Full Steam Ahead

by Karen Witemeyer

  “No!” She fought Fletcher’s hold, desperate to get to Darius, but her enemy’s grip was as unshakeable as iron.

  “Get his gun, Will,” Fletcher shouted, but Darius was already regaining his feet, the pistol still in his hand.

  Nicole searched his form for injury but saw nothing. Surely he must have been hit to have been thrown backward off his horse. Keeping his pistol trained on Will, who had traded his pistol for the freighter’s shotgun, Darius turned toward her, easing his way closer to the river. That’s when she saw it—a line of red blooming against the white cotton of his shirt beneath his coat. How deep had the bullet penetrated? It could be a scratch or a mortal wound; she had no way of knowing. At least he was on his feet. Yet even as she watched, the red line on his shirt widened and spread. He’d not be able to hold them off for long. And what would happen to him then?

  “I have what you want, Fletcher.” Darius’s voice resonated with a forcefulness that heartened Nicole’s anxious spirit, until she realized what he was holding.

  He was going to forfeit the dagger.

  Nicole shook her head in slow denial, even as logic told her it was the only chance to save both their lives.

  She never should have taken the dagger. Should have left it at home with her father’s guards. But, no. She’d wanted to prove herself. Show her father that she was as good as a son. Sure, she’d also wanted to keep her parents safe, but had that been her true motive or just an excuse?

  “Will?” Fletcher’s grip tightened painfully about her waist, but Nicole made no protest. She stood against him, limp. It was over. Jenkins had won.

  “It looks like the real thing,” Will called out. “I can see the jewels from here.”

  Darius took another step closer to the river. “Let her go, Fletcher, and it’s yours.”

  A sob caught in Nicole’s throat. She hated feeling helpless. Trapped. Responsible.

  “Set it down on the bank and step away,” Fletcher ordered. “Once you’re clear, I’ll release the girl.”

  Darius obeyed, keeping his pistol trained on Will so the other man would not be tempted to make a premature move for the dagger. “The dagger’s yours,” Darius called. “Now, release Nicole.”

  Fletcher’s grip loosened from around her waist. Nicole staggered for purchase, having lost her anchor. The current eroded the sand from beneath her shoes and her sodden skirts tugged her downstream. Losing her balance, she lifted her arms to steady herself, but just as she found her footing, a boot shoved against her backside, sending her sprawling into the river.

  The greedy current snagged its prize and pulled her deeper into its grasp. She tried to swim, but the toll of fighting Fletcher had sapped her strength. Her skirts dragged her under. She fumbled with the fastenings as the river turned and twisted her beneath the surface, frantic to free herself from the leaden fabric. But her fingers were too numb. As the blackness rose to claim her, she battled to the surface a final time, gulped a breath, then let the river take her.

  CHAPTER 34

  When Nicole’s head disappeared beneath the river’s surface, Darius’s heart stopped beating.

  No!

  In that instant he forgot about Will Jenkins and his shotgun. He forgot about the wound throbbing in his side. Every ounce of his attention focused solely on the patch of red fabric floating away from him with alarming haste.

  Dropping his pistol, he sprinted for the river. His boots tore up the bank as he ran past a dripping Fletcher. The man made a dive for the dagger, yelling at his brother to shoot, but Darius never slowed. Nothing mattered more than getting to Nicole.

  Her head broke the surface once, but the current immediately sucked her back down. She wouldn’t have the strength to fight the current and the weight of her skirts for long.

  Darius slid down the muddy bank and hit the water. High-stepping through the shallows, he rushed forward on foot until the river reached his thighs. Then, after a final glance to pinpoint Nicole’s position, he dove headfirst into the Trinity.

  Never had he swum so hard. Agony pierced his injured side each time he stretched his right arm over his head for a full stroke. He steeled his mind against it, defiantly stretching his arm even farther the next stroke. He would not slow. Not for anything. His waterlogged boots dragged at him like twin anchors, but he simply kicked harder. If he couldn’t reach her in time, all would be lost, and his well-being would no longer matter.

