Chapter Three
Thom, Cecily, and Cate sat in grim silence as the small boat was lowered and pushed away from the great shadow of the Wind Dancer. No one spoke. There seemed no room for words in a sea that roared so fiercely around them.
The rowboat lurched as soon as it cleared the ship, the waves rising like dark hills beneath them.
Each swell lifted the boat high before dropping it into the hollow of the next, the black water slapping hard against the planks as though determined to drag them under.
The oarsmen fought the tide with steady strokes, but even their strength seemed small against the temper of the sea.
Cecily clutched the rough wooden edge of the boat, her knuckles white as bone.
The timber beneath her palms was solid enough, yet it offered little comfort when every violent roll threatened to toss them all into the churning water.
The cold spray lashed her face and soaked her hair until damp strands clung to her cheeks.
Her father had already been taken ashore.
Gabriel’s men had explained it with blunt practicality. It had been far too dangerous to bring the longboat alongside the Wind Dancer while the sea pitched so wildly. Her father had been ferried ahead in another boat.
But that knowledge brought no comfort.
Now, as they struggled toward shore through the rising swell, Cecily’s mind churned with darker possibilities. Was her father alive? Broken? Barely clinging to breath?
By the time the shoreline finally loomed through the fog, her entire body shook so violently her teeth rattled together. The wind cut through her soaked clothing, sliding across her skin while the fog thickened around them.
At last the bottom of the boat scraped against land. The men leapt into the shallows, dragging the boat higher.
A lone man waited on the shore, half lost in the gray mist. “Yer father and the captain were taken to yer cottage,” he said as they stumbled from the boat. “Closest shelter. A healer’s been sent for.”
Cecily’s lips trembled too violently for speech at first. “H-how is m-my father?” she managed, the words breaking between chattering teeth.
The man gave a brief shrug, as if the sea had stolen the rest of the answer. “Alive.” Then, without another word, he joined the others hauling the boat clear of the surf.
Cate reached for Cecily’s freezing hand and squeezed it firmly. “Come,” she urged gently. “Let us go see them. Ye will feel easier once ye lay eyes on him.”
Cecily prayed that would be true. Because if her father did not open his eyes when she reached him… she feared the storm within her chest would be far worse than the one raging out at sea.
Her skirts hung heavy with seawater, dragging at her legs like anchors with every step.
The wet wool clung to her calves, cold and stiff, yet Cecily scarcely noticed the discomfort as she hurried toward home.
The wind tugged at her damp hair and the fog swallowed the narrow path ahead, but she did not slow.
She did not even look back to see whether Thom or Cate followed.
All that mattered was reaching the cottage.
When the familiar shape of it finally emerged from the mist, a broad, sturdy cottage of pale stone with warm light spilling from its windows, her breath caught. The sight of it standing solid and welcoming against the wild night nearly brought her to tears.
She pushed through the door. The rush of heat from a roaring fire struck her first, along with the scent of burning peat and damp wool drying. And with it, the tight knot of dread that had gripped her chest all the way from the shore suddenly loosened.
Both her father and Gabriel sat before the hearth in sturdy wooden chairs, blankets wrapped about their shoulders.
The flames cast a golden glow over the room, chasing away the gloom of the storm outside.
Beside Gabriel, the village healer knelt, carefully wrapping a bandage around one of the captain’s hands.
“Father!” Cecily cried. She rushed across the room and dropped to her knees beside him, throwing her arms around him before she could stop herself.
He grunted sharply. At once she pulled back, panic flashing through her. “Where are ye hurt?”
“My left arm is broken,” he said, though his voice carried an effortful steadiness. “Nothing to worry yerself about.” He shifted the blanket aside, revealing the splint bound neatly along his forearm. The arm rested in a sling across his chest.
“I will nae be swimming any time soon,” he added with an attempt at humor.
Despite his words, Cecily saw the tightness in his jaw and the lines of strain around his eyes. The pain of having the bone set must still be fresh, and he had endured hours being battered by the sea against the rocks before rescue had come.
“I do nae need that.” Gabriel’s gruff voice cut across the room, reminding Cecily abruptly that he was there as well.
The healer stood beside him holding out a small cup, likely some bitter draught meant to dull pain. Gabriel regarded it with clear distrust.
