For a second Storm gave thought to running, but the man was skilled with the whip and could do her harm. She remained where she was.
“Come over here,” the man demanded.
“I’ve done nothing wrong, sir.” She hoped to delay him until Burke arrived. It was her only chance. That they had attracted a crowd didn’t help matters. Attention was the last thing she needed.
“I’ll not tell you again,” the man said loudly. Encouraged by the cheers of the crowd, he raised his whip.
“Strike the lad and you’ll find that whip a noose around your fat neck.”
The order sliced through the crowd much like the crack of the whip, silencing everyone.
Storm thanked heaven for Burke’s timely arrival, and when she turned to look, she almost didn’t recognize him. Clearly, his dress proclaimed him a man of wealth and station, far removed from the man she had rescued from the filthy prison, and yet he was the very same one.
He walked with that confident swagger that spoke volumes. He was a man of class and distinction, and the man with the whip realized it as quickly as Storm had, for he lowered the weapon, though he refused to relent.
“The lad stole from me and will pay for his crime,” he said, shaking his meaty fist.
Storm remained where she was and Burke walked around to stand in front of her. His body completely blocked her from the view of her accuser; that he shielded her was obvious to all.
“The lad belongs to me.”
Storm near shivered, his remark more a threat. Burke looked as if he wore no weapon and yet he attacked with words and a powerful stance. How did he expect to truly defend himself?
“Do I need to rescue you again?” she whispered behind him.
She heard a low chuckle.
“We’ll see who rescues who.”
She didn’t doubt he would rescue her. His stance alone, blocking her from her accuser, clearly indicated that he didn’t intend to surrender her. That he intended to protect her, save her, rescue her was evident, and the crowd cheered him on.
The realization of the attention they drew suddenly made her realize how precarious their situation could turn. If anyone should dare recognize her, question her identity, attempt to ask her name, they would be in trouble.
She reminded him of this in a rushed whisper. “Hurry.”
“Agreed,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
The big man finally found his voice and courage, though his quavering voice betrayed his unease. “I’ll be compensated for his crime.”
Burke reached into his waistcoat pocket, extracted several coins and tossed them at the man. “You’ll get no more.”
The man scurried after the coins that rolled and spun and scattered in different directions. It would take him a while to collect them all.
In the meantime, Burke snatched Storm by the arm and practically dragged her up the gangplank, down the narrow steps and into a cabin, then slammed the door shut.
“How did you get yourself into that predicament?”
She was about to answer when he advanced on her. She backed away from him, his face looking as if he were in a rage.
“You’re bleeding,” he said and reached for her arm.
She glanced down at her shoulder, the tear made by the whip having gone clear down to her skin.
Before she could explain it was nothing, Burke began pulling off her jacket. She attempted to stop him when suddenly she wondered if she really knew this man in front of her. He was much more in command, much more at home here. And why wouldn’t he be—this was his ship, his command. She was merely a visitor, an observer.
She fought to adjust to the reversal of roles, but not being fully in control did not sit well with her, and she found it difficult, if not impossible.
“It’s nothing,” she said and stepped away from him.
