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He shouldn't do it. Should tell her to go hang herself, he was the captain of this boat, such as it was.
He turned to tell her as much, met her gaze, and fell into her sadness. Fifty years of his life fell away in that look; suddenly he was a young man again, and he couldn't let her down.
"H-Hang on, miss," was all he said, then he focused his full concentration on beaching the dory.
The sea fought him, tried time and again to push him back, but the old man fought harder, repeatedly maneuvering his craft toward the rocky outcropping at the western edge of the island. For a split second, the water hesitated, drew back, and the boat surged forward. He heard the whining scrape of the wooden hull as it slid across the smooth granite and bounced to a stop.
The woman didn't move.
"Miss?"
Slowly, so slowly, she looked up, and he saw the tears she made no effort to hide. "I shall be damned," she said softly, her throaty voice catching on the curse.
Then, with a dancer's grace, she rose to her feet in the precariously balanced boat and stepped onto the firm curl of granite. For the first time, he noticed the small drawstring bag that hung from her pale wrist. She slid the purse from her arm and eased it open, withdrawing a handful of wrinkled dollars and a ring.
"Here," she said, shoving her fist toward him.
The money flapped in the breeze. He frowned. "You can pay me when we land safe on the mainland, miss. And anyway, that's far too much. . . ."
She looked beyond him and gave a small, involuntary shudder. Reluctantly he turned, followed her gaze with his eyes. She was looking at Dead Man's Bluff, a forty-
4
five-foot concave cliff of stone. Then he looked back at
her.
"If you don't take the money from me now, I shall open my fist and let it go."
He licked his chapped lips, completely at a loss.
"Fine."
He surged toward her fist and grabbed hold just as her fingers loosened. His old, gnarled hand closed around hers, and he felt the warm, damp heat of her flesh. And suddenly they were connected.
She drew her hand back sharply.
He slowly opened his hand. Atop the money was a plain, unadorned band of gold. " Tis a wedding ring," he said quietly, meeting her gaze.
The smile she flashed was thin and strained. "Those in the world would call it such."
He blinked, lost in the need to say something, anything, that would reach her. Nothing came to him except a soft plea. "Come back with me, miss."
"Do not worry overmuch about me, sir. Take your wife on holiday with the money, give her the ring as a token of love?that is, I believe, its purpose, after all." For a moment, her smile softened. "You have children,
yes?"
He nodded. "Three daughters in Portsmouth."
"Children." She said the word with a quiet, subtle reverence that tugged at his heart. "Go see them. Hold them ... tell them how much you love them."
Before he could think of anything to say, she drew back and pulled the misshapen hood around her head. "Good-bye."
Head held high, body stiff, she picked her way across the slick, rocky outcropping of stone toward the cliffs. He watched her get smaller and smaller, a pale, dark shadow against the bright sun, moving up the scrubby embankment and over the granite shelving, to the top of the island.
Frowning, he tented a hand across his forehead to cut
out the sun?s glare. He wondered briefly what she needed to see out there on that lonely point. She?d said she was an artist and merely wanted to see the view, but he didn?t believe her. For a second, he lost sight of her. Then, as if by magic, she reappeared, a slender slash of darkness against a deep blue sky, Her cape billowed out behind her, filled by the breeze.
