Sea of Fire (37 page)

“You’re a sick bastard,” Christian said, and guided her up the few steps out to the plank.

“You don’t understand,” Maguire said.

“I’m so scared. Hold me, Christian. I want to die in your arms.” Her voice trembled. She shook fiercely.

“Nay. Listen to me.” He gripped her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll do as I say once we hit the water.”

“I pro...mise.” She spoke through quivering lips. She shook so hard she could have tumbled from the plank if not for Christian’s hold on her forearm.

His grip was like a vise. “I’ll not let go of you.”

“Jump, my friends, or I’ll take your hesitation to mean you’d rather be shot,” Maguire hollered to them.

“When I say now,” Christian commanded.

She nodded. He kissed her cheek, and shouted, “Now!”

Together they plunged into the dark swirling waters of the Irish Sea.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Christian’s head surfaced through the water. Seconds later he yanked on Elizabeth, and her drenched head popped up from beneath the icy water. She gasped for air and almost as quickly started to sink towards the dark depths below. Had he not been holding onto her arm, he’d never have found her in the inky depths below.

He tugged her upwards again while he tried not to slip beneath the surface himself. She gasped for air again, but this time managed to shout, “Christian, help me!”

“I’m trying to, Elizabeth. Quit fighting me, so I can.”

He held her forearm with all his strength and tried to position her so he could swim and carry her. Next instant, she used her free arm and wrapped it around his neck. Like he was a lifebuoy, she clung to him unaware she was practically drowning him so she might stay afloat.

“Let go,” he yelled and caught a mouthful of water. He choked, spit out the water and managed to clear his nose. “Let go of me, so I can keep you afloat.”

Elizabeth was deaf to his command. Her fear was so great, she had crossed over to where her only impulse was survival. If she continued along this vein, she’d drown them both. He’d have to take dramatic measures if they were to have a chance. Yet, he couldn’t free himself from her lest she slip below the surface where he couldn’t see her.

He groped in the water for the back of her breeches and loosened her shirttails. When he had a good grasp, he dipped beneath the water and freed himself from her choking arms. He circled behind her all the while holding the garment.

She yelled and flailed in the water. “Christian!” She screamed through a mouthful of water.

“Do you want to drown us both?” He angrily spoke from behind her.

“Nay, why won’t you help me?” She tried to face him, but he would not allow it. She sunk into the water and choked.

“Stop struggling against me and trust me. You must force yourself to relax. Let me take charge. Will you do it?”

“I can’t.” She desperately fought to stay above the sea.

“Then I’ll have to let you drown for I’ve no intention of going to a watery grave with you.”

He far from meant it, but she needed to understand the importance of her cooperation; however, apparently she believed him. Instantly, she sputtered, “I will. Christian. I will. Only help me.”

He reached for her, and true to her word she was moving her arms and legs less excitedly. “Just pretend you are floating, and I’m pulling you along. I know it’s not easy, but relax.”

“I’ll try,” she mumbled through chattering teeth and lips.

He too, was feeling the cold. He needed to move his muscles and get his blood flowing to retain body heat before it was too late. With Elizabeth in tow, he began to swim towards the shore. Soon afterwards, when she was far too quiet and calm, he saw she had slipped into unconsciousness. His progress, though steady, was slow, and all too soon he tired. The cold started to penetrate the lard, taking its toll on him. Strong swimmer though he
was, his limbs ached and were becoming numb. Still, he struggled onward.

What a fool he had been to think he could survive the cold temperature of the water and swim the distance to shore as well. The feat would defy all human capabilities. He knew this, but it was worth the chance. Rather this, than be shot dead instantly. Rather this, and let Elizabeth go with some hope in her heart.

He paused to check on her. She was still breathing. She was a strong woman. If he could get her to shore, he knew she’d live. He turned to see how far they had traveled from the ship. To his amazement, it was a considerable distance. To his satisfaction, he saw that the fire he had started in the galley had reached the upper deck. Someone on shore was bound to see it. A tremendous sense of success and pleasure passed over him. It gave him the encouragement and extra stimulus to strive for the shoreline.

He stared at Elizabeth floating like a buoy next to him. “I’ll not let you die.”

