Chapter 10
Bridget slogged through the water that pulled at her skirts and froze her legs straight to the bone. She was disgusted with men and their always doing things without a plan, leading her to do things without a plan. She’d come back with Mary and armloads of supplies and had meant to suggest they circle the Anchovy to see the extent of the damage. But no. Rory and Franklin were already on the sinking piece of driftwood. She’d been half-gratified that Ellis had remained to listen to her thoughts and half-irritated that he hadn’t gone after the hotheads to help them.
The one and only thing she knew she had to thank Albert for was awakening her love of the sea. She’d splashed about in the duck pond at home and swam in the river with her village friends when she was a wee lass so always enjoyed the water, but it wasn’t until Albert gave her the yacht that she found it was a true passion. She learned every inch of her lovely boat, going so far as to embarrass Albert by doing such unladylike things as wield a wrench and operate a bilge pump. And climb a rope.
She grunted as something slimy and firm bumped into her shin and frowned to think of the ship already being inhabited by fish. Greedy buggers couldn’t wait until it was all the way at the bottom?
She squeezed her ingenious little hand lamp until the tiny light illuminated the area directly around her. Another thing to thank Albert for, always getting the latest and greatest gadgets.
All she saw was water below but she kept going down the stairs. If the water wasn’t all the way to the ceiling, there was still hope. A terrible groaning and grinding sound came from one side and she studiously kept her eyes averted from whatever might be on the outside making it.
She’d seen in Rory’s eyes and heard in his voice that he’d given up, but she’d be damned if she did. She didn’t feel responsible for the state of the Anchovy but she wanted something to give to Rory. Something to make up for the fact that she’d turned his life upside down. Perhaps if he hadn’t been drawn through her portal he would have died in the storm. Or perhaps he would have found a way to save his ship. A ship wasn’t much without its captain, after all.
Her own captain was in charge of steering and keeping the other crew in shape. Bridget was the one who gave the ultimate orders, the true captain. Even Albert had known that, as useless and lazy as he’d been. He hadn’t cared a whit about how the yacht worked or had any respect at all for the sea.
As she pushed further into the depths she shivered. Not just at the cold but at the thought that Albert might have really met his fate in these dark waters. He couldn’t do much more than bob in place in the water, and if he’d been drunk, he might have just passed out and slipped effortlessly away to Davy Jones’ locker.
“Stop it, Bridget, ye’re spooking yourself.”
It was true. She’d stopped moving and found it hard to go any deeper than her hips. As she continued to squeeze away at the hand lamp’s grip, she held it up and swept the weak light back and forth. The ship was at an angle and half the hold was completely under water. There were shadowy crates peeking up here and there and debris floated with the gentle lap of the waves as they continued to creep into the hold.
“But this half isna under water,” she said to keep herself from turning around and fleeing back up the stairs. The dark desolation of the watery grave scared her like she’d never been scared before. “It isna a grave,” she said forcefully. “And where are those blasted men with the rope?”
She’d only been down a few moments, but it seemed like a decade. With a forceful grip on her light, she plunged deeper, moving toward the high and dry side. At the bottom of the stairs it was deeper than she’d bargained for and she slipped completely under. Everything went instantly dark and she gasped in a huge gulp of salty water. Panicked, she thrashed around to gain her footing, thrusting her hand upward to keep her lamp from getting ruined. The thought of being without a light in that pitch black brine almost made her suck in another lungful. A bigger fish than the first one slapped against her side, forcefully this time, as if trying to gauge if she’d make an easy meal. It was all she could do to keep from screaming and she kicked wildly, finally gaining purchase with her feet on the tilting floor and bursting her head above water. It took a few moments to get her heart to stop trying to climb out of her throat as she squeezed away at the hand lamp. Nothing. She was all alone in the pitch black, watery grave.
“Stop that. It’s not a grave.” She gathered all her remaining courage, which was barely enough to fill a thimble. “Anyone down here?” she called, her voice echoing in a nerve wracking fashion.
“I’m coming, ye wee witch,” Rory called from behind.
