Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  Jamie wondered if they had been betrayed in Dover, then decided against it. It had simply been bad luck to buy passage aboard the Kathleen. Any passengers carrying valuables would have been at risk. Wholesale pirating may have been eliminated in these waters, but there were plenty of petty scum to prey on innocent citizens. A simple knock on the head, arid all evidence went over the side. More than one Chesapeake planter had taken passage on a vessel and was never heard of again.

  Without Charity and the gold, there would have been no problem. The gold wasn't even all his. Elizabeth was due a full share, as well as a half-dozen others who had contributed to the success of the mission. A smuggler who didn't deliver fair shares to his associates had a short life span. No excuse would be good enough.

  If he had been alone and unhampered by the gold, he could have simply dove overboard and swam to shore. The long walk home and the loss of his personal belongings below would have been a minor annoyance. Swimming this far with a woman and two bags of gold was a bit stickier. And neither was expendable.

  Charity's fingers dug into his arm. "Is this a pirate ship?" she whispered from between clenched teeth.

  "No, dear," he said out loud. Jamie kissed the top of her head; she smelled like honeysuckle and wild strawberries. He had to get her out of this in one piece.

  She faked a laugh. "You're lying to me," she murmured.

  "When have I ever lied to you, darling?" He bent and kissed her to the obvious amusement of the watching crewmen. Charity started to struggle. "Be still," he warned. "Try and act like nothing's wrong."

  "Tell me what's wrong."

  "The Virginian's dead." She stiffened in his arms. "Play the part, or we'll not last till nightfall."

  Keeping his voice low, he told her what he had seen when he went belowdecks to fetch something from their cabin. Thinking to warn the planter about his own suspicions, Jamie had pushed open the opposite cabin door. The Virginian lay facedown on his bunk, his belongings piled beside him. Jamie would have believed him still in a drunken stupor, except for the scent of blood in the cabin. He'd taken time to roll the man over—to see the handle of a knife sticking from his belly.

  "You're sure he's dead?" Charity asked.

  Jamie nodded. He'd been afraid he couldn't get topside without being discovered.

  "How are we going to get ashore alive?"

  "I'll think of something."

  "You'd better," Charity threatened. Suddenly the captain didn't look quite so honest. Was it possible that someone had murdered the Virginian without the master of the ship knowing about it? Could it be one killer and not the whole crew? Jamie's arms about her were reassuring. Perhaps another Royal Navy ship would come alongside and they could signal it for help. Perhaps... Charity licked her dry lips and whispered a silent prayer. Jamie would think of something, she was sure of it. Hadn't he always?

  Maddeningly, they did not pass close by another ship, navy or otherwise. Only a few sails appeared in the distance, and then disappeared. When the ship's cook came around with beans and hard bread, Charity threw it to the gulls. She was too frightened to eat a single bite.

  Jamie kept up his act as though they were truly on a honeymoon. He joked with the captain, and even bet him as to what time they would dock in St. Mary's.

  In late afternoon the wind shifted and the temperature dropped abruptly. Blowing from the southeast in excess of twenty knots, it whipped the sea to five-foot waves and filled the billowing sail. Charity shivered and sought shelter beside the gray horse. Jamie had warned her not to go belowdecks for any reason.

  She patted the restless animal, taking comfort from his warmth. "You're probably seasick too," she murmured. She scanned the sky anxiously. Soon the sun would begin to set.

  The pitch and roll of the deck grew in intensity, and Charity was glad she had refrained from eating. Jamie ambled over to stand beside her. "I'm cold," she said.

  "You'll be colder if you don't do exactly what I say." He grinned wolfishly.

  "No one's going to come and help us, are they?" she said.

  "I don't think so."

  "Have you thought of anything?"

  "Not yet."

  "It's getting dark." She leaned against the horse, trying to maintain her footing on the deck "Jamie, please... do something."

  "I thought you didn't like horses."

  "At least he's warm."

  Jamie watched intently as the sloop's tacking carried them closer to shore and then away. He estimated that at the nearest point they were perhaps a mile from land. A course was followed for about half an hour before changing direction; if they were to try for the beach, it would have to be at that instant of changing from westerly to easterly tack. At that point, they would have the least distance to swim.

