Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  After what seemed an hour, she was rewarded with one small fish. Clutching it, she climbed out of the water and reached for the voluminous garment.

  "You're a fetching sight for a dying man."

  Charity whirled to see Jamie propped on one elbow, staring at her. "Jamie, you're better!" She drew the shirt over her head hastily, then ran to his side. "You're really better."

  "Hell, yes, I'm better. And as soon as I can get my hands on you, I'll wring your pretty neck. You nearly killed me." A smile played across his thin lips. "A shame to cover those rosy tips. A man could come back from the dead for a taste of them."

  A blush crept up her throat and cheeks. "Stop it, Jamie," she pleaded. "I was so afraid," she said thickly. "So afraid you'd die." She swallowed hard, cupping his jaw in the palm of her hand.

  He leaned toward her and winced. "Kiss me, woman." Obediently her lips tenderly brushed his cracked ones.

  "Jamie," she breathed. Her eyes filled and she pulled his head against her breast, cradling him there as though he were a child.

  Jamie breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet female scent of her clean, damp body. "For God's sake." He groaned. "You'll be the death of me." He stroked the length of hair that fell over one shoulder, trailing down to brush against the erect nipple. Only thin linen lay between his flesh and hers. He let out the breath and pushed her away. "I'm starving, but I'd sooner taste you from crown to sole than a six-course meal," he murmured.

  She chuckled deep in her throat. "Hush your mouth," she admonished. "Such talk from an invalid." She felt like singing! If his thoughts had turned so lecherous, Jamie must be on the road to recovery for certain. She stood back from him and made a show of belting the shirt about her waist and rolling up the sleeves.

  Jamie watched her lazily. The soft shirt molded against her body, revealing the full rise of her breasts, her narrow waist and womanly hips. The gathered neck tied in the back, and it fell to midthigh. A man could lose his immortal soul over legs like those, he thought.

  "I can't cook this fish until tonight, but I saved you some from last night's fire," Charity said. "I know it's not decent fare for a sick man, but there's nothing else. I looked around the edge of the pond for duck eggs but I couldn't find any."

  Jamie choked. "At this time of the year?" His eyes twinkled with amusement despite the pain. "Ducks, sweet Charity, lay their eggs in the spring."

  She wrinkled her nose at him. "How am I supposed to know?" Blowing ashes from the cold fish, she carried it to him. "It doesn't look very good, but I'm sure it will give you strength," she ventured. The fish lay in her hand, cold and congealed. Charity looked from Jamie to the fish and back to Jamie. "It looks awful, doesn't it?" She'd never been that fond of fish, and she'd eaten nothing but fish since she'd been on this cursed beach. "I just can't find anything else for us to eat."

  "You might try digging some clams in the surf," Jamie suggested. "They don't have to be cooked." He grinned crookedly. "Your cooking's pretty bad anyway."

  "I never claimed to be a cook." She moistened her top lip with the tip of a pink tongue. "You might think to say thank you. You'd be crab bait if it wasn't for me." Charity crouched down on the far side of the cold fire pit, wrapping her arms around herself. It was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering.

  "What good is it to pull me out of the water if you let me starve to death now?" he countered, and began to explain the finer points of clam digging. "You'd better wait until almost dark. We can risk a fire then to dry you out."

  Charity looked unconvinced. "Raw clams?"

  "It'll be fun, you'll see." Jamie's gaze warmed her, and she moved closer. He caught her hand in his, turning the palm over and kissing the pulse at her wrist. "If I must be cared for by a sea urchin, I'm glad it's you," he said huskily.

  A shiver of delight ran up her arm; she pulled her hand away. "I'll need my hand if I'm going to dig your clams."

  "It's a long time until dark. I could think of another use for it until then." He leered wickedly.

  "If you can think of that, you're well enough to dig your own clams! The cold water would do you good!"

  "A man doesn't live by clams alone."

  * * *

  Despite Jamie's daily recovery, the threat of danger made Charity's food-gathering attempts all the more difficult. It took most of her day to find enough for them to eat. At low tide she dug sea clams with her feet on the ocean sandbars and collected shells to use for cutting and storing the food. The taste was much better than she had imagined; she found she craved the salt they provided.

