by R. L. Syme
“Will they circle back for us?” she asked, her eyebrows rounding.
Valc shook his head. “They’re pirates, Cadha. They’re not going to circle around for captives they just tossed overboard.”
“I jumped.” Her tone was so indignant, he wanted to laugh.
“Yes, you did jump. You’re regretting that now, I would imagine.”
Her eyes followed the ship. “They could still throw us the rescue line. They’re not that far away.”
“Cadha.” He grabbed her shoulders and they both sank into the water for a moment. But it was worth the salty mouthful so he could shake some sense into her. “They’re not going to rescue us. They threw me overboard.”
“But he knows my father. Surely, he wouldn’t…”
Valc released her squirming body. “He would. He’s a pirate.”
He turned himself in a full circle. They had been close enough to the coast, trying to make that wide turn after nearly coming ashore at Scarborough, he wondered if they might not be close enough to land that they would be able to swim for it. But he couldn’t see anything.
He had a rough idea of where they were, but without the stars, and with the sun stationery almost precisely overhead, he couldn’t tell one direction from another.
“Now, what do we do?” she asked. “Swim after them?”
Valc didn’t want to answer. Swimming would tire them out, and if they went in the wrong direction, they could swim forever without reaching land. He wasn’t a swimmer. He was a sailor.
“We should stay where we are, for the time being,” he said. He wanted to wait for the sun to move in the sky so he would be able to tell the direction they should head.
If they were where he thought they had been when they were boarded—not far from where he set the rigging to hold the wheel—then a solid easterly course should set them ashore in England. Where in England, he couldn’t be certain. But somewhere, land. They just had to get to land. He would beg, borrow, lie, and steal to get his ship back, to get Greta’s box back. But first, he had to get to land.
Cadha bobbed in front of him. Valc couldn’t concentrate with her expectant gaze moving across his face. He slipped into a back-float and let the sun warm his body as much as it could.
“Get on your back, like this,” he said. “Keep your head above water and your arms down.” He reached for her, but she either knew how to float, or learned quickly.
“Why aren’t we going after them?” she asked.
“They caught the wind. We’ll never catch them, swimming.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to follow them?”
“They’ll be out of sight in minutes.” The sun beat down hot on Valc’s face and he swallowed, thinking suddenly of how thirsty he was. Nothing, compared with how thirsty he would be.
“I just don’t think we should float here, like this.” She made some splashing noises and Valc grabbed her arm, pulling her back into a float.
“Stay there. Didn’t your father teach you what to do if you were stranded in open water?” He bit his lip. He shouldn’t be so hard on her, but he needed time to think in peace.
“My father never expected me to be stranded in open water.” Her tone wavered. “They’ll circle back around for us.”
Valc’s laugh was sharp and cracked across the water. “They’re not going to circle around. If they’d intended to rescue us, they would have thrown a line before they weighed anchor.”
“But my father…”
“They intended to leave us. No matter who your father was. We’ll have to swim.” Valc shuttered his eyes. It would be rough, but if they paced themselves, they could make it. He needed that ship back, but he wasn’t going to lose her to do it.
Chapter Nine
Cadha’s lungs had never burned like this. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside them and continued to fan it with each stroke of her arms. She could still see Valc ahead of her, but each time a wave swelled, he would disappear.
He stopped swimming and circled around, looking for her. She kept putting one arm after another into the water until she reached him.
“I need to rest,” she gasped, coughing at the water that kept trying to get into her lungs.
Valc glanced up at the sun, which was now almost to the horizon. Cadha slipped onto her back, as she had done each time they had to stop.
She tried to catch her breath, but the water was choppy and kept sliding over her face. She spluttered and righted herself and Valc had his arms around her in moments.
The only warmth she had felt over the last several hours was the building heat that would steal through her body whenever he touched her. She welcomed it.
“How much farther?” Cadha’s tired legs moved beneath her, keeping herself upright. Keep swimming, just keep swimming.
“I’m not sure.” Valc looked at the sun again. “England should be in that direction, but we’re still too far to see the land. I’m afraid the sun is going to set before…”
He pulled them both onto their backs and took her hand. “We need to keep swimming as soon as you are able.”
The very thought of swimming again made her throat go dry. Her tongue had swollen a little and her lips and face hurt. Every limb ached. Her stomach rumbled.
Cadha turned her head just a bit to look at Valc. His lips drew together and he swallowed hard. He tried so valiantly to believe they were going to survive. She was beginning to love his resilience.
“Tell me something, Valcymer Vanhorn.”
“You need to relax your neck when you swim. Keep your head down except when you breathe. When you try to hold your head up all the time, it tires you out more quickly.”
Cadha’s laugh came from her toes and echoed over the rolling water. “No. I meant answer me a question.”
Valc huffed. “I meant it about keeping your head down. You need to save your energy.”
“Why did you take on a single female passenger to make a trek across the North Sea?”
“It’s not important right now, Cadha. We need to start swimming again.”
“I can’t swim another stroke at this exact moment.”
Valc squeezed her hand as they treaded through the water. “You’re going to have to swim again. I won’t let you die out here.”