  The surf on the beach was his main concern. If they survived the swim, they would have to battle the breakers. Providing, of course, that they weren't murdered before they got off the Kathleen! Jamie caught Charity's hand and squeezed it tight. "Feel like going for a swim?" he asked lightly.

  Her eyes grew large, and she swallowed hard. "Do we have to?"

  "Can you think of a better idea?"

  "No, but..."

  "If you've got any connections with those saints of yours, it might not be a bad time to ask for help."

  Angry grumbling from the stern of the boat drew their attention. The first mate bit off an oath as the captain strode toward them. Jamie moved in front of Charity, his hand dropping down to hang near the pistol. She tensed, wishing she had a weapon.

  The ship's master stared at them arrogantly. "You'd best get the lady below," he said gruffly. "The weather may turn worse... an accident could happen up here."

  "I'd rather stay on deck," she protested. "Really... I..."

  "Actually," Jamie improvised, "she's a bit seasick." He laughed condescendingly. "No sea legs, y'know!"

  The captain frowned. "She'll feel no worse in her bunk. I'll have no females falling into the sea off my sloop in the dark."

  Charity's voice held the proper timid quality without trying. "Thank you for your concern, Captain. You're right, I'm sure." She leaned against Jamie as if for strength. "Just a few more minutes and I'll follow your advice. The air does seem to help my stomach."

  A curt bow, and the captain walked off. Charity flung an unspoken curse after his retreating back. The murdering devil!

  Jamie could count more than a half dozen crewmen on deck.

  He watched the setting sun, willing it to drop below the western horizon as fervently as Charity tried to hold it back. "You're to go over the side when I give the order," Jamie whispered. "No matter what happens to me. You're better off as shark bait than left alone on this boat."

  The waiting was almost more than she could bear. The crewmen seemed to be moving closer, like wolves closing in on sheep. Charity's gaze fixed on the blood-red sky. If they were going to jump, why didn't they do it? The trees on the shoreline looked a long way away. Soon it would be too dark to even see the land!

  The horse snorted and threw back his head, tossing the long mane and rolling his eyes in fear. When had Jamie removed the blindfold? Charity became aware that he was quietly strapping the heavy saddlebags to the gray's saddle. What good would that do? She found her voice. "Jamie... what...?"

  Two seamen moved toward them menacingly; a knife gleamed in the fading twilight. Jamie 's pistol spoke, and the nearest sailor fell to the deck screaming in pain. In another heartbeat, Jamie seized her about the waist and swung her up onto the stallion's back. "Hang on!" he ordered.

  Charity clutched at the gray's mane, her protests unheeded. "Jamie, no!" she cried as he slashed at the gray's remaining rope with a knife.

  A figure loomed up from the shadows! Jamie whirled and fired a second time, then yanked the horse's head toward the sea and jabbed his rump with the point of his knife. Charity screamed as the big animal leaped over the railing and tumbled ten feet into the ocean below.

  Water covered her head and po
ured into her throat! Instinctively she clung to the struggling horse beneath her. Her head broke water and she gulped air. Jamie! Where was Jamie? Shots rang out behind her! Another wave swept over their heads and she nearly lost her grip on the animal's mane.

  A sharp pain knifed through her arm and she fell forward against the gray's neck. "Jamie," she choked as the ocean closed over horse and rider, swallowing them up.

  Chapter 13

  The icy water numbed her brain; her lungs felt as if they were bursting! Her eyes burned from the salt; her ears were filled with thunder. Charity was past the point of fear... past reasoning. A primitive instinct had taken command of her muscles—willing her to fight the waves, forcing her to breathe, hold her breath, and gulp air again when the sea rolled over her.

  The thunder grew louder, a roaring beyond anything she had ever conceived of. The thunder seized her, driving her down to the ocean floor, tumbling her across the sandy bottom, and then spewing her forth to lie in the foamy wash, more dead than alive.

