The Prize

He shoved her into the cabin, and for one moment stood braced in the doorway, pounded by the wind. “Stay inside!” he shouted to make himself heard.

“You have to let me go!” she shouted back. Oddly, she wanted to thank him for saving her life.

He shook his head, lashed her with a furious look and began running across the deck, finally leaping up to the quarterdeck. It had begun to rain, pounding and fierce.

Virginia stayed safely within the cabin, out of the reach of the storm, but she made no move to close the door, which had become nailed open by the wind. Now she realized how serious the storm was. The ship was riding huge tidal waves the way the tiny dinghy had earlier, cresting to each huge tip, only to plummet sickeningly down again. She glanced around and saw sailors everywhere, straining against ropes, crawling in the masts. They were hanging there, too.

Then she looked back up and cried out in horror, because a man was hanging from a middle yardarm, and she knew he had fallen and was about to careen to his death.

She had to do something, yet there seemed to be nothing that she could do.

She glanced toward the quarterdeck. She was too small to even cross the space between O’Neill’s cabin and where he stood, to tell him what was happening. She looked back up—and the hanging man was gone.

Vanished…drowned.

Her insides lurched terribly. He was gone, and she hadn’t even been able to hear him scream.

As the ship bucked violently, Virginia saw that all of the sails were tied down save one. She quickly realized that the sailor who had fallen had been sent up the first mast to reef a single sail that remained taut and unfurled.

And the huge ship instantly began to turn over on its side.

Virginia was thrown against the floor and carried all the way across it, downward, until she slammed into the opposite wall, her shoulder taking the blow, and then her head. For a moment, as the ship lay on its side—or nearly so—she remained there, incapable of moving, stunned.

She then realized that the ship was going to capsize if it didn’t become righted again. She looked at the doorway, which remained wide open, and now was oddly above her, like the ridge of a hill, the angle severe, perhaps forty-five degrees or more. The black sky shimmered in the open hatch.

They were all going to die, she thought wildly.

Virginia began to climb the floor, using the bolted table legs to help her, then the leg of the bed. Once there, she managed to stretch flat and reach high up to grab the ridge of the floor where it adjoined the door. Her arms screamed in protest, her shoulder joints felt racked. Virginia slowly pulled herself to the doorway, and once there, her back pressed into one wall, her feet into another, gazed wildly around.

The sailors on deck were also fighting the terrible angle of the ship, and its lowered side, while still not submerged, was being pounded with whitecaps. Virginia looked up at the masts and froze.

There was no mistaking Devlin O’Neill, a dagger in his teeth, climbing up the first mast, another man behind him. Above him, the huge foresail billowed, begging the storm to capsize them.

He was going to die, she thought, mesmerized, just the way that other man had. For as he climbed, using sheer strength and will to fight the pitch of the ship, the huge winds and the rain, the frigate rolled precariously even further to its side.

Virginia watched in horror. Even if he didn’t die, they were surely doomed, as no man could defeat the wind and the bucking ship in order to cut the sail free.

She watched as O’Neill paused, as if exhausted, the man beneath him also stopping. Virginia could not remove her gaze. She prayed as both men took a brief respite, clinging to the swaying mast.

He started back up. He’d reached the yardarm from which the sailor had fallen and he began to slash at the rigging. The other man joined him. Virginia watched them avidly. A few brief moments passed into an eternity when suddenly the huge canvas broke free of its rigging, sailing wildly away into the night.

The huge ship groaned and sank back evenly into the water.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, watching him begin a precarious but nimble descent. It was obvious he had just saved his ship and crew, and it was also obvious he had dared to do what few others would even contemplate.

She began to shake. The man knew no fear.

She realized she had never been more afraid in her life.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there when a sailor shoved his face at her. “Get inside, Captain says so.”

Virginia had no time to react. She was shoved back into the cabin, while the sailor used all of his strength to pry the door free from the outside wall, fighting the gale and eventually slamming it in her face.

This time, she heard the click of a lock.

Virginia stumbled over to his bed, where she collapsed and lapsed into unconsciousness.

SUNLIGHT WAS STREAMING brightly through the portholes of the cabin when she awoke. Every part of her body ached and her head pounded, while her eyes felt too heavy to even open. She had never been so tired in her life, and she had no wish to awake. She snuggled more deeply beneath the covers, cocooned in warmth. Then a mild irritation began—only the back side of her body seemed to be covered.

She groped for the blanket…and realized there were no covers and she was not alone.

She stiffened.

The length of a hard body lay against her, warming her from her shoulders to her toes. She felt a soft breath feathering her jaw, and an arm was draped over her waist.

Oh God, she thought, blinking into bright midday sunlight. And trembling, a new tension filling her, she looked at the hand on her waist.

She already knew who lay in bed beside her and she stared at O’Neill’s large, strong, bronzed hand, which lay carefully upon her. She swallowed, an odd heavy warmth unfurling in the depth of her being.

How had this happened? she thought with panic. Of course the explanation was simple enough and she guessed it immediately—sometime after the storm died, he had stumbled into bed just as she had, too tired to care that she lay there. That likelihood did not decrease her distress. In fact, her agitation grew.

Then a terrible comprehension seized her.

His hand lay carefully on her waist.

Not limp and relaxed with sleep, but carefully controlled and placed.

Her heart skipped then drummed wildly. He was not asleep. She would bet her life on it.

She debated feigning sleep until he left her bed. But her heart was racing so madly it was an impossibility, especially as she felt his hand tighten on her waist. Virginia turned abruptly and faced a pair of brilliant silver eyes and the face of an archangel. Their gazes locked.

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, and could think of nothing intelligent to say.

Then his gaze moved to her temple, which she now realized truly hurt. “Are you all right?” he asked, also still. His gaze slipped slowly to her mouth, where it lingered before moving as slowly back up to her eyes.

His gaze felt like a silken caress.

“I…” She stopped, incapable of speech. And she could not help but stare. His face was terribly close to hers. He had firm, unmoving lips. Her gaze shot back to his. His face was expressionless, carved in stone and impossible to read, but his eyes seemed bright.

She wondered what it would feel like, to have his hard mouth soften and cover hers. “You saved my life,” she whispered nervously. “Thank you.”

His jaw flexed. He started to shove off of the bed.

She gripped the hand that had been on her waist. “You saved the ship, the crew. I saw what you did. I saw you up there.”

“You are in my bed, Virginia, and unless you wish to remain here with me for another hour, at least, leaving the last of your youth behind, I suggest you let me get up.”

She remained still. Her mind raced. Her body burned for his touch and she knew it. It was foolish now to deny. Somehow, his heroism of the night before had changed everything. Anyway, he was perfectly capable of getting up, never mind that she had seized his wrist. She found herself looking at his mouth again. She had never been kissed.