Chapter Seventeen
The weight of water crushed the breath from Abigail’s chest. She thrashed her arms once, twice, but the sea held its grip on her, pulling her farther down with each futile movement she made. Cold silence pressed around her as a fractured ray of dim light glimmered from the surface.
She stilled, mesmerized by the peacefulness of it. Even though her lungs burned, a strange calm unfurled within her. She closed her eyes. Opened her mouth.
Something closed around her wrist.
She tried to open her eyes, but darkness consumed her.
And then, a powerful tug.
A moment later a rush of cool air hit her face. Breathe. Her lungs rebelled, refusing to fill.
“Breathe!” This time it was a voice, shouting in her ear.
A cough shuddered through her, tearing saltwater from her throat as she gasped and choked, each breath burning like fire.
The voice cut through the roar in her ears. “Miss Ross, keep your head up.”
Mr. Moreau. She blinked through the sting of salt, the blur sharpening into his face just as a torrent of water splashed across her face. Her body jerked in panic, arms thrashing, but he caught her, pulling her against him as the waves crashed around them.
“I’ve got you. Hold on to me, and if you can, kick your feet.”
They floated to the crest of a swell, then swooped down its far side, the raw power of the sea surging all around them.
She kicked, but the water dragged at her feet like a living thing, cold and unrelenting.
A wave broke over her head, salt burning her throat and nose anew.
They surfaced, but before she could draw another breath, the next wave struck, driving her under once more.
Her scream vanished beneath the roar of the sea.
The world was nothing but darkness and foam until Lucien’s grip found her again, iron around her waist. They broke the surface together.
Wind howled. Rain lashed her face. Mr. Moreau’s grip faltered, the sea tearing at them, and the current wrenched her away.
Black water closed over her face again before he caught her and dragged her upward once more.
This time, she managed to suck in a gasp of precious air.
He shouted over the storm, pointing to a cask floating nearby. “We need to get over there. Keep kicking.”
Her eyes stung as she thrashed against the swells. Mr. Moreau tugged her next to him, fighting through each wave until the slick wood was within reach. A rope twined around it, trailing in the water, and she reached for it with trembling fingers.
“Grab ahold, and don’t let go.”
She flung her arm over the cask, gripping the rope with all her strength. An instant later, his hand closed over hers, anchoring her. He hung there, shuddering and coughing as the sea heaved beneath them.
Once she caught her breath, she scanned the chaos around them.
A paralyzing fear coiled in her gut. The ocean rolled around them, surging and swallowing the horizon.
A boundless, heaving expanse pressed in on every side.
No ship in sight. A fractured sob broke free.
How could Samantha—or anyone—possibly find them in this seething abyss of towering waves, where the storm erased all sense of direction?
Mr. Moreau shielded his eyes, squinting through the rain. “There!”
She twisted her neck, vision blurred with rain and tears.
Over the crest of a dark swell, a flash of white canvas came between sheets of rain.
It seemed impossibly far, a fragile beacon in the endless, roaring sea.
Hope surged in her chest, a fierce spark against the fear, and she strained every muscle to stay upright.
As the schooner drew nearer, Mr. Moreau lifted his hand, waving.
She tried to do the same, but her arm flopped as if leaden.
The barrel lurched beneath her, threatening to tip her under once more.
He righted the cask, one hand reaching out to steady her, before turning his attention back to the ship.
A blink of light pierced through the spray. A lantern.
“They see us.” He shifted his grip, his hand tightening over hers as the schooner crept closer, its hull rising and falling like a great beast. “It won’t be long.”
After what seemed an eternity, the Siren loomed beside them with sails half furled, men shouting over the storm, lanterns swinging wildly along the rail. The crack of rigging carried through the wind and slap of waves.
A line whistled through the air and struck the water yards away, vanishing beneath the foam. Another followed, then another, each too far to reach. Finally, one landed close. Mr. Moreau lunged for it, seizing it. “Hold fast.”
The line went taut and the cask pitched beneath her until they were dragged against the hull. Waves buffeted them against the dark timbers, each impact stealing the breath from her lungs. A rope ladder dropped, slapping the water beside them.
Mr. Moreau dragged it over and guided her hands to the slick rungs as the ship rolled, dragging her with it.
She tried to climb, but her arms quivered, useless with exhaustion. “I can’t!”
