“The smaller boat is full, Captain,” the lieutenant said, coming up behind Gavin on the quarterdeck. “We will have to wait for the other to return.”
Gavin released a slow breath, crossing the deck to look over the bulwark at the frothing waves below. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. “I am happy to wait, if that ensures the safety of the others.”
He glanced to the rocks, silently waiting until he caught sight of the small boat disappearing into the darkness.
“I’m sure they will return soon, Captain,” Lieutenant Harris said, leaning against the bulwark beside Gavin. “And when they do, I shall find myself a fine Cornish pasty—even if I must go begging for it.”
Gavin glanced at him sidelong, noting the mischief shining in the lieutenant’s eyes. He had seen the look countless times in the five years they’d known each other, starting out together as lieutenants in their early-twenties.
Directly after the many storms and battles they’d experienced at sea, Harris had always had a remarkable ability to cheer up those around him—to help them forget their troubles, if only for a while—by either talking of food or women.
Gavin had always welcomed the distraction, and that moment wasn’t any different. After all, he could do with forgetting the fact that they both stood onboard a ship that could turn over in the rocks at any moment. With the rest of his men safe, he found avoiding his apprehension to be rather difficult.
“I can taste it now, sir,” Harris continued, as if he did not notice the waves still battering the ship, nor the flames licking at the bow. “Filled with enough beef and potatoes to satisfy me for weeks. Like when we were stationed in Falmouth years ago. Do you remember?”
The ship creaked. Gavin clasped the edge with his right hand. There was still no sign of the returning boat. “Yes, I recall you eating so much you could hardly fit into your breeches the next day when meeting our new captain.”
Harris smiled. “Well, I had to eat my fill. I knew the quality of the food we’d be eating soon and needed to—”
A wave burst over the ship’s edge, pouring over the hull and ending Harris’s words as both he and Gavin were swept from their feet.
Gavin rolled to his stomach and grasped onto a broken beam just within his reach, holding tightly until the water ran over the starboard side.
He coughed, expelling water from his lungs. “Leave it to you to distract us with talks of food, Harris,” he wheezed. He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “Harris?”
His eyes darted around him, and his chest caved in. “Harris!”
Gavin blanched, running to the edge of the ship where he saw the lifeless body of his friend face-down in the water and draped limply across a broken plank of wood.
“Man overboard!” he bellowed, though he knew no one could hear him. His gaze was fixed on the lieutenant, but he could see from the corner of his eye that no boat had yet returned to the Valour.
Knowing better than to take his eyes off of the injured man for a single moment, Gavin moved his hands about him, feeling around for something, anything, that might help.
Finally, his foot thudded against something solid. He used the tip of his shoe to raise the object—a rough, thick rope piled nearby—into his hands.
Ignoring his protesting wound, he tore off his blue captain’s jacket and unraveled the rope, visualizing the amount he required. Once he knew the length of the line would suffice, he tied one end to the railing and the other around his waist.
He kept Harris’s shadow in his eyeline and prayed the man would remain above the water.
After securing the knots, Gavin climbed atop the edge of the bulwark and steadied himself. He eyed the waves below and drew in a deep breath, jumping as far as his legs would allow.
He sailed through the air. The wind tore at his sleeves, the rain stinging his cheeks, until he plunged into the cold, unforgiving sea.
* * *
Abigail sucked in a breath. “No!”
Her heart stuttered. She had been scanning the ship for other survivors when she’d spotted the man plummeting into the sea. And now, she could no longer see him amidst the churning waves.
She pulled the telescope away from her eyes and looked to the opposite end of the beach. The larger boat was just reaching the shoreline—sailors dragging the wounded toward the sand—and the smaller boat was not too far behind it.
Abigail was certain neither of them could have seen beyond the rocks to witness the sailor’s fall, nor would they be able to return to the ship before the man inevitably drowned.
But she had seen him…and she could reach him in time.
If she navigated through the rocks—rather than around them as the other sailors had—she would arrive at the ship in half the time, allowing the sailor a better chance at survival. The way was dangerous, but did she have any other choice after her own lighthouse had failed to keep the man safe?
Without another thought, she untied her small boat and heaved it toward the sea. She glanced over her shoulder at the wreckage. A constant barrage of waves crashed into the rocks, the flames illuminating the water nearby. Had they flooded the magazine before abandoning ship?
Fear slid its icy fingers around her throat, and she paused when she reached the first of the waves, water swirling around her boots and seeping into her stockings. Her boat was not powerful, nor was Abigail stronger than the churning waves. Would she even stand a chance with no lantern to guide her, amidst such rocks and stormy seas?
She gave a quick shake of her head. No, she would not cower. Not then.
Not while a sailor’s life was at stake.
She jumped into the boat, and with her back to the shipwreck, she rowed out against the waves. The oars scraped on stone as the water pushed her closer to the rocks. Her arms burned with the exertion, but she pressed on, her eyes constantly darting behind her, desperate for any sighting of the man in the water.
As she neared the stern, a faint shout rose above the waves. She looked toward the sound in time to catch a glimpse of the sailor’s hand waving above a large trunk floating in the water.
