Behind The Light 0f Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Every sailor knows what to expect if he assaults his captain.” Gavin ran his fingers over the knuckles of his right hand—the fist he’d used more than a week before to lay Sanders flat on the floor before the drunken man could land a punch of his own. “Has his brother been kept away from him?”

  Sanders’s younger brother, Myles, had dutifully followed his brother aboard the ship their entire voyage. Gavin was sure the boy would do anything for his elder brother. And that was what worried Gavin the most.

  “We’ve tried, Captain,” Lieutenant Harris said, clearly hesitating. “When the storm began, Mr. Perry was ensuring the lanterns were extinguished below, and he saw Myles near the orlop. He sent him back up, but…the boy may have spoken to his brother without notice during the chaos.”

  “Then he was able to move up to start the fire on the gun deck without notice, as well. No doubt under his brother’s direction.” Gavin wiped the rain from his face. “I should have removed them both from the Valour the moment I saw them. Ensure Myles remains at his post until we reach Penzance. He mustn’t…”

  A low creaking interrupted his words. The ropes of the anchor cables squeaked as they stretched. Gavin narrowed his eyes. The sound was not one he recognized when a ship was moored. It sounded almost as if…

  He glanced back to Harris, the officer’s eyes widening with alarm before a loud crack pierced the air. The ship lurched forward, swaying to one side. Harris fell against the bulwark as Gavin stumbled a few paces back.

  “The anchor!” Gavin shouted. “Harris, secure the foremast before it is compromised. And find Baring to flood the magazine!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Before the lieutenant disappeared down the ladder, another snap cracked the air. The second anchor. How did both cables break so quickly? The ship jittered forward again, and Gavin held out his arms to steady himself. The glow from the lighthouse flashed in the corner of his eye.

  “Ready the final anchor!” he commanded.

  “Captain!”

  Gavin crossed the main deck to where his second lieutenant crouched down by the cable.

  “What is it, Lieutenant Johnson?”

  “The hawser, sir. It was cut, deliberately.”

  Gavin hunched down next to the lieutenant, eying the thick ropes twisted together, each slashed halfway through. “This explains why the other cables did not hold.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Johnson leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you think it was…”

  Gavin gave a sharp nod. “I’ve no doubt.”

  That must have been why Myles was found near the orlop, the boy was cutting their only link to safety. Gavin’s stomach hardened, his neck stiff. The boy must have cut the cables before the storm worsened, then lit the fire when most of the crew was lowering the anchors.

  Disgust filled him. The plan stunk of the elder Sanders. Of course the man did not care what happened to those aboard the Valour. After all, he was sure to hang once they reached Penzance. But did he not even give a thought to his younger brother? And how had he managed to convince Myles to go along with it?

  “What are your orders, Captain?”

  Gavin stood up from the cable. He could no longer dwell on the Sanders brothers. Not when his ship was filled with more than two hundred good and able men he needed to protect.

  “Lower the final anchor,” he said, “if only to provide us with a moment longer of safety away from the shores.”

  As the third and final anchor plummeted into the sea, Gavin returned to the quarterdeck. Mr. Clamp grasped the wheel, attempting to maintain control of the ship.

  Gavin moved to his side to help.

  “What are we to do, sir?”

  Gavin attempted to look where the ship should have been heading, but his eyes inevitably focused east through the rain.

  Golowduyn’s outline was now clearly visible, even through the darkness. Destruction and death awaited them, should they collide with Dulatha Cliffs. That much he knew.

  But was a death upon the rocks any worse than the powder magazine catching fire, the foremast collapsing into the water, or the ship capsizing?

  No. He knew what needed to be done. And he would have the courage to do it—if only for his men.

  “Do you plan an attempt to beach, sir?” Mr. Clamp asked, his voice tense. He had no doubt seen the look of determination on his captain’s face. “You know those cliffs as well as I, Captain, and the sailors who have perished there before.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said, “but if we stop the Valour from reaching the larger rocks, and the bow makes contact with the smaller ones first, then the magazine will fill faster.”

  Not all of them would survive the impact, but at least most of the crew would be saved from being blown apart.

  Mr. Clamp drew in a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

  “When I give the order,” Gavin said, “release the helm.”

  He planted his feet apart. His muscles strained from the pull of the wheel. They watched, waiting as the ship neared the strengthening light.

  They were nearing the end of their journey. They would have reached Penzance by morning. How had things turned so suddenly? He should not be fighting for the safety of his men. He should be anticipating the feel of the land beneath his feet. He should be writing a letter to his brother below in his cabin. He should be wondering what he would do after retirement.

  But now, none of that mattered. He had spent so long at sea, searching for a purpose to his life, a purpose he had been unable to find.

  Would his career end that evening? Would his life? He knew the Valour was lost already. But he feared how many of his men would fall—how many of his men he had failed.

  The lighthouse towered before them. “Brace!” he shouted, pushing aside his regrets and apprehension. “Brace for impact!”

  He nodded to Mr. Clamp, and together, they stood back.

  The helm spun rapidly in the opposite direction. The boat responded with a broad, swinging movement toward the rocks. Gavin craned his neck, watching as the lighthouse loomed above them—the final image before the sounds of crumpling wood shook the air.

