by Merry Farmer
Hurricane
A powerful hurricane had struck Sankt Thomas two years before Heidi’s arrival, but the widespread devastation was still evident even now. Many families had lost loved ones and livelihoods.
She was already soaked, the linen nightgown clinging to her skin. Only the strength of the pirate’s arms kept her from shrieking like a harridan. His long hair was plastered to his head, water ran down his face, yet there was a steely resolve in his eyes that gave her courage.
His lips were moving, but the battering wind stole away whatever he was saying.
She shook her head, sending water droplets flying.
He took her hand, leaving no choice but to follow when he ran for the mast. She came close to tripping when one waterlogged shoe flew off, but he kept her upright.
An involuntary grunt escaped as he shoved her against the mast. “Hold on,” he shouted, keeping her in place with his body as he reached for a rope hanging off the mast.
Within minutes they were securely lashed together, two mortals defying the wrath of the elements.
Teeth chattering, she closed her eyes and prayed, strangely consoled by the notion she would face death in the strong arms of a good man.
Maximiliano had lost his faith in a benevolent God many years ago, but as the Juana pitched and tossed, he prayed that her anchor would hold. If not, they’d be swept onto the rocks and dashed to pieces.
An overwhelming compulsion to express his sincere regrets pressed like a vise on his temples, but there was no chance she’d hear anything he said in the deafening gale. He tightened his grip and nestled his chin atop her head, hoping she understood he’d do all he could to protect her.
He’d lived through hurricanes. Along with Spain’s dwindling influence in the Caribbean, they were the main reason for the impoverished state of his island home—crops destroyed, houses and farms obliterated, families torn apart. If Heidi had experienced a hurricane’s fury, she knew only too well the danger they faced. The storms were terrifying enough when a person was in a safe, protected place. In all his years of sailing the Spanish Main he’d been lucky enough not to be caught out at sea. There were always signs, and he’d ignored them, too busy fantasizing about bedding the voluptuous woman whose life he’d put in harm’s way.
Exhaustion carried him into a silent world where he was merely an onlooker to the groaning ship’s death throes. Heidi had thankfully lost consciousness. He kissed her neck as he drifted into a reluctant acceptance that there was little hope of survival.
When the anchor chain finally snapped, the Juana shuddered before flying into the towering waves like a uncaged bird. Just before he surrendered to the storm an errant thought caused him to smile. What better way to die than with a beautiful woman in his arms?
Heidi’s route to the village water well took her past one of the open-air trapiches used for grinding the sugar cane on Sankt Thomas. Now, she was trapped in the rollers, deafened by the roar as the hurricane flattened her body and drained every last drop of resistance out of her.
She cried out her mother’s name, but hopelessness took hold when she remembered her mother was dead.
The crack of Torsten’s pistol echoed over and over. Why had it not made more noise? A deadly explosion should be loud—like the hellish din in her ears.
She’d been forced to board a sinking vessel she’d seen in a painting at the museum in København, a great work whose title she couldn’t remember. Scantily clad boatmen, too many passengers, animals even, something to do with Saint Peter. She and Torsten—too little time for country visitors to explore the big city museum before their ship sailed for Puerto Rico. Never enough time.
“Jordaens,” she declared. Ja, that was the name of the painter.
The specter of encroaching delirium reared its ugly head and carried her into unconsciousness.
The Wreck
After spending nightmarish hours either trapped in the trapiche and Jordaen’s overloaded ferryboat, Heidi blinked and tried unsuccessfully to spit out sand. Soaking wet strands of hair were plastered to her face. The incessant howling had ceased, but she lay sprawled on a wooden pole, unable to move.
A memory of being trapped beneath the American’s dead weight caused her throat to tighten, but then the person on top of her spoke softly. “Keep still for a while longer, querida. I’m going to cut the rope, if I can get at my dagger.”
The terrifying hours before she’d passed out came back in a dizzying rush. The screeching wind, the torrential rain, the towering waves, the dreadful certainty she was going to die. Her panic eased. Wherever she was, she wasn’t alone. The pirate had also survived, but she remembered being lashed to an upright mast. The pole tilted at an odd angle.
An insane urge to giggle bubbled up.
But then Maximiliano moved. His thighs pressed against hers as he struggled to get his dagger out of its scabbard. Then she felt the unmistakable hardening of his male member against her bottom.
He stilled. “Perdóname,” he whispered. “My cock has a mind of its own. Forgive me.”
The situation was nigh on comical. She was soaking wet, clad in a bedraggled nightgown, tied to a beam and helpless, yet she felt no fear of the aroused male straining atop her. She didn’t have the energy to take issue with the crude word he’d used for his manhood.
“Got it,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t move when I get the rope cut. It’s a long way down.”
She risked a peek. The Juana lay on her side on jagged, black rocks. If they fell…
She willed herself to keep still as he sawed at the rope. “Will your crew come to our rescue?” she asked.
He hesitated before replying. “I don’t recognize this stretch of the coast. We may have been blown way off course to another island.”
The pressure eased when he cut through the bindings but she missed the reassuring presence of his weight as he eased off to perch next to her. The air was cool on her wet nightgown. “I must look ridiculous,” she said.
