Mary Jo Putney (10 page)

“Not straight. Add some water and I’ll have that. I’d recommend the same to you since it’s warming.”

As she located the two pewter mugs, she asked, “Where do you think we’ll make landfall?”

“If possible, I’d like to sail into Bristol, though I’m not sure enough of where we started, or how far south the squall drove us. But I know the English coastline along the Somerset and Devonshire coasts rather well. There are a number of small harbors that will suit us if that’s where we make landfall.”

“How will you manage during the night? You need some rest and we’ve established I’m no good as a substitute pilot.”

“I’ll take down the smaller sail and reduce the area of the mainsail,” Rob replied. “Then I’ll lash the tiller in position and catnap beside it. If the wind or weather changes dramatically, I’ll come awake immediately.”

She didn’t doubt it. She suspected that Rob could do anything. They ate their supper in peaceful silence. She was hungry enough that even the smoked fish tasted good. She doubted she’d develop a fondness for spirits, but the whiskey and water was drinkable and warming, as Rob had said.

After they ate, she wrapped herself in both blankets at Rob’s insistence and wedged herself down beside him. The sounds of wind and sea were very restful.

Someday she’d look back at this sailing adventure with wonder since it was so very different from the rest of her life. Just as Rob was.

At least she’d have the memories.

T
he morning dawned red and ominous.
Red sky at night, sailors delight/Red in the morning, sailors take warning.
Rob didn’t know how old the saying was, but suspected the idea had been around since Noah turned his hand to ark building.

As he studied the sky, the blanket roll that was Sarah heaved, then unwrapped to reveal its tousled blond contents. She sat up and stretched, looking so delectable that he hastily turned his gaze to the sky again.

“Sleeping on a wooden deck makes me appreciate the comforts of haystacks,” Sarah said cheerfully. “Did you manage to rest during the night?”

“Yes, the winds were mostly light. I was able to doze a good bit of the time.”

She folded the two blankets neatly and stowed them in a locker. “I won’t know what to do with a real bed when I have one again.”

Rob wished she hadn’t mentioned beds. A drawback of quiet sailing was that it allowed too much time to think about one’s distractingly attractive shipmate. “If all goes well, you’ll sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“A real bed,” she said reverently. “And if I’m truly blessed, a real
bath
!”

“Take care! Too much civilization at once might be overpowering.”

He must have failed at sounding casual, because she studied him with a frown. “Is something wrong? We’re not being pursued, are we?” She sat up higher and scanned the sea behind them.

“Not that, but a storm is coming. Probably a big one.” He gestured toward the red dawn. “I’m not sure when it will hit. I hope not until we’re safely ashore, but we’ve a long sail ahead of us.”

“We came through the squall easily,” she said. “This will be worse?”

“Squalls are brief. A storm can go on for hours or days.” And he’d sailed enough to have a bad feeling about this one.

Sarah gazed at the eastern sky, her face very still. His fluffy golden chick looked calm and determined. A woman, not a girl. “Then we must prepare as best we can. First, breakfast. Then what can I do to make it easier to ride out the storm?”

“Breakfast is a good start. Eat well—we’ll need the energy later. After we’ve eaten, stow away everything loose and bring out the rope you found yesterday. We both need safety lines securing us to the yawl.”

She swallowed hard. “So if we get washed overboard, we might survive?”

He nodded. “A lifeline is just a precaution, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll tie the knots. They’ll hold well, but they can be released with a single tug if necessary.”

From her expression, she was imagining all the possible ways she might drown, but she said only, “Aye, aye, captain.”

They ate their breakfast in watery sunshine, sitting side by side on the stern bench in easy silence. He liked that Sarah didn’t feel the need to chatter. She was within touching distance, and he felt an odd mixture of peace and desire. Not a bad way to spend what might be his last breakfast on earth.

As Sarah wrapped the leftover food, she asked, “What aren’t you telling me? If we’re going to die today, I need warning so I can send up some last prayers.”