From somewhere in the inner depths of his soul, the place one goes for the will to defy all odds, he mustered up all his strength and continued for the shoreline. As a man possessed, he paddled through the water in a trance-like state and concentrated all his efforts on the seabank ahead.

He kept this steady pace until he thought he heard someone yell, “There. In the water.”

He ignored the voice. It was merely mind tricks. It was his subconscious, trying to break his concentration—his weak side, encouraging him to give in to death.

“Over there,” came the voice.

Did he dare stop? Did he dare take the chance to see if the voices were real? If he did, and the voices were his imagination, he’d never have the energy to continue. Nay, it was best not to break his pace.

“Hey. We’re going to throw you this lifebuoy. Hang on. We’ll have you out in no time.”

He could stand it no longer. He wanted to hope. He wanted to believe the voices he heard weren’t imaginary. Consequently, he gave in to the temptation, stopped and turned towards the noise.

Relief washed over him. There in the near distance was a currach. Three, four, nay five of the small boats with wicker frames covered in hide. He checked Elizabeth. She was blue and barely breathed. “Hurry,” he yelled. “She needs immediate care.”

Someone threw a buoy to him and in seconds they were towed into one of the currachs. Their wet frozen forms were met with thick woolen blankets which were secured tightly around them. One of their rescuers held Elizabeth until Christian was seated in the bow of the currach. Christian opened his blanket, and they placed her in the crook of his arm. He closed his eyes and succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

“Look at the ship!” a man with a nasal voice shouted.

Christian’s eyes blinked open to stare at the
Aurora.
The others in the small fleet of currachs, stared at the ship, too. The fire had spread and appeared out of control. Men were jumping overboard. Christian smiled as he was sure it was Maguire who yelled “abandon ship.”

“What happened, mister?” Someone asked him.

“Can’t you see he can barely breathe, much less speak? Wait till later,” someone else insisted and bent down close to where he and Elizabeth lay in the currach. “Don’t speak. Shake your head one way or the other. ‘Tis only one thing I need to know. Is there anyone else with you I need to rescue?”

Christian slowly moved his head to indicate a negative. It was the last action he remembered before all went dark.

Elizabeth affectionately rubbed Christian’s hand as he lay unconscious on a pallet in one of the rooms of St. Michael’s monastery in Howth on the northern peninsula of Dublin Bay. When she had awakened an hour ago, the day was clear and bright with the sun high in the sky, indicating it was late morn.

The friar who was sitting at her side apparently had been closely watching her. The moment her eyes first fluttered into wakefulness, he assured her she was safe and so was her husband. Before she could set him straight, or ask the first question, he had told her that the Dublin Volunteer Shore Patrol had been alerted to a fire aboard a ship off the coast. The patrol, though they had no means of putting the fire out, promptly took action in hopes of rescuing anyone, should the ship not have enough barrels of water on board to douse the fire. Barely had the friar revealed this information, when he hurriedly apologized for having removed her wet garments and clothing her in the friar’s robe, but it was all that was available at the monastery. She was to put any fears to rest, for they had called in a midwife from the nearby village to perform the task. Thankfully, the friar never commented on the breeches and shirt she had worn.

So this was how she now came to be seated at Christian’s side dressed in the uniform of the friar once more. She caressed his hand and hoped he’d regain consciousness soon. He, too, was in a friar’s robe. She inwardly smiled. Her love for this man was so great, if it were possible, her heart would burst from the depth of it.

He stirred. She waited for him to speak.

His eyes opened. Alarm registered across his face. He snapped his hand from hers until he apparently focused and realized who she was. He held his hand back out to her, and she grabbed it.

“You gave me a scare. What are you doing dressed like that? Where are we?” he asked.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” she said and smiled. She watched him take in his surroundings.

“I take it we’re at some religious place. There’s naught on the walls but that wooden cross. The room is quite simple.”

“We’re at St. Michael’s monastery in Howth.”

He removed his hand from hers so he might stand. “Hence, the robe.” He gathered her close to him. “Maybe we missed our calling. Somehow, we always end up in a friar’s robe.”

