He didn't seem to hear her. His eyes didn't seem to see her.

"Thayer, please, stop."

Faster, harder he thrust.

She squirmed below him, reached over her head, feeling around for some leverage to pull herself out from underneath him. There was nothing, only the wooden wall. "Stop, Thayer!"

He continued to plunge into her, feral in his pa.s.sion.

"Thayer!" She slapped at his face, pounded on his shoulders. "Please!"

Tears burned in her eyes. Not like this, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He stopped. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. He labored to catch his breath. The austere lines on his face softened, as if he awoke from a powerful trance. "Gilly," he whispered. He tenderly wiped away a tear fleeing down her temple. Bewilderment, confusion, creased between his eyes. Without warning, they filled with anger. She closed her eyes and turned her face away. She didn't want to witness his crushing disappointment.

Thayer withdrew and leaped from the bed. She dared to look at him. He yanked up his trousers, but bothered not with the laces, and snapped up his jacket from the floor. Not saying a word, he stormed from her cabin.

The room fell silent. Shadows mocked her in their soundless dance along the walls. Musk clung to the thick air but began to fade like the remnants of a dream.

What had she done? She bungled everything. Thayer must think of her as a disgraceful trifler, baiting him so. Regret, shame and a great sadness cornered her. She felt sick.

He hated her. He wouldn't ever forgive her.

Gilly rolled over and buried her face into the pillow.

Chapter Twelve.

"Drake. Drake. d.a.m.n it, wake up."

Valeryn's distant, annoying voice grew closer. Drake willed him away. He'd have none of the wakefulness, welcoming the sleep to pull him under again.

"Thayer." A hand on his shoulder shook him. Favoring his coa.r.s.e pillow under his cheek, he refused to allow his mate to roll him over onto his back.

"Is he dead?"

"We shall see, Henri. Hand me that."

Icy cold water on Drake's neck shot him awake. He bolted upright and swung at Valeryn. Missing widely, he flung back to his bed but fell short and landed on the floor. "G.o.dd.a.m.n you, V! Sheer off!"

"No. The b.u.g.g.e.r's not dead. But he's close. Fetch him up his tea. By the look of his bloodshot eyes, make him plenty."

Drake's head pounded with the force of an unrelenting mallet. His brain sloshed with the tiniest of movements. s.h.i.t, he felt he might vomit. Where was the b.l.o.o.d.y chamber pot?

"By thunder, Drake." Valeryn helped him to sit on his mattress. "I've not seen you this bad from getting too foxed in years."

"Flog off." He slowly leaned over and picked up a bottle off the floor. He jiggled it. Empty. f.u.c.k.

"It's nearly eleven." Valeryn poured him a cup of grog.

That late, huh? d.a.m.n. The tosspot remedy was weak, but wetted his dry, thick mouth, nonetheless. His stomach protested. He breathed deep to keep calm. Closing his eyes helped none. White flashes blinked under his lids with each beat of his heart.

"Well? Let's have it. What put you in a barrel fever?"

"Hist! Mind your noise before my brains bleed out my ears."

"You went to her last night, didn't you?" Valeryn took a seat at Drake's desk.

The events of the night before flooded back. He was half the seas over in his cups when he went to check on Gilly. Something about the stars glittering in her eyes, the wonderment of her smile as she admired the nighttime far-reaching ocean had him wanting to ravish her there on the deck. But he hadn't. He instead meant to see her to her room safely and retire to his own. Then the beast in him cornered his prey, trapping her. He had only intended to kiss her. What a surprise when she ravished him.

"Aye," Drake answered. "I went to her."

"Women don't refuse you, Drake, even when they have to be coerced. What did you do to have her deny you?"

"She didn't deny me."

Quite the opposite. Gilly urged him along. Together they were raw, carnal. She was a sensual siren and he would gladly die in her arms. Not at all vulgar in her salacious desires. Just pure.

Her hands running down his body. The feel of her skin. Her response to his touch. It all consumed him. He became blinded by his appet.i.te and his need to be inside her. She was so beautiful beneath him.

