Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
G race returned to the cabin sometime later, thinking she could not have devised a more perfect night. Were it in one of her stories, she might even have described it as romantic. To gaze at the stars on a mild evening, alone with the most handsome man she had ever beheld, seemed the ideal moment for him to place an arm about her shoulders and draw her close. Perhaps even to bestow a kiss upon her lips.
But alas, it was not a novel. She had felt gauche and insignificant beside him. Her sisters were often deemed Incomparables, and while she admired them, she had never felt their equal. Why had she even dared to imagine that a man like Carew—elegant and seasoned—would notice her? Most likely he thought of her in the same category as his younger sister. For one fleeting moment, Grace longed to be regarded as a woman, to possess the confidence her sisters exuded. They never doubted they were enough for their suitors. Instead, Grace hid behind them or a book, striving to blend in with the papered walls.
She fell asleep in her tiny cabin, having read by candlelight until the flame flickered out and left a faint trail of smoke.
Grace awoke to the sudden and unceremonious jolt of being thrown to the floor. The wind, which had been so serene, now howled with a vengeance. How could the weather shift so dramatically, from tranquil calm to a squall in an instant? She discovered a newfound respect for both Mother Nature and His Majesty’s sailors, subjected to such capricious elements. As for the crew aboard this vessel, they could sink or swim for all she cared after the way they had treated her.
She sighed. She didn’t truly mean it. Yet she had little doubt they might toss her overboard if Carew were not aboard. At least they were moving now; perhaps that would ease their hostility—one could hope.
The boat pitched and rolled, no longer gliding gracefully but bucking like a restless beast. A wave of nausea overtook Grace, enveloping her from head to toe. She thought ruefully of the expression ‘green about the gills’ and acknowledged its aptness. It was not a delicate shade of green, but rather something hideous and putrid. She struggled to her feet, only to collapse again, this time clutching a chamber pot. The ship’s violent lurching mocked any attempt to retain her composure.
When her stomach had finally emptied itself, she lay curled upon the floor, weak and trembling. She yearned for fresh air, but there was no window, and the thought of venturing beyond her cabin filled her with dread. The acrid taste in her mouth was as vile as her ordeal.
At length, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she croaked.
Paddy entered, lantern in hand, and recoiled visibly at the smell. “Cor, miss, you’ve been proper sick, ain’t you?”
“Could I trouble you for some fresh water, Paddy?” she murmured, too drained to feel humiliated.
Covering his nose, the boy set the lantern down, took the foul chamber pot, and hurried out. Grace collapsed back onto the floor, relieved to leave the matter in his capable, if reluctant, hands.
When Paddy returned, he bore a clean pot and a steaming cup that smelled faintly of ginger. “Here’s something for your stomach, miss,” he said, offering the cup with a faint grimace.
Grace recoiled at the thought of ingesting anything but was touched by the boy’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking the cup reluctantly. To her surprise, the ginger-honeyed brew soothed her raw throat. Her stomach convulsed, debating whether to accept or reject the intrusion. She stood quickly, determined to endure the discomfort at least until she reached Carew’s cabin where she might find the solace of fresh air and a window.
With a trembling hand, she passed the cup to Paddy. “Hold this for me,” she said, hurrying to Carew’s cabin and closing the door behind her. She collapsed against the wall, gulping the fresh air like a lifeline. If this was a mere taste of life at sea, the next seven days promised to be a torment.
Even in Carew’s cabin, Grace found little relief. Though the cabin afforded some fresher air, her rebellious stomach refused to be calmed by the ginger tea as the storm tossed the ship around like a toy in a child’s hands. When Paddy returned to check how she did, he took the basin with a sigh.
“Please do not tell the Captain,” she begged as another violent wave slammed the door shut and had them both holding on for dear life.
“I won’t tell him on purpose,” Paddy replied with the wisdom of someone far beyond his years.
“Is the crew at least pleased now that the wind is blowing?” she ventured.
Paddy shrugged. “I’m not sure they’re ever really pleased, miss. But, aye, the storm will be your fault.”