  When they tired of fish and clams, Jamie told her how to build a rabbit snare. She set it up carefully in the undergrowth along one of the crisscrossing runs, using leather thongs from the saddle for a noose.

  "Where did you learn to set snares? From the Indians?" Charity sat cross-legged by the fire, devouring a portion of roast rabbit.

  "I don't know any Indians well enough for them to teach me their secrets." Jamie licked his fingers. "A poacher on my father's estate taught me." He grinned at her. He was well enough to walk now and had begun to take over the job of gathering forage for the horse. Jamie reached for another piece of rabbit and gnawed at it. "This rabbit must be a hundred years old. It's too tough to chew, let alone digest," he teased.

  With the unerring aim of a street fighter, Charity flung a rabbit bone at his head. "What was I supposed to do? Ask his age before I let him run into my snare? Next time you decide to book passage on a pirate boat and get yourself shot, take an Indian squaw with you!"

  "Now, Charity, I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers." He arched an eyebrow roguishly. "Come over here and let me smooth them down."

  She flung back a gutter oath.

  "Nasty. Nasty." Jamie extended a hand. The intensity of his gaze caused her skin to prickle.

  "I'm out all day digging in the sand or catching animals and cutting their skins off. All you do is sit there and criticize!"

  "Honey, I was only teasing."

  Angrily she shoved sticks into the banked fire. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to marry the squire!" Her eyes reflected the glowing sparks as the suppressed resentment poured out. "My skin's burned like leather and my hair looks like straw! My feet are all cut from shells and my nails look like a field hand's! I look like an old woman." Her voice dropped and her lower lip quivered. Jamie's laughter rumbled deep in his throat as he reached out for her.

  "No you don't!" she protested, scrambling to her feet. "Not this—" He moved more quickly than she had thought possible, barring her way. "Let me—"

  He stilled her protests with his mouth. She trembled in his grasp as her lips parted to receive his caressing tongue. Something stirred deep within her and she sighed, suddenly feeling her limbs turn to water.

  "Jamie," she murmured. "You can't."

  "You're beautiful," he whispered. "I've never seen you so beautiful as you are tonight with the: firelight in your hair." His lean fingers traced the outline of her cheekbone, sliding down to feel the throbbing pulse in the hollow of her throat "So beautiful."

  His touch was searing; she breathed deep of his scent. So long! It had been so long since she'd been in his arms like this.

  He kissed her again, grinding his cracked lips against her swollen ones. Her tongue sought his, overcome by the intense need to know every part of him... to be one. Jamie shuddered with desire, pressing the small of her back, clamping her against him. A hand cupped her breast, rubbing the aroused nipple until she gave little moans of pleasure. "Jamie... you can't," she whispered hoarsely. "Your wound..."

  "I don't feel a thing."

  Her fingers slipped down his neck to caress his shoulder and then to entwine in the thick spirals on his chest. Her heart was pounding; her breath quickened as he stroked and teased her upthrust breast. He lowered his head to kiss the nipple through the thin material, and a river of molten fire flowed down her body to ignite the source of her passion.

  Charity wr
ithed against him, feeling the hardened proof of his arousal. She slid a hand inside his waistband to caress the length of his shaft, thrilling to the silken texture... to the promise of his strength. Her brain, a thing apart from her body, continued to protest. "We can't."

  Jamie's groan of pleasure heightened her own. He nipped at her ripe nipples with gentle love bites and took possession of her inner thigh with a seeking hand. "Oh, but we can," he assured her. His practiced fingers explored her moistness and she clung to him as the heat grew within her. Their lips met again in an earth-dissolving kiss, sweeping Charity up and up, even as Jamie lowered her to the sand.

  "But... you... can't move," she whimpered.

  "I don't have to." He fumbled with the tie and slipped the linen shirt over her head. The firelight illuminated her glowing flesh. "God, but you're beautiful," Jamie murmured. He leaned over her and flicked a nipple with his tongue. She arched toward him.

  "Ohhh, that feels so good."

