Chapter Fifteen

While Drake rowed them to the unbroken forest of the shore, Adriana held onto the gunwales of the chaloupe and stared over her shoulder at the ship, waiting to hear the blast of a pistol or the shouts of angry men.

“He’ll hold them off,” Drake muttered between pulls. “He’ll keep them at bay until I return to help.”

She could tell he was trying to convince himself. Her heart ached to believe him. She strained her ears, seeking any indication of what was going on upon the ship from which he’d cast her away.

She wanted to believe that he would survive. She wanted to believe a lot of things. She wanted to believe that he’d felt something special in their lovemaking, something more than just physical gratification. She wanted to believe that his soft, warm smile meant that he felt as she’d felt—joyous and safe and utterly loved. She wanted to believe that he would come back to fetch her, once he dumped this mutinous crew at some Caribbean port.

But he’d made no promise.

Adriana, Adriana, Adriana.

She felt the wetness on her cheeks and knew what it was. She couldn’t blame these streaks on rain or sea-spray or anything but the fact that she’d become a woman, and would never again be able to pretend she was a boy.

Desperate for distraction, she pulled out the items Roarke had given her—a compass, a map, a sack of coins useless in a wilderness—palming each item as if it were a piece of his heart. She arranged them and rearranged them in her satchel while her mind raced, doubting everything, especially the idea that after just a few hours of lovemaking, she and Roarke were bonded in a way that would last forever.

He made no promise.

Too soon, the boat crunched against the muddy shore.

“Out.” Drake grabbed her satchel from her arms and tossed it over the bow where it fell with a thump on the dry shore. “The sooner I’m back, the better the captain’s chances.”

She swung a leg over the gunwale into the shallow water, gathering splinters in her palms as she clung.

She whispered, “Save him.”

Drake’s face was a rictus of worry. “Push me off.”

She splattered to the bow and put her weight behind it to free the keel from the sand. She felt the moment it floated free.

She stood while waves washed her ankles, watching Drake pull hard on the oars. “Tell him,” she shouted, “Tell him…”

Tell him that I love him.

“Follow the shore until you find the mouth of a river,” Drake shouted without pausing in his rowing. “Colonists tend to settle upstream.”

Adriana stumbled backwards out of the wash of the tide. She felt the hard sand beneath her feet. Still she backed up until she tripped over a piece of driftwood and fell hard to her backside. There she sprawled, breathless and unbelieving, watching the rowboat as best as she could in the gloaming. Dampness seeped through the seat of her breeches but still she sat as the first stars winked in the sky. Tiny golden lights lit on the ship, lanterns for the night watch, and she breathed in short, frightened gulps wondering if Roarke still captained it.

Those lights became dimmer, and then disappeared altogether.

Her breathing sounded so very loud. She sat on a shore of a savage country with the sea empty before her and the solid wall of untouched woods at her back. She threw her arms back and lay flat on the mud. She closed her eyes and waited for fate to find her.

The tide washed soft and rhythmic against the sand, and in her mind it sounded like Adriana, Adriana, Adriana.