Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  She excused herself from Mr. Lee and ran to her uncle’s aid in the circular room. She found him leaning heavily upon the spiral railing, the other hand on his cane.

  “Uncle!” She rushed to his side, raising his arm around her shoulders and helping him down the remaining steps. “You should not have been up there.”

  Beads of sweat trembled on his brow. “We both did what was necessary.”

  “You could have watched the light from the sitting room, though, as I said earlier.”

  He spoke between heavy breaths. “If the lamps would have gone out, I would never have been able to make it in time to relight them. Not before another ship passed by, at any rate. I am just glad I was finally able to be of some use.”

  Abigail held her tongue. Uncle Ellis may have behaved foolishly, but she knew his fall had not only caused injury to his knees, but to his pride, as well.

  They crossed the room, and he winced.

  “Well, you will certainly suffer the consequences of the climb come morning,” she said, “but thank you for your help. The storm has lessened some, so you needn’t return upstairs. I will refill the lamps when the others have gone.”

  “How many are wounded?”

  They reached the sitting room, standing in the doorway and peering within at the sailors. Uncle Ellis removed his arm from around her.

  “Fifty or so,” she replied, “but most of them remained on the beach. Only nine of them were worse enough to require shelter here. There were very few casualties, as well, compared to what we have seen before.”

  “They must have a good captain then.”

  Abigail thought of Captain Kendricks, of his gaze fixated on her— and of his mistaking her for a boy. “I suppose.”

  Three raps sounded against the front door, and she moved to open the call. “Sit by the fire, Uncle. I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a moment.”

  She opened the door. Light from behind her poured outside and illuminated the handsome face of the captain.

  Her stomach did a strange turn. “Captain Kendricks, do come in. Your men are just through here.” She pulled the door open wider, allowing him passage.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”

  Yes, it was certainly too late to correct him now. “Of course. You will find—”

  “Abigail?”

  She and the captain faced Uncle Ellis as he joined them in the hallway.

  “Uncle,” she said, “allow me to introduce Captain Kendricks. Captain, my uncle—”

  “Kendricks?” Uncle Ellis interrupted. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer. “Gavin Kendricks?”

  Abigail glanced between them. Her look of bewilderment matched the captain’s until recognition dawned in his eyes.

  “Ellis Moore?” he said. “I never thought I would see you again.”

  Abigail’s surprise grew as the gentlemen embraced.

  With the captain’s back turned toward her, she noticed for the first time the dark red blood on the back of his upper left arm as it hung limply at his side. The wound had to be as large and painful as the stain suggested. Why had he not come up straightaway with the others who were injured?

  “How have you been, sir?” Captain Kendricks asked as the men pulled apart.

  Abigail had to take a step to the side to avoid being tread upon. She crossed her arms with an impatient sigh.

  “Very fine, indeed,” Uncle Ellis responded. “Living a life of peace.”

  “So it would appear,” the captain said.

  Abigail took another step to the side, tapping her boot on the floor. Still, she remained unnoticed and in the dark as to how they knew each other.

  “I have seen your name listed with other keepers before,” Captain Kendricks continued. “I do not know how I’ve managed to overlook the fact that it was you. Especially as I heard you funded your own lighthouse years ago. I never believed that to be true until now.”

  Uncle Ellis chuckled. “Yes, it is true enough. As mad an ambition as it was, I have never regretted it. This lighthouse truly is my life.”

  Abigail narrowed her eyes at her uncle. It had been some time since she had heard him speak in such a way.

  Only then did she take note of the change in his blue eyes. They were shining brighter than they had in months.

  A frown puckered her brow.

  “And what about you?” Uncle Ellis asked. “Captain of your own ship? Your parents must be very proud.”

  A moment passed by before the captain responded, his voice softer than before. “I thought you would have heard. They both passed away ten years ago.”

