Kate passed a restless night, starting awake every time the schooner sank in a deep trough. When she dragged herself out of bed the following morning, she dressed and immediately went topside, preferring to be in the open air rather than trapped in the bowels of the ship.
The sight that greeted her, however, made her temporarily forget her own phobia: High above her head, Deverill was clinging to a yardarm, apparently securing a sail. Braced against the wind and rock of the ship, he looked as much at home challenging death as she did confronting a haughty society matron in her own drawing room.
Alarmed for him, Kate watched with bated breath as he finally climbed down.
“Whatever are you doing, risking your life like that?” she demanded when he reached her. “Cannot your crew see to the rigging?”
With a wave of his hand, he brushed off her concern. “I like to keep busy. You look pale,” Deverill remarked, scanning her face.
Remembering her own difficulties, Kate forced a smile. “I will be very glad when we reach land.”
“Only one more night, although I suspect we may be in for some rough water before then.”
When he pointed to the gray clouds on the horizon, Kate felt her stomach tighten.
She forced herself to concentrate on the present moment, asking Deverill about his ships, his life at sea, and the network of commerce his family’s company had built to export and import goods between America and Europe. But all the while she remained on edge.
Fortunately, that bout of foul weather chiefly bypassed them and the seas grew calmer. Late in the day, however, she could see another storm approaching. The skies grew dark again, while lightning flickered in the distance.
When a gusting wind spawned swelling waves flecked with whitecaps, her aunt and uncle retired to the comfort of their cabin. Soon the thunderheads grew more ominous and the increasingly choppy motion of the schooner made balance difficult.
With a strong wind whipping through the rigging, Captain Halsey sent sailors aloft to “reef the main topsail,” Deverill explained. “Likely it is merely a squall, but to be safe, Halsey will trim the sails even farther, leaving only enough to steer the ship.”
An hour later a pelting rain began. Deverill ordered Kate below and would brook no argument. “It isn’t safe for you here,” he added emphatically.
She had to agree. Despite clinging to the rail, she was already in danger of losing her footing on the pitching deck. Yet she went reluctantly, not wanting to stay below where she would be trapped if the ship capsized.
Kate negotiated the hatch and ladder, then staggered and groped her way along the dim companionway. She stopped at the first door to check on her aunt, and discovered that Rachel had been so miserable with nausea, Cornelius had given her a dose of laudanum to make her sleep.
Kate hated being alone just now, yet there was little room for her there, so she went to her own cabin. After carefully lighting a storm lantern and turning down the flame, she sat huddled on her bunk, striving to tamp down her fears. She was even more worried about Deverill and the crew, exposed as they were to the raw elements above.
Shortly the storm struck in its full fury. High waves battered the wooden hull of the ship, the thuds accompanied by creaks and groans of the schooner from the buffeting wind. Alarmed, Kate fought to maintain her courage while being bombarded with images from her worst nightmares.
Just then she heard a faint knock on the door. When it swung open, Deverill stood there wearing an oilskin, his face and hair streaming wet. The relief she felt at knowing he was safe was indescribable.
“I brought you a cold supper,” he said quickly, crossing the short space to her. “Bread and cheese and meats. We can’t risk a coal fire in the galley stove.”
“Thank you,” Kate replied, accepting the knapsack from him, even though she had no appetite. “Won’t you stay and take supper with me?”
“I must get back. The crew is struggling, and Halsey needs all hands on deck managing the sails and bailing water.”
“Please…take care.”
Deverill flashed her a grin. “I will. I promised I would escort you to France, and I always honor my promises.”
Just then the schooner gave another eerie groan. When Kate flinched, he hastened to reassure her. “Those are only normal ship noises in a storm.”
Kate nodded but shivered. Before she could say another word, Deverill bent down and pressed a light kiss on the top of her head.
He must have noted her damp hair and cloak, for he stood back and frowned at her. “Change out of those wet clothes at once before you catch a chill,” he directed, then left as quickly as he’d come, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Kate complied with difficulty, bracing herself against the pitches and yaws of the ship as she shed her cloak and gown and corset and donned a serviceable gown of brown kerseymere, then pulled the pins from her hair and combed the damp, unruly mass with her fingers.
Still shivering in the chill air of the cabin, she settled back in the bunk and wrapped her arms around her knees, striving to maintain a semblance of composure. She had wanted to throw her arms around Deverill and keep him safe and have him keep her safe, but she’d had to let him go while she stayed behind to battle her waking nightmares alone.
—
When he returned to her cabin two hours later, Brandon found Kate much as he expected, shivering and wan and utterly unlike her usual vibrant self.