“ ‘
Tis ironic, I know, but you’d best release me this instant. I’ll have no others swooning on my behalf.” She paused. “The friar thinks we’re man and wife.”

“What made him think so?” Christian asked.

“I don’t know. He never gave me the opportunity to explain.”

“God, I’m glad to see you.” He kissed her soundly and said, “How did we come to be here?”

She told him what she knew and asked, “What happened? I don’t remember anything once we jumped into the water.”

“That’s good, because you damn near drowned me.”

“I did?” She stepped away from him quite shocked by her behavior. “I’m sorry I was so awful. I had no idea.”

“I know that. Let’s put it behind us. Are you feeling all right?”

She nodded. “And you?”

“Fine as a frog’s hair.”

She giggled and became serious. “I’ve already sent help to Walter at Cullenmore Abbey. What about Maguire? Shouldn’t we go to New Prison at once?”

“We can deal with Maguire later. For now, our first priority is indeed New Prison. They won’t release Adam or your father on our say-so. Can you reach one of Edward’s magistrate friends who can vouch for him, or pen an edict the way your father might?”

“Mr. Clark. I know he’ll help us.”

“Grand. We’ll bring some coins in case, though. Nothing is more convincing than the power of a silver or gold coin flashed before the gaolkeeper.”

A few hours later, after they had calmed the worried Hannah, who had returned home to an empty house, they changed their clothes and traveled to Four Courts to talk to the Right Honorable Mr. Clark. After a brief explanation that Christian was not Edward Corry’s doctor, but Adam’s brother, the man reacted without hesitation. He agreed to come to their aid, though he scolded her for not trusting him sooner.

She gave a grateful smile to the man now seated on one side of her. Christian sat on her other. Together the three waited to speak to the warden in his small office at New Prison.

“Don’t you worry,” the magistrate patted her hand. “We’ll have your father from this hell hole in no time. And, your brother, too.” He sat forward in his chair a bit to talk beyond her to Christian.

“I’m grateful,” Christian answered. “Had we sought their release through the normal course of action ...”

The magistrate waved his hand. “It was wise to come to me. Each day that passes lessens their odds for survival.”

“What’s taking the man so long?” She squirmed in her chair.

“I suppose he’s looking for yesterday’s list of deaths. Hopefully, neither Edward or Adam are on it and he’s having them brought forward,” Clark said.

Her father’s friend spoke bluntly, but not from cruelty. Earlier, he had both warned and consoled her that their deaths were a possibility.

“Remember what the three of us discussed on the way here,” Christian spoke to her. “Your father and Adam have been in prison for over a month. If we are so fortunate
that they are still alive, they’re not going to look like the people we know them to be,” Christian warned her again.

“Aye.” Clark agreed, and added, “The government is trying to improve the prison conditions, but I’m afraid change is slow to come. Yet, New Prison is better than some others.”

“I don’t feel comforted,” she said and shivered.

“None of us do,” Christian said. “We must face the facts.”

“After all we’ve been through, I couldn’t bear to hear bad news.” She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed the chill from her upper arms.

The door to the warden’s office creaked and swung open. The three, as if prompted, stood at once.

“They’re not dead,” the warden stated.

Her knees momentarily weakened. “Thank God.”

“Where are they?” Christian asked.

“They’ll be here shortly.” The warden sat down at his desk, which faced them only a few feet away, and lifted one of his neat stacks of papers. “Here it is.” He held up his quill pen. “If you’ll sign here, Your Honor.” He handed the pen to Clark.

Mr. Clark dipped his pen in the inkwell and wrote out his name. “What condition are they in?”

“They’re due for a bath and could use some meat on their bones. Other than their weakened state, they don’t appear feverish.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Now, if you’ll please wait for the men outside my office, I’d be grateful. This is a small room. Odors tend to cling to the walls and like.”

God in Heaven, what was she to expect when her father and Adam were brought to them?

She didn’t wait long to find out. The two men, each accompanied by a prison guard, entered the large passageway outside the warden’s office. Neither Edward nor Adam could stand without their support. They squinted against
the brightness of daylight—mere shells of the men they used to be. Their soiled, rumpled clothes hung on them. Their hair was matted. Their faces were concealed by their beards.