She scowled back at him and then heard something else. “Hello?” she called again.
“I said I’m—”
“Shush,” she hissed behind her. Finding it hard to walk through the almost shoulder deep water, she kicked off from the floor and coasted to a door that was wedged shut by some barrels and crates that had been tossed in front of it. “Is someone in there?” She banged on the door.
“Thank God, thank all the gods,” a voice cried from the other side. “Can ye get us out of here?”
Rory heard it too, and plunged toward her under the water, coming up spluttering. “Ah, ye can stand here,” he said sheepishly before yanking at the crates.
She helped him heave and drag everything away and then someone burst through the door. She pumped furiously at her hand lamp until it finally illuminated a bedraggled man who flung himself at Rory’s neck.
“Fatty! Ye’re alive.” Rory choked out a laughing sob and hugged the man tight.
“Captain, we thought ye was dead. Oh thank God ye aren’t. And ye’ve saved us.” He blubbered onto Rory’s shoulder and then seemed to faint, drifting away from him.
Bridget grabbed him and turned him on his back to keep his face out of the water, pulling on the rope that Rory had attached to his waist.
“Take this off and let me tie it around him. And look in there. He said us.”
“Ah, ye’re right, he did,” Rory said, looking shell-shocked but doing what she said. “Dougal!” he shouted from the room. “Ye really must have nine lives. Come, let me help ye.”
Rory sloshed back into the hold with another man, who looked even worse than Fatty. His tattered shirt hung off his bruised and cut arms and one eye was swollen shut. His ear looked as if it might have been blown clean off, leaving a bloody, blackened mess at the side of his head. But he laughed delightedly as Rory helped him up the stairs. Bridget pushed at Fatty while Franklin pulled the rope from the top of the stairs and after much effort, they were all on the main deck again.
“We thought for sure ye were dead or taken,” Dougal said. “I was blasted behind a pile of rope and they either didna see me or thought I was dead when they finally left us to burn.”
“Aye,” Fatty said hoarsely. “Thankfully the storm put out the worst of the flames. I got trapped in the kitchen and Dougal here found me. Then we both got stuck in the hold looking to see if we could salvage the Anchovy here.” He and Dougal shared a downtrodden look, sorry they’d failed to patch and bail the ruined ship.
“Aye, we’d been working on patching above the waterline, but it was clear we were still sinking. After we lit the lantern, the storm came back and we hurried below stairs to see what we could do.”
“There’s no way this boat could be saved,” she said. “I think it must be stuck on some sort of reef or ye’d already be on the bottom.”
Fatty burst into tears again. “That’s what made that terrible noise. I thought I’d go mad, hearing that beast scratching away at us night and day.”
Rory shook his head in wonder. “I could swear I saw a flashing light in the distance last night. It must have been your lantern. It’s a miracle all the way around, especially if ye knew from where we’ve come. How long has it been, lads?”
They all sat on the deck, trying to regain their strength to get back to The Mer Princess. Franklin paced nervously, seeming to think they might be sucked under any second. Bridget was exhausted from the fear and effort it took to rescue the two survivors and thought they could spare a few minutes to catch their breath.
Dougal shrugged. “The storm stopped a bit perhaps two days ago and then started up again.” He looked at Fatty and shook his head. “We gave up praying for rescue last night after we got stuck in the hold and were trying to get forgiveness only a few hours ago. So maybe three or four days all told.”
Bridget gasped and stood. “Ye must be near starved and in need of fresh water. Come along at once and let us fix ye up.”
The two men looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Ye’re a real lass, then?” Fatty asked. His pale, waterlogged face turned red. “I thought ye were an angel helping Rory.”
“Not that he deserves an angel,” Dougal said, chuckling.
“She’s no angel,” Rory said, pulling Fatty to his feet. “This here is Bridget and that there is Franklin. We’ve all of us been rescued, lads. So, let’s get onto a ship that’s sound and get ye into dry clothes and feed ye.”
Now Dougal cried a few tears and nodded to Bridget and Franklin. “Thank ye. If ye aren’t angels in truth ye surely must have been sent from heaven. We’d not have lasted another day.” He coughed as if to prove his point.
