Chapter Thirty

W rapped in someone's rather smelly old gansey and a well-worn but oversized peacoat, a piece of rope cinching it around her narrow middle, Ysella followed Sam out into the stableyard. In their looseboxes, the horses neighed in anxiety, their hooves clattering on the cobbles. One of them was kicking at his door. Probably the highly strung Lochinvar. Ysella would have liked to go in to reassure him, but Sam had her firmly by the hand.

With buildings surrounding them on all four sides, they were sheltered from the worst of the wind, but the rain lashed down without mercy, plastering Ysella's hair to her head and running into her eyes and mouth. It was like being drowned while not immersed in a body of water, as though the air had become the sea. Or at least how she imagined that would be.

Other men appeared: Jowan and Kenal accompanied by the two young men from the village who now worked for Sam. Gray-haired old Gerren emerged from the servants' door followed by someone whose long skirts were already sticking to her legs. Rosie the cook, Jem's mother. How Sam could have argued it was no place for a woman yet hadn't batted an eyelid about allowing Rosie to come irked Ysella, but she was heartily glad of her breeches, still partly dry under her heavy peacoat. Cubert came out of the stables with a coil of thick rope over each shoulder. Nine of them assembled altogether, counting Jowan and Kenal.

It seemed all the household had turned out for this rescue apart from Martha and the three new maidservants. Ysella's heart soared with pride at being a part of this, at belonging to something intangible but worthy. How glad she was not to be inside hiding under the covers with Martha.

The cobbled yard swam with water, rivulets pouring off the roof to splatter into the puddles, and from beyond the archway came a crash that might have been a tree falling. Was that the very ground shaking? What if it had hit the house? Might the rain even now be pouring down inside? She'd think about that later.

"Which way?" Sam shouted at Jowan, his grip on Ysella's hand tightening, the lantern swinging wildly from side to side.

"The back track," the old man shouted back. "Best keep off the cliff path in this wind."

Thank goodness. It hadn't occurred to Ysella that they might go that way, but the fact that they weren't was a great relief.

As Jowan seized the yard gates, the wind snatched them out of his grip and flung them open. They crashed against the stonework, just missing sandwiching him against the wall.

"Leave them open," Sam shouted. "Might keep them from being damaged."

"What if the horses break out of the stables?" Ysella cried, fear for Lochinvar foremost in her mind for a moment.

"They won't," Sam shouted back as thunder rolled overhead again, the wind stealing his words. "They'll be safe. Don't worry."

Stepping out of the shelter of the stableyard tore Ysella's breath away. Lightning lit the sky just as she did so, showing her the devastation wrought in the gardens. Two enormous trees lay sprawled across the lawns, their branches reaching almost as far as the side of the house, and those still standing looked as though at any moment they'd join their recumbent friends. Their branches screamed, bending in supplication, and broken pieces of them littered the grass.

"No time to stand gawking," Sam said, his face close to her ear, and he pulled her after him.

Thunder rolled overhead again and again, as though the sky might rend itself in two. Was that what lightning was? The sky splitting wide open and showing a glimpse of heaven? If that was heaven, it couldn't be offering eternal rest as vicars promised. Ysella peered upwards into the driving rain, in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning lance down towards the ground. It lit the countryside up like daylight for a second, and she saw that Jowan was leading them down the narrow path that led by the inland route to Nanpean farmhouse.

Underfoot, the ground was slick with running water, turning everything to mud. She slipped and slid on the rocky track, gripping Sam's hand for much needed support. Once or twice, he had to put a supporting arm around her waist and, despite the desperate situation, Ysella felt that same electric current run between them.

She leaned her weight on him, conscious of how safe he made her feel with his strong arms and sturdy body. Why had she insisted on coming with him? The need to acknowledge to herself why she was here rose and had to be answered. The thought of Sam going into danger had terrified her. She'd wanted to be there, beside him, keeping him safe, just as he did for her.

The high earth and stone walls to either side of the path gave a little shelter from the gusts of wind, but nothing from the rain. Water found its way in at the neck of Ysella's coat, running down her neck and soaking into her shirt under her thick gansey, but the struggle of walking kept her warm. Sweat joined the rain in running down her back.

In daylight, with the ground dry, the walk down to Nanpean was not an easy one, being steep and unforgiving and pocked with hidden rocks. Now, in the black of night, with only the light of a few oil lanterns and the intermittent flashes of furious lightning, it had become a nightmare.