  "And this... does this feel good?"

  "Jamie," she breathed. Tremors of passion shook her body. The ache within had become a flame that must be quenched. "Oh. Don't stop... don't ever stop."

  He stretched beside her, cradling her to him, taking a throbbing nipple in his mouth and sucking. He guided her hands to help him undress, unable to bite back a gasp of pain as the cloth pulled away from his wound.

  "Jamie!" She caught his cheek in her palm. "Your wound!"

  "No, darling." He kissed her deeply. "Let me show you. There are ways, little Charity... ways." His strong fingers began to tease, to brush her skin, until the touch was exquisite torture.

  Reality fell away, and Charity was lost in the sorcery of the night. The heat of the fire, the cold sand beneath her back faded to nothingness. There was only Jamie. Wanting him. Loving him. Sharing the joy that is beyond words. Giving and taking and, finally, for a sweet, short eternity, becoming one.

  She remembered snuggling beside him afterward, taking comfort in the warmth of human flesh. She remembered a hoarse whisper in the darkness.

  "I love you, Charity. More than life."

  And she remembered waiting for something more. Something that threatened to burst her bubble of happiness. Something unsaid. He made no promises. Ruthlessly she pushed away the doubts, trying to regain the shining joy. And then, reassured by his kisses, by his arms around her, she slept.

  When she awoke, she saw him sitting on the far side of the fire, shoulders slumped forward, the Virginian's pipe in his hand. A few pale stars still twinkled in the cold night. She pulled the horse blanket closer around her bare shoulders.

  "Jamie."

  His silence chilled her. A blush crept up her throat and face as she remembered their lovemaking. Did he think her wanton? Charity's throat tightened. Had she dared too much? Jamie's gaze met hers and she turned her face away. How could I have been so brazen? No true lady would have lost all control like that.

  "Where did you learn to make love like that?" Jamie's voice gave substance to her darkest fears.

  What had she done? Things she'd heard women hint of... Things her body had seemed to know from some secret source. Her mouth felt dry. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "Sorry?" Jamie crossed the space between them in a heartbeat. "Sorry?" His kisses rained about her face. "Darling, you've given me a precious gift. How can you be sorry?" His voice was thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, little Charity." Their lips met, sweeping away her pain.

  "Are you all right?" she begged between kisses. "I didn't hurt you?" Her searching fingers found the wound. "You're not bleeding?"

  "I'm fine, mother hen." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Sore, but in less pain than I'd have been if we hadn't—"

  The stillness of the autumn night was shattered by the boom of musket fire.

  Stifling a cry, Charity rolled away. The wind carried a harsh shout from the beach.

  Jamie leaped to cover the fire with sand. "Stay here!" he ordered. Keeping low, he crept through the bayberry toward the sand dunes. Without a minute's hesitation, Charity followed.

  He paused once to wave her back, but she clung to his path like a shadow. Together they dropped to the sand and inched toward the top of the dune, keeping their heads down. "I told you to stay at the camp," Jamie hissed. A steely hand clamped around her wrist. "Go back to the horse and get the hell out of here!"

  She shook her head. "Shhh." She pointed toward the surf.

  A flaming ship lay just off the beach, caught fast on the sandbar where she dug the sea clams. A dozen figures waded through the water, carrying kegs and boxes. Two men struggled with a woman on the beach. Her shrieks chilled Charity to the bone, and then horribly, finally, stopped.

  Charity flattened against the sand, almost afraid to breathe. A scream from the boat was drowned in the crackle of fire. The body of the woman was flung aside as someone discovered a keg of liquor and they began to fight over it. The moon passed behind the clouds and the scene darkened. Laughter and cursing mingled as they scrabbled over the valuables like street curs over a bone.

  She and Jamie lay there for what seemed like hours, watching. One by one the wreckers sprawled on the sand in drunken stupors. Jamie touched her shoulder and she jumped. He motioned, and they slid down the dune silently and made their way back to the pond.

  "I'd have gone crazy if I'd stayed here." She buried her face in his chest. "I wish I had a gun. I'd shoot them where they lie."

