Authors: Christine Dorsey
And though the area was dotted with islands,
chartered and unchartered, unless one knew in which direction they
were...
The late-afternoon sun beat down unmercifully
as Anne tried to think rationally about their problem. Or more to
the point their myriad problems. No amount of organization or
careful planning seemed as if it would help. Events had gone awry
and swept them along in their wake.
But did that mean she shouldn’t try? The only
place she was certain there was no land, was right where they
were.
The captain had pulled the oars in, allowing
the boat to bob and sway, following the lead of each rising swell.
Though his eyes were closed, she didn’t think him asleep... and she
didn’t care if he were.
“How far is it to the closest land you know
of?”
One eye opened beneath a cocked brow. “Too
far.”
Anne tamped down her anger and frustration.
“Yes, you’ve already made your opinions well known. However, I
asked for a specific number. How far is it?”
He shrugged and Anne could see the lines of
pain deepen around his mouth with the motion. “Fifty, maybe more,
nautical miles.” His other eye opened. “Farther than we can row in
the...” He was going to say, “time we have left,” but decided
against it. “Farther than we can row,” he repeated.
She did look around then, holding onto the
seat as she twisted her body first one way then the other. “Which
way is it?”
Jamie squinted into the sun to get his
bearing, then pointed in the direction behind him. “It be that
way... more or less.”
“More or less?” Now it was Anne’s turn to
raise her brow.
“Aye, more or less. In case ye hadn’t
noticed, the Frenchman didn’t see fit to provide me with my
quadrant and charts.”
When she said nothing, only looked at him
questioningly, Jamie explained. “
If
I had my charts to tell
me where we were, and
if
I had a quadrant to take a reading,
then I could use the tables in the
Nautical Almanack
to find
our approximate latitude. That be
if
I had my
Nautical
Almanack
.”
Anne’s jaw tightened. “And that’s the only
way?”
“Except to say that the sun rises in the east
and New Providence is west, aye.”
Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Anne
stared toward the low-slung golden orb. “Then I shall row that
way,” she announced, reaching for the oars.
His hands, warm and callused, covered hers.
Anne’s gaze traveled from his face, to where he touched her, then
to the bloody rope burns on his wrists. Sympathy flooded her, but
was quickly swept away by his words.
“’Tis a waste of time.”
“Which I appear to have plenty of,” Anne
countered.
“Nay, Annie, ye don’t.” His voice was as
gentle as the pressure he now put on her hands. She wanted to cry.
To fall across the boat, into his embrace and weep until there was
nothing left inside her. She very nearly did, especially when her
eyes lifted to meet his. Gone was the brash corsair, cocksure and
roguish. Gone was the anger.
What was left when she looked into his eyes
was a man, a man she cared about. The man she would die with.
Anne swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t
do nothing.” She turned her hands over, palm to palm, clutching
his. “I can’t.”
He linked their fingers, his long, and
well-shaped, dwarfing hers. “’Tis one of the differences between
us, Annie. For I can.”
And he proceeded to prove his contention to
her as she unbraided their hands and reached for the oars.
He was still establishing his point when the
sun touched the western horizon, spilling a golden carpet over the
sea. Anne’s shoulders ached. Her arms screamed and her back, she
was certain, was broken in two. Each time she lifted the heavy oars
and slapped them back into the cobalt-blue water her resentment of
Captain MacQuaid grew.
He gave up his seat and now lounged in the
bow, his long legs spread, his head back. He slept occasionally,
she could tell by the deep resonance of his snores. But most of the
time he was awake. And watching.
“’Tis only making ye thirstier,” he
offered.
The oars slapped into the water once again
and she tugged. “I’m already thirsty, thank you very much.”
“Don’t thank me, ’tis your own doing.”
Though by this point she had to admit he was
right, she was tired of hearing it. After giving him a scathing
look, she pulled the dripping oars from the sea, wondering if her
last effort had moved the boat at all. Deciding she was doing the
best she could, Anne pushed them back into the water.
He was silent for so long Anne thought he’d
fallen asleep again, but apparently he was only resting, thinking
of new ways to torment her mind.