The touch of his hand grounded her. In the interminable ocean, she had one anchored thought. Valc had said he loved her. He wouldn’t let her die. He was willing to die for her.
She swiped at her face, uncertain if tears were clouding her vision, or if it was the sea. “Answer my question.”
A long pause followed and Cadha squeezed his hand in return.
“I needed the money,” he finally said.
“I gathered that much. What do you need the money for?”
He was silent again. The burning in Cadha’s lungs wasn’t subsiding this time, and she tried to slow her breath. Each intake brought a searing pain.
“I owe a debt.” The words came so slowly, and were so quiet, she almost didn’t hear him. Valc cleared his throat. “I owe a debt.”
It was her turn not to answer. Cadha had been taught never to owe any man, and she had never known anyone who had carried a debt. Was Valc, after all this, a man who couldn’t be trusted?
Was she going to drown in the empty sea holding the hand of a rogue?
“And was my payment enough to discharge your debt?”
“It wasn’t that sort of debt.”
A quick glance at Valc and she saw why he was so slow to answer. There were tears gathering in his eyes, and they weren’t from the salt water. His face was drawn and tight, as though he held back a swelling tide.
“What sort was it?” she asked.
“Someone saved my life once. She asked me to do something for her before she died, and I gave my word.” He floated there for a long time, not speaking. He released her hand. “We really need to swim again.”
A strange calm washed over her when he said the words. She took a deep breath and let her fee
t sink into the water. “We’ll swim again, or die trying.”
Valc pulled her into his arms. “You’re not going to die.” He stroked her back even as he kicked at the water to keep them upright. “Remember why you are here, Cadha. Remember why you hired me.”
She tried to recall those faces she hadn’t seen in days. Maas. Pien. Papa. Mama. “I want to reunite my family.”
“Yes,” he said with earnest fervor. “Yes. Your brother.”
“Maas.” The word felt almost unfamiliar on her lips.
Valc held her cheek with one hand and treaded water with the other. “That’s what you need to remember, Cadha. You need to think of your purpose here, with each stroke you take. Remember why you paid all your money to cross the sea with me.”
Their lips hovered only inches apart and with one swell of a wave, his mouth touched hers. Without thinking, she opened to him.
He had said he loved her, and the captain who knew the difference between truth and lies had believed him. Valc had gone overboard shouting his love for her, and she had followed. Some part of her knew that the warm thing growing between them was more than desperation. It was affection
An urgent, enervating chord struck in her heart as Valc kissed her, as he stroked her cheek and moved his tongue between her lips. The raw, sensitive flesh came alive under his touch. She had never been kissed before, and the longer he kept at it, the more she wanted him to continue forever.
“You will live, Cadha,” he whispered against her mouth. “You have to live.”
“I will live.” The words followed her breath, and she kept moving toward him, taking his mouth again. A new energy pulsed through her.
“Can you swim again?”
Cadha didn’t answer. She just began to make one stroke, and then another, and the spark of Valc’s kiss kept her arms moving.
It wasn’t long before he was out in front of her again, setting the course, leading the way. She tried to do as he said and keep her head in the water except to breathe. And to fix her sights on Valc every few breaths. She couldn’t lose Valc.
Valc woke in the dark. He couldn’t remember finding land, although it was solid beneath his back—if a little on the pointy side. He couldn’t remember anything but swimming for hours and hours. His tongue hurt, his face hurt. Every part of his body ached and it stung even more as he coughed out the seawater that burned his throat.
But they made it. Land. He’d pointed it out to Cadha just before the sun disappeared below the horizon. Had he hit his head? It was completely dark and he had clearly woken up, not remembering the swim.
Small rocks were slippery between his fingers, slicked by the tide, and underneath them, sand sucked at his grip. Valc felt for his head. Sand and water and pain.
He turned on his side, but the night was so dark, he couldn’t see anything. There was no moon, and the stars were points in the sky.
“Cadha,” he called into the dark.
Valc got to his feet and water slid around his ankles. He took one step and another, though he couldn’t see anything but dark.
He raised his voice a touch. “Cadha.”
As his eyes adjusted to the dark night, he began to see shapes of the land around him. A rise just ahead, and then a big hill jutting into the black sky. Some sort of structure stood atop the hill. A castle?
It wasn’t Scarborough, and the castle at Berwick wasn’t this near the sea, so perhaps they were in Scotland—where he was much less familiar with the coast. And the language.
No lights burned atop the large, dark structure, so at least there were no battlements, although why there would ever be a castle without protection at the edge of the sea was beyond him.
“Cadha,” he called again.
She may have been passed out or asleep, or had water in her ears and couldn’t hear him. Wherever she was, she would be looking for him, and they needed to be on their way.
Valc staggered up the uneven beach and to the rise, where grass began and the ground was firmer. From the higher ground, he looked across the beach behind him. The water was dark and the rhythm of waves crashing should have soothed him, but his stomach knotted and gnarled like an old rope.
Where was Cadha?
