21. Isla
Isla
It was already raining by the time they emerged onto the main deck.
Just as she’d been during the tour, Isla walked behind the others, wondering how big the storm was that Jonto had to rush on ahead.
Sandy hurried everyone across the deck, but unbeknownst to their guide, Isla remained behind, horrified at what she saw.
The prow rode up what Isla thought had to be at least a six-foot wave and then dropped down into a trough.
There’d been distant storm clouds on the horizon when they’d first begun the tour, far enough that she hadn’t mentally prepared herself for a storm at sea.
Wasn’t this the kind of weather that sent people hurtling overboard into the ocean?
Blindly grabbing the edge of the hatch, she held on so tightly her fingernails bit into the wooden frame.
She barely registered the rain that plastered her hair to her head as anxiety clawed at her insides.
Fear constricted her throat, and her thoughts suddenly locked into a repeating mantra of, I can’t swim, I can’t swim, I… can’t swim.
A friendly face appeared in her line of sight, and two rough hands settled on either side of her face.
“Look at me, My Lady.” When Isla continued watching the waves, the hands forced her head around.
Jonto stood before her with his wet woolen tunic clinging to his lithe, toned body.
Isla vaguely registered Sandy hurrying the others up the stairs to the quarter deck.
“Look at me, not them, and not the sea.”
Isla forced herself to focus on those vibrant sapphire eyes. The wind and waves were so much louder than she’d expected. Forcing down the sheer panic twisting her tripes into knots, she concentrated on Jonto’s lips, desperately needing to hear what he was telling her.
Jonto leaned in close to ensure she could hear his patient instructions.
“Good. Now, this is a small storm with a wind of no more than about twenty knots, nothing more, and nothing to be afraid of. If you look at our helmsman, he’ll more than likely have a huge grin on his face.
He loves these afternoon storms.” When Isla’s gaze remained locked on him, Jonto smiled reassuringly and said, “Go ahead. Look.” He released her cheeks and took hold of her upper arm.
With great effort, Isla looked up at Danilo, who watched both them and the sea from the quarterdeck while holding onto the wheel with an iron grip.
Worry for her had tightened his gaze, bringing his brows down low over his eyes, but when he realized she was looking his way, his concern morphed into a massive grin as he lifted his chin and allowed the rain to fall onto his face and body.
He shouted, “Beautiful weather we’re having! ”
The idea that even the crew would put on a brave face to keep her from panicking loosened the tightness in her chest, allowing her to pull in a deep lungful of air.
On land, this storm would, indeed, be nothing more than a moderately heavy afternoon rainstorm.
Pulling in a second deep breath, she closed her eyes and concentrated on loosening her grip.
Her voice shook as she asked Jonto, “I won’t fall overboard? ”
“I should hope not in this little squall. If that were the case, we wouldn’t have any sailors left to man the sails. Look around and see what the crew is up to. No one is overly concerned.”
Forcing herself to look around, Isla saw that what he’d said was true.
Men and women were lined up at every mast, pulling on ropes or loosening them according to shouted orders.
Others hurried back and forth, their steps rolling with the ship’s movement, and none grabbed onto stanchions or handrails to keep their balance.
One man secured winches and deck gear, and another she belatedly recognized as the second mate calmly directed a young man not yet out of his teens by the look of his spotty face, placing coils of rope into a rope locker.
Still, a third was moving from one area to the next, checking all the hatches and doors to ensure they were secure.
She chanced another glance at Danilo, whose quick gaze darted between her and the sails.
When he saw her looking, he grinned again and pointed up into the spars.
There, she saw several of the crew securing loose lines and checking the rigging.
Four other men, one per mast, made their way to the end of their respective spar and tugged on the taut ropes they found there.
It was already bad enough that in her momentary panic, she’d had to be rescued by the captain, so to show him that she wasn’t completely scared witless, Isla pointed to a bare-chested man climbing the rigging. Unfortunately, her shaking voice didn’t help prove her point. “What’s he doing?”
Jonto, who hadn’t let go of Isla’s upper arm, looked to where she pointed. He swiped his soaked hair out of his face before answering. “Tightening the shrouds and stays.”