“Even if ye were rowing us due west,
’twouldn’t be the right longitude.”
Splash. Anne leaned into her pull. “And how
would I determine that?”
“By a watch.”
“I know,
if
we had one.” Anne nearly
grunted the words.
“Aye. Actually we’d need two. One set to
Greenwich time, the other the actual time. Then by—”
“Why are you telling me this?” Anne set the
oars and looked down at her palms. The blisters she’d felt forming
were now bloody. Moving faster than she thought him capable of, he
shifted, clambering over the seat. He latched onto her wrists
before she could stick her hands into the water.
The boat swayed, sending seawater sloshing
over the top. Anne sucked in her breath on a gasp, her eyes wide.
He was so close she could see the fine squint lines where the sun
was blocked from bronzing the skin. The lashes that framed his
eyes, long and thick, made the blue-green color all the more
dramatic and intriguing.
And she could smell him, that same musky
scent that always had a weakening effect on her knees. But now her
knees were already weak, and so were her arms and her soul. And she
didn’t know why he was tormenting her so.
With a flick of her wrists he turned her
palms toward him. “’Tis a shame you’ve bloodied yourself. But I
doubt the sharks would care that these hands are attached to a
beautiful woman.” His gaze crept to the side, and Anne’s followed.
She stiffened when she saw the triangular fin slicing through the
water.
“I... I didn’t see it.”
“Obviously not.”
“Is it after us?”
Jamie grinned despite himself. “I doubt it.
But give him a whiff of blood and he will be.” With that he let
loose her wrists.
Anne didn’t have the strength to keep her
hands from dropping onto her lap.
“And as for why I’m pointing out the problems
of longitude to ye...”Jamie dug his hands back through the tangled
curls of his hair. “By God, Annie, it should be obvious.” His stare
was penetrating. “Look at yourself. You’re bloody and tired.
Thirstier than even me, I’ll warrant.” His voice lowered. “And ye
haven’t changed a thing. Not one damn thing.”
The realization that he might be right was
more than Anne could handle.
Pressure seemed to build within her and she
wanted to scream out her frustrations to the heavens. Instead she
screamed at the pirate. “I can’t be like you. I can’t!” He settled
back on his seat and she yelled all the louder. “You live your life
doing nothing. If a ship crosses your bow you attack it. If
not...Well, that’s fine, too. You knew what kind of man Stymie was.
Joe told you. I told you. Yet you did nothing because it was
easier.”
She’d run out of air and sucked in more. “And
now look where we are.” Though she didn’t think their predicament
entirely his doing, at the moment she wasn’t going to quibble. “And
you’re still doing nothing.”
“I’m doing nothing because ’tis not a damn
thing I can do.” Jamie sat up straighter on the wooden scat. He’d
had enough for one day. He’d lost his ship, his crew, been hung in
the shrouds to bake, and he was going to die. No doubt he deserved
the latter. But it didn’t make the reality of it any more
palatable. And now he had to put up with this woman who’d been
nothing but a thorn in his side, an unbelievable annoyance, from
the moment he first set eyes on her.
Bossy. Domineering. So full of brass she’d
probably sink to the bottom too fast for his friend, Master Shark,
if Jamie should toss her overboard. Which was exactly what he felt
like doing.
He clenched his fists because the urge was so
strong he was afraid he might. Especially when he heard the part
about his doing nothing because it was the easiest thing to do.
Jamie’s jaw tightened until his teeth hurt.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, nearly spitting the word at her. “But I
learned long ago ’tis not worth giving your all to something that’s
bound to fail regardless.”
“But you can’t know that before you try.”
“I know how long we can exist without food,
without water. I know how damn big this ocean is. And I know
bending my back against the oars isn’t going to get us anywhere,
when there be nowhere to go.” He bent forward as he spoke, moving
closer with each word, until he was nearly nose to nose with her.
He expected her to back away. Any reasonable woman would. But then
he remembered he was dealing with Anne Cornwall.
