Chapter 24
Far down the beach, Mathilda could see the trail that would take them through taro fields and tin-roofed shelters to the insanely steep one-lane road that wound its way to the Waipi’o overlook. If only she could fly there, like that brilliant white egret gliding over the trees.
There would be no other way to reach it, not with these guys blocking their way.
Rory pulled her close for a quick, desperate hug. “Get out of here,” he told her tightly. “You don’t need to be part of this, whatever it is.”
He let her go and took off the backpack filled with food and handed it to her. She slid it on, but instead of running, she shrank back behind the trunk of an ironwood tree. If she ran, she had a strong feeling they might shoot at her.
At a gesture from Lincoln, the two men, hands in the air, strode toward the commandos. “I assume you’re looking for me?” Lincoln said arrogantly. “I’m a popular guy these days.”
From her shelter, Mathilda stared at the yacht riding the slow rollers coming in off the ocean.
She’d never seen a boat quite like that one—and she’d sailed on plenty of expensive crafts back home.
This one looked…armored. It had minimal windows, all of them tinted.
Were those guns peeking from discreet portholes?
A helicopter perched on the upper rear deck like a menacing spider.
She wondered if it was a replacement for the one that had crashed.
“We’re going to need all of you.” The guard in charge beckoned with his weapon. “The girl too.”
“No,” Rory said firmly. “She’s just a guide. She has nothing to do with any of this.”
“You!” The guard yelled at Mathilda as she tried to make herself as invisible as possible. The ironwoods weren’t great for that purpose—their trunks were narrow and their foliage lacy evergreen. What she wouldn’t give for a banyan tree right about now. “Get out here!”
Rory charged toward him, and took a hard swing at the man. He knocked him down to his knees, but Mathilda could tell it was a losing battle—one against at least six people with guns.
Should she run while she had the chance? Maybe she should, but she couldn’t just leave Rory like this. The guards had him down on the sand, kicking him in the stomach. Lincoln, she wanted to yell. Do something!
As if he’d heard her silent plea, Lincoln plunged into the fray, but right away was grabbed by two other guards and dragged across the sand toward the waterline. He yelled something about taking it easy or they’d pay for this, but no one paid much attention to him.
Mathilda stole another glance at the melee and felt sick. Rory was still fighting, on his knees now, blood pouring from his nose. His beautiful nose! She couldn’t bear it.
She darted from behind the ironwood and ran toward them. “Stop it! I’ll come with you, just leave him alone!”
The first man, the one Rory had punched in the jaw, hit Rory one more time, in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain.
“I said, stop it!” she shouted. Unbelievably, they did. Maybe she sounded like a teacher during a fight at recess.
She crouched next to Rory. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing? I told you to go.” With a groan, he struggled to stand up. She supported him with an arm under his.
“I wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. At least I made them stop. It looked like they were going to kill you.”
He used his sleeve to wipe bloody saliva from his face. “I’m fine.”
A guard pushed him to get a move on, and he staggered.
“What is your problem? Rory isn’t even the one you’re after.” Mathilda glared at the guards as she put her own body between Rory and the guards. But the “teacher during recess” magic had worn off. Someone pushed her in the back.
She decided there wasn’t much point in continuing to argue. Instead she held Rory’s hand as they were marched down to the Zodiac.
Getting onboard required getting wet. Even though the ocean water was warm, the hour was still early, and she and Rory were both shivering by the time they climbed up the ladder onto the boat/fortress. She saw no visible name on its transom, but it must have one—wasn’t that required by law?
Or did this boat operate outside the law?
As soon as the Zodiac had been hauled onto the deck, the yacht’s powerful engines roared to life.
A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine as the craft glided away from the beach.
The currents on this side of the island were ferocious; jumping off and trying to swim to shore would be a suicide mission.
A guard marched her and Rory to a stateroom with two bunk beds and a tiny water closet with a toilet and sink.
“Wait here,” said the guard, closing the door, then latching it.
“Like we have a choice,” Rory muttered. His nose was swollen and purple, and a bruise was developing on one cheekbone. He sat heavily on the lower bunk, as if all his energy had drained away from him.
Mathilda rummaged around the cabin until she found a clean hand towel. After wetting it in the sink, she dabbed the blood off his face. “It was noble of you to try to protect me, but I wish you hadn’t taken it so far,” she murmured. “They really went to town on you.”
“I wrestled in high school. I can take a hit. Then I got too tall for that and got into Muay Thai. If there had been three guys instead of six, I might have stood a chance.”
She went into the bathroom and rinsed out the blood, then returned to work on a cut on his upper lip. “I want to kiss you right now, but that might hurt.”
“Might be worth it.” He smiled wearily, then pointed at his chin. “How about here instead?”
She kissed him there. And on his neck. And on his uninjured cheekbone, and his lower lip. Tears started in her eyes as she searched for more places to kiss him, but there were so few without cuts or bruises.
“Hey, hey. I’ll heal. It’s really not so bad.” He put his arms around her and drew her onto his lap. “It’s all superficial.”
“Do you know that for sure? They were kicking you in your stomach.”
“I’d be coughing up blood if there was anything serious.” He drew up his shirt, revealing rippling stomach muscles and the beginnings of several red bruises. “The key is to keep your muscles tight. I learned that in Muay Thai.”
She gently ran a finger across a bruise. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Want to know what hurts?” He tilted her head back to gaze into her eyes.
“That I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know if I can protect you.
” He gingerly kissed her on the lips, a light and magical touch that made her heart tremble.
“But I will do whatever I can.” It sounded like a vow. “I promise you that.”
“Rory…” Longing made her voice tremble. “I don’t know…I don’t know what the future…”
The list of things she didn’t know was so long…would she be married in a month? Would she be living in England? Playing the part of a marchioness, something that meant nothing to her?
“It’s all right,” Rory murmured against her neck. “We have now, don’t we?”
She let out a gurgle of laughter. “Yes, we have now. Imprisoned on a Darth Vader yacht going who knows where for God knows what reason.”
“Right? It’s like a perfect honeymoon.”
They laughed at that, then cuddled together in quiet, lulled by the motion of the waves. She even drifted to sleep a bit, exhausted by the night they’d just experienced. Even though she ought to be too scared to sleep, being with Rory made made her feel protected and safe.
Sometime later, the door burst open and a familiar man walked in. His glasses glinted in the light and his gray hair was mussed. His jungle camo outfit had been replaced with a windbreaker and chino pants.
“Philip Phelps?” Mathilda scrambled off Rory’s lap and jumped to her feet. He was the very last person she’d expected to see. “What are you doing here?”
Her thoughts scrambled in a zillion different directions. Was this Duncan Aberdeen’s yacht? Was the lawyer here to rescue them, make more trouble for them, or drag her off to sign a marriage contract?
“Please tell me you aren’t in love with this gentleman,” he said with a sniff. “I do so detest a broken heart.”