  Gavin flew back, slamming sideways against the hull as the starboard side near the bow splintered to pieces. His hat flew over the edge of the ship. A sharp pain pierced through the back of his upper arm, and he growled through clenched teeth.

  He tried to remain upright, but the searing ache in his arm caused his knees to buckle. Falling forward away from the bulwark, he felt a release of pressure as something slid out from within his arm.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a splintered piece of wood sticking upright behind him, his own blood dripping from the tip of it.

  He pushed himself up from his knees on the quarterdeck, wincing as he moved down the steps. He willed his mind to focus on what occurred around him, rather than the burning in his arm.

  “Ready the boats! See to the wounded!”

  Gavin stared at the chaos around him as the Valour settled farther onto the protruding rocks. Waves reached over the hull. Water flowed across the deck.

  His gaze shifted from the sailors helping their injured shipmates to beyond the swaying foremast, where smoke billowed from the ship and headed in the direction of the lighthouse glowing above them.

  * * *

  The words blurred on the pages of the book Abigail read. Her eyes drifted to a close. Her head sank low, but a sensation of falling soon jerked her awake. She opened her eyes to find herself still seated at the edge of a cot.

  “Wake up,” she said, tossing the book down onto the small bed and patting her cheeks as she stood.

  She glanced up through the small, latched door in the ceiling of the watch room to see the lamps of the lighthouse still aglow. Then she approached the window that overlooked the blackened sea.

  Her stomach growled. She reached toward the small table close by for a piece of her leftover dinner—a slice of bread and a piece of cheese—and chewed the crust through a yawn.
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  Rain slid down the glass, hindering any clear sight. She moved back and forth to see past the droplets. She made for another piece of bread, but her hand paused midair when she caught sight of something rising above the cliff’s edge.

  She leaned forward, and the blood drained from her face. “Oh, no.”

  A flash of lightning lit the sea, and she could no longer deny the smoke blowing toward the land, nor the tips of the masts at the bottom of Dulatha Cliffs.

  “Uncle!” she cried out. She ran to the door, ringing the large bell that hung on the wall nearby. “Uncle, there has been a shipwreck!”

  With the sounded bell still reverberating in her ears, she snatched a few hairpins and a boy’s cap from off of the table, pinning up her locks and placing the cap firmly on her head as she flew down the steps.

  “Uncle Ellis!”

  “Abigail? Is it a shipwreck?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. At last he was awake.

  “Yes,” she replied, sliding her hand along the railing as she took the steps two at a time. Her head spun with the spiraling staircase. “There is smoke coming from the wreckage. I must show the survivors the safest way to shore.”

  “No, I forbid it,” her uncle said at once, his voice sounding above her boots clanging against the iron stairs. “Abigail, you cannot go out into such a storm. Not again.”

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and soared past him without a glance. “We cannot shirk our duty. I will take care, Uncle.”

  She reached the front door and pulled on a small jacket, ignoring her uncle’s frustrated grumblings as he followed behind her. She knew he cared for her safety, and she did not like to disobey him, but they both understood their obligations as keepers.

  He extended a glowing lantern to her with a grunt.

  “I will return soon,” she said, retrieving the light. “Watch the lamps from the sitting room while I’m away.”

  She did not await his response before she charged forth across the grass and into the wind and rain, praying Golowduyn would remain lit so her uncle would not have to climb the stairs to relight the lamps—for she did not know if he could do either one.

  She heaved open the door to the stables, and her blue roan knickered, sticking her head over the stall door.

  “Come, Glastaish,” Abigail said, hooking the lantern securely on the wall. “We must ride swiftly tonight.”

  She secured the bridle and sidesaddle on the horse and pulled her outside, using her free hand to hold the lantern out in front of her. With the mounting block, she settled in the sidesaddle then urged Glastaish forward.

  “Take care, Abigail!”

  She looked over her shoulder to see her uncle’s silhouette in the doorway of their home. She raised her lantern in parting and rode across the dark cliffside.

  Rain splashed against her face, blurring her vision. She loosened her hold of the reins, allowing Glastaish to find the safest ground as they rounded the ridge and reached the pathway that led to Golowduyn Beach. The horse slid down the steep, sandy slope before racing south, away from the lighthouse and Dulatha Cliffs.

  Abigail pulled her to a stop when they reached the large rocks at the far end of the beach. The mare snorted beneath her, stomping her hooves on the sand.

  Abigail held the lantern aloft, slowly moving it from side to side, praying the sailors would know that following the light would lead to their safety.

  Her eyes scanned the dark waves coming in one after the other. There was no sign of a single boat. They could still be trying to fill them…unless, of course, there were no survivors at all.

  Her morbid fears impelled her eyes to focus on the shipwreck. In an instant, she wished she hadn’t.

  Orange flames lit the ship leaning up against the rocks. The masts and yards teetered back and forth, the sails whipping wildly in the wind, having no doubt become loosened in the storm.

  A mere six months had passed since the last shipwreck had occurred on Golowduyn’s shores. Over sixty men had perished due to the raging storm and a captain who chose to sail too closely to the land.

