Dark Prince

by Eve Silver

  “Truly, I am fine.” To prove her point, Jane crossed to the window and shoved it open, breathing deeply of the cold air. She stared out, thinking, brooding. The earlier sunshine had faded with the lateness of the hour. A thick blanket of darkening clouds moved inland, pewter edged with bruised purple and blue. Damp, cold air enveloped her and made her shiver. The mizzling rain and brooding sky promised worse to come.

  Penny hovered at her elbow making small sounds of distress. Turning, Jane laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Go and fetch the water, Penny. You see I am quite well. It was the dust, nothing more. Just the dust.”

  The maid studied at her for a long moment and then nodded. “I’ll be bringing Clarey with me when I return,” she said. “And I’ll not hear another word about it.”

  Desperate to be alone with her thoughts, Jane nodded and turned back to the window. She heard the slosh of water as Penny lifted the bucket, and the sound of her feet tapping a rhythm as she walked away.

  The shadows lengthened as Jane held her place, staring out at the increasingly agitated ocean. As the sky grew darker and darker still, so did her thoughts of men dead, of a woman with her eyes gouged from her skull, of ships and wrecks, of Wenna and her sons and Hawker and Dolly, and at the center of it all, Aidan Warrick.

  The eye of the storm.

  Jane was about to turn away from the window when a tiny flicker caught her eye, on the coast far to the north. It winked and blinked and then disappeared, and she wondered if she had truly seen anything at all.

  She looked again to the ocean. The wildness of the waves increased and they rose high before crashing against the rocks. And then she gasped and jerked forward, splaying her fingers against the glass, for there in the midst of the furor she did see a light, bobbing and weaving like a drunken man, tossed hither and yon by the churning water.

  There, against the gray and foaming sea, was the shadowed outline of a hull, the dark masts reaching to the heavens and the tiny light lurching with each swell. Caught in the storm, a ship was rapidly being forced closer and closer to the treacherous coast.

  Her gaze swung back to the north. Had she seen a light there on the shore, a wicked, treacherous, false light? A wrecker’s light? Was it the storm or human perfidy that lured this ship to its doom?

  The expanse of shore that stretched away from the village and the sharp outline of jagged rocks that peppered the bay were blanketed by the thickening darkness, but she knew they were there. The teeth of the beast, ready to grind any that ventured close.

  Her pulse galloped. She spun and rushed from the room in an awkward, listing lope, desperate to find help, to send up a hue and cry. That ship was bound for the rocks, bound for destruction.

  They would die. They would all die, taken by the frigid, sucking depths.

  She stumbled along the hallway. For an instant, she thought her leg would buckle. Not now. Not now. She hurried forward with great, lurching steps that sent shards of agony shooting from her knee.

  Calling for help, Jane slid clumsily down the long flights of stairs, her fingers scrabbling at the balustrade. More than once she thought she would fall. As she careened onto the landing, she staggered, crying out. Strong arms closed about her, steadying her.

  She found herself held in Aidan’s sure grasp. His hair was damp, the strands darkened by the rain. He must have just now returned from whatever business had taken him away.

  “Are you hurt?” he demanded with harsh urgency. He pegged her with a hard stare, his fingers tight about her arms.

  Gasping for breath, she stumbled over her words. “A ship—” Her chest felt tight, as though bound by iron rings, like a keg of ale. “I saw it from the window. I think... I think it will break upon the rocks!”

  Aidan’s eyes darkened, the pupils dilating, and his jaw tensed. “Are you steady now?” he asked, easing his grasp on her arms.

  She nodded.

  He dropped his hands. “I’ve sent Hawker to the village to sound an alarm.”

  Already? How had he known?

  The wrecker’s light she thought she had seen on the north coast… Had there been enough time for him to carry that light and still be here now? No. No. Surely not. And how could she think it?

  She didn’t. Not really. But Hawker...

  “We’ll save those we can,” Aidan said. His expression was coldly determined, so controlled she thought he might crack. He looked down at her, his eyes gray as the stormy waves. Her stomach clenched.