He chuckled. “On the contrary, querida, you have a very appealing bottom. However, I want you to sit up carefully.”
Her attempts to do as he asked reminded her of the newborn calves on her parents’ farm in Denmark, struggling to stand on wobbly legs. Finally, she sat beside him, panting, grateful for the strong arm around her shoulders.
“We must get off the wreck,” he said. “The tide could pull her back out to sea.”
“She would sink.”
“Exactly. Follow me to the base of the mast, then we’ll crawl down the deck to the side of the ship.”
She peered down. “The deck looks more like a steep hill.”
“We’ll slide then,” he quipped.
She shuddered as he inched his way to the bottom of the mast, not looking forward to sliding down a rough wooden deck in a wet nightgown.
Maximiliano was worried. Not only did he not recognize the shoreline, he knew in his gut it wasn’t any part of Puerto Rico he’d ever seen. However, one problem at a time. First, he had to get Heidi safely to shore.
He admired her courage. They were clearly in a precarious situation which was his fault entirely, yet she’d not complained once, even about the embarrassing reaction of his cock pressing against her wet bottom.
Cursing, he gritted his teeth as he set his feet on the steeply inclined deck. Recalling the pleasant erection he’d been determined to will away had instead resurrected the stirrings at the base of his spine. He couldn’t fathom what was wrong with him. He hadn’t lusted after a woman for years, now he could think of nothing but thrusting his cock into Heidi’s wet heat. This was not the time to be preoccupied with such matters. The hurricane had evidently stolen his wits as well as his ship. He’d flirted with death before and never experienced such a rush of desire in the aftermath. He filled his lungs to steady his turmoil. “Come to me now,” he called to Heidi.
Jaw clenched, she obeyed, edging along the rough wood of the mast. He didn’t envy her. He was wearing sturdy pantaloons. His body heated
at the prospect of picking splinters out of her bottom.
Basta! This has to stop.
When she reached him, he took her hand. “You’re right. It’s too steep. Sliding down is a better idea. Hold on to me.”
She swung from her perch and clung on to him like a baby monkey, her legs clamped around his hips.
Madre de Dios.
He let go of the mast and turned so his body bore the brunt of the friction as they slid down to the railing. He made sure his booted feet took the impact, but his spirits fell when they scrambled upright and peered over the side. Her bare feet were going to be a big problem on the jagged rocks.
Heidi recalled losing the first shoe, but had no inkling what had happened to the second. Clearly, there was no time to search for them. She could stay aboard and drown or follow Maximiliano across the rocks.
The drop wasn’t insignificant but her pirate went over the side and landed gracefully. He held out his arms. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”
There was no choice. Better to risk breaking an ankle. She hoped she didn’t land on him too hard and cause him to lose his balance.
She climbed up on the gunwale, mortified when the hem of her nightgown snagged on a broken spar. For the first time in her life, she wished she’d listened to her mother and slept in her bloomers.
Maximiliano did his best not to smile as she tried to keep her balance and regain her modesty.
She took the leap of faith, almost swooning with relief when he caught her before her feet touched the rocks. They clung together, breast to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, the surf roiling around them, both breathing heavily. She looked up into his eyes and knew he was going to kiss her. It was dangerous, foolhardy, inappropriate, yet she wanted the kiss more than she’d ever wanted anything. She closed her eyes when his lips parted.
“I’m going to carry you,” he said. “Climb on my back.”
Numbly, she obeyed, clinging to his neck as he put his arms under her thighs and they set off on the perilous trek.
It wasn’t the first time Maximiliano had been forced to reach shore across treacherous rocks, but he’d never carried such an important burden before, and never in waterlogged boots.
Exhausted after long hours spent protecting Heidi from the hurricane’s power, he willed himself to concentrate on every sharp edge, every loose rock.
The temptation was to hurry, but that might prove disastrous, so he took his time, stopping frequently to map out the next steps. She kept silent, evidently trusting him.
Foolish woman.
When, at long last, they reached the sandy shallows, she slipped from his back and they waded ashore.
She collapsed on the sand and curled up in a ball.
He fell forward on all fours, gasping for breath. “We made it,” he rasped.
“You...saved...my life,” she stammered, her eyes wide with gratitude.
But I’m the one who put it at risk.
He managed to get into a sitting position, intending to pull off his boots, but the water made it impossible, and he was too exhausted. He stretched out, looking up at the cloudless sky. They’d survived, but where were they?
“Lift your foot.”
He squinted into the sunlight. Heidi stood astride his legs, bent over. She still wore the nightdress, but her bottom might as well have been bare for all the good the sodden fabric did. Groaning, he obeyed, his hardened cock enduring the fiendish torture as she strained to pull off his boot.
“We have to find you something to wear,” he murmured lamely.
Picnic
While the storm raged, Heidi feared she would never be warm again, but soon felt the sun hot on her face. Much as she loved tropical heat, she never went out on Sankt Thomas without a broad- brimmed hat to cover her fair complexion.