  Feeling the currents swirl and tug, Darius did his best to swim with the river instead of against it, but even so his fatigue grew. He lifted his head, needing to gauge his distance from Nicole, make sure he wasn’t off course. For one heart-stopping moment, he saw nothing but dark water. Panic seized him.

  Scenes from his last nightmare flashed through his mind—him searching the waters for the drowning girl from the Louisiana only to have her identity shift as he watched her face take on Nicole’s beloved features.

  This couldn’t be happening again. He couldn’t lose another girl. He couldn’t lose Nicole.

  Then, as if the Lord had heard his unformed prayer, he glimpsed a bit of red. Thank God! She was close. Only a few yards ahead.

  He cut through the water toward her, choosing a line that would take him slightly past his target so the current would push her directly into his arms. But he had to fight the current to get there. He kicked and stroked, pulling with all his might. Just as he lifted his head to check his position, something heavy thumped into his side. He grabbed for it, knowing it had to be Nicole, but she eluded his grasp.

  He hadn’t had time to take a breath, but he didn’t care. He had to get a hold of Nicole before the river dragged her away from him again. Working beneath the surface, he opened his eyes and fumbled with the seemingly endless fabric of her dress to find her arm or waist to latch on to. Murky water clouded his vision. He could make out a swirl of red but little else. Then all at once, the mass rubbing against him slid beneath, escaping.

  His lungs burned for air, but his heart screamed louder. He would not let the river take her. With a forceful kick he lunged downstream and threw his arms wide before closing them like a crab’s pincer around something blessedly solid. Darius clasped it to his chest and surged to the surface.

  Sunlight hit his skin and air rushed into his lungs, but the woman he held hung limp over his arm. Her back was to him, one arm pinned upward at an awkward angle, her hair full of river soil and debris. He turned her toward him, gaining a better hold around her ribs. Desperate to see her face, he swiped roughly at the hair covering her features. All color had been drained from her skin. Her neck flopped against his arm like that of a lifeless doll. Like the girl from the Louisiana.

  No! Nicole was a fighter. No woman who could run as well as she and kill snakes with a toss of a knife would let a river take her down. She was his pirate, raised on the isle of Jean Lafitte, king of the pirates. She knew how to swim, how to survive against the odds. He’d not give up on her.

  Turning onto his side, careful to keep her face above water, Darius swam one-armed toward the bank. With each pull toward shallower water, the current’s grasp on him eased. When his fingertips finally scraped the muddy bottom, Darius’s strength was so spent, he struggled to get his feet under him. He wobbled as badly as a newborn foal, but somehow he managed to gather the woman he loved into his arms and stagger onto solid ground.

  He fell to his knees when he cleared the bank, Nicole still clasped in his arms. Gently, he laid her upon the grass and bent over her to listen for breath.

  Nothing.

  She lay too still, her skin too pale. Memories flooded his brain of the last female he’d pulled from a river.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he thrust his face into hers. “You will not die,” he ordered. “Do you hear me?” He shook her shoulders as if he could somehow rouse her if he just startled her enough. “You will not die!”

  Yet her limp form looked too much like death already.

  Darius ran a hand over his face. Think, man!
There must be something he could do. If he could build a boiler with a pump that moved water from the— Of course! He’d pump the water from her.

  Kneeling over her supine body, he pushed against her chest, firm and sharp. He repeated the action. Again. And again.

  “Come on, Nicole. Breathe, honey. Breathe for me.”

  Her head lifted slightly with each press of his hands, but she gave no sign of life. A vine of despair slithered through his wall of determination, cracking the mortar. Mentally uprooting it, he flung it from his mind. He refused to consider that she wouldn’t recover. He could still save her. He just needed to stay focused, to expel the water that kept her from breathing. But a second vine slid past his barrier, then a third.

  Don’t take her from me. I beg you. A hot tear rolled down Darius’s cheek as he worked, his pace growing frantic. I need her. I love her. You restored Lazarus to his sisters. Restore Nicole to me. Please.

