"Hell!" Beau was falling to the deck, his arm carrying her with him. She had a glimpse of the launch almost upon them now, but veering to the left.
"Hit the deck!" Daniel's corresponding action followed his command and the members of the crew who hadn't already anticipated the order scrambled to obey.
They were only just in time. A lethal rat-a-tat-tat of bullets peppered the air above them. Dark gaping holes appeared in the white sails and the dark wood of the masts was ruthlessly peeled and splintered. It lasted only a moment and then the launch was veering away and speeding off in the direction of Mariba.
"Is anyone hurt?" Daniel's yell was met with various denials from the men. "The bastards couldn't resist getting in a little farewell salute," he said as he got to his knees. "I have an irresistible urge to go after them and teach them a few manners. How about it, Beau?" There was no answer and Daniel turned. "I said how about—" He broke off as he saw Beau's face, white as marble in the moonlight. "Beau?"
His gaze flew to Kate's limp figure cradled in Beau's arms. Her lashes were dusky shadows on her cheeks, and a thin dark line of blood trickled from the wound at her temple.
Nine
"She's been hit." Beau's expression was dazed and incredulous. "They've shot Kate!"
Daniel was kneeling beside them in seconds. "She couldn't be hit. They were aiming deliberately high. Even if we'd been standing the bullets would have been over our heads. The sons of bitches just wanted to scare us." He tensed. "Unless one of the bullets ricocheted."
"What the hell difference does it make how it happened?" Beau asked fiercely, his golden eyes wild in his pale face. "Look at her. They've shot her, dammit!" Oh, dear God, a wound in the temple. It must be serious. What if she died? What if he'd lost her even before they'd really belonged to each other? The thought filled him with such panic and fury he found himself trembling like a child lost in the dark. It was dark. The entire world would be dark now without Kate. "She can't die, Daniel. I won't let her die."
Daniel was bending closer, his keen gaze raking the area of the wound. "Don't lose your cool. She doesn't appear to be having any trouble breathing. It's difficult to tell with all that blood but the wound doesn't look like a puncture. She may have been cut by a flying splinter." He frowned. "We need more light. I don't want to move her until we're sure." He called over his shoulder to one of the crewmen hovering close by. "Get me a lantern and a first-aid kit, Jim."
"She's not going to die," Beau repeated, his voice harsh with desperation. "There are too many things I have to give her. She's never had anything. I've got to show her how much she means to me."
Daniel's dark eyes were gentle. "You can't buy everything, Beau. Kate's not going to let you subsidize her. She's too independent."
"She's going to have to let me." He gently tucked a lock of hair behind Kate's ear. "What's the use of having anything if I can't give to Kate? All my life I've had my dear loving relatives and so-called friends clawing and fighting to get their hands on a few shekels of the Lantry Trust. Money's never given me anything I really wanted, but it will now. Because it means I can keep Kate safe and comfortable." He tried to clear the thickness from his throat. "And happy. God, I want Kate to be happy."
"How do you know that money will bring her any more happiness than it has you?" Daniel asked quietly. "I wouldn't say Kate has any materialistic tendencies. On the contrary." The seaman was at his elbow now handing him the dark blue metal box with the red cross on it. "Now we'll see how serious the wound really is. Hold that lantern closer, Jim." He opened the first-aid kit and took out a gauze pad. With infinite care he brushed the blood away from Kate's temple. He didn't look up as he gave a slight sigh of relief. "It's okay. It's just a cut, not even a very deep one. She probably wouldn't even be unconscious if the splinter hadn't struck such a sensitive area as the temple. She should be coming to any time now."
"Are you sure?" Beau looked up, his expression strained and haunted. "She's so damn still."
"I'm as sure as I can be. I'm not a doctor, but I've had quite a bit of experience with wounds."
Yes, Daniel would know, Beau realized, almost dizzy with relief. She was going to be all right. "Thank God!"
