Cris lost his footing and held the wall for balance. "Jesus!"
Pedro strode to the hatch. Water spattered the glass panes. Outside, a light blinked two seconds on, one second off. He went cold. The lighthouse atop São Miguel Arcanjo's Fort. What the hell was the captain doing? They were nearing the shore, too close to Nazare's giant waves.
Pedro glanced at Anne, but she seemed too affected by Cris’s diatribe to register the altered sea. At least she wouldn't grasp what the flickering light meant.
Cris sobered, his eyes alert. "What do you want me to do?"
"Escort Anne to her cabin and meet me on the bridge."
The ocean churned, waves swaying theDawn Chaser, threatening to expose her keel. Swells of fifteen feet rose from the indigo surface, their foam-covered heads exploding against the hull and quarterdeck. Gunmetal clouds swallowed the sun, soaking the command room in shadows. Dante rushed to light two gas lamps, his bare arms carrying more markings than the charts spread on the table.
Pedro swept his eyes over the travel log, zeroing in on the mistake. He slammed the compass on the scarred desk. "Your dead reckoning is biased, Oliveira. You missed by a league."
And that explained why, instead of sailing a safe distance from the shore, they risked being awash by Nazare's waves. The captain's face blanched. Stepping away from the steering wheel, he covered his mouth as a dry cough shook his torso. Pulling in a breath, Oliveira justified himself, but Pedro ignored his feeble excuses.
"You can retire. I'll assume command."
Captain Oliveira raised his bushy brows. "But, Your Excellency, I may be of assistance."
Assist them in meeting the bottom of the sea? Pedro shut his eyes and exhaled forcefully. The old man was not entirely to blame. If Pedro had been on the bridge instead of spending the afternoon enjoying Anne's presence...
Even now, the impulse to run to her cabin and assure himself of her safety twisted his chest. But to pull them out of this, he needed total focus.
"Indeed, you can help." Pedro narrowed his eyes. "Make sure those not on watch stay inside, especially Miss Maxwell. Under no circumstance is she to leave her quarters. Better yet, ask Beatriz to sit with her. This time, Oliveira, I'll not admit failings."
Pedro didn't wait to see the man stumble out of the threshold. Gripping the helm with both hands, he raised his voice above the waves' low-pitched roar. "Dante, tell the boatswain to rig the storm sail and reef the rest. We'll heave to. Keep the crew on a two-hour rotation. I don't want them exhausted and failing their tasks."
"Yes, sir." The Italian saluted and left.
Pedro turned to the twin deckhands. "Hook the horses to the hammocks. Cinch the cloth close to their elbows." If the beasts thrashed around without support, they could break their legs. "Stay there. If I catch sight of either of you on the quarterdeck, you'll wish the ocean washed you away."
Glancing down, their pimpled-ridden cheeks bright red, they bobbed their heads and rushed out.
Cris crossed his arms. "They are good boys."
"Yes. And I want them living boys."
His brother grunted. "Must we face the weather? Wouldn't it be better to lie ahull?"
"Not for this. If we reef all sails and drift, the swell will capsize theDawn Chaser. Our only chance is to keep the bow ahead, perpendicular to the waves."
Pedro steered leeward, gazing beyond the iron-reinforced glass panes. Lightning flared, followed by the rumble of thunder. Sea and rain merged in a gray vortex of air and water. Not long ago, Pedro would have relished nature's gauntlet, keen to prove his might against the ocean's power. If he survived, he would emerge as the victor and prove himself better. If he lost... well, there were worse ways to heed heaven's recall.
But not anymore. She had changed everything. Pedro couldn't fathom a place where Anne wouldn't also be. He now understood Maxwell's plight. The same fear that had twisted Maxwell's face back in the Douro swam ice cold in Pedro's stomach.
Pedro, too, had something to lose.
A wave hit the yacht's broadside, and he braced himself to avoid losing his grasp on the wheel.
Cris paced around the cramped cabin, gait wobbled by the heaving deck, and crossed himself. "What have we done to anger the ocean? Not natural. More like the work of demons."
"Nothing mystic about this." Pedro removed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "Below, there's a chasm. Some say over three miles deep. It magnifies the size and speed of the waves as they approach the coast, creating these behemoths."
They were already too close to shore, the lighthouse blinking at them ominously.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Watch the wings. Call my attention if you see a breaker."
