Andrea Kane (23 page)

He sounded so worried. She forced her eyes open and met his deep green gaze, the dark brows knit with concern. He was drawn and haggard, his black hair disheveled, and a shadow of a beard covered his face. Actually, he looked for all the world like a pirate.

She giggled. The movement caused her to moan again with pain.

“And just what is so funny?”

She blinked, dazed. “Apparently I am dead. The scene looks much like what I had expected of heaven. But the pounding in my head and your strong resemblance to the devil himself leads me to believe that I fell short somehow and am, instead, banished to hell.”

He grinned. “You look pretty dreadful yourself, wife.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “And I am sorry to disappoint you, but you are very much alive. Thanks, of course,” he added modestly, “to my quick thinking and superb skill.”

“Ever arrogant and cocky,” she sighed. “Perhaps I do live after all.”

“How do you feel?”

“Disoriented. And depleted as well.” She looked up at him. “Where are we and what happened?”

His gaze fixed on the angry bruise that marred her forehead, and he frowned. “We were attacked by an American ship, and—”

“I remember,” she cut in. Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Drake, I remember.” She tried to sit up, but the effort cost her. Shards of pain pierced her skull, and her stomach lurched in protest. She swallowed, frightened by her pain and by her body’s reaction to it. “Drake, I think I am going to be sick,” she whispered.

“Fine, love.” He kept his voice even and eased her over to her side, anchoring her head with one hand and stroking her back in soothing motions with the other. She retched helplessly, bringing up only water, since she had eaten nothing. But long after her stomach was empty she continued to heave with dry, shuddering spasms of her body. All the while Drake continued to comfort her with reassuring words and caresses. He was not overly alarmed. Since he was quite sure she had a concussion, it was not unusual for her to react this way. She was suffering from both pain and shock and, right now, fear at her body’s lack of control.

When she was still, he rolled her gently back to the ground. Then he stood, shrugged out of his ruined shirt, and walked to the water’s edge, dipping the material into the cold, clear water. Returning to her side, he squatted down and wiped her pale face with the makeshift cloth.

“Better?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes filled with questions.

“You were struck by the boom and knocked overboard,” he answered, watching her expression. “Do you recall?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And I tried to save myself, but the currents were too strong and these damned clothes were too heavy.” She paused, realizing as she spoke that not much remained of her formal attire. “You came after me,” she went on. “I saw you.”

He nodded. “But that tiny island of rock got to you first, unfortunately.” He touched her forehead lightly, so as not to intensify her discomfort. “You have quite an impressive bruise, princess, and probably a concussion as well—not to mention an enormous bump on the back of your head from the boom.” He gave a mock sigh, attempting to ease her stress. “As usual, princess, you got yourself into trouble, and I had to rescue you.”

Alex didn’t smile. “Oh, Drake,” her voice trembled,
“La Belle
…”

“… is gone,” he finished.

Her pearl gray eyes softened with pain, his and hers. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved that ship. I grew to love her, as well.”

“The important thing is that everyone got away safely— the entire crew and us.” Drake kept his voice even. “Kingston is one of England’s most important Canadian military posts. Once the crew arrives there, Smitty can arrange for safe passage home.”

Alex could see the emotion Drake held in check. He was not yet ready to deal with the loss of his ship. When he was, she would be there to comfort him.

Her gaze darted about, though she was careful to keep her head still. “Where are we?”

“On our own island, princess.” He grinned.

She looked startled. Drake proceeded to explain what had happened after she struck her head on the rock and how they came to be on the deserted island.

She listened carefully, then asked, “How bad is my concussion?”

“Now that I see how lucid you are, I feel relieved. I don’t think it’s too severe. However,” he added, giving her a meaningful look, “you are going to have to remain quiet for several days. And that means that I am going to have my work cut out for me keeping you that way.”

“How far are we from the Canadian shore?”

He considered. “Over a mile, I would say. We’re far closer to the American shore, unfortunately. And if you have any ideas of going anywhere, you can forget them. You are in no condition to attempt another bout with the currents.”

