"Ruan."
His name was ripped from her chattering lips while Liv watched in horror as the main mast came crashing into the sea. Her husband disappeared from view, and, frantically, Liv swam toward the burning piece of wood, desperate to save him.
She spotted his white shirt, as he sank, slowly, down toward the deep bed. Taking a lungful of air, Liv dived beneath the waves, kicking her legs with a strength she had not known she possessed. Thank goodness, her mother had insisted she learn how to swim. Lila Green had grown up by the ocean in Devon, and had lost two brothers during a freak boating accident. As such, she had insisted that Olive received lessons, despite it being a less than lady like endeavour. Liv had not been in the water since before her teens, but the instinct to kick was unconscious, almost like breathing. The salty water stung her eyes, as she clawed her way toward Ruan. Her lungs began to burn, and her mind screamed at her to seek the surface, but she persisted. She reached out, found Ruan's limp hand, and with a final burst of energy she kicked upward, her ears ringing in panic.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she found air.
"Oh, God," she whimpered, inhaling deep, deep, lung-fulls of precious air. She hooked one arm around her husband's torso, allowing the water to take his weight, so that he floated against her.
"Ruan," she whimpered, looking at his blank face. He was breathing, thank goodness, though completely unconscious.
"Help," Liv called out, hoping that somewhere in the distance, someone might hear her. The ship was ablaze, and Liv could see the small boats, containing the evacuated crew, but they were too far away to see them. Her dress was sodden, heavy and cumbersome, and when she tried to swim one handed, still supporting Ruan, toward them, she swallowed a mouth full of salt water that left her gagging. She sank beneath the waves, and had to claw her way back to the floating position she had held before.
Swimming toward the crew meant swimming against the current, whereas the tide was naturally pulling them toward the shore, she reasoned in an attempt to calm herself. She was usually level headed, but the weight of Ruan was making her panic, though even she could be forgiven for becoming overwrought given the current circumstances, she thought.
If I swim with the current, it will be easier than fighting it, she decided. The shore was not that far away, small dots of light – presumably cottages – were visible, and though Ruan was large, the water took most of his weight. It was arduous, it took over an hour, and at many stages Liv contemplated simply letting go of the Duke, for she feared that if she held onto him, she herself would drown. Finally, exhausted, freezing and on the verge of tears, she reached the sandy shore of a small cove. Hoisting the Duke onto the beach was no mean feat. In the water he had been almost weightless, but on dry land he was extraordinarily heavy.
"Why did I have to marry such a beast of a man?" Liv groaned, as she dragged the Duke across the small beach they had washed up on. It was nestled at the bottom of two sloping hills, and tucked in the middle of these, was a small fisherman's cottage. Light blazed cheerfully from the windows, and when she finally reached it, Liv found the door was ajar.
"Hello?" she called, laying Ruan down, to dash inside and look for help. But when she entered, the small front-room was empty; the fire burned in the hearth, and on the table lay a half-eaten supper. The occupants of the cottage must have seen The Elizabeth, and rushed to help.
Chilled to the bone, and shaking slightly, Liv retraced her steps, and dragged her husband inside.
"You're so heavy," she whispered, half in annoyance, as she hauled him into the warmth. He was still completely unconscious, and she knew that she needed to divest him of his wet clothes straight away, before he caught a chill.
Laying him on the rug before the fire, Liv removed his jacket and shirt quickly, but hesitated when she got to his breeches.
You are his wife, a voice in her head taunted, but despite this fact, Liv felt too nervous to confront her husband's nether regions just then, and instead threw a blanket over him to protect his modesty, before yanking his trousers off. It was a difficult task, for the sodden cloth was stuck to his skin, and his thighs were large and muscular, but eventually he was undressed. Only when she was certain that her husband was comfortable, did Liv strip off her own wet dress and undergarments. She wrapped herself in a blanket, stolen from the adjacent bedroom, and hunkered down by the fire, beside the slumbering Ruan.
He was beautiful; even with his eyes closed he had the face of an Adonis. Liv reached out, and ran her hand over his hair, checking for lumps, bumps or bleeding. Ruan groaned at her touch, which she took as a good sign – at least he could feel. His hand, which rested above the blanket, showed signs of growing chilblains. His fingers were becoming swollen and red, and Liv noticed that on his index finger he wore a signet ring, around which the skin was becoming angrily bloated.