  She had never seen a ship break apart, but she had heard the heartrending stories. The Johnkeer Meester had gone down in inky darkness somewhere off the Mullion cliffs. At dawn, the bodies of the sailors had washed ashore, and two women, and a newborn baby. The Abigail had foundered between Lizard and Gunwalloe, in full sight of a score of men who tied themselves together and struggled to reach her. All were lost, including nine rescuers who were there battling the waves one moment, and simply gone the next.

  Aidan was going out there, to save those he could.

  Dear God, he might never come back.

  Knowing too well the aching emptiness of loss, of regrets and wishes for just a single moment more, she did not hesitate. She rose on her toes and put her mouth to his, uncaring of any who might stand watching.

  “Come back,” she whispered as she drew away.

  Come back to me.

  Something dark and deep flickered in his gaze, something she could not fully interpret. Touching his fingers to her lips, he studied her with fierce concentration and then he nodded once. He turned and sprinted across the hall, and soon, Aidan and a contingent of servants were heading out into the storm, into the night, to try to save those lucky few who might survive the wreck.

  Chapter 12

  Unable to stand by and do nothing, Jane bid the maids gather blankets and baskets of food.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” Penny cried tearfully. “Sorry it took me so long to get back. I was looking for Clarey and she was nowhere to be found. She—”

  “Hush now, Penny. ’Tis of no matter. But can you run and fetch my cloak, my old scarlet one from my chamber?” Jane glanced at her feet, knowing the maid would be quicker.

  Penny hurried off and as soon as she returned they rushed from the house and heaved themselves into the last wagon leaving Trevisham, loaded with blankets and baskets hastily packed by the cook. The way was treacherous, great waves crashing over the causeway as they passed. The rain and sleet pelted down upon them, soaking them in a matter of moments.

  They rode on until they reached the start of a narrow path where the cliff descended sharply to the shore. Here they stopped, climbed from the wagon, and then made their way to the stretch of beach.

  The sound of the breakers was a terrible roar that slapped the night with fury. Around her, Jane could see the men of Pentreath scrambling down the cliff path. Careless in their haste, they sent pebbles and loose earth tumbling before them. She turned her gaze to the ocean, to the great crashing fists of water that snatched up the ship then cast it about like a child’s toy. Unable to look away, she watched in appalled fascination as one wave, larger than the others, caught the dark hull and flipped it effortlessly on its side against the jagged teeth of the rocks that hid beneath the churning foam.

  The wretched squeal of splintering wood and the crack of timber tearing asunder carried across the water. Then the foundering hulk rose high on the crest of another wave, and for a single shining moment, Jane thought it would right itself, would roll upright with its long thin masts pointing to the sky.

  Her hope was dashed. With a dreadful noise, the ship simply crumbled to pieces like a house of cards. She pressed her forearm against her belly, her horror nearly sending her to her knees. Above the howl of the wind she thought she heard the terrified cries of those who were thrown into the water, tiny specks, clinging desperately to the splintered wood. They floated and sank, then popped up like apples in a bobbing tub at the Launceston fair.

  “Save
those you can!” Aidan’s gravelly voice carried above the storm. “Tie yourselves together and reach those you can. No man goes into the water without a rope about his waist.”

  She whirled and watched him stalk along the beach. It appeared he was assigning groups to work together at set tasks, donning the mantle of leadership as easily as he might don his coat.

  Lengths of rope appeared and men looped themselves together in groups of eight or nine. A lifeboat rowed out, but it was no match for the tempest’s rage and was quickly hurled back against the shore.

  Again and again they tried, and after a long while, Jane saw the specks floating closer. The same waves that bashed at the lifeboat were carrying people who clung on to scraps of wood closer, and closer still.

  Aidan stood waist deep in the pounding surf, and others waded into the surging tide after him. Careless of the danger to himself, Aidan took a step deeper into the churning water, reaching for the form of a man sprawled across a jagged shard of wood. Catching him by one arm, Aidan dragged the survivor to safety, handing him off to those closer to the shore.

