Page 65 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Thirty

Wrapped in someone’s rather smelly old gansey and a well-worn but oversized peacoat, a piece of rope cinching it around her narrow middle, Ysella followed Sam out into the stableyard. In their looseboxes, the horses neighed in anxiety, their hooves clattering on the cobbles. One of them was kicking at his door. Probably the highly strung Lochinvar. Ysella would have liked to go in to reassure him, but Sam had her firmly by the hand.

With buildings surrounding them on all four sides, they were sheltered from the worst of the wind, but the rain lashed down without mercy, plastering Ysella’s hair to her head and running into her eyes and mouth. It was like being drowned while not immersed in a body of water, as though the air had become the sea. Or at least how she imagined that would be.

Other men appeared: Jowan and Kenal accompanied by the two young men from the village who now worked for Sam. Gray-haired old Gerren emerged from the servants’ door followed by someone whose long skirts were already sticking to her legs. Rosie the cook, Jem’s mother. How Sam could have argued it was no place for a woman yet hadn’t batted an eyelid about allowing Rosie to come irked Ysella, but she was heartily glad of her breeches, still partly dry under her heavy peacoat. Cubert came out of the stables with a coil of thick rope over each shoulder. Nine of them assembled altogether, counting Jowan and Kenal.

It seemed all the household had turned out for this rescue apart from Martha and the three new maidservants. Ysella’s heart soared with pride at being a part of this, at belonging to something intangible but worthy. How glad she was not to be inside hiding under the covers with Martha.

The cobbled yard swam with water, rivulets pouring off the roof to splatter into the puddles, and from beyond the archway came a crash that might have been a tree falling. Was that the very ground shaking? What if it had hit the house? Might the rain even now be pouring down inside? She’d think about that later.

“Which way?” Sam shouted at Jowan, his grip on Ysella’s hand tightening, the lantern swinging wildly from side to side.

“The back track,” the old man shouted back. “Best keep off the cliff path in this wind.”

Thank goodness. It hadn’t occurred to Ysella that they might go that way, but the fact that they weren’t was a great relief.

As Jowan seized the yard gates, the wind snatched them out of his grip and flung them open. They crashed against the stonework, just missing sandwiching him against the wall.

“Leave them open,” Sam shouted. “Might keep them from being damaged.”

“What if the horses break out of the stables?” Ysella cried, fear for Lochinvar foremost in her mind for a moment.

“They won’t,” Sam shouted back as thunder rolled overhead again, the wind stealing his words. “They’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Stepping out of the shelter of the stableyard tore Ysella’s breath away. Lightning lit the sky just as she did so, showing her the devastation wrought in the gardens. Two enormous trees lay sprawled across the lawns, their branches reaching almost as far as the side of the house, and those still standing looked as though at any moment they’d join their recumbent friends. Their branches screamed, bending in supplication, and broken pieces of them littered the grass.

“No time to stand gawking,” Sam said, his face close to her ear, and he pulled her after him.

Thunder rolled overhead again and again, as though the sky might rend itself in two. Was that what lightning was? The sky splitting wide open and showing a glimpse of heaven? If that was heaven, it couldn’t be offering eternal rest as vicars promised. Ysella peered upwards into the driving rain, in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning lance down towards the ground. It lit the countryside up like daylight for a second, and she saw that Jowan was leading them down the narrow path that led by the inland route to Nanpean farmhouse.

Underfoot, the ground was slick with running water, turning everything to mud. She slipped and slid on the rocky track, gripping Sam’s hand for much needed support. Once or twice, he had to put a supporting arm around her waist and, despite the desperate situation, Ysella felt that same electric current run between them.

She leaned her weight on him, conscious of how safe he made her feel with his strong arms and sturdy body. Why had she insisted on coming with him? The need to acknowledge to herself why she was here rose and had to be answered. The thought of Sam going into danger had terrified her. She’d wanted to be there, beside him, keeping him safe, just as he did for her.

The high earth and stone walls to either side of the path gave a little shelter from the gusts of wind, but nothing from the rain. Water found its way in at the neck of Ysella’s coat, running down her neck and soaking into her shirt under her thick gansey, but the struggle of walking kept her warm. Sweat joined the rain in running down her back.

In daylight, with the ground dry, the walk down to Nanpean was not an easy one, being steep and unforgiving and pocked with hidden rocks. Now, in the black of night, with only the light of a few oil lanterns and the intermittent flashes of furious lightning, it had become a nightmare.

Ysella slipped on a wet rock and sat down hard on her bottom, almost pulling Sam down with her. He hauled her back up again and, without even checking she was all right, kept going. She didn’t complain. This new masterful Sam was somehow far more attractive than the one who kept giving in to her every little whim. He’d gradually been asserting himself over her these last weeks, and she had to admit she liked the dynamic making itself known between them. Enough for her to push him into arguing with her whenever she could.

The journey down into the little valley seemed to take forever. Ysella had no idea how long a ship could survive if it was being wrecked on this rocky coast. Presumably its crew would fight to save it all the way. The wind direction must have an influence on their chances of success though—and the wind was blowing hard inland tonight.

At last, the path leveled out and, within a few minutes, they were in Nanpean’s yard. Instead of turning towards the house though, Jowan led them straightaway down the steep path to the beach. The stunted hawthorn trees to either side rattled in the wind, their twisted, thorny branches snatching at the would-be rescuers as they passed. Ysella shrank as close to Sam as she could, and his strong arm went around her shoulders, pulling her closer still. She put out her own arm out to encircle his waist and help her stay upright. To be nearer to his solid, dependable presence.

The rain, which had nearly stopped, had made no difference to the dunes at the end of the path. Instead, the wind had whipped up the loose sand to send it in swirls across the cove, stinging Ysella’s face and getting in her eyes and up her nose.

Peering at a night made starless and moonless by the storm clouds, she halted, open-mouthed at the sight before her. The tide was well in, massive, white-topped breakers pounding up the steep incline of the beach and snatching back the sand into the sea with a deep sucking noise. Out beyond the sea’s foamy edge, rows of even more enormous waves seemed to be racing inland as though they intended to swamp the tiny cove or pound it to submission. The primal force of the storm buzzed through her body, banishing her fears for an instant.

At first, she couldn’t see the ship.

Sam stopped beside her, holding tight to her hand.

Wiping her wet hair off her face, she turned to him. “Where is it? Has it got away? Is it safe?” The hope that it was, and that they weren’t needed to save it, lay foremost in her mind.

He shook his head. “No. It’s there by the headland, coming in fast. The sailors won’t be able to keep her off much longer with this wind and the incoming tide driving them onto the rocks.”

She peered through the darkness, straining her eyes to search for anything that might resemble a ship. Lightning forked across the sky to strike somewhere out to sea, silhouetting the shape of a three-masted merchantman, her tattered sails flapping loose amongst her rigging.