Hoping to silence her mind that kept shouting at her like some demented, panicking demon demanding to know how far she’d sink below the waves if she were to fall overboard, Isla went with the first question that came to mind.
“What does that mean? What are shrouds and stays?” She intentionally stared at the sure-footed sailor, following Jonto’s orders to look away from the roiling sea.
With a chuckle, Jonto grinned at his charge.
“I was right, you know. You’re quite the adventurer.
Look at you, conquering your fear and asking questions about shipboard operations in the middle of a storm.
To answer your question, they’re ropes.” He pointed to one.
“The shrouds are side supports for the masts, and the stays hold them upright. We tighten them to help stabilize the masts and prevent movement.” His encouragement was like a balm to her frayed nerves, damn him.
She hadn’t wanted to like him. She hadn’t.
Despite her determination not to take succor from the man who was somehow capturing her heart, his matter-of-fact way of speaking, not to mention the tight grip he had on her arm, lessened Isla’s fear to a point where she felt confident enough to loosen the death grip she had on his waist.
His waist? When had she grabbed him like that? Surely, she’d never presume such familiarity under normal circumstances, but feeling his steadiness grounded her. She was still frightened of the bucking ship but not as terrified as she’d been moments before.
Jonto pulled her gently out of the hatch. At first, Isla refused to release her hold on the frame, but when she did, the captain took a moment to close and secure the door. “I need two hands for this. Slip around behind me and hold on with both hands.”
Surely, he wasn’t hiding amusement behind those laughing eyes.
Well, amusement tinged with quite a bit of concern.
Despite that thought, Isla slipped around behind him and held on with grim determination.
She hoped her fingernails digging into his flesh wouldn’t leave grooved indentations on either side of his torso.
When he moved forward to secure the hatch into place, Isla stepped with him to remain as close as possible, desperately needing to keep hold of her anchoring lifeline.
A sodden second mate joined them. Politely ignoring their rather intimate position, he casually dipped his chin in greeting. “If you’d like to take her to her cabin, Captain, I’ve got this.” He began sliding bolts into receiving latches and Jonto left him to it.
Needing to keep at least a modicum of her dignity intact, Isla forced herself to release her grip on his waist, with one hand, anyway.
The calm way he spoke and moved steadily through the rain gave her a feeling of safety she hadn’t felt in a long while.
Whenever she’d been with her mother, a warm cloak of comfort and well-being had enveloped her, but that sense of security had vanished into dust with her passing.
While Isla was loathe to admit it, she experienced that same comfort when Jonto put one arm around her shoulders and tucked her up against his chest.
As they walked toward the stairs to the quarterdeck, Isla looked back over her shoulder. “If the hatch is locked, doesn’t that trap the crew belowdecks? What if they have to get out in an emergency?”
“There’s an emergency release on the inside. Grab onto the handrail while we climb, My Lady. These stairs can be slippery when they’re wet like this.”
Once again, Isla did as she was told, concentrating on the rail’s smooth wood as she hesitantly moved up one careful step at a time.
The rain intensified, pelting her head, face, and eyes with stinging drops that felt both powerful and threatening.
She was momentarily confused when Jonto turned and slid both arms around her, anchoring them both by grabbing the wooden railing with both hands.
His strong arms squeezed tightly around her chest, and Isla nearly cried out, suddenly panicked that for whatever reason, he felt the need to anchor them to the rail.
Without warning—well, Isla silently amended, without warning on her part—the ship pitched to starboard, and Isla fell into the captain’s body.
Now she understood. Jonto held them both in place while a wave rocked the ship.
Immediately after, the prow descended into a trough, landing with a jerk before ascending again.
“I can take her, Captain.” Between the crashing waves, howling wind, and flapping sails, Isla barely recognized Ilona’s voice as the woman stepped beside them.
Jonto moved to the side, letting Ilona slip in and take Isla’s arm, before saying, “You look like a drowned rat, Ilona, and that wet tunic leaves little to the imagination.”
His casual teasing dampened Isla’s rising panic. Ilona grinned at her captain and directed Isla to keep moving.