“So that’s it then.” Anne refused to be cowed
by him. “Your best advice is to give up. To implore God to take our
lives mercifully. Why don’t we simply end it ourselves then? Or
would that be
doing
something?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not killing us,
because in a typical showing of his merciless soul, d’Porteau
didn’t even leave us a pistol with shot enough to do it. That’s
right,” Jamie continued when her eyes opened wider and she shied
from him.
“’Tis the custom followed by most of the
brotherhood when marooning to leave the sorry bastard at least a
way to end his suffering.”
“But that’s—”
“What?” Jamie straightened. “Barbaric? Did ye
think ye were dealing with angels, Annie? I told ye from the
beginning—”
“Yes, I know you did. And believe me I never
thought d’Porteau anything but the lowest of creatures.”
“But it isn’t just d’Porteau. We all
subscribe to our own code.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve marooned
someone? Done to them what d’Porteau did to us?” He didn’t say
anything at first, but he didn’t need to. Anne could see the answer
in his expression.
Jamie took a deep breath. “’Tis one of the
reasons d’Porteau despises me.”
“You marooned him?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Annie, or I might be
tempted not to tell you who else was with him at the time.”
“Who?”
“Your friend Israel Plowser.”
Anne laughed. She couldn’t help herself.
“You’re joking.” When he shook his head, the gold earring twinkled,
caught by the dying rays of the sun. “But Israel hates d’Porteau.”
Then a stranger thought came to her. “And he admires you.”
Jamie just shrugged. “I can’t help the way a
man feels about me. But I can tell ye they were both marooned,
along with several others on an island... by me.”
“But how did they get off?”
He shrugged again. “I haven’t a clue. Picked
up by a passing vessel perhaps. I thought them all dead.” He
paused. “They were given sufficient ammunition to choose the easier
way to die. It was nearly a year later I started hearing tales of
the Frenchman.”
“And Israel?”
“Nay. When I saw him with ye was the first I
knew he’d survived.”
Anne rested her chin in her hand, mulling
over what she’d heard. It still surprised her that Israel and
d’Porteau had been cohorts, and that the captain had punished them.
She tried to remember all Israel had said about Captain Mac Quaid,
but she was too hungry, and tired and thirsty to concentrate.
Her mind kept swinging back to the captain’s
remark about ending their own lives. Was that indeed what they
should do? Her gaze captured his. “If things were different. If
d’Porteau had followed the code and left us with a pistol...?”
“Aye,” Jamie said when she didn’t continue.
“What about it?”
“Would you use it? Would you shoot me, then
yourself?”
He didn’t answer for so long, just sat, his
hands dangling between his knees, his eyes glued to hers, Anne
wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. The boat bobbed, the sun sank
farther into the western horizon, filling the sky with fuchsias and
mauves, and still he said nothing.
“I said,” Anne began only to have him
interrupt her.
“I know what ye said. I also know ’tis not a
question I wish to ponder.” He wiped both hands down over his face.
“No good would come of it.”
“I have a knife.”
His head shot up. “What did ye say?”
“I have—”
“How did ye get that?”
Deliberately, Anne shifted, reaching her hand
down the length of her breeches and slowly pulling out the short
hunting knife that Israel gave her years ago. The blade caught the
last rays of sun, glinting as no jewel could, as she held it out
toward him. “I always carry it. If you recall on Libertia I used
it—”
“I remember how ye used it, Annie.” Shaking
his head, Jamie laughed. “And not a one of the bastards thought to
search ye.” His sun-browned fingers closed around the hilt.
Anne swallowed as she gave up possession. “I
know it isn’t a pistol, but...”
Jamie paused in his examination of the
weapon, and glanced up. “Ye think perhaps I should use it to slit
your throat?”
Anne’s fingers reached for the skin above her
collar. She couldn’t help herself. “I don’t know. You said...”
He said a lot of things, Jamie realized, that
he didn’t always mean. He reached out and pulled off the woolen
cap, freeing a tumble of brown curls. Angry with himself when she
flinched at his touch. “’Tis a decision that doesn’t need made
now.” His hand tightened around the knife handle. “Besides, I think
we can put this to better use than slicing through your throat.
Unravel that cap of yours.”