Logic did her no good. The fear was not a rational fear, it was not something that she could control. The night seemed so black; she could not breathe, she could not see, she could not help the sensations that spilled upon her. Sweat broke out upon her brow and goose bumps rose all over her skin. It was sweeping over her, wave after wave of awful, terrible and primal fear.…
She wasn’t aware at all of what she did. In total terror she cast back her head and started to scream as if she were encountering the very demons of hell.
The door burst open. Dimly she was aware of the light. Even more dimly, she was aware of the figure of the man silhouetted there within its glow.
He moved quickly, coming down upon the ground beside her. She didn’t know how long she had been in the darkness, ensnared within the web of fear. She was aware that he held her, but she shook violently still. He rocked her, but she stared into the night with open eyes. His arms came more tightly around her and he lifted her, holding her close as he strode quickly about the room, lighting the lanterns.
He sat with her upon the bunk. He whispered to her, and she didn’t hear the words, but the cadence of his voice worked its way into her heart. Slowly, the icy chill left her. She ceased to shiver, and shook only in an occasional spasm. She blinked, and then she was able to close her eyes, and then she leaned against him, sobbing softly.
His fingers moved over her hair. “It’s all right, it’s all right. I am here,” he whispered.
Perhaps that was the very moment when things would forever change for her. No matter what was to come between them in the future, whether fear or anger or hatred burned in her heart, she would not be able to forget that moment.
“What is it?” he murmured. “What is it that you fear more deeply than death?”
“The darkness,” she said softly.
“What of the darkness?” he said.
But that she could not answer, and he did not press her, but sighed. His muscles constricted suddenly as if he would move. Her fingers wound into his shirt. His own closed around them. “I told you that it was all right. That I am here.”
He eased her fingers from him and stretched her out upon the bed. She bit into her lower lip, letting her lashes shield her eyes. He strode across the room and she heard the clink of glass. A moment later he was back, lifting her head. He teased her lips with the snifter of brandy and she swallowed. He crawled to the back of the bunk, leaning against the paneling and bringing her head down upon his lap. He sipped the brandy himself, then lifted her head once more, and this time she swallowed deeply. The brandy burned throughout her. It warmed her. She gasped and fell back again, her lashes heavy over her eyes.
He studied her, staring down at the perfect oval beauty of her face and the softness of her skin, ashen then. Even her lips remained pale. He traced them with his finger. Her eyes flew open. Glistening turquoise, they held fever and torment. Her lips trembled slightly. “I am sorry about your Frenchman,” she said softly. “He was kind.”
“I am sorry, too. He was a good man.”
“He was a pirate,” she said gravely. “At least, now, he shall not come to hang.”
“As I shall?” he demanded softly.
Her lashes fell upon her eyes once more, covering them. “As you shall!” she whispered. But she did not say the words with venom, just with a terrible certainty.
The Hawk twirled the remaining brandy in its crystal snifter, watching the swirl of amber liquid. He smiled with a certain irony, then sighed and sat back. He needed to be on deck. He did not care to test the reefs by darkness—many a careless captain had lost his vessel and his life upon the deadly coral—and so they needed to keep a sharp guard until morning. Perhaps the trouble was over; perhaps it was not. He would wait until the morning to see if the business deals he’d negotiated with Stoker were still valid. Then he would ride the outgoing afternoon tide and hurry for Bone Cay.
He did not want to leave her, he realized.
His fingers fell upon her hair again. It was tousled and still sticky from her bout in the sea. It was still beautiful, still the color of a sunset.
She did not move beneath his touch. He waited a few moments longer, then eased her down upon a pillow. He rose carefully and walked back over to his desk. He poured out another two fingers of brandy and swiftly swallowed it down.
He stared at her pensively, then he forced himself to come about and return to his deck, and his command.
When Skye awoke, daylight was streaming into the cabin. The draperies were drawn far back.
She rose stiffly. She could feel the dried salt upon her body and her hair.
The ship was moving.
She leaped out of bed and hurried to the windows. Looking out, she saw that the ship sluiced swiftly through the water. They were leaving the island of New Providence behind.
Even as she sat upon the window seat, staring out, the door burst open. She swiveled quickly to face the Hawk as he entered the cabin, eyeing her as he carefully closed the door behind him. She almost offered him a wavering smile, but it faded before it ever came to her face. His tenderness and care of the night before were gone. She faced a cold taskmaster that morning, one who seemed without mercy.
He did not speak. He sat behind his desk and rubbed his bearded chin, staring at her.
“We have left the island,” Skye said.
“Aye, milady, we left the island. You, mam’selle, made my position quite untenable there.”
