Page 66 of The Cornish Bride

“She tried to put an anchor down,” someone nearby shouted at Sam. “But the wind and tide’re too strong and it didn’t hold. She’s comin’ in.”

Other people were crowded onto the small amount of beach the angry sea had left them. Ysella looked around at the shadowy shapes huddling together in small groups. Men, women too, wrapped in big coats and tightly clutched shawls, staring in impotence as the ship drew ever nearer to the rocks.

“She won’t be the first this cove’s taken,” another voice said. A woman’s this time. “Nor the last, I don’t doubt.”

A third voice chipped in. “D’you remember the storm o’ ninety-three, when three ships ran aground here in one night?”

A chorus of “ayes” rumbled across the beach amongst those near enough to hear.

“That were rich pickin’s,” the same woman remarked. “Shouldn’t wonder if we don’t get some good stuff ashore tonight.”

Rich pickings? Was she talking about the goods the ship might be carrying? Ysella turned to stare at the assembled people, villagers from Nanpean, no doubt. Soon they’d be joined by the neighboring villagers as well, all of them, perhaps, intent on profiting from the misfortune of others. Like carrion crows on the carcass of a dead deer. Here to pick over the corpse of this unlucky ship. Did Sam know what they were here for?

She turned to Sam, pulling him closer so she didn’t need to shout for all to hear and could speak into his ear. “Are they all only here to loot the goods that come ashore?”

Sam shook his head. “Not all of them. And I intend to make sure some of us at least make an effort to save the crew.” He looked down at her, his face close to hers. “But if the poor of these parishes can use what comes ashore, who am I to prevent them?” He gestured around at the crowded beach. “These people are not like you or me, Ysella. They’re poor. Dirt poor. Many of them have nothing and live hand to mouth all the year around. Anything that comes ashore on this beach tonight is theirs as far as I’m concerned. As long as we try to save the lives of the crew.”

He held her gaze. She stared into his gray eyes, shadowed and hidden now by the darkness of the night. The wind whipped at his hair making a wildman of him. The moment stretched into forever.

“She’s comin’ ashore,” someone shouted, and the moment shattered.

Another flash of lightning dazzled the sky, showing the ship lumbering towards them as though she might race up the beach and lodge herself in the dunes. But the wind caught her and she broached. The sea tossed her onto the jagged, wave-lashed rocks of the headland with a splintering crash of her timbers that rose above the howling of the wind.

She settled onto the rocks with a kind of sigh, and her bowsprit shattered. A tangled mess of spars and ropes hung from her broken masts, her hull tilting drunkenly to one side.

“We’ll never get to her,” shouted a voice Ysella knew. Jago.

Already objects were floating away from her, washed from a jagged gap in her sides, and being carried towards the beach on the foam-topped waves. A few people ran into the surf to seize the prized treasure, careless of what it might be or the danger to themselves.

“We have to try to save the crew,” Sam shouted. “It’s our duty.” He let go of Ysella’s hand. “Bring the ropes.”

*

Sam turned toYsella, taking her by the shoulders. “Stay here with Jenifry.”

“What are you doing? Don’t leave me.”

Bloody girl. She promised she’d do as she was told. He might have guessed she’d change her mind. “Do as I say, Ysella, or I’ll have to send someone back with you to the house. And we need all the men we can get down here.”

Her voice rose in fear. “Not until you tell me what you’re going to do.”

He ignored her words and turned away. “I can swim, and none of the others can. I need to do it.” He met Jago’s eyes. “And as master of Carlyon Court, it’s my duty.”

Jago didn’t argue. He must see the logicality of this. Thank goodness. Sam couldn’t ask any of the men here to do what he wouldn’t do. What he was afraid to do. And even though he could swim, he was afraid.

Before he could change his mind, he undid his coat and kicked off his boots, which would have only served to drag him down.

“What’re you doing?” Ysella shouted, seizing him by the arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.

He’d almost forgotten she was there. “Go with Jenifry.”

Jago caught hold of Ysella, pulling her hand away from Sam’s arm. “Do as you’re bid, girl.” The words came out as an angry snarl, and Jenifry stepped forward to take her.

“Tie the rope around my waist, and make the knot a good one,” Sam said to Jago.

On the beach, more containers and bundles were being thrown ashore by the waves, and the water’s edge was crowded with people fighting over them. No one seemed to be looking at the ship anymore. He couldn’t blame them. A wrecked ship was unexpected booty for poor villagers. They could see where it had ended up and must have given up the sailors as lost.

Jago wrapped the thick rope around Sam’s waist and tied a knot. Sam pulled on it to make sure it would hold. He wasn’t feeling suicidal.