Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) (19 page)

Harriet clung to the rail, her head in the wind. He could see that a number of others were with her too, choking out what little they had eaten previously. Bill hung on to the wheel, keeping the boat on course. James stood like a rock behind him looking out. Despite the rain he could see the stars between the patchy clouds. This was
exciting.

“Don’t you think you should go to her?”

“Pardon?” James shouted above the wind.

“Get Harriet, don’t you think you should get her down below?” Bill spun at the wheel turning the boat. A cry came up from the sailors as the boom narrowly missed the waves.

James frowned. Why hadn’t that been his first thought upon seeing her at the rail? Since Harriet had rowed with him back to the
Rocket,
he had stopped thinking of her as a little girl and more as a grown woman. But he would have hurried a grown woman below as well.

“I rather think,” he paused as the boat gibed, “I rather think she’s enjoying herself.”

“Don’t be stupid. No woman or man could possibly enjoy this weather–“Bill risked a look at James’ face—“apart from you of course.”

James spread his feet a bit wider on the deck to maintain his balance. A vision came to him then, of the young girl on his back, kicking and screaming at him about the gods of the sea as he waded through the waves back to the beach. The anger and
excitement
in her voice had been surprising.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

“Harriet’s a gentlewoman, James, you haven’t been here for the last few years she… well I’ll be blowed.”

Bill and James gazed at the small figure at the prow of the boat who, in the face of all danger, had thrown up her hands to the sky and, with a look of glee, was shouting into the wind.

“She’ll bloody kill herself she will.”

“Very probably,” James murmured. He looked at the back of Bill’s wide neck. “Isn’t she your fiancée? Shouldn’t you be over there?”

He grimaced as Bill took a hand off the wheel, causing the boat to veer wildly. Stepping forward, he grabbed the quivering wheel and pulled the boat back on course. Bill ran a hand through his rain slicked hair.

“She doesn’t want me. Never has, so she says. She’s holding out for someone else.”

“Who?”

Bill looked steadfastly forward into the crashing waves. He pushed James’ hand off the wheel and took it back in his hands. “She hasn’t said in words,” he shouted.

“Why did you kiss her then?”

“I haven’t. Not for want of trying. Try getting close to Harry and you’ll find your trousers in a twist and your face on the floor.”

“Hmm. I’ve experienced that.”

“I asked her to marry me. And she said she would consider my proposal if I let her on this boat.”

So that was how Harriet had wrangled her way aboard. Bill must have really wanted her hand.

“So she’s still considering it?”

“What do you think? Harriet’s too crafty for her own good. Look at how she dealt with Renard. He’s taken her bale of lace even though French lace is far superior.” Bill shrugged, droplets of water cascading off his thick coat.

“You don’t seem too disappointed.”

Bill looked away from the waves towards the prow of the boat. “Her hair says it all. I would always be pulling her out of scrapes. I want an educated lady, not a scapegrace siren masquerading as a teacher who can best me in a sword fight.”

James warmed inside. He glanced at Harriet and his breath caught. Her cap had come loose and her hair flew as wild as Medusa’s in the wind.

Excitement.
That was what she promised. Excitement and feeling. That was what he had missed from the Peninsular. It wasn’t danger. It was excitement. And by gods, he’d forgotten he’d had the capacity to feel.

“Anyway, plenty more fish in the sea.” Bill grinned and elbowed him in the side.

It felt strange to have a brother, a brother that he trusted. He’d read Hawk’s message in the swinging candle light of his cabin. It had told him to rule out Bill and Renard as suspects. The Hawk had already kept an eye on them.

“Watch out!”

James looked up sharply to the sight of the boom swinging low and catching in the water. The
Rocket’
s timbers screamed as the boat suddenly slowed and swung.

A cry came from the bow. In terror, James looked across the deck. He sighed in relief as he saw Harriet still clinging onto the prow of the boat. One of the sailors had been swept into the water and was hanging on to the bow rope. Looking out, James could see that they were nearing land. The familiar cliffs of Brambridge loomed in front of them.

