Chapter Nineteen
“Red!”
Christian heaved himself from the deck, ears ringing, and threw himself against the splintered mainmast crushed against the door.
The ship listed hard to port and he had to grab a hanging line to keep from falling again. Waves began to slosh over the deck as the sea tightened her grip on the floundering brigantine. It wouldn’t be long now.
With a snarl, he grabbed the mast once more and leveraged his legs against the door.
Nothing. Damn it. Water swirled around his thighs.
His waist. Still, he clawed at the wood.
But the weight of the mast had pinned the door to its frame.
Without an ax and minutes he didn’t have, there was no hope of opening it.
“Red!” He shouted her name again.
Silence. His gaze went higher. The mast had also crashed through the decking above her cabin.
“Son of a—”
A huge groan trembled through the ship as she slipped deeper beneath the waves and the frothing waters tangled rigging ropes around Christian’s torso and neck.
“Lieutenant.”
Griff stood on the mast where it jutted from the water and reached out.
Christian shook his head. “I can’t let her drown.”
The old man’s face twisted with grief but he shook his head. “You’ll kill yourself as well if you stay there any longer.”
As if on cue, the ship shuddered with one last effort to remain upright. Christian’s feet were swept from the deck as a new cascade of water crashed over him.
A hand closed around his arm and dragged him to the surface. He clambered up onto the mast and looked down into the dark water encasing the main deck. His heart lurched in his chest and heat gathered at the corners of his eyes.
“There’s nothing you can do.” Griff touched his shoulder and pointed to the longboat floating next to the sinking vessel, and as the ship rolled again, they dove into the waves.
The sea washed away his tears and when he surfaced, the Raven had gone bottoms up. Her barnacle-covered keel glistened in the sun as she rapidly descended to her watery grave. More hands grabbed at his shoulders and the crew dragged him and Griff into the longboat.
All eyes were glued to the sinking ship. In a matter of seconds, her hull submerged until only the bow jutted from the water. It bobbed. Once. Twice. Then with a quiet whoosh, it slipped beneath the waves.
Thick silence crushed around them as Christian stared at the spot.
Huge bubbles broke the surface where ropes, sails, and bits of broken wood drifted in an ever-widening ring.
He gripped the roughhewn wood at the edge of the longboat, his breaths coming in irregular, harsh gasps. He should have stopped her.
Damn it. If he had gone after her sooner, he could have kept her from entering that death trap.
Now, she was . . .
His chest splintered with an acute pain.
She was gone.
Every complicated feeling he had for her crashed forth, squeezing the air right out of his lungs. His brave, fierce, exasperating pirate.
Gone.
The cabin boy let out a strangled sob and Christian’s eyes burned once more. Clenching his teeth together, he dragged his gaze from the tragic scene to where his father’s sails were still visible against the horizon.
Damn the man. Damn him to hell and back again. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. He would go to Savannah, would petition for more ships. And would take the bastard down. His fingers curled into tight fists.
Thorne would pay.
The boy cried out again and Christian jerked around. One of the men pointed and Christian’s heart gave a hopeful little leap. It couldn’t be.
It was.
Fiery hair glistened in the sun as she surfaced, coughing and sputtering. The most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Before anyone could react, Christian was already in motion. After a sloppy dive that smacked the water against his face, he kicked out to her in broad strokes.
When he reached her side, she continued gasping for air.
“How did you get out?”
“A window. But she pulled me down with her. I almost—” A cough wracked her and her face slipped beneath the water.
Wrapping an arm around her chest, Christian tugged her close to him and started back toward the longboat. He helped push her in and joined her a moment later.
The men had moved to the edges to make room and she lay on her side, chest heaving with each ragged breath she took. She closed her eyes and Christian reached down to make sure she was alright.
Before he could touch her, she raised her hand, white-knuckled around a huge shell. “I got it,” she whispered.
The cabin boy stared at her with wide eyes. “You almost drowned yourself for a shell?”
She gave a small smile. “Not just a shell. The map is in here.”
Christian grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Are you hurt?”
She laughed, then winced. “I hurt everywhere.”
He ran his hands down her arms, up her sides. No broken bones.