Ysella slipped on a wet rock and sat down hard on her bottom, almost pulling Sam down with her. He hauled her back up again and, without even checking she was all right, kept going. She didn't complain. This new masterful Sam was somehow far more attractive than the one who kept giving in to her every little whim. He'd gradually been asserting himself over her these last weeks, and she had to admit she liked the dynamic making itself known between them. Enough for her to push him into arguing with her whenever she could.

The journey down into the little valley seemed to take forever. Ysella had no idea how long a ship could survive if it was being wrecked on this rocky coast. Presumably its crew would fight to save it all the way. The wind direction must have an influence on their chances of success though—and the wind was blowing hard inland tonight.

At last, the path leveled out and, within a few minutes, they were in Nanpean's yard. Instead of turning towards the house though, Jowan led them straightaway down the steep path to the beach. The stunted hawthorn trees to either side rattled in the wind, their twisted, thorny branches snatching at the would-be rescuers as they passed. Ysella shrank as close to Sam as she could, and his strong arm went around her shoulders, pulling her closer still. She put out her own arm out to encircle his waist and help her stay upright. To be nearer to his solid, dependable presence.

The rain, which had nearly stopped, had made no difference to the dunes at the end of the path. Instead, the wind had whipped up the loose sand to send it in swirls across the cove, stinging Ysella's face and getting in her eyes and up her nose.

Peering at a night made starless and moonless by the storm clouds, she halted, open-mouthed at the sight before her. The tide was well in, massive, white-topped breakers pounding up the steep incline of the beach and snatching back the sand into the sea with a deep sucking noise. Out beyond the sea's foamy edge, rows of even more enormous waves seemed to be racing inland as though they intended to swamp the tiny cove or pound it to submission. The primal force of the storm buzzed through her body, banishing her fears for an instant.

At first, she couldn't see the ship.

Sam stopped beside her, holding tight to her hand.

Wiping her wet hair off her face, she turned to him. "Where is it? Has it got away? Is it safe?" The hope that it was, and that they weren't needed to save it, lay foremost in her mind.

He shook his head. "No. It's there by the headland, coming in fast. The sailors won't be able to keep her off much longer with this wind and the incoming tide driving them onto the rocks."

She peered through the darkness, straining her eyes to search for anything that might resemble a ship. Lightning forked across the sky to strike somewhere out to sea, silhouetting the shape of a three-masted merchantman, her tattered sails flapping loose amongst her rigging.

"She tried to put an anchor down," someone nearby shouted at Sam. "But the wind and tide're too strong and it didn't hold. She's comin' in."

Other people were crowded onto the small amount of beach the angry sea had left them. Ysella looked around at the shadowy shapes huddling together in small groups. Men, women too, wrapped in big coats and tightly clutched shawls, staring in impotence as the ship drew ever nearer to the rocks.

"She won't be the first this cove's taken," another voice said. A woman's this time. "Nor the last, I don't doubt."

A third voice chipped in. "D'you remember the storm o' ninety-three, when three ships ran aground here in one night?"

A chorus of "ayes" rumbled across the beach amongst those near enough to hear.

"That were rich pickin's," the same woman remarked. "Shouldn't wonder if we don't get some good stuff ashore tonight."

Rich pickings? Was she talking about the goods the ship might be carrying? Ysella turned to stare at the assembled people, villagers from Nanpean, no doubt. Soon they'd be joined by the neighboring villagers as well, all of them, perhaps, intent on profiting from the misfortune of others. Like carrion crows on the carcass of a dead deer. Here to pick over the corpse of this unlucky ship. Did Sam know what they were here for?

She turned to Sam, pulling him closer so she didn't need to shout for all to hear and could speak into his ear. "Are they all only here to loot the goods that come ashore?"

Sam shook his head. "Not all of them. And I intend to make sure some of us at least make an effort to save the crew." He looked down at her, his face close to hers. "But if the poor of these parishes can use what comes ashore, who am I to prevent them?" He gestured around at the crowded beach. "These people are not like you or me, Ysella. They're poor. Dirt poor. Many of them have nothing and live hand to mouth all the year around. Anything that comes ashore on this beach tonight is theirs as far as I'm concerned. As long as we try to save the lives of the crew."

He held her gaze. She stared into his gray eyes, shadowed and hidden now by the darkness of the night. The wind whipped at his hair making a wildman of him. The moment stretched into forever.

"She's comin' ashore," someone shouted, and the moment shattered.

