Sapphire Dream (11 page)

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Authors: Pamela Montgomerie

BOOK: Sapphire Dream
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“I can’t swim! Help me!”
He was glad she’d warned him. Even knowing she pretended, he had to steel himself against her piteous plea.
He looked around his cabin, glowing in the light of two lanterns. His sea chest was gone, as he’d feared it would be. As were the ship’s logs and journals he’d kept in his desk. Everything he’d owned had been removed. Even the small birds he’d spent painstaking hours carving by hand.
Pulling his knife, he dove for the plank under the bunk, beneath which he’d stashed his gold. But the board was already loose.
His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he reached into the space beneath.
Empty.
Whoever had found it knew it was there, for no other board was loose. Only one man knew about his hiding place.
Hegarty.
He heard a heavy splash hit the water.
Shouted voices carried from the deck. “She can swim. Stop her!”
Rourke shoved his knife back into his belt and hurried from the cabin, sticking to the shadows. As he reached the deck, he saw only two men silhouetted against the ship’s rail now. One had apparently decided to capture the mermaid.
Rourke silently crossed to where they’d left the boat and swung himself over the side. But as he slid down the rope, no rough-hewn planks met his feet. Only cold water.
A quick scan revealed no sign of the rowboat.
“
God’s blood.
”
He was going to kill her. First he had to find her. With a silent curse, he let go of the rope and dropped into the freezing water, gun and all. The cold knocked the wind out of him, but he forced his arms to stroke, moving silently away from the ship.
“Rourke!”
He could hear the paddles coming nearer.
“Wheesht!” He swallowed a mouthful of salty water. As he swam toward her voice, she materialized out of the darkness. The hard wood of an oar brushed his hand and he grabbed it. Brenna pulled him to the boat, then helped him inside. He took the oars from her, icy water dripping from his nose and fingertips. “I’m going to strangle you.”
“Oh, that makes me so glad I rescued you.” Her voice was tight with cold and sarcasm.
He started rowing, sending the blood flowing through his frozen limbs. “Why did ye leave?”
“My leg cramped. I couldn’t swim, and he was going to catch me. The rate he was going, he’d have drowned us both.”
“Did it occur to you to board the rowboat, then
await
me?”
“Yeah. And it occurred to me I’d have soldiers in it with me long before you got back.”
The crack of gunfire rent the air. A pair of shots exploded in the water on either side of them.
Brenna gasped and ducked. She grabbed his arm. “Get down! They’ll kill you.”
“They each had a single gun. By the time they reload, we’ll be well out of range.”
“I didn’t realize it took that long to reload one of those things.”
“Aye. Takes even longer to
dry one out
.”
He rowed the rest of the way in silence, soaked for the second time today, thanks to the woman at his side. When they reached the shore, he pulled her out, then yanked the boat to shore and left it where he’d found it.
“Did you get your gold?” Brenna asked as they started for the alleyway. Her teeth were beginning to chatter.
He clenched his jaw. “Nay. ’Twould have drowned me if I had . . . or sunk to the bottom of the sea since there was no boat awaiting me to catch the weight of it.”
“Oh.” The word was small and tight. “Whoops.”
Anger fueled his steps. “I’ve no coin, no food. No weapons except my knife and a gun that will likely never fire again. I have no ship. No crew. No cursed future. The day’s been a disaster, thanks to you. The whole of my life’s been a disaster, thanks to you.”
He stalked into the darkened alley, his empty stomach growling his frustration. Hegarty had best have his gold. And where was the blighter?
When he stopped, the lass leaned against the wall, then sank into a huddle at his feet.
“Rourke?” The word was little more than a whisper.
He glared down at her. “Aye?”
“I’m . . . r-really cold. Is there anyplace we can go to warm up?”
“Without coin? Looking like a pair of drowned kittens? Who would take us in? Nay, we’ll pass the night here. ’Tis summer.” But the breeze had kicked up, and he was beginning to feel chilled himself, though not unduly so. He was often wet aboard ship and was quite used to it.
He crossed the narrow alley and sat, the anger in his belly too raw to settle for her nearness. But even from this small distance he could hear her teeth clattering like shutters in a gale. For the span of a heartbeat he rejoiced in her suffering, for she’d brought all this upon herself by diving from his ship in the first place. But his sense of fairness snatched the pleasure away.
The lass was ill-suited to hardship. He’d watched her tender feet bloom with welts and blisters as the day wore on, watched as she’d alternately hobbled barefoot and then booted.
Yet she’d never complained despite the bruising pace he’d forced on her. Even without food, she’d never complained.
She was not what he’d anticipated. He’d expected a pampered lady from a golden land, a lady who would expect him to do her bidding, to be waited on, mayhap even carried. Instead, she’d turned out to be a hoyden. A wildcat with a warrior’s toughness despite her tender feet, and a deep flowing river of inner strength. A woman who intrigued him far more than he wished.
With his anger abated, he moved to where she sat huddled and shaking. He lowered himself beside her and pulled her against him to share what warmth he had. She was more than shaking, he realized. The tremors racked her body with alarming force. He grabbed her icy hand, then felt her face, the back of her neck. As cold as her hand.
His heart gave a sick thud.
“Wait here,” he whispered, as if she were in any condition to wander off. He found Dunhaven’s stables, broke the lock off one of the doors, and slipped inside. Feeling his way through the dark, he found what he’d been hoping for—an empty stall halffilled with soft hay.
Returning to the alley, he scooped her into his arms. She would not die this night. He’d not allow it.
He carried her to the stall and laid her on the hay, then searched through the dark until he found a horse blanket. “I know ye’re cold, Wildcat, but I must remove these wet garments or you’ll not get warm. I found a blanket.”
She made a sound that seemed to be acceptance, though she was shaking so hard he could not tell. He’d never felt a body so cold. He peeled off the shirt of his she wore again and reached for her strange shirt with the words on the front.
“How do I remove this?”
She moved, but could barely help him. “P-pull it over my head. Careful. I . . . I don’t want it to rip.”
“There isna room for your head, lass.”
“It stretches.”
With a frown, Rourke did as she directed. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and gently pulled it upward. Amazingly, it slipped off with little effort.
He eased off her boots. “Now yer breeks.” He grasped her slender waist, feeling for a button or tie, but found neither. “Will these be stretching, too?” The garments fascinated him, but now was not the time to marvel at them.
“Uh-huh,” she murmured. “H-hurry. I’m so c-cold.”
He slipped his finger into the waistband of her breeks and pulled. Sure enough, they yielded. Amazing. He pulled them down over her hips, encountering a wee scrap of silk with his knuckles. Silk covering her most precious gifts.
The thought tantalized him as he pulled the breeks off her, and then retraced his path, running his hands up smooth, frozen legs to the silken scrap. He gently pulled it over her hips, leaving her bare and damp and vulnerable.
His eyes longed for a glimpse of the womanly curves his fingers had skimmed, wishing for even a single candle’s light to break the dark. Instead, he pulled the horse blanket snug around her. “Lie ye down. I’ll pile the hay about you to help hold in a little of your heat.”
“I . . . have . . . n-no . . . heat.”
He stared into the darkness toward her voice. He had no broth to warm her from the inside, no fire for the outside.
All he had was himself.
Bloody hell.
But he had to get her warm. With grim determination, he yanked off his sodden clothes, opened the blanket, and lay down beside her. He gathered her frozen body into his arms and wrapped the musty wool around them both.
Her quakes tore through him as he rubbed her cold skin, seeking to build some warmth within her, regretting his insistence she swim this eve. He prayed her warrior’s strength would see her through this night, for he feared, if he didn’t get her warmed, she’d soon be fighting for her life. She was too soft for such mischief.
His hands rubbed her back, her buttocks.
She was too soft. His hand ran down one long leg. Too . . . smooth.
His breath caught as his mind caught up with what his body had already realized. He held a naked woman in his arms, her small distended nipples pressing against his chest. A shaft of hot desire surged between his legs.
Ah, Christ.
He was no saint. He was all for having a lass in his bed, but not
this
lass.
Never
this lass.
His body shuddered with a need that would likely tear him asunder before daybreak. He must hold her . . . simply hold her . . . until she warmed.
Even if it took every bit of strength he possessed.
SIX
 
