“Captain,” Redland said, placing her on firm footing once again. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be helping secure the sails?”
Redland paused, letting the thunder have the first word, then he proceeded. “It’s Peach! He’s been hurt! He fell from the rigging. Maybe a broken leg. Tanner’s taken him to your cabin!”
“I’m going to see him. Mr. Jordan, maintain present course! I won’t be long!”
She pulled her cape tightly around her and bent her head, bucking the strength of the wind head on. Redland stayed close beside her, his hands stretched out in her direction, in anticipation of another fall to the deck. His anticipation was correct, but he was worrying about the wrong person. Redland lost his footing, stumbled, and careened toward the rail. Alexis was beside him almost immediately.
“My hand, Redland! Grab it!”
Redland reached out. His body was prone on the deck, his back to the rail. If he had not fallen when he did the momentum of his body would have carried him over the side. Alexis grasped his hand firmly and pulled him to his feet.
“Thank you, Captain!” His words were lost in another violent burst of thunder and he did not bother to repeat them.
Jordan hurried over to where they stood. “My God! I thought we lost you!”
“Damn near did!” Redland shouted back.
The three of them stood there for a moment, catching their breath and at the same time trying to determine the safest way to get to the hatch without further mishap. Redland stepped forward, pushing off the rail at the same instant lightning struck the ship. The loud report following the flash of light was not thunder this time. Alexis, blinded for a moment by the light, recovered her vision in time to see a section of the mizzenmast hurdling toward them. Instinctively, they leaped out of the way but as they did so the ship pitched again and when their bodies should have connected with the deck they found themselves on the other side of the rail, well on their way to being swallowed by the rough, frothy sea.
Members of the crew who had been close enough to see what happened immediately threw over life lines. Precious minutes were lost before they realized none of the three would be able to grasp the lines. The ropes were practically invisible to those who threw them over. Peters quickly took charge and had the boats released from the davits. Even as he and Randall and Brandon were being lowered against the side of theDark Ladyhe knew it was probably too late to find his captain or his friends. Brandon kept his eyes riveted to the point in the water where he thought they must have gone under. When lightning flashed he cursed the fact he could see no more than whitecaps. Peter’s assumption he was on a fool’s mission was quickly realized when the lowered boat came into contact with the water and was buffeted about until it began to crack under the strain. It smashed against the hull of theDark Ladyeven as they tried to move it away. Brandon and Peters grabbed at the extended ropes when they knew only death awaited them if they did not get back aboard. Randall made his grab for the line at the same moment his attention was caught by a figure riding on the water toward them. While Peters and Brandon were being pulled aboard, Randall reached for an oar and held it out over the water. With one hand he held onto the rope with such tenacity he could feel the fibers digging into his palm.
His grip was severely put to the test as the boat gave way beneath him and a groping hand reached for the extended oar. From above him, Randall could hear his mates encouraging him, and when light split the sky he saw it was Jordan who held the oar. Randall pulled him close to the ship as another line was thrown for Jordan to grasp. When he was sure Jordan had a firm grip on it he released the oar and his mates pulled him up the side of the ship.
Jordan felt strong hands grasping his arms, pulling him over the side. He teetered on his feet for what he thought was an eternity then, in spite of his resolve to do differently, he passed out.
His collapse coincided with the moment Cloud chose to come on deck. The men around Jordan parted and Cloud had a full view of the unconscious first mate as well as the bent figure of Peters kneeling beside him.
“What happened?” he asked, hurrying over to the men. First Peach, now Jordan. The storm was heaping abuse upon them.
His question was greeted with silence. Not only silence, he observed, but avoidance. The crew was more uneasy than the storm alone would have made them. Some were already returning to their posts, careful it seemed to not even glance in his direction. The looks he did manage to catch were vacant stares, as if their eyes were not seeing him, but seeing past him. He sank to his knees beside Peters.
“Is he alive?” he asked.
“Aye. He’ll make it.” Peters’s voice was strained as he pressed Jordan on his back, forcing sea water from his stomach and lungs.
“What happened?” Cloud asked again. This time he made sure his voice was such that it demanded an answer.
Peters pointed to the fallen section of the mizzenmast. “Lightning. Knocked out part of the rail. They went overboard.”
“They?” He lifted his head and searched the faces of the men standing around him. The glances caught briefly then the contact was broken. He turned back to Peters. The man’s face was drawn and ghastly pale. What Cloud had first thought was rain streaking across his face he suddenly realized were tears. A sickening feeling came over Cloud. He made no attempt to control it, rather he let the strength which accompanied the feeling control him. He was on his feet, dragging Peters with him.
“They!” he shouted, shaking Peters by his shoulders.
Peters made no move to extricate himself from Cloud’s powerful grasp. “Redland,” he answered tonelessly. “And Captain Danty.”
“Christ!” He immediately released Peters only to begin chucking his boots. His action was so quick no one realized his intent until he started toward the rail.
Randall lunged for him. “Tanner! We tried! You can’t do anything!” Cloud shook him off. “For Christ’s sake! Somebody stop him!”
Brandon barreled into Cloud, knocking him to the deck. They wrestled but the others stepped in when it was obvious Cloud was going to be the victor.
“Let me up! Goddamn you! Let me up!” he shouted. “You can’t leave her out there!” He struggled against the viselike grip of the four men holding down his arms and legs until he was exhausted. He slumped against the deck, his energy gone, his strength washed away as the rain stung his face and arms. Brandon helped Cloud rise, his outstretched hand saying more than he could have managed in words.
Cloud returned to Jordan’s side. “Take him to his cabin,” he told Peters as quietly as he dared and still be heard. “Then look in on Peach. He’s in her cabin.”
Peters nodded and motioned Davie Brandon to help him. They lifted Jordan and carried him toward the hatch. Before he descended Peters looked back over his shoulder at Cloud. His eyes were focused on the fallen section of mast and his hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut, facing the wind defiantly, aggressively. He raised one arm in a slow, almost painful motion and opened his mouth as if to utter some oath. The stance was that of a man who was ready to kill; Peters was surprised to hear him say, to the accompaniment of a sweeping motion of his extended arm: “Clear this out of here!” Peters smiled faintly, tasting bitter tears on the edge of his lips. Cloud was in command. He had his ship. He had a crew who would follow him. Travers didn’t have a prayer.