When he finished his perusal, she cocked her head. “Worried, Lieutenant? Be careful, or I might think you care for me.”
I do care for you. The words echoed in his mind, unspoken.
Griff wiped at tear-streaked cheeks. “Glad to have you back with us, Captain.”
She frowned at him and her shoulders slumped. “I’m no captain.”
Her soft statement brought a chorus of nays from the men gathered round and a sad smile tugged at her lips. “Look at where I got us. Shipwrecked and adrift at sea.”
Her grip on the shell faltered and it tumbled to her feet.
Griff cleared his throat and pointed north to the sliver of green on the horizon. “Not adrift. Everyone made it off the ship alive. We’ve strong men aplenty and oars. We’ll reach that atoll by dusk.”
“And then what? Who knows when the next ship will pass by?” She pressed her eyes shut. “I failed you all. I could have killed him on his ship. Started to. But I couldn’t go through with it.”
Christian’s jaw ticked. She’d nearly killed his father. The man who’d killed her parents.
Griff reached out and touched her shoulder. “Taking a life is not something to be done lightly. No matter how much they might deserve it. Once you’ve crossed that line, there’s no turning back. It changes you—forever.”
Christian could still remember the first time he’d killed a man in battle. The retching and violent dreams that had followed. The questions he’d been forced to ask himself. Wondering if it could have been avoided. “He’s right. Not killing him doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human.”
He reached down and picked up the shell, hefting its weight until sunlight reflected off pale pink tines.
Red stared at him with watery eyes. “You should toss it overboard. That map has brought nothing but misery.”
She stared out at the floating wreckage and her face paled.
Funny how a brush with death could change perspectives. She was right. So why didn’t he throw it? He tilted the shell until a wax plug became visible. He peeled it back and a corner of parchment became visible.
Such a small, inconsequential thing. A piece of paper. Yet so many lives had been lost over the years for it. His gaze slid back to her. The spunk that had lit her eyes, both as Red and Miss Warstein, had faded. He didn’t like it.
The crew stood silent. Waiting. These men had given everything for the promise of what the map represented. Gruff faces, weathered by years of sun and salt, watched him with wary, and weary, eyes.
Something squeezed his heart. Sympathy? For pirates? He shook his head. It had to be the aftershock of the day’s events. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to throw these men’s dreams overboard.
He reached down and picked up Red’s limp hand, giving the shell back. The chilled flesh gave him pause. She wasn’t staring at the wreckage after all and didn’t flinch when he passed his other hand in front of her eyes. Shock.
The cabin boy stood frowning at her back, and Christian turned her.
A hiss of pain escaped her lips and he let out a curse.
A tear in the white blouse revealed smooth skin, marred by an angry red welt.
At the edge of the linen, a small splinter of wood poked out.
The wet fabric clung to her, pink around the edges from blood.
Once again, his hands clenched. She’d nearly died.
He stood. “To oars, men.”
They jumped into action, splitting into watches that would take turns at the oars. Red sat silently through it all, but at the third change, she took a place at an oar.
Christian set a hand on her shoulder. “No.”
She pulled from his touch. “Don’t coddle me, Lieutenant.”
He made to respond, but Griff met his eyes and gave a shake of his head.
“Fine,” he ground out. “But you’re not rowing alone.”
He sat on the bench next to her and closed his hands over the rough wood of the oar. He’d rowed through both of the previous watches and his arms burned, but he gritted his teeth and extended the oar.
Minutes slid by and he began pacing his breaths, counting them, willing time to pass by with greater speed.
When a warm heat crept up his thigh, he glanced down.
Red had shifted and her leg pressed against his.
Each pump of the oar increased the pleasant pressure.
Suddenly, he didn’t care how much longer the watch took.
He could row like this all day.
Griff had been right, and they approached the atoll before the sun began to set. Navigating over the reef took all their effort and concentration, and once the longboats passed the breaking waves, they made quick work of pulling up to the beach.
Someone dragged a large box from under a bench and Red distributed supplies, delegating men to find shelter and food.
New watches were organized to post men on each side of the little island for keeping an eye out for any passing vessels.
Christian helped gather driftwood and when a decent stack had been piled, he sank onto one of the lightweight blankets procured from the chest.