"Aye, Captain." Joshua hurried to carry out the order while the winds continued to build.

"She's a real freak storm, Cap'n," Mac MacDougal warned. "I've seen the likes o' her before-as have ye. Come on so fast ye kinna make cover, so strong ye wonder if she's bound to snap the ship in two."

Nicholas well remembered a storm like this. He'd been billeted aboard the Stark Wind, bound for the Bahamas. The ship had broken up off Grand Cay. Only half the crew had come out alive. The gold earring he sometimes wore marked the sinking he'd survived. He shuddered to think it could happen again.

"Nicholas?" The sound of Glory's crystalline voice whipped him around.

"Go below. It isn't safe for you up here."

The wind beat at her skirts and tore at her hair, and her face looked drawn and haggard. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling too well. Would it be all right if I stayed up here a moment?"

He wanted to say no. He wanted her to suffer, but her wan expression gave him pause. "Stand beside the wheel and stay out of the way. Only a few minutes. If these seas get any rougher, the decks will be awash."

Glory nodded. She did as she was told and felt better with the stiff wind rushing past her cheeks. She had never seen the ocean like this. There were troughs the ship dropped into and foamy whitecaps the size of small hills. The clouds rolled with the same heavy movement as the sea.

Jago Dodd stood at the helm. "Sea's building pretty fast now, missy. You'll have to go below pretty soon."

Glory nodded. A quarter of an hour passed before she saw Nicholas again.

"I thought you'd gone below."

"I was just going."

"I'll take the wheel, Jago. You see she gets there safely."

"Aye, Captain." Jago took her arm.

Glory looked back over her shoulder, hoping Nicholas would give her one of his reassuring smiles. He didn't even look in her direction.

"Is everything going to be all right?" she asked Jago as they made their way down the narrow, listing passageway.

"Hard to say for sure. Storm come up too sudden. Real unusual this time of year. Something ain't right. Captain can feel it; so can the crew. But he's a good man, the captain. If anyone can pull the Black Spider through, he can."

"It's that bad?"

"Not yet, but from the looks of it, it may well be."

"Thanks for being honest with me, Jago."

"Never could see lying. But no sense to worry yet. The Spider's a sturdy ship, and her captain's a damned fine seaman. Now you get yourself strapped down tight, and put in a good word for us with the Man above."

"I'll do that, Jago." Glory smiled. "Watch out for Nicholas, will you?"

"He helped me, didn't he? Jago Dodd don't forget. I'll be watching 'im."

"Thank you, Jago." Glory went inside and battened down whatever loose possessions she could find.

Chapter Ten.

On deck Nicholas, Mac, and Joshua watched the weather.

"Josh," Nicholas instructed, "you go below and try to get some rest. It's going to be a long night." He turned to Mac. "Shorten the topsails to their last row of reef points." That left only the fore and aft triangles of canvas rigged between the masts to help steady the ship, keep her from turning broadside to the wind, and running before the storm.

"Aye, Cap'n." With a worried frown, Mac stalked away.

By supper it was blowing so hard and the ship was rolling so heavily that the crew ate hardtack and drank cold chowder from their mugs.

Nicholas stood beside Jago at the wheel, fighting the blinding wind and watching the water race over the decks. With a great cracking sound, one of the stay sails split in two and then tore away; the fore and main topsails ripped away, flapped for a moment in the wind, then hurled themselves into the churning water to disappear beneath the foamy crests of the sea.

"Lower the upper yards," Nicholas commanded, hoping to ease the strain on the masts. The yardarms dipped into the sea with every roll to leeward. "Douse the spars."

Men fought the water-washed decks to do the captain's bidding. Jago fought to control the wheel.

"Bring down the royals," Nicholas ordered, while another wave broke over the decks. When the men had finished, he ordered the topgallant yards brought down.

By now the troughs were so deep that the ship raced downhill, then fought to climb up the terrifying wall of water on the other side. The Spider surged and heaved, fighting wind and water to stay upright. Huge waves exploded across the deck.

"She's takin' on water, Cap'n," Mac informed Nicholas, shouting to be heard above the roar of the wind, "faster than the men can pump her out."

Nicholas followed Mac to check the men working the pumps. The scene below decks made his blood run cold. Having broken free of its lashings, the cargo had shifted and smashed against the hull. Seawater rushed in from a rent in the planking. A team of men worked feverishly to repair it and pump out the flood.

Nicholas stayed below only a moment, returning to the deck just in time to see the mizzenmast snap like a twig.

"Look out below!" he shouted, cupping his hands against the wind. The young sailor who'd disobeyed his orders stepped away from death just in time. He grinned back at the captain, and Nicholas felt a wave of relief.

It was short-lived. The Black Spider was doomed. Now Nicholas's main concern was the safety of his crew.

"Ready the shore boats, Josh."

"Captain?"

"We've no other choice. We're not far off Hatteras. Have the men make for shore. It's their best chance."

