Dangerous Magic (26 page)

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. He’d be damned if Triggs died for DeWinter and his bloodsucking cronies.

Perhaps, he was.

Gwenyth touched a hand to Triggs’s hot forehead. Unconscious in a hammock, he rocked like a babe in a cradle. If one didn’t note the stained and sodden bandages or his shallow gasping breaths, one might almost envy him his undisturbed slumber.

She tried not to dwell upon what she’d seen when she had slipped between the chinks in Rafe’s mind. He intended them to seek shelter in Kerrow’s harbor. So much closer than rounding The Lizard and heading for Polperro—but so much more perilous. Gwenyth knew the hazards as well as anyone. To run the narrow middle ground between the shoals and reefs guarding her harbor was always difficult. An attempt during rough seas when the combination of wind and wave, tide and current could smash you to kindling was foolishness. But Triggs would never last the longer trip. Rafe knew it, and Rafe would chance his skills and his ship against Kerrow’s challenges.

Gwenyth closed her eyes and saw again the man standing upon the deck as the mast and sails dropped upon him. She saw the cold, angry sea pulling him away from the safety of the boats. She saw the slithering coil of rope drag him under.

With a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the unconscious man, the clank of the pump, the smooth wood pressed against her back. It eased the gnawing bite of panic. Still she felt as if she stood at the brink of a great precipice. She couldn’t turn away, but remained poised at the edge to await whatever happened next.

“How does Triggs fare?”

Rafe stood within the hatchway, one hand braced on the beam overhead. He was soaked through from the steady rain, but his eyes gleamed in a face sharp with stubborn persistence.

She shrugged. “He lives. More than that I can’t say until we reach shore.”

As Rafe crossed to Gwenyth’s side, he stole a quick worried glance at Triggs. “Kerrow’s cliffs are within sight. If this wind holds steady, we should be home by nightfall. Your worries were for naught this time.”

“You forget. I’ve lived these moments a thousand times. I’ll not breathe easy until we drop anchor.”

Rafe bent down beside Gwenyth, taking one of her hands between his own. His touch was cold, and she shivered as he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’ve plied this coast for the last eight years. I may not have sailed into Kerrow Harbor before, but the deeper waters off her coast are well known to me.”

“If my dream was a true seeing, it won’t matter.”

Rafe’s mouth turned up in a faint smile. “I’ve thought on it, and I think we may be safe this time.” When Gwenyth arched a brow in question, he continued, “On Burhunt Down, there were two visions. My…” he paused as if reluctant to speak the words, “my death. In the other, my life. But in both there was a child. Our daughter. We’ve yet to create her between us. Until that occurs, the vision can’t come true.”

Gwenyth choked on a throat suddenly gone dry. She started to tell him, warn him. But the words wouldn’t come. If Rafe’s confidence depended upon this idea, would knowing she carried his child undermine everything?

In his sudden doubt, he might falter when he should be strong. He might hold back when boldness would win them safety. Her warning might be the very hinge upon which all that followed swung. Like a shifting boggy moorland, every step she took and every minute that passed seemed fraught with unseen hazards and no way of knowing which path led her to safety and which led to tragedy. Her heart beat painfully within her chest.

Rafe cupped her cheek as he kissed her. His hands and face were cool and wet, but his lips were warm and tasted of saltwater and rum. His kisses eased the tight knot in her stomach.

“So you see?” he whispered. “Secure as if we lay together in our bed at home.”

Gwenyth tilted her head up in question. “At home?”

Rafe sat back, his smile turned to a mischievous grin. “Goninen’s hedge of ash deserved its very own witch. I spoke with a land agent before we embarked. I’ve put in an offer for the house and whatever lands ride with it. It’s no Swiverton Park, but…” He shrugged.

Gwenyth sat speechless. The haunted gardens of Goninan would be hers to cultivate and tend. The cold, empty rooms would ring with the sounds of laughter and family. It almost made her believe in the future he dangled before her. It almost made her forget aught else.

A growl of thunder rolled over the sea, and a slash of white lightning cut across the cabin. The rain pounded upon the boards above their heads as the storm that had chased them since the headland of Finskillin finally caught up with them here—now.

A sudden heave of the ship threw Gwenyth into Rafe’s arms. He caught her and held her, but his eyes were no longer upon her face, and his mind had already snapped back to the clear and imminent dangers of the Kerrow breakwater. Releasing her, he rose to his feet. He studied Triggs for a long moment, the dark bloodied bandages, the skin stretched tight over angled bones. Rafe’s eyes, as sharp and clear as a frothing spring stream, flashed to Gwenyth. They shimmered with regret. “There’s no other way. If it’s fated to happen, I can’t fight it.”

The scream of the wind drowned out her reply. And then he was gone.

Conover hunched against the binnacle, arms hooked around it to steady himself. His face red, he shouted over the rising wind. “You sure you don’t want to head for deeper water, Cap’n? We could lie by farther off the coast. Wait for the gale to blow itself out.”

