The sky was so gray she couldn’t see the sun. Was her boat drifting farther out to sea or toward the Virginia coast? There was no way to tell. If she didn’t wash up on land, or if she wasn’t picked up by a passing ship, she would either drown or starve to death. Elizabeth shuddered.
Nonsense! She was too young to die. And certainly too young to die in an absurd accident at sea! “If I were going to drown, I would have done it by now,” she declared, spreading her hands out in front of her. Her fingers were puckered, her palms raw. She wondered why her hands were scraped and bruised, and supposed it must be from clutching the rough sides of the boat.
Her rings hung loose on her fingers—the pearl her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday, the ruby she had inherited from her dead Scottish grandmother, and the heavy gold and emerald betrothal ring. If she drifted to shore, perhaps she could trade the jewelry for food or safe passage to Jamestown. Would her betrothed begrudge her trading an emerald ring that had been a gift to one of his ancestors from Henry VIII, to some painted savage for a meal?
There was a loud whoosh, and something huge surfaced beside the longboat. For an instant, Elizabeth stared into a round, black eye, and then the creature vanished beneath the waves. “Oh!” Elizabeth let out a long shuddering breath. She clamped her chattering teeth together and stared at the spot where the beast had been. Before her heartbeat had slowed to normal, the waves parted on the far side of the boat, and a pair of dolphins gazed curiously at her.
“Oh, my,” she managed. “Oh!” They were enormous, with dark, sleek bodies and intelligent eyes. She had no doubt that the dolphins could swamp her boat if they wanted to, but Elizabeth was oddly without fear. “Oh,” she repeated softly, “you beautiful things.”
As if sensing her admiration, the larger of the two mammals dove straight into the air, giving a spinning twist as it plunged into the sea. The second followed suit, then both returned to the surface near the spot she had first caught sight of them.
For nearly an hour, the dolphins swam and played beside the boat, then as suddenly as they had come, they disappeared. Elizabeth watched and waited for a long time, and a heavy sadness settled over her as she realized once more how truly alone she was.
Her head ached. The rain had long since washed away the blood from the cut on her head, but her ruined gown was stained with ugly brown patches. A lump the size of a pullet egg swelled just above her left ear, and her back stung where salt water soaked into the gash she had gotten on the ship. Her honey-blond hair hung in sodden ropes, and she realized with ironic amusement that she was wearing only one shoe.
“The Lady Elizabeth Anne Sommersett,” she proclaimed mockingly. “Lady Elizabeth wishes coffee and sweets served to her guests in the orangery.” Tears welled up in her green eyes, and she ripped off the single shoe and flung it as far as she could into the ocean.
The rise and fall of the boat knotted her stomach into spasms. Her weakness shamed her. She had always been a good sailor; even as a child when she’d crossed the Channel to France or gone to Ireland with her father. If only she wasn’t so damned cold. If only the dolphins would come back . . .
Shaakhan Kihittuun’s muscles rippled beneath his bronzed skin as he thrust the hickory paddle deep into the blue-green water and parted the waves in a tireless rhythm. The dugout skimmed over the surface of the sea, responding to his commands as though it were an extension of his sleek, powerful body. Even the color of the cypress wood blended with his copper skin and glossy, sable-brown hair, making it difficult to see where the man left off and the boat began.
The sea was an angry gray, the whitecaps divided by swirling eddies of frothy green and dirty brown, legacy of the storm that had assaulted the beach and surrounding forests for three days and nights. The clouds hung low over the water, pierced by the hungry cries of seagulls. The birds wheeled and swooped overhead, occasionally diving into the sea and emerging with a squirming fish trapped in their beaks.
Shaakhan loved the sea in all her moods. When the sun shone and bits of light danced across the surface of the water, he would paddle his dugout far to the east out of sight of land, sometimes to fish, and sometimes just to become a part of the magic of water and sky that stretched on beyond a man’s imagination. He knew the creatures of the sea—the mighty whales and the enigmatic rays, the fish and the dolphins—as well as he knew the animals and birds of the forest. Those days were good, when the weather was fair and the great salt water rocked his dugout in her arms as gently as a mother might rock her child.