"Oh?" Valeryn said. "You don't let your rum get the better of you after claiming a prize. What happened?"

He didn't know what happened. Somewhere in the throes of rapture, everything changed. The luscious beauty had turned into that scared mouse. He didn't know what he had done, if he had hurt her. But he would never forget the anguish in her eyes. He would take that horrible moment to his grave. After he had left her, he recounted those final moments over and over. Had he been negligent to her feelings? Had he read her wrong? Did he take more than she gave? Was she hurt? All he knew was at some point their union turned into violation.

Nausea be d.a.m.ned, he guzzled down the grog. He deserved the aftermath and misery of drinking too much. Nay, he earned himself a harsher punishment. He'd become the very thing he vehemently despised. He deserved to hang over the end of a gun.

"s.h.i.t, mate. What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l happened?"

"I raped her."

Henri burst through the door. "Huzza, lads! We've spotted a shipwreck."

Drake pulled his hat lower to shield the bright rays of the sun from burning his eyes. He squinted but it did little to dull the sharp pain throbbing in his temples. Much of the crew had gathered on the starboard bow. Hungry vultures antic.i.p.ating an easy kill. These months roving the Florida Keys taught the lads marauding ill-fated wrecks was indeed mighty profitable.

Willie handed him the spygla.s.s. "What do we have?"

"She's Spanish," Willie said. "Too small to be a treasure galleon."

"d.a.m.n the luck," Valeryn said.

"A Spanish ship is never empty," Drake said. "Even if she carries no treasure, she surely carries wine, maps or intelligence. There is a demand for such things."

Drake sighted in on the ship. She grounded in the shallows and leaned on her starboard. He scanned the ship and found it odd the lack of activity topside. Adjusting the scope, he swept the coast beyond. Several jolly boats lined the beach.

"Seems like the crew abandoned their ship for the sh.o.r.e," Drake said.

He handed Valeryn the spygla.s.s. "Could be she's taking on water," he said.

"Maybe."

"Easy pickins," Henri piped up. The little man came from nowhere. How Drake wished he didn't do that. He had the right mind to attach a bell around the goat's neck, just so he could hear him coming.

Drake looked to the sky and followed the horizon. Not a cloud could be seen. The air was dry and breezy. Perfect weather for the seaman. "No storm blew her aground." Nor did a pirate ship whose captain's light lured them astray. He took the scope and again scrutinized the ship. "Someone has to be on that ship. There'd be no reason to desert her."

"I can't sail us in close," Willie said. "The tides are low. See the shoals there, and there."

White-capped breakers stretched in several long tracts where Willie had pointed.

"Take us in as close as you can and drop anchor."

"Aye, Capt'n."

"We gonna board that bucket?" Henri asked. "I hope there's plenty of sack in her hold." He smacked his lips, smiling, daydreaming of drinking the Spanish white wine. "That'd make for a good day."

"We are not going to board," Drake said. "You are staying put to keep an eye lifted on Miss McCoy."

Henri sputtered; his jowls frowned lower than his scowling brow. "The la.s.s ain't still in her nurse strings, Drake. She can see after herself."

"Be that as it may, I require someone to watch out for her. She's liable to do something foolish in my absence."

"You should go to her," Valeryn said.

"No. I shouldn't."

Valeryn pulled Drake aside and lowered his voice. "Come now, Thayer. I've never seen you this unhinged. The woman means something to you. Clear your mind, brother. Go to her."

"And say what exactly? My apologies, Miss McCoy, for pillaging your virtue?"

"Stubborn a.r.s.e."

"Mind yourself, V." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, won't the throbbing ever cease? "For the love of Davy Jones, where's my tea?"

Drake looked around for Henri who had awkwardly pretended to give them a private moment. Henri frowned, looking to them both, trying to figure out the details of Drake's slanderous remark.

"My tea! Now, you ole scab!"

Henri huffed his displeasure with Drake, tugged on his bright green vest and left to fetch Drake his remedy. Valeryn shook his head and he too walked away. Drake really shouldn't be snappish. 'Twas his own fault he waded in this misery.