  Uncle Ellis’s face twisted with grief, and Abigail forgot her irritation at being ignored. “No, I had not heard. My dear boy, I am so sorry. I fear I lost touch with your father after I came to Cornwall. They were the best of people, your parents.”

  “I am inclined to agree with you, sir.”

  Silence hung in the air between them, and finally, Uncle Ellis’s attention fell on Abigail.

  “Oh, forgive me, my dear.” He beckoned her closer. “You recall me speaking of Mr. Kendricks, my friend from Gloucestershire? This is his son.”

  Abigail sidled past the captain in the narrow hallway to stand next to her uncle. She recalled Uncle Ellis mentioning the name once or twice. The two gentlemen had gone to school together, and when Mr. Kendricks had grown and married, Uncle Ellis had set forth to explore England.

  “Captain Kendricks,” her uncle continued, “this is my niece, Miss Abigail Moore.”

  So, she was Miss Moore, then. He eyed her auburn hair twisted into a chignon. Wavy tendrils—still moist from the rain outside—framed her face in a disorderly manner. He could finally appreciate her without that cap on her head, and in the warm candlelight of her home.

  Now the proper accent she spoke with made perfect sense. She was the niece of a gentleman, no doubt the daughter of a gentleman.

  “It is a pleasure, Miss Moore,” he said with a bow.

  The woman bobbed a curtsy in silence. She stared at the floor. She still could not be upset about his mistaking her for a boy, could she?

  Gavin glanced to her uncle, still reeling at seeing his father’s old friend. “I must tell you, Mr. Moore, we are indebted to your niece. Not only did she guide my men safely to shore by her light, but she also rescued me and my first lieutenant from drowning in the sea.”

  Gavin expected her to be flattered by his praise, but he was instead treated to a look of irritation.

  Blue. Her eyes were blue and framed with dark lashes—and appeared rather menacing as she scowled up at him. But, why did she scowl?

  Gavin finally understood when her uncle whirled toward her, nostrils flared.

  “Abigail Moore, what were you thinking?”

  “Uncle, I assure you, I took care.” The woman shot a threatening glance at Gavin, as if to warn him to keep his mouth shut about how perilous the waters truly had been. “I merely set forth upon the sea, retrieved the captain and his mate, and returned to shore.”

  “I’ve told you before,” Mr. Moore said, “I do not like you to do this. Suppose the wind had changed, or a wave had driven you straight into the rocks?”

  “It didn’t, Uncle. As I said—”

  “If I may interject…” Gavin said.

  They turned toward him. He knew he might be overstepping his bounds, but he had to say something.

  After all, he was the reason the woman had ventured forth on the sea in the first place.

  “Mr. Moore,” he began, “I fully understand your concern over your niece’s decision. However, I must say that I owe her my life. If she had not reacted so selflessly and courageously, I would not be standing before you now.”

  Mr. Moore scratched at his chin. “I suppose I cannot be too angry then. Abigail, I trust you will exercise more sense in the future?”

  Her lips thinned. “Of course, Uncle. So long as the next captain exercises more sense than to crash his ship beneath a lighthouse.”

  Abigail
regretted the words the moment she said them. Yes, she was upset that the captain had ousted her boat excursion to her uncle, and that he had thought she was a boy. But she was more distressed with Uncle Ellis’s reaction to Captain Kendricks’s presence. There was a time when she had been the one to convince her uncle to change his mind so readily, to get him to speak enthusiastically. And now this captain—this near stranger—had that effect when she did not? How could that be so?

  Still, her insecurities were not the captain’s fault. She knew she ought to treat the man with more kindness.

  “You are wounded, sir,” she said, speaking to the captain and motioning to the sitting room. “You must allow your surgeon to look after you. Mr. Lee?” She waited for the man to join them in the hallway. “Captain Kendricks has a wound at the back of his left arm.”

  Mr. Lee moved behind the captain with squinted eyes. “I’ll see to it directly, sir.”

  “No, care for the others first,” the captain said.