He didn’t know the shape of the beach well enough to be able to see if she was lying somewhere. And wasn’t she swimming behind him? Would she wash up later than he had?
“Cadha!” He walked along the rise. “Cadha!”
Valc ran down to the beach and began to walk along the soft edge. When he came to the rocky section, he had to make more careful progress, but he kept calling her name.
Each time silence greeted him, Valc’s insides curled up a little tighter. Where the devil was she?
A good piece down from the large hill, the coast curled around. His foot slipped and he tumbled over himself, cracking bones on rocks. His side burned and he looked ahead. Unsure of the terrain and without shoes, it wasn’t safe to be here in the dark, alone. He turned back and climbed up the rise, his side aching more with every step.
He needed help.
The castle loomed up into the darkness. From this side, he could see a small glimmer shining from what looked like a gate, nestled into the winding hillside. Valc shambled up the rise and ran up the long hill toward the light.
The air was warmer than he expected, and thicker, almost like a summer night in Hoorn. He could still hear the crashing waves as he climbed higher and higher.
When he reached the door, he pounded against it with raw hands. The guard would come and they would likely arrest him. But he didn’t care. He needed help finding Cadha.
The woman he was falling for. He couldn’t deny that any longer. He’d tried to ignore the intensity of the emotion when it had first come on, watching her tie up the ridiculous contraption of her dress.
But there was something so innocent and beautiful about her headstrong, careless attitude. She had navigated the cog all on her own while he slept. She had gone over the side of a ship for him. And what had he done for her? Besides put her in danger.
Valc pounded harder.
A voice called out to him in English. “Hold your horses, I’m coming. You’ll wake the whole monastery at that rate.”
Valc looked up and saw the shape of a man’s head sticking through a small window at the top of what looked like a short tower.
Monks. Not soldiers. He wasn’t sure whether to thank God or start praying. Monks were the only group of men who liked him less than soldiers. On the other hand, monks weren’t likely to chase him.
Small favors.
He stood back as the old man swung open the heavy door. The monk wore a simple, gray habit with a cord around his waist. Not Benedictine, then. Could be Cistercian.
Knowing your opponent was the key to playing a good game. He couldn’t very well tell the truth to the black monks known to be in the royal pocket. But some of the vow-of-poverty types were safe.
“What do you want, boy?” the old monk barked.
“I need your help, brother.” Valc indicated his own clothing. “I’ve just washed ashore and my wife is somewhere out on the beach. I don’t know the rocks and have already done myself injury.”
The old man drew down one corner of his mouth. In the low, shadowed light, Valc couldn’t tell if it was disdain or compassion that creased his face, but he took a chance.
“We were set upon in the sea and thrown overboard. Forgive my ignorance of your customs, my friend. We are not from your country.”
“You speak my language well for a foreigner.”
“My mother was English.”
The old man raised an eyebrow, which looked menacing in the shadow. “Where in England?”
“Canterbury.”
A scuttling inside took the man’s attention. Just inside the door, a smaller, older man appeared.
“Who is at the door at this hour, Brother William?” The older man wore a matching cassock, but the cord around his waist was missing. He hobbled on one foot and
his hand hovered in the air as though he expected to lean on a cane. Valc almost reached out for the man, but he leaned on Brother William for support instead.
“A traveler who requests our help, Father.” William gave the old man a deferential bow.
“Well, we must give it. This is our charge.”
Valc took his turn to bow. “My wife, sir. We were set upon in the open sea and thrown off our ship. I washed ashore near here, but I was unable to find her in the dark.”
The older man waved at him. “We’ll have the brothers roused and lanterned in no time. Meanwhile, you come inside, boy, and put on dry clothing. You’ll catch a fever in those wet clothes.” He crossed himself and reached for Valc.
Brother William’s drawn face darkened as the old man pulled Valc across the threshold. He backed into the door and let them pass.
“Thomas and Rayner are still at prayers,” the sour monk protested.
“Then leave them,” said the white-haired man. “But take the rest. Wake the abbot and search the whole island.”
“Island?” Valc repeated. “Which island?”
“Why, Holy Island, boy.” Brother William slammed the door and grabbed a torch from the wall. “What other island is there?”
“Off with you.” The old man waved at his compatriot, grabbing Valc’s arm. Brother William handed the light to Valc and disappeared up some stairs.
Valc let the old man usher him through the dark interior, down a short but wide flight of stairs, and into their simple dining room. The ceiling was low, but the torch lit most of the space.
They hobble-walked to the far side of the room, to a small door. The old monk knocked on it.
“You’ll find dry clothing through here. I’ll wait while you change out of your wet things and you can tell me your story.” He crossed himself once more. “God’s peace with you, brother.”
Valc hurried into the room with the torch. On one side of the narrow larder were shelves full of dry food. His stomach burbled as a reminder, in case he needed one. He couldn’t remember his last meal.
The other side was packed with supplies. Candles, clothes, utensils, bowls, cups, and a surprising pile of hilted weapons. Valc grabbed clothes and tried not to think of the fact that his sword and dagger were both aboard his ship. Greta’s ship.
