Prize of My Heart

Lorena woke to a clamor of activity on deck.

She flashed open her eyes as her body responded with alertness to the sounds overhead. Yards creaked and groaned. The wind fairly shrieked through the rigging. The Yankee Heart had sprung to life, and she heard urgency in the movements of her crew and their shouts.

Waves thrashed the ship’s side, rocking her bed. Lorena rose onto her elbows for a deep breath, grateful for her empty stomach, which between the motion and the clamor had begun to recall its queasy upset of not so long ago from the vomit powder.

A searing flash of light shone behind the silk brocade drapery, illuminating the cabin with an ominous brightness to reveal Drew’s slumbering form beside her.

A peal of thunder cracked through the cabin and they plunged back into darkness. Drew woke with a cry. The ship rose on a heavy swell, lunging leeward, tilting their bed to such an angle they were pitched, bodies and bed linens, onto the deck.

Suddenly, Lorena feared for their safety.

Her backside crashed down on the hard wooden deck. Drew landed on top of her, swooshing the air from her lungs and leaving her dazed as they slid downhill before the floor leveled back. It took a few moments for the shock to subside enough for Lorena to lift her head and check on the child.

“Drew! Sweetheart, are you all right?”

She breathed with relief at his round, sleepy face and thought he gave a bewildered nod. The cabin was murky, full of shadow. With the porthole draperies closed, only a very dull light shone beneath. “It seems we’re having some weather.”

Gently she rolled him off her, then climbed to hands and knees. She grasped the edge of the bed for support and then helped Drew gain his feet.

Searching about, he rose on plump bare toes and danced anxiously while Lorena dragged herself up off the floor.

“What’s happened to Captain Briggs?” he whined.

“There! See, Drew. Over by the door. Hurry now and collect him. We must be busy about getting dressed. I’d like a word with the captain before he grows too busy with his duties. Where are your socks?”

She found them hidden within the lump of bed linens, a tiny pair of striped knit socks. As she rolled them in her fingers, she could not help but incline an ear outward with increasing alarm. A howling wind rattled the running rigging, and the sails could be heard slatting against the masts.

Hurriedly she donned a checked gingham work dress and emerged from the cabin with Drew to find the great parlor in sorry disarray. Dining chairs had been knocked onto their sides. Books, charts, and navigational instruments from Brogan’s desk lay scattered across the carpet. Her needlework basket was overturned. As a way of showing her gratitude, she’d taken to sewing for the crew, mending tears, replacing missing buttons, darning socks. Now their clothing lay strewn, along with her crewel embroidery and sewing notions. Her thimble, however, remained with her always, tucked deep inside a pocket.

She didn’t know whether to start tidying or immediately go out in search of Brogan. The angry tempest heard raging behind the stern window’s curtains left her flummoxed, and it was Drew who jumped into action by racing across the cabin to the window seats. He pushed aside the draperies to a threateningly somber sky and roiling, churning seas. Only the bleakest of light trickled in.

Behind them, the door to the outer corridor burst open, and Warrick stumbled in, breathless and drenched from head to toe, escorted by his brother William.

Warrick looked at her forlornly, his brown hair sopping wet and lying flat to his head. “I am truly sorry, Miss Huntley.”

Lorena worried after his appearance. “Whatever for, Warrick?” She looked uncertainly from one to the other of them, the elder William, by all appearances, only slightly older in years. “This storm . . . did something happen?” she asked.

“Warrick’s fine, miss.” William removed his round top hat, and seawater dripped from its rim as he greeted her with a nod. “Not injured, except for his pride. A comber crashed over the bulwarks and swept him off his feet and into the lee scuppers. Sorry to say, it also took your breakfast tray and washed it into the sea.”

“Oh, I hardly give a care about that. What’s important is that Warrick was not injured.”

Warrick bowed his head. “Thank you, miss.”

Lorena felt for him in his embarrassment, for she was certain the loss of the breakfast tray pained him more than his fall. “You had better go quickly now and change your clothes.”

“He’ll have time for that later,” William announced sternly, hastening toward the stern windows. “A seaman gets used to working in wet clothing, miss. Warrick, step lively and come help me close these deadlights.”

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