She gave a resigned sigh. “What will we do?”

He flashed her a devilish smile. “Why, survive in the wilderness, princess, of course. You did say that you were seeking adventure when first we met, did you not?”

“I’m not certain that this is what I had in mind.”

He chuckled. “Well, we are going to find out.” He stood, hands on hips, and looked behind them.

It was a paradise of nature. Magnificent birch, elm, and oak trees spread their densely covered limbs all around them, cloaking the thick grass in a velvet cascade of forest green. Brilliant wildflowers sprang up everywhere, along with bushes overflowing with berries. Overhead, in a sky as blue as the ocean, huge white gulls soared in exuberant abandon, the beating of their wings intermingling with the gentle lapping of the river upon the shore.

Perhaps Alex was right. Perhaps this was heaven, after all.

“We are very lucky, princess,” he told her. “This region is brutally cold and frozen throughout the winter and far into the spring. We could not have survived long. But as it is, we will do just fine.”

Alex shifted slightly, her eyes wide with interest. “What do you mean?”

“The Saint Lawrence is at our doorstep, providing us with water to drink and to bathe. It is also rich with more kinds of fish than you can imagine. That, combined with the native fruits and berries, will be more than sufficient to feed us.” He held up the knife that he carried with him at all times, tucked in his breeches. “This and the dense cluster of trees on the island can provide us with more than suitable shelter for those times when we need it. Also—”

“You sound as if we will be staying forever!” she interrupted.

He shot her an impatient look. “I was about to say that the Indians used the boles of elm trees to make their canoes. During the time that you are recovering, I can begin to construct a raft of sorts to help us safely reach Canada.”

“I want to help.”

“You can help by getting well.”

“I am not a good patient.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He walked over and knelt down beside her. “Will you be all right if I leave you for a short while?”

Alex felt a surge of panic. “Where are you going?”

He ran his finger down the slender bridge of her nose. “Just to get us some food. We haven’t eaten in over a day. You need to eat in order to get your strength back.” His eyes twinkled. “And you need to get your strength back in order to make yourself useful.”

“To help you?” she asked eagerly.

“Among other things.” He gave her a suggestive look and chuckled at her blush. “I’ll be within calling distance, should you need me.” He stood. “I don’t want to see you move,” he warned, scowling. “As it is we have a few things to settle about your lack of ability to heed my instructions. Let us not add additional items to that ever-growing list, shall we?”

She gave him a weak smile. “I suppose I must obey?”

“Definitely.”

Her look was innocent. “Must I also submit?”

“Over my dead body.”

Alex smiled, listening to the sound of his footsteps move away toward the water. Above her, the sun was rising higher in the sky, drenching the island in brilliant rays of light. They were alone in this exquisite Eden, with none of the luxuries that Sudsbury provided, fewer even than those enjoyed aboard
La Belle Illusion.
They had no clothes, no servants, and only the most primitive means of survival. The real world seemed distant, insignificant. Far away were all their differences, all that had come between them in the past.

Alex closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the sunlight warming her face. Who knew how long it would take to build a raft that could carry them back to civilization?

She hoped it would take an aeon.

“T
HERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO
reason why I cannot provide dinner for us tonight!”

Alex stood before him, a diminutive waif clad only in a lacy chemise that was rather the worse for wear, her thick unruly waves of hair bleached more gold than brown by the sun. A delicate, desirable little flower that would have made any man want to shelter and protect her.

Except that her eyes were shooting silver daggers in his direction, her perfect, sensual mouth was set in familiar defiance, and her hands were planted on her slim hips in a bellicose stance.

Drake grinned, leaning against the heavy trunk of a tall oak and stroking the thickening beard that now covered his handsome face. “I appreciate the offer, princess, really I do. But I fear we would starve waiting for you to prepare a meal. Need I remind you that there is no servant to obtain the food from the market, nor is there a cook who is ready to demonstrate his fine culinary skill in a spacious kitchen?”