But Shaakhan knew the sea was as changeable as a woman. He loved her still when her winds blew and her waves rose and fell in crashing fury. Sometimes, he thought he loved the sea best when she battled with the shoreline and tore away whole sections of beach, threatening the boundaries of the forest. And when the worst of the storm had passed, he never failed to launch his boat into the surf and challenge her undaunted spirit.
His dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on an unfamiliar object bobbing on the waves far out on the sea. He had glimpsed it before, then lost sight of it. It was foreign to the sea and sky, and Shaakhan grew curious. What was this thing cradled on the breast of the great salt water, and where had it come from?
Shaakhan hesitated, his paddle poised in mid-air while silvery drops of water dripped off the blade. Then the waves parted and a dolphin leaped out of the depths and flew over the dugout. Before Shaakhan could do more than gasp in wonder, a smaller dolphin repeated the performance.
The man smiled. “Ah, my friends,” he called to the dolphins. “It is good to see you again.”
Immediately, the larger creature rose out of the water and bounced across the surface on the tip of his tail. The smaller, a young female, contented herself with several excited jumps and a widemouthed hissing.
“What is it?” Shaakhan eased the paddle into the dugout slowly and laid it across his lap. “Do you wish to tell me something?”
The male disappeared beneath the surface of the water and came up beside the female. For a moment, they lingered within arm’s length of Shaakhan, then both turned and made a final twisting leap before diving out of sight. When they surfaced again to breathe, it was nearly a bowshot away. Shaakhan saw only a flash of white, and then the dolphins were gone.
Just beyond the point where the dolphins went under bobbed the strange object. Shaakhan lifted his paddle and turned the dugout in that direction. As he narrowed the distance between them, he realized it was some sort of canoe.
Elizabeth lay on her back in the bottom of the longboat. She was no longer conscious of time or of being cold. In fact, she was hot; her face and arms, the surface of her skin, seemed to be burning up. Her mouth was parched, her lips swollen and cracked. Her eyes ached so badly that it hurt to try to open them.
She knew the rain had ceased because she was so thirsty. She missed the sound of the drops hitting the wooden vessel. Now there was nothing but the rise and fall of the waves and the whoosh of water against the hull. Up and down . . . up and down . . . She threw an arm over her eyes and thought of ripe strawberries. Strawberries with fresh cream.
The memory was so pleasant that she didn’t hear the scrape of wood as the two boats brushed against each other. She was unaware of the man binding the two crafts together with a bit of bark fishing line and climbing in beside her.
“Hokkuaa?”
Elizabeth moaned deep in her throat and tossed her head. An arm slipped under her shoulder and lifted her up. “What?” She blinked as a man’s tanned face came into focus. “Where am I?” she gasped.
“Mumaane. Drink . . . drink this.”
A few drops of sweet water trickled between her lips, and Elizabeth clutched at the gourd container.
“No, just a little,” the man cautioned in husky, precise English.
She gulped at the precious liquid until he pulled it away. “Do I know you?” Her voice was cracked and weak. Was this real or a dream? Elizabeth willed her mind to
function. “Who are you?”
He smiled, his large, dark eyes kind in his bronzed face. “I am Cain,” he said. “Do not have fear. I will not harm you.”
“A ship?” Elizabeth reached for the water gourd again. “Do you have a ship?” He let her have another sip of the water, and she closed her eyes in weariness. He looks like a pirate, she thought, but a gentle pirate. It was impossible to be afraid of those huge, liquid eyes.
“You are . . . on the great . . . great salt water,” he said. “I take you to land. Be not afraid.”
She knew when he lifted her, but she was powerless to help or to resist him. He laid her on her side and removed his doeskin vest, covering her face with the soft garment.
“To stop the burn,” he said.
The movement of the waves was different. When Elizabeth pushed away the covering and forced her eyes open, she saw the outline of the man above her, bare-chested, dark against the sky. “Who are you?” she asked again.
He laughed softly. “I told you,” he said. “I am Cain.”
“But . . .” Her mind hovered between light and darkness. “Do I know you?”
“You know me,” he replied. “You have always known me.”
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Copyright © 1994 by Judith E. French
Avon mass market edition: October 1994
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