  Abigail glanced into the sitting room. Two of the men remained unbandaged. “I can do more than gather clean rags, Mr. Lee. Allow me to cleanse the wounds of the remaining sailors while you see to the captain.”

  But Mr. Lee shook his head. “No, miss. This is sordid business. A great deal of blood. I shouldn’t like you to grow faint.”

  Her pride prickled. “I am perfectly able to remain upright at the sight of blood, sir. I assure you.”

  “It is true enough,” Uncle Ellis chimed in. “My niece has helped clean wounds on many sailors. She is more than capable.”

  Abigail raised her chin and stared pointedly at Mr. Lee, but the man still looked uncertain.

  “Well, I, for one, do not need further convincing.” All eyes fell upon the captain as he took a step forward. “Miss Moore may look after my wound until you are finished with the others, Mr. Lee.”

  Abigail’s stomach became a mess of jumbled nerves. She had intended to offer her help with the other sailors, not the captain and the broad shoulders she was trying very hard not to notice.

  Mr. Lee lowered his voice, leaning in toward his captain with a wary glance at Abigail. “I really think I ought to be the one who tends to your wound, Captain.”

  Abigail pulled a face. She was really starting to dislike this surgeon.

  “I should like the other men to be seen first,” Captain Kendricks said. “I trust Miss Moore. After all, she has already saved me once this evening. I’m certain she will treat me with the utmost care again. Will you not, Miss Moore?”

  The candlelight flickered in his dark brown eyes. To be perfectly honest, she was not entirely certain she could help the captain with his wound. Her hands seemed to tremble at the mere thought of touching him. But as Mr. Lee regarded her dubiously, she raised her chin. “Yes, I will.”

  The surgeon plodded back to the sitting room, and Abigail tried not to appear too smug. Her vanity disappeared, however, when she noted the captain’s eyes still upon her.

  “Why don’t you situate yourself in the dining room, Captain?” she said, motioning to the room across the hall to distract him.

  “Yes, there will be more room in there,” her uncle agreed. “I should like to continue our conversation, Captain, but I think I ought to lie down for a moment.”

  His hand quivered as he leaned his weight on his cane, and Abigail chided her lack of consideration. “Allow me to help you, Uncle.”

  “No, you can see to the captain.”

  They watched him walk away, using both the wall and his cane for support before she gestured again for the captain to go to dining room.

  As he entered the room, Abigail gathered a few rags and retrieved a thin blade from Mr. Lee—the surgeon handing it over with a begrudging look. After she poured a bowl of hot water from the pot warming over the kitchen fire, she entered the dining room. She found Captain Kendricks attempting to remove his shirt, his waistcoat and cravat already draped over the back of a chair.

  She set her supplies on the table just as his left arm dropped to his side, a groan of pain and frustration escaping his lips.

  “Would you like me to help you?” she offered.

  “I would be grateful. Thank you.”

  Abigail walked toward him and tugged first at the wet fabric of his right sleeve. He wiggled his arm free after a few stifled grunts. She moved around him, lifting his shirt up and over his head before holding the fabric away from his wound. As she did so, her fingers grazed his back, and she pulled back with a start.

  He peered over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Your wound,” she lied. “It is deeper than I thought it would be.”

  She lowered her hand, wiggling her fingers to remove the tingling sensation his skin had caused. Careful not to touch him again, she raised the fabric past the injury and down his left arm.

  “How did you acquire the wound, Captain?” she asked, desperate to distract herself from his bare, muscular back.

  “It is as you said. I did not use any sense and led my ship to crash upon the cliffs.”

  Abigail ducked her head, hiding her blush as she stepped around him. “I should not have said that before. I only did so because you told my uncle I was out in the boat.”

  She crossed the room and draped his wet shirt over the back of a chair near the fire.

  “In my defense,” he said behind her, “I didn’t know you wished that information to remain undisclosed.”

  She turned to see him rolling out his arm with a wince, and her breath caught in her throat. The intimacy of the situation again struck her as she stood alone with the half-clothed man in her home.

