Rourke stepped back from me, dropping his hand from my cheek only when he absolutely had to. “Tie yourself on,” he ordered, throwing me a rope. “In case you go over.”
Over?! I looked at the sea and my stomach plummeted to my feet. I’d been worried enough thinking about the boat being torn apart. Falling off into that hadn’t even occurred to me. I passed the rope around my waist and tied it, then tied the other end around the rail as Rourke did the same. Then I struggled over to him. The wind was so strong, it was difficult to stand, difficult even to take a breath: it hit you in the face so hard it hurt.
“We’ve got to turn her around!” yelled Rourke. The wind was so loud now that it made my ears hurt. “We have to hit the wave head on!”
I nodded that I understood. I grabbed the rope he passed to me and we started hauling on the sail. But as the cloth caught the wind, I cried out in pain and disbelief. The rope just stopped, in my hands, as if I was trying to drag a building. I’d never known wind could be so strong.
“Pull!” yelled Rourke. I gritted my teeth and pulled. The rope rasped against my palms. My sneakers squeaked against the wet deck. Nothing happened. I heard Rourke curse.
I risked a glance at the wave and gave a strangled moan of dread. It was rising higher and higher, a skyscraper that was about to topple over onto us. And as we were forced up its side, we were leaning further and further over. I started to slide across the deck. The mast tipped lower and lower until the sail almost seemed to be touching the water. Any second, we would roll over and then the wave would crash down on top of us.
“When the wind eases for a second,” growled Rourke. He wrapped the rope around his forearms to give him a better grip and I did the same. “Ready….”
The deck tilted even further and I slid again. There was nothing but water wherever I looked, now: the sea on one side as we were tipped towards it, the wave towering over us on the other. It felt like we were trapped in a tunnel of water that was about to crush us.
“Ready….” yelled Rourke over the wind.
I found my footing. I looked down and my stomach lurched. I was standing on the rail: we were so close to tipping over, it had almost become the floor.
The wind dropped a little, as if catching its breath. “Now!” yelled Rourke.
I pulled. I pulled like I’ve never pulled in my life, until my arms felt as if they were going to be torn out of their sockets. Next to me, Rourke had gritted his teeth and was almost snarling at the storm, the muscles of his back standing out through his shirt. We heaved….
And at last the sail came around. The boat righted itself, swung into the wind and began climbing the wave. But it was growing so fast: we were climbing a hill, then a steep hill, then what felt like a vertical cliff. The prow swayed alarmingly and it felt as if we were going to fall backwards to our doom. Rourke hauled on the rope, making tiny adjustments. All I could see in front of us was sky….
And then we were over it and the whole boat jolted as we slammed back into the water. My stomach shot up into my mouth: now we were hurtling down the far side of the wave into the trough. Water crashed over the prow, soaking us, and then we were working our way up the side of the next wave.
And, breathless and soaking, the wind screaming in my ears, I realized that was just the first wave. We had to ride each one to stay afloat. If we messed up even once, we’d tip over and be smashed to pieces. And the storm might last for hours.
“Next one!” yelled Rourke. “Ready?” And he grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“Ready,” I managed, terrified. And squeezed back.
For an hour, we swung the boat left and right, meeting each wave as it hit us. No other sailor would have stood a chance but Rourke had an instinctual feel for the wind: even as we crested one wave, he was already gazing off into the distance, figuring out where the next one would come from, getting us heading towards it even before it had rumbled out of the darkness.
But the storm was so strong. It blasted us with rain until my clothes felt like they were made of lead. It scoured my face with saltwater until my skin burned. It pulled at my hair so hard I thought it was going to rip out by the roots. It ate away at our endurance until our muscles were limp and useless, until our grip failed and our legs refused to carry us anymore.
But each time it got too much, Rourke was there. When I slipped, he’d throw an arm around my waist and brace me against him until I got my footing again. When my grip failed, he took up the slack while I rubbed the life back into my hands. When I was cold and shaking and about to pass out, he folded me into his arms and warmed me with his body.
“Just keep going,” he said in my ear. His hot breath felt so good there after the merciless wind. “You’re doing great. We just have to keep going until it blows itself out.”
I nodded weakly. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on but if he wasn’t quitting, I wasn’t quitting.
There was a creak from above. We both looked up to see the mast bending.
“Shit!” said Rourke. He quickly ran to loosen the rope but the sail kept straining against the wind, even when the rope was slack in his hands. What the hell?
Then a flash of lightning lit up the sky and we saw it: the knot he’d had to tie to fix the rope was jammed in an eyelet. We couldn’t slacken the sail and the wind was building and building. The mast bent like a bow and a sickening vibration ran through the whole boat.
“Move!” bellowed Rourke. “It’s going to—”
There was a tortured groan and then a crack and the mast snapped off. As it fell, the wind seized the sail and carried the whole thing across the deck.
Right towards me.
Rourke reached me a half second before the mast. He shoved me out of the way and then tried to scramble aside himself, but there was no time. The mast bounced, spun and—
It hit him square in the chest, sending him flying over the rail.
