Lovestorm

by Judith E. French

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance

Synopsis

Lady Elizabeth Sommersett is the pampered, beautiful daughter of a powerful earl. But when she is shipwrecked on her way to an arranged marriage, her future seems over—until she is she rescued by a magnificent warrior. Elizabeth had no idea a man could be as strong yet tender, not to mention breathtaking, as Cain Dare. But even more shocking is Cain’s announcement that she now belongs to him—that she is his gift from the sea. Nor is Elizabeth prepared that in place of her comfortable life, she may have gained a passion she never knew possible… 135,000 Words

Release date: February 20, 2014

Publisher: eClassics

Print pages: 384

Sample

The square-rigged barkentine pitched and rolled in the savage seas like an untamed horse. Gale-force winds ripped at her yards and topsails, tearing at the sailors high in the rigging, carrying away sections of her port rails and binnacle, shredding sails and sending yards and widow makers plunging to the deck.

Lady Elizabeth Sommersett fought her way up the ladder in pitch darkness and threw her weight against the hatch. A gust of wind seized the wooden door and wrenched it from its hinges. Elizabeth clung to the side of the hatchway and stared into the mouth of hell.

Waves crashed over the slanting deck, and human screams mingled with those of the horses trapped below deck. Not six paces from where she stood, Elizabeth could see the bare feet and legs of a man protruding from a shapeless heap of tangled sailcloth and rope. The bosun’s whistle sounded over and over, the shrill notes distorted and carried away by the relentless wind.

Elizabeth threw up a hand to shield her face from the driving rain and salt spray as a sailor staggered past her with an axe and began to hack at the mainsail. She stared in disbelief, too shocked by the fury of the storm to utter a sound. We’re going to sink, she thought. We’re all going to die.

Suddenly, the ship’s captain materialized out of the darkness and seized Elizabeth’s arm. Leaning close, the man shouted into her ear. “To the longboat, m’lady! Her back’s broken! We’re abandoning ship!” Without waiting for an answer, he began to drag her across the deck.

Elizabeth shut her eyes against the force of the wind and rain, only half aware of the weeping girl who grabbed on to her free hand.

“Are we goin’t’ dee?”

Elizabeth turned to see little Betty, her aunt’s scullery maid, clinging to her. Barely eleven and thin as a rail, the child was in real danger of being washed overboard by the force of the wind and water. “Hold tight to me!” Elizabeth commanded, locking her fingers around Betty’s wrist. “I won’t let you die.”

“Quick now, Lady Elizabeth!” the captain interrupted. “The longboat’s full! We’ve no time for—”

“But what of my aunt and uncle!” she cried. But he couldn’t hear. Her words were lost in the wind. Seconds later, Elizabeth spied her aunt and uncle huddled in the small boat with a half dozen other passengers and several seamen. Four sailors were in the process of lowering the boat from davits into the angry sea.

Her aunt caught sight of her and screamed. “Elizabeth!”

“Hurry!” the captain insisted, shoving Elizabeth toward the longboat. “They’ve only room for one more!”

Betty’s face whitened, and she clung to Elizabeth, screaming. “Don’t leave me here t’ dee! M’lady! Please don’t leave me!”

“Elizabeth!” her uncle called. One end of the boat tilted violently.

Elizabeth steadied herself against the port rail. “Can’t we take the girl?” she asked the captain. “She’s small. She won’t—”

“No! The boat is overloaded as it—”

“Is there another longboat?” she demanded.

“Yes, on the starboard side. But—”

Elizabeth spun Betty around and shoved her toward the boat. Betty’s knee struck the gunnel, and she tumbled screaming into the midst of the passengers. The sailors released the ropes, dropping the longboat into the waves below.

“You fool!” the captain cried. Taking Elizabeth’s arm roughly, he pushed her toward the far side of the ship.

