exhilarating. She looked beautiful, a recklessness about her that made her brother laugh.
‘I would prefer to stay here if I may,’ she said. ‘It is so stuffy and cramped in my cabin, Harry. I think I should be sick if I had to stay there. I should like to remain on board for as long as possible.’
Harry looked at her doubtfully. ‘I am not sure it is wise,’ he said as a huge wave came rushing towards the ship. He grabbed his sister and held her as the water came over the side of the ship, knocking it sideways so that some cargo that had been lashed down with ropes broke free and began to slide towards them. ‘We should go below…’ He pulled Anne clear of the loose cargo, but one of the ropes caught him, knocking him to the ground. He went sliding towards the side of the ship. Anne screamed and ran after him, thinking he would be swept overboard.
‘Harry…’ she cried. ‘Harry…’
Harry grabbed an iron hook that was used for securing ropes and held on to it as yet another mountainous wave came towards them. The ship was thrown to one side, listing heavily as it took water on board. Anne was caught mid-deck and the force of the wave knocked her off her feet. She was swept across the deck by the water that rushed over the ship, knocking her head against something hard and falling into blackness as the water claimed her.
‘Anne… Oh, my God, Anne,’ Harry cried as he struggled to his feet. He shouted for help as he ran to the side where he had last seen his sister, peering into the darkness. There were wooden crates and other debris from the ship floating in the water, for the storm had taken one of their masts. ‘Anne…Anne…’ Harry peered over the side in desperation, searching for a sight of her. ‘Help! Man overboard!’
Most of the sailors were too busy fighting the storm as it played havoc with their vessel to heed his cry, but one young sailor came to join him at the rails.
‘I saw her go,’ he told Harry. ‘The force of the water took her over and she must have hit her head. She probably went down, and if she didn’t we’ll never find her in this. She is lost…lost to the sea.’
‘No! She can’t be lost,’ Harry said. ‘We have to find her. We have to get her back. She is my sister. My parents will never forgive me.’ He gave a cry of despair and put his foot on the rail as if he would jump into the sea after Anne. ‘I have to find her.’
‘Stop him!’ the young sailor cried. ‘It’s no use, sir. She’s gone…you’ll never find her.’ He grabbed hold of Harry, struggling to stop him from throwing his life away by jumping in after his sister. ‘Help me…’ he cried and a couple of sailors came to his assistance. Seeing that Harry was out of his mind with worry and would not be subdued, one of them grabbed a baton and struck him on the back of the head so that he slumped to the deck. ‘What did you do that for?’ the young sailor asked.
‘He’ll be better below deck until the storm is done. There’s nothing to be done for the wench now. He should have taken her below before the storm reached its height. We haven’t time to bother with this now or we’ll all end up at the bottom of the ocean. The girl is lost—forget her and get about your work or you’ll feel the bosun’s lash!’
The storm had gone as if it had never been. Driven south by the furious winds, the French ship, Lady Maribelle, had headed for shelter as soon as it struck and ridden out the worst of the weather. Now it was putting out to sea again, making its way up the coast to Normandy. Hassan was on deck, staring out towards the coastline. He was one of the first to see the debris tossed by the still-choppy water. He shaded his eyes with a hand, because after a storm like the one the previous night it was not unexpected that a ship might have been capsized and sunk. He shouted to one of the crew and pointed, and others came crowding to the side of the Lady Maribelle, staring at what was possibly the wreckage of a ship. It was obvious that some cargo had been lost and part of a mast.
‘What is that?’ Stefan asked as he caught sight of what looked like a half-clothed body. ‘Man overboard! There is someone caught in the debris.’
Excited voices echoed his discovery and the decision was made to put a boat over the side. They all knew that whoever was in the sea was more likely to be dead than alive, but every man jack aboard was more than willing to help in the recovery. They lived by the sea and sometimes died by it, and if there was a small chance that the man in the water was alive they would do their best for him, because one day it might be one of them.
Hassan and Stefan joined the volunteers. Six more of the crew went with them as the boat was lowered and cast off. It took only a few minutes to reach the debris, and as they drew close silence fell over the men, as it became apparent that the body was that of a young woman. The sea had torn much of her clothing away from her, and only a thin shift covered the bottom half of her body, her breasts exposed to their eyes and the elements.
Stefan leaned over the side of the boat, slipping into the water to grab hold of the body. Her limbs had become entangled with the ropes attached to the mast and it was this that had kept her afloat. He cut her free with his knife and then dragged her back to the boat, where eager hands reached out to haul her on board.
‘Is she dead?’ one of the sailors asked. ‘Poor lass.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Stefan said. ‘I think one of her hands twitched as I cut her free. Hassan, give her your cloak, please. Cover her for decency’s sake, whether she be alive or dead.’
Hassan did as Stefan asked, wrapping the thick, soft material about her. As he did so her eyelids flickered and her lips moved, though no sound came out.
‘Allah be praised,’ Hassan cried. “Tis a miracle that the waters did not claim her.’
‘Had it been winter, she could not have survived the night in these waters,’ Stefan said. ‘We must get her back on board as swiftly as possible, for she may yet die if we do not bring back some warmth to her body.’
The sailors made a murmur of agreement. Women were often considered to be unlucky on board ship, but no one grudged the poor lass her chance at life.
‘The Seagull, that be the name of the ship that was lost,’ one of the sailors said as he caught sight of some writing on one of the chests. ‘I cannot see any other survivors nor yet more bodies. Mayhap they were swept further down by the tide.’
‘We’ll keep an eye out,’ one of the sailors said. ‘But the woman comes first. She clings to life, but only God can save her now.’
Stefan looked at Hassan, shaking his head as he saw the unspoken protest. Sailors were simple folk and superstitious enough without making them suspicious. If Hassan told them that the woman would live if she were properly cared for, they might think him a dealer in the black arts, especially because of his looks.
‘I shall care for her,’ Stefan said. They would not deny him—he was a nobleman and respected in the country he had made his own. ‘I saw her first and I claimed her from the sea, therefore she is my responsibility. If she still lives when we reach shore, I shall take her to my home. If she recovers, she will need help to return to her home, wherever that may be.’
Stefan was helped to carry the young woman’s body up the rope ladder, and more hands reached down to lift her on to the deck. Some of the sailors crossed themselves as they looked down at her. Wrapped in Hassan’s cloak, it was possible only to see her face and her hair, which was a dark blonde and soaked with salt water. Her skin was pale, her lips blue and yet her eyelids flickered and her lips moved slightly, proving that she was still alive.
“Tis a miracle…’
