Lovestorm

Fiercely, Cain pulled her into his arms and silenced her words with his mouth against hers. Elizabeth tried to pull away, but he was too strong. Her struggles went unheeded as Cain seared her lips with a fiery all-consuming kiss of unleashed barbaric passion. Then, as suddenly as he had begun his assault, he released her.

“Look into your heart, English woman,” he said huskily.

Elizabeth swallowed hard. Her pulse was racing and her knees were too weak to stand. Tentatively, she touched her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, remembering the feel of his hard mouth on hers, savoring the bittersweet pangs of sensual longing. Why? an inner voice cried. Why did this savage affect her this way?

MOONFEATHER

 

 

HIGHLAND MOON

 

 

MOON DANCER

 

 

SHAWNEE MOON

 

 

FORTUNE'S MISTRESS

 

 

FORTUNE'S FLAME

 

 

FORTUNE'S BRIDE

 

 

SUNDANCER'S WOMAN

 

 

THIS FIERCE LOVING

 

 

LOVESTORM

 

 

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Table of Contents

For my tough, beautiful baby sister, Valerie Bennett Donahue, ever my faithful sidekick. At the beginning, when no one else would, she listened to all my stirring tales of high adventure and never, ever laughed when they weren't supposed to be funny.

This night of no moon
There is no way to meet him
I rise in longing—
My breast pounds, a leaping flame,
My heart is consumed in fire.

 

Ono no Komachi

 

T
he square-rigged barkentine pitched and rolled in the savage seas like an untamed horse. Gale-force winds ripped at her yards and topsails, tearing at the sailors high in the rigging, carrying away sections of her port rails and binnacle, shredding sails and sending yards and widow makers plunging to the deck.

Lady Elizabeth Sommersett fought her way up the ladder in pitch darkness and threw her weight against the hatch. A gust of wind seized the wooden door and wrenched it from its hinges. Elizabeth clung to the side of the hatchway and stared into the mouth of hell.

Waves crashed over the slanting deck, and human screams mingled with those of the horses trapped below deck. Not six paces from where she stood, Elizabeth could see the bare feet and legs of a man protruding from a shapeless heap of tangled sailcloth and rope. The bosun's whistle sounded over and over, the shrill notes distorted and carried away by the relentless wind.

Elizabeth threw up a hand to shield her face from the driving rain and salt spray as a sailor staggered past her with an axe and began to hack at the mainsail. She stared in disbelief, too shocked by the fury of the storm to utter a sound. We're going to sink, she thought. We're all going to die.

Suddenly, the ship's captain materialized out of the darkness and seized Elizabeth's arm. Leaning close, the man shouted into her ear. “To the longboat, m'lady! Her back's broken! We're abandoning ship!” Without waiting for an answer, he began to drag her across the deck.

Elizabeth shut her eyes against the force of the wind and rain, only half aware of the weeping girl who grabbed on to her free hand.

“Are we goin't' dee?”

Elizabeth turned to see little Betty, her aunt's scullery maid, clinging to her. Barely eleven and thin as a rail, the child was in real danger of being washed overboard by the force of the wind and water. “Hold tight to me!” Elizabeth commanded, locking her fingers around Betty's wrist. “I won't let you die.”

“Quick now, Lady Elizabeth!” the captain interrupted. “The longboat's full! We've no time for—”

“But what of my aunt and uncle!” she cried. But he couldn't hear. Her words were lost in the wind. Seconds later, Elizabeth spied her aunt and uncle huddled in the small boat with a half dozen other passengers and several seamen. Four sailors were in the process of lowering the boat from davits into the angry sea.

Her aunt caught sight of her and screamed. “Elizabeth!”

“Hurry!” the captain insisted, shoving Elizabeth toward the longboat. “They've only room for one more!”

Betty's face whitened, and she clung to Elizabeth, screaming. “Don't leave me here t' dee! M'lady! Please don't leave me!”

“Elizabeth!” her uncle called. One end of the boat tilted violently.

Elizabeth steadied herself against the port rail. “Can't we take the girl?” she asked the captain. “She's small. She won't—”

“No! The boat is overloaded as it—
”

“Is there another longboat?” she demanded.

“Yes, on the starboard side. But—
”

Elizabeth spun Betty around and shoved her toward the boat. Betty's knee struck the gunnel, and she tumbled screaming into the midst of the passengers. The sailors released the ropes, dropping the longboat into the waves below.

“You fool!” the captain cried. Taking Elizabeth's arm roughly, he pushed her toward the far side of the ship.