And then both he and it disappeared into the storm and I was alone on the boat.
55
Hannah
For several seconds, I stood absolutely still, staring open-mouthed at the spot where Rourke had been standing. After everything we’d been through...he was just gone, quicker than I could blink.
Without a mast, the boat slewed off course and began to spin. A wave crashed over the rail and slammed into my back. Suddenly, I was on my face, choking and flailing, submerged beneath it. When it fell away, I managed to get to my hands and knees but then I just looked wildly around at the waves, the sky, the lightning—
I had no idea what to do. I was adrift on a crippled boat. Even Rourke couldn’t sail this thing, with the mast gone, and Rourke was—
I drew in a low, shaky breath. Rourke was—
I felt something tighten around me as I inhaled. I looked down to see the rope that was tied around my waist.
The rope! Rourke had been tied on too!
I scrambled across the boat to where I’d seen him disappear. No sign of him in the water. And I couldn’t see the rope, either, in the near-darkness. Had it snapped?
Then lightning split the sky and I glimpsed it, drawn tight against the hull. The far end disappeared beneath the black water. God, he was somewhere under the boat!
I threw myself full-length on the deck, grabbed the rope with both hands, and started pulling. Immediately, I could feel the weight of him on the other end. He was still attached...but it was like he was just a dead weight, being dragged behind us as the boat was tossed and spun. Was he unconscious? Dead?
I hauled him in inch by inch, the wet rope creaking and straining under my fingers. The boat was spinning like a carousel now, and lurching randomly as it did it. Waves crashed over me, and I had to hook an arm around the rail to keep from being washed sideways along the deck. “Come on, Rourke,” I muttered aloud. “Come on!”
And then there was a sickening jolt, as if the weight I was pulling had hit something hard. His body had just caught on the keel.
Shuddering, I hau
led him in faster. And then he broke the surface right beneath me, coughing and spluttering. There was a cut on his forehead and he was holding his side but he was alive, just too groggy to swim.
I heaved. But as he rose out of the water, he started to weigh his full weight: all that solid muscle plus his soaking wet clothes was way more than I could lift. “Rourke!” I yelled. “Climb!”
He slowly opened his eyes and focused on me. Then he started to haul himself up the rope while I gritted my teeth and held on. At last, he managed to get a hand on the rail and the rope slackened: another second and it would have slipped through my aching hands. I helped him pull himself over the rail and we collapsed together on the deck. I hugged him close.
“Thank you,” he rasped, still coughing up seawater.
He managed to raise himself on his elbows and looked around. Then he untied the ropes from our waists and pulled me to my feet.
“What now?” I yelled over the wind.
“Nothing else we can do out there,” he shouted. “We get below and pray we can ride it out.”
He grabbed me and pushed me to the door, then into the main room. As soon as we got inside, Yoyo flew into my arms. Then Rourke slammed the doors shut behind us and the wind noise dropped away. My ears suddenly started ringing: I hadn’t realized just how loud the wind was until I got some relief from it. I started shaking. I hadn’t realized how cold I was, either.
In some ways, though, it was worse inside. The boat was still spinning and rocking and, now that we couldn’t see the sky or the waves, it was like being in a box being shaken by a giant. I picked up several new bruises before Rourke muscled me down on the floor and then sandwiched me against the wall, using his legs to wedge us in place. I suddenly understood why everything on board was so neatly packed away in cupboards: loose objects would be deadly, in a storm like this.
The boat began to tip more and more wildly. My weight would change and shift as the wall behind me became a floor, then went back to a wall. I knew that, any second, we’d go all the way over and then we’d be finished.
Rourke wrapped himself around me, using his body to cushion me from the hard wood. His warm chest was pressed to my front, his strong forearms cradled my shoulders and the small of my back, and his thighs were tight against mine. We were so close that all I could see was him and, however much the deck rolled and lurched under me, I felt utterly protected.
He looked deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry, lass,” he said.
“Don’t say that,” I told him, a lump rising into my throat. “You did everything you could. You did so much!” How could he feel guilty? He’d lost everything because he helped me.
The boat tipped again. This time, the wall became a floor for several seconds, leaving me white-faced and gasping in panic, before it tipped back again. He hugged me tight. We stared into each other’s eyes—
“I love you,” he said.
Just like that, clear and true and certain. I gaped at him for a second and then crushed myself to him, locking my arms around his back, tears running down my cheeks.
The boat lurched again. The wall behind me became a floor and this time I could feel I was pressed hard against it. Rourke had to support his weight on his arms so that he didn’t crush me: God, we must be literally on our side. And then we tipped further.
“We’re going over!” snapped Rourke. “Just hang onto me!”
I clung onto him for dear life. Felt myself slide sideways along the wall….
I heard water rushing in... and then all the lights went out.
