Lord Of The Sea (28 page)

Toby’s voice rose in a scream of terror. “What shall I do?”

Numb with loss, Brendan blinked again, trying to clear the fog in his head.
Do?
His precious Mira, dying below.
Kestrel
hit hard, probably fatally. And Connor. Connor, his beloved son—

And then someone touched his arm, and feeling as though he was looking at her from far, far away, as though from the body of another person, he gazed down into the face of his new daughter whose huge green eyes were staring pleadingly up into his own. “I know what you think, but Connor’s not dead,” she said vehemently. “He has a pulse, Brendan.
He’s not dead
.”

“Not dead?”

Her grip on his arm became desperate, and the pain of awareness began to bite through the blessed numbness, clearing it away, laying the path ahead of him bare. “Don’t give up on us, Brendan! The fate of everyone on this ship is in your hands, and yours alone. They’re all looking to you to save us. Please. Please don’t give up.”

Toby’s shrill voice cut into his thoughts. “
Uncle Brendan!
”

Brendan saw Liam, limping, making his way toward him, and their gazes met.

And in that moment, Brendan knew what he had to do.

They had too much damage to turn and make a run upwind, as Connor had tried to do in that horrible moment before they’d been hit. And there was no way—no way—the little ship, outgunned, outmanned, and mortally wounded, could win against her towering rival in a sea fight.

But she would have to.

He stood up and seized a speaking trumpet lying nearby. “Put her back on her original course,” he shouted to his young nephew. “Quickly.”

Relief mixed with terror in young Toby’s face, and Brendan felt his beloved schooner loyally answering the rudder as the youth let her fall back off the wind on a course that would now, with the big ship forging ahead of them, take them directly across its wake.

That one decisive move immediately rendered the other ship’s broadside useless—for the time being.

“God almighty, it’s about time ye took control of this situation,” Liam muttered. “What next, Captain, old friend?”

“Run out the starboard broadside. Double-shotted. In less than a minute, we’re going to cross her wake, and it will probably be our one and only chance to rake the hell out of her.”

Liam turned, cupped his hands to his mouth and bawled, “Sta’b’d guns! Load up with grape, double-shotted!”

Kestrel
’s small crew immediately ran to carry out Brendan’s order, and it was only then that he finally knelt and, sliding his hands beneath Connor’s arms, gently lifted his unconscious son off the gun and dragged him up into the comparative shelter of the gunwale.

“You should go below, Rhiannon.”

“I can’t leave him.”

Her father-in-law smiled, and she saw respect in his kind, honey-colored eyes. “No, I don’t think you can. Nor would I want you to. But since you insist on staying up here on deck, at least sit down, keep your head down, and say a prayer or two for us all.”

She lowered herself to the deck and put her back up against the gunwale, holding out her arms as Brendan dragged his son up against her and tenderly laid him in her open embrace. Blood ran from a cut in his scalp and trickled down the stubbled line of his jaw, and seeing it, Brendan turned away.

Her voice brought him back to the present.

“Are we going to survive this?

He just looked at her, and she saw something deep and unspoken in his gaze. “Some of us will, lass. But not all.”

“Sta’b’d guns loaded and run out, sir!”

He looked down at Connor, his eyes dark beneath the shadow of the old tricorne that his son had taken such delight in teasing him about. “I must leave you now. Be strong.”

Kestrel
, wounded, bravely surged forward, her long bowsprit and jib-boom now sliding past the ornate stern quarter of the other ship as Brendan went to the rail where all could see him.

“Fire!” he shouted, and one by one
Kestrel
’s guns spoke as they passed astern of the other ship, each one leaping back on its tackles, coughing a plume of smoke and flame and making the deck thunder beneath their feet. In a crashing shower of glass, the big stern windows imploded and screams issued from deep within the enemy ship as
Kestrel
’s broadside ripped through the big vessel from stern to stem, cutting down everything in its path.

“Just like old times, Brendan,” said Liam beside him.

“Just like old times.”

