Page 10 of To Love A Spy
Her jaw tightened. Except for her, of course. Offered a less demanding job, she had handed in her wings and stormed out of the Academy office.
Angry, disillusioned, she had vowed never to look back.
Still, the memories were hard to forget. The years of training at the Academy, the camaraderie with her sisters-in-arms. Her class had been the very first, and the struggles to master the demanding curriculum and the daunting skepticism of the government had not been easy.
Valencia caught herself unconsciously rubbing at the tiny tattoo above her left breast. It had left an indelible mark on her, no matter how much she wished to deny it.
A glance up showed that the skies were fast darkening to the same ink-black shade. Gusts buffeted the nearby rocks, the swirling currents whipping the waves to a froth of whitecaps. Looking west, she felt the sting of the salt spray against her cheeks. A gale was brewing. And it was only going to get worse. God help any ship caught in the teeth of this storm. Tonight was not the night to challenge the elements.
Sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. It was a lesson that she ought to have taken to heart earlier in life.
But live and learn.
Throwing her hood up over her windsnarled hair, Valencia turned away from the water’s edge and headed for home.
The hull gave another wild lurch.
“You had best go below, sir,” cried the captain, trying to make himself heard above the howling wind.
Lynsley clung to the mast as waves washed over the deck. “There must be something I can do to lend a hand,” he shouted back.
A flash of lightening showed the officer’s salt-streaked face was grey with exhaustion. Crippled by a broken rudder, the ship had been fighting the storm for what seemed like an eternity. Somehow the crew had managed to climb aloft and reef the sails, but even under reduced canvas, the ship could make no headway the raging seas.
“You can try to help me hold the course steady,” croaked the captain through cracked lips.
Lynsley clawed his way to the ship’s wheel. Despite his oilskin cloak, he was soaked to the bone by the frigid seawater and lashing rain, and his hands were stiff as blocks of ice.
“What bearing?” he asked, trying to make out the markings of the compass in the swirling darkness. The flying spray had long since extinguished the binnacle light.
A rope snapped overhead and the whipping end nearly knocked off his head.
“Just try to keep the bow headed into the wind,” gasped the captain. Another flash of storm-blurred light gave a glimpse of the fellow’s hands, which were raw and bloodied from fighting the fury of the waves. “God only knows where we are now. I don’t think we’ve drifted far enough south to fear running aground on the shoals of Cap D’Antifer.”
“Ah, well, that’s a relief. For a moment I was worried,” said Lynsley dryly as he gripped the slippery spokes.
The captain gave a harried laugh. “Sorry, sir. I would have had you across before the blow hit if not for the damn rudder pin snapping.”
“Life is full of unexpected surprises,” replied Lynsley. “Bad luck can strike at any time.”
“Aye, sir. If we can just weather the next—” The captain’s words were cut off by a clap of thunder.
And then by the crack of the mainmast.
The deck pitched to a near perpendicular angle, throwing Lynsley hard against the aft hatchway. All around, he heard the sound of splintering wood and snapping rigging.
As the next wave slammed into the ship, Lynsley felt himself slipping, sliding.
Bloody hell.The lee rail was already buried in a roiling wash of water. In another moment . . .
A wall of water rose up, black as Hades.He had one last thought before being sucked under.
Mrs. Merlin was going to be madder than a wet hen.
Chapter Three
The worst of the storm had blown itself out by dawn. From the crest of the cliff, Valencia surveyed the gunmetal grey seas and decided it was safe enough to venture a swim in the shallow part of the bay. The wind had died down to a stiff breeze, and as she picked her way down to the strand, it seemed almost calm.
Ebb and flow.The forces of nature had their own immutable rhythm. Only a fool tried to challenge such elemental truths. Sometimes the prudent course of action was to hunker down in a snug shelter with a good book and a glass of fine French brandy.
