Amanda Rose

by Karen Robards

  “Are you asleep?” Zeke’s half-humorous, half-exasperated voice finally penetrated Matt’s absorbed consciousness. “I asked you if you wanted to take the wheel.”

  For a moment Matt hesitated. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to return to his cabin and Amanda, to join her in his bunk and make love to her until she discovered the ecstasy whose memory was even now heating his loins. But, he told himself, if he went below now, it would be an admission, an admission that, no matter what she had done to him, he could not resist her . . .

  “I’ll take it.” He made up his mind in that instant.

  “I’ll get some sleep,” Zeke said, a note of humor in his voice. “I’ll bunk with Kidd.”

  Matt grunted in reply as Zeke left. Matt stood at the wheel, his hands absently enjoying the feel of the smooth wood, his feet braced against the rise and fall of the deck and his face lifted to the wind. It was good to be free again, to have a deck beneath his feet and know that tomorrow was a better than fair possibility. It was good to look up at the velvety black sky and at the endless expanse of sea . . .

  Amanda. He could not get her out of his mind. She haunted him like an earthbound ghost. He didn’t have to close his eyes to see her as if she stood before him, her glorious hair blowing in the wind, her lovely face, with its exquisite bones pink and glowing. He thought of her eyes, which changed from amethyst to smoky violet to purple according to her mood, and remembered that her eyes had been as purple as pansies when he had made love to her. From fear at first, then from passion . . . As he had thought, she was marvelous in bed. She excited him as no other woman had ever succeeded in doing. It seemed that he was always losing control when she was around, both of his temper and of his passion, and his control and ability to pleasure a woman were two things on which he had prided himself. It galled him to admit that a schoolgirl could reduce him to the endurance level of a white-hot boy with his first woman, but it was true. Just the thought of that slender, perfect shape, of those pale breasts like small melons with their strawberry tips, of the narrow waist and curving hips, the long, luscious legs and the dark triangle of hair between them was enough to make him tug uncomfortably at his crotch. She excited him, even now, when she was as untutored as a baby. What would she do to him when he had taught her a little more of what it was all about?

  The knowledge of her betrayal sat like a stone in his stomach. He thought he knew why she had done it; it had happened in a fit of temper, because of the way he had taken her and his anger afterward. At least, he hoped that was how it was. He could understand, if not forgive, a sudden burst of anger. He had, he supposed, behaved badly that night. But his emotions had been as raw and confused as hers. He had wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life; not just her body but Amanda herself. And she’d said that she loved him. He hadn’t acknowledged the admission in any way, but it had wormed its way into his heart and lodged there, warming him. At the time she had said it, he had been too caught up in the needs of his body to give the words the attention they deserved; later, afterward, when he had pulled them out to examine them, she had been cold and angry with him, refusing to repeat them or give him any hint that she had meant them. It had hurt damnably, if he was honest, and the hurt had made him angry, too. So he had stalked out and she had gotten even. By turning him over to the authorities, to be hanged, as she must have thought.

  Throughout that long swim, he had promised himself he would make her pay for what she had done to him. Tonight, when Zeke had dumped her on the floor at his feet, he had felt a cold, hard anger and a colder satisfaction. He had meant to rape her, to punish her for what she had done to him in the oldest, most primitive way known to man. But when it came to the point, when he had felt her soft, silky body stiff with fear beneath his, heard her voice breathing his name, husky with pleading, seen the fright in the huge purple eyes, he had not been able to. He had realized, with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, that he would sooner cut off his arm than harm a hair of her head.

  He had realized something else, too: he loved her.