Rafe shook his head, his own voice hoarse from trying to make himself heard. “Triggs won’t stand the wait. He needs to get ashore now.”

The ship pitched to starboard, water washing across the deck. Rafe clung to the mainsail shrouds.

Conover’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a dirty bit o’ coast, this. It’ll be tetchy running the gap between the cliffs and the breakwater.”

“But you’ve done it? You’ve piloted this harbor?”

“Aye, Cap’n. I’ve done her in good weather and bad. I’ll see you safe if the good Lord allows.”

“Hold her steady as you can,” Rafe answered. “If this wind changes, we’ll be driven off course and beneath that rock face with nowhere to go.”

He glanced up at the fog-shrouded cliffs curving out, then back in, sheltering at their base the village of Kerrow. The strange looping bend of rock served as a breakwater, protecting Kerrow’s harbor from the worst of the Atlantic gales, but it also acted upon winds and tides in unpredictable and erratic ways. Winds dropped down off the headlands and curled into the bowl of coast, twisting and shirring as they sought release. The
Cormorant
fought against these shifting gusts as she lurched and shivered through the water, spindrift off the foaming waves making it almost impossible to see. He wiped a hand across his face, but it did little good.

Lightning sliced the air, illuminating the crew working the lines and sails. The storm had caught them at the worst possible moment. Entering into the confining waters between the cliffs, there was little room to maneuver. Rafe set his jaw and tried to drown out the voice inside his head telling him he was mad to attempt this and madder to tease fate in such a way.

With every breaking wave, jagged rocks appeared and disappeared, their tops awash with creamy-brown foam like a rabid dog’s jaws. The ship dropped into the trough of a wave, the water sweeping up over the
Cormorant
’s bulwarks, soaking him up to his ankles and washing a crewman off his feet.

Reaching out to grab the man as he flailed for the railing, Rafe heard Gwenyth scream out from the top of the aft hatch. At the same moment the sizzling odor of sulfur burned his nose and a charge prickled along his skin. With a ripping screech that seemed to suck the air from his lungs, a flash of white, scalding light seared his eyes. A rolling thunderous boom threw him to the deck just as the mainmast exploded in a shower of sparks and flying timbers. Halyards, blocks, spars and tackle rained down on him as he crawled forward out of the deadly barrage. Sheets, some still in flame, dropped to the deck as the mast, now a blackened, splintered wreck, smoldered and sparked.

Without the mainsail, the
Cormorant
wallowed and lost steerage-way. The wind jibed, causing the fore and aft sails to swing wildly, and in seconds the ship broached, meeting the surge of wind and wave broadside. Pitching over to lay on her beam ends, she lurched while her masts and rigging groaned with strain.

“Attach a hawser from the lee quarter to the lee anchor!” Rafe shouted.

The crew jumped to obey.

“Drop the lee anchor!”

The anchor rattled out with a clank of chain, while the cable pulled through to the stopper. The
Cormorant
stuttered and groaned as the waves washed across her. Rafe waited for the head of the ship to begin turning into the wind, but nothing happened.

“The anchor’s dragging, Captain. She’s not digging into the bottom!”

Rafe opened his mouth to reply as the ship ground onto the rocks with a vicious crunch of snapping wood.

Each push of the waves tore new holes in the
Cormorant
’s hull planking. In calmer waters, she may have stood a chance, but in the boiling storm seas, Rafe could do nothing to save his ship.

Despite the steady rain, the fire grew. It turned sails into sheets of flame and licked down rigging until it caught upon the tarred and painted wood of the ship itself.

“Launch the boat!” he shouted over the wind.

Four men released the lines and dropped the gig into the water, oarsmen scrambling to hold her steady beside the
Cormorant
’s hull. Eyes wide with fear, the men were near panic. The flames spread, and only a few of them knew how to swim.

Gwenyth stumbled forward. She clutched at Rafe’s coat, eyes wide with dread and horror. “It’s the dream.”

Rafe hauled her along to the entry port. “Get in the boat.”

He pushed her toward Tom, but Gwenyth clutched tight to his heavy watch coat and would not let him go.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you!” he shouted over the roar of the storm.

Her eyes glowed hot with defiance. “I won’t leave without you. Don’t you see? This is how it happens. This is the end foretold to me.”

The crew climbed hand over hand down the Jacob’s ladders to the boat.

“Captain?” Tom said. “There’s no time left!”

Flames crackled and spit. They licked ever closer to the magazine where the
Cormorant
’s gunpowder and shot were stored. If they reached it, she’d go up like a Roman candle. Rafe looked from Gwenyth’s face to the wreck of his ship and back again. He felt her naked fear, the terror of a dream from which she could not wake. If abandoning the
Cormorant
would break the grip this prophecy of death held over her, he’d indulge her. There was little more he could do aboard anyway.

“Go, Tom. I’ll hand Miss Killigrew down to you. I’m right behind.”

Gwenyth’s grip relaxed, and she gave a shaky smile. Tom scurried down the ladder and looking back, held out his arms to catch Gwenyth. She dropped into the crowded boat, awash with every wave.

