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He was torn. Deep down Will knew if he stayed there with the rest of the survivors they would all die. Soon the cold would seep in and slowly their bodies would start to shut down. One by one they would slip unconscious, then slide under the water. He knew he had a chance of survival if he swam for the shore. Telling himself he’d given the crew the option of joining him, he reluctantly turned away.
Mentally Will steeled himself, trying to put the other survivors from his mind. He pulled his shirt off over his head and started to swim. The island was just visible in the distance, a black shape just a shade darker than the night sky. It was probably four miles, maybe five at the most, further than he had ever swum, but possible. Just.
He set off at a slow pace, all too aware his energy levels were going to dip as he started to cover the distance. With his eyes focused on a spot on the horizon so he didn’t go off course, he gradually progressed.
He’d grown up with the sea as his playground so he was used to the sting of the salty water and the chill bite of the wind against his face. His brother had always challenged him to swimming races, never this sort of distance, of course, but he could happily swim a mile in the inhospitable English Channel. He’d never swum during a storm before, though.
* * *
After what seemed like hours later he stopped for a break, slowly treading water with just enough effort to keep afloat. For the first time a small sliver of doubt crept into his mind. What if he couldn’t make it? He pushed away the negativity and gave himself a mental slap. That kind of defeatist attitude was what got you killed.
Will ploughed on. Hour after hour, mile after mile. His body went numb and soon after, his mind followed. He swam out of instinct, striving to get to shore, but no other thoughts entered his mind. After a while his legs stopped working, they just refused to kick, and his arms complained under the extra strain.
* * *
As the sun started to rise above the horizon Will glanced once again at the shore. He was so close now, close enough to make out the individual trees on the cliffs that towered above the water. For a second his mind didn’t register what he had just seen, then it hit him. Cliffs. Not a white sandy beach or a natural harbour, cliffs. He felt like shouting and cursing, but just didn’t have the energy. He’d made it all this way only to be defeated by some cliffs, and he would be defeated; he barely had the strength to pull himself on to some sand, let alone climb a jagged rock.
Will wasn’t a quitter. He had never left anything unfinished in his life, but he knew this was the end. He didn’t have the strength to climb the cliffs and he didn’t have the energy to swim the shoreline until he found an easier route to dry land.
He did a few more strokes towards the cliffs just in case there was a handy set of steps carved into the rock face. Nothing. Not even an easy handhold. He didn’t dare get any closer, knowing the sea would dash him against the rock without a moment’s hesitation.
Will closed his eyes and allowed his body to float, knowing sooner or later the pull of the sea would submerge him and take him to his watery grave.
‘That’s no place to sleep.’ The voice was carried to him on the wind and had a kind of ethereal quality to it. He opened his eyes and with a tremendous effort looked around him.
Finally he glanced at the clifftop and in that instant he knew he was dead. A beautiful woman dressed all in white was standing looking down at him. She must be an angel, Will thought, a beautiful, heavenly angel.
Finally accepting his fate, Will closed his eyes one last time and let the sea envelop him.
* * *
He was actually going to sleep. Mia stood frozen for a second, unsure what to do, then instinct took over and she tugged at the laces securing her dress. She threw the billowing white garment over her head and, clad only in her underwear, dived head first into the sea. It only took her a few strokes to reach the bedraggled man and she looped her arms under his to help him keep afloat.
‘Heaven,’ he murmured, his eyes flickering open for a few seconds.
‘No, Barbados,’ Mia said, struggling to keep both their heads above the water. ‘You’re going to have to swim.’
‘No more swimming.’
‘Well, it’s either you swim or I let you sink to the bottom of the sea. Don’t think I’m carrying you to the beach.’
‘Beach?’ He perked up slightly.
‘Yes, beach; sand, palm trees, lapping waves.’
‘What are we waiting for?’
Mia cautiously let go of her new companion and watched to see if he was going to sink. His kicks were weak and his eyes barely open, but he put enough effort in to just about stay afloat.