A wave swept over the deck, soaking her to mid-thigh and nearly knocking her off her feet. Elizabeth covered her head with her hands as a heavy weight fell from above to glance off one shoulder. A splinter of wood ripped through her gown and cut a gash across her back. She cried out, falling forward into the captain’s arms, and he steadied her, pointing ahead to the outline of another longboat.

They stumbled toward the starboard rail together. The first officer was alone in the longboat; the bosun and the ship’s carpenter manned the davits. “No more of your nonsense, woman,” the captain shouted. “In you go.” Catching Elizabeth around the waist, he lifted her into the stem of the longboat with the first officer. Other passengers and sailors pressed closely about them. “Hold!” the captain ordered. “We’ll use the Jacob’s ladder.”

A grinding crash shook the ship as the mainsail fell. Instantly, the ship began to tilt, lifting the longboat even higher from the surface of the sea. Elizabeth clung to rough boards of the seat, trying to extricate her ankle from the tangle of line in the bottom of the boat.

“She’s taking water!” a man screamed.

Two seaman lunged for the rail, and Elizabeth caught the gleam of steel as the captain’s sword flashed. Someone screamed, and a widow maker thrashed back and forth, knocking the carpenter over the side. Without warning, before anyone else could get in, the bow of the longboat plunged down toward the water, and the first officer fell headlong into the sea.

Elizabeth dangled head down in the swaying boat, one foot caught by the coil of rope. She cried out in pain and fear as her head slammed against the side of the longboat. Beneath her, she could see the white turbulent water.

“Cut the rope!” a man shouted.

Elizabeth’s head struck the side of the boat again, and her world dissolved into soft blackness.

Shivering, Elizabeth raised her head and stared into the emptiness of the gray morning. As far as she could see, there was nothing but whitecaps and rolling waves. The rain was cold on her face and arms; her feet and hands were too numb to feel anything. She was alone in the Atlantic, marooned on a fragile scrap of worm-riddled wood that bobbed to and fro at the mercy of the wind and tide. Elizabeth had seen nothing, heard nothing but the ceaseless wind, the waves, and the constant drumming of the icy rain. No screaming gulls, no white-patched petrels skimming over the gray-green surface of the angry sea . . . no sign of land.

Elizabeth cupped her hands to catch the cold rain. It tasted of salt, but she didn’t care. She was thirsty—so thirsty that she couldn’t seem to ease her parched throat no matter how much she lapped at the salty rainwater.

She wondered how far the boat had drifted in the storm. At first light, she’d strained her eyes to see the outline of the Speedwell, or some bobbing speck against the horizon that might be the other longboat. Common sense had told her that the Speedwell had gone to the bottom, and the other boat, if it had not sunk, would be leagues away. But she had hoped and stared until her eyes ached, and she had seen nothing but rain and water and gray sky.

She laughed, a lonely sound in the little boat. She had always prided herself on being a realist. The Speedwell was gone; her aunt and uncle and the others in the first longboat might well be dead—even whining little Betty with her grubby bare feet and close-bitten fingernails. She hoped not. They’d had a chance, surely. Her aunt’s boat had oars and seamen to man them.

Elizabeth had no idea how far they were off the Virginia Coast. Thirty leagues? Sixty? The captain himself might not have known exactly where they were when the ship began to break up.

Storms had plagued the Speedwell from the time it had left the West Indies. The ship had been traveling in company with another vessel, the Fruitful Merchant, which had turned back to the Indies when sickness had broken out aboard. Her aunt had begged the captain of the Speedwell to return with the other ship to the port in the islands where they had anchored for fresh water and supplies, but he had laughed at her fears. There had been a few days of brisk sailing before they had reached Cape Hatteras, then the weather had turned foul. Near hurricane winds had battered the ship northward for days, culminating in the squall that had brought disaster to crew and passengers alike.

Elizabeth’s heart was heavy as she remembered the screams of the horses trapped in the hold. Her own mare, Sarah, and the bay stallion she was bringing Edward as a wedding gift were probably as dead as the rest. Such a terrible waste! Sarah was dear to her, and the stallion probably would have sired finer colts and fillies than any now cropping the green grass of the Virginia Colony.