Beau was angry with her again, Kate thought uneasily, his voice was harsher than she'd ever heard it. Even through this hazy half-waking mist she was aware of the tension that was vibrating through him like a violin string strung too taut. Her head was throbbing with a dull aching pain. Why was that? She tried to think but everything was a muzzy blur. Oh yes, she'd been struck on the head in the warehouse when they'd burned the cocaine. But that seemed such a long time ago. Why did it still hurt? No, it couldn't be that. The machine gun. She stiffened as memory swept back to her. The ship, the chase, Beau's voice telling her not to argue and go below, the explosive strafe of bullets.
Her eyes flew open. "It wasn't my fault."
"Kate!"
She was too intent to notice the hoarseness of his voice. "It wasn't my fault," she insisted. "I didn't have time to go below." Her brow creased in a cross frown. "Not that I probably would have done it anyway. You have no right to give me orders."
Daniel chuckled. "What did I tell you? Independent as hell."
"She can be as independent as she likes as long as she's all right." Beau's gaze was devouring her in the lantern light and there was such an expression of tenderness and thanksgiving on his face that she caught her breath in wonder. Beau couldn't be angry with her and still look at her like that. "Are you in any pain?"
She shook her head, her eyes still held by that beautifully glowing tenderness. "No, I'm fine. Is everyone else unhurt?"
Daniel nodded. "You were the only casualty. Can you get up?"
"Yes, of course." She made a motion to lever herself upright, which was immediately quelled by Beau's arms tightening about her.
"Lie still," he ordered tersely. "You're sure it's safe for her to move, Daniel?"
Daniel shrugged. "I don't see why not. I told you it's not much more than a scratch."
"Then I'm taking her down to the cabin. Send Jim down with that first-aid kit, will you?" He was standing up with her still cradled in his arms. He drew her protectively close. "I'll take care of her from now on."
Daniel got to his feet and stood facing him. "Any idea where we go from here? Santa Isabella?"
"I haven't decided," Beau said, turning away. "I'll get back to you later. Just get us as far away from Castellano as you can before I get over being thankful she's alive and start wanting to collect a few scalps. I never want her to set eyes on that blasted island again as long as she lives."
He was moving swiftly, carrying her. Her ear was pressed to the silky shirt covering his chest and she could hear the beating of his heart. She felt deliciously fragile in that possessive embrace. Too fragile. It was much too easy to relax and let Beau take charge and she mustn't give in to that momentary weakness. "I can walk. Just let me down and I'll be fine. I wasn't really hurt."
He glanced down at her and his face lit up with a smile so beautiful it warmed her heart. "I know you can, but I don't want to let you go yet. Indulge me a little, sugar."
What was a little independence when he was smiling at her like that? "Okay," she said, nestling her cheek closer to the vital cadence of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes and the steady metronome soothed her into a dreamy lassitude as he carried her down the stairs and laid her carefully on the yielding softness of the bunk. His hands were deft and swift as he undressed her and slipped her beneath the covers. She was so lost in that deliciously languid haze that she scarcely heard the soft knock on the door or Beau's invitation to enter.
She felt Beau's hand brush the curls back from her forehead. "Hey, wake up. You can't go to sleep until I've bandaged that cut." The mattress sank beneath his weight as he sat down and she opened her eyes to see him taking the first-aid kit from the slight, wiry crewman. What was his name? Jim, that was it. Then the crewman wasn't there anymore and Beau w
as bending over her with that same wonderful smile curving his lips.
"This may sting a little," he said as the gauze touched her temple. She inhaled sharply. The antiseptic did sting and it was more than a little. "Damn." His growl was rough with concern. "I'll be through here in just a minute. Hold on, sugar." He was as good as his word and soon the cut was clean and neatly covered with a small square bandage. "That should do it." He closed the first-aid box and fastened the snap lock. "Now you can go to sleep." "I can?" She was gazing up at him uncertainly. "Aren't you coming to bed?"
He shook his head. "Later maybe. I want to stay awake awhile and make sure you didn't get a concussion when that splinter hit you." His hand ruffled affectionately through her curls again. "I don't know why I'm so worried. You've obviously got a cast-iron skull. It would have to be considering the punishment it's taken lately."