Her father let out a long breath and glanced toward the captain. “I owe him my life.”
His gaze met Gabriel’s squarely. “I can never repay what ye did for me tonight. Ye could have perished with me.”
Gabriel gave a small nod, his expression as unreadable as the gray sea. “Aye, well,” he said dryly, “we did nae die. Fate will nae be happy with us.”
At that, the healer’s helper, an old woman with a lined face and sharp eyes, crossed herself quickly. “The season of harvest comes,” she murmured, her voice hushed, “and along with it, the apparition. Let us pray he isn’t the one to collect.”
The words sent a prickling chill across Cecily’s skin despite the warmth of the fire. “The sea hurled ye about like toys,” she said firmly. “It took Father’s boat. Whatever debt it requires has already been paid.”
The room fell quiet. The fire popped in the hearth as the men considered her words, the shadows shifting across their faces.
“Aye… perhaps,” Gabriel finally said. But the tone of his voice suggested he did not quite believe it.
Cate moved toward Gabriel, brushing damp hair from her face as she spoke. “Are ye ready to come home with us?”
Her question was directed at him, but her gaze slid briefly to Jameson. The look he returned was one Cecily knew well. An unspoken conversation passing between husband and wife. Jameson had only just returned, and the two of them had undoubtedly planned several quiet evenings alone.
Cecily stepped in before Gabriel could answer. “Ye should remain here,” she said, her voice calm though her pulse had begun to quicken. “’Tis best ye rest. We have plenty of room.”
As she spoke, she let her gaze drift meaningfully toward Cate and Jameson, making her meaning perfectly clear. “No need to go out and face the weather after ye just got warmed up.”
When her eyes returned to Gabriel, his steel-gray gaze was already fixed on her. The look struck her like a sudden gust of a summer’s breeze.
For a moment the room seemed to fall away, the crackle of the fire, the quiet murmurs behind them, everything dimmed beneath the weight of that gaze.
It had always been that way with him. One look, and it felt as though he could reach straight through her defenses and bend her will as easily as the tide bent the sea.
A shiver ran down the length of her spine.
Gabriel said nothing, yet something charged flickered between them, taut as a rope pulled too tight. Her heart betrayed her then, tightening painfully in her chest.
Despite everything, despite the hurt, the anger, the months of carefully building walls, she told herself she no longer needed him. And yet she still loved him.
The truth of it stung. But love was no longer enough. Cecily held his gaze steadily, refusing to look away this time.
If Gabriel Thorne believed a single look could draw her back into his life as it once had… he would soon discover how very wrong he was.
When the others left, the cottage grew quiet at last. The storm outside had not fully passed, but the wind had softened into restless sighs around the eaves, and the rain had faded to a slow patter against the roof.
The fire in Cecily’s room burned low, its embers casting a faint amber glow across the small chamber.
Yet sleep would not come.
Cecily lay on her side beneath the blankets, staring into the darkness.
The wool coverlet was warm, the mattress familiar, but her mind refused to rest. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of the sea rose before her, the crashing waves, the black water, her father’s broken body pulled from the rocks.
And Gabriel.
The knowledge that he slept only a few paces away made the air feel too thin to breathe.
She turned onto her back, pressing a hand over her chest as though she might calm the restless pounding of her heart. It was foolish. They were both under her roof only because the storm had forced it so. Once the storm settled, he would return to his ship. Perhaps as soon as morning.
Cecily squeezed her eyes shut, but the thought only made the tight ache in her chest deepen. With a quiet sigh, she pushed the blankets aside and slipped from the bed.
The wooden floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and eased open the door. The hallway beyond lay in darkness, lit only by the fading glow of the hearth down the passage.
She moved first toward her father’s room. The door creaked softly as she nudged it open. Inside, the fire had been banked low, casting long shadows across the walls. Her father lay propped carefully on pillows, his splinted arm secured across his chest.
For a moment, Cecily simply watched him.
His breathing was deep and steady. The harsh lines of pain she had seen earlier had eased in sleep, and the rise and fall of his chest brought a quiet wave of relief through her.
She stepped closer and gently tucked the blanket higher along his shoulder before slipping from the room once more.