  Men went into the water, roped together, then came out to warm themselves as another team took their place. So it went for hours, sodden fragments of wood bobbing and dipping with the whim of the sea, one or two carrying a battered sailor, but most washing up on the beach barren of both burden and hope.

  A horse nickered, and Jane turned her head to see a wagon rolling toward the beach, coming from the north. It carried a lamp, the yellow glow a moving beacon. She found the sight disturbing, conjuring memories of the light she had thought she saw hours past, and of Dolly and her insistence that weeks ago she had seen a light to north, an evil light, a wrecker’s light.

  Jane stared at the wagon. Two men sat on the bench, but the distance was too great for her to see more than that. She wondered who they were, and why their pace was so easy and slow. ’Twas as though they were watchers of this terrible scene, making no effort to speed their way to the beach and help in the rescue. All her earlier suppositions and unease clamored and clanged as she thought of Dolly and Wenna and Digory Tubb, and too-fine china and ships and wrecks.

  She shuddered and her gaze swung back to the dying ship. She wanted to believe this wreck was no work of wicked men, but a terrible accident of nature.

  The rain eased and finally stopped, and some of the men managed to build a large fire in the center of the sandy stretch of beach, bringing dry peat and some wood down from the cottages. They hauled the survivors closer to the flames, where Jane and Mary—the barmaid from the Crown Inn—and some other women set to warming them with borrowed blankets and words of encouragement. Jane tucked a blanket around a pale and shivering man, and spoke with him for a time, wishing she had news of those he asked after.

  “Would you like to go up to my cottage?” Mary offered. “The distance is not terribly far. You can be warm and dry”—her gaze flicked to the horizon, and back—”and away from here. They’ll come and tell you the way of things, you can be sure.”

  Hollow-eyed, the sailor shook his head and murmured a polite refusal. “I’m m-m-meant to stay,” he said, huddling beneath the blanket. “At least to pray, if I can do naught else.”

  To pray, yes, for those who washed ashore, both living and dead. And for those whose lives were at risk. Jane’s gaze raked the waves, searching for Aidan. He was there, chest deep, a step farther than any of the others, and the sight of him eased her heart some small bit.

  Suddenly, a hand clamped on her shoulder and she spun to find her father standing at her back. With a cry, she flung herself against him, and if he did not cling to her, well, displays of great affection had never been his way. She breathed in the familiar smell of ale and tobacco, and then stepped back.

  “You look well, Janie girl.” He sounded... angry.

  “I am well.” She studied him, noting that his coat was damp from the earlier rain, but his breeches were dry. He had not been in the sea with the others. “Do not fear for me, Father. Aidan Warrick is no cruel master. In truth, he treats me more as guest than servant.”

  Gideon’s face turned cruel. “Aye, heard exactly how you’ve been treated.” He spat on the ground near her feet. “Joss Gossin had a word or two to share.”

  She felt all color drain from her face in a cold wash, and then a slap of heat as she flushed. Her father thought her Aidan Warrick’s whore. She opened her mouth to protest, to explain, but a loud cry made her turn.

  Another man was pulled, alive and spluttering from the white, frothing tongues of water that sucked at him. Jane turned back to her father with a smile, buoyed despite her distress, only to find that he had walked off and left her standing alone. She swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat. What were her petty hurts and hardships in the face of this night’s horrific loss? There would be time enough for her to feel sorry for herself later, and to feel sorry for the venom spread by rumor.

  Frowning, she wondered when her father had had occasion to speak with Mr. Gossin. The New Inn was a goodly distance away.

  Something nagged at her, some oddity, but she could not place it. She let the thought go as she watched the men fight the waves and the cold.

  A large slat of wood drifted toward shore, a distance away from the rescuers. Clinging to it was a white-faced woman, her dark hair streaming wild and loose down her back. She clutched a bundle beneath one arm.

  Dear heaven, a child.

  Jane stumbled forward, hand outstretched as she watched the woman struggle to keep hold of both her precious bundle and the lifesaving timber. Suddenly, the child slipped from her grasp, and she gave a desperate cry, her face contorted into a mask of horror as the child sank below the waves.

  A desperate mother. A drowning child. The crashing waves.