"You could lie down beside me," she said wistfully. Strange how easily you could become used to strong gentle arms holding you lovingly.
He was shaking his head again. "I'm too bushed to risk it. It's been quite a day. I'll just sit here until you go to sleep. I have to go up and talk to Daniel later about our next destination, but 111 drop in and check on you periodically through the night. You won't be nervous alone?"
She shook her head. "I'm used to it. Compared to the rain forest, the Searcher is a small planet that has experienced a population explosion."
Beau's grasp tightened. Her entire life must have been a forest of loneliness. Not anymore. He was never going to let her be lonely or vulnerable again. "It slipped my mind that your alter ego is Sheena, the jungle girl." His gaze met hers with sudden gravity. "What shall I tell Daniel about Santa Isabella? Do you want to drop in on Julio and Brenden before we move on?"
"I'd like that very much but it's up to you." She met his gaze steadily. "It's your decision."
"Oh, yes, our bargain. I believe I'm getting exceptionally tired of discussing our bargain." He shrugged. "In any case I'll have a special courier pick up your carousel from Julio and deliver it to you at our next port of call if we don't stop at Santa Isabella." Her face lit up. "It's safe, then?" "Of course it's safe. You should know I'd never let anything happen to something that was so special to you." He paused. "Then you're leaving our destination up to me?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter where we go. One island is pretty much like another in the Caribbean." She suddenly frowned. "I have to warn you I may prove something of an albatross around your neck. There aren’t many ports where a woman without papers is welcomed with open arms. You might be better to go on alone."
"Oh, yes, your nonexistent passport. Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?" He was playing with her fingers and he looked down at them absently as he spoke. "And as I have a fondness for this particular albatross, I have no intention of going on alone." A smile curved his lips. "I don't have your rain forest training, you see. I'd be lonely."
"Would you?" That admission of vulnerability from strong self-assured Beau brought with it a melting tenderness and a breathless spring of hope. "I wouldn't think you'd ever be lonely."
"I've been lonely all my life." He looked from her hand to her eyes. ""That's why I need you to stay with me. You promised once you'd take care of me. It amused me at the time, but it doesn't now. I need you to take care of me, to guard me from that loneliness. Will you do that?"
Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to give everything to him. She wanted to nurture, protect, and love. Oh yes, above all, love. "Yes, I'll do that," she said softly. She tried to smile but found her lips trembling. "Isn't that the primary duty of a mistress? You'll have to coach me on all the nuances of the role, I'm afraid. But I learn most things quickly."
His face darkened in a troubled frown and he opened his lips to speak. Then he closed them again and once more looked down at her hand he was holding. His thumb rubbed absently at the smoothness of the nail of her index finger. "We're going to have to talk about that," he said. "But not tonight. You need a good night's sleep to get over that whack you took. We'll discuss it tomorrow. There is one thing you should know." He still wasn't looking at her. "The situation has changed now. I've found I'm not as strong as I thought I was where you're concerned. I wanted to play Galahad and Lancelot for you. Hell, I was even willing to try for that wimpy Ashley Wilkes."
"Ashley Wilkes?" she asked, puzzled.
"Gone With the Wind." Then, as she continued to look at him in bewilderment, "You missed that too?" His grin was gently teasing. "That's one classic you'll have to read. The lady author had the good taste to write about the glorious South. I may even make you memorize a passage or two." The smile faded. "Well, I'm not Galahad or Ashley Wilkes and I can't pretend to be anything but Beau Lantry." His lips twisted. "And he's a pretty selfish bastard. I'd like to be self-sacrificing and martyrish and all that bull, but it's just not in my makeup. Do you understand?"
"No, not at all. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
He muttered a frustrated curse beneath his breath. "It's just that you're so damn vulnerable," he said harshly. "And you're so god-awful impulsive I'd go crazy worrying every minute what trouble you were going to jump into next. You may think you're a cross between Susan B. Anthony and Joan of Arc, but you could have been killed up on that deck tonight, damn it." He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "For that matter you could have been killed any number of times in the last days."
