“You’d best come over to the upper deck steps, my Lady,” Connell said. “Then you’ll have something to hold and you won’t trip any of the lads up.”
“Lads?”
Connell winked at her. He strode over to a perfectly normal door in the bulkhead and opened it. He leaned in and yelled, “Sails up! All hands on deck! Move your sorry souls!”
Eleanore heard startled exclamations and the sound of feet landing heavily. Then, running steps.
Cian caught her arm and drew her toward the bulkhead, too. “Here,” he said, tucking her against the wall, up against the side of more flat steps up to the rear deck. “Take the rail as you need to.”
From the door through which Connell had bellowed came a dozen hardy men, all in shirt sleeves and barefoot. They swarmed over the deck and climbed the pegs on the three tall masts, up into the rigging, or untied ropes wound about pegs on the sides of the ship.
“You’re not staying here, too?” she asked, as Cian removed his jacket.
Cian paused. “Would you prefer I stay here?”
Eleanore eyed his shirt sleeves. “Are you going to…sail, too?”
“I’m going to help with the rigging and the ropes, yes. I don’t have to, although all hands make it go faster.”
“I would like to see you do that,” Eleanore said honestly. She held out her arm. “Here, I’ll take it.”
Cian laid his jacket over her arm, then removed his tie and collar and cuffs. He dropped the pins into her hand. “Best put those in your reticule,” he suggested. “If you clutch too hard you’ll puncture your hand.”
He bent and removed his shoes and stockings, then unbuttoned his waistcoat, too. He straightened and raised his brow
Eleanore ran her gaze over him. “If my uncle saw you now, he would cry convict at the top of his voice. You look reprehensible, Cian.”
“Then it is as well he isn’t here.” He strode across the deck and murmured to Connell, who watched the crew moving about the deck. Connell jerked his chin toward the front of the ship and Cian moved toward the bow, stepping over coils of rope without glancing at them.
Eleanore’s eyes widened as he gripped the pegs on the front mast and climbed quickly, as if he had done it many times before.
At the top, he moved out along a rope strung from the mast to the end of the boom, holding onto the boom. The front mast was the taller of the two and Cian was up extremely high. Eleanore’s heart beat with more than just her own peculiar fear.
He was not the only man standing on the rope. Another man balanced on the same side, while two others hung on the other side of the mast. All of them tugged and unraveled ropes bound about the white sail, which was crimped and tied to the boom.
Other men walked along the bowsprit and unfurled huge triangular sails.
The square sail which Cian worked upon dropped from the boom with a snap of canvas. Men waiting beneath hauled on ropes which brought the bottom boom in tight against the mast. The sail billowed out, filling with air.
The boat shifted and shuddered and Eleanore clutched at the handrail, her breath gusting.
“Gang plank away!” Connell called.
A man ran up the steps she had taken one hesitant level at a time and shoved the gang plank onto the wharf. He had to lean to do it and Eleanore realized the ship had drifted away from the dock.
The ship slid forward, the wharf moving away from them. It was so slow it was imperceptible at first. The only sails rigged were the square sail Cian had unfurled and the two triangular ones at the front of the ship. They were rather small sails, in her opinion, and she found their size reassuring.
The deck felt perfectly solid and steady beneath her, too. She kept her grip on the handrail, anyway. Her heart was working far too hard, although the sick feeling had eased considerably. It was fascinating watching the men climbing the rigging and working with the ropes. They seemed to know exactly what each other was supposed to do. Even Cian moved smoothly among them.
When she had last been on a ship (that ship, her mind whispered), she had been sent to her cabin and told to stay out of the way. It had been too cold to stay on the deck, anyway.
The ship eased out across the flat, mirrored surface of the river. The water was dark green and placid, and only the smallest of winds drove them slowly through the water. None of the wind powering the sails touched Eleanore, tucked up against the deckhouse. The sun was warm on her face.
Connell stood at the wheel, steering the ship through the many other ships anchored in the river. Then he spun the wheel and the ship turned slowly into a wide channel between all the others. Ahead of the bowsprit, beyond the edges of the sails there, Eleanore could see an ancient castle sitting up on a high headland.
It was Pendennis castle, built by King Henry VIII. She remembered Cian’s descriptions of the castle and the times he and his family had explored the interior.
The Natasha Marie was still not moving fast, although the pace was steady. The deck did not tilt either.
Cian jumped lightly to the deck and came over to her. He pointed to the castle on the headland. “Beyond the castle is open water, Eleanore. We can turn around, if you wish, or keep going.”
Eleanore shook her head. “If we return, then I must do this all over again. Please, can we go out there?”
Cian considered her. “There are waves out there,” he said gently.
She drew in a breath. “Yes, I know.”
Cian nodded and turned to Captain Connell. “Open water, please, Captain.”
“Very good, my lord.” Connell pointed toward the bow. “Mainsail, if you please, Mr. Williams.”
“Yes, sir,” Cian replied. He hurried to the main mast, where three other men were unfurling a huge sail. There were more sails dropping and spreading and filling with wind, all over the ship. Some were square, others were triangular. They were all huge.