Grace groaned. “You might think my illness would soften their resentment.”
“I doubt it,” the boy said with a hint of pity. “You do have the worst case of the pukes I’ve ever seen.”
“It is reassuring to be best at something,” she muttered, while mulling over the word puke.
Paddy grinned faintly. “If there’s naught else, miss, I’ve got to get back to work. All hands on deck, what with the storm.”
As he turned to leave, a loud bang sounded against the door.
“What was that?” Grace whispered, hurrying to set the latch.
“Let me in, Paddy!” came a muffled shout. “I know you’re in there!”
“Cor, it’s Kilroy,” Paddy muttered, his face pale.
“Who is that?” Grace asked, though she feared she already knew.
“The fiercest, meanest giant ye ever saw.” Paddy trembled as the banging grew louder. Grace instinctively placed an arm around the boy. How sturdy was the latch? What did he want? She glanced around the cabin, searching for something to secure the door. Yet everything was bolted down, and there was nothing at hand with which to defend herself.
The voice outside grew more menacing. “Open this door, or I’ll break it down and string ye up by yer toenails, boy!”
“Don’t do it, Paddy,” Grace urged.
Her gaze landed on a sword mounted upon the wall. Without a second thought, she seized it, though it felt impossibly heavy in her hands. As the door shuddered beneath another assault, Grace gritted her teeth and raised the blade. If they meant to harm her or Paddy, they would have to face her first.
The door rattled violently under Kilroy’s assault, the splintering sound making Grace’s stomach churn anew, though this time from fear rather than the storm’s relentless tossing. The sword in her trembling hands felt impossibly heavy, its weight and her own terror conspiring to make her question her resolve. The blade quivered visibly, but she tightened her grip, willing herself to stand firm.
Paddy crouched beside her, his wide eyes fixed on the door. “Miss, I dunno how long that latch’ll hold,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the furious pounding and the muffled roar of Kilroy’s threats. “If he gets in?—”
“He won’t,” Grace interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. She glanced down at the boy, his youthful courage just barely holding against the tide of panic. “Stay behind me. No matter what happens.”
Her mind raced. She wasn’t made for this——this was the stuff of her sisters’ daring exploits or the adventures in the novels she read. Yet here she was, gripping a weapon meant for a soldier or brave fighter, neither of which she had remote claims to.
The storm outside seemed to echo his fury, a deafening crack of thunder rattled the timbers of the ship. Grace took a shaky breath, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her hands were clammy, and her legs trembled as the reality of this beast in front of her bore down on her senses.
“You’re a coward, Kilroy!” she shouted with false bravado, surprising herself with the strength in her voice. “Only a brute would threaten a woman and child!”
A roar of laughter answered her from the other side of the door. The momentary silence that followed her words was deafening, broken only by the thrash of rain against the cabin walls and the creak of the ship.
Another crash sent splinters flying, and Grace felt the door begin to give way. She tightened her grip on the sword, lifting it higher despite the ache in her arms. If he came through that door, she would fight, though the very thought made her stomach lurch again.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that shook the cabin. Kilroy filled the doorway, his hulking frame as menacing as the storm that roared around them. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, fixed on her with deadly intent.
A storm wasn’t much better than being becalmed, but they were moving now, at least. Ronan had been manning the helm after seeing Grace back to her cabin when the winds shifted and the first sounds of thunder rumbled in the distance. The sky, only moments before resplendent with celestial brilliance, now darkened to an ominous slate, streaked by bolts of jagged lightning that rent the skies with blinding majesty. Thunder intensified to a menacing growl that rattled the timbers. Then, as if impatient to enter the fight, the wind began to howl with unrestrained fury. Immediately, Ronan called for the entire crew to manage the sails and the rigging.
They had barely reached their posts when it began tearing through the sails with such force that they strained and shuddered under its unyielding onslaught. Waves rose like jagged mountains, then surged and crashed against the hull with a deafening roar, drenching the deck in torrents of painful knife-like brine.