"So could you," she protested. "That's different," he said with a royally arrogant lack of logic. "I can take care of myself." Then as he saw the indignation begin to smolder in her eyes, he shrugged helplessly. "Lord, I did it again. Look, I know you've had to be independent and you've done a hell of a good job raising yourself." He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. "You're a beautiful person, Kate. It's just that I'm not going to be able to stand by and watch you fight your battles all alone." His drawl softened to velvet urgency. "I nearly went crazy when I saw that blood running down your cheek. It scared me, sugar. I don't think I've ever been that frightened in my life." He drew a deep breath and a hint of steel appeared beneath the velvet. "I can't let that happen again. Wimpy Wilkes can go drown himself in his mint juleps for all I care."
Her clear blue eyes were wondering. "I hope you know what you're talking about, for I certainly don't."
"I know you don't," he sighed. "I sound like a first class passenger on the Disorient Express." He put her hand down and patted it. "Forget it for now. We'll talk about it in the morning. I shouldn't have said anything to upset you. I've probably given you more of a headache than you had already."
"You didn't upset me." He'd confused her, touched her, filled her with hope. "And I don't have a headache. I want to talk right now."
"No," he said firmly. "Go to sleep." Suddenly his eyes flickered gold with mischief. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"
"Would you?" she asked, intrigued.
"Only if I was feeling particularly sadistic. Unfortunately, I can't carry a tune and I've been accused of sounding like a howling bloodhound on the trail. No, upon weighty consideration I think it would be far more relaxing if I told you a bedtime story. Would you like that, little girl?"
"Yes, I think I would." She couldn't remember anyone ever taking the time to perform that cozy little ritual. She settled back more comfortably against the pillows and gazed up at him eagerly. "What story are you going to tell me, Beau?"
"Well, I was considering Dr. Zhivago, but that's a little heavy going for a soporific." He tucked the sheet more firmly under her chin. "So I think we'll go for Gone With the Wind. Okay, sugar?"
He was so beautiful. His smile was that warm lopsided grin that tugged at her heart and his eyes . . . "Gone With the Wind sounds fine."
"It's just as well that I start inundating you with the glory of the South anyway. Now let's see, where shall I start? Once upon a time there was a magnificent plantation called Tara and living within its stately p
ortals was a lovely Southern belle whose name was Scarlett O'Hara—"
"But who was Ashley Wilkes?" she interrupted.
"Hush, I'm coming to that. He's not the hero anyway. "
"He's the wimp, right?"
"Right. Now Scarlett was a very spoiled, strong-willed lady who had a yen for our boy Wilkes, who was equally hung up on his cousin Melanie .
The knock on the cabin door was soft and unobtrusive but it aroused her immediately. She sat bolt upright in bed and then snatched the sheet that had fallen to her waist and hugged it to her chin. She glanced instinctively at the smooth unrumpled pillow next to her own. She hadn't really expected to see Beau's bronze head there. She had a vague memory of drifting off to sleep some time after the burning of Atlanta. She'd been conscious of Beau once again tucking the covers around her, then lips as soft as orchid petals brushing her forehead. It had all been so lovely— Beau's half-cynical rendering of his tale of the Southland, the rich low murmur of his drawl, watching the vivid flickering expressions on his lean mobile face. Lovely.
The knock was repeated a little more insistently this time. Beau wouldn't knock, he'd stride in with that royal air of dominance she'd become so accustomed to. She'd been drowsily aware of him coming in several times during the night to check on her as he'd said he would do. "Come in."
Jim, the seaman who'd carried the first-aid kit down to the cabin the night before, had a different burden this morning. He bustled briskly into the cabin carrying a round metal tray with a napkin draped over its contents. "Good morning, Miss Gilbert. I've brought you a bite of breakfast. Mr. Lantry says you're to eat everything on the tray." He set the tray carefully down on the bedside table. "He'd like you to join him and Captain Seifert on the deck as soon as it's convenient. The clothes you were wearing last night have been freshly laundered. I'll bring them right down." He grinned. "I didn't want to chance juggling them with that tray of food. I'm not known for being particularly dexterous. I'd probably end up by having to wash them again."