The Sea Sprite

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “Come on, Whit. Hold on, lad. We’re all here for you. Stay with us, Whit. Fight, boy.”

  On the other side of the bed, Winifred Mellon was on her knees, holding a cool cloth to Whit’s forehead.

  “I’ll do that, Winnie.” Darcy took the cloth from the old woman’s hands and helped her to her feet. “You need your sleep.”

  The old woman studied her by the light of the flickering candles. “As do you, child.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Winnie.” She squeezed the old nurse’s hand. “Just being home again has restored me more than even a night’s sleep. Go now and rest awhile.”

  “Aye.” Miss Mellon touched a hand to Darcy’s cheek and kept her voice to a whisper. “You must be vigilant, child. This lad is nearing a crisis. I fear if his fever climbs, he’ll not make it.”

  Darcy closed her eyes a moment against the wave of pain that nearly swamped her. Fear, so alien to her, felt like a band around her heart. A band that was slowly tightening, until she could hardly breathe.

  She forced in a deep breath. “We’ll get him through this, Winnie.”

  When the old woman was gone, she dipped the cloth into a basin of cold water. Then, pulling up a chair beside the bed, she wrung out the cloth and pressed it to Whit’s forehead. And whispered a prayer that she wouldn’t have to lose another loved one to the whims of man and sea.

  “How does it go?” Geoffrey Lambert stepped into the room and seemed surprised to see so many gathered around the bed.

  “His fever refuses to give up its hold.” The housekeeper set down a fresh basin of water and strode away carrying an empty pitcher.

  One by one the other members of the family had given up their attempts to sleep and had crept into the room to hold a silent vigil around the lad’s bed. Ambrosia and Riordan sat side by side, clasping hands. Bethany and Kane, who had decided not to return to their home for the night, paced from one side of the room to the other, pausing often to exchange a look or a silent shake of their heads. Miss Mellon continued to check the lad’s dressings for any sign of fresh bleeding. And Mistress Coffey bustled in moments later with tea and biscuits, hoping to keep everyone’s spirits high. Even the maid, Libby, returned frequently with fresh water, or fresh candles for the night table. Each time she took a moment to pause and study the boy who lay so pale and still in the bed, she would walk away shaking her head in dismay.

  “The lad’s a fighter, Grandpapa.” Ambrosia gave her grandfather a weak smile and patted the chair beside hers.

  When he took a seat she linked her fingers with his, needing his strength even as she sought to share hers.

  They watched as Darcy continued to sponge the boy’s face, neck, torso, in a valiant effort to stem the fever that held him in its grip.

  On the other side of the bed, Gryf kept the boy’s hand in his and continued to croon words of comfort.

  “Come on, lad,” he muttered. “You’ve been through bad times before. We both have. Don’t give up now. Think of that fine big ship you intend to captain one day. And think of all the exotic lands you’ve yet to see. There’s a whole grand world just waiting for you, Whit. Don’t leave it yet. Don’t leave me, lad. We made a pact, remember?”

  Darcy felt her eyes fill and had to blink frantically. There was no time for tears. While she wrung out the cloth yet again, she found comfort in the thought of a little boy, beaten beyond recognition, who had been redeemed by the love of a man whose own suffering had wiped out any memory of his past.

  There had to be a good reason for the love that had developed between these two. Would the fates be so cruel as to bring them back from the ashes, only to separate them again? Would the angel of death snatch away the lad who had brought this man so much joy?

  As if in answer, she touched a hand to Whit’s forehead and let out a cry of dismay. “The cool water isn’t helping. I think he grows worse.”

  Gryf brought his hand next to hers on the boy’s skin and nodded in agreement. His eyes narrowed with worry. “Aye. His flesh is on fire.”

  While the others gathered around the bed the boy’s breathing grew ever more shallow, until he was struggling for each painful breath.

  Darcy looked to her old nursemaid. “Winnie, what can we do?”

