Ripples in the Sand (The Sea Witch Voyages) by Helen Hollick Read Free Book Online

Jesamiah could see one thing only: Tiola. Her hands clinging to the rail, sea water swirling about and around her. Claiming her.
    How in God’s name had she not already been swept overboard? He shouted her name, desperate, as he clawed his way towards the bow. He was almost there. He stretched out an arm towards her, felt a tingling as if a cold fire were burning through his skin, and he had her. Gripping tight he hauled her away from the rail, enfolding her within the safety of his embrace as Sea Witch shook herself free and surged forward, barely lifting over the next wave, lurching through the next, then settled on to an even keel, excess water gurgling out the scuppers and down the open hatchways and scuttles.
    As she righted, a cheer tore through the men, relief coursing as rushed as that water, but short lived as every man hurried to the sides to peer over. What had they hit? Was the hull damaged?
    “Tiola?” Feeling the sharp sting of salt in his mouth and eyes Jesamiah wiped his face with his sleeve. He shook his wife none too gently. “What are you doing out here, you daft wench?” He shook her again, her head lolling as her body rattled. “You could have been drowned, you silly fool!”
    Tears were falling from Tiola’s eyes, almost indistinguishable from the sodden wetness of her hair and clothes. “No,” she whispered, her legs buckling. “I cannot drown.”
    Someone offered Jesamiah a coarse-spun woollen jacket and he tucked it around her shoulders. Another man produced a leather flask of brandy. Jesamiah took a quick swig himself. He too was soaked to the bone and starting to shiver. He offered the flask to Tiola, but she wearily shook her head. Passing it back to its owner, Jesamiah lifted her into his arms and she curled her own around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder.
    He was angry with her. He had every right to be; she had put them all in danger.
    She looked up, directly into Jesamiah’s eyes, attempted a smile but more tears of tiredness fell. “I was trying to find a reason for this war,” she whispered. “Unless I find what I seek I will have to fight. Only one of us will win.”
    She was delirious then. Jesamiah kissed her forehead. “We are not at war, sweetheart, least not as far as I’m aware. Jennings says the Jacobites are shaking their fists at fat George of Hanover, but there ain’t no war.”
    “Captain!” Crawford barred his way. “What of the ship? We hit something. How do we know she ain’t sinking?”
    Jesamiah stared at him through narrowed eyes. He was tempted merely to shove this troublemaker out of his way and make no reply, but other men were gathering around, faces taut with concern.
    “We ain’t sinking,” he said.
    “How do you know? I say we heave-to and make sure.”
    It took effort for Jesamiah to control his temper, already rubbed raw by the fright Tiola had given him, but reason whispered to him. He knew how his ship felt because he had an affinity with her. What was he to say? I know she ain’t sinking because she told me ? As if they would swallow that! He settled on a simple, “I know because this is my ship, and I know when there’s anything wrong. We ain’t sinking.”
    As frightened as the rest of the crew, Crawford was not going to let the matter rest. “So what did we hit?”
    “Something, anything, nothing. Maybe it was the weight of the sea hitting us. I don’t know and don’t care what we ‘it, Crawford. We ain’t sinking.” Annoyed at being questioned, Jesamiah shouldered the man aside. “If you’re so bleedin’ concerned, I’ll be more’n ‘appy to pitch you over the side so you can take a look.”
    Chippy, the carpenter, stepped forward to make his own suggestion. “Captain, maybe an idea for me to go below and check?”
    More than an idea, it was what Jesamiah should have suggested in the first place, but his anxiety, and Crawford’s persistent belligerence, had clouded his judgement. He grunted, agreed, and