The Rissa sailed closer than a cannon shot of the grounded vessel. Drake sipped on his tea. Guzzling it down hardly countered the hairy effects of too much drinking. He must take it slow and let it soothe him back to functional. And that gave him time to carefully observe the hapless ship's deck. An unsettling feeling crept up on him. No one could be seen. That was highly unusual.

Valeryn edged next to him and leaned his elbows on the rail. "What do you make of it?" he asked.

Drake scratched at his chin. "The rigging is intact. There is no sign of unloading. But I do see something that indicates we should be cautious."

He handed Valeryn the spygla.s.s.

"Look at the quarterdeck, next to the mizzen mast. Do you see that?"

"Blood."

"Aye. Could be an injury."

"Or a mutiny," Valeryn added.

"Precisely. Arm the men. You take half the lads on board the ship and inventory it. Anything of value, ferry it to the Rissa. Be sure to get the ship's log. I'll take the rest of the lads. If the crew went ash.o.r.e, I intend to find out why."

"Right."

Valeryn barked off orders. The ammunition box was brought up and set in the middle of the deck. One by one, the men collected a rifle. Longboats swung out over the Rissa's sides and the men, restless for adventure, loaded inside.

Drake finished off his tea and set the mug on the railing. He felt better, he had to, and he looked forward to the rummage ahead. Henri handed him his brace and cutla.s.s. He nodded his thanks to the squab.

"The la.s.s refused to come outta her cabin. Said she'd wait till you were gone."

"I expected as much," Drake said. He shrugged into his brace and tied on his sword. "Still, you and Willie keep watch over her. You know how d.a.m.ned unpredictable women can be."

"'Bout as unpredictable as fool-headed capt'ns."

Drake chose to ignore him. He'd been doing that a lot lately, ignoring people. He loaded into the boat and nodded to Sam to lower them down into the water. They were almost to sh.o.r.e when Valeryn's longboat hit the water, making their way to the leaning craft. From Drake's vantage point as they pa.s.sed by, the damage to the vessel was minimal, which made the mystery surrounding her all the more curious. Carrying out an anchor and pulling her off the shallows might be all it necessitated to set her afloat again. 'Twasn't his concern to repair her. Leave that for the Bahamian conches to do the tedious labor.

The waves rolled Drake's boat into the white sands of the beach. Sandpipers scuttered with their tiny legs down the wet sh.o.r.e away from the men jumping into the surf. A white heron took flight, soaring to the copse of trees at the beach's edge. No sooner had it landed on a bare limb than the bird flew off. Drake eyed the copious tree line. A foreboding silently called out to him.

"Capt'n. Take a look at t'is."

Drake waded out of the water to where Sam gestured to the ground beside the jolly boats. Blood soaked through the sand, staining it an ugly shade of red. Inside the boat, smatterings of blood coated the bench and walls. Footprints and grooves, as if someone was dragged away, led to the woodsy jungle.

"T'e blood's fresh," Sam said.

"So it is," Drake agreed. "Handle your piece, boys. There's trouble about."

Drake led his party into the thicket where the tracks had ended at the forest's edge. A beaded rosary lay in the brushy sea gra.s.s growing in the sand drifts. Blood smeared across the wooden cross. He stepped over it, but Sam plucked it up. Drake glanced over his shoulder to the ships anch.o.r.ed offsh.o.r.e. Valeryn had reached the stranded boat. Beyond him, a visitor had sailed into view. Probably a d.a.m.ned conch looking to salvage the wreck.

The air cooled under the canopy the deeper into the interior they lurked. Dark green foliage swayed in the breezes that found their way through the thicket. Earthy odors rivaled the briny scents from the nearby beach.

What had Drake on alert were the sounds of the jungle. Or, rather, the lack of them. Birds didn't sing, insects didn't chirp. The forest was devoid of any noise. Something was not right, to be sure. If there were men here, they'd be heard. Drake halted, straining to listen to the hush. His men, too, stopped, scanning the woods knotted in thick, leafy vines.

A drip landed on Drake's cheek. He dabbed at the wetness. Red. Blood.

One of the lads cursed.