Page 39 of Go, Rogue

“I’ve no idea,” McGann answers as he hurries down the ladder to the ship’s hold.

There are barrels and barrels of whisky stored there. If even a single flame hits the alcohol, they’ll go up worse than if he doused the decks in paraffin oil. He shudders at the memory of how fast that fire had moved aboard the East Indiaman vessel. And how quickly the whole ship had gone down after.

If one of the fires had been in the hold, they’d have lost the ship, their livelihoods, and probably their lives already.

“Menace!” he roars again, flinging himself down the last few ladder steps.

It’s quiet and dark there in the hold, removed from the noise and chaos of the upper decks. No sound, no movement. He sniffs the air. No smoke.

“Lass?” he calls out, his senses on alert.

Four fires, seemingly random but none down here, where it’s most dangerous. It doesn’t make sense, but he can’t spend the time puzzling it out now.

“Menace?”

And then he sees her, one slender hand on the ground, peeking out from behind a whisky barrel. He drops to his knees, his stomach in his throat. She lies face down on the deck, the back of her head bloodied from a blow.

He holds his breath and presses his fingertips to her wrist, searching for a pulse. His own heart hammers in his chest so hard he almost doesn’t feel the light throb beneath her skin. But he does, finally, he does.

There it is.

Thank Elphame.

He keeps his fingers where they are a moment longer, just to be certain.

Her pulse. It’s there.

And then he lays a hand on her back, where he can feel her chest rise and fall with her breath. She’s alive, and he almost weeps in relief. He reaches for her, scooping her up and out of the pool of liquid she lies in.

Is it water?

His fingers brush through it.

No—oil.

He touches it to his nose. Not paraffin. Not an accelerant. Perhaps a leak from the barrels, and she slipped, struck her head?

He’ll puzzle it out later. What’s important right now is getting her back above deck and checking in with Rogers. Something has gone very wrong on his ship today, and he is bloody well going to find out what.

“Menace,” he whispers, carrying her in his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”