Unless she lay trapped forever in the darkness.
Growing more and more agitated, she tried to rise. The sway of the ship sent her flying back down to the bunk. She tried again. She moved carefully this time, holding to the wooden bunk frame, then plunging toward the doors. She slammed against them, and nearly gave way to a flurry of tears. They were bolted tight. There was no way out for her.
She sank against the doors, fearful that the ship would sink, and that she would be caught within the cabin.
Skye brought her fingers pressing against her temples. Fear came against her in great, suffocating waves then. It was worse than facing the pirates, it was worse than facing ruthless steel. She could not stand darkness; she could not bear it. Ever since she had been a child, on the awful day that her mother had died, she had feared being locked away in the darkness.
She leaped back to her feet. She beat against the door, screaming, crying until she was hoarse. Tears streamed down her face, and her voice rose higher and higher, rivaling the cries of the wind. She beat against the wood until her hands were raw. Her voice grew hoarse, and she sank to the floor, nearly delirious.
Then suddenly the door was thrown open. A man, young, dark-haired and clad in nothing but knee breeches, stood there. Rain dripped from his features and sluiced down his chest.
“Lady, what ails thee—” he began, but he was never able to go further for she sprang to her feet and leaped past him, straight into the riveting rain, into the tempest of the wind. She heard the shouts of the men as they fought to stabilize the ship. She heard the waves, lashing hard against the bow. The force of the wind seemed terrible. She didn’t realize its strength until it whipped her bodily about, and she was cast to the deck as if by a heavenly hand.
An oath was suddenly roared out above her. She moved her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the onslaught of wind and rain. Hands were reaching for her and she was plucked back up and sheltered by broad, strong arms.
“What is she doing here?” Silver Hawk demanded.
“She raced by me. I’d no idea, Captain—”
“Get to the helm!” His eyes lowered to her. “I’ll take you back to the cabin.”
“No!” she whispered, but he had already brought her there with his long, determined strides. He shoved the door open with his foot and cast her down to the floor with a vengeance.
“Fool!” he swore to her.
She ignored him, and sat there in a spill of tattered, damp clothing and wind-tossed hair, cold and wet and shivering..
Lightning scorched the night and created a golden backdrop for the darkness of his form. It shone in upon Skye where she knelt upon the floor in her tatters of velvet and lace, her hair free and tangled and spilling all around her.
He stood before her and she stared upon his black boots. They glistened with the glow of the rain that had drenched him. She looked up slowly. His shirt and breeches were skintight against his body, plastered to his form.
Skye drew in a quivering breath that sounded like a sob.
“No! Don’t go!”
She was hurt! he thought, and he strode quickly toward her, hunkering down by her side and lifting her chin. She trembled. From head to toe she trembled. But as he looked at her he saw that though her eyes were wide and dilated, she showed no injury.
“What in God’s name are you up to?” he demanded.
“Let me out of here!” she told him.
“Nay, lady!” he said harshly. “You’ve seen the storm!” Her words were a ploy. The fool girl meant to flee him at any cost.
“Please!” she whispered, and despite his better judgment, the curious plea tore at his heart. He had never seen a woman fight as she had earlier. Perhaps she was as good at acting as she was at swordplay.
He shook his head with impatience. “Lady Kinsdale, the storm is lessened, but it has not ended. You must remain here.” He stood, and headed toward the doors.
“No!” she cried, leaping to her feet. She caught his hand. “Take me with you! Please, take me with you—”
“You are mad!”
“No, I—”
“The winds nearly swept you over, Lady Kinsdale. And you are worth far too much for such a fate.”
“Don’t leave me!” she pleaded.
He paused, looking at her hands, small and delicate, upon his own. They were as pale as cream and as soft as velvet. Her nails were long as were her fingers, and they spoke of a genteel elegance. Amazed, he looked into her eyes.