He blinked at her perception and calm acceptance of danger. “I devoutly hope we don’t die today, but . . . it could happen. If this storm hits hard from the direction it’s coming, we could be blown into the English shore. The southwest coast has a lot of rugged areas where it will be hard to land safely during a tempest.”

She absorbed that. “So we could be wrecked and drowned on the shores of home. That would be ironic.”

He was glad he didn’t have to spell out the danger. “I don’t think we can outrun the storm and make landfall before it hits, so I’m sailing parallel to the coast until the storm has passed. But if the winds are strong enough, I won’t have much control.”

“I’ll polish up those prayers then.” Sarah moved forward to stow the last of the food. “But first, lifelines.”

Sarah found it eerie to live through a day that might be her last on earth. Frightening though her abductors had been, she’d never thought death was imminent and unavoidable. This danger was different—not the threat of dangerous men, but of vast, impersonal nature. They might survive; she had great faith in Rob’s competence. But they might not. The fact that Rob was worried spoke volumes.

Sarah didn’t want to die. Not
at all
! But death could come to anyone, at any time, and she’d had twenty-six good years. Many had less time than that.

She hated that her family would never know what had happened to her. They’d make inquiries in Ireland, but the trail would end at Kinsale with the realistic assumption that she and Rob were lost at sea.

If Sarah died today, she’d never know whether Mariah had a son or a daughter. They would never have the chance to make up for the years they’d been separated. She’d never really know her charming and sometimes maddening father.

Not to mention the irritating fact that Sarah would die a virgin. She thought, half seriously, that she should have seduced Rob when they were on dry land. She might have succeeded, despite his considerable willpower.

She’d left it too late, though. The wind had been steadily rising and now the
Brianne
was sliding up and down sizable waves. Rob was focused on sailing. After he’d made the lifelines, with Sarah secured to a bench with a rope around her waist and Rob connected to the base of the mizzenmast, enough rope remained for him to create a harness that allowed him to lock down the tiller if he had to move away.

The harness would ease the fierce physical demands of sailing the yawl. He’d furled the mizzen sail and reduced the area of the mainsail as much as possible while still allowing him control. They spoke little because there was nothing to say.

Sarah stationed herself at midship with the bailing bucket in her hands. Waves were splashing into the cockpit already and it was steady work to remove the water. She was glad she could do something to contribute to their possible survival, but if they didn’t drown, her back and shoulders would ache for days.

A large wave broke over the bow at an angle that deposited six inches of fresh water into the boat. With a sigh, Sarah resumed bailing, careful to follow Rob’s rule that she always have one hand gripping something solid. She wondered what time it was. The sun had vanished behind dark, churning storm clouds, but it must be well into afternoon by now.

She was dumping a bucket of water over the port gunwale when she thought she saw something in the distance. “Land, ho, I think. England.
Home
.” She swallowed hard, surprisingly moved. She’d been gone less than a fortnight, but it seemed longer because of all that had happened.

“So it is,” Rob said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

She studied the coastline somberly. “That’s not good news, is it?”

“It’s not great,” he allowed. “Even with reduced sails, the wind has been pushing us hard toward the shore. The drift will get worse when the full force of the storm hits.” He frowned at the distant shore. “Since I know this coast well, I’m trying to steer us toward an area of open beaches where we can reach land safely.”

She was about to reply when the full screaming power of the storm struck, and there was no more breath to waste on words.

 

 

Bail, bail, bail.
The world had been a shrieking cacophony of tearing winds and gigantic waves for so long that Sarah could barely remember silence. Her muscles ached, and surely Rob’s ached more because he’d been fighting the tiller through this endless day. She’d been drenched and shivering with cold for so long, she no longer noticed. Life had narrowed to scooping water and prayers for the storm to end without destroying the
Brianne
and her crew.

A hideous grating sound assaulted her ears and a violent shudder rocked the yawl. “We’ve hit a rock! Sarah, hold tight!” Rob yelled as the boat slewed sideways and a towering wave crashed into the cockpit.

She grabbed for the gunwales, but the avalanche of water swept her overboard and dragged her down into the sea. She struggled against the force of the water, trying to follow the taut safety line back to the boat. But she wasn’t strong enough to move against the currents pounding her. She was being dragged helplessly through the water. Couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t breathe . . .