  Jamie let out a deep breath. "How many did you count?"

  "Fifteen, but at least one was a boy, and some might be women." She shuddered. "Isn't there anything we can do to stop them?"

  "Every so often, when they've been too bold, the citizens of the lower county form a militia. They ride down from Lewes and clean up the beach. They don't take any prisoners. If we get out of this alive, I'll send word to my contacts in Dover that it's time they saw to it again."

  "But why doesn't the royal—?"

  "His Majesty's officials are too busy lining their own pockets to worry about the welfare of a few murdered Colonials. I told you before, Charity, England doesn't give a damn about us. We settle our own problems or live with them." He hugged her against him so tightly she thought her ribs would break. "If I thought you'd do what I say, I'll tell you to saddle up and ride north to Lewes along the beach."

  "Not without you. Do you think you can ride?" The green eyes were stubborn. "I'll not go a step without you, Jamie." She hugged him to her. "Not if we have to stay here all winter."

  "Give me another week. If our luck holds out, we can ride west across the peninsula. Eventually we'll reach the Chesapeake."

  "But there's salt marsh to the west."

  "There are small bays, but we can skirt them. I'm not sure just where we are. But if I can get my strength back, we're safer going inland with the gold than back the way we came." He tilted up her chin and kissed her. "Snuggle up against me. I'm freezing without the fire."

  Charity nodded. There would be no sleeping this night, not with the murderers so close. But body pressed against body was warmer than lying alone. At least the sand dunes blocked off the worst of the wind from the ocean. She hoped the wreckers would all get lung fever sleeping on the beach.

  In the morning Charity climbed the sand dunes to see if the wreckers were still there. The beach stretched empty, with only the blackened ribs of the sloop to show that the terror of the night had been real. There was no sign of the woman's body. Had she lived and been dragged off? There was no way of telling.

  Drawn by the wreck, Charity went down to the edge of the sandbar. The waves slid quietly up the sand and retreated, followed by rank upon rank of sandpipers. The sky was clear and blue without a cloud; Charity almost believed she could see England if she looked hard enough. The air was cool and clean, salty-crisp in her lungs.

  Gathering her garment high about her waist, she waded out to the remains of the boat. There were no bodies, no blood, only the clean sweep of the waves and the cry of swooping gulls.
A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it ruthlessly away. "Bastards!" she screamed into the wind. "Bastards!" The rolling surf gave no answer.

  As she waded back up the beach, her eye caught a movement in the surf. She knelt to dig a half-buried cutlass from the sand. Her hand tightened on the worn grip and her gray-green eyes hardened. Just let them come back now! Clutching her trophy, she ran back to the camp to show Jamie.

  The days that followed were without incident. They took turns sleeping so that one could always keep watch. If Jamie hadn't forgiven her for disobeying his orders, at least they were pleasant to each other. Why couldn't he understand? If they were partners, she must share the dangers as well as the rewards.

  With mixed feelings, Charity packed their meager belongings and saddled the gray horse. Stiffly Jamie mounted and pulled her up behind him. Jamie turned the animal's head west.

  She looked back at the campsite with undisguised emotion. They'd had nothing... no shelter, no weapons, no proper blankets or clothing. Yet it had been home. For a little while it had been home. She laid her cheek against his back, feeling the pain of each bounce of the horse that Jamie must suffer. Would it always be like this? Would they always be riding away from someplace dear to her?

  All that first day they struggled through the salt marsh, skirting bodies of water and river too deep to cross. Charity completely lost her sense of direction. They spent the night in a cedar grove, finishing the last of the meat they'd brought with them.

  Jamie's features showed the strain of the ride. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other's arms, not stirring until the sun was high the next morning.

  They mounted and rode on, reaching the first high ground and hardwood forest by midafternoon. In the woods they found an opossum scurrying through the underbrush. It rolled over and played dead long enough for Charity to dispatch it with a stick. They built a fire and cooked it immediately. Jamie leaned against a tree while she tended the spit. The horse munched at grass and leaves. His sides were thinner, and Charity wished she had grain to give him. She knew it was difficult for a horse to carry two all day, even if he were well-fed.