The Pirate Hunter. Laura MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.
wasn’t expecting the reaction he got. Jim lashed out, his hand catching Will on the forehead. Luckily it was a glancing blow, but he felt stunned all the same.
‘Leave me alone,’ Jim yelled, pushing Will even further from him. ‘Go off and die if that’s what you want, but don’t insist on bringing us along to drown with you.’
Making sure he was out of arm’s reach from all the men, Will raised his voice and called out, ‘I’m going to try to swim for shore, I’m sure we can make it. If anyone would like to come with me, I promise I will do my best to get us to safety.’
There was no response. He could see everyone had heard him, their faces were turned towards him as he spoke, but no one moved.
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