She slid it from his finger, and placed it on her own thumb for safe keeping, thinking that it would be a pity if, after all her heroics, he would lose a finger because of a ring. Satisfied that her husband would live, Olive threw another log on the fire, to keep it burning. She stood up and wandered over to the table, snatching a piece of bread from the cottage owner's abandoned supper, and stuffing it greedily into her mouth. She was ravenous after her hours in the water. Once her stomach was full, she peeked out the front door, gazing toward the sea.
In the distance the lights of many boats surrounded the smouldering wreckage of The Elizabeth, twinkling bravely in the darkness. Liv said a quiet, fervent prayer that the crew might be rescued safely.Then there was nought for her to do, but wait, so she returned to the chair beside the fire and promptly fell asleep.
A grey dawn was breaking, when she woke with a start. For a second she could not place where she was, until she recalled the events from the night before. Ruan was still slumbering, under his blankets. His face, she was glad to see, looked much healthier. His cheeks had colour, and he now looked to be asleep, rather than on the verge of death. A small fire still burned in the grate, and Olive threw another log on, wondering what was keeping the owner of the cottage from returning. Perhaps they were salvaging cargo from the ship, for this was the south of England, and people weren't above wrecking ships for profit, so a naturally sunk vessel would be seen as fair game.
Her clothes, which she had laid out on a chair beside the fire were now dry; stiff from sea salt and warm to the touch.
She hastily donned her chemise, and petticoats, and slipped her red dress over her head. Her slippers, no longer wet, were a sorry sight, but better than nothing. Once clothed, she went in search of a privy, for the pressing need of her bladder was what had woken her from her deep slumber.
She cast a glance at Ruan as she tiptoed past him. Even after the events of the night before, he was still but a stranger to her. This unwelcome interlude in their travels would soon end, and she would once more be facing the prospect of a life as his wife. She remembered the searing passion that he had kissed her with, and she shivered. From fear or desire, she could not tell, but it unsettled her none the less and so she hurried past him, overcome by the need to escape.
Like most country abodes, the privy was situated outside. Liv quickly went about her business, for the small shed was cold and filled with spiders. As she walked across the yard back to the cottage, she heard the sound of voices from within, and paused mid-step.
"Wonder 'ow 'e got in?" a deep male voice said, in a Cornish twang.
"Aye," another voice, this time female agreed, "And 'ow 'e managed to strip 'imself of all 'is clothes. Not that I'm complainin', for 'e's a fine looking gentleman without 'em."
"Hush wife," the male voice admonished, sounding more amused than annoyed. Liv peeked through the gap in the door, and saw an older couple standing by the fire, peering at Ruan curiously.
"Look," the bent old woman cried, pointing a gnarled finger, "'E's waking up!"
Liv held her breath, as Ruan groaned. She could see him struggling to sit upright, his handsome face awash with confusion.
"Who are you? How did I get here?" His tone was haughty as ever, evidently the blow to his head had done his ego no harm.
"We were about to ask you the same question," the old man said with a deep laugh. "Did you come off The Elizabeth? You'll be glad to know the crew are all safe, if you did, but they're missing a Duke."
"I am the Duke of Everleigh."
From her vantage point, Liv saw Ruan scramble unsteadily to his feet, clutching the blanket around his waist, to protect his modesty. He towered above the old couple, his bare chest bronze and breathtakingly powerful.
"How did I get here?" he repeated imperiously, startling the old couple, "And is there any news of my wife?"
That was all Liv needed to hear.
Nobody knows if I'm alive or dead, she thought silently to herself, and while most people would have found that slightly morbid, Live felt a sudden lightness in her soul.
I'm free.
A voice in her head sang a hallelujah, as her mind began to form a plan. She would go to the nearest village, pawn the ring she had taken from her husband's finger, and set up a new life elsewhere.Quickly, before doubt began to set in, she turned and fled, scrambling up the hill away from the cottage and the Duke of Ruin.
You can't just let him think you sank to a watery grave, her conscience nagged at her, as she traipsed along the steep hill path. And though her conscience was right, in that it was a heartless act, Olive remained resolute.
She owed Ruan Ashford nothing, she thought bitterly. He had stolen her life away from her, for his own amusement and pleasure. Her faith in her father, her childhood home and friends had all disappeared at the click of his arrogant fingers - she might as well be dead.
And now I am, she thought with a small smile.