Anabelle tugged on his arm. “Go.”
The short command broke the hold that Elizabeth had on him. For her sake, he must leave. Tom had not returned. He was probably in Poppinclerk’s clutches. Only Rourke knew where the ship’s boat was hidden. Only he could get Anabelle to the Windsprite. Benjamin might still follow. They were not safe yet.
He grabbed Anabelle’s hand and ran for the cover of the mangroves. She easily matched his stride. He led her down the narrow path toward the salt ponds. They had little time to outpace Finch and Benjamin.
He let go of Anabelle. “Run!”
The command wasn’t necessary. Anabelle proved fleet of foot and silent as the night.
By the time they reached the salt ponds, his lungs burned.
Anabelle still ran. If she panted, he could not hear it over the pounding of his heart.
They had to run single file beside the ponds, where salt water was baked off in dry months until only glistening salt remained. During this rainy season, the holding ponds were wet. One wrong step and an ankle would turn or a leg break.
He followed her, amazed at her speed and fortitude. More than fear drove her on. Her husband awaited her aboard the Windsprite. Rourke hoped his mate had the sloop ready to sail.
Rourke dared a look back, and what he saw pushed him forward faster. Lights bobbed in the trees at the other end of the salt ponds. The men were following. If Rourke didn’t get Anabelle away from the open ponds and into the trees, they would be discovered. Soon. The pursuers had almost reached the first of the hundred-foot-long containment ponds. Ahead of him stretched the last pond.
They wouldn’t make it.
Rourke couldn’t grab Anabelle or she’d trip and fall. He couldn’t shout or the men would hear him. He searched for an avenue of escape and noticed that the overhanging branches on the far end of the ponds created just enough shadow to shield them until they reached the trail to the boat.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he powered ahead and steered Anabelle toward the trees. One more minute, Lord. That was all they needed to get to safety.
Voices shouted across the ponds. The men had arrived, and they’d seen them.
“Follow me,” Rourke gasped. “A little farther.”
The shadows loomed ahead, but their pursuers would see which direction he’d gone. There wasn’t time to mislead or throw them off. He had to get Anabelle into the boat and pull away from shore. Only then would they stand a chance.
His mind raced over the possibilities. Benjamin and Finch wouldn’t have a boat here. They would have to return to town to get a boat under way, but Poppinclerk hadn’t come to the cemetery. If Tom didn’t have the worthless pilot tied up, Poppinclerk could bring a steam tug out of the harbor and intercept the Windsprite before Rourke got away from the island.
Help us, Lord.
He raced along the mangroves, looking for the trail that would lead them to the boat. He could hear the angry slap of the ocean, but he couldn’t find the path.
Please, Lord.
It should be near. He caught his foot on a mangrove root and went flying—right onto the path to the boat. Unfortunately, the crash echoed across the ponds.
Time was running out.
He scrambled to his feet and plunged onto the narrow path, trusting Anabelle to follow. Love could drive a person beyond her endurance. Rourke had to count on that.
When they emerged at the ship’s boat, she said, “Now we go home.”
“Now we row.” Rourke struggled to untie the painter, wishing he had the cutlass so he could sever it. “In this choppy sea, it’ll take longer than I’d like.”
Anabelle stepped into the boat and took a seat.
The knot finally loosed. Rourke pushed off and hopped in. The boat glided out, but the wind and seas pushed it right back into the mangroves. Rourke grabbed the oars and put his back into each stroke. Soon they pulled away from shore, but if Benjamin had a ship lying in wait, all that effort would be for naught.
The seas fought them. The waves fought them. The race across the island had sapped his strength. Facing backward, Rourke saw the lights drawing near, but he couldn’t see the Windsprite. His stroke faltered.
“She planned to join us,” Anabelle said.
Rourke didn’t need further encouragement, but Anabelle provided it.
“She will wait.”
He rowed with renewed vigor.
Father brought Elizabeth home when Captain Poppinclerk arrived. After a brief discussion, the ship’s pilot and Mr. Finch left to hunt down Rourke. Father drove the carriage. That left Elizabeth alone inside. She spent the short drive on her knees praying that Rourke and Anabelle would reach safety.
Once home, Father escorted her into his study and closed the door. “Sit.”
No “please.” No smile. No leniency. He was furious.