordy finished picking up the broken shards of the porcelain pitcher and the now-shattered mirror and hung what was left of it back on the wall. He went out, careful to lock the door, then returned a few minutes later with a cornhusk broom to sweep up the pieces of glass too small to gather. Silver picked up the leather-bound volumes she had thrown and returned them to the shelves above the bed.

Jordy watched her from the corner of his eye, surprised, it seemed, that she should be willing to help.

“Ain’t never—haven’t ever met no—any—real bluestockin’ lady neither,” he said.

Silver didn’t miss the way he was working to improve his speaking. She thought it bode well for his future and wondered who had been helping him in his task. “It’s only a title. To me it means nothing.”

She glanced toward the window. Tomorrow they’d be leaving, returning her to that other existence, where she played the proper, genteel daughter of an aristocrat, a rich plantation lord. Tonight was her last chance for escape, yet there seemed no way. Outside, the stars twinkled brightly, flaunting their freedom. If only the narrow windows were big enough for her to slip through. If only she were a little bit smaller …

If only she weren’t afraid to go home.

“Cap’n’ll be here pretty soon,” Jordy reminded her. “You’d best get changed and into your berth.”

Silver nodded. “Thank you, Jordy.”

“How’d you know my name?”

“I’m wearing your clothes, am I not?”

Jordy grinned, his youthful gaze traveling along the curves of her body with something close to awe. “You surely do look some better in ’em than I do, ma’am.”

Silver laughed. Laughing again felt even better than crying. “As soon as I get my own clothes back, I’ll return yours.”

“You’ll be needin’ a change now and again. You kin—can—keep ’em till you get back home.”

Silver’s smile faded. “Good night, Jordy.”

“Good night, ma’am.”

“She don’t—doesn’t—seem so bad to me,” Jordy said.

Seated at the carved oak table in the salon, Morgan just grunted.

“She said she deserved the lickin’.”

Morgan’s head came up. “She said that?”

“Said she just had to get off’n the ship.”

“Off the ship,” Morgan corrected, setting aside the paperwork he’d been scanning.

“Off the ship,” Jordy repeated. “Why’s she want off so bad, Cap’n?”

“I’m not sure.” Morgan fixed his gaze on Jordy, who flushed guiltily and shuffled the toe of his flat-heeled boot. “Don’t you have some sail to mend?”

“Aye, Cap’n.” A little disgruntled, Jordy climbed the ladder to the deck, leaving Morgan alone. Morgan sighed. He felt tired yet restless. He needed some sleep but knew he’d be hard pressed to get it. Not with Silver Jones sleeping just a few feet away. He’d given her the nightshirt just so he wouldn’t have to think of her lying there naked.

Damn, the woman was a worse pain in the neck
than any dozen men. Morgan had known Silver only two days, and she’d already turned his life upside down. Two weeks would seem an eternity.

Morgan sighed at the thought. With a grumble of resignation, he headed for his cabin. He’d go over the charts one more time, though he practically knew them by heart; then maybe he could get some sleep.

Tomorrow he’d talk to Silver, try to make her understand that it was in her best interest to go back to Katonga. If William was being unreasonable, maybe he could intercede. In fact, he’d offer her his help.

Morgan felt better already. Once they were at sea, things would return to normal. Silver would realize she had no place to run, accept his offer of assistance, and start behaving herself. Morgan yawned. Maybe he’d get some sleep after all.

It was the screaming that awoke him, echoing through his cabin and cutting through the fog of his dreams in an instant. Morgan hit the deck running, racing toward the narrow steward’s quarters before he realized he wore not a stitch of his clothes. Cursing, he pulled on his breeches, buttoned up the front, and unlocked the door.

The screaming had ceased, but Silver sat on the end of the bunk, her legs drawn up beneath her chin. Moonlight lit the cabin and gleamed off the sleep-rumpled pale blond hair that spilled around her shoulders.

“What is it?” Morgan strode into the room and stood in front of her, his legs splayed against the steady roll of the ship. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“R-Rats.” Silver pointed toward the corner where a furry gray-brown rodent squeaked beside the chamber pot.