"Aye, sir."

"Bring the man up from the brig. I'll see to the girl."

Joshua nodded and began to relay the necessary orders.

In her cabin below decks, Glory clung to the bottom bunk, praying the ship would stay afloat. Her stomach rolled along with the ship; she'd thrown up several times already. Only her fear had kept her from being totally bedridden. A fierce knock at her door set her heart to pounding. When she lifted the latch and swung the door wide, she found Cookie standing in the passageway.

"We're abandoning ship, Miss Glory. The cap'n will be down fer ye in just a minute. Don't take more than you can carry."

Before she could speak, he was gone. Frantic with worry, Glory rushed from the cabin. Nathan was locked in the tiny room below decks. She had to be certain he was safe.

Clutching the lantern from her room in her hand, she raced down the passageway toward the ladder that led to the aft end of the hold, and climbed down. When she reached the hold, she made her way to the tiny brig. The door was open; Nathan was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to make her way back up on deck. She'd taken only a few hurried steps when she saw the heavy crate coming at her. Though she tried to sidestep, she couldn't duck out of the way in time. Her scream died in the roar of sea against hull. With a resounding thud, her head hit the bulkhead and blackness engulfed her.

The last of the men climbed over the rail and into the waiting shore boats. "You're sure she's in one of the boats?" Nicholas asked Mac for the third time.

"Dammit, lad. I wish I could say aye, that I was certain, but I kinna. Her man wouldna board Jago's boat till someone told him she'd already been loaded on another. But I didna see her. Cookie says he told her we were abandoning the Spider. Where else could the lass be?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it. You go on. I'm going to make another pass through the ship."

"Time's runnin' thin, lad. I'd best come wi' ye."

"You just try to keep that boat close enough to the ship for me to reach it." The small craft were nearly impossible to manage in the storm and Nicholas knew it. With the ship taking on water as fast as she was, listing till the rails were already touching the sea, he was taking a dangerous chance. But a nagging voice said something was wrong. He couldn't see all of the shore boats, so he couldn't know for sure if Glory was aboard one of them- but something told him she wasn't.

"I'll do my best, lad."

Battling the elements and a greater enemy, time, Nicholas fought his way across the sea-washed decks to the aft ladder. The passageway stood knee deep in water, but all of the cabins were empty. He tried to think where she might have gone, what or who could have been more important to her than her own safety. And suddenly, sick-eningly, he knew. Frantic with worry, he made his way down the ladder toward the brig, holding his lantern high. Several heavy crates had toppled over near the door. As he pushed a smaller crate away, he noticed the glistening black silk at his feet.

The voice had been right. Glory lay unconscious beside the crate. The hull tilted crazily, and the hold was already half full of water. Kneeling beside her, he set the lantern down and laid a hand against her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Nicholas . . . What . . . happened?"

"There isn't time," he told her. "We've got to get out of here."

She tried to sit up, but her dress was caught fast beneath the crate. Nicholas used both hands to rip the fabric away. Her sleeve was caught as well, so he ripped the buttons down her back, and she pulled free of the dress. When he helped her to her feet, she swayed against him.

"This way," he told her. Ignoring the pounding in her head, she followed him blindly, clutching his arm, letting him lead her to the deck. Realization of their terrible predicament hit her like a second blow.

When they reached the rail, Nicholas heard Glory gasp, felt her grip tighten on his arm. He glanced at her only briefly, then looked back out to sea, his worst fears confirmed. The last small shore boat had drifted yards away from the ship, and though Mac, Josh, and the men waged a furious battle to bring the boat back alongside, the task was hopeless. The other shore boats tossed and rolled even farther out to sea.

"Oh, God, Nicholas. What are we going to do?"

"We'll have to swim for Mac's boat. We'll be sucked under if we're near when she goes down."

Glory blanched. She turned her head slowly from side to side in denial, her blue eyes, huge with fear, dominating her pale face. Nicholas paid her no heed, just turned her back to him and hurriedly split the laces of her corset with the knife he had strapped to his waist. Wearing just her lacy chemise and thin cotton petticoat, she clutched him as another massive wave washed over the deck. Nicholas held on tight to keep her from being swept overboard.

"Nicholas . . . I'm . . . frightened," she told him, wetting her lips, though her whole face glistened with sea water.

"We have no choice." He grabbed a piece of line. "I'll tie this around your waist so you won't get too far away from me. I'll help you if you tire."

She just stared at him.

Catching her slight shoulders in an iron-hard grip, he shook her. "Dammit, Glory, there's no other way!"

Her voice came out in a whisper that was almost lost in the wind. "I can't swim."

Nicholas groaned. "You can play billiards, but you can't swim!"

The taunting words snapped her back to life. "I'm sorry, Captain Blackwell," she said defiantly. "I didn't know we were going to have to swim for our lives when I came on board."

