Starlight & Promises (36 page)

“Are ye breedin’, ma’am?”

“I-I’m not certain. I mean, do a husband and wife not have to have … relations for a long time before they make a baby?”

Gilly chuckled. “Nay. Just one time. That’s all it takes. But most women don’t catch so quickly.”

Samantha sighed. So much for that theory. “Say nothing, Gilly. I missed only one of my courses. That could be a result of my upset over Christian’s leaving so abruptly.”

“Mum’s the word, ma’am. It’ll be our secret ‘til ye’re certain.” Gilly grinned. “I hope ‘tis a little lass, so we can dress her in frilly frocks.”

Samantha gave Gilly a warning look. “Nothing. Say nothing to anyone.”

Gilly made a gesture of buttoning up her lips and grinned again.

Samantha pushed the worry from her mind.

A week went by without word from Steven, and Samantha’s fretting wore her nerves to a nub. She began to believe he had deliberately lied to prevent her from taking off on her own. She moped about the house in a dyspeptic disposition, causing her family to remark upon her behavior.

While tossing about in her lonely bed a few nights later, a rustling came from outside her window. She rose up on her elbows and turned toward the sound. When a black shape blocked the moonlight, she opened her mouth to scream.

Boot steps thudded forward, and a hand clamped down on her lips. “‘Tis me, Samantha. Steven,” a voice whispered. He slowly removed his hand.

She blinked and strained to make out his features in the pale light. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “If Jasper were to catch you, he would tear you limb from limb.”

He dismissed her words with a gesture and eased down on the edge of the bed. “I acquired a paid informant in Miggs’s crew. He agreed to lead me to the cove for a price and on one condition. He knows of your presence in Hobart and insists you accompany me. He will accept his reward only from your hands.”

“Reward?”

“I shall, of course, provide the coin.”

She shook her head. “That will be unnecessary. I have my jewels and will gladly give them up for Richard’s safety.”

“Can you dress and quickly pack a bag?”

She hesitated. “Can you not simply tell me the location?”

“He refused to disclose it, offering only to guide us there. I would never take the chance of harm coming to you if there were any other way. My informant guarantees your safety. To be certain he tells the truth, my men will guard us. If we are to rescue Richard, we must leave tonight. The trip will take some time over rough territory, and the
Manta Ray
returns to sea in a couple of weeks. Should Richard still be alive, I give you my word he will not be by the time they sail.”

She posed one more question. “Were you able to discover who hired Miggs to kidnap Richard?”

He shook his head. “I dare not push my informant further and risk losing his cooperation. Perhaps we shall learn all there is to learn when we find Richard. Making certain he escapes safely is my greatest concern. I have no doubt the man you seek will eventually reveal himself. Will you come with me? I have men and horses waiting below.”

Samantha bounded out of bed, flew into her dressing room, and pulled on a riding habit. She stuffed a small bag with essentials, including her jewels, and joined Steven in the bedchamber. “I’m ready. We should go before someone discovers us.” Steven headed toward the open window, and Samantha stopped beside the desk to take up a pen. “I must first leave a note for Aunt Delia. She will be frantic if I should suddenly disappear.”

Steven crossed the room and laid a hand on her wrist. “That would be unwise. If your family discovers our plans and applies to the military garrison for help, Miggs will learn about it. It may endanger our lives and Richard’s.” He held her gaze in a sorrowful look. “‘Tis best for now they know nothing. When we return with Richard, you can explain everything.”

“I-I suppose you have a point, but I cannot simply leave them to worry about me.”

“Samantha,” he said firmly, “if you truly wish to save Richard, you have no choice.”

She squared her shoulders and dropped the pen on the desk. “We should leave now.”

He helped her climb down the trellis supporting a thick growth of trumpet vines on the side of the house. At the back entrance to the garden, six men sat on horses and held two other mounts by the reins. “Can you ride astride?” Steven asked.

Samantha answered by swinging into the saddle with no assistance, gathering up the reins, and applying her heels to the horse’s flanks.

They left in a clatter of hooves and a cloud of dust. Samantha looked back over her shoulder only once and wondered what her family would think of her sudden disappearance. Her thoughts turned to Christian, and her heart ached.

In the Tasman Sea

C
hristian leaned back in the captain’s chair and crossed his ankles on top of the desk corner. He held a glass of whiskey in his right hand and a cigar clamped between his teeth. Garrett occupied a similar chair, feet also on the desk. He preferred brandy to whiskey and puffed on a slim cheroot. A pile of charts depicting the islands and waterways of the surrounding sea lay between their feet. A collection of navigational instruments sat atop the papers.

The
Maiden Anne
was anchored dead center over the spot where the
Manta Ray
engaged and sank the
Rapier
over a year ago. For hours, Christian and Garrett had pored over the charts, but the results remained unchanged. The nearest landfall lay hundreds of miles from their present location.

