She ran a hand over Jack’s head to make sure he was well. Given the sticky grin he aimed at her, he scarcely noticed the hubbub, but where had Mrs. Lane gone?
“Gwyneth?” Pain laced the voice.
“Grandmama!” Jack jumped away from the building and must have spotted her. He lunged around the corner, pulling Gwyneth with him.
Mrs. Lane sat in the alley, her face so careful a blank canvas that she must be working hard to maintain it.
“Mrs. Lane!” Gwyneth crouched down beside her. “What happened? Are you injured?”
“I twisted my ankle, I think. Would you…” She paused and let half a wince slip out. “Would you kindly fetch Thad with the carriage?”
Responses vied for a place on her tongue. That she could help her up, a question of how much it hurt, of how she was to find Thad from here. But she knew well that Mrs. Lane would not have asked her to find help unless she needed it. So she would go and waste no time arguing. “Of course. But,” she added when the first drops of warm rain hit her forearm, “allow me to at least help you inside.”
The woman’s hesitation told her clearly how much her ankle must be paining her. To prefer to stay in such an ignominious position rather than to face rising… Gwyneth gripped her hand and prayed the Lord would soothe. “It is only a few steps. You can lean on me. I am stronger than I look.”
Jack’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you all right, Grandmama? Do you need me to kiss it?”
Even her smile was tight with pain. “My darling little one. I will be right as rain in no time. Could you carry this?”
Jack took the sack, his lip still trembling.
When her gaze swung to Gwyneth, the edge of control frayed. “Are you certain you can support me? The way it is throbbing—”
“Have no fear of that, Mrs. Lane.”
A strained smile flitted again. “I think it ought to be ‘Winter’ at this point.”
“Winter.” She slipped her arm around her. “On the count of three. We will take it slowly.”
They got her to her feet, and Gwyneth served as a crutch for the short but difficult journey to the nearest shop. Jack latched onto her skirt and didn’t relinquish it until Winter was seated inside the haberdasher’s, her injured ankle upon a footstool, and she invited the boy onto her lap.
Despite the lady’s assurances to the little one that she was perfectly well, the truth pulsed from her eyes. “Can you find the waterfront from here, Gwyn?”
“Of course I can.” She gave Winter’s hand a squeeze, Jack’s shoulder a pat, and headed back out into the spitting rain.
Not that she had any rational thought of which way to turn or how to get to the docks from this street. But she didn’t need one. She had only to think of Thad and let her feet take her wherever they willed.
The wind whipped whitecaps onto the Chesapeake, turning its waters to a murky, steely gray. Thad signed the last of the requisite documents for transfer of goods from ship to shore as the first drops splashed down from the heavens. Handing the papers to Captain MacKenzie, he fastened his gaze on the ever-darkening clouds. “It is a blessing you arrived last night rather than tonight, Mack.”
MacKenzie snorted a chuckle and adjusted the hat over his too-long orange hair. “Methinks it a blessing the clouds had already begun rolling in last night to provide cover. I thought for sure we would have to go the long way round.”
“Hmm. Everyone else has had to.” Thad planted his hands on his hips, watching as the men loaded the last of the crates into the cart. They would take them the short trip to his warehouse, and he would oversee the sorting and selling. Not his favorite part of the business, but the one that allowed him to have his fun upon the open waters. “How daft am I that a coming storm makes me want to order my crew aboard the Masquerade and set sail?”
A meaty hand landed with a thunk upon Thad’s shoulder. “No dafter than the rest of us, though it’s glad I am to be in port for a spell. Try as we may to make a menace of ourselves, there be too many British vessels wandering the waves now that Napoleon no longer keeps them busy.”
The longing punched, itched, and made Thad’s feet want to slide along the planks until he was near enough the Masquerade to climb aboard. His hands yearned for the smooth wood of the wheel or the rough hemp of the ratlines. And to smell naught but the fresh tang of brine and taste sweet sunshine on his lips.
Someday…but not until he knew he would be coming home to a land once more at peace, to a family secure in their homes. And to a pair of eager, waiting arms and smiling blue-green eyes as fathomless as the sea.
He glanced up the street and thought for a moment he had summoned her with his thoughts. Or that he imagined her, running his way with abandon, her bonnet having fallen to her back and a few curls now tumbling free, for what would possess her to actually do such a thing?