Pirate's Wraith, The
Page 16
“That’s a police officer who investigates crimes. They have to be very clever. They figure out who committed the crime by the clues left behind.” She savored the meat in her mouth. Who could have imagined turtle meat would taste so good? “Anyhow the pinto is beautiful. I wonder if I can ride her.”
“She is undoubtedly the only survivor.”
Lesley nearly choked. “What?”
“There is a wreck.” Harlan stopped slicing the meat. “The rocks on the other side of the island are far worse than the ones here. We were lucky to have come ashore where we did.”
“You nearly drowned after getting clobbered on the head.” If he had died, would she be able to survive alone?
He bent once more to his task, cutting the strips of meat with neat precision. “The stench of death surrounds the wreck.”
Lesley stomach made a painful lurch. “Are you sure there are no other survivors?”
“I searched. All died. There were ... very young children.”
“Kids?” After her experience on the Lyrical, the fact that anyone would put a young child on a sailing ship struck her as insane. “That is horrible. I can’t believe there are such negligent parents in the world. There’s so much danger—”
“No doubt, they were caught in the same storm that sank the Lyrical. They are newly dead.”
A pall of grief settled on her. The death and destruction existing in this rotten century boggled the mind. With trembling hands, she reached for the wooden board she used as a crutch and stood. “Let’s go bury them.”
“It is too late. The vultures ...”
Bile rose in her stomach but she swallowed hard. She struggled to hold back tears. Poor innocent babies shipwrecked and eaten by vultures. “This is a appalling era.”
“Are there not violent storms in 2011?”
The fact that he asked about her century surprised her, for he adamantly refused to listen to anything about it until now. “Unfortunately, horrible storms are still wreaking havoc but hurricanes are tracked, so people have some warning.”
“How are they tracked?”
Lesley opened her mouth but realized that explaining satellites, photographs, or even radar would confuse him. “There are signs in the sky and the scientists have learned to read them with more precision.”
He nodded as if he understood.
“How do you suppose the pinto survived the wreck?” she asked.
“Horses swim.”
Duh. She knew that. “You said the rocks on the other side of the island were much worse than the ones here.”
“The horse must have gone overboard before the ship hit the rocks.”
“So she might have swum around the rocks?”
“It is possible.”
“Do you think the pinto will have enough to eat here?”
“There is much vegetation.”
“But no carrots.”
A smile touched the corners of his mouth and she realized how handsome he could be.
“Horses can live without carrots.”
“I don’t know about that. A carrot is to a horse, what chocolate is to people—at least, that’s the way it always seemed to me.”
“I have not tasted chocolate, but I have heard of it.”
“It’s really delicious.”
“Turtle is good.”
“Chocolate is better than turtle.”
Lesley put two fingers in her mouth and blew hard. Harlan shot a startled look at her. The horse perked up its ears.
She moved further away from their little camp and blew again. The pinto sauntered a little closer, but stopped and shook its head after a few steps.
“She is afraid of me.” Harlan commented.
“You are cutting up meat. Maybe she thinks she’ll be butchered, too.”
“Perhaps a man beat her. One must be gentle with a horse.”
Something in his tone made her pause. Was he speaking of the horse—or her? She glanced at him but he appeared engrossed in his chore, cutting up turtle meat as if it required the utmost art.
She reminded herself that he ordered men to be cut down from the rigging without any qualms about whether they could fall into the sea or on the deck. He ordered men to their death in battle. He remained, quite simply, a thug, out for his own gain.
Why would an unrepentant chauvinist be gentle with a female horse?
“What do you know about horses?” she asked.
“My father owned some very fine horses. I rode horses soon after I learned to walk.”
“Why couldn’t you do something with horses instead of becoming a pirate?”
“My brother sold the horses.”
“You could have given riding lessons, you could have cared for other people’s horses—”
“I am not a stable boy.” Pride showed on his face.
“All right. Why couldn’t you have become an accountant? It would have been a lot safer.”
He frowned at her but made no comment.
She turned and made her way slowly toward the pinto. The animal watched her while nibbling at the grass. When Lesley got within five feet, the pinto nickered.
“You and I are friends,” Lesley smiled. “Best buds. If I had a carrot, I would give it to you.”
The pinto lifted its head and blew out through its nose.
“You need a name, so I think I’ll call you Sea Biscuit—not very original, I know, but Sea Biscuit seems appropriate due to the circumstances.”
The pinto stood still as Lesley reached out to pet it. The big head nudged her shoulder and before long Lesley cooed to Sea Biscuit with her arms around the animal’s neck.
“Can I go for a ride?” she asked.
Sea Biscuit snorted and Lesley laughed.“I know, I can’t leap up and you don’t have a saddle or a bridle, but if I could find ...”
About ten feet away, Lesley saw a large rock. If she could climb up on it and get Sea Biscuit to stand next to it ...
Lesley went back to the campsite and gathered together rope and twine. She sat down with the knife to fashion a crude halter.
Harlan glanced at her activity. “You have no saddle.”
“I can ride without one, bareback. It’s fun. I tried it several times at camp.”
“Where was this camp?”