  “We’ve done all we can, child.” The old woman drew an arm around her shoulder. “The only thing we can do now is pray. And ask the Almighty to spare the lad any more suffering.”

  The hour stretched into two, and then three, and still Whit’s fever climbed. Darcy continued sponging his body with cool water. Gryf continued whispering words in the hope that some of them might penetrate the deep sleep that held the lad in its grip.

  As the family remained circled around the bed, they found themselves listening for each shallow breath he took, and breathing with him.

  Even while Gryf urged the lad to fight, Darcy fretted that he might be asking too much of Whit. How much should a lad have to endure in this life? Perhaps he was too weary of the fight, and wanted only to put an end to the struggle.

  The thought of his cruel past brought fresh tears to her eyes. But she gamely blinked them aside and clung instead to a thread of hope. If a strong spirit was enough to survive, then surely Whit would make it. The lad had endured so much pain. Had risen above so many heartaches. And had survived with his heart and his smile intact.

  If only, she thought, he would give some sign that he even knew they were there. The thought that he might feel all alone in his suffering brought fresh pain to her heart.

  She didn’t bother to look up when the door to his room opened yet again. So many family members had gathered around, the little room was crowded. That brought a measure of comfort to Darcy. She only wished the lad could open his eyes to see how many people cared about him.

  It wasn’t until she heard the tap of Newton’s footsteps that she glanced over. He was crossing the room, his gaze fixed on the boy in the bed. In his arms was a small, blanket-clad bundle.

  “Has the lad rallied?” he asked in hushed tones.

  “Nay.” Gryf glanced up, then returned his attention to Whit.

  “In fact,” Mistress Coffey said in an aside, “we fear the lad is failing quickly. His fever refuses to break, despite Darcy’s best efforts. And he seems to have slipped into his own world, where he can no longer hear us.”

  At the old woman’s words, Darcy felt her heart constrict. His own world. She wanted desperately to penetrate that world which held Whit in its spell. If only they could find a way to bring him back. To penetrate the wall that separated him from them.

  “What did you bring, Newt?” Darcy was surprised at how difficult it was to speak over the lump that seemed to have lodged permanently in her throat.

  “The lad’s pup.”

  “Fearless?” Darcy’s head came up sharply. “But isn’t he—? I thought he was—”

  “I thought so, as well,” the old sailor said. “But he seems to be a fighter. Like the lad.”

  “He’s alive?” For a moment Darcy was speechless. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  The old man shrugged. “I was afraid he might not make it, and I didn’t want to get ye’r hopes up for nothing.” He walked to the bed and uncovered the yellow ball of fluff, setting it beside the boy. “In fact, I’m still not sure the pup will make it. He hasn’t eaten a thing since he was separated from the lad. But I thought the two of them ought to be together now. In case…” He shrugged. “I just thought they might be a measure of comfort for one another.”

  He leaned close and lifted the boy’s hand to the puppy’s head.

  At the touch of it, the pup sniffed, stirred and opened its eyes. Seeing Whit, Fearless struggled to stand. Too weak to manage, he crawled closer and began to lick the lad’s face.

  After a few moments there was a flicker of movement behind the boy’s closed eyes. Seeing it, those around the bed went suddenly silent. As the puppy continued to lick Whit’s face, the boy’s eyes opened and he heaved a sigh that seemed to well u
p from deep inside.

  His hand moved over the dog once, twice, before a smile touched his mouth. He moved his lips. And though no sounds came out, he formed the pup’s name.

  Mistress Coffey gave a cry and covered her mouth with her hand as she fled the room in tears. Geoffrey Lambert comforted Miss Mellon as she wept into a handkerchief. Ambrosia and Riordan fell into each others arms, laughing and weeping, while Bethany and Kane kissed.

  Darcy and Gryf stood stiffly on either side of the bed staring down at the lad with matching looks of disbelief. They had been prepared for the worst. And now that their worst fears had been banished, they seemed unable to fully grasp their good fortune.

  Newton seemed the only one unaffected by the miracle he’d just witnessed. He continued to watch as the boy’s hand moved over the pup’s head.