She laughed again, ruefully. Her mother had accused her of being shallow and godless. Perhaps Mother had been right. What kind of woman would regret the loss of a pet horse when her aunt and uncle, and some thirty other souls, all lay at the bottom of the sea?

Elizabeth sighed and buried her face in her hands. She had not loved her aunt and uncle, but she was fond of them. Her aunt was a silly woman, all flutter and show—too lazy to be unkind and too stupid to ever have an original thought of her own. Her uncle John had no lack of brains, but they had been wasted in the foolish pursuit of loose women, as his ample inheritance had been squandered at the gaming tables. Elizabeth had learned early that it was best to stay clear of Uncle John when he was in his cups. His hands had a habit of straying where they should not, even if the object of his attention was a twelve-year-old niece. Yet, despite their faults, Elizabeth would not have wished her aunt and uncle dead. Guiltily, she offered a murmured prayer for their safety and wondered if they believed her lost forever.

The sky was so gray she couldn’t see the sun. Was her boat drifting farther out to sea or toward the Virginia coast? There was no way to tell. If she didn’t wash up on land, or if she wasn’t picked up by a passing ship, she would either drown or starve to death. Elizabeth shuddered.

Nonsense! She was too young to die. And certainly too young to die in an absurd accident at sea! “If I were going to drown, I would have done it by now,” she declared, spreading her hands out in front of her. Her fingers were puckered, her palms raw. She wondered why her hands were scraped and bruised, and supposed it must be from clutching the rough sides of the boat.

Her rings hung loose on her fingers—the pearl her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday, the ruby she had inherited from her dead Scottish grandmother, and the heavy gold and emerald betrothal ring. If she drifted to shore, perhaps she could trade the jewelry for food or safe passage to Jamestown. Would her betrothed begrudge her trading an emerald ring that had been a gift to one of his ancestors from Henry VIII, to some painted savage for a meal?

There was a loud whoosh, and something huge surfaced beside the longboat. For an instant, Elizabeth stared into a round, black eye, and then the creature vanished beneath the waves. “Oh!” Elizabeth let out a long shuddering breath. She clamped her chattering teeth together and stared at the spot where the beast had been. Before her heartbeat had slowed to normal, the waves parted on the far side of the boat, and a pair of dolphins gazed curiously at her.

“Oh, my,” she managed. “Oh!” They were enormous, with dark, sleek bodies and intelligent eyes. She had no doubt that the dolphins could swamp her boat if they wanted to, but Elizabeth was oddly without fear. “Oh,” she repeated softly, “you beautiful things.”

As if sensing her admiration, the larger of the two mammals dove straight into the air, giving a spinning twist as it plunged into the sea. The second followed suif, then both returned to the surface near the spot she had first caught sight of them.

For nearly an hour, the dolphins swam and played beside the boat, then as suddenly as they had come, they disappeared. Elizabeth watched and waited for a long time, and a heavy sadness settled over her as she realized once more how truly alone she was.

Her head ached. The rain had long since washed away the blood from the cut on her head, but her ruined gown was stained with ugly brown patches. A lump the size of a pullet egg swelled just above her left ear, and her back stung where salt water soaked into the gash she had gotten on the ship. Her honey-blond hair hung in sodden ropes, and she realized with ironic amusement that she was wearing only one shoe.

“The Lady Elizabeth Anne Sommersett,” she proclaimed mockingly. “Lady Elizabeth wishes coffee and sweets served to her guests in the orangery.” Tears welled up in her green eyes, and she ripped off the single shoe and flung it as far as she could into the ocean.

The rise and fall of the boat knotted her stomach into spasms. Her weakness shamed her. She had always been a good sailor; even as a child when she’d crossed the Channel to France or gone to Ireland with her father. If only she wasn’t so damned cold. If only the dolphins would come back . . .

