The Siren's Song Part 2

She unraveled her arms from around the mast. The man's hand outstretched farther toward her, beckoning her to grab a hold. She reached for him, her ominous savior.

The wind lashed at her. The rain shifted. A black wave rose from the darkness and crashed down upon the Rowena. Her fingers brushed against his before the breaker knocked her back.

She tumbled, the rush of water rolled her, and she came to a stop facedown. Gilly gulped for air, and the brine she swallowed burned her nose and throat. The man's firm grasp dug under her arms and quite suddenly she stood on her own two feet.

He spun her around. "Are you all right?" He wore no look of concern. Rather, the deep cut in his brow suggested anger.

"I..." The word rasped over her raw throat, sending her into a fit of coughs.

He bent to peer closer and it was then she realized how he towered over her. So tall he was, taller even than Hyde.

She swallowed a few times to coat her sore throat before managing two words. "I'm fine."

"Right. We've got to get off this ship, now." He tugged at her arm and shoved her forward, alarming her by his rough handling.

The ship bemoaned, shuddered and at once tipped. She lost her footing, bringing the stranger down with her. Together, they washed down the decking. White-capped water devoured the ship's edge. It stretched out to receive them. Her foot bashed into the submerged railing, stopping her from sliding into the raging sea. Gilly yelped at the sharp pain spiking up her ankle.

She cursed. Or was that the blackguard who cursed? She glanced at him and in a bolt of lightning could have sworn amus.e.m.e.nt flickered across his face.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed at her bodice and yanked her to him. The force knocked the air from her lungs. She stared up into his eyes. Yes. Amus.e.m.e.nt definitely sparked in them. He enjoyed their predicament far too much.

"Hold on," he said. "They're coming."

The longboat plowed through the swells. Four men manned the oars, but the boat's speed and control came from the colossal black man at the rear. So large a man, it was a wonder his bulk didn't sink the boat. He, alone, maneuvered the craft adjacent to the tilting ship.

A sailor in the boat extended a hand to her.

"Get in." Her savior shoved her arm toward the waiting man.

Gilly reached out for him. Her wrist seemed so pale, so contrasted against the black sea. Oh, G.o.d. My bag! Where's my bag? Her chest constricted. She couldn't breathe. The drawing string must have slipped off her wrist when the wave knocked her down.

Panic-stricken, she whipped her head around and searched the madness of the stormy sea overtaking the perishing ship. The gale wailed louder in her ears, but she could no longer feel the rain or the splash of the waves.

Where is it? I must get it back.

Planking, debris, water, all blended together, devoid of any color. The rapid rise and fall of the surf separated them into identifiable objects. Only when the sky bestowed flares of light could she see beyond a man's single pace.

A glimpse of purple caught her eye. There!

Her pouch drifted along the water's edge, b.u.mping against the Rowena.

"Snap to, woman!"

She ignored her dark rescuer, focusing on the drawing string snagged on a splintered board floating away in the swirling current. No! She couldn't lose it. Just couldn't. What had kept her alive, what was left of her life was inside that bag.

Farther out of reach her bag drifted. She batted at his grip on her, slapped at his knuckles until he released her. Her toes curled in her shoes, an attempt to grab on to the rail through her soles as she shuffled down the rail on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet. Almost there. The water pushed the board against the ship's bow. She squatted down, holding on to a pulley used to secure the anchor and reached for her handbag. The drawing string worked itself loose from the plank. Sloshing water pushed it away. Must stretch farther. Her grip loosened and her hand slid on the smooth wood of the winch. A little more. She hooked the string with two fingers and pulled the bag close enough to fist it, pressing it close to her chest.

Thank G.o.d. Thank G.o.d I didn't lose it.

What were those blasted men shouting about?

The unforgiving sea swiped her from the ship's frame. Into the water she fell. Below the surface, the ocean roared loud, tunneled and m.u.f.fled, bearing down on her from all sides. The current forced her down. For a moment, she couldn't move under the weight of the cool water. Panic sluiced through her. Undercurrents whisked her about, pulling her this way and that. A flux rammed her and smashed her shoulder into the ship's hull. The hard thud quashed her fear. She kicked wildly, thrashing to reach the surface.