A strong arm locked around her waist and hauled her back onto the yawl. “Dear God, Sarah, are you all right?” Rob called urgently. “You can’t be dead, you weren’t under that long, please,
talk to me
!”

She tried to reply, but couldn’t speak. Rob carried her to his seat in the stern, then draped her limp body across his lap, face downward. A smart slap on her back with his open hand made Sarah gag, then cough up water convulsively.

As she drew blessed air into her lungs, Rob pulled her up against him, one arm around her shivering body. “Are you all right?”

She coughed again, then said hoarsely, “Not. Dead. Yet.”

He drew her closer and she burrowed against his chest. They were both soaking, rain still hammered down, and even Sarah could tell that the yawl was in dire straits. She was dimly aware that the tiller was held by the steering harness with help from Rob’s right arm while his left was locked around her.

She gazed into the chaos of wind and water, seeing some shapes blacker against the black, and occasional white ruffles of breaking waves. Ahead was a heavy, regular roar of waves crashing into the shore.

Feeling unnaturally calm, she said, “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

Rob said in her ear, his urgent voice pitched to cut through the storm, “Maybe not. This is an area I know well. Too damned well, but I know the rocks, and there’s a shingle beach beyond them. Likely the
Brianne
will break up before we get that far. I’m releasing the knots on the lifelines so we won’t be dragged down. I’m also taking my boots off. You do the same. I don’t suppose you can swim?”

“I was never allowed to join my male cousins in the pond,” she said with regret. “I was irritated then, and even more so now!”

“Since I was raised on the coast, I’m a strong swimmer. There’s a good chance I can get you ashore. If I lose hold of you, or—if I can’t continue, keep heading toward land any way you can.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry I’ve failed you, princess.”

With a detachment beyond fear, she replied, “Our fate is in God’s hands, and He can overrule even Bow Street Runners.” She bent forward to wrench off her boots. “You’ve done your best, Rob. One can ask no more.”

“Ah, Sarah, Sarah.” He turned her face up and gave her a swift, hard kiss that brought a tingle of warmth to her chilled body. Her fingers curled into his arms and she wished rather desperately that she would never have to let him go.

He yanked at the loose end of her lifeline and it fell free. “Hang on, my dear girl,” he said as he reached for his sodden boots. “We’re going in!”

C
ursing the ironic fate that had brought the
Brianne
back to the stretch of coast Rob knew best, he squinted into the deluge, looking for the best passage between the rocks. They couldn’t be more than a few hundred yards from land since he could hear the surf pounding on the shingle beach. At least the beach gave them a chance to survive. If the yawl had been driven into sheer cliffs, they would have been doomed.

He reluctantly removed his left arm from Sarah so he’d have both hands on the tiller. It was almost impossible to control the
Brianne
in these heavy seas, but even a small amount of steering could make all the difference.

“Will it unbalance you if I put an arm around your waist?” Sarah asked, raising her voice to be heard above the gale. “You’re a good solid anchor to hold on to.”

“As you wish, princess,” he said with an easing of his tension. She’d been generous to forgive him in advance for his likely failure to save her.

In his arrogance, he’d thought he could take her safely home all by himself. Now that it was too late, he realized that a British military camp would have been the wiser choice. Though her abduction would have become common knowledge and her reputation badly damaged, at least she’d be alive. Instead, they were unlikely to see the dawn.

But if they drowned, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying to survive. He cut the tiller sharply to starboard to avoid an ominous stone pillar that loomed abruptly out of the darkness and rain. The yawl rocked and the hull scraped along the pillar, but they made it past.

The turbulence increased and whirled them straight into a towering rock. They hit with a hideous crunching sound and a jolt that threw them both forward. Rob clung grimly to the tiller and Sarah hung onto him as the yawl spun sideways, then slammed into another rock. As water rushed in, Rob snapped, “Time to abandon ship, Sarah! Can you hold on to my shoulders while I swim to shore?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she gasped. “My fingers are numb from the cold and I might lose my grip.”