“We’re coming in too fast,” Bill yelled. “We need to drop the anchor and head into the wind. It’s the only thing that will slow the
Rocket
down and stop her being beaten into the rocks. Someone get Tommy out of the water!”

Without pausing for thought, James stepped away from Bill’s side and ran to the front. Harriet was already there. The rest of the crew were busy reefing the mainsail and dropping the anchor.

“Get the rope!” Harriet screamed, pointing at a heavy rope attached to a capstan. James nodded and lifted it, wincing as his shoulder bit. Pulling it to the side, he threw the rope overboard through the rails. But it wasn’t long enough to reach Tommy. Tommy flailed feebly in the water, his injured shoulder stiffly at his side.

James turned in surprise as Harriet ran back to the capstan. Screaming into the wind, Harriet unhitched the rope from the capstan and ran back to the rail. By chance, the end tail of the rope snaked to lie beside the struggling Tommy. He grabbed it and Harriet hung on strongly to the looped and spliced rope. She had a strong grip, but James realized quickly that she wasn’t heavy enough to anchor Tommy. She could not even pull him in as the rope ran through her hands.

Cursing, James put his arms around her and stopped the rope running through. They only had one chance. They would only be very lucky if they managed to pull him in.

“Come on, Master Chance,” he yelled. “I’ve finally realized what Renard meant. Chance is luck in French! Pull!”

Harriet stood and grabbed the rope with him. James molded his body around her, feeling her warmth, inhaling a deep breath of apple blossom. There was no time to think, not whilst Tommy was gasping and churning at the other end of the rope as the waves broke over him.

Slowly but surely they dragged him in, pulling the rope together. As Tommy reached the side, James reached over and pulled Tommy into the boat. Tommy lay on the deck, gasping and trembling.

Harriet fell to her knees and ran her hands over the man’s quivering body. James clasped his hands to his head as a sudden gust of wind lifted his beribboned hat. She stood again, a look of relief on her face.

The boat lurched in the gust. Bill spun the wheel violently, attempting to head the boat into the wind. The crew was ready with the anchor, but it was too much. The boat gibed, and the boom swung hard over the deck. James stared upwards and threw himself at Harriet, but the tilt of the deck drew her away from him. He got to his knees. She looked at him in horror.

“Duck!” he screamed at Harriet. She stared at him, wide-eyed. He tried to point downwards but she didn’t understand.

With a crack, the boom hit her on the forehead. Stunned, Harriet fell against the side of the boat. Her eyes flickered and then rolled back in her head. James crawled towards her as fast as he could, grabbing for her shirt, for anything that he could hold onto. Another wave crashed against the bow, flowing over the both of them. He found her hand, slippery with water, and grasped it. But as the boat ploughed into the wave, Harriet’s hand slid through his. Her body tumbled across the deck and disappeared overboard.

James glanced back at Bill, who was shouting at the crew. There was no time to shout. The boat had righted itself and the anchor had finally been thrown overboard. Pulling at his sodden sleeves, he pulled off his overcoat and, fumbling with its folds, pulled out his dagger. He thrust it into his waistband and climbed onto the heaving rail. Bending his legs, he thrust himself over the side.

With a splash, he hit the sea. It was cold, colder than anything James had felt on the Peninsular. The insidious cold crept through his clothes instantly. He looked to his left and right. Nothing. Then he saw it. A flash of orange as a wave crashed against a submerged rock. It was the ribbon that had adorned his hat. It must have fallen with Harriet as she fell. If that was the way the ribbon had travelled, then maybe Harriet’s weight had too.

As with all summer storms, the sea calmed rapidly. Focusing on the ribbon, James swam with strong strokes towards the rock, being careful to stay some distance away. Then he saw her. She had been flung against the rock several times by the look of it, with blood washing away each time a new wave hit. Harriet’s hair swayed like burning seaweed against her head, but she didn’t seem to be moving and was wedged. Something was stopping her from floating away.

James’ arms and legs became numb as he ploughed the last hundred yards toward the rocks. His breaths were becoming shallower and shallower. The
Rocket
was far away now. Weakly he tried to shout back to the boat, turning his head, but no sound came out. Bill had to look after his boat and his crew. If someone jumped overboard, then they were on their own.