Shaakhan Kihittuun’s muscles rippled beneath his bronzed skin as he thrust the hickory paddle deep into the blue-green water and parted the waves in a tireless rhythm. The dugout skimmed over the surface of the sea, responding to his commands as though it were an extension of his sleek, powerful body. Even the color of the cypress wood blended with his copper skin and glossy, sable-brown hair, making it difficult to see where the man left off and the boat began.

The sea was an angry gray, the whitecaps divided by swirling eddies of frothy green and dirty brown, legacy of the storm that had assaulted the beach and surrounding forests for three days and nights. The clouds hung low over the water, pierced by the hungry cries of seagulls. The birds wheeled and swooped overhead, occasionally diving into the sea and emerging with a squirming fish trapped in their beaks.

Shaakhan loved the sea in all her moods. When the sun shone and bits of light danced across the surface of the water, he would paddle his dugout far to the east out of sight of land, sometimes to fish, and sometimes just to become a part of the magic of water and sky that stretched on beyond a man’s imagination. He knew the creatures of the sea—the mighty whales and the enigmatic rays, the fish and the dolphins—as well as he knew the animals and birds of the forest. Those days were good, when the weather was fair and the great salt water rocked his dugout in her arms as gently as a mother might rock her child.

But Shaakhan knew the sea was as changeable as a woman. He loved her still when her winds blew and her waves rose and fell in crashing fury. Sometimes, he thought he loved the sea best when she battled with the shoreline and tore away whole sections of beach, threatening the boundaries of the forest. And when the worst of the storm had passed, he never failed to launch his boat into the surf and challenge her undaunted spirit.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on an unfamiliar object bobbing on the waves far out on the sea. He had glimpsed it before, then lost sight of it. It was foreign to the sea and sky, and Shaakhan grew curious. What was this thing cradled on the breast of the great salt water, and where had it come from?

Shaakhan hesitated, his paddle poised in midair while silvery drops of water dripped off the blade. Then the waves parted and a dolphin leaped out of the depths and flew over the dugout. Before Shaakhan could do more than gasp in wonder, a smaller dolphin repeated the performance.

The man smiled. “Ah, my friends,” he called to the dolphins. “It is good to see you again.”

Immediately, the larger creature rose out of the water and bounced across the surface on the tip of his tail. The smaller, a young female, contented herself with several excited jumps and a widemouthed hissing.

“What is it?” Shaakhan eased the paddle into the dugout slowly and laid it across his lap. “Do you wish to tell me something?”

The male disappeared beneath the surface of the water and came up beside the female. For a moment, they lingered within arm’s length of Shaakhan, then both turned and made a final twisting leap before diving out of sight. When they surfaced again to breathe, it was nearly a bowshot away. Shaakhan saw only a flash of white, and then the dolphins were gone.

Just beyond the point where the dolphins went under bobbed the strange object. Shaakhan lifted his paddle and turned the dugout in that direction. As he narrowed the distance between them, he realized it was some sort of canoe.

Elizabeth lay on her back in the bottom of the longboat. She was no longer conscious of time or of being cold. In fact, she was hot; her face and arms, the surface of her skin, seemed to be burning up. Her mouth was parched, her lips swollen and cracked. Her eyes ached so badly that it hurt to try to open them.

She knew the rain had ceased because she was so thirsty. She missed the sound of the drops hitting the wooden vessel. Now there was nothing but the rise and fall of the waves and the whoosh of water against the hull. Up and down . . . up and down . . . She threw an arm over her eyes and thought of ripe strawberries. Strawberries with fresh cream.

The memory was so pleasant that she didn’t hear the scrape of wood as the two boats brushed against each other. She was unaware of the man binding the two crafts together with a bit of bark fishing line and climbing in beside her.

“Hokkuaa?”

Elizabeth moaned deep in her throat and tossed her head. An arm slipped under her shoulder and lifted her up. “What?” She blinked as a man’s tanned face came into focus. “Where am I?” she gasped.

“Mumaane. Drink . . . drink this.”

