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

scowled at Crawford, his expression plain: Happy now ? Finishing with the conversation, he ducked into the low corridor and carried Tiola to their cabin, stepping over the broken and scattered debris. Jennings, his wig askew, was attempting to set right a chair.
    “Leave it, Henry,” Jesamiah said. “Finch’ll clear up.” He laid Tiola on the bed, began removing her wet clothes, paused and looked over his shoulder. “I’d appreciate your presence on deck if you’d be so obliged, Henry. We might need the pumps going, and the men are shook up. Mayhap you could steady ‘em a little?”
    Jennings straightened his wig. Easier to do than the heavy chair. “Well aye, but I don’t see how I can…”
    “I want privacy with m’wife!” Jesamiah snapped.
    Jennings flushed. “Ah. Aye. I see. Of course.” He snatched up his hat and coat and left at a hobbling trot.
    “What were you doing?” Jesamiah repeated as stripping her naked, he awkwardly rubbed Tiola dry with a linen towel, then manipulated her into her nightgown and then bed.
    Her voice frail, Tiola answered in a whisper. “I needed to see the land. I need to be on the land, Jesamiah.”
    “We’ll be ashore soon, in another couple of hours unless we have to wait to navigate past Appledore Bar.” With the way the crew were shaken he had no intention of taking a chance to run the hazard of the Bar himself.
    Finch appeared, handed Jesamiah a generous glass of brandy and gathered up the wet clothing.
    Her eyes burning with fever, even though her skin was colder than the touch of the ice wind blowing outside, Tiola clutched at Jesamiah’s hand. “I cannot wait. If I am to fight, I have to be ashore.”
    Jesamiah sat on the bed, drank the brandy, ignoring Finch’s mutter that he’d fetched it for the lady.
    The steward added to his grumbling, “You ought t’get out them wet clothes.”
    “Go do something useful. Get the fire going again, heat a couple of bricks to put by m’wife’s feet, she’s frozen.”
    Finch found another blanket, set it around his captain’s shoulders, fetched a second brandy – having a sip from it himself – then did as he was bid.
    “You ain’t got to fight, darlin’. For once, England isn’t fightin’ anyone. If the tide and wind is against us we may have to wait for a pilot.” Every sailor knew that without the aid of an experienced pilot only an idiot attempted to enter the estuary where the Rivers Torridge and Taw met.
    Tiola gripped his hand, her nails digging into his palm like miniature daggers, her eyes wide and afraid. “I have to get to land. I have to get away from her. She is killing me.”
    Having no idea what she was talking about, Jesamiah shrugged, did his best to reassure. “If we need to heave-to I’ll take you ashore in the longboat. It’ll be a pull, especially against the tide, but we’ll manage.”
    “No!” Her reaction was almost a scream. She sat up, clung to him, fresh tears streaming, the terror catching in her throat. “No! I – you – will be vulnerable in a small boat. Promise me we will stay aboard the Sea Witch until we moor! Promise me!”
    “Hey, hey! Sshh. There’s no danger, everything will be fine, but we’ll be dropping anchor, not mooring. We’ll have to row ashore.”
    Her fingers gripped tighter, her expression anxious. “But that would only be a few yards and in the river, wouldn’t it? Not the sea?”
    “Well, aye, a tidal river on the flood…”
    “She is not so powerful when her waters mix with those of her daughter rivers.”
    With no idea how to answer, Jesamiah opted to humour her. “Ain’t she? Well that’s good then, eh?” He held her close, stroked her hair, patted her back, the worry etched into his face. He had never known Tiola like this. She was usually calm and capable – afraid of nothing. There was something wrong here. Very wrong.
     

Seven

    Capricious winds, combined with a solid bank of sand inconveniently placed by nature at the entrance