Nicholas almost smiled. "All right, we'll try something else." He glanced around the debris-strewn deck. "We'll make a raft of these three barrels, then strap ourselves on top." He didn't tell her their control of the raft would be almost nil. She was frightened enough as it was.

"What can I do to help?"

"Just stay where you are-and hang on. I don't want you going over the side until I'm ready."

He set to work on the barrels, securing them with the sturdy knots he'd learned from Mac as a boy. Glory clung to the mast, fighting each new wave, trying not to think about braving the vicious seas on only a makeshift raft.

It didn't take long before Nicholas had the barrels lashed together. "Come on. The longer we wait, the worse our chances." He dragged the barrel to the lower rail, which dipped in and out of the water and Glory climbed on top. Nicholas tied a line around her waist, tied the end of the line to the raft, and crisscrossed another section of line back and forth across the barrels for handholds.

"Whatever you do," he told her "try not to fall off. But don't panic if you do. Remember, you'll still be tied to the raft. If the barrels tip over, which I don't think they will, pull yourself to the surface and climb up on the other side."

It all sounded horrible to Glory, who'd never set foot in anything deeper than a bathtub. She clutched the ropes, which she knew might mean the difference between life and death, and said a small prayer for their safety. Nicholas climbed up beside her, a line around his own waist.

She clung to the ropes with all her might as another huge wave loomed above the top rail on the opposite side of the ship. When the water crashed over the deck, Glory screamed, and the small raft launched itself beneath a churning wall of water. Only the feel of Nicholas's strong arm across her shoulder gave her the courage to hang on.

Glory held her breath till the stale air seared her lungs, then held it even longer. Praying the end would be painless, she fought the terrible urge to breathe until the raft popped above the water like a cork in a barrel. Glory filled her burning lungs with the heavy, foam-laden air.

Another wave crashed over them, and the ritual repeated itself, but this time the seconds underwater were shorter.

Flattened against the barrels, using a length of splintered wood for a paddle, Nicholas tried his best to maneuver the raft toward the pitching shore boat, but the craft only seemed to move farther away.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Glory offered.

"You just hang on." He might feel like throttling her for the fool she'd made of him, but he'd do it after they were safe. He looked at the bedraggled woman clinging to the raft in her all but transparent garments. Even neardrowned and terrified, she looked beautiful. With a fresh surge of worry for her safety, Nicholas paddled even harder.

"Keep after it, lads," Mac instructed as the men fought to row the shore boat in the direction they had last glimpsed the captain's makeshift raft.

"Mac." Josh Pintassle laid a gentle hand on the old Scot's arm. "It's been hours since we've seen them. We've got no idea where to look. Neither has he. He'll be making his way toward Hatteras. The winds are pushing the seas that way. If they stay aboard the raft, they'll have a good chance of making it. We've got to do the same. The men are tiring. We've got to make shore if we can."

For a moment Mac wanted to argue, wanted to keep up the search as long as he had an ounce of strength left. He knew that was what Nicholas would do. But there were others to think of. The safety of the men had to come first.

"Aye, Mr. Pintassle." Heart heavy, eyes still searching the whitecapped seas, Mac ordered the men to make for land. It was nowhere to be seen, but it lay to the west, and if they could keep the tiny shore boat from swamping, they just might make it.

The hours blurred and ran together, just a series of aching muscles and burning lungs. Glory's fingers had gripped the braided line so long she couldn't bend them. She and Nicholas hadn't spoken for hours in an effort to conserve their strength. Eventually they'd fallen into an exhausted half-stupor that passed for sleep and had awoken to find the seas had calmed. A cloudless sky and a burning sun were their companions now.

Nicholas removed his torn and soggy shirt and draped it over Glory's head and bare shoulders. His own sun-browned torso had long ago become immune to the sun's searing rays. Glory managed a grateful smile then faded back into her exhausted sleep.

They drifted for hours. Nicholas scanned the endless horizon, hoping to spot land or at least one of the shore boats. When his eyelids became so heavy he couldn't stay awake, he, too, succumbed to the drug of sleep.

When he awoke hours later, it was to the rhythmic, grating crash and roar of sea against sand. At first he couldn't identify the sound; then he realized the raft wasn't moving. He turned to see a sandy beach and the short, stiff marsh grass that marked the shore.

After untying himself with brittle, wind-chafed fingers, he untied the line around Glory and shook her gently. "We made it, love," he told her softly.

"Nathan? Nathan, is that you?" She lifted her head but stared at him blankly, as if he weren't even there.

Nicholas felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. In the long hours at sea, fighting for survival, he'd almost forgotten her lover. In truth he wished he could forget. "Sorry to disappoint you," he told her bitterly. "It's only me."

She blinked several times and started to speak, but he turned and stalked into the shade of a nearby pine tree. He watched as she untied the rope from around her waist with trembling fingers, climbed from the raft, and walked toward him. "Nicholas?"