Anne was moved and mauled across the deck to be joined by another, larger group bent on doing the same to Captain MacQuaid. With d’Porteau leading the procession they were both shoved to the rail.
One of the small boats was unlashed from its cradle. Blocks and tackles attached to the mainstay lifted the boat over the gunwale and sent it splashing to the sea below.
“There ye be, Captain MacQuaid,” d’Porteau said with a flourish. “Your new boat awaits.”
Afraid at first that she would be tossed overboard, Anne discovered as she was pushed over the side, that there was a ladder of sorts. She scurried down the webbing as quickly as she could... anything to escape the savage, angry faces above her.
Captain MacQuaid reached the boat first, but he didn’t help her in. He simply sat there, his face as cold and hard as stone while on the French Whore and the Lost Cause, tars climbed into the rigging, turning the sails into the wind, bringing the great vessels to life.
Anne couldn’t understand his attitude. They were free and well rid of the ruffians as far as she could tell. With a burst of energy she reached down, lugging one of the oars up and fitting it in the notch. If he was going to do nothing, only sit like a knot on a log, she would get them started.
“Which way do we row?” She asked what she thought the most obvious question. But her stomach sank with his response.
“Your guess, Annie, is as good as mine.”
Chapter Ten
It took a moment for the captain’s words to sink into her relief-drenched brain. Only minutes ago she thought it a very strong possibility she’d be hanging from the yardarm by now. Even without his cooperation Anne was able to pull and tug the second oar into place. Then she squared her body and faced him where he slumped, hands dangling between bent knees.
“Are you implying you don’t know where we are?”
He lifted his head then, and Anne looked at him... really looked at him. The tears she’d kept at bay during the battle and mock trial sprang to her eyes. It was only the knowledge, intuitively gained, that he wouldn’t appreciate her sympathy that kept her from slipping from her seat and cradling him in her arms.
Besides, both ships were still close enough that they could hear the raucous laughter. Occasionally one tar or another would jut his head over the side and wish them a speedy voyage... to hell.
Jamie took a deep breath. His arms still hadn’t tingled to life from his stint hanging from the ratlines. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say they were tingling to life, and hurting like the devil. But he grabbed for the oars anyway, swallowing down the cry of pain that lodged in his throat.
He managed to speak between clenched teeth. “I’m implying nothing, Andy. ’Tis straight out I’m saying it.” He swiped through the water, ineffectual strokes that at least moved them from the French Whore’s side. Fresh beads of sweat broke out on his brow, and he cursed the weakness in his arms.
Cursed the fate that had brought him to this.
“Let me help.” Anne leaned forward, tentatively reaching for the oars, not surprised when his head shot up and he glared at her through red-rimmed eyes. His expression was enough to make her shrink back on her seat.
“All I’m about,” he said, then had to stop and catch his breath, “is moving us from the bastard’s wake. After that ye can toss the damn oars overboard for all I care.”
“Toss them...” Anne’s mouth gaped open. “But how would we row? How would we...?”
“Escape?” The word was little more than a sneer. “Is that your well-laid plan, Mistress Anne? Is that why you foolishly volunteered to serve as my crew?”
“No.” Her denial was immediate. And as quickly regretted. She didn’t understand all the reasons why she did it, but she knew her own safety wasn’t one of them. Yet she couldn’t explain the unexplainable to him. Nor did she wish to try. Better he thought it a calculated “plan” to gain her freedom.
Except there was something in the depths of his eyes, when she finally returned hers to look at him, that made her wonder what he did believe. But then his expression hardened. “’Twas a stupid thing to do.”
The wound on his shoulder was bleeding again. Anne steeled herself against his pain. “I’m well rid of the pirates.” His laugh made her stiffen her spine.
“Annie, ye forget who you’re talking to, lass. You’re stuck on the high seas with a pirate.” He sobered. “At least on one of yonder ships, you’d have had a chance of making port.”