Bridget watched as Rory and Franklin helped the weak and shaky survivors down onto The Mer Princess. Back on solid planks again, she sank onto one of the deck chairs as Franklin and Ellis dragged them inside for medical attention, Mary on their heels with blankets and bandages.
“Ye did good, Bridget,” Rory said stiffly. He sat down beside her, but not close enough to touch. “Get ye inside as well before ye catch a cold.”
Well, that wasn’t much thanks for all she’d done. He looked her over from top to toe then looked out at his floundering ship. She saw a lump rise and fall in his throat and put her hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding just as stiff as when he’d thanked her. She meant the words, but couldn’t seem to soften around him. It was probably for the best.
He shook his head and wouldn’t meet her gaze again. “Go on, lass. Get inside.”
She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him. She didn’t care if he cried. She would have been an unholy mess if her precious boat met such an end. And he’d lost a lot of men, friends or maybe even kin to him. She felt foolish for expecting him to be happy and grateful to her and started to reach out, only wanting to offer comfort now. As if sensing what she was thinking about doing, he got up and moved to the rail, his eyes never leaving his ship.
She sat there until she couldn’t bear the cold any longer, both Rory’s and the wind’s, and finally got up to change out of her wet clothes.
***
Rory watched the Anchovy as the water lapped at its ruined side. Bridget had to have been right about it running adrift onto a reef or sandbar. Otherwise it would have been at the bottom days ago. It was a miracle that Fatty and Dougal were alive.
He swiped away a rogue tear as he thought about the others. He hoped it had been swift and painless for them. He didn’t feel he deserved to offer up a prayer for their souls but he did anyway, to try and make himself feel better.
It didn’t work. What an idiot he’d been. First to think he could captain a merchant ship, second to think he could ever embark on a life of crime. He’d have to find a way to send word to all his crew’s family and loved ones. He winced, remembering Hamish’s mother hadn’t wanted him to go to sea but Rory had convinced him it would be a profitable lark.
And not only had he lost his ship and his men, he’d lost Catie in the future. If she hadn’t got back by the time he made it round to Scotland again, he’d have to face Quinn. Beg his forgiveness and hope he wouldn’t be tortured before he was killed.
“Ye should take your own advice,” Bridget said from behind him.
He turned to see her in fresh clothes, a shawl tucked cozily around her shoulders. Her short dark hair was still damp but she’d put an enamel pin in it and it looked fetching pushed off to the side.
He inwardly scowled at himself for admiring Bridget’s appearance when he should have been mourning. “Which advice is that?” he asked bitterly.
She pulled off her shawl and spread it around him, trying to make it meet across his chest. “Too bloody broad shouldered,” she muttered, then looked him in the eye. “Ye shouldna be out here in this brisk wind all soaked as ye are.” He didn’t answer and she poked him in the arm. “Ye did what ye thought ye should do, which was go after Catie and Oliver. If ye stayed, ye might have died with the rest of them. Catie surely would have been lost.”
“That was all I had,” he said. A terrible creaking noise nearly split his eardrums. He grabbed Bridget and pulled her away from the rail as the Anchovy slid a few more feet into the sea. “Ye should tell your captain to get us away lest she drags us down when she finally goes.” When she didn’t move, he rolled his eyes. “Stubborn wee witch,” he said. “I shall get changed after I say goodbye. Hurry now or we’ll all go with her.”
To his surprise, she flung her arms around his waist and squeezed. The odd hug was over before he registered that she was trying to comfort him and he watched her as she raced to the bridge. Another creaking groan made him whip back around to take a final look at his ship.
“Ye were a bad idea from the start,” he said, offering a half-hearted salute. “I’m sorry I wasna a better captain. I’m sorry ye had to go down this way.” His voice cracked and as The Mer Princess eased away, he finally turned from the wreck.
He still needed answers from Bridget. He’d been distracted by the sudden storm and the outrage of the crew when they found out about the portal. Then he’d been distracted by … other things and never got the answers he wanted. Yes, it was true he’d made his choice to leave his ship and try to save Catie, but now she was as lost as before. He needed to know what Bridget meant to do about that.