“Damn you, Drake Barrett, I am well aware of what has to be done!” she snapped back. Hadn’t she already proved she could survive without the luxuries and pampering of her aristocratic upbringing? “I don’t recall seeing any servants aboard
La Belle Illusion,
and yet somehow I managed alone. I am tired of your sarcastic comments and I am tired of being waited on! I feel fine and am no longer an invalid.”

His grin widened. No, indeed, that she was not. In fact he knew exactly when she had begun to get better. Strange that there was a direct parallel between her improving health and her shrewish tongue. For the first few days she had been content to have him care for her, remaining docile as a kitten as he had fed and washed her and tended to her wounds. She had rested in the tall, cool grasses during the time it had taken him to build the lean-to that was now their home. Once it was completed, she had remained within its shelter, sleeping on and off throughout the day, weak as a baby. He had been scared to death.

And now, ten days later, she was bellowing like a fishmonger. He wondered how she would react if she knew what his thoughts really were. Looking at her now, her magnificent breasts heaving with indignation, Drake felt a surge of lust that shook his entire being. It had been too long since he had put her breathtaking passion to its best use.

There were definite advantages to having a fishmonger for a wife.

“Are you going to answer me?” she demanded, glaring up at him.

“Certainly,” he replied good-naturedly. “What would you like me to say?”

“That you’ll let me make dinner tonight.”

“And just how will you do that, princess?” He folded his arms across his bare chest, trying desperately not to laugh. “Don’t tell me … we’re going to have blueberries and water for our evening meal!”

She was tempted to strike him. The damned man was arrogant beyond description, and his opinion of noblewomen was beginning to grate on her nerves. Well, blast it, she would make a superb meal if it killed her!

“No, Drake,” she replied, her head held high. “I plan on catching a good-sized fish for dinner.”

His lips twitched. “Forgive me, princess. I had no idea that you had such a feast in mind.” He gestured grandly toward the water’s edge. “Please, go right ahead. I will await my meal with the greatest of anticipation.”

With that he walked off to the soft grass beneath their lean-to and lowered himself to the ground. Thanks to the strong trees and plentiful vines, he had been able to construct a more than ample shelter that shielded them from the sun and the rain. In truth, the two-acre island was a veritable paradise, providing everything one could require in order to survive. No, to do much more than survive. To be nurtured and to flourish.

Drake had never felt so at peace in all his life. The world, even the war, seemed part of some distant dream, unreal, existing only on the perimeter of his mind. Not even on
La Belle Illusion
had he felt such a sense of wholeness. He knew it was the island that was weaving its magic. The island and his wife.

The sound of splashing water followed by a very unladylike curse interrupted his thoughts. Rising up on his elbows, Drake watched Alex loping through the river along the shoreline, dipping her hands beneath the water and speaking in a soft, cajoling tone, presumably to the elusive fish. Apparently the fish were insensitive to her plight, for a moment later another muttered oath sprang from his wife’s dainty lips and she shook her fist furiously at the retreating culprit. Undaunted, she tossed her damp hair from her face and began her search for another, more willing victim.

Rather than amusement or triumph, Drake was overcome by a feeling of poignant tenderness like none he had ever known. For the first time he did not attempt to fight or deny what he knew to be the truth. She had taken his heart, this willful, stubborn, impulsive, passionate, and seeking young woman he had married. And he had to believe that she would never betray this feeling that was between them.

God help her if she did.

He closed his eyes. God help them both.

“Drake! Drake! Come quickly!”

Her excited voice brought him to his feet, striding toward the spot where she stood. Clasped in her hands was a wiggling, thoroughly annoyed bass that would escape in precisely three seconds if it was not speared.

Drake pulled out his knife and did the honors as Alex looked away, unable to bear the sight.

“You did very well, princess,” he praised soberly. “Now, will you prepare it or shall I?”

“Prepare it?” Alex’s voice was weak.