“In the northwestern tip of New Jersey. My parents sent me there every summer until I turned fourteen. Then Dad died and we had a lot less money with only my mom supporting us so that was the end of my summers at camp. The only thing about camp I liked was the horseback riding. I hated everything else. The food, the bugs, the bullies—”
“Ruffians?”
“Like your delightful Mr. Moody, but smaller versions. They teased me and picked on me until I finally learned some self-defense and used it on them. I nearly got thrown out of camp that summer.” She smiled. “I can still see the worst of them curled up on the ground and crying. His buddies backed off. Fired up and mad as hell, I would have taken them all on, but the camp counselor pulled me away.” She sobered as regrets assailed her. Why had she put up with Jim for so long? Why had she listened to him? She had wasted two years of her life in a hopeless struggle.
She should have kicked Jim in the balls.
“Should I have allowed you to fight a battle?”
Harlan’s voice startled her from her unhappy reverie.
“Your method of fighting is more like suicide. I had to defend myself against Moody, but I don’t go asking for trouble. Once we get back to civilization, you can get back on your pirate ship and I will find a job. Being a pirate is not good for anyone’s health.”
As she worked tying the rope into a halter, Harlan placed long sticks over the coals and draped the turtle meat over the sticks.
He sang another of his sea chanteys as he worked. Even though he had a terrible singing voice, Lesley enjoyed listening to him. She learned the chorus easily enough and joined in whenever he sang that part. The grin he shot at her warmed her right down to her toes.
Picking up her crutch, she limped along until she reached the pinto. She lavished the animal with love before she gently and slowly slipped the halter over Sea Biscuit’s nose.
The pinto shook its head and neighed in complaint, but soon went back to ripping up the grass.
Lesley pulled at some grass and hand fed it to Sea Biscuit for a while. Then she pulled up a large quantity of the grass and went to the rock. Once she had herself standing on the rock, she whistled at Sea Biscuit and held out the grass.
Sea Biscuit laughed at her and continued chomping on the grass along the ground. She cooed and whistled softly, entreating the pinto to come to her, but it did no good.
Meanwhile, Harlan wore a big grin on his face as he worked over the hot coals.
She clambered down the rock, grabbed her crutch, and went back to Sea Biscuit.
“Since you won’t come when you’re called, I am going to lead you to the rock. Got the picture?” She held onto the homemade halter and tugged at it. Sea Biscuit tugged back. Lesley lost her balance and fell. She landed on her rear end in the sand, so the only thing that hurt was her dignity. Still, she had no intention of giving up.
“I am going to ride on your back so you better get used to the idea.” She held onto her crutch, got to her feet, and pulled on the halter again. “Let’s go, girl. I don’t weigh much and I know how to ride. We’ll have fun. Trust me.”
Lesley yanked on the halter. Sea Biscuit yanked back, but Lesley did not fall this time.
“I pull, you follow. Got the picture. I’m sure you’ve done this in the past—with a bit in your mouth. I’m being kind. No bit. We can have a much easier relationship. Kinder. Gentler.” Lesley moved a few steps away and pulled. “Come on, Sea Biscuit.”
Sea Biscuit did not budge.
Lesley dropped the halter. “Okay. Since you won’t go to the rock, I’ll find something else to use as a mounting block.” She limped back to the campsite.
“That is a horse not a dog.” Harlan chuckled.
“I know that.” Lesley did not think the situation warranted laughter. “I thought we had an agreement. How did I know she would be so stubborn?”
“The ship on the other side of the island was Spanish.”
Lesley eyed him with suspicion. “I know a little Spanish.” Cerveza, por favor.
“Perhaps you should speak to her in that language.”
“¡Ven!” She called. Sea Biscuit lifted her head and moved farther away.
Harlan laughed out loud.
Lesley glared at him. “That’s the last time I’ll listen to any of your suggestions.”
She decided the footlocker she had pulled out of the waves would work as a mounting block, but since it weighed at least half a ton she would have to drag it across the sand.
The sun had risen to its zenith. The intensity of it bouncing off the water made her squint. Thirsty, sweaty, and hungry—again, she sat on the footlocker.
“If I find a zanahoria I’m not giving it to you.” She shouted to Sea Biscuit.
“Eat.” Harlan sat on the sand and handed her a slab of smoked turtle. His fingers touched hers and a small spark of awareness traveled up her arm from the contact.
“Thanks.” She dared to lift her gaze to his. His light blue eyes had kindly crinkles at the corners. For the first time, she could sense the gentleness behind the pirate’s normally gruff persona, but that did not alleviate her tension. Instead, it gave her the sensation of being on a rocking boat out at sea—completely off balance.
She cast her gaze down at the sand and tried to ignore the reactions he roused in her. She should not trust him. That could be perilous.
“I can lift you onto the horse’s back,” he suggested.
Lesley’s insides turned into jelly. If he touched her, she would melt. If he put his hands around her waist, she would put her hands around his neck and forget all about riding Sea Biscuit.
“She is afraid of you,” she said.
“If you tie her to a tree, she cannot run from me. We will become better acquainted.”
“She is not cooperative.”
“She is clever and may buck. Hold onto her mane.”