Except Mira was not here. Mira, who—

He was desperate to go below, to return to her, but again he saw the pleading eyes of his new daughter, felt the heavy responsibility that had been thrust upon him, saw the relief and trust in the eyes of everyone around him and knew that he had a duty here, first.

“Nathan.”

His nephew was there, touching his temple in a salute. “Sir?”

“Send someone below to check for damage.” And then: “Who is your best gunner?”

“One-Eye is, sir.”

“Our foe is preparing to wear ship, and we must prevent that from happening at all costs if we want to avoid another broadside. Is your man good enough that he can take out her steering, Nathan?”

“I reckon he is, Uncle Brendan.”

“Put him to work, then. Larboard guns this time. Quickly.”

Off to starboard the enemy ship was beginning to make her slow turn, preparing to bring her full broadside to bear on them once again, preparing to finish what she had started, and Brendan knew he could not let that happen.

Someone was at his elbow. “We took a bad hit below the waterline, sir. Larboard side, just abaft the cathead. She’s taking on water.”

“Get the pumps going.”

“Aye, sir.”

He studied the other ship. She would run them down in no time. There was nothing to do but make a big, sweeping turn to larboard in an elaborate dance to avoid that deadly broadside, to head back up and try for another shot at the stern . . . and the ship’s Achilles heel, her steering.

He laid a hand on the rail.
One last dance, lassie
, he murmured to the little schooner.
I know your wings are broken, that you
can
no longer dance, but please, love . . . try your best.

“Ready about!” he called.

“Ready about!”

“Load up the larboard guns!”

Kestrel
’s long, jaunty jib-boom began to make her sweep around the horizon . . . northwest . . . west . . . southwest . . . south . . . across the wind, more debris falling from above as her great booms went over . . . .

Come on, lassie. Dance. . . .

East. . . .

“Larboard guns all loaded and ready, Captain!”

Kestrel
completed her turn, and once more her proud jib-boom took aim on the other ship’s wake.

Musket fire began to rain down from above, pinging off the guns’ iron breeches.

“Get ready, lads,” Brendan said, striding to where the man named One-Eye waited at the most forward gun.

Another moment . . . another. . . .

Now.

“Cripple her.”

One-Eye bent, sighted along the gun’s breech, and as the schooner began to rise beneath the next swell, lowered his linstock to its touchhole. The cannon flung itself backward against the breeching with an angry roar, and the ball spit harmlessly into the water several feet below the rudder post.

“Try again,” Brendan said, steadying the man with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait until she’s poised at the very top of the wave crest, just before she slides into the trough. It’ll give you a more stable platform.”

“Aye, sir!”

One-Eye went to the next gun down the larboard line. A second later it belched out its fury in a cloud of fire and smoke, and a great cheer went up from
Kestrel
’s men gathered at the rail as this time the ball found its mark, slamming into the rudder post and severing the tackle that led to the great wheel above.

“Got her!” Liam crowed, smashing his fist into his big, meaty palm. “Damn her to hell!”

“Three cheers for Captain Brendan!”

“Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah!”

From the great ship that towered over them, they heard men screaming in a strange dialect of Spanish, Dutch and God only knew what else, people wildly trying to get the now useless rudder to answer the wheel, and the sounds of fear and chaos as the vessel drifted helplessly out of control.

“I think we’re done here,” Brendan said. And with that, he gave a tight smile that never reached his eyes, and headed for the hatch to go below.

Liam stood where his friend had left him.

“What did we just see?” One-Eye asked, staring in awe after the lean, lanky figure.

It was Toby, also gazing reverently at that same retreating figure, who answered. “What you just saw,” he said, “Was the legend.”

Chapter 30

Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

 — Psalms 139: 7-10

Brendan was all but running once he had disappeared down the hatch, desperate to reach the stern cabin and his beloved Mira.

She lay where he had left her, her chest steadily rising and falling, her hair damp with sweat.