“What?” he asked, incredulous.

“Over there in the corner.”

“You’re afraid of mice?”

Silver lifted her chin, working to summon her dignity. “It isn’t a mouse; it’s a rat. I hate rats.” But she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“You hate rats,” Morgan repeated. He lifted a dark blond brow, and his mouth curved up in amusement. Then he started to laugh. At first just a chuckle, then a full-blown roar.

“Stop it, damn you! It isn’t funny!”

Morgan laughed until his insides began to hurt and tears had gathered in his eyes. “You take on a twenty-man crew, kidnap a lieutenant in the Texas Marines, go fist to fist with me—and you’re afraid of a mouse?”

He started laughing again, and Silver edged away from him, furious and determined to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Morgan’s tone turned sharp.

“I’m not staying in here with you or that—that creature.”

Morgan laughed again. “You won’t have to. Come on.” Taking her hand, he led her into his cabin. “I’ll be right back.”

He hadn’t been gone long when he returned with an orange-striped cat whose patchy fur had surely seen better days.

“You’re not afraid of cats, too, are you?”

“I love cats,” she said indignantly.

Morgan touched the scratch she’d left beside the scar on his cheek. “Figures.” He carried the cat across the room to where she stood outside her tiny cabin. “This is Sogger. He’ll take care of things for you.”

With that Morgan stepped through the opening,
dropped the cat on her berth, and closed the door, leaving the animal inside. In minutes the sound of screeching, scrambling, and fighting filled the room; then there was nothing but silence.

Morgan opened the door, and Sogger ran out with a lump of gray-brown fur in his mouth, the rat’s skinny, hairless tail dragging the floor.

“Oh, God,” Silver moaned, jumping backward.

Morgan grinned. “You know, Silver, I’m beginning to believe you’re not as tough as you’d have us believe.”

She pinned him with a hard brown glare. “Don’t bet on it.” With that she stormed past him into her room and slammed the door. Morgan’s hearty laughter rumbled through the walls.

Surprisingly she was able to go back to sleep. It was the pitch and roll of the ship, the creak and moan of the timbers as the boat sailed from the harbor that awoke her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Silver peeked out her tiny porthole. Damn! Dawn had arrived, and the tide was right. They’d already raised anchor and had nearly reached the mouth of the harbor.

Silver raced from her small cabin into Morgan’s bigger one but, as she expected, found the door that led outside securely locked. Heart pounding, she flew to the windows above his bed to watch her last chance for freedom slipping away.

If only the windows were bigger. Frustrated, she slammed her fist against the narrow teakwood sill, then cursed at the sharp jolt of pain.

Silver sucked in a breath as an idea struck with another sharp jolt. Individually each small square window in the row above the berth was too small, but if she could break the wooden bars between them, she might be able to slide through.

A quick glance around the room showed there was little she could use to accomplish her task. The three-legged stool would have to do. With the shoreline slipping farther away with each passing moment, Silver grabbed up the stool, returned to the window, and, kneeling atop the berth, crashed the stool through the panes.

Though the sound was loud, the noise of the wind and the sea, the shout of men’s voices calling cadence as the sails unfurled, covered her movements. Silver brought the stool down again and again, finally splintering the wood and providing an opening just big enough for her to slide through. There wasn’t time to change out of her nightclothes; she just rolled up Jordy’s breeches and shirt, tucked them under her arm, and slid through.

Even as slender as she was, the fit was so snug that for one terrible, heart-stopping moment she was certain she would get stuck and Morgan Trask would arrive to find her top wedged outside and her bottom left to his mercy inside the room.

Gratefully she squeezed the last few inches and dropped quietly into the water. It was a long way to shore—farther than she realized—and certainly farther than she’d ever swam before. Still, she knew she could make it—if she left Jordy’s clothes behind. Reluctantly she let them sink below the surface and with long, graceful strokes started swimming toward the distant shoreline.