  Darius put more and more of his weight behind each push until his entire torso acted like a piston, moving up and down. Up and down.

  “Don’t you dare give up, Nicole,” he growled at her. The salt from a second tear rolled over his lips and leaked onto his tongue. “You promised to marry me, blast it all, and I intend to hold you to it. Now, breathe!”

  He rocked forward, desperation lending a greater sharpness to his motion. All at once, water spewed from Nicole’s mouth. Darius snatched his hands from her chest and immediately turned her head. He rolled her to her side and pounded the flat of his hand against her back as she coughed up more of the river.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Get it all out,” he crooned, his heart doing such crazy flips his whole body shook.

  She drew up her knees as more spasms wracked her, but the tiny gasps she took between the coughs echoed in his ears like the finest concerto ever played.

  He mouthed a thank-you toward the heavens, then cradled Nicole in his arms, stroking her hair, pressing kisses to her forehead, murmuring words of love. Her lashes slowly lifted, and brown eyes met his.

  “Dar-ius?” she croaked.

  “I’m here, love.” He smiled down at her and gathered her just a little closer as he rocked her gently. “You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “The d-agger?”

  He stilled. She wasn’t going to like his answer, but he refused to give her less than the full truth. “Fletcher has it.”

  She moaned and turned her face away from him. The action stabbed him like a sword to the gut.

  “We’ll report it to the Rangers. Give them a description of the Jenkins brothers as well as the dagger.” He turned her face back toward him, but she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to look upon him. She couldn’t have cut him any deeper had she thrown her knife into his chest. “We know where they’re headed,” he cajoled, his gut clenching as a new panic set in. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when he’d just gotten her back. “The Rangers will track them down and retrieve the dagger. You’ll see.”

  Nothing. Not so much as a flutter of lashes.

  It was too much. After all they’d endured, he wouldn’t let her give up on him. Not without a fight.

  “Look at me, Nicole,” he demanded in a rough voice he barely recognized as his own. His grip on her chin tightened. “Quit hiding like a coward and face me.”

  That got a reaction. Her lids flew open and her eyes shot brown fire at him.

  Good.

  “I didn’t drag you out of that river to have you mope around like a dog that lost her favorite bone. And I’ll not apologize for exchanging that blasted dagger for your life, either. It’s a knife, Nicole. A dull, ancient blade no longer good for anything except causing friction between two feuding families. No matter how valuable it is, it’s not worth dying over.”

  Nicole stiffened and jerked her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t you think I know that?” she shouted at him, her voice a hoarse rasp. “I don’t blame you for handing over the dagger, Darius. I blame myself for taking it in the first place. I thought myself so clever. So capable. So noble for taking the danger upon myself instead of leaving my parents to face it.” Her bitter tone scraped his heart raw. “I disobeyed my father, and thanks to my pride, the Lafitte Dagger—the Renard family legacy—is in the hand of our enemy.”

  Darius glared down at her. “Do you think having the Lafitte Dagger hanging on the Renard family wall would comfort your father if your lifeless body was delivered to him in an undertaker’s wagon?”

  She flinched at the callous question, uncertainty clouding her eyes. Darius ruthlessly pressed his advantage.

  “That dagger is not the Renard family legacy, Nicole. You are. You are the next generation, your parents’ hope for the future. Any man who would choose the welfare of a knife over that of his child is a fool, and from what you’ve told me, your father’s no fool.”

  “But if I hadn’t taken the dagger, none of this would have happened.”

  “And we never would have met.” A tragedy that didn’t bear contemplation. Darius crooked a finger beneath Nicole’s chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “There is no way to predict what could have happened if you had chosen another path. For all you know, something even more dire could have occurred. Fletcher and Will could have murdered your parents and stolen the dagger while you danced with a bunch of New Orleans dandies.”

  She hissed in a breath. “Never say such a thing!”