He found her in the dining hall, her elbows on a table, the smell of roasting ham wafting out from the galley. How much longer would they have such sumptuous meals?
She smiled tiredly when she saw him and nodded toward the chair across from her. He wasn’t overly hungry but sat and stared at her.
“Fatty and Dougal should be fine,” she said. “In fact they should be joining us as soon as they’re all washed and patched.”
“I’m sure they’ll be verra grateful,” he said. “But what are ye going to do now? Is the portal still out there? Can ye feel it?”
She made a sour face. “I suppose it is. Who knows how far we are from it after drifting all night in that storm. I suppose I shall find it and try and close it up once I’ve dropped ye off at the nearest port.”
He tried to keep his jaw from dropping but he nearly felt it hitting his chest at that proclamation.
“Ye’d not even take us back to Scotland?” he asked incredulously.
What was worse was that his feelings were sorely stung from her ditching him like so much unwanted cargo.
“I did think of going back to the castle to see what it’s like in this time and perhaps gather more information from it. But that place will most likely be all the more dangerous now, especially with people I dinna know running it. It’s best I go somewhere far away from Scotland.”
He sputtered, ready to argue with her. Was he nothing to her after all they’d been through? He realized he was once again getting off track, and he knew in his heart he was better off without her, especially now he was back in his own time. But the two others who were still trapped wouldn’t leave his mind. He was as responsible for them as he was his own lost men. The thought of more people suffering because of him was more than he could bear.
“What of Oliver and Catie?” he asked, stunned when she closed her eyes as if tired by the question.
“They said themselves they’ll be fine.”
“If they could find that rare herb. Ye can live with yourself knowing ye brought them to a future they’re ill-equipped for, with no money or friends?” He paused, pleased she started to show an inkling of conscience in her bewitching eyes. “And what of your husband?”
The traces of guilt flickered out with a cold blink. Now something akin to rage filled her eyes. “My husband can run around in circles looking for me and his ill-gotten gains until the end of days for all I care. I suffered enough because of that man.”
For some reason her anger made his own flare. His heart didn’t want her to go back to her husband. His heart wanted her to return to Scotland with him. But he knew he was getting dropped at the nearest port. He also know he would be well-rid of her and her enchantments and should have been grateful to be set free. But he obviously wasn’t free of her yet and he only felt betrayed and hurt. Which meant he couldn’t let her live out her life without him so easily.
“What of all the people ye’re responsible for killing, then?” he asked.
She refused to blink or drop her furious gaze and as much as he hated himself it only made him love her more. God, he should be jumping into the sea to free himself, not waiting for her to do it!
“Ye’d dare pin your men’s lives on me?”
He harrumphed, glad he got to stick the final nail. “Nay, not my men, but Catie’s brother’s wife. Her grandmother and great-grandmother and however far back it goes to ye and Albert. Not being born is the same as murder, ye canna argue with that, knowing as we do that all those people are real and rely on ye to live.”
Just then Fatty and Dougal opened the door and hovered in the opening. Bridget clearly didn’t want them to see her arguing with him. As if he was important enough to argue with. She stared at him with despair for a split second, which quickly turned to cold hatred.
“Then let them die,” she hissed. “It isna fair that I should have to know my future and I willna be chained to it. I willna feel guilty for it, either.”
Tears glistened in her eyes and she pasted a false, welcoming smile on her face, beckoning the others to the table. They sat down and eagerly waited for the food, expressing their gratitude again and again.
Rory sighed. It was done then, he supposed. Any little hunger he had was gone, knowing she’d made up her mind. He turned to his two remaining crew, both childhood friends. He’d have to hear their stories and learn how his other friends had died. Wasn’t it too much for him to worry and fret over people he didn’t know when he had enough sorrow for people he did? He forced himself to eat and listen to Dougal and Fatty as they began their harrowing tale.
Those people in the future were on their own, God help them. For Bridget clearly would not and he simply didn’t know how he could.