A few drops of sweet water trickled between her lips, and Elizabeth clutched at the gourd container.

“No, just a little,” the man cautioned in husky, precise English.

She gulped at the precious liquid until he pulled it away. “Do I know you?” Her voice was cracked and weak. Was this real or a dream? Elizabeth willed her mind to function. “Who are you?”

He smiled, his large, dark eyes kind in his bronzed face. “I am Cain,” he said. “Do not have fear. I will not harm you.”

“A ship?” Elizabeth reached for the water gourd again. “Do you have a ship?” He let her have another sip of the water, and she closed her eyes in weariness. He looks like a pirate, she thought, but a gentle pirate. It was impossible to be afraid of those huge, liquid eyes.

“You are . . . on the great . . . great salt water,” he said. “I take you to land. Be not afraid.”

She knew when he lifted her, but she was powerless to help or to resist him. He laid her on her side and removed his doeskin vest, covering her face with the soft garment.

“To stop the burn,” he said.

The movement of the waves was different. When Elizabeth pushed away the covering and forced her eyes open, she saw the outline of the man above her, bare-chested, dark against the sky. “Who are you?” she asked again.

He laughed softly. “I told you,” he said. “I am Cain.”

″But . . .” Her mind hovered between light and darkness. “Do I know you?”

“You know me,” he replied. “You have always known me.”

Elizabeth gradually became aware that there was no movement beneath her. The steady swish of the water was absent; she heard nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and found she was in a small, shadowy room that smelled of pine boughs. She raised her right hand; it brushed against a rough, sloping wall. Bewildered, she tried to sit up.

“Lie still,” a masculine voice commanded. “You are safe.”

Elizabeth sighed and laid her head back as she recognized the voice of the man who had taken her from the longboat. Wherever she was, she had not been robbed or ravished. Her rings still hung heavy on her fingers.

“Wh-where am I?” Her throat hurt, and she sounded like an ancient crone. “Is this land?”

The man chuckled. “Unless the sea decides to claim it again.” He squatted beside her and held out a bowl. “Have you hunger?”

Elizabeth moistened her cracked lips with her tongue and tried to gather her wits. She was warm, her eyes caught the flicker of a small fire, and the bed beneath her was soft. When she shifted her weight on the mattress, the odor of pine became stronger. She blinked, adjusting her vision to the dim light of the fire. This is not a room in a house, she thought. It is some primitive hut. In the center of the low roof was an opening. “Stars,” she said, half to herself. “It’s night.”

“Yes,” her companion agreed. “Yesterday, I take you from the sea. You have fever. You sleep long time.”

She tried to place his accent. Yorkshire? His speech was oddly old-fashioned but perfectly comprehensible. Elizabeth put a hand to her hair. It was neatly brushed and bound into braids. It felt damp. She was wearing a crude skin tunic. Whoever did my hair must have changed my clothing, Elizabeth thought. She fixed her gaze on the man once more. “You are . . .” She struggled to remember his name. “Cain?”

“Cain Dare.”

“Yes.” She caught a whiff of what was in the bowl and was suddenly ravenous. “Is that soup?”

“Good.”

He grinned broadly, and she noticed that his dark hair was cut off square at the shoulder. He was wearing a sleeveless leather vest, open in the front; beneath the garment his muscular chest was bare. A wide copper bracelet encircled the bulging biceps of one brawny, hairless arm. A pirate! She remembered her earlier impression with a shiver of excitement. I’ve been captured by a pirate!

“It is good that you hunger,” he continued. “Food and rest will make you strong.” He set the bowl on the floor and lifted her to a half-sitting position, adjusting a wooden backrest behind her. “There,” he said. “Now you eat.”

Elizabeth started at his touch. There was nothing lewd or familiar about the man’s manner, but the heat of his arm burned through her rough garment like fire. He lifted her as easily as though she were a child. She drew in a ragged breath. “Oh.”