A surge of energy pulsed through her veins, and she pushed through the sea. “I am nearly there!”
Her limbs begged for respite, but she refused to stop. Rain and seawater stung her eyes. The smell of burning wood permeated the air.
“Here!” the voice called above the wind and water. “We are just here!”
“We?” she questioned. She had only seen a single body disappear into the water. Was there another?
At last, her boat bumped up against the trunk that the man clasped to with one arm. She secured the oars and looked over her shoulder to see, sure enough, two men floating in the water.
“Take him,” the first sailor commanded, holding his unconscious mate above the waves. “Careful of his arm.”
Abigail held onto one side of the boat for leverage as she grasped the unconscious man’s shirt, helping to hoist him over the edge. His body fell limply at her feet.
She reached to help the other man over, but his head was lowered as he untied the rope around his waist, the line stretching to the ship’s railing above. Was this the man she had seen falling? She had not noticed the rope before. Had he dived down to rescue the other?
A large wave dropped over them. Water splashed across her lap and over the unconscious man’s body. She gripped onto both sides of the boat.
“Here!” shouted the sailor in the water, finally unfastened. “Give me your hand, boy!”
Abigail’s fingers froze in midair. But before she could pull back, the man grasped her hand and heaved himself up, landing in the boat with a thud and a grunt as he grasped his upper arm.
The moment he was secure, Abigail pulled away, scowling as the three of them swayed unsteadily in the water.
The flames lit his face, his dark hair dripping water across his striking features. He traveled the length of her dress, past her jacket, then up to her face.
When his eye
s widened, Abigail knew he had finally seen her.
Chapter Two
Gavin watched as the woman before him grasped the oars and rowed away from the wreckage around the outer edge of the rocks.
“You are not a—”
“No, I am not,” she spat out without a single glance in his direction.
“No.” He stared in shock at her features—high cheekbones, curved lips, round eyes.
“If my being female is unsettling for you,” she said, shouting above the sound of another wave splashing across their laps, “I will take this sailor to shore and leave you here at the mercy of the sea.”
Gavin shook his head. He tore his gaze away from the woman to focus on the lieutenant moaning at the bottom of the boat. He moved his feet around him, pressing a hand against Harris’s chest and securing his head with the other.
“How is he?” the woman asked.
“His breathing is strong.” He looked to the distended bone misshaping Harris’s arm, dark blood covering his sleeve. “But he is wounded.”
“Are there other men out here?”
Gavin eyed her jacket and cap. “We were the last two on the ship.”
He was startled at her strength—despite her slight figure—as she led them through the water. He ought to offer his help, but with his left arm causing him even greater pain after his dive, he knew he would only hinder their progress. Besides, she seemed to be doing very well on her own.
The lieutenant moaned below, and Gavin hunched over him. “Harris?”
The lieutenant’s eyes flashed open. His brow pursed, and panic promptly took over. He thrashed about the boat, shouting in agony as he moved his arm.
Gavin reached for him, grasping the sailor’s shoulder and struggling to keep him down. Waves splashed against the boat, spraying water across their faces. “Stay still, Harris.”
“Stop his moving!” the woman shouted.
“Do you not think I am attempting to do that, miss?” Gavin glanced at her sidelong, still trying to gain control of his friend’s delirious state.
With an exasperated sigh, the woman reached forward. Gavin moved back as she grasped both sides of Harris’s face.
“Sir?” she said, her tone soft in contrast to how she had spoken to Gavin. Instantly, Harris stopped, focusing on the woman above him. “I am Abigail Moore. You mustn’t worry now. I will keep you safe.”
Gavin wondered at the proper way in which she spoke. After all, the locals he’d come across during his previous stops in Cornwall had always boasted strong accents.
But he set aside his musing, staring as much as Harris did, both of them apparently in a trance as the woman, Miss Moore—or perhaps Mrs. Moore—continued.
“You have hurt your arm, sir,” she continued, resting a hand upon his chest. “You must be still while I row you to shore. Then I will find you the help you need. Do you understand?”
Harris blinked mutely. His breathing leveled, and he closed his eyes. “Yes.”
The woman straightened and took the oars once more. Harris settled back in the bottom of the boat, a grimace on his face, though he remained still. Gavin stared at the woman, wondering who she was and what she was doing rescuing sailors in the midst of a furious sea.
* * *
Abigail pursed her lips.
A boy. How could he have thought she was a boy?
She knew the darkness had played a contributing factor, as well as the sailor being distracted with saving himself and his mate. And then there was the glaring fact that her hair was tucked away, hidden beneath a boy’s cap.
Still, the mistake had stung. Was it so difficult to imagine a female could know the rocks and the sea around Golowduyn as well as any man? Or was she more upset about the fact that she had not appeared feminine enough to be seen as the woman she was?
She knew she should not care. After all, she wasn’t there to impress the sailors with her beauty and elegance.
She was there to rescue them.
Regardless, she did not know of any woman who would be happy in the knowledge that someone had mistaken her for a boy.