Fighting off the desire to sleep for hours, she sat up. Maximiliano lay on the sand, his bare ankles already showing signs of sunburn though she’d pulled off his boots scant minutes before. She crawled to kneel next to him and put a hand on his chest, feeling the rough grains of sand in the soft hair. “We must find shade,” she whispered, reluctant to wake him after his heroic efforts.
He opened one eye and licked his dry lips. “Water, too.”
She nodded, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was.
He rose and helped her stand. She leaned on him as they surveyed the jungle beyond the beach.
“Can you make it there?” he asked. “Or shall I carry you?”
She’d already been too much of a burden. “I can walk, but will there be wild animals?”
“Not to worry,” he replied, patting his dagger, but she sensed an edge of uncertainty in his voice.
Wild creatures existed on Sankt Thomas. Monkeys were an everyday fact of life, and she’d heard there were wild boar in the hills.
“A dry cave would be good,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, “but I don’t see one in the cliffs.”
There was no alternative but to find shade in the trees. He picked up his boots, and put an arm around her waist. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she echoed, circling her arm around his broad back, her hand fisted in the folds of his wet jacket.
Maximiliano was confident they would find fallen coconuts beneath the palm trees, but wasn’t as sure as he’d claimed about animals in the thick jungle. Monkeys were generally a harmless nuisance. Wild boar were unlikely to come to salt water. Snakes were the only creatures he’d feared since childhood.
They found a gap in the seemingly impenetrable wall of foliage and crept to a small clearing. It was almost too cool after the scorching sun. He removed his jacket and draped it over Heidi’s shivering shoulders. “It’s almost dry,” he whispered.
She nodded gratefully but the faraway look in her eyes indicated she was nearing the limit of her endurance.
He didn’t have to hunt far before he found a couple of coconuts. He was adept at breaking open the stubborn fruit—with a machete. All he had was his dagger which wouldn’t have enough weight to do the job. Foraging further afield produced a rock he hoped would work and a large philodendron leaf.
Heidi swayed trance-like, watching him strike the center of the coconut, turning it as he went. When milk dripped out of the first crack, he held it over the leaf.
It didn’t take long for the coconut to break in two after he pounded along the crack. Some of the milk escaped onto the leaf, but he deftly separated the two halves so most of it stayed in the shell.
She drank greedily from the half he gave her and he quenched his own thirst from the other. He tipped the milk from the leaf into her empty shell then chipped away at the inside of his own shell with his dagger. They chewed every last shred of the coconut before she crawled over to lean against him. “In Denmark, we call this a picnic,” she murmured.
“Same thing in Spanish,” he replied, but she’d already dozed off.
He pulled the edges of his jacket closed to cover the tempting nipples pouting against the flimsy nightdress, and gathered her into his embrace. They’d have to find better shelter before nightfall but, for the moment, he was content to let her sleep.
The sun was still high in the sky when Heidi awoke. Panic surged at the realization she was alone. She scrambled to her feet and fought her way out of the dense foliage. The tide had gone out a long way, leaving miles of rippled sands in its wake. The Juana lay completely on her side, high and dry on the rocks.
Her throat tightened when she caught sight of Maximiliano making his way back to the beach, the strap of her portmanteau slung around his body. He’d risked danger to retrieve her meager belongings but, at least now, she could get rid of the tattered and stained nightdress.
She hurried across the hot sand. “Thank you,” she gushed, linking his arm. “But you shouldn’t have risked your life for it.”
They crawled into their clearing where he divested himself of the strap and opened the wet bag. She knelt beside him, feeling like a child at Yuletide, full of expectation, though
she knew what was inside. Or thought she did. He pulled out several shirts and a pair of pantaloons. “I deemed it safe enough to search for a few things since the tide had receded so far out.”
Next came her pistol, then a larger, more ornate one and a horn of powder. “Hopefully still dry inside,” he said. “There’s round-shot in the bottom of the bag.”
Two pineapples followed. She began to wonder if he’d retrieved anything of hers.
“I couldn’t find the shoes you lost,” he told her.
“There should be another pair in the bag,” she assured him.
She rummaged inside, pulling out wet clothing and the sensible Danish shoes. “I didn’t have time to pack much,” she explained when he smiled at the pink bloomers.
His eyes widened when she retrieved the small etui of sewing needles.
“I don’t suppose these will be of much use here,” she lamented.
“On the contrary. Gatito taught me how to make a compass with a needle. Keep them safe.”
At the bottom of the bag was a sack she didn’t recognize. “What’s this?”
A frown replaced the smile as he grabbed it from her. “It’s mine,” he growled.
A shiver stole over her. Maximiliano the Hero had suddenly turned back into Lázaro the Pirate.
Where Are We?
It didn’t take long for Heidi’s wet clothing to dry in the sun. Maximiliano left her alone in the clearing so she could have privacy to dress. He smiled at the memory of pink bloomers and her equally pink blush. He wouldn’t be able to look at her again without his mind wandering to visions of her shapely bottom in the old-fashioned underwear.
He regretted the guarded suspicion that had replaced trust in her eyes. Other than his crew, few people trusted Lázaro, even the women whose families he’d helped feed with proceeds from his plundering. He’d alienated Heidi for the sake of useless plunder. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. Bank notes, jewelry and coin were of no good to them here.