  “No!” Jane yelled. She lumbered forward and almost dove into the surf herself, but knew that she was no match for this storm. Raising her arms, she waved and called out, desperate to catch the attention of one of the men in the water.

  As though attuned to her cry, Aidan turned toward her. His eyes met hers, and he followed her gaze to the foundering woman who pitched this way and that and slapped at the water in a growing frenzy. Her mouth worked, again and again, but the ocean stole her cries.

  Something flashed in Aidan’s hand, catching the flicker of the flames on the beach. His knife, the one he wore always in a sheath on his leg.

  With movements sure and quick he sliced the lifesaving rope that held him to the others. He bent low into the waves and dove, the water crashing over his head. Heart pounding, Jane held her breath until he surfaced once more.

  She watched him fight the thundering breakers, holding his balance against their wrath as he slogged forward. She wondered that he made any headway at all in the face of the water’s hammering strength. Then, as he reached the woman’s makeshift raft, he disappeared beneath the frothing sea. Jane’s heart pounded a frenzied tattoo, her gaze riveted to the place he had been.

  Come back. Come back to me.

  He had nodded in reply, in tacit agreement both to the words she said aloud, and those that stayed locked in her heart. Oh dear heaven, do not let him break his word.

  Do not let him leave me.

  Come back. Come back to me.

  She was dimly aware of the villagers who dragged the desperate woman from the sea, holding her back from flinging herself into the waves in search of her child. Her heart with Aidan, Jane rushed forward and wrapped the woman in a blanket.

  Too long. Aidan and the child both had been under far too long. Jane’s heart lurched with a pain sharp and pure, a fear so great she thought she would fly apart from the terrible honed edge of it.

  OhGodOhGodOhPleaseGod.

  As though in answer to her prayer, Aidan surged from beneath the waves, a tiny bundle clutched in his arms. The child made no sound, no movement. Jane shuddered, her frame wracked by trembling that came from the cold and the fear and the horror, and she wanted to rail and weep at the de
ath of an innocent. Tears snaked down her cheeks, of grief and despair, and of a secret swell of joyous relief at the sight of Aidan, wet, bedraggled.

  Alive.

  He dragged through the water and others stepped forward with arms outstretched to take the drowned child. He shook his head, and turned his shoulder to them. The mother was wailing now as her legs gave way beneath her, a high-pitched keening that tore at the ragged edges of Jane’s own control.

  Turning the child face down over one arm, Aidan wrapped him in what appeared to be a tight hug. With a sharp jerk, Aidan squeezed the child’s chest, then released, repeating the movement again and again. The mother’s cries grew ever more frenzied, a howling pain that carried out to be swallowed by the roar of the waves.

  And then the child coughed, spewing water in a high arc through the air.

  The mother’s wailing stopped abruptly, as though someone had plugged a spigot.

  “Oh, may God bless and keep you!” the woman cried. She struggled to her feet, fell, and then rose again to heave herself across the sand. “May God bless you!”

  She fell at Aidan’s feet, wrapping her arms first around his legs and, finally, about her squalling, coughing child as Aidan lowered him into her arms. Others came forward with blankets, and Aidan faded back, watching from the edges of the crowd.

  Pushing wet hanks of hair back from his face, he turned first to his right, then his left. His gaze shifted, impersonal, assessing, and finally lit on Jane. He smiled, a narrow half-curve of his lips, his eyes burning with a fierce light though his body shook with cold.

  Snatching up a blanket, she then scrambled across the sand, her leg dragging a deep gutter behind her.

  “You are safe,” she whispered. With a snap of the folded blanket she freed it and tossed it up about his shoulders. She fell against him, uncaring that he was soaked through and that he soaked her. “I feared—” Her voice broke and she shook her head. “You are safe.”

  He was cold as ice, shaking so badly she marveled that he could even stand. His strong arms closed about her, holding her tight against him. With one cheek pressed to his broad chest, the frenzied beat of his heart keeping time with her own, she closed her eyes and wondered for an instant if he bolstered her, or she bolstered him, or perhaps they buttressed each other, each doomed to fall if either let go.