When they finished eating, Lesley took a length of rope with her and secured Sea Biscuit to two sturdy trees. Once the pinto realized she had been made a prisoner, she complained with a considerable amount of unladylike behavior. She kicked, bucked, stomped, screamed, squealed and glared at Lesley with the most unholy fire in her eyes.
Lesley twisted her hands together and wondered if she had made a huge mistake in attempting to ride Sea Biscuit.
Harlan brought the footlocker as Lesley requested. Lesley drooled as she watched his muscles bunch. She knew if she did not keep him at arm’s length she would wrap herself around him and never come up for air.
He spoke softly to the horse and pulled something out of his pocket.
“What’s that?” Lesley asked.
“Wild plums.”
“How do you know those aren’t poisonous?”
“The last time I was marooned, we ate many of these plums.”
Sea Biscuit gobbled down the plum in one bite and nudged Harlan.
Harlan pulled out another plum but he offered it to Lesley first. “Would you like one? I dug out the pit.” He held it out in the palm of his hand.
Lesley stared at the proffered plum. “Sea Biscuit’s slobbery saliva is all over your hand.
He laughed and gave the plum to Sea Biscuit. In a matter of minutes, the two had bonded over the fruit. Harlan moved the footlocker next to the horse and bowed. “Your steed, m’lady.”
Lesley’s heart danced a pirouette. Dammit.
Swallowing down her hunger for Harlan and her fear of Sea Biscuit, she climbed on the footlocker. Harlan gave her a hand as she stood up.
She stared at the sight of her hand in his. Her hand appeared so small, so swallowed up by his huge strength. Was it any wonder he had a cannon in his britches?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How could she ever cleanse her mind of his magnificent attribute.
“Are you sure you can handle this horse?” he asked with a note of concern.
“Let’s do it.” She opened her eyes and swung her leg over the horse’s back.
Sea Biscuit kicked, bucked, and lunged in an attempt to dislodge her.
“Do not let go of that mane.” Harlan untied the ropes that secured the horse.
Lesley clutched at the mane with all her strength. Sea Biscuit reared and pawed the air. Lesley hung on. Whenever she had ridden bareback at camp, she sat upon a horse known for its gentle manners. Sea Biscuit had more spirit than any horse Lesley had ever known. Her mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper.
Harlan slapped the pinto’s rear end and she sprang away. She continued bucking and rearing for a few minutes, but eventually she ran out of energy. As she reached the water’s edge, she slowed to a walk.
Lesley’s racing heart slowed to normal as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Giving the pinto a loving pat, she said, “You see, I’m not so bad. Let’s go exploring. Maybe we can find a zanahoria.”
Sea Biscuit whinnied and they headed east on the edge of the water.
* * * *
Harlan burned. The smooth, round feel of Lesley’s nether regions ignited his fuse. Yet, the woman confused him with her obsessive fear of things he could not see—those tiny things called germs. At other times, she awed him with her courage and knowledge. She surprised him at every turn.
Her personality bore no resemblance to that of his dead wife. Still, Lesley had appeared on deck with the power of a lightning bolt and carried the wooden pony he had carved, an enchanted toy that glowed and from which a spectral being had emerged.
Perhaps the elusive phantom had not been the ghost of Elsbeth. It may have been the soul of one o
f the newly dead on the other side of the island. Still, it struck him as odd that Lesley did not appear frightened by the phenomena. While she claimed not to be a witch, the startling manner of her own arrival spoke of her magical abilities.
Gilly had set up the experiment, but he had conducted many scientific tests that resulted in no discernible outcomes.
Burdened with the conundrum of Lesley, he could not stop himself from focusing on her fine form. He watched her black hair bouncing on her back in the sunlight while the pinto cantered along at the edge of the water. Her laugh reminded him of the merry sound of bells as she urged the horse into a gallop.
Finally, she and the horse disappeared around the bend. Forcing himself to go back to his task, he set up a place to dry the wild plums he had found. He had picked a great many of them. They could live for many months on the island, but if he did not lie with Lesley soon he could go mad.
An hour later, she came riding up to the campsite screaming, “We’re saved! A huge ship sent out a boat to pick us up.”
Harlan’s blood went cold despite the warm air surrounding him. “What are their colors?”
“Colors? The ship is black and brown, I guess.” She slid to the ground, neatly landing on her good foot. “I whistled and waved and they did that thing to stop the ship—you know where the sails go like this.” She held up her hands.
“Heave to.”
“Right. You better pack up because we’re going home.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Well, not home, but back to civilization—such as it is.” She used the pinto for a crutch and then ducked inside her small shelter whistling a cheerful ditty.
With his heart pounding ominously, he ran to the edge of the water. He could see the ship at the eastern tip of the island. The ship’s boat was about to run through the breakers.
He pulled out his glass and peered through the lens.
Spaniards.
Chapter Fourteen
Harlan cursed as he ran back to the camp. He could not blame her. She did not understand.
Fortunately, he had searched for a place to hide last night. If he and Lesley were lucky, they could reach it without leaving an easy trail for anyone to follow.
When he reached the shelter, he lifted the canvas. “They are Spaniards. We must hide. Now. Take nothing.”