Rory charged toward him, and took a hard swing at the man. He knocked him down to his knees, but Mathilda could tell it was a losing battle—one against at least six people with guns.
Should she run while she had the chance? Maybe she should, but she couldn’t just leave Rory like this. The guards had him down on the sand, kicking him in the stomach. Lincoln, she wanted to yell. Do something!
As if he’d heard her silent plea, Lincoln plunged into the fray, but right away was grabbed by two other guards and dragged across the sand toward the waterline. He yelled something about taking it easy or they’d pay for this, but no one paid much attention to him.
Mathilda stole another glance at the melee and felt sick. Rory was still fighting, on his knees now, blood pouring from his nose. His beautiful nose! She couldn’t bear it.
She darted from behind the ironwood and ran toward them. “Stop it! I’ll come with you, just leave him alone!”
The first man, the one Rory had punched in the jaw, hit Rory one more time, in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain.
“I said, stop it!” she shouted. Unbelievably, they did. Maybe she sounded like a teacher during a fight at recess.
She crouched next to Rory. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing? I told you to go.” With a groan, he struggled to stand up. She supported him with an arm under his.
“I wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. At least I made them stop. It looked like they were going to kill you.”
He used his sleeve to wipe bloody saliva from his face. “I’m fine.”
A guard pushed him to get a move on, and he staggered.
“What is your problem? Rory isn’t even the one you’re after.” Mathilda glared at the guards as she put her own body between Rory and the guards. But the “teacher during recess” magic had worn off. Someone pushed her in the back.
She decided there wasn’t much point in continuing to argue. Instead she held Rory’s hand as they were marched down to the Zodiac.
Getting onboard required getting wet. Even though the ocean water was warm, the hour was still early, and she and Rory were both shivering by the time they climbed up the ladder onto the boat/fortress. She saw no visible name on its transom, but it must have one—wasn’t that required by law?
Or did this boat operate outside the law?
As soon as the Zodiac had been hauled onto the deck, the yacht’s powerful engines roared to life. A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine as the craft glided away from the beach. The currents on this side of the island were ferocious; jumping off and trying to swim to shore would be a suicide mission.
A guard marched her and Rory to a stateroom with two bunk beds and a tiny water closet with a toilet and sink.
“Wait here,” said the guard, closing the door, then latching it.
“Like we have a choice,” Rory muttered. His nose was swollen and purple, and a bruise was developing on one cheekbone. He sat heavily on the lower bunk, as if all his energy had drained away from him.
Mathilda rummaged around the cabin until she found a clean hand towel. After wetting it in the sink, she dabbed the blood off his face. “It was noble of you to try to protect me, but I wish you hadn’t taken it so far,” she murmured. “They really went to town on you.”
“I wrestled in high school. I can take a hit. Then I got too tall for that and got into Muay Thai. If there had been three guys instead of six, I might have stood a chance.”
She went into the bathroom and rinsed out the blood, then returned to work on a cut on his upper lip. “I want to kiss you right now, but that might hurt.”
“Might be worth it.” He smiled wearily, then pointed at his chin. “How about here instead?”
She kissed him there. And on his neck. And on his uninjured cheekbone, and his lower lip. Tears started in her eyes as she searched for more places to kiss him, but there were so few without cuts or bruises.
“Hey, hey. I’ll heal. It’s really not so bad.” He put his arms around her and drew her onto his lap. “It’s all superficial.”
“Do you know that for sure? They were kicking you in your stomach.”
“I’d be coughing up blood if there was anything serious.” He drew up his shirt, revealing rippling stomach muscles and the beginnings of several red bruises. “The key is to keep your muscles tight. I learned that in Muay Thai.”
She gently ran a finger across a bruise. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Want to know what hurts?” He tilted her head back to gaze into her eyes. “That I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know if I can protect you.” He gingerly kissed her on the lips, a light and magical touch that made her heart tremble. “But I will do whatever I can.” It sounded like a vow. “I promise you that.”