The ship picked up speed. The water slapped and rushed against the sides.
The deck tilted. Just a little.
Eleanore drew in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening even more around the handrail. She clutched it with the other hand, too. Cian’s clothing slid off her arm and dropped to the deck.
As the castle slid by on her right, the first tendrils of the wind which was a constant on the open sea brushed her face.
Eleanore hugged the rail, shivering.
Nothing else happened. The ship cut through the water with soft shushing sounds. Sometimes the sails slapped, or a rope snapped against the canvas. The wind played against her damp forehead, cooling it, but that was all.
The sun continued to shine. The deck stayed almost horizontal and did not dip and yaw.
Eleanore made herself let go of the handrail with one hand, so that only her closest hand gripped it. Her breath ran faster than it should, although her heart was not knocking against her chest the way it had a few minutes ago.
She looked around for Cian. He leaned against the back end of the bowsprit, where it was anchored to the deck, his arms crossed. He watched her.
The rest of the crew were also not scurrying around quite as fast and busily as they had been.
Eleanore looked upward. Overhead were yards and yards of white canvas and blue sky. The sails were all full, taut and smooth.
She dared to look at the water itself, spread out on either side of the ship. The land was falling away from them, so the sea became the only thing around her. There were waves, but they were insignificant. The ship ran as if they were not there.
“What do you think, Captain?” Cian said. He had moved from the bowsprit to the wheel, while she watched the waves.
“A steady run before the wind, my lord. Then a jib into it to turn us around and a simple tack back to harbor,” Connell said.
Cian nodded. “We should turn before all sight of land is lost. Thank you, Captain.” He came over to Eleanore and studied her.
She managed a smile. It was small. “This is not quite as bad as I thought it would be,” she
confessed.
Cian’s smile was warm and just as small. “No sea voyage could ever be as bad as you remember,” he said. “Yours was the worst storm of the century, they say. You are the only known survivor and for a year we thought you had been lost, too. Nothing could replicate that, Eleanore, except in here.” His finger touched her temple.
“I still see it,” she told him. “Even now. The great walls of water rising up around me, lifting me up, then pushing me down beneath the surface…” She swallowed. “It was black. And cold. And the wind howled. Except when the lightning flashed. Then everything turned silver.” She shuddered.
“Shh…” he breathed, his hand cupping her jaw. “That is gone, now. It is over, and you survived. That is your personal victory.” His hand fell away. “Look around you. It is not at all black, today. There are no walls of water.”
She did look. The water was a pretty green-blue color and the late afternoon sun bounced and sparkled on the surface. The wind against her face was warm. The heat of the summer day was easing, although it was not yet cold. Even the water looked warm.
“Ahoy! Dolphins!”
Cian’s smile grew. “Do you have the courage to walk to the bow?” he asked her, holding out his hand. “There is something you should see.”
Eleanore wasn’t sure if she had courage at all. She was safe, tucked up against the steps. Surely, she had braved enough today?
Cian picked up her hand. “Come and see.” He tugged.
She took the step, still gripping the handrail. The deck was solid beneath her feet. She took another, which forced her to let go of the rail. She clutched at Cian, her heart leaping once more.
“I have you,” he assured her, his arm coming around her back.
The firm feel of his arm allowed her to keep walking. Cian led her around the wheel and the big mast, which was wider at the base than some of the big oaks on her family’s estate in Durham.
There were three men leaning over the bow, looking down into the water. Another sat on the bowsprit itself, his feet hanging out over the water as he peered between his knees.
“Excuse me, lads,” Cian said.
“Lady coming through,” another murmured.
Instantly, the men stepped aside, clearing space at the front of the bow.
Eleanore clutched at the heavy railing, which was reassuringly wider than it looked from afar.
Cian stayed at her back. “Look down at the water,” he told her.
Eleanore willed herself to look. She could hear the water chugging against the bow and splashing up against the hull. Looking out upon a sparkling flat sea was different from peering down into the depths of the water.
She drew in a deep, deep breath of air, then deliberately dropped her chin and looked…only to gasp out her breath in delight.
There were three great, gray fish racing in front of the bow of the ship, just beneath the surface of the water. They stayed precisely ahead of the bow. “Those are dolphins?” she asked, amazed.
“They are,” Cian confirmed. “Watch!”
“I’ve heard about dolphins,” she said. “I’ve never seen one before. How marvelous they are!”
Then one of the dolphins leapt out of the water in a high arc which raised it nearly as high as the bowsprit. Its tail flipped and the gray body trailed streams of water, before it dived cleanly back into the sea.
As it entered the water, the other two also leapt and dived.
“Oh, how wonderful they are!” Eleanore breathed. “They swim so fast!”
“Dolphins are good luck,” a sailor said diffidently.
“Heard tales of dolphins helping shipwrecked sailors back to land, too,” said another.
The dolphins seemed to appreciate the compliments. They leapt in unison and they appeared to smile, for they opened their mouths beneath the blunt noses, as they flew through the air.
Then, abruptly, they dived deeper and were gone.
Eleanore clutched at the railing. “Where did they go?” she cried, disappointed.
“Barometer dropped, Captain!” a sailor cried from close by the wheel.