  What was the matter with her? She had seen plenty of sailors in the same state of undress as she had tended to their wounds. Apart from the captain’s impressive physique, attractive features, and warm, brown eyes that always seemed to be studying her, why should this man affect her any differently?

  “If you take a seat, we may begin,” she said, waving one hand toward the table as she focused on her supplies.

  His chair creaked as he sat down sideways, his back facing her.

  Thankfully, the sight of his wound soon distracted her from the muscles working in his back and arms as he shifted.

  Well, it almost distracted her.

  She sat behind him, allowing the firelight to shine on his wound. The injury was deep, a jagged circle open on the back of his arm. Dark blood caked the surrounding skin, and small pieces of wood lodged far into his flesh.

  As a young girl, during the first shipwreck Abigail had ever witnessed at Golowduyn, the sight of such mutilation had made her nearly faint. But after years of practice—and refusing to allow herself to dwell too much on what she was doing—she had grown accustomed to tending to such wounds.

  She leaned in close to the captain’s back and began her efforts, intent on finishing so Mr. Lee could find nothing of which to complain. She slid a finger down the side of his wound to see how easily the blood would wash off, ignoring the feeling it produced on her skin again. This was work, after all, and she would treat it as such.

  “Are you cold, sir?” she asked when she noted the chills upon his flesh.

  He cleared his throat. “No, indeed.”

  She eyed the back of his head curiously before submerging a rag in the hot water. “I will do my best to take care, Captain. But this may hurt.”

  Her fingers burned with the heat of the water as she squeezed the rag over his wound. His muscles twitched in protest, but he made no further movement.

  “You are certain you are all right doing this?” he asked.

  Abigail tore her gaze away from the droplets sliding down the ridges of his arm. She used her free hand to press a dry cloth beneath the wound to catch the excess blood and moisture. “I have already said that I am.”

  “I only ask because I do not wish to cause you any discomfort.” He spoke with his head turned to the window, light from the fireplace dancing on his profile. “Most ladies would shy away from the tasks
you have taken part of this evening.”

  She wiped away the remaining blood around the wound and dropped the rag in the bowl. “I suppose I am not like most ladies, then.”

  She cringed at the word. She did not consider herself a lady any more than she considered herself a boy. She was a female lighthouse keeper. And that was enough.

  Slow footsteps slid across the floor near the doorway, and she looked up to see the wounded lieutenant from the boat appear before them. His arm was in a sling and his face was void of color.

  Abigail went straight to his side, holding his good arm and leading him toward the nearest chair. “You must sit before you fall over, sir.”

  He settled in his seat. “Do I know you, miss?”

  “Miss Moore is the woman who saved us,” Captain Kendricks explained as she resumed her place behind him. “Miss Moore, this is Lieutenant Harris.”

  “Woman? But I thought a…”

  Abigail’s head was down, but she did not miss the subtle shake of the captain’s head toward Lieutenant Harris, clearly warning him to end his words.

  “Well, we are indebted to you, miss,” the lieutenant finished.

  Abigail retrieved the surgeon’s knife from the table. She decided to ignore the two men until they could learn to recognize a woman when they saw one.

  With the tip of her knife, she fished out the first splinter near the edge of the cut. The captain flinched.

  “We truly are fortunate to be alive,” he said after a slow release of breath. “You made a remarkably selfless choice to have risked your life in such a way, Miss Moore.”

  Abigail focused on a particularly stubborn splinter in his back, willing the red in her cheeks to fade away. “It is simply my duty to help the sailors whom our light has failed.”

  Captain Kendricks glanced over his shoulder. “Your light did not fail the Valour.”

  “If that is true, Captain, then how did you come upon the rocks of Dulatha Cliffs?”

  He glanced to Lieutenant Harris, who appeared even paler than before.

  “Because,” the captain began, “we believe a revolt occurred with a small number aboard the ship tonight.”