She glanced to the sailor as he leaned forward, keeping his injured mate’s head from bouncing against the side of the boat as the relentless waves carried them up and down.
His white waistcoat and breeches, the same as his companion’s, signified their higher ranks—lieutenants, by the looks of them. They had been the last men aboard the ship. Did that mean the captain hadn’t survived?
She glanced over her shoulder at the approaching shoreline. One of the boats was headed in their direction before slowly curving back to the land. They must have spotted Abigail’s boat with the lightning still flashing overhead.
Before long, shouts upon the beach reached her ears as the other survivors ran toward the boats. She marveled at the number of men who had survived. And there were even more nearer the cliffs.
She jumped down into the knee-high water as the men helped her pull the boat securely onto the sand.
“Fetch your surgeon,” she instructed.
One sailor ran in the direction of the group that had taken shelter near the rocks. The rest of them remained in front of Abigail, staring wide-eyed at her skirts and cap.
She pulled in her lips and sighed through her nose. She obviously needed to help the simpletons realize that she was, indeed, female. She removed her cap, and a few curls fell around her face before the rain flattened them upon her temples.
Perfect. Now the men only stared more.
“I must speak with your captain,” she said before she could concoct another way to make them even more baffled. “Did he survive?”
A few of them exchanged looks. One of them stepped forward. “Sir?”
Abigail balked. Sir? Could they not see the dress she wore? Did they not see her long hair pinned up? Surely the light of their lanterns had revealed her sex to them.
“I am not a…”
She paused when she noted the sailor’s eyes focusing over her shoulder. She turned to see a few men lifting the wounded officer from the boat then carrying him up the beach.
But her eyes were drawn to the other man she had saved who remained behind.
He stood to his full height, his wet shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, his breeches tightly fitted around his calves and thighs.
“You are the captain?” she asked with a quirked brow to the man she had saved.
“I am.” His voice, no longer muted by howling wind and waves, was deep and rich. “Captain Gavin Kendricks of the HMS Valour.”
The captain himself had been the one to jump from his ship in order to rescue his lieutenant? Abigail attempted a look of indifference. She could not show how impressed she truly was with the man’s boldness. Not while she was still upset about his mistaking her for a boy.
She turned toward the other sailors on the beach. “How many of your men have perished?”
“Have we a number, Lieutenant Johnson?” the captain asked, coming up to stand beside her.
She became acutely aware of their proximity and took a sidestep away from him.
Another officer standing nearby answered Captain Kendricks. “We have sixteen men so far unaccounted for, sir.”
Sixteen. It was a relatively small number, compared to how many men must have been aboard the ship—no doubt more than two hundred. Even still, the number eddied in Abigail’s mind. Golowduyn could have saved them, so why had it not? Was it her fault, or was it the captain’s?
She glanced toward him. His shoulders had visibly fallen, the lanterns revealing his gaunt expression. Some of the captains she had encountered had not even bothered to feign sorrow at the news of their crew members’ deaths.
To his credit, Captain Kendricks looked genuinely distressed. Her distaste for the captain slightly eased.
“St. Just lies east of here,” she said, the heaviness of the loss still hovering around them. “You may find lodging there that should satisfy your needs for shelter for the night.”
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She scanned the sailors farther up the beach, her eyes falling upon a man in shackles sitting down in the sand and guarded by two broad-shouldered men. She wondered what he had done to be secured in such a way. “Golowduyn is small, Captain, but we can accommodate the worst of your wounded until they are well enough to travel themselves.”
“I must thank you and your husband for your generosity, Mrs. Moore,” the captain said.
“Oh, I’m not…” She looked away. What did it matter if she corrected him? She would have no need to speak with him again. “You may have your surgeon send the wounded up directly. I will make ready for them.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”
She blushed but remained silent at the misnomer. Giving a simple nod, she walked away without a glance back, though she felt his eyes on her until she disappeared into the darkness.
Abigail had planned to get straight to work the moment she reached the lighthouse. But when her uncle was nowhere to be found, she knew he must have gone to the lamp room. If he had even made it up the stairs, that is.
She rang the bell at the bottom of the staircase to alert him of her arrival, setting aside her frustrations. She knew Uncle Ellis would need help coming down, but her duty to the sailors was not yet complete.
After changing into a simple, but dry, work dress, she went about gathering rags, pushing aside furniture, and setting up spare cots with blankets.
Just as she finished seeing to a large fire in the sitting room hearth, a knock sounded at the door. She allowed the men inside, and soon, the room was filled with the low murmur of sailors’ voices as they tended to their wounded mates.
Mr. Lee, the ship’s surgeon, accepted Abigail’s offer of help. She kept busy, applying bandages and keeping up a steady supply of rags and boiled water.
They tended to Lieutenant Harris’s wounds first before moving to a scowling young man, no more than seventeen.
“I know you’re angry, Myles,” Mr. Lee said as he cleaned the large gash on the boy’s forehead, “but there is no need to be upset with the captain. Not after he’s saved so many of us, including your brother.”
Behind The Light 0f Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 3
