Chapter 16 #2
When Hawke returned to the open deck, the rain was coming down in torrents.
Thunder pounded overhead. He fought to keep his balance.
Water sloshed over the decks, and the crew slipped as they scurried about.
One false move, and a man would fall overboard, and in this tempest, a man overboard was a man lost.
Shadbolt supervised the crew, shifting his weight in time with the waves.
Hawke took the length of rope Shadbolt handed him and looked toward the rail.
“The creature is still there,” Shadbolt said.
Hawke didn’t think it would remain. If he had the option, he would happily dive into the calm of the deep sea rather than cling onto a ship though a storm, and he believed the monster would feel the same once they were in the thick of it.
He ordered the entire crew to the lower deck, leaving it up to the first mate to make certain they were all accounted for below, and then climbed to the quarterdeck.
When he arrived, he tied the rope around his waist and then to the wheel, as the quartermaster had done.
Mr. Stanley was doing an admirable job of steering, using the wind in the sails without putting too much strain on the mast and yards. Hawke squinted against the blowing rain, studying the storm.
The waves had grown into swells larger than the ship, surging, cresting, and crashing down with extraordinary force.
Based on the wind, they were still well away from the storm’s center.
And experience told him this tempest would be one of the more powerful he’d encountered.
Unfortunately, it would get worse before it got better.
In spite of Mr. Stanley’s protestations, Hawke sent him to join the rest of the crew. The man had been at the helm for hours and was already fatigued. And it was vital to the voyage that one person with the skills to sail the ship would survive.
The quartermaster left, but first, he checked the knots on Hawke’s ropes. Hawke was touched by the gesture. Before Calypso’s Quest, he’d never been part of a crew who was concerned for one another. A pirate’s attitude was typically more mercenary.
Hawke considered whether part of the reason for the crew’s closeness was a result of sailing with a little girl—and eventually a young woman—each summer.
Having a common purpose aside from simply capturing and looting ships must have made a difference.
And he could not think of another person who could have transformed a crew of buccaneers as completely as Lady Annabelle had.
The woman had a skill for bringing people together, for making them feel valued.
He’d seen it countless times over the course of the voyage.
But none of the interactions had touched his heart as much as when he’d overheard her conversation with Tim.
She’d listened to his story, offering understanding, and giving sympathy without pity.
She had known just what to say to him. Who would have imagined a noblewoman would be such a vital member of a pirate crew?
Hawke squinted toward the main deck but couldn’t see through the rain. He knew Tim would have ensured Lady Annabelle was safely below.
Hawke honed in, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind, and focused on navigating the ship.
The swells were irregular, and each had to be approached with a unique strategy.
Settling into a rhythm would be deadly. He concentrated on sailing directly into each wave, judging the best angle for the wind, and keeping the rudder beneath the water.
His timing had to be perfect. If not, and a wave crashed down onto the deck, the weight of the water could be enough to sink the ship.
Hawke typically relished the challenge of a storm.
It incorporated every one of his senses and used all his skills and experience.
But he didn’t feel the usual thrill. The burden of the crew’s lives was entirely on him.
And with this crew, with people he truly cared for aboard, the responsibility felt that much more significant.
He battled through the storm, muscles aching as he fought through each wave.
The wind grew stronger, coming in violent gusts.
His hands slipped from the wheel, his feet slid, and more than once, he was thrown down onto the deck.
The rope lashed around his waist was the only thing preventing him from being washed overboard.
He struggled back to his feet, straining to hold the wheel steady as the sea raged against him, seemingly determined to snap off the rudder.
The waves grew steeper. The spray was blinding, and the rain continued to hammer down in torrents.
With the cresting of each wave, Hawke was certain he’d seen the worst of it, but the storm continued to grow.
Hawke’s muscles were strained past the point of aching. He shook as he clung to the wheel, fighting to keep both himself and the ship upright. He was bruised from head to toe, and exhausted. He started to wonder if the sea might just win this round.
But at last, very gradually, the winds eased. The waves decreased, and the rain weakened.
As if knowing exactly when Hawke had reached the limit of his endurance, Mr. Stanley arrived on the quarterdeck. He untied the knots of the tether, releasing Hawke’s lifeline.
Hawke didn’t even have the strength to speak. He nodded his gratitude and descended to the main deck on shaking legs. A glance over the rail told him the creature that had plagued the ship had indeed given up its claim during the storm.
The rain had nearly stopped, and the ship’s erratic lurching had calmed into steady rolling beneath him.
The crew started to emerge from below. The storm would not have been pleasant for them, either.
They would have been in total darkness, hearing the thundering of the rain and the crashing of the waves as the ship pitched and dropped.
They would have slid and fallen back and forth across the deck for hours.
Most likely, some would have become sick from the motion, making it even more unpleasant for the others.
Mr. Stanley was already giving directions for the sails’ adjustment, returning the ship to its course.
Something—or rather someone—bowled into Hawke, nearly knocking him off balance. Lady Annabelle’s arms went around him, holding him in a tight embrace. “I was so worried. We all were.” She spoke into his chest. “The storm was so powerful . . . I feared we’d come topside and find you were gone.”
In spite of his soaked clothing, Hawke felt warm all over.
He encircled her in his arms, pressing a kiss on her head and savoring the feel of her.
This beautiful woman was fearless and independent in the daytime but could be tender and vulnerable in the dark.
The fear he hadn’t allowed himself to feel over the past hours made his chest tighten.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, disturbing a moment Hawke would have preferred to extend.
“Well done, Captain,” Shadbolt said.
Lady Annabelle drew away.
Grieg came up on Hawke’s other side. “Piloting through a tempest such as that required extraordinary skill, Captain.”
Hawke was too exhausted for more than an appreciative nod. He caught Lady Annabelle’s gaze, wanting her face to be the last thing on his mind before he returned to his cabin where he shucked off his wet clothes and fell into a heavy sleep.