“If you do it quickly, it’s less intimidating,” he advised.
“I’m not afraid,” she said, more to herself than anyone. She stepped onto the plank, watching her foot land on the wooden board. The plank creaked ever so slightly, and she held her breath momentarily. “It’s high,” she exhaled.
“Think of it as a mountain. A hill,” Christian instructed. “And don’t look down.”
She glanced up at him. “How will I know where to step if I don’t look down?”
“I’ll guide you.”
She locked her eyes on the plank. “How do I knowyouwon’t fall off?”
He chuckled softly.
They took their time, cautiously edging their way up the ramp until the railing was within reach. The moonlight washed over the expanse of the ship, casting a pale glow over everything as she smiled up at Sage in celebration.
They had almost made it.
Christian walked onto the ship’s deck just as a wave struck the vessel, and it rolled to the side and back.
Willow gasped and looked at the plank in horror, expecting it to fall away.
Mercy whinnied, her hooves clacking against the wooden plank as she shuffled back in alarm.
Suddenly, Willow’s fear evaporated, and the only thing that mattered was protecting Mercy. She turned and placed a hand on her horse’s nose, holding her bridle firmly and murmuring soothing words.
Christian grasped Willow’s waist to keep her steady.
After a few moments, Mercy was calm enough for Willow to continue.
“Get her on the ship,” Christian commanded, leading them up the plank.
Willow moved quickly up the beam, holding Mercy’s reins tightly, and moved onto the deck of the ship. It was slippery underfoot due to the damp air, and she couldn’t make out anything in the darkness except the looming mast above her head.
Sage nodded at Willow in compliment, a smug grin curling the corners of her lips.
“Ramp up! Hoist anchor,” the captain shouted. “Get those horses into the stalls below deck.”
An ancient sailor, grizzled and stooped, stroked his white beard and beckoned them with a gnarled finger. He shuffled ahead, coughing into a soiled handkerchief, and they followed him down to the belly of the ship.
Willow had made it onto the ship.
Christian was so proud of Willow. She was on the ship. But once they had ensured their horses were settled and fed, Willow’s unease returned. Christian knew Willow would be more at ease near Mercy, so they found an empty stall and sat there. Christian searched his bag, found a whetstone, and handed it to her. She took it silently before turning her attention to her sword. He joined her, sitting close by and sharpening his weapon. The grinding of stone on metal echoed in the hold for what seemed like hours until the others went up the stairs, leaving Christian alone with Willow.
“How long will we be on this ship?” Willow asked softly.
Christian felt her vulnerability like an arrow to his heart, and his brow furrowed. “Three, maybe four days. It depends on the winds and the currents.”
She ran the stone over the edge of her sword with a steady hand; her lips pressed into a subtle frown.
“You’re doing well, Will,” Christian remarked.
The clamor of the waves slapping against the side of the ship blended with the faint creaks and groans of the wood.
She paused in her work. “I can hear it, feel it,” she said quietly. “As if it’s waiting, hungry.” She looked at him, her eyes troubled.
Disturbed at her description, Christian clasped her wrist. “That’s your imagination, Will. It’s just water. It’s not alive.”
“I know that. Rationally, I do.” A wave hit the side of the hull, and the ship pitched gently. She looked at the wooden wall. “But there is a part of me that wonders…”