  And the thought terrified him.

  chapter seventeen

  The promised storm broke before morning. Amanda was jolted rudely awake by the violent pitching of the ship, which tossed her from the bunk to land with a hard thump on the floor. She lay blinking for a moment, trying to catch her breath, then scrambled to her feet. Were they sinking? From the steep tilt of the floor beneath her and the rolling motion of the ship, it seemed quite possible. Amanda shivered as the ship dipped again, then rose up on end like a rearing horse. She had to find out what was happening. Scrambling to her feet, she started for the door, only to remember her nakedness. That was easily remedied, she thought, turning back. Then, seeing the tattered remnants of her lovely yellow gown on the floor where Matt had thrown it, her eyes widened in dismay. She had literally nothing to wear. And not for any consideration would she appear on deck, in front of all those men, clad only in her underclothes.

  As the ship pitched again, Amanda staggered, grabbing the table, which had been bolted to the floor for just such an eventuality. Clinging to it for dear life while her feet slid wildly on the slippery wood, she noticed the sea chest from which Matt had extracted the towel and soap last night. More than likely he kept clothing in there, too.

  Taking a deep breath, timing her action so that it coincided with a downward plunge of the ship, Amanda let go of the table to dart across the floor. No sooner had she reached the sea chest than the ship was tilting the other way. Amanda grabbed the sea chest for support, finding, to her dismay, that it was not bolted down or secured. Clutching it, she began to slither helplessly across the floor. The sea chest slithered with her and they landed with a thump against a table leg. Amanda hooked one arm around that blessedly stable post and managed to wedge herself against the table so that she was relatively secure. She took several deep breaths to steady herself again, then turned her attention to opening the trunk. If the ship were sinking—and it seemed as if it might well be—the sooner she was decently covered, the sooner she could leave the cabin. Though what she would do once she was on deck she didn’t know.

  As she had guessed, the trunk contained several articles of clothing. Matt’s shirt was huge on her, she realized with a grimace as she pulled on one of fine white linen. Its tails hung way past her knees, and the cuffs dangled ludicrously past her wrists, but at the moment all she cared about was that she be adequately covered. She rolled up the sleeves and rooted through the chest for something to cover her lower half. She found a pair of charcoal-gray knee breeches; but, though the length was reasonable, the waist could wrap around hers twice, she realized as she slid into them. There was neither belt nor any type of rope in the chest, so she gathered up the excess material at her waist and tied it into a clumsy knot.

  “I hope that holds,” she thought, looking down at the bunched cloth rather doubtfully. Then, with a shrug, she dismissed the problem. Now all she had to concentrate on was reaching the door. That was no small feat, but eventually she managed.

  Once she was on deck, she braced herself against the wall of the captain’s cabin, clinging to a hook just above her head. Her eyes were huge as she stared around her. The deck was awash with water. Towering gray waves rose on all sides like mountains; some the ship rode, which accounted for all that bucking and pitching, and some broke over her bow, sending icy water cascading over the deck. Men were everywhere, running across the slanting deck, wrestling with ropes and sails, climbing in the rigging. They paid her no mind, in fact did not appear to see her. Amanda looked up at the lowering sky, listened to the ominous howling of the wind and the sharp crack and pop of the rigging, and understood perfectly. They were battling for the ship’s life; they had no thought to spare for her.

  Where was Matt? Try as she would, she could not make out his form among the bustling figures. He had not returned to the cabin last night, and it occurred to her that he might be avoiding her. But surely, when they were
faced with such danger, he would put aside such petty considerations as pride and anger?

  He would be on the quarterdeck, of course. After all, it was his ship. He would surely be at the helm. She had to get to him. Despite everything, he represented security to her. He would take care of her, she knew, if anyone could.

  Negotiating the steep, narrow stairs from the main deck to the quarterdeck was a nightmare. Twice she thought she would be thrown back down on the hard boards below as the ship rolled wildly. Once, she nearly lost her grip on the handrail as a deluge of icy water washed over her. When at last she arrived, clinging to the railing that ran all around the quarterdeck as if it were a lifeline, she was soaking wet and shaking from fear and the cold. And still she couldn’t see Matt.

  Zeke was at the helm, barely recognizable in an oilcloth coat. Three other sailors were working feverishly, trying to free a large sail that had broken away from its lines and was now hopelessly tangled in the rigging. Another sailor stood near Zeke, holding tightly to a spar with one hand while he fought to take a compass reading.

