“No, milord! It’s too dangerous,” Hughyelled.
“Tie a rope around me. Give me plenty of slack.”
The last of the crew clambered over the side into their rowboat, which rode perilously low in thewater.
Nathaniel peeled off his slicker. “Get those men on board before their rowboat goes under.”
He dove into the swirling waters, a sturdy rope tied around his waist. A wave broke over his head, sending him rushing toward the bottom. Lungs bursting, he kicked his way to the surface and was immediately swept away, as the men gave him slack on the rope. Another wave hit him, slamming a floating bucket into his shoulder. It took every ounce of his strength to keep his head above water as he swam to the stricken ship. The waves dragged him toward the prow and banged him against the side. He grabbed a dangling rope and heaved himself slowly aboard, lashed by the waves.
As he fought to gain his feet, the ship gave a groan, and the bow dipped into the sea. The waves broke over the deck, flooding the timber beneath Nathaniel’s feet. He held on as the wind howled around him. The bow rose again, sending him sliding over the tilting, slippery planks. He reached the man, who still lived, wedged beneath the mast. The boat shuddered and another mast fell, missing Nathaniel by a foot. The sudden jerk caused the mast to roll off the man’s legs. Salt spray stung Nathaniel’s eyes, threatening to blind him. He swiped at them with his forearm, then hauled the injured man to the side, diving overboard with him, as the ship, with another mighty groan, slid beneath thesea.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With a grunt of effort, Nathaniel held the injured man afloat as Hugh and the fishermen dragged the fellow on board. In the rough swell, Nathaniel hung on, his strength failing as he waited for his turn to be pulled aboard. He had come close to death before; it wasn’t a new experience, but this time had special significance. This could be a second chance for his marriage and his life. The smugglers were finished; after this, they couldn’t start their business again. And as his life and his past mistakes swept before his eyes, he vowed he would make Laurahappy.
A huge wave broke over him, sending him spinning away from the boat. The rope snapped. Nathaniel, salty brine filling his throat, sank into the depths. Thoughts of becoming another victim of Davy Jones’ Locker made him kickviolently.
When he resurfaced gasping for air, the fishing boat had drifted farther away. Finding himself closer to an outcrop of rocks within sight of the shore, Nathaniel fought to keep his head above water and swam toward them, aided by the strong tide. It would take all of his boyhood skills to climb high enough up the green-tinged granite slopes to rest before striking out again. If he couldn’t rest, in his exhausted state, he knew he would never makeit.
***
Laura slept deeply on and off for what seemed like weeks. Whenever she opened her eyes, she saw her worried aunt beside the bed. Her limbs ached and her headpounded.
When the drowsiness left her, she pushed herself up on the pillows, surprised at how weak she’dbecome.
“You’ve been sick for three days,” Dora said. “I was tempted to send for your mother.”
Laura eyed her with a frown. “I hope you didn’t.”
“No. There was some concern that you might have contracted whooping cough.” Dora hovered over her with a bowl of broth, waiting to feed her. “I’m so relieved you’re back with us.”
“I can manage, thank you.” The beef soup was tasty, but she had little appetite. She put down the spoon and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. “I’m sorry I worried you. Has a telegram come?”
Dora smiled. “Yesterday.” She took the telegram from herpocket.
Laura anxiously read it. “Nathaniel’s well, thank God. He says he’s been busy working with the police. He makes no mention of my coming home.” And no word that he loved or missedher.
“You can’t expect much from a telegram,” Dora said soothingly. “At least he’s all right.”
He was all right. With a deep, gratifying sigh, Laura threw back the bedclothes. “I shall get up today.”
Dora frowned. “Are you sure you should?”
“I’m much better. Send the maid in, will you please?”
An hour later, upon entering the library, Laura caught sight of Dora tucking papers under a cushion. Her aunt looked up with a guiltyexpression.
“What have you there, Aunt Dora?”
Dora retrieved a bundle of letters and handed them to her. “I decided to wait until you were stronger before I showed you these.” She shrugged. “While you were sick, I searched the attics.”
“You went up to the attics? It seems I can’t leave you alone for a minute before you busy yourself with something you ought not.” Laura’s fascinated gaze settled on the letters, spotted with age and tied up with a faded blue ribbon. She held out her hands, and her aunt deposited the bundle into them. “I suppose you’ve been frightfully bored.”
“Au contraire. I am never bored in my own company. But I haven’t read them,” Dora said with quietdignity.
Laura sat and patted her aunt’s knee. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit bad tempered. But certainly curious. Shall we read these together?”
Dora’s eyes brightened. “I’ll ring for tea.”