“We’ll,” she began but his angry voice cut her off
“We’ll do nothing, Annie.” Jamie’s rage seemed to swell, swamping him as surely as a tidal wave would their tiny boat. “When those pirates sail from sight, there will be nothing.” He leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Nothing, do ye hear me? There will be only you and me and this poor excuse for a boat.” He kicked at the side with his bare foot. “And water.” His voice dropped. “Endless miles of water. By the time you die parched and sunbaked, you’ll rue the moment you stepped forward. Rue the moment you ever heard the name Jamie MacQuaid.”
He’d wanted to make her face reality and as soon as she did, felt like the most depraved of men. Her face, beneath the layers of dirt, grew still. Her eyes shadowed.
“I needn’t wait for the moment of my death for that,” she said with spirit, then wished she hadn’t. Even in his weakened condition he could toss her overboard if he wished and she could do nothing. Despite his claim, valid she was sure, of being a bloodthirsty pirate, she’d seen evidence of his nature and didn’t think him cruel. But then the situation was different.
But instead of grabbing for her, he threw back his head and laughed. “I’m sure ye do, Annie,” he said when his chuckling ceased. “I’m sure ye do.”
Then they were sitting in the boat staring at each other, quiet except for the lapping water and the occasional raucous pirate, a reminder of their solitude. Anne resisted the urge to twist around in the boat, to search out the wide expanse of horizon. For she knew he was right. Except for the two pirate ships that were now under sail and moving away from them, they were alone.
And though the area was dotted with islands, chartered and unchartered, unless one knew in which direction they were...
The late-afternoon sun beat down unmercifully as Anne tried to think rationally about their problem. Or more to the point their myriad problems. No amount of organization or careful planning seemed as if it would help. Events had gone awry and swept them along in their wake.
But did that mean she shouldn’t try? The only place she was certain there was no land, was right where they were.
The captain had pulled the oars in, allowing the boat to bob and sway, following the lead of each rising swell. Though his eyes were closed, she didn’t think him asleep... and she didn’t care if he were.
“How far is it to the closest land you know of?”
One eye opened beneath a cocked brow. “Too far.”
Anne tamped down her anger and frustration. “Yes, you’ve already made your opinions well known. However, I asked for a specific number. How far is it?”
He shrugged and Anne could see the lines of pain deepen around his mouth with the motion. “Fifty, maybe more, nautical miles.” His other eye opened. “Farther than we can row in the...” He was going to say, “time we have left,” but decided against it. “Farther than we can row,” he repeated.
She did look around then, holding onto the seat as she twisted her body first one way then the other. “Which way is it?”
Jamie squinted into the sun to get his bearing, then pointed in the direction behind him. “It be that way... more or less.”
“More or less?” Now it was Anne’s turn to raise her brow.
“Aye, more or less. In case ye hadn’t noticed, the Frenchman didn’t see fit to provide me with my quadrant and charts.”
When she said nothing, only looked at him questioningly, Jamie explained. “If I had my charts to tell me where we were, and if I had a quadrant to
take a reading, then I could use the tables in the Nautical Almanack to find our approximate latitude. That be if I had my Nautical Almanack.”
Anne’s jaw tightened. “And that’s the only way?”
“Except to say that the sun rises in the east and New Providence is west, aye.”
Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Anne stared toward the low-slung golden orb. “Then I shall row that way,” she announced, reaching for the oars.
His hands, warm and callused, covered hers. Anne’s gaze traveled from his face, to where he touched her, then to the bloody rope burns on his wrists. Sympathy flooded her, but was quickly swept away by his words.
“’Tis a waste of time.”
“Which I appear to have plenty of,” Anne countered.
“Nay, Annie, ye don’t.” His voice was as gentle as the pressure he now put on her hands. She wanted to cry. To fall across the boat, into his embrace and weep until there was nothing left inside her. She very nearly did, especially when her eyes lifted to meet his. Gone was the brash corsair, cocksure and roguish. Gone was the anger.