“Good God, Major!” Hamilton Riley gaped wide-eyed toward the shoreline. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

“Lower a shore boat!” Morgan shouted. “Every man jack of you make haste!” Around him, men scrambled to do his bidding, hauling away with
steady, determined hands. In the distance Morgan watched Silver’s small pale figure cutting sleekly through the water, leaving hardly a ripple in her wake. Damn her! At every turn she’d tried to outfox him. Well, this time she had outfoxed herself.

Bloody hell! He should have known she’d make one last try—just as he knew without doubt she’d never make it. He might, if the tide wasn’t too strong, but she’d be lucky to get halfway. Morgan’s stomach tightened. There wasn’t a second to spare, and still, he might not get to her in time.

The boat hit the water with a heavy splash. “Ready, Cap’n!”

“Willis, Gordon, Flagg, and Benson—you men, get ready to man the oars.” The four men descended the rope ladder and took their places while Morgan climbed down and stepped aboard. “Cast off the lines!” he ordered. As soon as the boat was free, the men rowed for all they were worth. None of them needed to be told they were running a life-and-death race against time.

Ahead of them Silver swam hard toward shore, and Morgan was amazed she’d gotten so far. It would do no good to call out to her, plead with her to swim toward them instead of away.

He knew as surely as he knew death awaited that she would try to escape with her very last breath.

“We’re given ye our best, Cap’n,” one of the men called out to him.

“You’re the only chance she’s got, boys,” Morgan told them. They began to row in cadence, putting their backs into it, pulling as they’d never pulled before. None wanted to see the young woman die.

None of them
—
and least of all me
. Morgan stood barefoot in the bow of the boat, stripped to the waist, ready to dive for her the moment she went under.
She’s still too damned far
, he thought, calling her one vile name after another, swearing he’d beat her within an inch of her life this time, and knowing if she survived, he’d be so damned grateful he’d probably kiss her instead.

“She’s starting to falter, Cap’n.”

“Keep pulling. Get me as close as you can.”

Silver took another burning breath and forced her arms through the water one more time. She hadn’t counted on the seas being so cold, hadn’t really believed the shore was that far away.
I don’t want to die
, she thought, forcing one more stroke, one more breath.
I want to live
.

But her leg cramped at the chill she wasn’t used to, the terrible exertion she required of her body. The pain came again, harder this time, shooting upward through her stomach. Still, she drove on.
I won’t give up, I won’t
, she thought, but the ache in her thigh drew the muscles up short, and her arms couldn’t seem to hold her head above the water. She caught one last breath and went under, broke the surface to catch another, then went under again.

For a single fleeting instant, she thought someone had called her name but scoffed at the foolish notion. Then again, maybe it was the Lord, for surely this final searing breath would be her last. Silver tried to reach the surface one more time, saw the opaque light above her, but couldn’t quite seem to get there. Her. lungs felt near to bursting; she could hold her breath no more.

Morgan pushed through the water, using every ounce of muscle, every ounce of strength he could bring to bear.
Come up again, Silver
, he silently
pleaded, but no pale head broke the surface.
Don’t you dare die, damn you!

The thought of her slender curves lifeless and floating in the water drove him on, giving him a strength he hadn’t known he possessed.
Where the hell are you
? Hoping he had found the spot where he’d seen her go down, Morgan dived deep. Twice he came up empty. On the third try his fingers slid into the long, silky strands of her hair, and Morgan hauled her to the surface, cursing her limp figure even as he thanked God he’d found her.

The shore boat sat there waiting; the men rushed to help him lift her unconscious body aboard. They placed her facedown on one of the gunwales, and Morgan set to work pumping the salt water from her lungs.

“Breathe, damn you!”

For a moment nothing happened, and Morgan cursed her roundly. Then, for the first time since he’d met her, Silver did what she was told. Coughing and sputtering, retching into the bottom of the boat, she took in great gulps of air, and Morgan took a breath of relief.

“Hand me that blanket,” he ordered the lanky brown-haired sailor named Flagg, second mate aboard the
Savannah
. From where she now sat on the gunwale, Silver’s eyes followed Morgan, who wrapped the warm gray wool around her trembling body.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she said softly.

“If you mean was I the man fool enough to save you, yes. Though God alone knows why I bothered.”

Silver stared out across the water. “The water’s much colder here.”