The wheel, slick with rain, demanded all of Ronan’s strength to hold its course, while the crew laboured with all their might to batten hatches and secure lines against the storm’s relentless rage. The crew moved like shadows amidst the chaos, securing lines and shouting commands that were swiftly swallowed by the gale.
Ronan only had moments to think about Grace and hope she stayed in her cabin. He could only pray the crew was too occupied with manning the ship to blame the storm on their lady passenger.
His hopes were dashed before he scarcely had the thought. Never satisfied and always looking for reasons for the cause of every perfidy, Ronan saw the crew exchange furtive glances as they laboured upon the deck, then a few of them clustered together. Their voices and bodies, though subdued through the storm, carried a note of sullen dissent, betraying the simmering unease that had taken root since Grace’s arrival.
He saw their expressions darken with mutinous resolve. As the ship’s timbers groaned under the pressure of the waves, so too did their patience falter, threatening to splinter entirely.
The lanterns swung wildly, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the crew, whose expressions ranged from grim determination to abject fear. Amid this chaos, Kilroy, the giant with shoulders as broad as an ox, stood in the centre of the deck, a storm of his own brewing in his piercing eyes.
He strode forward, his boots pounding against the slick planks, until he stood nose-to-nose with Ronan. Despite the tumult around them, Kilroy’s voice boomed like thunder, cutting through the clamour.
“Captain!” he roared, pointing an accusatory finger towards the cabins below. “Ye must do it! Toss the woman overboard, or we’re all doomed to the deep! It’s her, I tell ye. She’s brought this devil’s storm upon us!”
Ronan, standing tall despite the tempest, fixed Kilroy with an icy stare. His coat billowed in the wind, but he remained unyielding, gripping the railing to steady himself. “You dare to bring such madness to me in the midst of this gale?” he barked, his voice a whip of authority. “Get back to your duties, Kilroy, or you’ll be the one I’ll have to answer for!”
Kilroy’s massive hand shot out, gripping the rail as though he meant to rip it from its moorings. “It’s one person or all of us!” he bellowed. “We’ve seen it before, Cap’n. A Jonah aboard brings ruin to the crew! Ye may be too refined to admit it, but the men aren’t fools. They see what I see.”
“The only thing I see,” Ronan said coldly, his voice cutting through the storm with a razor’s edge, “is a coward seeking to blame his fear on a helpless woman. You shame yourself, Kilroy.”
Kilroy’s face darkened, his nostrils flaring. “Say what ye will, but we’re on a cursed ship! The sea won’t calm until she’s gone. D’you mean to sacrifice us all for some lady? I’ll not die for her!”
The men nearby hesitated in their tasks, glancing at one another and at Ronan, unsure whether to intervene. Ronan noticed this, his gaze flicking toward the wavering men.
“This ship will not be ruled by superstition,” Ronan declared, his voice ringing with authority. “You’ll do your duty, Kilroy, as will every man aboard, or I’ll have you in irons before you can mutter another word of your nonsense.”
Kilroy sneered, his teeth bared as the rain beat against his weathered face. “And how d’ye mean to enforce that, Cap’n, when half the crew agrees with me? Ye can’t put us all in chains.”
The tension crackled as fiercely as the lightning overhead. Ronan stepped closer, his voice lowering into a deadly calm. “Try me, Kilroy. But mark this—if you so much as lay a hand on her or incite another man to do so, you’ll be answering to me personally. And I promise you, you’ll wish the storm had taken you first.”
For a moment, Kilroy stood frozen, his breath ragged, his massive frame taut with rage. But something in the Ronan’s unyielding stare made him falter. With a curse, Kilroy spat onto the deck, turned on his heel, and stormed away into the chaos, barking orders to the men.
Ronan exhaled slowly, his grip on the railing tightening. The storm was far from over, and he knew Kilroy’s rebellion had only begun. But for now, Grace below would remain safe—and as the captain, he intended to keep it so, no matter the cost.
Then came the cry—a piercing shout from above. All heads snapped skyward to witness Barry, the nimblest lad among them, slip from the rigging where he had been sent to adjust a stubborn sail. Arms flailed, legs kicked helplessly at the air, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed that the sea herself would claim him. Gasps of shock froze in every throat as he plummeted towards the deck.
