Bound by the Heart by Marsha Canham

her face in the bunched-up pillow. What he did to her
body went beyond mortification. His actions were those of a depraved man. She
could only be thankful there would be no scars to show for his vileness, no
outward sign that she was changed in any way. She would be even more thankful
when and if Bennett Winfield erased all memory of Morgan Wade from her mind and
body!
    She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the
bed. Her hair fell in a tangle over her shoulders, and she pushed it back
angrily, casting around for the red silk ribbon that also had been rudely
removed. The brigand had actually commanded her to unplait her hair! When she
had refused, he had caught her up, had torn the ribbon loose and worked the
braid free himself, holding her by two twined fistfuls while his mouth taunted
her flesh into submission.
    Yes, she would be grateful when it was over. She would
be grateful to set foot on solid land again, relieved beyond anything to see
the last of Morgan Wade.
    The Chimera shuddered unexpectedly, throwing Summer off-balance as
she was bending down for her clothes. She fell heavily against the side of the
bed and gasped as a carved edge of the wood dug into her thigh. The pain was so
sudden and so blinding she could do little more than rub frantically at the
bruise.
    And then she heard it. A grinding, crunching wail of
agony coming from somewhere within the bowels of the ship. The hair on the nape
of her neck rose in alarm, and the skin along her arms sprang instantly to
gooseflesh.
    She heard no shots, but her immediate thought was that
the Chimera was
under attack. What else would cause the recurring jolts? What else would
produce the continuous rising howl of a beast caught in the steel jaws of a
trap?
    The ship lurched, and she heard the whining rasp of
the anchor cables grinding through the capstan. The forward motion became less
pronounced, but raggedly so, ending in a series of shunts as the anchor grabbed
for a hold on the bottom.
    Summer pulled on her clothes with hands that were
ice-cold and fumbled in their haste. She stumbled out the cabin door and ran
down the companionway and up the ladder to the deck. She found Michael standing
just outside the hatchway, looking pale and fearful as he tried to follow the
confusion on the deck.
    "What is it?" Summer asked. "What has
happened?"
    "I don't know. We struck something coming around
into the channel. There was an awful crunching noise, and then everything just
sort of went berserk."
    "Where is Captain Wade?"
    Michael shook his head. "Below somewhere. He and
Mr. Monday dashed down to see where the trouble was."
    "Well, thank God it's nothing serious. You have
no idea the things I was imagining. I could have sworn we were under
attack." She paused and thought about the absurdity a moment. "You
say we hit something?"
    "More like we were pushed into it. Thorny said
the captain was worried about the currents."
    She smiled wryly. "With all of his boasting and
bragging about what a fine ship he has and how grown men quake at the very
sight of him, he seems to have difficulty just getting from one place to
another."
    Michael turned and looked at her strangely.
"Thorny said the patch we took on at S aint Martin was a poor one. It
isn't the captain's fault if it didn't hold."
    Summer glared at her brother, shocked to hear him
defending the privateer. But he was no longer looking at her. He was staring
past her shoulder toward the fore hatchway. Morgan Wade was emerging, his
clothes streaming water, his face grim and unreadable. Mr. Monday was a pace
behind, and together they thundered along the quarter rail to the bow, barely
hesitating long enough to shout a blur of orders before they hurled themselves
through the entry port and dove into the sea.
    Summer and Michael ran to the rail, joining a handful
of jabbering sailors. Both men had already vanished beneath the surface of the
water, leaving only a disturbance of spreading rings to mark their entrance.
The water