“You can.” His voice came low against her ear, steady even through the storm, his warmth pressed to her back. “I’ll climb with you. Lean on me.”
She forced her hands higher, one rung at a time. He bore her weight, pushing her upward until hands reached down from the rail, seizing her arms and hauling her onto the deck.
When her feet hit the solid planks, Abigail’s knees buckled.
She stumbled forward, but strong arms caught her.
She coughed, chest aching, seawater streaming down her face as Mr. Moreau turned her to him.
His hands framed her face, calloused fingers trembling against her chilled skin, the heat of his touch cutting through the cold.
A storm roiled in his eyes, dark hair plastered to his brow, every line of him carved from exhaustion and fierce relief.
“I thought I’d lost you.” His voice broke, raw and unguarded, and he tugged her face to his.
For a suspended breath, his gaze searched hers.
Then, his lips crushed to her mouth, hard and unyielding.
She gasped against him, the chaos of the sea still thrumming through her veins, every heartbeat wild and raw.
For a moment, the world vanished—the storm, the sea, everything but the salty heat of his mouth and the trembling rush of being alive.
“Abigail!” Samantha’s voice cut through the haze of warmth and dizzying need.
He dropped his hands, eyes flashing, and let her slip from his hold. Abigail blinked, the kiss still burning her lips, and turned toward her friend. Drenched and pale, Samantha’s usual confidence had faded.
“You—” Samantha swallowed, then swung her gaze to Mr. Moreau. “You were… so fast. You didn’t hesitate.” Her voice trembled. “I—I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…”
Abigail’s chest constricted at the reminder of how close she’d come to being taken by the sea.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Captain.” He stood at her side, one hand hovering at her waist, a silent promise of protection. The fierce weight of his words settled over her, grounding her even as they set her pulse racing.
Josephine came running with a towel. “Quickly, let’s get you into something dry before you catch your death!”
Mr. Moreau gave a brief, almost imperceptible shake of his head, the hint of a grim smile tugging at his mouth.
“Be thankful for your breeches.” His gaze slid down her, leaving a prickling trail of heat in its wake.
“If you had been wearing a dress, you would have been pulled too deep before I could reach you.”
Samantha’s lips curved as Josephine threw the towel around Abigail’s shoulders. “Do you still hate them?”
She hugged the soft fabric around her wet clothing. “I… I suppose I owe them my gratitude. Perhaps they aren’t as bad as I thought.”
“We’ll make a convert of you yet.” Samantha gave her a wry grin, then glanced toward the helm, expression hardening in an instant.
“There’s no time to lose. Josephine, take Abigail to the cabin and get her comfortable.
We’ve lost Thorne, and if we don’t set out at once, we might not find him again. ”
Mr. Moreau set a hand on Samantha’s arm. “Respectfully, I must ask you to turn back to shore.”
Something flashed in her eyes. “No. We can catch him again.”
“I have no doubt about that. But we have bigger problems than Thorne right now, Captain.”
Samantha’s jaw went tight before she met his gaze. “After what you did for Abigail, call me Samantha.”
“Very well.” He cast a quick glance at the darkening sky. “Have you ever sailed in a hurricane before?”
She stiffened, her eyes narrowing at the roiling sea. “How do you know it’s not just a storm?”
“I’ve lived and sailed through several.” He traced the horizon with a steady gaze. “The air bites differently; the clouds stack like twisted towers. A normal gale doesn’t gather like this.”
“But if we don’t cripple Thorne now…”
“It’s not worth risking everything.” Mr. Moreau stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Samantha, lowering his voice. “To strike now would cost more than it gains. We know where he will go. You’ll get another chance.”
Samantha’s jaw set, and for a tense moment, Abigail thought she would refuse. But, with one last glance into the heart of the storm, her shoulders slumped. “Very well. We turn back to Mobile, and with some luck, we’ll reach the shelter of the bay before the worst of it hits.”
Abigail’s breath blew out. Thank God.
Determination hardened Samantha’s face, and she waved Josephine and Abigail toward the cabin. “Then let’s get sailing. And for God’s sake, you two, stay put.”
Josephine took Abigail’s arm, steering her across the slick deck.
The wind whipped at them, rain stinging like needles as they ducked into the dim warmth of the main cabin.
When the hatch closed behind them, the fury outside dulled to a low thrum.
Abigail drew a shaky breath as Josephine crossed over to the wardrobe.