56
Rourke
I kept my body wrapped protectively around Hannah for a second, until I was sure we weren’t going to tip back. Then I started feeling around, getting my bearings. There’s nothing more disorienting than being in a boat that’s upside down. Luckily, I knew the Fortune’s Hope so well, I could literally walk around her with my eyes closed. I just had to reverse everything in my head: if the hammock hook is here then the cupboard must be here and the flashlight will be—
I found it and turned it on. The white light reflected off Hannah’s terrified face...and a slick of water that was spreading across what was now the floor. Even Yoyo recognized that was bad, and chirruped in fear.
“It’s okay,” I said, gathering them both into my arms. “We’ll float for a good while.” I could hear the storm raging above our heads. The longer we could stay sheltered in here, the better. But the water was already rising and Hannah was shaking from cold and fear. I had to get her warm.
“Get your clothes off,” I told her, stripping off my shorts and shirt. As soon as she was down to her bra and panties, I picked her up and pulled her into the hammock. One advantage of hammocks: they don’t care which way up the room is. I pulled her against me and let my body heat warm her. Yoyo cuddled up to our feet. The hammock swayed as waves tossed us around. Hannah warmed...but she didn’t stop shaking. I could feel how scared she was.
So I did the only thing I could think of, even though it went completely against the grain.
I talked to her.
I told her about growing up in Scotland, watching the submarines leave the shipyard, and seeing the Navy parades through my town. I told her about my mam—mom, Hannah insisted—and pubs with log fires in the winter. We argued over whether Nebraska or Scotland had “proper” winters. I taught her about supporting my soccer team, Celtic, and that it was Seltic, not Keltic. She tried to convince me that they called their college sports teams Cornhuskers and it took a good while before I realized she wasn’t kidding.
I told her that she reminded me of a mermaid. I ran my fingers through those long blonde locks and explained how I never got tired of doing that. I talked about her breasts and the curve of her hips and the ripeness of her ass. Her blue eyes and the effect they had on me, the way just a bare shoulder or calf or the scent of her made me crave her. First I tried to be poetic, which she loved, even though I was clumsy as all hell at it. Then I switched to the language of sailors, hot and crude and honest. And that seemed to work for her, too.
We talked for hours, focusing only on each other, shutting out the howl of the wind outside. It was the most I’d talked to anyone since before Edwards died. It gave me a taste of what I could have had, if my life had gone differently. Just a taste. Because even if I got her through the storm, even if we somehow reached land, she was still going to die. That bastard disease would take her and we no longer had the cure.
I gathered her into my arms and crushed her against me. But even as I did it, I felt the water begin to soak the fabric of the hammock. The boat was half full and it was rising fast. “We have to go,” I said. “We don’t want to get trapped when she goes down.”
I found a waterproof dive bag and convinced Yoyo to jump inside. Hannah grabbed Esme’s diary and slipped that into the bag, too.
I took a last look around. I’d spent years of my life aboard the Fortune’s Hope. People can’t understand how captains feel about boats: they’re more than a place we work, more than a home. She had her own personality, her own spirit. She’d kept me safe in a dozen different countries around the world and now she was going to the bottom, all thanks to Ratcher. I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to her. I always thought I’d be going down with her. But I couldn’t stay with her and be with Hannah.
I grabbed the logbook and added it to the dive bag, then sealed it shut. “Ready?” I had to grunt it around the lump in my throat.
Hannah jumped as a crack of lightning split the air right outside the boat. The wind screamed and I saw her face pale at the thought of going out there. She shook her head, mouth moving as she tried to put her fear into words, but nothing came out. “I’m not like you,” she said at last. “I’m not used to storms and the sea and people with guns.”
“You’re doing grand,” I told her firmly, taking her into my arms. “You’ve faced more, this last week, than most people do in a lifetime.”
She pressed her face to my shoulder.
“I’m not brave,” she insisted. “I’m not like you and Edwards and... and Carla. I only did that stuff because I had to. I was scared the whole time.”
I blinked and then slowly pushed her back so I could look into her eyes. Carla? It slowly sunk in that this is where all that bollocks about her not being suitable for me came from. Well, that ended right now.
I grabbed her upper arms hard. “Hannah,” I said chidingly. “Being scared and doing it anyway...that’s what being brave is.” And I leaned down and kissed her hard. Hard enough that she knew she was the bravest, the most suitable woman I’d ever met.
When I finally broke the kiss, Hannah blinked back tears and nodded. We took deep breaths and then dived down into the black water, our way lit by the flashlight. We swam through the doors to the deck, kicked our way up to the surface—
And emerged into hell.
57
Rourke
Water slammed into my face, leaving me gasping and choking. It was so dark I could barely see and the pounding rain and ear-splitting scream of the wind made it impossible to get my bearings. I grabbed hold of Hannah and pulled her to me so we didn’t get separated, then looked around.
A flash of lightning revealed the scene and my heart sank. It was worse than I’d feared. The storm hadn’t died down at all. The waves were the size of houses and without a boat we were just insignificant specks to be lifted and then smashed down into the water. The wind was so strong you couldn’t take a breath: turn towards it and it rammed its way into your lungs; turn away from it and there was no air at all. It was driving rain and spray horizontally, stinging our skin and stealing every ounce of warmth from our bodies.
Captain Rourke Page 26