A resounding thud brought all activity to a halt. Barry lay in a crumpled heap, groaning faintly but alive. The sailors surged forward, the crew’s mutinous resolve momentarily forgotten as they surrounded their fallen comrade.
The collective breath of the sailors hung heavy in the air, their fear momentarily tempered by concern. Ronan pushed through the knot of men, cursing with a fluency that made even seasoned sailors blanch.
“Fetch O’Brien and Kelly!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the howling wind and the crash of the waves against the hull. He gestured sharply towards the wheel, where his second-in-command wrestled with the helm. With an urgent nod, the man took over, bracing himself against the storm’s wrath.
Meanwhile, as the men hovered to help Barry, their attention consumed by his injuries, Kilroy slunk away into the shadows, his towering form somehow blending with the chaos. His narrowed eyes gleamed with malicious intent as he slipped below deck, his movements swift and silent despite the storm’s clamour.
Ronan wasted no time once being assured Barry lived. With a last glance at the boy being tended to, he turned on his heel and sprinted towards his cabin, each step precarious on the slick deck. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from dread. He prayed he was not too late.
The door to the cabin exploded inward with a deafening crash, the splintering wood sending shrapnel scattering across the floor. Ronan’s heart thundered in his chest as he raced towards the scene, knowing instinctively what he would find. The roar of the storm barely masked Kilroy’s guttural snarl.
“Let me at the little witch!” Kilroy bellowed, his massive frame filling the doorway, his rage a palpable force. Ronan’s pulse quickened as he caught sight of Grace. She was huddled with Paddy, pale and trembling, clutching each other behind the table as though it might shield them from the brute. The sight of her fear struck him like a blade to the chest.
Ronan pressed forward, his boots pounding against the deck, but the scene unfolded too quickly. Kilroy would see Grace cast overboard to appease his superstitions.
Grace’s eyes darted to the sword in her hand, and Ronan could see her weighing her chances. Could she draw it in time? Even if she did, what hope did she have against Kilroy’s brute strength?
Kilroy advanced, his heavy boots shaking the floorboards beneath his immense weight. “You’ve cursed us all,” he spat, his voice venomous. He reached out a hand, rough and callused, towards Grace. “And I’ll see to it that the sea takes ye before it takes one of my men!”
Grace screamed then, a sound that tore through Ronan’s heart. She tried to heft the sword, her desperation evident in every movement. But before she could raise the blade, Ronan stormed into the cabin, his pistol already drawn.
“Enough!” he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His pistol was levelled squarely at Kilroy’s chest, its gleaming barrel steady despite the violent rocking of the ship.
Kilroy froze mid-step, his hand mere inches from Grace’s shoulder. His broad back stiffened, and he turned his head slowly to meet Ronan’s gaze. The flickering lantern light revealed the sailor’s drenched coat, his dark hair plastered to his brow, and a mask of fury carved into his features.
“Touch her, Kilroy,” Ronan said, his voice cold and deadly, “and I’ll send you to the depths myself.”
The air in the room grew as taut as a bowstring. The storm’s howl seemed distant compared to the silence that fell within the cabin. Grace’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her wide eyes fixed on the pistol.
Kilroy’s sneer faltered, uncertainty flickering in his narrowed eyes for the first time. He straightened slowly, his hand dropping to his side as though the weight of Ronan’s words had struck him physically, his mutinous resolve wavering in the face of his captain’s unyielding stance.
Ronan did not lower his pistol. His voice, when he spoke again, was laced with steel. “To the hull. Now.”
Kilroy hesitated for a fraction of a moment longer before he stepped back. His rage clearly simmered still beneath the surface, yet he retreated without another word. Ronan remained in place, his pistol raised to follow.
“Are you harmed?” he asked Grace and Paddy with a quick sweep of his gaze over their persons.
They both shook with fright. “No.”
“Go to the other cabin and lock the door. I’ll return when I can.”