He’d feared that. He stripped off his sodden coat so he could swim more freely. “I’ll keep one arm around you as I swim. It will be slower, but I’ll keep you above water.” For as long as he could.

Her pale oval face tilted up toward him. “Is there anything I can do to help us reach shore?”

“Stay still and let me pull you along.” As he spoke, the
Brianne
smashed into another water-slicked boulder. The yawl was almost completely filled with water and at the mercy of the surging waves. He wrapped his left arm around Sarah’s waist and launched them into the maelstrom, pushing away from the rock formation where the yawl was trapped and being pounded to pieces.

Complete immersion in the sea was even colder than being in the boat, if that was possible. He followed the current toward shore, lying on his side and kicking with both legs while he stroked with his right arm. Sarah was obeying his order, floating under his left arm and keeping out of the way of his kicks.

He knew it wasn’t far to shore, but the crashing waves made it almost impossible to stay afloat. His strength was draining away as he fought the frigid water, but not much farther now, surely not much farther . . .

A wave shoved them into a rock. He managed to ward them both so they scraped one side of it rather than crashing full force. Sarah’s breathing was harsh in his ear, but she didn’t interfere as he continued doggedly toward land. He’d reached the numb place beyond fatigue where only blind tenacity kept him swimming.

He was vaguely aware that if he let go of Sarah, he’d be much more likely to survive, but the knowledge was irrelevant. Life would not be worth living if he survived at her expense.

The shore was closer now, the waves rougher. He managed, barely, to avoid a low-lying mass of rock with white spray shooting into the air, but as he pushed them away, they were caught by a fierce current. They were hurtling straight into a jagged pinnacle and it was Sarah who would smash directly into it.

No!
He wrapped himself protectively around her, ducking his head to minimize the impact, but it wasn’t enough. He crashed into the rock with the full force of the sea behind him, and the world splintered into pain and blackness.

 

 

“Rob!
Rob!
” A shuddering impact almost tore Sarah from Rob’s embrace. His body slackened for long moments. Then he clumsily resumed paddling toward the shore.

Desperate to help, she kept her arm around him and kicked feebly until a giant wave caught hold of them and hurled them on. They crashed downward onto solid ground in the heart of a drowning wave, and she almost lost consciousness herself.

Then the water reversed and began dragging them back into the sea. Swearing, she dug the fingers of her free hand into the rough pebbles of the beach, keeping her other arm around Rob. She gulped air frantically when the wave retreated, then held tight as another wall of water engulfed them.

They had to get higher. In the calm between waves, she pushed to her knees and looked around. There was just enough light to show that they were on a narrow crescent beach with steep stone walls around them. Rob lay on her right, apparently unconscious and with a dark smear of blood oozing down his forehead.

“Rob, we have to move!” As another wave splashed over her, she shook him hard. “We have to get above the waterline. I’ll try to help you, but I can’t lift you alone. Another wave is coming. Try!”

As the wave swept in and pushed them higher, she pulled at Rob’s shoulder to lift him up. He lurched to his hands and knees and struggled forward, holding her tight as the water pulled back. Again. Again.
Again.

Finally they were above the crashing waves. They both folded onto the pebbled surface and panted for breath. Rob was dazed and silent, but at least he could move. The rain had finally ended and the sharp wind was clearing clouds from the moon.

Able to see better, Sarah scanned their surroundings, hoping they weren’t trapped in this cove like rats in a barrel. Ah, a path angled up the rocky cliff face! If they could make it to the top, they should be able to find shelter. Though they had survived drowning, the cold and wild night could be just as lethal.

“Rob, there’s a path up the cliff. If I help, can you climb?”

He didn’t speak, but he struggled to his feet. She guided him to the bottom of the path. He still seemed barely aware, a result of being banged on the head when protecting her. She hoped his ability to understand her and move forward meant the damage wasn’t too serious.

He began climbing, his right hand skimming the cliff wall for balance. The path was too narrow to walk side by side so Sarah followed, ready to steady him if he lost his balance, though that might mean they’d both fall since he was so much larger.