  Something touched her face. Something velvet-soft and wet. Charity rolled over on her stomach and began to vomit sea-water. Coughing and choking, she rose to her knees. The stallion snorted and nudged her again with his muzzle. Another wave rolled up the beach, soaking her legs and hips, and her brain began to function.

  "The thunder..." she gasped. She shook her head and was suddenly overcome with violent tremors. Her teeth chattered. She was cold! Thunder... no... not thunder... breakers.

  Breakers. Her hands felt for the wet sand and she crawled up and away from the rolling water. Sand. Beach. "Land!" she cried. Her voice was a harsh croaking. "We're on the beach!"

  The horse nickered plaintively. Favoring a foreleg, he limped toward her, a white ghost against the cloud-strewn sky.

  Charity stretched a shaking hand toward the apparition. "Horse?" she asked. "Is that you?" Her fingers touched the solid bulk of his neck... slick, wet, but very much alive. Reason flooded over her. "If it's you, horse, then this isn't hell." She was alive! Using the shoulder as a support, she struggled to her feet. The animal stood still, and she leaned against him. "We're alive, horse," she whispered brokenly. "We're both alive."

  The crash of the surf was the only sound beyond her own voice and the heavy breathing of the gray stallion. The thin moonlight showed a lonely stretch of sand assaulted by churning walls of water.

  "Jamie?" Her voice was less than a whisper Where was Jamie? She tried to think. Had she seen him in the water? "Jamie." Louder this time. "Jamie!"

  The surf drowned her cries.

  Defeated, she fell to her knees and was quietly sick again. The horse watched, bewildered.

  The moon moved from behind the clouds, full and round and merciless, illuminating the empty stretch of land. Marsh grass moved in the wind. A seabird blown by the wind circled, seeking shelter in the marsh. And still the awesome surf thundered, crashing against the beach... grinding... sweeping clean the sand.

  "No!" Charity screamed at the moon. "Nooo! He's not dead! Jamie's not dead!"

  The stallion backed away, ears flicking nervously. The delicate nostrils rolled and he coughed, his large, intelligent eyes watching her every movement.

  Charity rubbed at her eyes; they burned from the salt and sand. "Don't go," she called to the horse. "Don't go." If he went, she'd be all alone. Suddenly it was important not to be alone.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood up and walked toward the horse. "Whoa, boy," she soothed. "Nice horse. Good gray horse."

  The stallion tossed his head and backed off a step, holding his right foreleg up. A nicker came from deep in his throat.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked. "Poor horse... poor gray horse." She patted his neck, and he allowed her to run an exploring hand down his injured leg. "It doesn't feel like anything's broken," she said with more assurance than she felt. The bulk of the horse's body blocked the wind, and she pressed against the warm neck and mane.

  The saddle hung at a crazy angle. She wondered if she should loosen it. But if she did, would she remember how to retie it? Would the animal let her?

  The stallion looked back at his middle. It must be hurting him. That decided the issue. Charity fumbled with the soggy leather straps. The horse stood motionless, seeming to understand that she was trying to help him. Finally the strap came loose. The saddle tumbled onto the sand. Charity noticed that the heavy saddlebags were still fastened to it, along with the ones belonging to the dead Virginian.

  The horse stepped away, and Charity let the saddle stay. What difference did it make? The gold was nothing to her now. Nothing mattered now that Jamie was... Her jaw tightened. "You're not dead!" He couldn't be! If she was alive, and the horse was alive—Jamie had to be alive! He might still be on the pirate boat, or he might be in the water swimming to shore. Maybe he had landed down the beach and was searching for her!

  Charity began to run down the beach. "Jamie!" she called. The wet sand was difficult to run on, and she was exhausted. Her legs felt like rubber. "Jamie! Where are you?" She looked back; the horse was limping after her.

  Once she saw a movement and dashed forward. It was nothing but a piece of driftwood tumbling in the waves. She forced herself to keep going... a little further... just a little further.

