A wave tossed her against the deck, and her burning fingers slipped. Something between a scream and a moan tore out of her. She couldn’t hold on a moment longer.
Then she felt him grab her left hand. His grip hurt, but he pulled her out of the sea and onto the spar.
“Hold on,” he said. “I need to let go a moment so I can get this rope around you.”
Though his touch left her, she now knew she would be safe.
Then another wave slammed the wreck. The spar gave way. Elizabeth slid down, down. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact. Old memories flitted past. Rourke tenderly touching her bruised lip. Father scowling. Mother weeping at Charlie’s bedside. Father demanding answers. The disappointment that flashed across Rourke’s face when she let him take the blame. The sinking knowledge that all was lost.
Elizabeth cried out.
Something yanked her upward. God? Was she rising to heaven like a prophet of old?
Her eyelids flew open. Somehow Rourke had swung the spar so it deposited her right into his arms. He gathered her close and pressed his lips to the hollow below her ear. “I thought I lost you.”
Elizabeth choked back a sob. He did not know it yet, but he had.
4
Dawn’s orange glow revealed three wrecking ships approaching from the west-southwest. As wreck master, Rourke decided which of those vessels would ferry the passengers to Key West and which would help with the salvage. He must reach an agreement, or consortship, with them on the division of the spoils. Since the cargo lacked substantial value, most would leap at the chance for an equal share.
He strode toward the lookout, his boots clattering on the deck. Shoes pinched his toes and slipped on the damp planking, but he couldn’t very well go barefoot in front of Miss Benjamin and her aunt. John had laughed when Rourke appeared with combed hair and dress coat. Rourke claimed he’d donned the fancy garb in order to convince Captain Cross and the other wreckers to accept his counsel, but John knew better.
Rourke shouted up at young Tom, “Can you spot whose ships they are?”
“Not yet, Cap’n!”
Rourke itched to know. He wouldn’t trust some wreckers—such as the Littlejohn fleet—with his enemy, least of all Elizabeth. Oh, they all knew the repercussions of mistreating the only daughter of Charles Benjamin, but some crews were more genteel than others. The worst vessels culled crew members from the grogshops and alleyways. Those men required a strong hand and a sharp blade to prompt obedience. He couldn’t place her in such hands.
“Let me know the instant you make them out,” he called up to Tom.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”
He chuckled at the lad’s exuberance. Soon enough Tom would offer the same muttered reply as any other seaman.
Rourke leaned on the gunwale and surveyed the task at hand. The gathering daylight revealed what he already knew. The seas were flattening. Swells still lifted the Windsprite above the remains of the foundered schooner, but they no longer had the force to tear the hulk to bits. Unfortunately, those waves had sunk the Victory’s boat overnight, leaving only his boat to run between vessels. The minute the master gave permission to proceed with salvage, Rourke would draw the Windsprite alongside and off-load cargo onto his vessel. To hurry that decision along, he had sent John down to examine the extent of damage to the schooner’s hull.
He watched the heaving swells for John’s reappearance.
The master ambled alongside. “I don’t see why you had to send your man down. It’s a waste of time. Just pull my ship off that blasted reef.”
“If I do that without first examining how badly it’s holed, you’ll lose everything.”
“I know my ship, and I know my rights under the law. Don’t think you can steal my cargo.”
Rourke gritted his teeth. No doubt Poppinclerk had planted that idea in the master’s mind. “If the hull can be patched, we’ll haul her off.”
“I know my vessel better than some profit-seeking salvager. I order you to haul her off the reef at once.”
Rourke set his jaw lest angry words cross his lips. Too many masters saw wreckers as little better than pirates out to take their profit, thanks to unsavory wreckers of the past like Jacob Housman. Captain Cross was clearly one of those. These days, a few less scrupulous wreckers might attempt to negotiate a high salvage fee, but the deceptive dealing of the past was over. Unfortunately, few masters believed it.
“Send your own man down then,” Rourke said.
“I can’t risk one of my men. None of them know these waters.”
Neither did the pilot he’d hired, but Rourke did not point that out. “Then we wait.”
“Coward.” The master stomped off when the insult didn’t generate the response he wanted.