  Was that the reasoning behind the shipwreck this night? Or had the seas simply taken control of the vessel? Either way, Golowduyn had failed them—she had failed them. But she would do everything in her power to rescue any who survived, just as she had done before.

  She pulled her attention back to the sea, waiting anxiously for the sight of any survivors. Her arm began to tremble, the blood draining from her hand as she continued moving the lantern in the air.

  Finally, a single boat emerged from behind the farthest rocks. Its own light hovered just above the water as it made headway, despite the choppy waves. Her muscles tensed until the boat changed direction, moving farther south, away from the protrusive rocks.

  They had seen her warning. She released a constrained breath, relief overcoming her.

  Soon, another, larger boat emerged. More survivors. Were there additional men on the ship for whom they would return? She glanced back to the wreckage. She needed to know, to prepare herself if these boats held all who had survived.

  She reined Glastaish closer to the rocks, tucking the lantern into a crevice between two large boulders. After ensuring it would not fall—and the light remained visible to the boats progressing slowly across the water—she urged her horse across the wet sand.

  When they reached the north end, she tied Glastaish near the bottom of the cliffs and ran to the small boat that was secured out of the water’s reach. A small bag was tucked under a wooden plank. She rummaged past spare fishing line and a few seashells before her hand settled on cold metal.

  There it was. She pulled the old, nearly-rusted telescope out of the bag and peered through the glass with her right eye. Focusing on the damaged ship, she could easily count twenty men on the upper deck. There had to be even more below deck, working the bilge pumps and flooding the magazine. How many of the crew were wounded, though? And how many had already suffered death?

  A weariness pressed on her heart, a familiar feeling of fault she experienced each time she did not prevent a shipwreck from occurring. After all, that was why she looked after the lamps in the first place—to ensure the safety of sailors. What was she doing if she could not even protect them?

  She moved the telescope to the south end of the beach where the boats finally reached the shoreline. Men jumped into the waves to clamber the rest of the way through the shallow water, allowing the boats to return to the ship faster. Abigail would have offered her own boat to aid in their rescue, but her small vessel could barely hold two bodies. She knew she should be riding to them already, offering them shelter at the lighthouse or directions to the nearest town. But she could not leave the sight of the ship. At least, not until she was certain no one had been left behind.

  She fixed her telescope once more on the ruins. Men clung to halyards and railings to prevent falling into the sea as the waves slammed against the hull. Wood snapped, the sound cracking through the air and driving fear into Abigail’s heart. Even still, she knew what she felt was nothing compared to the sailors’ unease waiting aboard the ship for the return of the boats.

  * * *

  The main deck rumbled beneath Gavin’s feet as the Valour leaned against the rocks. They were taking on water too quickly. The boats would need to hasten if the rest of the crew was to survive. Gavin’s wound had morphed from a dull ache into a pulsing throb with each movement he made, but he could not keep still, not while his men needed a captain.

  After ensuring the sailors still worked away at the pumps, hoping to prolong the life of their already sinking ship, Gavin returned to the main deck.

  He had no idea the number of men he’d lost in the bedlam of the storm and the collision, and he struggled not to dwell on the fact that they might have all been spared if he’d had the foresight to shackle not only Sanders, but his younger brother, as well.

  The only problem was, he had yet to see the boy, Myles, that evening. In fact, no o
ne he’d spoken to had seen Myles since the onslaught of the storm. He could have perished already, for all Gavin knew. But Sanders…he still lived.

  Gavin turned toward the ladder to the quarterdeck where the man stood in shackles, Lieutenant Johnson diligently watching over him.

  The manacled seaman’s cheekbones were sunken in, and his face held an impassive, uncaring expression—despite the destruction around him.

  Gavin strode across the deck, maintaining his gaze on Sanders, though the man did not look up at him as he approached.

  “Lieutenant Johnson,” Gavin said, “ensure Sanders takes the last boat with you. And keep him away from his brother. Myles will be better off without this sorry excuse for a family in his life.”

  Sanders’s eyes slowly rose, and the look within their dark depths would have chilled Gavin to his core, had he not been just as angry himself.

  The man lunged forward with a growl of fury, and Gavin brought up his arm to stop the attack, flinching as his wound shot a stabbing ache through his muscles.

  Lieutenant Johnson pulled Sanders back before either of them could make contact with the other.

  “You will face the consequences for what you have done tonight, Sanders,” Gavin said through clenched teeth, using every last shred of his power to prevent himself from serving justice to the man right there aboard the Valour. He pointed his finger in Sanders’s face and spoke each word with clarity. “As will your brother.”

  Sanders sneered, swearing at the captain before Gavin tossed his head, and Lieutenant Johnson pulled the seaman away.

  Gavin drew in a deep breath.

  He could not wait for the moment he would finally be rid of the Sanderses—both of them.

  As the night wore on, Gavin lost count of the number of times the boats had returned and left, each filled to its capacity. His mind dwelled on the men who lay wounded around him. He did not yet know how many had perished, and though he prayed the number was not great, his sense told him to prepare for the worst.

  Slowly, the crowds of sailors thinned, and he and Harris were the only ones left on board.