Where was the surface?

The water, so black, can't see.

Flashes of light followed by the darkness confused her.

Breathe. Got to breathe. Oh merciful G.o.d, I can't hold my breath much longer.

Chapter Three.

"d.a.m.nation!"

The la.s.s must be out of her b.l.o.o.d.y mind. What in the h.e.l.l was she doing?

"Sam!"

The ma.s.sive seadog stood, already with a coil of rope in hand. The other men labored to keep the boat from flipping. Sam threw one end of the rope. Drake caught the rope, thick and scratchy in his wet hands, and he tied the rope around his waist.

Risking her life like that. And for what? A d.a.m.ned purse! Women and their frivolous things. He would never understand.

A quick tug to secure the knot and he dove into the sea.

The rush of water washed over him crisp and cold as he sliced through the frenzied currents. Debris sc.r.a.ped against his arms, banged into his legs. He kicked hard to propel himself faster and felt his way through the dark billows.

Where in the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l was she? The hull. The hard bend of the ship's hull. The figurehead, a sea nymph. The smooth curvature. This was where Drake had last seen the la.s.s. This was where she went underwater. Had she succ.u.mbed? Had the sea carried her down into its depths?

A sharp whack landed upon his cheek.

s.h.i.t.

Had he not known better, he'd believe those were stars, not lightning flashes, brightening the water. d.a.m.n, if that didn't hurt.

He reached out and s.n.a.t.c.hed the foot that walloped his face. The la.s.s struggled, fought and kicked at him. Drake grabbed her by the waist and shot her upward. They broke through to the surface. The wind sheered across the crests, blasting sea spray into his eyes. Which way to the longboat?

The chit gasped for much needed air. She embraced his neck tightly and he held her close to his body. He took a moment to settle her, paddling in place, fighting the wrathful waves. He inhaled her hair, tasted it, salty on his lips as he steadied his own breath.

A box splashed down beside them. Items that should have been secure on the ship broke loose and tumbled into the water. Chests popped up like corks all around them springing free from the broken hull. He must get them back to the longboat.

As if on cue, Sam pulled the lifeline. The rope cut into his waist while the tide towed them in the opposite direction. But Sam would win over the sea. d.a.m.n near impossible to stop Sam. The mighty behemoth could best even the nastiest of t.i.tans.

Once the longboat was within reach, Drake grabbed the side and allowed Sam to lift the la.s.s up. Before he had hoisted himself completely in, the men began to row back to the Rissa.

No sooner had he sat, the la.s.s fastened herself to him. She clamped that blasted purse in her lap and mouthed the words "thank you." He just nodded. He could've drowned saving her. Well, not likely. But nonetheless, she had put him and his men in danger with her stupidity. He should be beside himself with anger. And he had been minutes earlier. Yet his anger dissipated when she laid her head on his shoulder.

She shivered. Should he give her comfort? He faltered; his hand hovered momentarily, hesitantly, over her arm. Against better judgment, he held her.

He'd wait until they made the Rissa, then he'd give her the tongue-lashing she deserved. Bah. Women. Only good for one, perhaps two, night's company. After that they become an enc.u.mbrance.

Oars smacked down into the rising swells. Ahead, the Rissa soared, blackened against the storm. Lightning split the sky allowing for the breadth of his fearsome ship to be seen. His ship, G.o.d love her.

Once back on board, he'd get to the bottom of the woman and the fiasco she created. Captain Mott kept something from him. For this, Drake was of the mind to take more than just his cargo. He might see it fit to strip the Rowena of her sails, rigging and anything else he could use or sell.

The men sculled the longboat alongside the Rissa. Drake helped the chit to the ladder. She ascended and he followed. Halfway up, her foot slipped off the rope rung. Again, Drake's mug met with her shoe. His chop stung from her heel smacking into his cheekbone.

"Curse it!"

This chit may not be the death of him, but she certainly tried. Another blow like that and he might toss her back into the ocean.

He shoved on her a.r.s.e, pushing her up and over the ship's rail. She landed without any style at all, in a jumbled heap. He hopped on, snapped her up off the floor and hauled her midship to the Rowena's waiting crew and captain.