Sensing her fear, he withdrew a short distance away and crouched motionless. “You have no danger,” he repeated. “I am friend.” He held out the steaming bowl of soup. “Eat.”

“I have not thanked you for saving me,” Elizabeth said shakily. “I am the Lady Elizabeth Anne Sommersett. I am betrothed to Edward Lindsey, son of the earl of Dunmore. If you take me to Jamestown, or inform my family that I am here, you will be richly rewarded.”

“Eat the soup while it has hot.”

“Don’t you understand?” Elizabeth grew imperious. “I am a person of great importance. Do you know where Jamestown is?”

“I know.” He rose to his feet.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow hot. The man was wearing little but an apron of skin about his loins. Hastily, she averted her eyes. Even a pirate would be civilized enough to wear breeches! Was she being held prisoner by a madman? “I insist that you contact my betrothed at once,” she sputtered.

“This one hears you. Do you always talk so loud?”

Torn between the desire to put this ruffian in his place and to fill the aching void in her stomach, Elizabeth allowed herself a haughty sniff. “Send me a serving woman,” she commanded. “I want my own clothes. I cannot wear this . . . this thing.” She fingered the buckskin tunic distastefully.

Cain folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. “I do not understand what is serving woman,” he said.

“The woman who removed my garments, who braided my hair. Send her to me at once!” Elizabeth reached for the bowl of soup and the horn spoon, and took a tentative sip. The broth was delicious! Eagerly, she spooned the rich mixture into her mouth. Even the seasoning was delicate, she was glad to discover—in her experience, cooks tried to cover the taste of spoiled meat with heavy spices.

The man’s amused chuckle brought her to an abrupt halt. She glared at him fiercely. “I am not accustomed to asking twice for what I want,” she said.

“I can see that.”

Elizabeth felt her temper rising. “Well?”

“There is no woman here.”

“No woman? Nonsense,” she retorted. “If there’s no woman, then who . . . Oh.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. ″You . . .”

“You were wet and cold,” he explained. “I did not want you to have sick.” He shrugged. “There is no need for shame. Your body is lovely, but you be not the first woman I have seen without her clothes.”

“Oh!” Angrily, Elizabeth threw her bare feet over the edge of the bed and stood up shakily. Cain made no move to stop her as she staggered toward the open doorway. Shoving aside a skin curtain, she stepped out into a warm spring night.

In panic, Elizabeth stared around her. There were no other houses, no people, no lights except the stars. The only sign of human habitation was this small hut beneath the trees. Heart pounding, she held her breath and listened. From far off, she heard the sound of the surf. “Where am I?” she cried out. “What godforsaken place is this?”

“This is my home. If I told you name, you still not know where you be.”

Elizabeth shrank back. She was tall for a woman, but this man loomed over her. His shoulders were as broad as a blacksmith’s; his sinewy naked thighs gleamed in the moonlight like those of some pagan gladiator.

“You have fear.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied.

He sniffed disbelievingly. “Your tongue say one thing, but body say another. You tremble as a doe before the hunter’s arrow.”

“You’re not English,” Elizabeth exclaimed suddenly. “Who and what are you?”

“I am warrior of the Lenni-Lenape. Clan of Munsee—the wolf.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “An Indian? You’re an Indian?”

″India be far away.” He waved his hands expressively. “Farther even than the kingdom of the Virgin Queen. This one has told you, I am Lenni-Lenape. Among my people, I am Shaakhan Kihittuun—in your tongue, Wind from the Sea.”

“But you lied to me! You said your name was Cain.” Elizabeth backed away until she bumped into a tree trunk. “You told me—”

“I do not lie. My grandmother shares your blood. It was she who gave me my English name.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“I take you back to the wigwam. If you run about the night with nothing on your feet, you will take again the fever and die.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard. Cain’s soft voice had taken on an edge of steel. “And if I refuse?”

“You cannot. You are a gift from the sea.”

She scanned the ground at her feet for a rock, a stick, anything to defend herself fro. . .