What was left when she looked into his eyes was a man, a man she cared about. The man she would die with.
Anne swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t do nothing.” She turned her hands over, palm to palm, clutching his. “I can’t.”
He linked their fingers, his long, and well-shaped, dwarfing hers. “’Tis one of the differences between us, Annie. For I can.”
And he proceeded to prove his contention to her as she unbraided their hands and reached for the oars.
He was still establishing his point when the sun touched the western horizon, spilling a golden carpet over the sea. Anne’s shoulders ached. Her arms screamed and her back, she was certain, was broken in two. Each time she lifted the heavy oars and slapped them back into the cobalt-blue water her resentment of Captain MacQuaid grew.
He gave up his seat and now lounged in the bow, his long legs spread, his head back. He slept occasionally, she could tell by the deep resonance of his snores. But most of the time he was awake. And watching.
“’Tis only making ye thirstier,” he offered.
The oars slapped into the water once again and she tugged. “I’m already thirsty, thank you very much.”
“Don’t thank me, ’tis your own doing.”
Though by this point she had to admit he was right, she was tired of hearing it. After giving him a scathing look, she pulled the dripping oars from the sea, wondering if her last effort had moved the boat at all. Deciding she was doing the best she could, Anne pushed them back into the water.
He was silent for so long Anne thought he’d fallen asleep again, but apparently he was only resting, thinking of new ways to torment her mind.
“Even if ye were rowing us due west, ’twouldn’t be the right longitude.”
Splash. Anne leaned into her pull. “And how would I determine that?”
“By a watch.”
“I know, if we had one.” Anne nearly grunted the words.
“Aye. Actually we’d need two. One set to Greenwich time, the other the actual time. Then by—”
“Why are you telling me this?” Anne set the oars and looked down at her palms. The blisters she’d felt forming were now bloody. Moving faster than she thought him capable of, he shifted, clambering over the seat. He latched onto her wrists before she could stick her hands into the water.
The boat swayed, sending seawater sloshing over the top. Anne sucked in her breath on a gasp, her eyes wide. He was so close she could see the fine squint lines where the sun was blocked from bronzing the skin. The lashes that framed his eyes, long and thick, made the blue-green color all the more dramatic and intriguing.
And she could smell him, that same musky scent that always had a weakening effect on her knees. But now her knees were already weak, and so were her arms and her soul. And she didn’t know why he was tormenting her so.
With a flick of her wrists he turned her palms toward him. “’Tis a shame you’ve bloodied yourself. But I doubt the sharks would care that these hands are attached to a beautiful woman.” His gaze crept to the side, and Anne’s followed. She stiffened when she saw the triangular fin slicing through the water.
“I... I didn’t see it.”
“Obviously not.”
“Is it after us?”
Jamie grinned despite himself. “I doubt it. But give him a whiff of blood and he will be.” With that he let loose her wrists.
Anne didn’t have the strength to keep her hands from dropping onto her lap.
“And as for why I’m pointing out the problems of longitude to ye...”Jamie dug his hands back through the tangled curls of his hair. “By God, Annie, it should be obvious.” His stare was penetrating. “Look at yourself. You’re bloody and tired. Thirstier than even me, I’ll warrant.” His voice lowered. “And ye haven’t changed a thing. Not one damn thing.”
The realization that he might be right was more than Anne could handle.
Pressure seemed to build within her and she wanted to scream out her frustrations to the heavens. Instead she screamed at the pirate. “I can’t be like you. I can’t!” He settled back on his seat and she yelled all the louder. “You live your life doing nothing. If a ship crosses your bow you attack it. If not...Well, that’s fine, too. You knew what kind of man Stymie was. Joe told you. I told you. Yet you did nothing because it was easier.”