She was so tired and numb that she was halfway up the cliff before she realized that she was barefoot. The clawing waves had dragged off her socks. Yes, Rob was also barefoot. Her feet would be bruised and bleeding in the morning. She wouldn’t mind, as long as she was
warm.

After an endless interval of exhausted climbing, they reached the top of the cliff. Sarah folded onto the wiry sea grass and gasped for breath. She would never,
never
wish for adventure again.

Rob stayed upright, though he was weaving. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw not a cottage, but a looming Gothic castle straight out of Mrs. Radcliffe’s alarming tales. But the building was close and lights were visible inside. Sanctuary. She sent up fervent thanks as she struggled to her feet again.

Moving to Rob’s side, she draped his arm over her shoulders while she encircled his waist. “Shelter from the storm, Rob. Just a few steps more.”

He mumbled what sounded suspiciously like a curse, but started walking toward the castle. Though perhaps stumbling was a more accurate description. Step, step, step, step. If she stopped moving, she’d never get going again.

They entered the castle grounds through a wide, open gate set in a ragged stone wall. The wall had been mined for stone over the centuries, but it still provided some protection from the wind.

Now that she was closer, she saw that the building wasn’t a real castle, though it had turrets and towers. The underlying structure appeared to be a sprawling stone manor house that had been altered to look like a castle during the craze for all things Gothic. No matter, as long as someone was home to let them in.

The path led to the side of the faux castle and ended at a wide stone staircase leading up to a massive double door. Hoping there was a knocker, Sarah dragged herself up the half dozen steps. She wasn’t sure who was supporting whom, but at least she and Rob were moving forward together.

There was indeed a knocker, a massive snarling beast so heavy that it took both of her hands to wield it. She bashed the ugly thing into the wooden door as hard as she could, which wasn’t all that hard. But she heard its boom echoing inside.

No response. She hammered on the door again, wondering if it would open before she or Rob collapsed. He was still silent, his head bent and black-looking blood trickling down his face and neck.

The door creaked open and an immaculately dressed butler regarded them with disgust. “Beggars are not admitted to Kellington Castle.” His gaze flicked to their bare feet. “Continue down the road to the village. There’s a workhouse there.”

Sarah stared at him. “We’re not beggars! We survived a shipwreck and we desperately need shelter.”

In answer, the butler started to close the door. Rob stepped through the doorway and pushed the servant out of the way before guiding Sarah inside. He slammed the door shut with a force that threatened to rock the stone walls. The entry hall had been decorated in a grand style several decades earlier with a double staircase sweeping down before them, but the chamber looked faded and worn now.

Rob scanned the hall. “Bloody
hell.
”

With a small sigh like a punctured bellows, he slowly folded onto the cold marble floor and curled up on his side, unconscious. Alarmed, Sarah dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse in his neck. Yes, it was there and steady. He was just battered and exhausted.

Looking up at the scowling servant, she said, “For heaven’s sake, bring something warm to drink and some blankets! Better yet, have him taken to a room where he can be cared for properly. Do you want a man dying in your hall because you refuse to help?”

Before the servant could reply, Sarah heard a tapping sound. She looked up to see a white-haired woman dressed all in black. With a cane in one hand and ramrod straight posture, she advanced down the left-hand stairs. From the richness of her dress and the arrogance of her expression, she was an aristocrat and part of the family that occupied this great pile of stone and history.

“What is all this clamor?” she snapped as she reached the bottom of the stairs and tapped her way across the room.

She stopped short by Rob, her expression appalled. Lifting her cane, she used the tip to shove Rob’s shoulder hard so that he rolled onto his back.

With oozing blood and several days’ growth of beard, he was a fearsome sight, but even so, the woman’s reaction was extreme. “Robert,” she said with acute distaste, “you’re supposed to be dead.”

What was
wrong
with these people? Invigorated by anger, Sarah scrambled to her feet. “You know him?”

“Oh, yes. This disreputable rogue is Robert Cassidy Carmichael. My grandson.” The old woman’s thin nostrils flared. “The Earl of Kellington.”