The night was cool, the stable dark as a blackguard’s soul and rich with the smells of horse and hay. Smells Rourke had had little contact with since he’d left Scotland as a lad. Smells that brought back a wealth of memories he wished to forget.
The lass shifted against him, burrowing closer as if she would crawl inside him. Heaven knew, his body strained to do the same to her. The feel of her soft flesh pressed against him was nearly beyond bearing.
She shivered violently and he wrapped his bare leg around her frozen hips, blanketing her in every way he could. He knew she could feel the hardness of his arousal, but was either too dazed to notice, or too cold to care. She merely squeezed closer to him, her soft breasts tight against his chest.
Breathe.
It was torture to be but inches from the source of her womanhood and not slake his desire, but he’d never taken advantage of a woman and he’d not start now. Never would he tie himself to her in that way—in any way. Desperately, he sought to think of something other than the soft flesh pressed against him.
Hegarty.
Now there was a thought to cool his ardor. Where was the little bugger tonight? Holed up in a warm room with a fire and hot stew? Or under lock in the village gaol? On the morrow he would find him and hand Brenna Cameron over to him once and for all.
The woman moved her head, her hair brushing against his chin. Slowly, after what felt like an eternity, he felt her shivers begin to subside, felt her warming beneath his hands. She’d be all right now. He could slip away from her, leave her wrapped in the horse blanket until morn.
She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest.
He should move away.
But she felt too good. Even with his need unabated, the feel of her in his arms was heaven.
She made a faint snuffling sound and he knew she slept.
When was the last time he’d held a woman as she slept? Never. He’d never wanted such closeness. He didn’t want it now.
But despite the command from his brain, his arms refused to release her. So he lay, uncomfortable with need, but warm. And surprisingly content.
He yawned deeply. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on him despite his arousal. He might not sleep, but he would at least rest his eyes.
But sleep he did.

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