Swallowing hard, he poured water into the pitcher, dipped a cloth in it, and tenderly bathed his wife’s forehead. Her cheeks. Her arms.

Her eyes drifted open.

“Did you save the day, love?”

He reached out and took her hand, gently touching the cooling water to her knuckles, her fingers, her palm. “It was a combined effort.”

“Connor . . . I wonder if he’ll ever learn.”

“Ah, dearest. He’s not so different from me at the same age.”

“Except he has a temper . . . you never did.”

“Gets it from you, I imagine.”

She smiled weakly, and closed her eyes once more. “I imagine you’re right.”

They sat together in silence. Beneath his feet, Brendan felt the deck listing slightly forward, and to larboard.

Mira, he knew, felt it too. “How bad is it?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.

“Bad enough.”

“I heard it hit. Felt her shudder . . . heard her cry.”

“I know,
Moyrrra
. I heard her, too.”

“She’s been a good ship.”

“None better.”

“You’re weeping, Brendan. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Aye, lass.” He choked back the tears. “I am.”

“No reason to cry . . . three wonderful children . . . beautiful grandchildren . . . a lifetime of love and memories and happiness.”

“A lifetime.”

Strange creaks and groans echoed through the stillness.

“Might still be able to save her if ye rig a canvas patch over the hole.”

“It’s no use, dearest. Too much rot in her frames.”

Mira was silent for a long moment, and then she smiled. “Kind of fitting, ain’t it. Just you and me and her. The three of us. Just as it used to be.”

“Just as it should be.”

“Will you make the effort to get off before she goes?”

“I told you I won’t leave you, and I won’t.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Came into this world on a ship, and I’ll go out on one, too.”

The tears were running down his face, openly now. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you back to Newburyport,
Moyrrra
.”

“Ehhh, what’s Newburyport . . . home is here with you. With
her
. And it always will be.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his gaze distant through his tears. “It always will be.”

*     *     *

“C’mon, Connor, wake up,” Nathan said, kneeling down beside his cousin. He put a thumb against his captain’s eyelid, pushed it up, and frowned as he saw the green eyes rolled back in his head and unresponsive. He took his hand, limp and heavy in his own, and slapped the wrist hard, once, twice, three times. “Ain’t no time for taking a nap. You’re needed.”

“I can’t wake him,” Rhiannon said worriedly, and shifted beneath his dead weight, trying to relieve the numbness where her tailbone had been pressing into the deck. “I’m scared, Nathan.”

Nathan shot a look over the rail. Far off now, tiny with distance and her sails a black silhouette in the setting sun was the pirate ship, no longer a threat. But Nathan knew there were other, more insidious threats and now, with Connor out of action, his uncle Brendan below, and everyone looking to him for guidance, he found himself in command.

A shadow fell over them. Liam Doherty was there, his blue eyes grim.

“How’s the patch holding?” Nathan asked. Together, he and Toby had dived down after heaving to and, swimming deep underwater, had managed to place a large patch of sailcloth over the ragged hole below
Kestrel
’s waterline, passing ropes down under her keel and back up her other side and snugging the repair tight.

But the pumps had been going all afternoon. Constantly.

“It’s not,” Liam said soberly. “There’s a foot and a half of water in the cable tier. And rising.”

Rhiannon, gently stroking Connor’s hair, looked up in alarm. “I thought the patch was supposed to keep the water out.”

“She’s an old ship, lass. A patch can only do so much before the sea claims her own.”

“Is the sea going to . . . ”

She could not finish the question, and Liam looked away.

Silence. The sun sank a little lower, and a deep, red-orange glow began to fire the sky to the west.

“Probably ought to think about getting everyone off soon,” Nathan said quietly to Liam.

“Aye, lad. I wouldn’t leave it too long.”

“How many people do we have left on board?”

“Twelve.”

“And only one boat,” Toby said, approaching. “The other’s no good. Smashed to bits.”