A wave swept over the deck, soaking her to mid-thigh and nearly knocking her off her feet. Elizabeth covered her head with her hands as a heavy weight fell from above to glance off one shoulder. A splinter of wood ripped through her gown and cut a gash across her back. She cried out, falling forward into the captain's arms, and he steadied her, pointing ahead to the outline of another longboat.

They stumbled toward the starboard rail together. The first officer was alone in the longboat; the bosun and the ship's carpenter manned the davits. “No more of your nonsense, woman,” the captain shouted. “In you go.” Catching Elizabeth around the waist, he lifted her into the stem of the longboat with the first officer. Other passengers and sailors pressed closely about them. “Hold!” the captain ordered. “We'll use the Jacob's ladder.”

A grinding crash shook the ship as the mainsail fell. Instantly, the ship began to tilt, lifting the longboat even higher from the surface of the sea. Elizabeth clung to rough boards of the seat, trying to extricate her ankle from the tangle of line in the bottom of the boat.

“She's taking water!” a man screamed.

Two seaman lunged for the rail, and Elizabeth caught the gleam of steel as the captain's sword flashed. Someone screamed, and a widow maker thrashed back and forth, knocking the carpenter over the side. Without warning, before anyone else could get in, the bow of the longboat plunged down toward the water, and the first officer fell headlong into the sea.

Elizabeth dangled head down in the swaying boat, one foot caught by the coil of rope. She cried out in pain and fear as her head slammed against the side of the longboat. Beneath her, she could see the white turbulent water.

“Cut the rope!” a man shouted.

Elizabeth's head struck the side of the boat again, and her world dissolved into soft blackness.

 

Shivering, Elizabeth raised her head and stared into the emptiness of the gray morning. As far as she could see, there was nothing but whitecaps and rolling waves. The rain was cold on her face and arms; her feet and hands were too numb to feel anything. She was alone in the Atlantic, marooned on a fragile scrap of worm-riddled wood that bobbed to and fro at the mercy of the wind and tide. Elizabeth had seen nothing, heard nothing but the ceaseless wind, the waves, and the constant drumming of the icy rain. No screaming gulls, no white-patched petrels skimming over the gray-green surface of the angry sea . . . no sign of land.

Elizabeth cupped her hands to catch the cold rain. It tasted of salt, but she didn't care. She was thirsty—so thirsty that she couldn't seem to ease her parched throat no matter how much she lapped at the salty rainwater.

She wondered how far the boat had drifted in the storm. At first light, she'd strained her eyes to see the outline of the
Speedwell,
or some bobbing speck against the horizon that might be the other longboat. Common sense had told her that the
Speedwell
had gone to the bottom, and the other boat, if it had not sunk, would be leagues away. But she had hoped and stared until her eyes ached, and she had seen nothing but rain and water and gray sky.

She laughed, a lonely sound in the little boat. She had always prided herself on being a realist. The
Speedwell
was gone; her aunt and uncle and the others in the first longboat might well be dead—even whining little Betty with her grubby bare feet and close-bitten fingernails. She hoped not. They'd had a chance, surely. Her aunt's boat had oars and seamen to man them.

Elizabeth had no idea how far they were off the Virginia Coast. Thirty leagues? Sixty? The captain himself might not have known exactly where they were when the ship began to break up.

Storms had plagued the
Speedwell
from the time it had left the West Indies. The ship had been traveling in company with another vessel, the
Fruitful Merchant,
which had turned back to the Indies when sickness had broken out aboard. Her aunt had begged the captain of the
Speedwell
to return with the other ship to the port in the islands where they had anchored for fresh water and supplies, but he had laughed at her fears. There had been a few days of brisk sailing before they had reached Cape Hatteras, then the weather had turned foul. Near hurricane winds had battered the ship northward for days, culminating in the squall that had brought disaster to crew and passengers alike.

Elizabeth's heart was heavy as she remembered the screams of the horses trapped in the hold. Her own mare, Sarah, and the bay stallion she was bringing Edward as a wedding gift were probably as dead as the rest. Such a terrible waste! Sarah was dear to her, and the stallion probably would have sired finer colts and fillies than any now cropping the green grass of the Virginia Colony.

She laughed again, ruefully. Her mother had accused her of being shallow and godless. Perhaps Mother had been right. What kind of woman would regret the loss of a pet horse when her aunt and uncle, and some thirty other souls, all lay at the bottom of the sea?