She grabbed his hand and they awkwardly started to swim, making slow progress around the bottom of the cliff. After about ten minutes she allowed him to stop and pointed to the distance.
‘Can you see the beach?’ she asked.
His eyes scanned the horizon and as they settled on the thin strip of sand he grinned.
‘Dry land. Race you?’
Mia stared at him—he was beyond exhausted. His face was completely drained of colour and his lips were starting to turn an unhealthy blue.
‘Maybe another day,’ she said.
They set off again, fighting against the tide for each inch. It seemed like an eternity to Mia and she had to keep glancing behind her to check her companion was still afloat and breathing.
Her foot hit sand and she gave a whoop of delight.
‘You can stand,’ she shouted over her shoulder, ‘we’re in the shallows.’
She saw him put his feet on the seabed and his knees buckle. In an instant she was beside him again, supporting him under his arms and half dragging him to shore.
They collapsed on the beach, arms and legs entangled, both too exhausted to move. For a minute Mia lay with her eyes closed, allowing her breathing to become steady and regular and her heart to stop pounding. When she felt a little recovered she propped herself up and looked down at the man lying beside her.
His eyes were closed and his chest barely moving. She inched closer, wondering whether the final push to shore had been too much for his heart. Tentatively she laid a hand on his chest and felt the reassuring thud as the blood was pushed around his body.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured without opening his eyes. ‘You saved my life.’
Mia looked down and realised her hand was still lying on his chest. She knew she should move, but found herself captivated by his tanned skin. Lightly she drew her fingers backwards and forwards over his hard muscles, feeling them quiver with exhaustion under her touch.
She glanced at his face and wondered if he was sleeping. He looked so peaceful, so content, not like he’d spent the night battling with the elements. His eyebrows were crusted with salt, as were his lips, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. She ran a few strands through her fingers. It was golden—even soaking wet the colour still shone through. She hadn’t seen many people with golden hair. A few of the soldiers at the fort and a few sailors in the distance, but no one like this.
‘What’s your name?’ he murmured.
Mia guiltily drew her hand back from his hair as she realised he was watching her with some amusement.
‘Mia.’
‘Mia. That’s pretty. Like you.’
‘Are you always this smooth?’
‘I’ve just been in a shipwreck and swum hundreds of miles to shore. You have to forgive a man for not being quite on top form.’
‘You’re forgiven.’
‘I’m Will,’ he said, struggling to sit up. He held out a hand and Mia hesitantly took it in hers. He raised her hand to his lips and gently brushed a kiss on to her skin. ‘It really is a pleasure to meet you.’
Mia could feel the blush rising up her cheeks and had to force herself to meet his eyes. Even after a near-death experience this man could turn on the charm; he would be deadly when fully recovered.
‘What happened?’ she asked softly, trying to distract herself from the intensity burning behind his eyes.
‘I was on The White Rose. We were only a few miles from shore when the storm hit.’
‘Let me guess—the Captain decided to make a dash for the harbour instead of battening down and riding it out.’
He looked at her appraisingly.
‘You don’t spend a lifetime in the Caribbean without learning a thing or two about the moods of the sea,’ she said.
‘He did his best, but we didn’t stand a chance.’
‘Were there any other survivors?’
‘I saw a few, tried to convince them to swim with me for shore, but most of the sailors can’t do more than a few strokes and wanted to wait for the Navy to mount a rescue.’
Mia saw the pain in his eyes. He was mourning for the dead sailors, probably a whole ship of young men in their prime now dead, swallowed up by the sea.
‘I’d just about given up when I saw you on the cliff.’
He turned to look at her again and the intensity in his eyes made her self-conscious. She glanced down and to her horror remembered she’d thrown off her clothes before jumping in to rescue him. Her undergarments were sodden and sticking to her skin, revealing almost everything that lay beneath.
He must have seen her stricken expression and hastily looked away.
