Page 82 of The Rebellious Countess
Elias held the boat for Father Charles to get inside. “Are you certain you can handle this?” he asked her.
“Yes.” No. The summer air might be warm enough, but the water wasn’t the temperature of a bath and the waves were crashing against her legs as if they wanted to eat her alive. She wasn’t certain at all about her swimming skills in the treacherous dark waters, but she would not be the cause of their failure.
“Tie this to your waist, the other end will be tied to mine.” She nodded and did as he instructed with the train from the cardinal’s robe, and Elias tied the other end around himself. “Sébastien, do you know how to tie yourself to the boat using a bowline knot?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” The boy saluted Elias, and took the long piece of the robe Elias held out to him.
“Father Charles, are you comfortable assisting if I need to right the boat?”
Father Charles nodded. “Yes.”
Elias turned to his mother and gave her two strips, leaving a piece of rope draped over his arm. “Mother, tie yourself and Astley in as well. If anything happens, don’t panic, I will be right here.” She scowled as if panicking was beyond the pale, but her fear was evident in the way her eyes darted toward the violent surge of the water rocking their tiny craft.
The cardinal held out his hand, waiting for a strip of his cloth to tie himself into the boat.
“My apologies, Your Eminence. All I have left is the rope I will be tying to the boat, so that I may pull it.” Elias didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.
The cardinal nearly choked on his objection. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I suggest you cut off a piece of your hassock, say a prayer for all of us, and make sure you stay close to the boy. If he goes down, so will you.”
The cardinal’s skin turned pasty, but he didn’t wait to see if Elias would change his mind. He reached for the hem of his hassock and began tearing the black material with red piping as if his very life depended upon it.
“Take off your shoes, they’ll only pull you down.” Elias took off the soldier’s jacket and began stripping from the waist up, as Máira removed her shoes and placed them in the boatbehind Father Charles. She turned to find her husband looming behind her, his strong muscular physique made that much more imposing by the exquisite backdrop of Mont Saint Michel.
He lowered his voice. “I’m going to tie myself to the bow hook with the rope. If something happens, use your knife and cut the sash between us.”
“You mean the rope?”
“No, Máira. The sash. You will not be able to cut the rope quickly enough. Cut the sash and swim to shore.”
“But—”
His voice took on the authoritarian tone he had used on her aboard ship on their way to France. “You will not go down with this boat. Understood?”
She nodded in agreement, but secretly, she would never adhere to his directive. He had never been her captain. He was her lover, her husband, her life. She would not allow him to go down with the ship alone.
Elias pushed the boat into deeper water, and together they waded into the wind-roughened bay, their most violent adversary yet.
Twenty
My darling Iseabail,
I have located your dearest treasure, and after a short sojourn for minor repairs, I will return it to your loving care. I cannot, however, guarantee that I won’t throw the thief into the sea before this journey’s end.
Congratulate your sister for me. An annulment may not be ideal, but the groom has agreed to seek one.
Your ever-devoting husband,
Nash
—A discreet letter from Nashford Xavier Harding, the 8th Duke of Ross, to his wife Iseabail Blair Handcock Harding, Duchess of Ross, regarding locating the duchess’s sister on the coast of northern France.
Mon Dieu. Elias had never been so grateful to see the shore. His muscles twitched with fatigue when his feet gained purchase in the silted sand that still had the propensity to swallow his feet if he didn’t keep moving. He reached over and grabbed Máira’s arm to help her ashore. For a small woman, she had been a remarkable swimmer, matching him stroke for stroke. She may not have held the strength he hadbehind each pull, but she had more stamina than most of his sailors, especially considering some had never learned to swim prior to him demanding it. She’d made the journey in trousers and a shirt, which were plastered to her form and causing his loins to stir at the delectable sight. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to get a look at that intoxicating view. Her long locks had fallen from their pins making her look as alluring as any siren he could have imagined, until she shivered.
“Go ashore. I will get your shoes and my shirt for you to wear.”
“But you’ll need help with?—”