Cian drew in a sharp breath and whirled to look at Connell.
Eleanore clutched his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her heart plummeting.
“Wait,” Cian breathed softly.
Connell frowned. “Jones! Mast top—look ahead!”
“Sir!” One of the sailors leapt for the main mast and climbed up the pegs with a slithering motion which made him look like monkeys Eleanore had seen once at the Royal Zoological Gardens. He paused at the top and peered out ahead of the ship.
“Squall clouds ahead!” he cried.
“Are they moving?” Connell shouted back.
While they waited for Jones to answer, Eleanore’s heart thudded frantically in her chest. She didn’t know what squall clouds meant. She didn’t like the way everyone had stiffened and grown wary, though.
“We’re directly in its path!” Jones cried.
Cian closed his eyes.
“Cian…?” she whispered.
Cian pulled her into his side and put his arm around her once more. “We are about to run into some…” He hesitated. “Wind and rain,” he finished.
Eleanore clutched at him, her strength draining. “A storm!”
“No, not a storm—not like the one you remember,” he said quickly. “This is a squall. They’re fast and they’re over quickly, but…” He turned her so she faced him and lifted her chin. “It will feel like the storm you remember,” he said softly.
She trembled.
“All hands! Come about!” Captain Connell shouted, as he hauled on the wheel, turning it until it would turn no farther. “Mr. Williams! Report!”
Cian moved down the deck, bringing her with him. Eleanore couldn’t have let go of him, anyway. She was not sure she could remain on her feet without his support. In her mind, she could already feel the wind and hear its roar.
“Captain?” Cian said.
“Take the lady to my cabin. Lock everything down, including yourselves. We will ride this out with a short sail and hatches battened. Go.”
Cian’s arm did not move from around her back until he reached the door in the bulkhead. While she clutched the railing once more, he bent and picked up his clothes and shoes and bundled them in one arm, then guided her through the door and down the steps into the belly of the ship.
Each step felt as though she was descending into hell.
Chapter Ten
Cian pulled her along a narrow passage and turned into an equally narrow doorway. The room beyond was cramped, the roof low. Built against the wall, below the porthole, was a narrow bed with railing along the edges. A colorful blanket covered it. On another wall was a big, sloping desk which held maps and writing paraphernalia. The desk had low railings around the edges, too. A sea chest sat against the third wall.
There was no chair.
Cian shepherded her toward the high bunk bed. He put his bundle of clothing on the desk, then turned her and put his hands around her waist, lifted her and put her on the bed.
“What are you doing?” she breathed, clutching at the railing as he lifted her feet and turned her so her boots were upon the blanket.
He swept up the rest of her skirt and petticoats and tucked them behind the railing. “You may want to lie down,” he told her.
“Cian?”
“I have to close everything down,” Cian said, moving fast. He leaned over her and swung the thick glass porthole cover closed and wound the bolt on the side until it was tight. He stroked her cheek. “I will be back as quickly as I can.”
Eleanore made herself not call out to him as he left. In her mind, she heard the roar of the wind and felt the tilt of the surrounding sea. She looked out the porthole where blue sky met green sea yet could barely see it for the darkness in her mind.
Then she saw the cloud. The boat was turning, coming around. She saw what laid ahead of them. The squall.
The cloud
was a wall of white, low in the sky and beneath it, reaching down to the seas itself, was dark gray, verging on black.
Eleanore covered her mouth to hold in any sound she might make as she stared at the angry darkness. Her feet twitched, for the desire to run away from the approaching black was overwhelming.
The crew on the deck above were shouting and running. The great canvases flapped, too.
The bunk beneath her straightened and became level once more, instead of canting to one side. The ship had been turned. Now it was running in front of the storm. The squall.
Her heart was beating in her throat. In her mind she saw the bruised clouds chasing the ship.
Cian came back into the room, still moving fast. He shut the door and turned a latch at the top of the frame, which dogged it shut. He whirled to the desk, swept his clothes onto the floor and recapped the inkpot. He pushed pens and nibs into the drawer beneath the sloping desk. Books, papers and anything small and loose was also shoved into the drawer or the cupboard beneath.
“The ship has slowed,” she whispered.
Cian nodded. “It’s running under one small storm sail—just enough to keep us moving and pointing into the wind, so we’re not broadside to wind-driven waves.”
She didn’t understand what he meant. It was too difficult to think, right now. “Have you been through squalls before?” she asked.
Cian looked at her. “Yes, many,” he said. “Sea squalls are as common as salt, especially in the tropics.”
“Why do you seem afraid, then?”
“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I am hurried, though. Squalls move fast. It will be upon us in a matter of minutes, now. Move over, Eleanore.”
“Excuse me?”
He picked her up, a hand under her knees and the other under her shoulders and lifted her over to the far side of the bunk, so she was up against the wall beneath the porthole. The sky was still blue out there although the sun no longer glittered on the sea.
She shuddered.
Cian swung himself up onto the bunk, stealing her breath. He settled beside her. There was barely enough room. His long length filled the bunk from top to bottom, and he took up more than half the width.
Rules of Engagement Page 10