‘I’d offer you my jacket, but I seem to have misplaced it.’
Mia forced herself to smile. He was just a man, she repeated in her head. He might be a very handsome man with an infectious smile, but he was just a man all the same. They were from very different walks of life and after today she would probably never see him again.
‘My house is not too far,’ Mia said. ‘Do you think you will make it if I help you?’
‘Lead on.’
Mia stood, forcing herself not to cover certain parts of her anatomy with her arms, and held out a hand to help Will up.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, struggling to his feet, then offering her his arm.
Arm in arm they staggered along the sand. Mia could feel the warmth of his body as it brushed against hers and couldn’t help but remember the feel of his chest underneath her hands.
‘Stop it,’ she muttered to herself.
Will stopped suddenly, causing her to careen into him. She suspected normally he would be able to withstand the force of a small woman travelling at such a slow speed, but in his weakened state his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Mia tried to pull her arm from his, but was too slow. She felt her feet stumble, followed by the inevitable fall towards the ground.
She landed squarely on top of him, her nose touching his.
‘Ooof,’ he said quietly.
Stunned, Mia couldn’t move for an instant. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest pushing against her breasts, their legs tangled together and lips so close that just a small twitch and they would be kissing. She tried not to notice how his hips were pushed up against hers, but couldn’t deny the heat that rose through her body in response to his closeness.
‘Mia,’ he murmured. ‘My angel.’
Before she realised what was happening Will had reached up and pulled her lips on to his, sealing them together with a passionate kiss.
‘Mia, Mia, Mia,’ he whispered in between frantic kisses.
Her body responded immediately, moulding to his and burning with desire. She knew she shouldn’t. They were from different worlds, and he was almost certainly delirious, but what was the harm of one kiss?
‘Stop!’ The shout came from quite a distance away, but it paralysed Mia.
Slowly she raised her head and groaned. Coming towards her were four men wearing the unmistakable uniforms of the English soldiers garrisoned in Bridgetown.
‘No, no, no,’ she whispered.
She glanced down at her companion, wondering if he was able to make a dash for it into the trees that lined the beach. He had passed out on the sand with a contented smile on his face. She shook him none too gently and glanced once again at the soldiers. They were much closer now, making good progress over the powdery sand. She contemplated leaving Will and making a run for it on her own—he didn’t strike her as being a wanted man.
Too late. She’d just staggered to her feet when the first of the soldiers arrived and threw her back to the ground.
‘Don’t move,’ he shouted rather unnecessarily. With the rifle to her back Mia wasn’t planning on moving a single muscle.
* * *
Will felt as though he’d slept for a month. He contemplated rolling over and letting sleep consume him for another few hours, but the unusual sound of keys jangling was enough to make him open his eyes.
He was lying on mouldy straw in a fetid cell with only a sliver of light to illuminate his surroundings. Probably for the best, he thought.
The jangle of keys came closer and Will pushed himself up into a sitting position. Every muscle in his body screamed and begged him not to move again for another few days at least.
The door to the cell opened and through his half-open eyes Will could see a large figure standing in the doorway.
‘William Greenacre, what on earth happened to you?’
Will’s eyes opened fully and peered into the gloom. He recognised the voice, but couldn’t quite place the owner.
‘We thought you were dead.’
‘So did I,’ Will murmured.
The figure in the doorway strode into the cell and clapped Will on the shoulder.
‘Edward Thatcher,’ Will said. ‘It’s been years.’
‘Last time I saw you must have been at your old man’s funeral. Good fellow, sorely missed. That must have been what, seven years ago?’
‘Eight.’
‘Let’s get you out of this hellhole...’ Thatcher held out his hand to pull Will up ‘...then you can tell me how you managed to survive that awful storm.’
‘There was a woman...’ Will started.
‘Don’t you worry about her, old chap, we’ve got her safe. Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening. The Governor is expecting you.’
‘But Mia...’