Another flash of lightning dazzled the sky, showing the ship lumbering towards them as though she might race up the beach and lodge herself in the dunes. But the wind caught her and she broached. The sea tossed her onto the jagged, wave-lashed rocks of the headland with a splintering crash of her timbers that rose above the howling of the wind.

She settled onto the rocks with a kind of sigh, and her bowsprit shattered. A tangled mess of spars and ropes hung from her broken masts, her hull tilting drunkenly to one side.

"We'll never get to her," shouted a voice Ysella knew. Jago.

Already objects were floating away from her, washed from a jagged gap in her sides, and being carried towards the beach on the foam-topped waves. A few people ran into the surf to seize the prized treasure, careless of what it might be or the danger to themselves.

"We have to try to save the crew," Sam shouted. "It's our duty." He let go of Ysella's hand. "Bring the ropes."

*

Sam turned to Ysella, taking her by the shoulders. "Stay here with Jenifry."

"What are you doing? Don't leave me."

Bloody girl. She promised she'd do as she was told. He might have guessed she'd change her mind. "Do as I say, Ysella, or I'll have to send someone back with you to the house. And we need all the men we can get down here."

Her voice rose in fear. "Not until you tell me what you're going to do."

He ignored her words and turned away. "I can swim, and none of the others can. I need to do it." He met Jago's eyes. "And as master of Carlyon Court, it's my duty."

Jago didn't argue. He must see the logicality of this. Thank goodness. Sam couldn't ask any of the men here to do what he wouldn't do. What he was afraid to do. And even though he could swim, he was afraid.

Before he could change his mind, he undid his coat and kicked off his boots, which would have only served to drag him down.

"What're you doing?" Ysella shouted, seizing him by the arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.

He'd almost forgotten she was there. "Go with Jenifry."

Jago caught hold of Ysella, pulling her hand away from Sam's arm. "Do as you're bid, girl." The words came out as an angry snarl, and Jenifry stepped forward to take her.

"Tie the rope around my waist, and make the knot a good one," Sam said to Jago.

On the beach, more containers and bundles were being thrown ashore by the waves, and the water's edge was crowded with people fighting over them. No one seemed to be looking at the ship anymore. He couldn't blame them. A wrecked ship was unexpected booty for poor villagers. They could see where it had ended up and must have given up the sailors as lost.

Jago wrapped the thick rope around Sam's waist and tied a knot. Sam pulled on it to make sure it would hold. He wasn't feeling suicidal.

With a desperate wail, Ysella yanked herself free of Jenifry's hold and flung herself into Sam's arms with such force she nearly knocked him over. "Don't go!" Her voice was almost a scream. "Let someone else do this. It doesn't have to be you."

Out of instinct, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest. "I have to do it, Ysella. No one else can swim. They're all sailors and fishermen themselves, and you know sailors can't swim. If I don't go, those men out there have no chance." He nodded at the ship. "It's breaking up. I have to get to them."

"Don't go. Please, don't go."

He shook his head. "I'm their lord of the manor now, Ysella. But they haven't accepted me yet. If I can show them what I'm prepared to do, then maybe they'll accept me." He tightened his hold on her. "It's all right for you. You're their Miss Ysella, Elestren Tremaine's daughter, Jago's niece. They don't need to accept you, because you're one of them already. I have to prove myself."

Her ferocious gaze met his, her lips parted as though she were about to speak. Instead, she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. A jolt shot through him worthy of the lightning overhead. Her lips were cold with rain, and the kiss hard and determined. His mouth parted under hers and he kissed her back with all the pent-up desire of the last six weeks and beyond.

Her mouth opened in return, her tongue met his, as though she, too, were intent on making up the ground they'd left untrod. If only this kiss would never end.

She broke the kiss. He never would have. "Be careful," she said, breathless and flushed, and stepped out of his embrace, her anguished eyes fixed on his.

"Hurry up," Jago shouted. "She's breaking up fast under the pounding of those waves."

Sam dragged himself away from Ysella's gaze. He had to concentrate. He mustn't think about her and that kiss. Or maybe he should. Maybe he should think about it when he stepped into the water. Maybe it would keep him alive and help him save those lost souls.

Jago had gathered a covey of the strongest men on the beach, many of whom had left their wives to stake their claims on the loot now being washed ashore through the ever-growing hole in the ship's side. The men took hold of the rope that was around Sam's middle, to a man giving him a thumb's up.

Swallowing hard, Sam walked into the sea.