‘Always.’
‘Are you the captain of your pirate ship or just an ordinary pirate?’
‘I am the captain.’
‘Then I will be brave, Captain Alexander.’
‘Good lass.’ He smiled at her.
The wind had returned with a vengeance and the Angel was already rocking and swaying in the swell of the sea as Daniel secured himself to Angel’s aft mast.
* * *
The howl of the wind grew louder, the heave beneath their feet stronger. The nausea was in Sarah’s stomach again, worse than it had ever been, but this time she did not know if it was seasickness or fear, or a combination of the two. The ship pitched so steeply that it seemed that it would tumble right over. Almost everything had been tied down or chained into place. The few small items that had not were launched like rag dolls into the air. Fanny and Imelda screamed. Sarah held her breath, and then, at the very last minute when it seemed that the ship were about to capsize, the Angel was buoyed back up from the depths again. The items in the air smashed against the deck. From the cargo hold came the dreadful sound of splintering wood, and from the cabins a violent crash and clatter. Sarah listened in horror, knowing that she would have kept Imelda and Fanny in there with her had not Daniel Alexander insisted otherwise.
Imelda and Fanny’s screams ebbed to cries and sobs. Sarah could do nothing more than hold both their hands and whisper words of reassurance they would not hear.
Please God, help us!
But the tiny lull was over and the Angel bucked again and dived down as the waves swept to cover her and there was terror and screaming and the enormous crushing power of the wind and the waves, and the gaping mouth of the ocean sucking them down, swallowing them whole, then spitting them out again. It was violence like nothing Sarah had ever known. They were helpless before its furore, could do nothing other than hold on, endure, wait.
All storms pass eventually. His words whispered again in her ear. He had to be right. He had been right about the rest of it.
But the storm was not done with them yet. A flicker of light forked in the sky, illuminating the whole of the lower deck, the whiteness of the crew’s faces that she only now saw were lashed around it and the water that poured through the closed hatch. A rumble of thunder crashed in the distance.
Time ceased. The terror stretched to an eternity of icy darkness and roaring while the Angel was thrown and dropped and shaken like a hare in the jaws of a great hound. The lightning flashed again and again, and up above the skies were being ripped apart and down below the ocean was trying his best to pull the ship apart.
All storms pass eventually.
But still the rain lashed and still the waves crashed high and all the ocean was deep and wild and snarling, until, at last, it began to soften and the rain became once again just rain and the wind eased, so that the waves only battered, but did not tear at the Angel. Until, at last, the thunder passed into the distance and there was only the thrum of the rain and the rhythmic splash of waves thudding against the ship. Until, eventually, there was only the beat of her heart and the grip of Imelda’s and Fanny’s fingers against hers.
None of them moved. None of them spoke. They stood stunned.
‘It is over,’ she heard her own voice say. ‘We are safe now.’
And then Daniel was there, unfastening the rope, catching Fanny up before the maid hit the ground. Imelda was sobbing as she threw herself into his one available arm and wrapped her arms around his waist.
‘Well done, brave lass,’ he said.
And then Imelda was in her arms. ‘Oh, Aunt Sarah!’ Imelda sobbed.
Sarah held her niece and stroked her hair and made shushing sounds. ‘The storm has passed.’ She gently wiped away the tears from Imelda’s face and hugged her tighter. ‘And we are fine’, the words were no more than a whisper, barely believable to herself.
Daniel’s arm encircled her and she let herself lean against the strength and warmth of his body. The relief made her legs weak, made her head spin, made her cling to him.
‘Brave lass,’ his lips murmured against her ear.
Chapter Four
The sun shone from a beautiful blue sky the next morning. The ocean stretched endlessly smooth and calm. As if the storm had never been—save for the Angel.
Daniel stood on deck and surveyed her damage.
The rigging had been devastated. The bowsprit and jibs were gone. The fore topgallant had snapped off, taking out a great section of the bulwarks and ripping a hole in the deck, before being claimed by the waves. The flags were missing. Ropes dangled limp and useless. Canvas shreds fluttered, the only remnants of great sails that had been taken, lowered or not. The rudder had been torn off and the hull was leaking. The Angel was the ghost of the ship she had been. But that was not why the pit of Daniel’s stomach felt cold and tight.
Sarah Ellison’s niece had woken up with a fever.
* * *
Imelda’s cheeks were flushed bright, her head burning and sweaty, yet the child shivered and moaned beneath the covers of the cot.
‘I’m so cold, Aunt Sarah.’
Sarah soothed Imelda’s sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. ‘Take another little sip of ale.’ The fresh-water supplies had been lost in the storm.
Imelda did as she was bid. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘I know, little honeybun. You have caught a chill from being soaked in the rain yesterday.’
‘I’m sorry that I ran away, but I did not want to be tied to the mast.’
‘None of us wanted to be tied to the mast.’
‘But I’m glad we were. Captain Alexander was right, wasn’t he?’
‘He was.’ Sarah did not want to think what would have happened had he not been there.
Imelda’s eyes fluttered shut. She fought to open them. ‘You do like him, don’t you? Even though you were angry with him.’
