Moonwitch

“Blast it, woman, what are you doing up on deck! Don’t you know you could be washed overboard?”

She could scarcely hear him for the wind howling through the shrouds, but as if to prove his point, a shower of spray burst above the gunwale as the ship pitched to starboard. She would have fallen except for the powerful arms that came around her and pulled her close.

“Please,” Selena asked, clinging to his shoulders, “I’m afraid down there in the dark.” It was scarcely lighter here, but even the wretched cold and wet was easier to face than confinement below.

A muscle flexed in Kyle’s jaw, and he looked as if he would refuse, until Hardwick, who had materialized in the teeming rain, shouted, “Maybe you should let her stay, Captain!”

“Please,” Selena repeated.

Kyle relented. “Get her an oilskin and a line,” he commanded Hardwick, before leading Selena amidships and settling her in the protection of a bulkhead, where she would be partially sheltered from the rain. He had shed his own oilskin in order to move more freely, but there was a rope tied around his waist, she noticed.

When Hardwick returned, Kyle lashed the thick cord to an iron ring, then secured it around Selena’s waist. “Don’t move so much as a finger!” he ordered as he draped the oilskin over her. “Stay here, where I can find you.”

She nodded, but Kyle was already moving away, bent low against the wind and rain. If she lived through the storm, she would thank him, Selena vowed.

During the next hour, she spied him occasionally as he battled the elements; he seemed to be anywhere he was needed and to be doing the work of three men. From where she sat, she could just make out the helm, and when he was at the wheel, Selena fixed her gaze on him, drawing courage from watching him. It came as a vague surprise to her to realize how much she trusted him to keep the ship safe. She wondered if he was enjoying the battle.

He was not, in fact, for while he might relish a challenge, he took no pleasure in risking the lives of his men. Already he was calling on every ounce of skill he possessed to hold a course in the rough sea, continuously judging the sail needed to keep the Tagus close to the wind. Too little would have her floundering; too much would make her top-heavy and put her in danger of capsizing or shattering a mast.

Then the storm struck in its full fury, and the high waves that were battering the wooden hull threatened to swamp the ship. Having exhausted his limited options, Kyle sent two of his best tars above to reef the main topsail. When that did too little to reduce the risk of capsizing, Kyle himself went up the mainmast, along with Tiny, armed with an ax to cut away the main topmast.

Below, Selena watched the proceedings, her stomach churning, her heart in her throat. Kyle had ordered her forward, out of the way of falling timber or canvas, but she could see the small figures of the men high above her head, illuminated by shards of lightning streaking across the charcoal sky. It seemed that at any moment the wind that shrieked through the rigging would pluck them from their precarious perches, sending them plunging to the deck or into the sea to be swept away by the foaming breakers. Either way would mean death.

When the topmast finally gave way, Kyle was nearly caught in the tangle of ropes as it fell. A cry broke from Selena’s lips as he clutched at a backstay to save himself, but the sound was drowned by the creaking of the mizzen topsail as it was ripped by the wind. The ship lurched oddly, and a spar crashed to the deck, but Selena’s gaze was riveted on Kyle.

When she finally determined that Kyle wasn’t going to fall and tore her gaze away, she saw Hardwick making his way aft to aid the helmsman, who had been directly beneath the falling spar. The first mate had discarded his safety line, and just as he crossed the open forecastle deck, a huge wave broke over the port rail, spewing a foaming cascade of black water down upon the ship. Selena stared with horror as he lost his footing and went down.

As seawater ran off through the scuppers, another flash of lightning showed her that Hardwick hadn’t yet been swept over the side. He was curled against the railing, holding his ribs as if in pain.

It wasn’t a conscious decision that made Selena leave the shelter of the foremast to go to his aid. She only knew that Hardwick was in no condition to save himself, and she at least still wore a rope.

The mountainous wave caught her when she was still two yards from him, propelling her across the pitching deck and knocking the breath from her lungs. Blindly, desperately, she made a frantic lunge at the direction she had last seen Hardwick, and when her fingers closed over wool, she wrapped an arm around him and hung on for dear life.

The rope jerked taut, jarring her whole body, and something hard and blunt rammed into her ribs, making her gasp in pain. But though she was near to choking as another fierce wave washed over her, she never relinquished her hold.

It seemed an eternity before the waves diminished and she heard someone call her name. She was pinned beneath something wooden and heavy, she realized vaguely, coughing up some of the seawater she had swallowed. And it hurt to move.

“Selena! Dear God, Selena!”

She wondered why Kyle was shouting at her. She didn’t know what she had done to make him angry again, but she wanted to tell him she was sorry; there was far too much anger between them. Racked by a spasm of coughing, though, she couldn’t catch her breath to form an apology or even a protest when Hardwick was pried from her death grip.

“Selena, are you hurt? Damn it, look at me!”

She opened her eyes to find Kyle kneeling beside her, his large body shielding her from the worst of the blinding rain, his fingers cupping her face. “Are you in pain?”

Not much, she thought, taking stock, except for the ache in her lungs from inhaling so much water and a dull throbbing in her ribs. She had lost her sodden bonnet, too. Selena shook her head, and the next instant she found herself in Kyle’s arms, crushed against his chest. She couldn’t breathe with her face pressed against his woolen coat, but absurdly, she didn’t mind being smothered. It was far nicer than drowning.

“God, you gave me a fright,” he croaked when he finally loosened his hold, a ragged note of relief in his voice.

“Hardwick?” Selena managed to ask.

Kyle glanced beside him, where Tiny was bent over the unconscious first mate. Hardwick’s chest was dark with blood.

“He’s alive, at least,” Kyle shouted in her ear. “We’ll take him below, but he’ll have to wait till I can see to him. The worst is over, but I’m needed here, and I can’t spare any of my crew.”

Selena hesitated, turning to look at Hardwick. Even if the storm was abating, it would be some time before anyone was able to doctor the injured man. And she had tended enough wounds—from machete slashes to coral reef abrasions—to have a basic grounding in medical skills.

“I’ll go with him,” Selena said, although she knew that with the onset of nightfall the cabins would be pitch-black.