  Finally Whit found his voice. It was no more than a feeble whisper, but the mere fact that he could speak at all had everyone amazed.

  “I just knew Fearless would never leave me.” His eyes were troubled as he looked up at the old man. “I’m sorry for all the naughty things Fearless did aboard ship, Newt. I know he sorely tried your patience.”

  “That he did.” Newton sank down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over the puppy’s soft coat. “But don’t trouble ye’rself about such things, lad. He’s just a baby. He’ll learn in time.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Aye, lad. And do ye know why?”

  “No, sir. Why?”

  “He has a fine teacher.” The old man winked. “Ye’ll teach him good and proper, won’t ye, lad?”

  As Newton stood the boy caught his hand. “Thank you, Newt. For taking care of Fearless for me.”

  “Ye’r welcome, lad. Now ye and the pup had best get some rest. Ye’ve both got a fair piece of mending to do.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  As the old sailor walked from the room, Darcy ran after him. While the others watched in silence, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. “You saved his life, you know.”

  “Ye mean the pup?”

  “Nay, Newt. I mean Whit. It was having Fearless returned to him that brought him back from the edge of an abyss. It was the pup that gave him the will to live.” She pressed her cheek to his. “And you tried to be so hard-hearted toward that dog.”

  “Dogs don’t belong on ships.” He saw the glint of mocking laughter in her eye and looked away. “Most dogs, anyway. But that one’s a scrapper, all right. I watched him fight for every breath.”

  “Just like Whit.”

  “Aye.” He nodded and glanced over at the dog, curled up beside the boy. “Ye were right, lass. They belong together.” He took a step back and looked her in the eye. “It doesn’t happen often. But for some few, it does. They discover that other half of their own heart. And when it happens, there’s no sense fighting it.”

  She watched him walk away.

  And when she turned, she saw Gryf studying her with a thoughtful expression.

  It occurred to her that the old man had no longer been talking about the boy and dog.

  What he’d just done, Darcy realized, was given a sign that he approved of this stranger who had already won her heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “All right now, little sister.” Ambrosia’s voice broke the stillness of Darcy’s room.

  It was late afternoon. Ambrosia and Bethany had forced Darcy to leave young Whit to Winnie’s capable hands, while she caught up on her sleep. Once she knew that the lad had passed through the crisis, she’d slept for more than twenty-four hours. Hours in which they’d tiptoed into her room, then out again, eager for all the details of her journey, and yet unwilling to disturb her rest.

  Now, as they burst into her room and found her up and about, they settled themselves on the bed and faced her.

  The two older sisters glanced at one another and grinned before Bethany said, “We want to hear everything.”

  “About the voyage?” Darcy slipped into a simple wool gown and began running a brush through her hair.

  “Nay, you silly goose. We’ll hear about the voyage later. Right now we want to know all about Gryf. Starting with the first time you met.”

  Darcy laughed. “You’re not about to waste any time on other things, are you?”

  “Nay. They’re unimportant next to this. Now tell us,” Bethany demanded.

  Darcy sighed, needing to talk about Gryf as much as they needed to hear. She was only too happy to share with her sisters. “It was in a small Welsh fishing village. I thought him slow-witted because he moved so slowly. Later I learned that he was recovering from severe burns.”

  “Burns?” The two sisters glanced at each other.

  “Weren’t you immediately struck by his resemblance to Gray?” Bethany nudged Ambrosia’s elbow.

  Darcy avoided their eyes. “I might have been. For a moment.”

  “A moment?” Ambrosia took the brush from her hands and began pinning Darcy’s hair back with combs. She studied her sister’s reflection in the looking glass. “Don’t try to tell us you don’t still see the resemblance.”

  “Perhaps. A little.”

  “A little?” Bethany flounced closer. “Darcy, except for the beard and the hair, he could be Gray’s twin.”

