Logan tightened his grip on the rope as the ship hurtled down the next trough. “There is nay telling with a spring storm. They can rush in all wind and fury and leave you within an hour. Or”—he scowled at the swirl of angry clouds—“it can stall and last for several days. We have wound up with a stubborn one.”
Colyne scanned the turbulent sky. Until the storm broke, they couldna take their bearings and learn how far they’d been thrown off course.
The captain grimaced toward where several of his men worked to keep the rudder tight and the ship facing into the wind. “Hold her fast!”
“Aye, Captain,” one of the sailors shouted back.
Colyne glanced toward Logan’s cabin. “I need to check on Alesia.” In deference to Marie, he’d kept her identity secret.
“I will go with you.” Logan followed him. “I canna believe we saved those crates. When that last wave swept over the deck, I thought we had lost them.”
“Or a piece of the ship if the cargo had ripped the rest of the way loose and slammed into the side.”
The captain gave a grim nod. “Indeed.” He opened the door to his cabin, keeping a tight hold. They entered, and he quickly shut it against the lash of rain outside.
As his vision slowly adjusted to the dim interior, Colyne crossed to Marie.
At their approach, she groaned.
Colyne met Logan’s worried gaze.
“She is having a rough go of it,” his friend whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed, frustrated he’d exhausted nae only his knowledge on seasickness remedies but every other sailors’ onboard. None of the herbs or potions had brought her more than a token of relief.
He’d witnessed untried sailors on their first cruise caught in the dregs of this malady. Each person’s reaction was different. Some experienced a mild case of nausea while others grew so sick they couldna eat, drink, or stand. Any attempt to move agitated their already extreme condition. Upon the first port, the afflicted sailors disembarked, never to return to the sea.
“Colyne?” she murmured.
He knelt beside her and pressed a kiss on her brow. “I am here.” A fine sheen of sweat coated her skin. She’d told him of her queasy stomach on her forced sail to Scotland. He surmised the storm raging outside had weakened her already fragile resistance.
Honey lashes flicked open. She stared at him with a groggy frown. “Y—you were gone.”
“Aye, all hands were needed above.” He would give anything to relieve her of this misery. He hated the helplessness, unsure whether the storm would end this day or thrive for several more.
Logan lifted her cup, frowned. “She is nae drinking enough water.”
Holding back a curse, Colyne stroked her hair. “She will try to drink more.” They both were worried by her weakening condition. That his friend had come to check on her with the ship needing his guidance underscored the depth of his concern.
Marie’s lids drooped, as if the act of keeping them open were a feat unto itself.
The brutal crash of another wave reverberated against the hull.
Logan grimaced as he glanced up. “I must return to the helm.” Ebony eyes met Colyne’s with intention. “Take care of the lass.”
“I will.”
After his friend left, Colyne helped her sit. The ship groaned against the battering swells as he held the cup of water to her lips. “Here.”
She shook her head. “I cannot.”
Her weak reply stoked his worry. “A sip. Please try.”
Marie struggled to take a drink, but when she tried to swallow, she ended up coughing instead.
With a silent curse, he set the water aside. He drew her against his chest, feeling her every tremble, how fragile she felt in his arms.Please, God, help her.
As if mocking his helplessness, another wave buffeted the hull.