The wind had steadily died throughout the afternoon and now, only a slight breeze moved sluggishly through what was left of
Kestrel
’s sails. Her long, proud jib-boom still pointed toward the north, but her topmasts were gone and Nathan knew that only a few strained, weary stays kept that jib-boom supported and the whole rig from collapsing in a heap on deck.

Kestrel
rolled heavily on the long swells, and not with her usual grace.

Nathan, noting it, cast a glance toward the stern where the single remaining boat waited on its davits. “Boat won’t hold more than eight,” he said.

“I think we might get nine, maybe ten into it. Should be all right, as long as the seas stay calm and the wind continues to go flat.”

“That’s pushing it, Liam.”

“We don’t have a choice, lad.”

“Where are we?” Rhiannon asked, growing increasingly worried.

“Two hundred fifty miles northwest of Puerto Rico. Deep ocean.”

Silence.

“We’d better gather water and some supplies and get them into the boat,” Nathan said. “This far from anything, we might be at sea for days before anyone finds us.”

Liam stood where he was, looking around, his eyes strangely moist.

“Never thought it would end here,” he said softly. “Not like this.”

A cannonball that had been dropped to the deck in the haste to load the guns suddenly began to roll forward, gathering speed as it went, before finally angling off toward the larboard bow and lodging against the gunwale.

“Come on,” Nathan said, taking the old man’s arm. “We don’t have much time.”

*     *     *

The color of the sea went from a deep, deep blue and then to purple as the sun sank lower in the sky, and supervised by Nathan, the schooner’s crew hurriedly gathered supplies. A keg of water. Dried fruits and salted meat. By the time they were hurriedly loaded and secured into
Kestrel
’s remaining boat, swung out on its davits over her stern, the deck had a noticeable pitch in it.

Brendan, a cat under each arm, came up from below and stood there quietly watching the proceedings. His face was in shadow beneath the black tricorne. Unreadable.

He had left Mira asleep in her bed, sweating-hot, restless, and slipping away from her brief moments of lucidity once more. Here, topside, Liam and Nathan seemed to have the situation well under control without his help. But he had done what they had asked of him.

There was nothing left for him to do.

He walked over to the boat, which Nathan and Liam were preparing to lower down into the sea below. Wedged amidships, the big keg of water took up a lot of room, but it was necessary. So, too, were the canvas bags of food.

He was not needed here.

He left them lowering the boat down toward the water and looked up and around the horizon. The enemy ship was gone, and the sea was empty for as far as the eye could see in all directions. A majestic sunset was starting to turn the sky purple and orange, the colors reflected on the water, water that, as dark and mysterious a blue as it had been an hour earlier, he knew was probably amongst the deepest in the Atlantic ocean.

A fitting grave.

He was largely ignored as Connor’s small crew hustled to round everyone up and get them into the small boat. He saw the fear in his young nephew Toby’s eyes, the anguish in Liam’s, the stoic determination in Nathan’s as he cast a glance forward and noted, as Brendan had done when he’d come topside, that
Kestrel
was now low in the water at her bow. Waves were beginning to slosh against her dolphin striker. Soon, perhaps in another hour, her proud and lofty jib-boom would be awash.

And there was Rhiannon, still sitting with her back against the gunwale, his beloved son wrapped securely in her arms. She was quietly sobbing.

He walked over to her and, his knee paining him, knelt down.

“You’ll take good care of him for me, won’t you, lass?”

She looked up then, her lovely green eyes awash in tears. “You’re not going with us?”

He quietly shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

“But you have to, you can’t stay here, you’ll— ” she gulped back the tears. “You’ll—”

“Hush, lassie. Tears won’t change things.”

He could not tell her that there wasn’t enough room in the boat, already starting to fill up as one by one, the schooner’s crew climbed down her side and found a space in the little craft. He could not tell her that it wasn’t where he wanted to be anyhow, that his place was here, with his beloved wife and the ship that had brought them both together all those years ago, the ship that had been a living, breathing part of their history together, the ship that had been, if truth be told, the only other woman he had ever loved with every bit of his Irish heart. He didn’t want to get down into the boat, but he couldn’t tell her that, because she would never understand. And she, like the others, might feel guilty for taking a spot that could have gone to himself, and refuse it.