  Zeke would know where Matt was. He might not think very highly of her, but from what Matt had told her of him, she felt she could trust him. If Matt hadn’t prejudiced him against her, as it had been obvious he had from the very beginning, they might have become friends.

  Taking a deep breath, she waited until the ship was on a downward roll, then let go of the railing. The motion of the ship propelled her toward where Zeke stood at the wheel. She crashed into the shoulder-tall wooden shelter built around the wheel and hung on for dear life as the ship rolled the other way.

  “What do you want?” If Zeke was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. He scowled at her, shouting to be heard above the wind. His brown hair was darkened with water, plastered to his skull. The hazel eyes were cold with dislike as he looked at her.

  “Where is Matt?” She had to scream the question. Zeke heard her—she could tell by the way his mouth tightened—but for a long moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he shrugged and made a curt upward gesture with his thumb.

  For a moment Amanda thought that this was some piece of sailor’s crudity. Her cheeks colored angrily, though her eyes instinctively followed the direction his thumb had indicated. And froze, widening with horror.

  Matt was high in the rigging, clinging to a spar with both legs and one hand as his knife worked to cut loose the crippled sail. He was dressed only in a shirt and pantaloons. His black head was bare and wet, gleaming like a seal’s, and his feet were bare, too. The distance between them precluded Amanda from seeing his expression, but as she watched him she could have sworn she saw a flash of white teeth in that dark face. She stared, swallowing. She hadn’t been mistaken: the lunatic was actually grinning.

  “Dear God,” she breathed. Zeke looked at her curiously, but her eyes were riveted on Matt and she was barely conscious of him.

  “You’d better go below,” Zeke instructed curtly, the shout all but lost in the wind. Amanda ignored him. She wouldn’t leave until Matt was safely back on deck. If he fell from that height . . . She couldn’t bear to think about that.

  Just then Matt whooped, and as Amanda watched, the tangled sail fluttered toward the deck like a dying swan. He had succeeded in cutting it free. The three sailors below were catching it, gathering it up, while Matt put the knife between his teeth and started to lower himself to the deck. And then it happened.

  A wave, larger than the others, caught them unaware, bathing them in a violent deluge of icy seawater. At the same time the ship stood almost on her bow, then plunged into the trough left by the huge waves. Amanda clutched at the wheel casing to keep her balance, felt Zeke’s hand close over her arm like a vise as he tried to hold her in place, and thought for a moment that she might be swept over the side. Then Zeke, looking up, let out a hoarse shout. Amanda looked up, too, to see Matt falling, hurtling through the rigging toward the deck far below.

  For the first time in her life, she fainted.

  When she regained consciousness, she felt as if a horrible, crushing weight had settled on her chest. Matt had fallen. If by some miracle he was not dead, he must be grievously injured. Zeke was kneeling beside her, leaning over her as she slowly opened her eyes. With the small part of her mind that was still functioning rationally, Amanda noted that the man who had been using the compass had taken the helm.

  “Matt . . .” she groaned, struggling to sit up, looking for and yet not wanting to see his broken body. Why was Zeke not with him?

  “It’s all right—he managed to catch a line. He’s not hurt,” Zeke yelled over the storm. For the first time he was looking at her without dislike.

  “What the hell’s going on here? Amanda?” It was Matt, his voice sharp with anger and concern. Amanda shut her eyes. He was not dead or injured, after all. She thought she might faint again from sheer relief.

  “She fainted. She saw you fall,” Zeke said briefly. He stood up, looking at his brother with a frown while Matt, ignoring him, knelt beside Amanda.

  “Amanda?”

  She opened her eyes, dwelling on every plane and angle of that handsome, beloved face. “Are you all right?”

  He snorted. “Yes, but you don’t seem to be. What were you thinking of, to come up on deck?”

  “I was frightened—I wanted to see you.”