  After what seemed like an hour, she turned back. If he wasn't this way along the beach, he might be behind her. She traced her steps back along the wet sand. The gray followed faithfully. She passed the place where the saddle lay. Charity quickened her pace. Now she could begin to search again. He might be just ahead! "Jamie!" she called. "Damn it, Jamie Drummond, where the hell are you?"

  Something rolled in the surf. Her heart beat faster! Another log? No! "Jamie!" She threw herself on him, seizing his shoulders and dragging him up onto the dry sand. She pressed her head against his chest. A heartbeat! She rolled him onto his stomach and began to press against his back. He moaned.

  "Jamie! Jamie, you're alive!" She pushed again, harder, and he cried out in pain.

  "Don't... for the love of God, don't," he rasped.

  She pulled her hands away. The left one glistened in the moonlight. It was sticky. Blood! "Jamie, you're hurt!" she cried. Her fingers traced the muscles of his back through the sodden shirt. He moaned again as she found the gaping hole in his side. "You're shot!"

  Jamie raised himself on one elbow. "Get off me before you finish me off."

  "I thought you had drowned."

  "It's bad," he said painfully. "Rip up something to stop the bleeding." A groan escaped his lips. "You've got to close the hole," he whispered.

  Charity ripped his shirt from neck to waist, biting her lip as the extent of the wound was revealed in the moonlight. "Oh, Jamie." She had no bandages, no medicine, no needle and thread to sew it shut with. She had nothing.

  "The saddlebags. Did you save the saddlebags?"

  "You're bleeding to death and you want to know about the saddlebags?"

  "If I don't have that gold, I might: as well bleed to death; I'm a dead man anyway." He felt the hole with his hand. "Damn." His face twisted in agony as he tried to sit up.

  "No," she protested. "Don't try to move." The blood flowing from his side was the only warm thing about him. His skin was cold to the touch, his distorted face like marble. "You mustn't move until I stop the bleeding," she ordered, as much to herself as to him.

  There seemed to be two holes, one going in and another exiting out his back about a handspan above his hip. The bleeding was slow and heavy. She pressed her hand tightly against it while she tried to think of what to do.

  Jamie was shuddering now with the cold. His breathing was irregular, and she could hardly make out what he was trying to say. "Did you... find horse? Gold in... saddlebags. Must get it..."

  "I've got your damned saddlebags," she said. Her voice sounded shrill despite her efforts to remain calm. "Stop worrying about the gold, it's safe." His shaking was causing the wound to bleed harder. She must get him warm. With her free hand, she stripped away
the remainder of his shirt and rubbed his back with dry sand.

  Charity's own clothes—what was left of them—were almost dry. The run down the beach had dried them and stopped her own shivering. The wind from the ocean was cold, but not unbearable. To Jamie, it could be fatal.

  She lay half over him, trying to warm him with her own body. And somehow, sometime during that awful night, she fell asleep.

  Charity awakened to the sound of surf. She blinked her eyes in the morning light. Gulls wheeled overhead, shrieking their raucous lament. Jamie! She shook him violently. "Jamie?" He moaned and opened his eyes.

  Charity's heart caught in her throat. He was so pale. How could anyone be that pale and live? A bloody gash ran across his left cheek, and his face was marked with livid bruises. His lips were cracked and swollen, the cinnamon-brown eyes glazed with pain. "Oh, Jamie," she whispered. "I was afraid you'd gone and died on me in the night."

  "I think I did," he croaked. The cracked lips were stained with blood. "Is there any water?"

  Charity got to her knees. "No... I... I didn't think to look." Suddenly she was aware of her own thirst. They must have water! She forced herself to examine the wound in his side.

  The bleeding had stopped; it was caked with a mixture of dried blood and sand. If he moved, would it start bleeding again?

  She stood up and looked around. A few hundred feet away, the gray horse was nibbling at a stunted bush. Sandpipers scurried after the receding waves, then dashed back up the beach ahead of the racing foam. There was no sign of human habitation, no column of smoke, no sound of an ax. The sparking waves rolled to the horizon without a trace of a sail. If Jamie were to be saved, she would have to do it alone. There was nowhere to seek help.

  "Stay here," she said stupidly. "I'll be back."