It was an argument that he would not enter.

“I’m going to help you get him down into the boat now, dearest,” he said gently, as she quietly knuckled the tears slipping down her cheeks. “The others are all waiting for you. Promise me you’ll care for him. It’s all I ask.”

He saw her chin quivering, the sobs choking the back of her throat, one of them escaping in a cry of pure anguish. She nodded jerkily, and unwrapped her arms from around his son. Arms that had held him so tightly against herself, safe within her embrace while her tears fell steadily into his hair.

Brendan bent down, slid his hands beneath Connor’s shoulders and the back of his knees, and quietly stood up, holding his grown son in his arms. Nearly thirty years ago, he had held this same beloved soul as a tiny infant, restless and squalling even then, and all the years that had elapsed since didn’t change a blessed thing. Connor was his son. And he would love him until his last, dying breath.

His daughter-in-law drew herself up and walked to the rail where below, the boat, already overloaded with people and supplies, rode low in the water. Liam stood there at the rail waiting to help her down, trying to hide the tears in his eyes by quickly knuckling them away.

There, the girl turned.

“Good-bye . . .  
Dadaí
.”

“Good-bye, dear Rhiannon. Remember your promise to me.”

“I will remember.”

He nodded. She was ready to break down, and he would spare her that. He stood there cradling his son in his arms, wanting the moment to go on forever, to never let him go, while Liam helped her over the rail and hands below stretched up to help guide her safely into the boat.

And then he bent his head and kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured, seeing the tousled auburn hair, so much like his own had been in his youth, behind a blur of tears. “I love you, Connor. And I’m proud of you.”

Connor was his equal in height and weight, but Brendan’s strong arms did not falter as he handed his precious burden to Liam, who wrapped a rope beneath his arms and, with Brendan’s help, slowly lowered his unconscious body down toward the upraised hands and arms below. They both watched, the last two men on the ship, as Toby and One-Eye helped settle him across Rhiannon’s lap, and someone laid a light blanket over him.

“Just as well he’s unconscious,” Liam said quietly. “He’d never let you do this.”

Brendan nodded, and put out his hand.

“Good-bye, Liam,” he said hoarsely. “You have been the best friend a man could ever ask for. Take care of him for me. All of them.”

Liam’s blue eyes flooded with tears and he shook his head. “I’m staying here with you and Mira and
her
. I’m not leaving.”

“You have to, old friend.” He smiled, not letting go of the firm clasp he had on his best friend’s hand. “We’ve been through a lot together, Liam. Trust me, just this last time.”

“Don’t tell me you have a plan?”

Brendan smiled. “Don’t I always?”

Liam, torn, looked at him uncertainly. Tears ran freely down his cheeks.

Beneath their feet,
Kestrel
leaned a little farther into the water.

“Now go,” Brendan said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Unable to speak, Liam nodded jerkily and the two men embraced, Liam now blubbering like a baby, his tears wetting Brendan’s shirt as Brendan quietly slipped a folded letter, one that he’d penned after Mira had slipped back into her delirium just an hour before, into his friend’s pocket. He stood back, suddenly remembering two more who could not stay, and there, saw the two cats nearby, staring toward the schooner’s bows. He reached down, picked each one up under his arm, and handed them gently down to the people below. Liam made an odd sound of anguish in his throat. And then, without another word, he turned, went over the rail, and joined the others in the boat.

“Oars out,” he choked out, swiping at his eyes. “Shove off.”

Brendan stood there, the burning colors of the sunset gilding his hair beneath the old tricorne, turning it the color it had been all those years ago as he watched the little boat, cramped to overflowing and so low in the water that he dared not to think of how it would handle any sort of a sea, move steadily away. He did not, of course, have a plan. Not this time. It was a lie, and Liam probably knew it. But maybe he did not. It didn’t matter. He would be safe.