  Darius released her chin and ran his hand through his wet hair. “I didn’t mean . . . Sorry . . . I just . . . Look. What I’m trying to say is that torturing yourself with what ifs and could have beens serves no purpose. Take it from one who speaks from experience. Repent of your mistakes, learn from them, and move forward. Trust God to bring good out of whatever mess you’re in.”

  She sniffed and ran her hand beneath her nose. “He’s already brought good from it,” she said in a quiet voice he had to strain to hear. “He brought me you.”

  Darius’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Am I enough, Nicole? Is my love enough?”

  Please let her say yes. Please.

  She said nothing for six long heartbeats—the throbbing intensifying with each pulse. Then she pulled slightly away from him, and it was all he could do not to seize her by the arms and imprison her against his chest.

  “All my life,” she said, her gaze resting somewhere in her lap, “I’ve tried to prove to my father that I was as valuable to him as a son, because deep down I feared that no matter how much he loved me, having a daughter wasn’t enough.” Slowly her eyes lifted and met his. “I have never felt that way with you, Darius. From the beginning, you’ve respected me, partnered with me, treated me as an equal. Your love is a blessing I can barely comprehend.”

  She reached out and touched his face, her fingers stroking over his brow, past his temple, down to his jaw. “No, Darius. You’re not enough.” Her finger paused atop his lips. “You are everything.”

  Darius seized her, clasped her to his chest, and melded his mouth to hers. Nicole cupped his jaw in her hand and returned his kiss with a fervor that matched his own. She tasted of hope, of forgiveness, and of love.

  Thank you, God, his spirit shouted as he bent over her to deepen the kiss. Thank you.

  CHAPTER 35

  Nicole gave herself fully to Darius’s kiss, eager to assure him of her love. He groaned his appreciation, his arms tightening around her and bringing her even closer. This man’s love was worth any price. Even the loss of the Lafitte Dagger.

  Nicole broke away from the kiss and buried her face in Darius’s shoulder. Her labored breaths rasped loudly in her ears, a product not only of the passion they shared but of the realization that had just rammed into her. If Darius had been the one in Fletcher’s grasp, his life hanging in the balance, she would have handed over the dagger to save him in a heartbeat. No matter how disappointed her father would be over the dagger’s loss, she couldn’t regret setting out on this path. Not when it led her to Darius.

/>   Nestling into the crook of his shoulder, she gloried in the feel of his arms around her, of his cheek pressed against her forehead. This man had saved her. Had nearly given his life for her. Jumping in the river as he did, swimming for who knew how long to reach her and pull her back from the edge of death. All of this after being shot from his horse—

  Nicole sat up abruptly and yanked the flaps of Darius’s coat wide. The red stain glared up at her, the river having spread it to encompass his entire side.

  “You’re injured!” she cried. “How could I have forgotten?” She immediately began tugging the shirt from his trousers, intent on assessing the damage, but the rumble of a warm, masculine chuckle stilled her frantic motions.

  “I’m fine, Nicole.” His hands covered hers, keeping her from her goal. “The bullet took a chunk out of my flesh, but everything vital is still in good working order. The cold from the river helped stem the bleeding. I’ll be sore for a few days, but I’ll heal.”

  “Not if infection sets in. That river is filthy. Just look at all the grime sticking to us.” She scraped the side of her hand against her skirts and collected a disgusting amount of silt. She must look like a half-drowned mud creature. Lovely.

  But her appearance was of little consequence. What mattered now was ensuring Darius’s recovery by tending to his injury with all possible haste. Nicole jumped to her feet and grabbed Darius’s hand. She yanked on him until he finally rose to his feet. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up and bandage that wound before it turns septic.”

  He stumbled a bit and swayed unsteadily as he worked to plant his feet solidly beneath him. Had a fever already set in? Darius was the strongest man she knew. He could swim for days in that pond of his. No little jaunt in the river to pull her out should have depleted him. She rushed forward and wrapped her arm about his waist. Her own limbs felt as limp as an unstarched crinoline, but she’d gladly loan him what strength she had.