The Rescue

A s the long, muggy days crawled by, the mood in the mill changed. Thorne couldn't pinpoint exactly what was different, but the slaves seemed restless. He thought it unlikely all of Marchant's slaves were involved in planning a revolt, so he attributed their mood to the oppressive weather. Dark clouds poured rain. The winds increased. The sea churned.

"Big storm comin'," Bussa warned. "Hurricane maybe."

Thorne had heard of the intense storms that ravaged Caribbean islands. "Is the plantation prepared?" he asked.

"For the wind and the rain?" Bussa countered. "Yes, Master. Do not worry. All is in readiness."

Thorne looked into the slave's eyes, but saw nothing but the usual inscrutable twinkle.

At the dinner table, Marchant warned of a hurricane approaching. "Tomorrow, I'll have the windows in this house boarded up. Bussa will take care of it and prepare the mills. Can't be too careful."

Thorne noted he intended to make no provision for the protection of the hovels that housed his slaves.

Watching the sunset was impossible. The sun had no chance against the heavy cloud cover. The sand swirled. However, Thorne continued his excursions because Queenie joined him there every evening. She became his prime motivation for going to the beach. They stayed well away from the waves crashing on shore, keeping each other warm in a small protected opening in the rocks Queenie showed him.

"Marchant says a hurricane is coming," he told her, feeling the heat of her arm pressed against his beneath the blanket she brought. The urge to embrace her and press his lips to hers was becoming unbearable. His eager cock confirmed it wanted more than friendship from this woman, but he'd decided to leave the island. It was unlikely she'd come with him and he couldn't love her and leave her.

"Goliath thinks so too," she replied. "You must take shelter in the mansion when the worst of it arrives."

"What about you? Will you be safe?"

"Goliath will drive our wagon further inland."

"You live in a wagon?"

"It's the Roma way. The law forbids us to wander, so we stay on our smallholding, but we cannot give up our wagon, even though we can no longer roam."

"What of the rebellion?" he asked.

"They may make use of the confusion, or they may wait," she replied. "Only time will tell."

Heavy rain and gale force winds lashed the island for two days, making it impossible to go to the beach. Queenie missed her trysts with Thorne. The storm would soon worsen, so she grew nervous when the trek inland was delayed. Several government buildings in the town had windows that needed to be boarded up. It was a chance for Goliath to earn extra money.

By the time they prepared to set off, the storm had intensified. The skittish horse was difficult to harness when lightning flashed and thunder roared. The rain felt like needles piercing Queenie's hands and face. En route, they passed palm trees bent over like arches. She and Goliath were both soaked through. "Go inside," her uncle finally shouted over the howl of the wind. "No point both of us getting drenched."

Shivering, she climbed aboard and set about changing into dry clothing. The lurching wagon tossed her about. "You're a Romani," she reminded herself. "You'll get used to life on the move. The bruises will heal."

Finally dressed, she perched on the edge of her mattress and held on. She didn't think they'd gone very far when the world suddenly turned topsy turvy. Furniture toppled over. Pots and pans flew about, narrowly missing her where she lay sprawled on the floor. She crawled to the door but it refused to open no matter how hard she pushed. Over the whine of the wind, she faintly heard Goliath's voice. "The wagon rolled into a ditch. Are you hurt? I can't get to the door. I'll get help. "

"No, I'm not hurt," she replied, her belly clenching when water began seeping in through the blocked door. "Hurry," she pleaded, climbing the sloping floor to get as far away from the rising water as she could.

Bussa had just returned to the mill when a breathless man rushed in. Thorne didn't know him but sensed from his build and swarthy appearance he might be Queenie's uncle. Bussa and the other slaves clearly recognized him. "What's amiss, Goliath?" the African asked.

Panting, the gypsy leaned heavily on the fence around the windlass. "Our wagon overturned. Queenie's trapped."

Bussa didn't hesitate. "I go to help, with your permission, Master Halstead."

"Of course," Thorne replied, his heart racing. "I'll come too."

"We'll need a horse," Goliath said. "I had to put ours down."

"I'll see to it," Bussa told him.

Five minutes later, he returned, holding the trailing reins of the biggest dray horse Thorne had ever seen, a coil of rope over his shoulder. They set off in the face of the gale. The horse put his head down and plodded on, as if braving a hurricane was an everyday occurrence. Thorne had difficulty staying upright but the wind and the sodden terrain didn't seem to have any effect on the two giants accompanying him. When Thorne slipped and fell, Goliath offered his hand. "You're the man Queenie's been meeting on the beach," he yelled.

Thorne wasn't sure if the gypsy thought this was a good thing or not, but he nodded. "I am." He was relieved when Goliath pulled him upright, but was exhausted by the time they reached the wagon ten minutes later.

Energy resurged when he espied the wagon tilted at an awkward angle with the door submerged in a ditch full of water. If they didn't get Queenie out quickly, she would drown in the rapidly rising water. The prospect of losing this woman couldn't be borne. She'd become essential to his sanity.

His innards clenched when he noticed a stream of blood running into the ditch, but his fears soon eased. Goliath had slit the horse's throat. "No choice," the gypsy said as he stared at the animal's mangled leg. Thorne's heart went out to the man. The loss of such a valuable and well-loved animal would be keenly felt.

"No time to waste," Bussa yelled, wading into the water to crawl beneath the precarious wagon. "Pass me the rope."

As he played out the rope, Thorne was once again struck by the slave's commanding manner. There could be little doubt he'd been a leader among his own people in Africa.

Once Bussa had the rope tied around the submerged axle, Thorne fastened the other end securely to the harness. Goliath took hold of the bit and urged the horse to pull. Thorne and Bussa splashed into the ditch and put their shoulders to the back of the wagon. Thorne lost his footing in the mud and thrashed about underwater, retching foul water when Bussa pulled him to the surface. Still the wagon wouldn't budge. Getting desperate when he heard no sound from inside the wagon, Thorne tried curling his fingers into the edge of the door but there wasn't enough of it above water to get any purchase. "Hold on, Queenie," he yelled, hoping she could hear him. "We'll get you out."

His gaze met Bussa's and he saw the same desperate determination coursing through his own veins.

Trying to keep panic at bay, Queenie clung to a wooden strut, but the wagon was tilted at a precarious angle. It was difficult not to slide into the water which seemed to be flooding in at an alarming rate. It had already reached her knees. At least she was sheltered from the howling wind. She thought she might have heard Thorne's voice, but that was just wishful thinking. An English gentleman wouldn't venture out in this weather to rescue a gypsy.

She had resigned herself to her fate when the wagon lurched, then lurched again. The door groaned open. The water rushed out, carrying Queenie with it, straight into the arms of the white man she couldn't get out of her thoughts.

"I've got you," he yelled, his strong arms clamped around her as he staggered backwards in the ditch.

Next thing she knew, Bussa appeared and dragged them both onto the bank. Lying atop him, she looked into his blue eyes, lowered her lips to his and kissed him.

Queenie's kiss was unexpected, although Thorne had seen a glimpse of her intent in her dark eyes. He accepted that relief had prompted her reaction but, when she coaxed his lips open and thrust her tongue into his mouth, he realized she wanted him. She ground her hips against him, encouraging his cock to believe she truly did desire him.

Lashed by rain and buffeted by gale force winds might not be every man's dream of a setting for a first kiss, but Thorne wouldn't have it any other way.

He flipped her over to provide what little protection he could from the raging elements. Breathing hard, she looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back then kissed her with all the love in his heart and the desire in his loins.