‘Yes, I like him,’ said Sarah quietly, admitting it openly for the first time.
Imelda’s eyelids were already closed, but she smiled at the answer.
‘Now rest.’ Sarah dropped a kiss to Imelda’s forehead. ‘Rest and you will be better by the end of the day,’ she hoped, not letting her mind follow down other dark paths.
But Imelda was not better by the end of the day. With every hour that passed the fever grew worse until, by nightfall, it racked her, tormenting her rest, making her thrash and moan, burning her hot in the chill of the cabin. And nothing that Sarah did, not compresses or cool icy air, not cold weak beer dripped into her niece’s mouth or stripping the covers from the bed, made any difference. And the relief that she had felt from surviving the storm was a distant memory and in its place was a fear that squeezed the breath from her lungs.
* * *
When Daniel entered the tiny cabin, the wee lassie was dressed in her nightdress and lying uncovered in her cot. Even in the dim flickering light of the lantern he could see the scarlet flush of her cheeks and the glisten of sweat upon her skin. Sarah sat by the bed on a small wooden chair, watching over the bairn.
‘I brought you some stew and wine.’ He sat the tray down on the tiny table.
‘Thank you, but I am not hungry.’ Sarah’s face was pinched pale with exhaustion and worry.
‘She has not eaten a thing all day, sir.’ Fanny’s forehead was creased with concern.
‘Please do not start again, Fanny!’
Fanny’s mouth tightened. ‘But, ma’am—’
‘Go and rest in Mrs Ellison’s cabin, Fanny,’ Daniel interrupted. ‘There is not room in here for us all. I will stay with Mrs Ellison.’
The door closed with a quiet click behind the maid.
Sarah bit her lip.
Daniel moved to the bed where the bairn stirred and moaned in her sleep. ‘I
s she any better since this afternoon?’
‘She grows worse. I gave her a little laudanum to aid her rest, but the fever will not let her go.’ Sarah’s voice was quiet and strained.
He touched a hand to Imelda’s forehead and felt the scald.
‘I have tried everything I can think of and nothing makes any difference.’
‘There is time enough yet.’ He rested his hand against Sarah’s shoulder.
She ignored him. ‘She was soaked through to the skin from the rain. And then all those hours tied to the mast in the cold...’ Sarah closed her eyes. ‘You should have explained better to me about the storm. You should have...’ She shook her head. ‘She ran away because she was frightened.’
He said nothing, knowing the real reason she was blaming him.
‘She’s ten years old. Ten!’ The anger flashed in her eyes as she stared up at him. She got to her feet, angrily shrugging his hand from her shoulder and facing him. ‘She thinks you are a pirate captain!’
Still he said nothing, just absorbing her need to vent her frustration and fear.
‘If you had not come with the rope in your hand... If you had not...’ Her voice broke. She closed her eyes and began to weep. ‘It was my fault! I argued against you when you wanted to anchor us to the mast to keep us safe. Had I not...’
‘It would have made no difference.’
‘You cannot know. I was angry with you and angry with myself, over what had almost happened between us up on deck. And because of that...’ She sobbed. ‘I am supposed to look after her. I am supposed to keep her safe.’
‘Sarah,’ he said softly and pulled her against him.
‘It is my fault.’ She wept in earnest and he held her, just held her, giving her what little comfort he could, knowing he would have taken her pain a hundred times over rather than have her suffer like this.
‘There is nothing of fault. A storm is a force of nature, nothing more.’
She wept, this woman who through their journey had struggled so hard against revealing weakness. She wept until the tears were spent, until the sobs died away and she was just standing there with her face pressed against his chest.
‘I am sorry.’ She tilted her face up to look at him.
Her cheeks were wet and blotched from the weeping. He wiped away her tears. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘If she dies...’
He knew he should tell her that everything was going to be fine, just as he had done in the storm, but this was different, far different, and he could not. False hope was worse in the long run. ‘She’s a plucky wee thing. She’ll fight the fever every inch of the way. All we can do is wait this night out.’ Strands of hair stuck to the dampness of her cheeks. He stroked them away.
Her eyes clung to his. All of her defences were gone, broken down and washed away by the prospect of losing the bairn. Without them he could see all of her fear, all of her vulnerability, all of her courage, and the sight of it reached into his chest and squeezed a fist tight and hard around his heart.
‘You are right. All we can do is wait.’ She sat down to resume her vigil.
Daniel lifted the second chair from the other side of the cabin and sat down beside her.
‘Daniel...’
He slid his hand to cover hers. ‘I’m not going anywhere, lass.’
Her fingers closed around his.
He passed her the dinner tray. She accepted it without protest, eating and drinking a little before setting it back down on the table.
They sat in silence for a while, their fingers entwined, watching the child’s fitful rest.
‘I lied to you,’ she said at last, breaking the silence. ‘When I told you that I was still mourning my husband.’
He said nothing, just let her speak.
‘His name was Robert and I hated him. He was an Englishman emigrating to a new life in America when we met. I did not realise that he only needed a wife to help further his career. He was so handsome and charming...at first.’
Handsome and charming, the same words the maid had used to describe Taverner.