  Darcy pulled away and walked to the window, keeping her back to her sisters. “Aye. I thought so in the beginning. But now I’m convinced I was wrong. Once I got to know Gryf, I realized he’s…different, somehow.”

  “In what way?” Ambrosia arched a brow at Bethany.

  Darcy shrugged. “There’s a boldness to Gryf. A toughness, that is completely unlike Gray. The way he—” She turned to face her sisters, and they saw something in her eyes they’d never seen before. It was the look of a woman who was completely perplexed by a man. Or bewitched by him. “The way he looks at me, sometimes. And the way he touches me. Gray never touched me in any way except with gentleness.”

  “Is he cruel or rough?” Bethany looked alarmed.

  “Nay. It isn’t that. But there’s a…boldness in Gryf that I never sensed in Gray. An impatience.”

  “Has he kissed you?” Bethany watched her sister’s pale cheeks suddenly flood with color.

  “Aye.”

  “Well? Does he kiss like Gray? A woman can tell these things.”

  Darcy’s blush deepened. “That’s what has me worried. Gray always kissed me with gentleness. He always let me chart my own course. But Gryf…” She looked away, but not before her two sisters saw her discomfort. “With Gryf I have no stars by which to navigate. I feel…lost at sea.”

  The two sisters shared a knowing smile.

  “And you love him.” Bethany touched a hand to her sister’s shoulder.

  Darcy’s head came up. Without looking at either of them she whispered, “Aye. And I feel so…guilty about it.”

  “Guilty? Why in the world should you feel guilty for loving someone?” At Ambrosia’s outburst, Bethany shot her a dark look.

  “Aye. Guilty. And why not?” Darcy’s voice lowered to a whisper. “What kind of woman am I that I can grieve the loss of the only boy I ever loved, and then, just months later, give my heart to another man?”

  Bethany led her young sister to a chaise and gently pressed her to sit. Then she knelt before her and took her hands. “You just answered your own question, Darcy.”

  “I don’t understand.” Darcy shook her head, sending the golden curls flying. The same curls her sister had just smoothed.

  “You grieved the loss of the only boy you ever loved. Gray was that boy. And now you’ve lost your heart to a man. From what little I’ve seen, Gryf is definitely not a boy, but a man. And he’ll expect to be loved, not by a girl, but by a woman.”

  She squeezed Darcy’s hands. “You’re the only one who can decide if he’s the right man for you. And if you’re woman enough for him.”

  Darcy closed her eyes. “I’m so confused. I was hoping the two of you could help me.”

&n
bsp; Ambrosia walked over to lay a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “If it’s any comfort, I felt the same way with Riordan. Lost and confused, and thoroughly miserable.”

  Bethany nodded. “It was the same for me with Kane.” She leaned close and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek. “But don’t fret, Darcy. You and Gryf will find your way through these turbulent seas.”

  Darcy shook her head. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am.” Bethany grinned at her older sister. “Come, Ambrosia. Let’s go give Mistress Coffey a hand. And leave our little sister here to contemplate her future.”

  “What future?” Darcy looked as lost as she had when she was five, and had wandered away from her nursemaid and older sisters. After more than an hour of climbing over boulders, and wading through the shallows, she had arrived home to MaryCastle, her knees scraped, her boots and the hem of her gown soaked, and her face streaked with dirt. But there had been no tears shed. Even at such a tender age, she hadn’t permitted herself to wallow in pity. She had simply squared her little shoulders and found her way home.

  Just as she had then, her lips formed the most perfect pout, bringing delighted laughs to both her sisters.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Bethany called cheerfully.

  “Aye. You always do.”

  With giggles, Ambrosia and Bethany danced off, closing the door behind them.

  In the silence of her room, Darcy began to pace. But all she could think of was Gryf, the look of him, the feel of his arms around her, and the pleasure she found in his kisses.

  Annoyed with the direction of her thoughts she flounced out of her room and decided to spend the morning with young Whit. Now that the lad was out of danger, she would be able to relax and enjoy his company without any of the confusion she felt in Gryf’s presence.