My Heart's Desire (Barrett 1)

Drake saw the terror-stricken look freeze Alex’s features. Abruptly he whirled around just as the wave hit.

An icy, suffocating blanket descended upon him, blasted his face with its frigid spray, and knocked the breath from his chest. He struggled to surface, but the wave was unrelenting and dragged him down with it, rendering him helpless under its forceful impact. He felt himself strike the deck, the water washing over him in torrents, forcing his head back. He felt the crash explode inside his skull, excruciating pain burst forth in bright lights.

And then … nothing.

Chapter 8

“DRAKE!” ALEX SCREAMED AS his head struck the mainmast. Her cry was lost in the howl of the wind. Horrified, she watched his powerful form crumple, then go very still.

Fighting the force of the gale and the tossing of the ship, Alex made her way to Drake’s side. Cautiously she lifted his head, searching for any sign of consciousness. There was none. She pressed her ear to his chest, but no sound was audible over the roar of the storm.

The ship rolled wildly to larboard, tossing Alex to the deck. Frantically she looked up, realizing that the unmanned wheel was spinning out of control, sacrificing the ship to the storm’s destructive force.

“Drake,” she whispered, half to herself. She lifted one hand from behind his head, ready to ease him back to the deck. Blood. Her hand was covered with blood.

Alex’s heart contracted with fear. Drake was badly injured. He couldn’t help her now. Her frightened gaze moved up and down the deserted decks. Every man was either securing the rigging or down below.

It was up to her.

She laid Drake’s head down gently, then struggled to her feet, pushing dripping strands of hair from her face. Slowly she made her way to the helm. Her hands closed over the spokes, desperately trying to still their motion. The wheel fought her, battling to be free. Alex yanked with all her strength. The ship lurched, attempting to right itself. Alex couldn’t hold on; she hadn’t the strength. With a whimper of pain she felt the wheel slip from her shaking hands, tossing the ship to starboard. The severe motion sent Alex sprawling to the deck again and at the same time shifted Drake’s unconscious body toward the rail. Alex lunged for him and, with an unnatural strength born of fear, steadied his powerful body. She positioned herself behind him, her legs cradling his body on either side, and lifted his head, carefully laying it back against her chest. Then she braced herself and, using her legs for leverage, hauled him inch by inch across the quarterdeck. As soon as the mainmast was within reach, she grabbed hold of it and pulled herself and Drake to it, thus anchoring their bodies. Then she prayed.

Smitty knew something was amiss. In making his way back to the main deck he had been thrown against the bulkheads several times from the impact of the pitching ship. La Belle Illusion was out of control, which could only mean that the captain was in trouble.

He groped his way toward the stern, but could see nothing through the blinding rain. He cupped his free hand around his mouth. “Captain!” His voice echoed along the length of the ship.

Alex heard him. Instantly alert, she sat up as tall as she dared without releasing Drake’s body. “Smitty! Help me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

My God, that was Lady Alexandria’s voice! Frantic, the older man fought his way along the larboard side of the ship until he neared the quarterdeck. At this point he could make out the two forms sprawled against the mainmast.

Relief washed through Alex as she saw him. “Smitty, help me! Drake is hurt!”

Smitty asked no questions, but grabbed hold of the mast and lowered himself beside them. A small pool of blood had gathered beneath Drake’s dark head.

“We must get him below, my lady,” Smitty called over the wind. “I’ll get help.”

At Alex’s nod, he stood and assessed the status of the surging ship. The helm could wait; his captain could not. He looked up from the base of the mast. Through the driving rain he could dimly make out the near-invisible form of Thomas Greer.

“Thomas!” he shouted. “Abandon the rigging and come topside at once!” He had to repeat the order three times, each time his voice growing more hoarse from the strain. At last he was rewarded by a faint shout from above, and moments later a soaked Thomas Greer dropped down beside them. Smitty gestured toward where Drake lay beside a white-faced Alexandria. Thomas needed no explanation. He moved with Smitty beside their captain. Slowly they lifted him, being careful not to touch his injured head.

Smitty turned to Alex. Left alone on deck, she was in danger, but there was nothing he could do. Thomas could not manage Drake’s large body alone. And while the blow to Drake’s head did not appear to be fatal, he had lost blood and the swelling was worsening. He needed the attention of the ship’s surgeon.

“My lady,” Smitty called to her, “I will send the men from below to assist you.”

“No!” Alex shouted back. “I am going with you. I’ll be fine, Smitty.” Her frightened gaze returned to Drake. “He’s lost so much blood.”

Smitty saw no point in arguing with her, for he knew he would lose, and they had no time to waste. He merely nodded and returned his attention to the delicate process of getting Drake below.

Their progress was slow. As soon as the steps were in sight Smitty ordered Cochran, Jamison, and Mannings to go topside and man the helm. This done, he and Thomas half carried, half dragged Drake to the captain’s cabin and eased him down on the bed.

Smitty turned to Alex. “My lady, can you locate the ship’s surgeon?”

“Of course.” She made her way to the officers’ quarters, where she found John Billings preparing his medical supplies. When he heard that the captain required his attention, he immediately accompanied Alex to Drake’s cabin.

Smitty and Thomas had stripped Drake of his sodden clothing and covered him with warm blankets. Billings set down his tools and performed a cursory examination. Moments later he turned to the room’s occupants and frowned.

“It is most definitely a concussion,” he determined, looking up at Smitty’s anxious face. “The wound will need stitching, then cold compresses for the swelling.” At his words Drake shifted slightly and moaned.

“I would prefer to stitch the wound before he is fully awake, to spare him the pain.” Billings glanced over at Alex, who stood in the doorway, listening. “I would ask that all of you leave, except Smitty. I need Smitty to remain, should the captain awaken and need to be restrained.”