Gritting his teeth, he continued to saw through the waves to the rock. A large wave picked him up and threw him against it with force. Sucking a breath in, James choked as he swallowed seawater. He scrabbled at the rock, crawling out of the water and onto its jagged face. Blinking water out of his eyes, he could see that they were near the cliffs. The tide seemed to be going out, revealing the submerged rock from its watery mantle. Harriet was stuck on the other side of the rock at risk of being sucked under by the tide.

James’ boots had filled with water and provided no grip on the slippery rock. He pulled them off, and gripped its slippery surface with his bare feet. Edging towards the water he wished he could call on Harriet’s gods of the sea to help him. Gazing over the side, he could see Harriet’s white face gazing upwards at him, her hair floating in a flaming arch. Yet her body remained in one place, wedged underneath. Previous decades of smugglers had used the rocks as useful pontoons for mooring in placid seas, drilling stakes into the rocks. Perhaps she was caught on one of those.

James patted at his belt and drew out his dagger. He took a deep breath and, without pausing to think, dove into the cold water again. Holding his breath, he came up against her body. Her clothes floated against his, her skin clammy, and exceedingly cold. Feeling with his hand, he traced a path up her leg. She wasn’t caught on her breeches. Gingerly he traced around her front, her generous curves filling his hand. He groaned. The coldness of the water could not take away from the heat he felt within.

His lungs began to burn; he could not hold his breath any longer. He shot to the surface using Harriet’s body as an anchor. Hyperventilating, he duck-dived again. Every second counted in getting Harriet away from the rock, and into the warmth. This time she started at her waist, feeling the loose material billow. It was as he suspected, the loose material of her chemise had caught around one of the crude hooks driven into the rock. With his dagger, he cut with great slashes into the material.

Suddenly she was free. With a sob he rose to the surface. But Harriet was now free of the hook that had supported her, and her body began to sink under the water. Quickly he grabbed hold of her head and shoulders and, turning on his back, pulled her over his body. With short scissor kicks, he pulled the rest of her body up to his chest. James pushed away her hair and grabbed beneath her chin and under her arm. With his legs kicking wildly, he propelled them slowly towards the beach. It wasn’t far. In the gloom he had not realized how near they had come to beaching themselves in the
Rocket
, especially with the outgoing tide.

The surf rolled over them both as he reached the beach. Biting and choking, he tried to flip over but seawater filled his mouth. James tightened his grip on Harriet. He heard her choke. In spite of the searing pain, he smiled. At least she was alive. The jagged shingle of the beach scraped on his back. With one last heave, he rolled over and thrust her body with all of his might out of the surf and onto the damp sand.

His chin scraped against the sharp stones. A wave banged his head against the beach. Gasping for breath, he scrabbled with his hands against the stones. He looked wildly for Harriet and with relief caught a glimpse of her body resting immobile, face upward to the sky.

Another wave rolled over him, pulling him under. Pushing his feet beneath him, he tried to stand, but the beach shelved away beneath his feet. With a cry, he fell back into the water.

CHAPTER 19

A gentle tickling against her face woke her. Harriet lifted a heavy hand and brushed her hair from across her eyes. She sat up with a scream as a curious rock crab scuttled away across the sand.

The last she remembered was floating in the water, struggling to get free from where she had caught on a rock. Her hands had been too numb to unhook her chemise, and she had finally given up and floated, looking up at the grey sky, trying to take deep breaths before the waves rolled over her again and again.

Wearily she sat up, pushing her hands into the shingle. How had she got free? Tasting grit and dried salt in her mouth, she pushed her hands further into the sand and stood, groaning. At the water’s edge, she cupped a handful of water and ran it through her mouth, spitting out the sand. It stung where her lip had been cut, but it was fresh and cold and livening to her senses.

Harriet fought the will to collapse. Coldness thrust like icicles against her torso. Gasping, she looked down at her clothes; her chemise was torn in great clean slashes as if rent by a knife. Clutching at her clothes, she staggered towards a group of rocks before the shore path, paused and broke into a tumbling run. They weren’t rocks at all—they were the sodden outline of a man lying in the sand.