Mott came forward, his brow knit and the frown of his mouth set low. He spared no formalities expected by a woman.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

The la.s.s stepped past the captain, giving him equal discourtesy. She pushed through the Rowena men and stopped short of the ratlike lad. Quick as a cat, she slapped the rodent. Hard. His hand flew up to his jaw. Eyes wide with trepidation skittered to his captain.

Valeryn came to stand beside Drake, handing Drake the cutla.s.s he removed before setting out to save the girl. Never caring much for binds, Valeryn swiped at his brown s.h.a.ggy hair pummeling around his face in the wind. "Criminy, mate. You fish out a poppet? Or a jezebel?"

Drake fastened the sword at his hip with his red sash; happy to have it back again. He hated to be without any of his weapons for too long. "Don't know. Imagine we'll find out soon enough."

"Abel," Mott said. "What's the meaning of this? Who is this woman?"

"I...I don't know her, Captain." Abel shrank back, rubbing at his chops.

The la.s.s snarled. "Don't lie, you sc.u.m."

"I swear, Captain. I don't know who she is." He shook his head, keeping his wide eyes on the chit.

"Oh, yes, you do, Abel. You snuck me on that slop bucket-" she flung an arm out to the ship sinking on the reefs, "-and helped keep me hidden."

"She's outta her mind. I don't know who she is."

"That be the truth of it." She stiffened up. "You're going to pray you never left me behind."

"Crazy b.i.t.c.h!"

"Coward!"

"Quiet!" Captain Mott joined the squabbling pair. He grabbed her by the arm. "I want answers."

Drake placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Take heed, Captain." Mott wisely thought better of harshly handling the chit and let go.

"Again," he said through clenched teeth. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"I see no reason for propriety with such a rude tongue, sir," she scoffed.

He huffed. "Very well, then. How about you tell me how you came by my ship?"

"I told you. Abel." She gave the vermin a piercing glance before continuing. "He kept me down in the cargo hold."

"She's lying," Abel said.

"If I'm lying, Abel, then how do you explain this?" From her pouch, she retrieved a tiny bottle intricately twined with a small rope. "Wasn't it you who fancied this knot-work for me? Wasn't it you who boasted of such talent?"

A stir rippled among the Rowena's men. Some shook their heads. Others turned their backs to Abel.

"She-snake, you are." Abel spat.

Abel received another fierce slap in response. Men of both crews collectively flinched.

"Ouch." Valeryn smirked and whistled.

"Enough!" Mott said.

"Better take it easy there, cully." Valeryn pointed to the vein manifesting across Mott's forehead. "You're gonna split yourself. I'm not willing to ration out extra grog to dull a headache. And Henri makes some fine grog."

Baffled, Mott brushed his fingers on his brow, his eyes crossed as if he could see his forehead.

Drake laughed. What a spectacle this Rowena bunch.

"Seems to me, Mott, that what you've got here is a rutting whiffler and a shallow-pated castaway." Drake studied the duo. Both young. Both desperate for something. He let his gaze linger upon the la.s.s. In the dreary storm, he could not discern any one thing about the plain mouse. Well, other than the way her soaked dress molded to her luscious curves. Nay, the dismal rain and sea-laden winds washed her out into a sh.e.l.l of a woman. Her hair color, her eyes. Nothing spectacular. Though her back was straight, her shoulders sagged-a sign that she fought and lost decisive battles but had not yet given up. Aye, she wore a badge of desperation. "What do you think, V?" Drake nudged Valeryn. "These two bartering goods and services?"

"Looks that way, mate."

Her eyes widened. "I beg your pardon, sir. I am not some two-penny wh.o.r.e." Her upper lip curled. "I would do no such disgusting thing. Especially with that lying c.o.c.kroach." She shuddered in disgust.

Abel snorted at her slight.

"No. I paid him, with coin, for quick pa.s.sage."

She clamped her mouth shut, aware she had probably spoken too much.

"Quick pa.s.sage, you say." Drake tilted his head in scrutiny.

She looked away.

"Why would you need quick pa.s.sage?"