Rafe put his leg over the railing and set his weight upon the first set of holds when Gwenyth’s frantic shout stopped him.

“God in heaven, he’s not here! Mr. Triggs is still aboard!”

“I told Penellin to check below—told him as how old Triggs was needing help to get topside,” shouted a seaman.

Penellin piped up in his defense. “You never told me nothing like that.”

Rafe reached up to hoist himself back onto the deck, brows drawn in exasperation. “I bloody don’t care who left him.”

“Rafe! Don’t,” Gwenyth cried.

He looked down at her. He wanted to crush her against him one last time, feel the heat of her lips, smell the wild sweet fragrance of her skin.

“I’m sorry,” he called out.

It was all he could think to say.

She nodded, and he read everything he wanted to tell her in her eyes. In her silent acceptance, she was letting him know that despite the risk, she knew he could do nothing less.

As he pulled himself back onto the
Cormorant
’s deck, the ship groaned like a wounded animal. She heaved and listed to port, sending Rafe scrambling to hold on to the sloping deck. Black smoke rose from her stern where the collapsed mainmast had fallen, and the fire’s roar sounded even above the storm. He slid across the leaning deck, swiping the rain from his face, even as smoke smarted and stung his eyes.

Fallen spars and lines blocked the closer forward hatch. He pulled at the timbers and tore at the tangle of rigging enough to thread his body through the opening. The bottom of the ladder disappeared beneath a foot of water. It rippled and curled across the floor with more spilling in from a gurgling breach in the starboard hull. He glanced forward to the magazine. So far, his luck was holding. The flames had been confined above decks.

He slogged his way through the forward hold and into the crew berth. The hammock ropes squeaked as Triggs swung with the motion of the ship. One arm hung free, dragging limp fingers across the surface of the water. Despite the noise around him, the eerie stillness of the room prickled the hair at the back of Rafe’s neck. He knew before he crossed to the hammock that there was nothing more he could do for Triggs. He’d risked the
Cormorant,
but it had been for naught.

Heavy smoke caught in his throat. He gagged and coughed, shoving a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. The fires must be spreading. He was running out of time. He needed to get out and join the others in the gig.

The ship pitched to port and then plunged back, and a low rumble split the air. Rafe was thrown to the floor as the lugger heaved farther over on her starboard side. Broken and taking on water as she was, she’d sink like a stone if she lost her purchase on the rocks. They were all that kept her afloat. Which would deal the final blow—fire or water? Rafe didn’t know.

Pulling himself up, he cast one last look at his shipmate and friend. Rafe grasped Triggs’s hanging arm and, drawing it up, laid it across his chest. Taking the other, he crossed Triggs’s hands over his heart.

“Goodbye, Captain,” he murmured. “‘From rocks and sands and every ill, may God preserve you.’”

He gathered his grief and headed back the way he came. In the forward hold, the water had risen calf-high on his boots, and a flickering glow met his eye. Flames pierced the decking, licking at the beams overhead. He could barely see the bulkhead separating off the powder magazine, but he knew it would take only one spark to set off the entire stock.

Peering up the hatchway ladder, his heart fluttered with a quiver of alarm. The slender opening was gone, crushed beneath the new weight of shifted spars when the ship heeled over. He pushed his fist and then his shoulder against the hatch cover, but nothing budged. He glanced over at the flames. Closer and closer they crept toward the
Cormorant
’s stores of powder. Once more he tried, panic and the full weight of his body behind the effort. The hatch cover eased open enough to let in the filmy gray storm light. Heartened by the progress, he shoved his shoulder against it again.

And again.

And again.

Sweat poured off of him, and he gasped and retched on the smoke, but each battering freed the hatch little by little until with a final shove and curse, it gave way.

Rain stung his face, but he lifted his burning eyes to it. Taking quick, shallow breaths to clear his lungs, he climbed back out onto the deck. The swivel gun glowed red, and flame ate its way down the foresail shrouds and parts of the jib like a voracious beast.

The ship pitched suddenly to port; her stern rising up off the reef before being slung back down onto the rocks with a tremendous jarring that rattled Rafe’s teeth in his head. She heeled over, and Rafe slid down the rain-slick deck, fetching up with a crash against the starboard bulwark. The collision knocked the breath from his lungs and sent a shooting pain up his right arm. Rising, he clutched his elbow. At the angle the ship lay, he’d have to scramble back up the burning deck to reach the ladder down to the gig. Or he could shimmy his way past the worst of the fire to the bow and signal the oarsmen to row close enough for him to jump clear and be picked up. The ship plunged again, and Rafe raced for the bow. He’d be damned if he’d climb back up the deck only to be flung down at the next rolling heave.

He pushed off from the railing, taking two shaky steps forward before the decking buckled beneath his feet. He heard a roar like the broadside from a ship of the line, and the
Cormorant
from the bow to the main hatch exploded in a fireball that sent him spinning into the sea.