  “Don’t ever do that again. You could be washed overboard. Come, I’ll take you back to the cabin—and this time stay there. I’ll come for you if there’s need.”

  His arms were around her, gathering her up. He lifted her high against his chest, staggering a little as the ship pitched again. Amanda rested limply against him for a moment, relishing the hard arms that held her, the beat of his heart against her side, the flush of blood that rose in his face as she looked up at him. Then she shook her head, regaining the use of her muscles and pushing at his chest determinedly.

  “You can’t carry me in this storm,” she shouted. “Put me down, Matt, I can walk.”

  He looked at her for a moment, his arms tightening around her as if he would never let her go, then, as he had to brace himself to withstand another roll of the ship, he seemed to see the sense of what she had said. It would be difficult to carry her down the narrow stairs to the main deck under the present conditions. Slowly his grip eased, and he let her slip to her feet. His arm stayed around her waist as she caught her balance.

  “All right?” he asked. She nodded, not wanting to waste any more breath shouting into the storm. His arm stayed around her to the stairs, and then he insisted on going before her, making her back down while holding to the rail with both hands, poised to catch her if she should slip. They achieved the bottom with no mishap. Amanda would have clung to Matt’s hand when they reached the cabin, fearing to let him out of her sight, but he pushed her inside the cabin without ceremony, to stand staring at her for a moment from the open doorway. With his arm braced over his head for support, he completely filled the opening.

  “Stay here,” was all he said, but he looked as if he had wanted to say more and then thought better of it. He closed the door behind him. Amanda’s knees began to tremble as she crossed to the bunk and sat down. At least he no longer seemed angry . . .

  The storm lasted for three days. In that time Amanda, as well as everyone else on board, lost an appreciable amount of weight. With the violent pitching of the ship making a cooking fire dangerous, all they had to eat was dried fruit and pieces of hardtack washed down with water—all of which had been somewhat affected by salt from the seawater that was continually washing over them. Not that Amanda was hungry. If her stomach hadn’t been so empty, she feared that she would have disgraced herself completely by being horribly ill. As it was, she was more frightened than anything. From the ominous creaks and groans of the timbers, and the ripping sound of canvas being torn to shreds over her head, she feared the worst. And came to accept it. Whether they sank or not was in God’s hands.

  She did not wholly obey
Matt’s edict about staying in the cabin. On the second day, when it occurred to her that every man must be needed to battle the storm, she made her way to the ship’s galley and told the exhausted cook that she would be pleased to assist in the distribution of food. Unaware of Matt’s instructions to the contrary, he was equally pleased to let her.

  The sailors accepted the bits of food and water she brought them with gruff thanks, some of them even unbending sufficiently to warn her to look tight when the ship heeled. They were not unduly friendly, but after the third time she brought them food, they were not unfriendly, either. Perhaps they were beginning to question their earlier judgment of her. At least she hoped they were.

  It was inevitable that Matt should see her. She had carefully avoided the quarterdeck, knowing he would immediately order her back to the cabin as soon as he set eyes on her. But toward the middle of the third day, he observed her as she made her way across the deck, clinging for dear life to the safety lines that had been run from one end of the ship to the other. And he swooped down upon her like a hungry hawk.

  “Damn it, I told you to stay in the cabin,” he roared. Amanda had not heard him come up behind her, and his angry bellow made her jump. It also made her lose her grip on the safety line. She staggered, then fell heavily to her knees. The supplies of dried fruit she had been carrying scattered around her on the deck, only to be washed away by an enveloping wave.

  “Good Christ.” Amanda would quite likely have been washed away with the fruit if Matt had not reached down and grabbed her by the single thick braid in which she had confined her hair. Wincing with pain, she was nonetheless grateful to be caught. Being washed overboard was not the fate she fancied for herself. Then it occurred to her that she wouldn’t have been in the least danger if Matt had not startled her, making her lose her grip on the safety line. She was scowling as blackly as he when he hauled her to her feet.