She’d run out of air and sucked in more. “And now look where we are.” Though she didn’t think their predicament entirely his doing, at the moment she wasn’t going to quibble. “And you’re still doing nothing.”
“I’m doing nothing because ’tis not a damn thing I can do.” Jamie sat up straighter on the wooden scat. He’d had enough for one day. He’d lost his ship, his crew, been hung in the shrouds to bake, and he was going to die. No doubt he deserved the latter. But it didn’t make the reality of it any more palatable. And now he had to put up with this woman who’d been nothing but a thorn in his side, an unbelievable annoyance, from the moment he first set eyes on her.
Bossy. Domineering. So full of brass she’d probably sink to the bottom too fast for his friend, Master Shark, if Jamie should toss her overboard. Which was exactly what he felt like doing.
He clenched his fists because the urge was so strong he was afraid he might. Especially when he heard the part about his doing nothing because it was the easiest thing to do.
Jamie’s jaw tightened until his teeth hurt. “Perhaps,” he conceded, nearly spitting the word at her. “But I learned long ago ’tis not worth giving your all to something that’s bound to fail regardless.”
“But you can’t know that before you try.”
“I know how long we can exist without food, without water. I know how damn big this ocean is. And I know bending my back against the oars isn’t going to get us anywhere, when there be nowhere to go.” He bent forward as he spoke, moving closer with each word, until he was nearly nose to nose with her. He expected her to back away. Any reasonable woman would. But then he remembered he was dealing with Anne Cornwall.
“So that’s it then.” Anne refused to be cowed by him. “Your best advice is to give up. To implore God to take our lives mercifully. Why don’t we simply end it ourselves then? Or would that be doing something?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not killing us, because in a typical showing of his merciless soul, d’Porteau didn’t even leave us a pistol with shot enough to do it. That’s right,” Jamie continued when her eyes opened wider and she shied from him.
“’Tis the custom followed by most of the brotherhood when marooning to leave the sorry bastard at least a way to end his suffering.”
“But that’s—”
“What?” Jamie straightened. “Barbaric? Did ye think ye were dealing with angels, Annie? I told ye from the beginning—”
“Yes, I know you did. And believe me I never thought d’Porteau anything but the lowest of creatures.”
�
�But it isn’t just d’Porteau. We all subscribe to our own code.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve marooned someone? Done to them what d’Porteau did to us?” He didn’t say anything at first, but he didn’t need to. Anne could see the answer in his expression.
Jamie took a deep breath. “’Tis one of the reasons d’Porteau despises me.”
“You marooned him?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Annie, or I might be tempted not to tell you who else was with him at the time.”
“Who?”
“Your friend Israel Plowser.”
Anne laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “You’re joking.” When he shook his head, the gold earring twinkled, caught by the dying rays of the sun. “But Israel hates d’Porteau.” Then a stranger thought came to her. “And he admires you.”
Jamie just shrugged. “I can’t help the way a man feels about me. But I can tell ye they were both marooned, along with several others on an island... by me.”
“But how did they get off?”
He shrugged again. “I haven’t a clue. Picked up by a passing vessel perhaps. I thought them all dead.” He paused. “They were given sufficient ammunition to choose the easier way to die. It was nearly a year later I started hearing tales of the Frenchman.”
“And Israel?”
“Nay. When I saw him with ye was the first I knew he’d survived.”
Anne rested her chin in her hand, mulling over what she’d heard. It still surprised her that Israel and d’Porteau had been cohorts, and that the captain had punished them. She tried to remember all Israel had said about Captain Mac Quaid, but she was too hungry, and tired and thirsty to concentrate.
Her mind kept swinging back to the captain’s remark about ending their own lives. Was that indeed what they should do? Her gaze captured his. “If things were different. If d’Porteau had followed the code and left us with a pistol...?”
“Aye,” Jamie said when she didn’t continue. “What about it?”
“Would you use it? Would you shoot me, then yourself?”
My Seaswept Heart Page 15