The sound wheezed in his throat, so painful it made his eyes water. And yet he shouted once more, louder this time and with greater effort. “Wait!”
“Raise the anchor and drop the main sail.”
Reaching the side of the ship, Simon stared at its retreating form. Without the mooring lines in place, it was gradually easing away from the pier. “Stop. I must get on board!”
No one responded. The crew was too busy, the orders shouted to them by their captain overpowering Simon’s words. He shook his head. It couldn’t come to this. He could not be this close to getting Ida back, only to fail. But what could he possibly do?
His mind raced. He had to think of something fast, before the distance between him and the ship increased any more. Making one last attempt at gaining somebody’s notice, he shouted again at the top of his lungs, but just like before, his words received no response.
Time to think of something else then.
If there were a rowboat nearby, he could have used it. But there wasn’t. The last one he’d seen was quite a ways back. By the time he reached it…
He shook his head. A waste of time. He scanned the side of the ship until his eyes found a rope hanging over the side – a mooring line that hadn’t been pulled back on board yet.
Gauging the distance, Simon tucked the chief magistrate’s letter into his jacket pocket, stepped back and drew a deep breath. His fingers flexed in preparation for what he was going to do. The ship slid further away. If he didn’t act fast, he’d lose his chance altogether.
Without second guessing himself, Simon ran forward. When the front of his foot met the edge of the quay, he jumped, fully aware he might land in the river, but choosing to hope he’d be able to make it.
Reaching forward, he strained his fingers and grabbed for the rope.
His hands closed around the thick twisted twine even as his momentum threw his hip into the ship with a jarring thwack that ricocheted through him. The rope scraped his palms as his weight pulled him down, burning his skin until it felt raw. But rather than let go he tightened his hold and was able to stop his fall. Bloody hell. He glanced up and pressed his lips firmly together. The railing wasn’t so far. All he had to do now was climb.
Clutching the rope, he pushed himself into position and planted his feet against the side of the ship. Then, hand over hand, he walked his way upward while gasping and wheezing for breath. Pain radiated from his hip and his hands felt as though they’d been lashed by a whip. He paused, gripped the rope harder, reminded himself of the stakes. This was about saving Ida. He had to find the energy required to make his way over that blasted railing and onto the deck.
Swallowing, he thought of her dazzling eyes, her beautiful smile, and the sound of her laughter. The muscles in his arms bunched and strained. His foot slipped and for a brief second he lost his purchase. But then he was climbing again, faster than before, the railing now only one yard above him. He caught the edge and hooked his arm on the wooden ledge to haul himself over.
“Who the hell are you?” a crewmember asked.
The man, along with several others, had halted their chores to stare at Simon while he staggered to his feet. Good God, he could barely stand. His legs swayed and he grabbed at the railing to steady himself.
“I’m the Earl of Fielding,” he rasped. Swallowing against the sandpaper in his throat, Simon made his way toward the quarterdeck with uncertain steps. The captain was there at the wheel and—
“Where do you think you’re going?” a stern voice asked. It belonged to a stocky fellow who’d just stepped into Simon’s path.
Simon glared at him. “To speak with the captain.”
“He’s busy right now. Whatever you want to say will have to wait.” He gave Simon a head to toe perusal. “We’ve a schedule to keep and don’t take kindly to uninvited guests. Earl or not.”
Heat gathered at the base of Simon’s spine, working its way up into his head until it came to a boil at the top of his skull. “If you value your health, you will step aside this instant and allow me to pass.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Threats won’t—”
Simon’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his cravat. “Now you listen to me. I have been through hell today. In fact, I have met with the devil himself. And I am not about to be deterred any more. Not after getting this far.”
The man sputtered and grabbed Simon’s wrists in an effort to pull himself free.
“Ho, there,” a thick voice commanded. “I need my first mate in one piece, sir. Release him, if you please.”
Simon loosened his hold and the man stumbled back, coughing and croaking while scowling at Simon with murderous eyes. Dismissing him, Simon turned toward the other man who’d spoken. The navy blue coat he wore with gold braiding, brass buttons, and epaulets on each shoulder left no question about who he was.
“Captain…” Simon murmured.
“Spencer,” the man offered. “And you are?”
“The Earl of Fielding. Here to free one of the prisoners by order of the chief magistrate.” Simon reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the papers he’d been given. “I know you’re eager to depart, but I’d greatly appreciate a moment of your time. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Orders must be heeded,” Captain Spencer said with the seriousness of a man accustomed to hierarchy and regulation. “We can speak in my cabin.”
