Thank you, God.
Simple words, but he’d never felt them so sincerely. Groaning at the effort it took—all energy faded now that they’d been rescued—he reached across to touch her heaving shoulder. He needed to feel the life flooding back into her. His desolation when he’d thought her lost still fermented in his belly.
He sat up, although every aching muscle begged him never to move again. A sailor handed him some water and only after a few sips could he speak. “Five men were on the ship.”
Since the boat capsized, he hadn’t seen MacGregor or the other crewmen. But he’d focused solely on Pen. If John MacGregor had floated a yard away, Cam doubted he’d have noticed.
The fellow who had tugged him from the water like a floundering haddock spoke through a beard of such thickness, Cam couldn’t see his mouth. “There’s another rescue boat out, but I don’t ’old much ’ope for survivors. It’s a terrible day, terrible.”
Cam recognized the cruel truth of that. “Can we search for them?”
The man’s snort might have contained amusement or express derision for someone stupid enough to expect anyone to brave this storm. “We’ve seen nobody else. And we need to get you and your lady to shore. We’ve plucked two live uns from the waves. Reckon that’s our bounty.” He paused. “The lads are done in. As dangerous for rescuers as for drowners.”
While he recognized the sense in what the sailor said, Cam’s heart cramped with regret. John MacGregor was a good man, and the crew had been under Cam’s charge.
He moved closer to Pen. Gently, he turned her over and was shocked to see that she was barely covered. Drawing her into his arms, he spoke to the man who had saved him. “Do you have a blanket?”
“We’ve got some in the basket in the stern. No promises ’ow dry they be,” the man said gruffly. “They’ll warm your wife.”
Cam didn’t bother to explain that they weren’t married. The rower behind him passed word down. Soon Cam had wrapped Pen in a damp, prickly, but serviceable wool blanket.
Cam braced himself against the side of the boat. Pen only gradually returned to consciousness. She moaned and Cam pressed her icy face into the curve of his neck. He told himself he shared body heat—she was alarmingly cold and didn’t feel much more alive than she had as a drifting wraith. But the truth was that he needed to touch her to fill the void inside him that had opened when he’d thought her dead.
“You’re hurting me,” Pen muttered into his bare chest, her breath like a kiss.
“I’m sorry.” Reluctantly he loosened his grip. “How are you feeling?”
He took a moment to recognize the choked sound she made against his skin as a laugh. God above, she was magnificent.
“Awful.” Her voice was scratchy, as if she’d screamed for him again and again and he hadn’t come. Despite her earlier protest, his hold tightened.
“I’m not surprised.” He raised the flask of water to her lips. After she drank, choking a little, he spoke. “What do you remember?”
She showed no urge to move away. “I remember hitting the water. I remember trying to swim, but the cloak was so heavy. I should have taken it off, but the strings were tangled.” She leaned back to stare into his face. A jagged flash through the sky revealed a vulnerable expression. “Thank you for saving me.”
He gave her more water, pleased to see she managed better. “How do you know I did?”
Despite everything they’d been through, she found a smile. “You always saved me. Even if it meant fighting an army of village boys for the sake of a flea-bitten cat. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember.” Around them, the men rowed like demons. Inches away, the sea clawed at their boat. But he and Pen were cocooned in intimacy. “Don’t speak, Pen. Rest.”
For a woman who had nearly drowned, her gaze was remarkably steady. “No, there’s something I must say.”
“It can wait until we’re on land.”
“Please, Cam.” She rested her hand over his heart, the heart that had cracked at the thought of losing her. “Let me speak.”
He already knew he wouldn’t like what she said, but he wasn’t proof against her pleading. “Very well.”
“You will always be the dear friend of my childhood.” Despite her hoarseness and her pauses for breath, her voice was as steady as her gaze. “And now you’ve saved my life. Again.”
He took no comfort from what she said. Her manner hinted that she spoke of endings, not beginnings. “Rescuing you is my mission.”
“No longer.” Regret stabbed him when she lifted her hand from him. Her lovely face was drawn and tired—and heartbreakingly sad. “This journey hasn’t been easy on either of us. But it’s over. Let’s forget the anger, and remember one another with generosity. Let’s say our farewells without rancor.”
Penelope was right. And wise. Wiser than he.
He tucked her head under his chin and stared unseeingly toward the approaching coast. As Pen said, once they reached England, their dealings we