‘But he was a scoundrel and a liar, with eyes that turned too readily to any pretty woman.’ She gave a soft laugh that was not of happiness. ‘He bedded half the women in New York before we were wed a year.’
‘The man must have been a fool.’ He understood now why Sarah Ellison had built her defences so high. Betrayed by every man she had trusted—first the husband and then the suitor.
‘He contracted a fever on a business trip to the South. A fever like Imelda’s. I nursed him in the weeks before he died.’
‘I am sorry, Sarah.’ He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, knowing how much it must be costing her to open up to him.
‘Mourning weeds are like armour against men.’ She met his eyes. ‘But I want you to know the truth. I am sorry that I lied to you.’
‘Sometimes lies are told for the best of reasons. For defence. To protect.’
‘Yes.’ She shivered in the chill of the cabin.
‘Thank you for telling me.’ His thumb stroked against the back of her hand.
Sometimes Imelda’s eyes fluttered open, sometimes she cried out in her fevered sleep. Every time the wee lassie stirred, Sarah rose to check on her, wiping the sweat from the bairn’s brow and dribbling weak beer through the dry lips. The hours of the night crept slowly by.
‘Why do you dislike Christmas so much, Daniel?’ It came out of the silence, the question he least expected.
He did not want to answer. But she looked at him with her soul stripped bare and he knew he would tell her, even though he had never told another, never even spoken the words.
He looked into her eyes. ‘Because I lost my wife and babe at Christmas.’
‘Oh, Daniel...’ her words were soft as breath ‘...I am so sorry.’
‘Childbirth is a treacherous thing.’
He felt her fingers tighten around his. She raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. ‘So I have heard.’
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her as she laid her head against his shoulder.
‘I am glad you are here, Daniel.’
‘So I am, lass. So am I.’ And despite everything, it was the truth.
* * *
Sarah woke with the gentle light of a winter morning. For the first time in such a long time she felt safe. She breathed in the scent of fresh wood and tar, of sea and the underlying pleasant scent of Daniel Alexander. The muscle of his chest was hard and warm beneath her cheek, and the steady reassuring beat of his heart loud in her ear. Curved protectively around her spine she could feel the weight of his arm. She shifted her legs beneath the blanket that covered them both and opened her eyes.
Daniel’s blue eyes looked into hers and he smiled the most handsome smile in the world. ‘Good morning, Mrs Sleepyhead,’ he said softly. ‘There is a young lady only just woken up before you.’ He shifted his gaze to the cot and winked.
Sarah followed his focus to find Imelda looking at her.
‘Imelda!’ The whisper conveyed all of her relief and joy and thankfulness. All sleepiness vanished. She hurried to the cot. ‘Oh, Imelda.’
‘Aunt Sarah.’ Imelda’s voice was rusty with lack of use.
‘Thank God!’ Sarah stroked her niece’s face.
‘Captain Alexander saved us.’ Imelda smiled.
Sarah heard the quiet click of the door and knew he had gone.
* * *
It was the middle of the afternoon before Sarah had a chance to seek out Daniel Alexander. She found him up on the main deck.
The men were all busy repairing the damage the storm had wrought. And for all their sawing and hammering the destruction was great indeed. Shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a pair of
strong arms, and hatless so that his hair was dishevelled in the sea breeze, Daniel was lifting what looked like a tree trunk. His face was rugged, his jaw stubble-shadowed where he had not shaved. She knew now why the scent of fresh wood and tar had been in his clothes last night. He had been working all the time, making the Angel safe, and yet still found time to help her.
Daniel’s eyes met hers across the deck and she felt her heart grow warm. He hefted the spar into position, then made his way over to her.
‘Mr Alexander.’
‘Mrs Ellison.’ He smiled. ‘How is Miss Bowden?’
‘She grows stronger with every hour and wished to accompany me up here to find you. It was all I could do to keep her in bed.’
His smile deepened. ‘I am relieved to hear it.’
One of the seamen passed between them. Daniel guided her over to a quieter spot by the bulwark. She gripped a hand against the wooden wall, but neither of them looked out at the ocean.
She lowered her voice so that only he would hear. ‘Last night, had you not been there...’ She could not bring herself to admit the rest of it aloud. ‘Thank you,’ she finished instead.
‘No thanks are required between friends.’ His bare fingers surreptitiously touched against hers in a small reassuring gesture. Let go of the fear, lass.
And when she looked into his eyes, this man who was like no other she had ever known, she knew she had done just that. A happiness welled up within her and she could not help herself from smiling.
It was like the brilliance of sunshine on a dreich day seeing her smile. And inside his chest were feelings that Daniel had not felt in such a long time, not since Netta, feelings of tenderness that he had thought never to feel again. There unbidden, unwanted, and yet, at that moment, with Sarah Ellison standing before him he could not resent them.
Sarah glanced away, to further along the deck, to the place where they had stood so often to take the air and view the ocean. Rope now cordoned off a section of missing bulwark.
‘It can be repaired,’ he said, following her gaze.
‘Are you trying to make me feel better, Mr Alexander?’
A Sprinkling of Christmas Magic Page 23