“Assuming they escaped the ship,” Christian said, “did they survive? If so, how?”

Garrett picked up Christian’s train of thought. “Miggs’s man said he applied the cat to both. Truett was either dead or nearly so. We can assume the beatings, along with the little food and water they’d have been allowed, would weaken them. They couldn’t go far under their own power, even if they managed to escape the ship during the battle.”

“So they didn’t swim away.” Christian sent Garrett a pointed look. “If you were starved and beaten and too weak to swim, what would you do?”

Garrett lifted a brow. “Float?”

“Float,” Christian agreed. “In the wake of a battle, debris litters the ocean. A determined man could latch onto a floating keg or spar and, perhaps with a large dose of luck, hang on to it long enough to make land, if the sun and sharks didn’t get him first.”

He swung his feet off the desk and snapped at Garrett, “Find a chart showing the currents at the time the
Rapier
sank. Assuming Richard and James floated away from the ship, we should be able to determine in which direction they headed.”

Garrett dragged out the chart and spread it on the desk. Swirls on its surface indicated the ocean currents. Garrett drew a line from Hobart, Tasmania, to Wellington, New Zealand, the
Rapier’s
home port. The line crossed their present location, which lay in the center of the East Australian Current of the Tasman Sea. The current swept down from the Coral Sea along Australia’s eastern coast, then curved westward at the northwestern tip of Tasmania, creating a circle that passed by the western edge of New Zealand and moved northward.

From there it fanned out in two directions: back into the circle of the East Australian Current or southwest along the northern tip of Australia to pick up the South Equatorial Current, which eventually led up the western coast of South America.

Christian traced a finger along the second route. “If they passed New Zealand and floated eastward, we have no hope of finding them alive. The passage is too distant and leads back into cold water. If we’re to assume they reached land at some point, they must have caught the same current in which they began their journey. What lies in that path?”

Garrett read the names off the map. “Lord Howe Island, Norfolk Island, the Loyalty Islands, the Hebrides, and New Caledonia. The closest, Lord Howe Island, is over eight hundred miles from here.” He looked up. “It’s impossible, Chris. They couldn’t have made it that far.”

Christian frowned. “We either believe they’re alive or give up all hope and return to Hobart empty-handed. As we’re committed to the former, we must assume another island exists between here and Lord Howe Island, uncharted but there nonetheless.”

“And we find it how?” Garrett asked. “By floating on the current?”

Christian rubbed a hand across his chin. “You may have an idea there.”

Garrett emitted a short laugh. He took a turn around the room, puffing hard on his cheroot. “I was being facetious. Have you any idea how long that would take a ship this size?”

Christian lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Longer than I would wish. However, after a year, we’re no longer searching for survivors at sea. They had to make landfall to endure this long. Hopefully, their situation will be no more dire than it already is no matter how long it takes for us to find them.”

The next day the sailors lashed together a line of empty water kegs. A lead line attached them to the ship’s bow and allowed the crew to haul in the buoys at night or during rough seas. The line remained slack while the ship, under boiler power at low speed, followed the kegs, which floated freely in the current far ahead but still within sight of a spyglass wielded by a lookout in the crow’s nest.

The plan proceeded well. The
Maiden Anne
trailed the barrels for eight days, bobbing northeastward in the East Australian Current. Then Neptune intervened, taking them by surprise.

The
Maiden Anne
received warning of only a few minutes. When the lookout spied the seawall, Christian was at the helm with Captain Lindstrom and Garrett. The three men tied themselves to the wheel, and the captain bellowed out for the crew to turn the ship’s stern into the wave and lash themselves to the masts. The
Maiden Anne
would surely go beneath the tremendous wave, but it might not sink. A man secured to the ship had a greater chance of surviving than one swept out to sea.

The ship turned. Close to half the crew managed to comply with Lindstrom’s order before the wave smashed into them. It lifted the ship a hundred feet in the air. The
Maiden Anne
surfed along the crest for endless minutes, then dropped like a stone into a trough, pushed along from behind, while Lindstrom, Garrett, and Christian fought the wheel to keep the ship’s stern turned into the waves following the initial seawall.

When the hull suddenly crashed into a coral reef, it broke into pieces and took on water. Those still conscious after the impact untied their ropes and rushed to help the others before the ship slipped beneath the waves. Christian, Garrett, and the captain, still lashed to the wheel, were knocked senseless by a falling timber.

When Christian cracked open his eyes, he lay on his back. A bright red and black honeyeater, with a long curved beak, cocked its head at him from a branch overhead. He tried to sit up. Blood dripped into his left eye, his head spun, and he sank back to the ground.

He rolled his head to the right to view a wall of luxuriant vegetation. Exotic birdcalls rang through air redolent with tropical flowers. He saw no sign of humans, the ground beneath him was hard, and he ached like hell.