Elizabeth sighed and buried her face in her hands. She had not loved her aunt and uncle, but she was fond of them. Her aunt was a silly woman, all flutter and show—too lazy to be unkind and too stupid to ever have an original thought of her own. Her uncle John had no lack of brains, but they had been wasted in the foolish pursuit of loose women, as his ample inheritance had been squandered at the gaming tables. Elizabeth had learned early that it was best to stay clear of Uncle John when he was in his cups. His hands had a habit of straying where they should not, even if the object of his attention was a twelve-year-old niece. Yet, despite their faults, Elizabeth would not have wished her aunt and uncle dead. Guiltily, she offered a murmured prayer for their safety and wondered if they believed her lost forever.

The sky was so gray she couldn't see the sun. Was her boat drifting farther out to sea or toward the Virginia coast? There was no way to tell. If she didn't wash up on land, or if she wasn't picked up by a passing ship, she would either drown or starve to death. Elizabeth shuddered.

Nonsense! She was too young to die. And certainly too young to die in an absurd accident at sea! “If I were going to drown, I would have done it by now,” she declared, spreading her hands out in front of her. Her fingers were puckered, her palms raw. She wondered why her hands were scraped and bruised, and supposed it must be from clutching the rough sides of the boat.

Her rings hung loose on her fingers—the pearl her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday, the ruby she had inherited from her dead Scottish grandmother, and the heavy gold and emerald betrothal ring. If she drifted to shore, perhaps she could trade the jewelry for food or safe passage to Jamestown. Would her betrothed begrudge her trading an emerald ring that had been a gift to one of his ancestors from Henry VIII, to some painted savage for a meal?

There was a loud
whoosh,
and something huge surfaced beside the longboat. For an instant, Elizabeth stared into a round, black eye, and then the creature vanished beneath the waves. “Oh!” Elizabeth let out a long shuddering breath. She clamped her chattering teeth together and stared at the spot where the beast had been. Before her heartbeat had slowed to normal, the waves parted on the far side of the boat, and a pair of dolphins gazed curiously at her.

“Oh, my,” she managed. “Oh!” They were enormous, with dark, sleek bodies and intelligent eyes. She had no doubt that the dolphins could swamp her boat if they wanted to, but Elizabeth was oddly without fear. “Oh,” she repeated softly, “you beautiful things.”

As if sensing her admiration, the larger of the two mammals dove straight into the air, giving a spinning twist as it plunged into the sea. The second followed suif, then both returned to the surface near the spot she had first caught sight of them.

For nearly an hour, the dolphins swam and played beside the boat, then as suddenly as they had come, they disappeared. Elizabeth watched and waited for a long time, and a heavy sadness settled over her as she realized once more how truly alone she was.

Her head ached. The rain had long since washed away the blood from the cut on her head, but her ruined gown was stained with ugly brown patches. A lump the size of a pullet egg swelled just above her left ear, and her back stung where salt water soaked into the gash she had gotten on the ship. Her honey-blond hair hung in sodden ropes, and she realized with ironic amusement that she was wearing only one shoe.

“The Lady Elizabeth Anne Sommersett,” she proclaimed mockingly. “Lady Elizabeth wishes coffee and sweets served to her guests in the orangery.” Tears welled up in her green eyes, and she ripped off the single shoe and flung it as far as she could into the ocean.

The rise and fall of the boat knotted her stomach into spasms. Her weakness shamed her. She had always been a good sailor; even as a child when she'd crossed the Channel to France or gone to Ireland with her father. If only she wasn't so damned cold. If only the dolphins would come back . . .

 

Shaakhan Kihittuun's muscles rippled beneath his bronzed skin as he thrust the hickory paddle deep into the blue-green water and parted the waves in a tireless rhythm. The dugout skimmed over the surface of the sea, responding to his commands as though it were an extension of his sleek, powerful body. Even the color of the cypress wood blended with his copper skin and glossy, sable-brown hair, making it difficult to see where the man left off and the boat began.

The sea was an angry gray, the whitecaps divided by swirling eddies of frothy green and dirty brown, legacy of the storm that had assaulted the beach and surrounding forests for three days and nights. The clouds hung low over the water, pierced by the hungry cries of seagulls. The birds wheeled and swooped overhead, occasionally diving into the sea and emerging with a squirming fish trapped in their beaks.

Shaakhan loved the sea in all her moods. When the sun shone and bits of light danced across the surface of the water, he would paddle his dugout far to the east out of sight of land, sometimes to fish, and sometimes just to become a part of the magic of water and sky that stretched on beyond a man's imagination. He knew the creatures of the sea—the mighty whales and the enigmatic rays, the fish and the dolphins—as well as he knew the animals and birds of the forest. Those days were good, when the weather was fair and the great salt water rocked his dugout in her arms as gently as a mother might rock her child.