Page 32 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
Through the curtain of rain and spray, she saw Sidney fighting his way toward her, one hand gripping a lifeline, his expression a mixture of determination and barely constrained fear that matched her own.
Another flash of lightning illuminated him in stark relief — water streaming from his hair and clothing, his features set in lines of fierce concentration as he battled both sea and wind to reach her.
“Hold on!” he shouted, the words barely audible above the storm’s roar.
Docila tightened her grip on the mast, pressing her cheek against its rough surface, willing her trembling muscles to obey. The cold had penetrated to her bones now, each breath a struggle against the weight of sodden clothing and the relentless assault of wind and water.
Then Sidney was there, his arms once more encircling her, his body shielding hers from the worst of the wind. “I’ve got you,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “Don’t let go of me.”
She managed a nod, releasing her death grip on the mast to cling to him instead. Together they made their way toward the hatch, fighting for every inch of progress against the storm’s determination to sweep them both overboard.
Just as they reached the relative shelter of the companionway, a massive crack split the air, louder even than the thunder that had been rumbling continuously overhead.
Docila looked up to see a section of the foremast rigging tear free, the heavy rope whipping through the air like a live thing seeking prey.
“Look out!” she cried, pushing Sidney sideways with strength born of pure terror.
The rope lashed the deck where they had been standing a heartbeat before, striking with enough force to splinter the wooden planking. Sidney stared at the damage for a split second, then tightened his grip on Docila, propelling her through the hatch with renewed urgency.
The sudden absence of wind and rain was so absolute it felt like plunging into another world.
The noise of the storm was muffled here, reduced to a distant roar punctuated by the creaking of the ship around them.
Dim lantern light replaced the stark flashes of lightning, casting long shadows that swayed with the ship’s motion.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his eyes scanning her for injuries, one hand still maintaining contact as if afraid she might disappear if he released her completely.
“No,” Docila managed, her voice emerging as a hoarse whisper. “Just cold. And... startled.”
It was a woefully inadequate description of her state, but words seemed to have deserted her. Her entire body trembled with reaction now, the adrenaline that had sustained her on deck giving way to a bone-deep weariness that made even standing an effort.
Sidney seemed to understand without further explanation.
“Come,” he said, guiding her toward the crew quarters. “You need dry clothing and warmth before shock sets in.”
He escorted her to her small cabin, the narrow space feeling even more cramped after the vastness of the storm-tossed deck. Water had seeped in around the edges of the porthole, leaving puddles on the floor, but the chest where her meagre provisions were stored remained secure and relatively dry.
Sidney released her only long enough to retrieve a blanket from her bunk, wrapping it around her shoulders with unexpected gentleness.
“You should remove those wet clothes,” he said, his tone making it a medical observation rather than an impropriety. “Get into something dry as quickly as possible.”
He moved toward the door, providing her privacy. “I’ll wait outside. Call out when you’re ready, and then we need to talk about your apparent inability to follow the most basic safety directives.”
Docila’s fingers fumbled with the sodden fabric of her gown, clumsy with cold and the continuing tremors that ran through her body. She managed to loosen the worst of it, pulling the heavy material away from her skin with a grateful sigh.
Her spare dress was mercifully dry, though wrinkled from being packed away, and she changed quickly, her movements hampered by the ship’s continued motion and her own shaking hands.
The blanket was rough wool but gloriously dry, and she pulled it around herself over her clean clothes, savouring its weight and the way it immediately began to trap her body’s warmth.
“I’m ready,” she called out, settling onto her narrow bunk.
Sidney entered, his expression a mixture of relief and barely contained anger. The small cabin forced him to remain standing near the door, his tall frame seeming to fill the modest space entirely.
“Thank you,” she said, the words seeming inadequate for all they encompassed — his rescue, his current consideration, the fact that he had risked himself to save her when he could have justifiably left her to the consequences of her stubborn refusal to go below when ordered.
He nodded once, curtly. “Now we need to talk about your apparent inability to follow the most basic safety directives.”
The hint of renewed anger in his voice was oddly reassuring — a return to their more customary dynamic after the intense intimacy of the past minutes.
Sidney regarded her silently for a moment, his expression complex — concern, lingering anger, and something else she couldn’t quite identify. “Why didn’t you go below when ordered?” he asked finally. “You must have seen the danger.”
“I thought I could help,” she replied honestly. “I’ve weathered storms before, aboard my father’s ship. I didn’t want to hide below while others risked themselves.”
“Nobility is cold comfort to the drowned, Miss Archer,” he said sharply. “Had I not reached you in time —” He broke off. “Your presence on deck was a distraction my men couldn’t afford. Every sailor watching out for you was one less focused entirely on saving the ship.”
The rebuke stung, particularly because Docila recognized the truth in it. In her determination to prove herself useful, she had instead created additional danger — for herself, for Sidney, for the entire crew who would have been affected had the captain been lost while trying to save her.
“You’re right,” she acknowledged quietly. “It was foolish of me. I... I’m sorry.”
The simple apology seemed to catch him off guard. His expression softened slightly, the hard line of his mouth relaxing.
“You’re not the first to misjudge their ability against nature’s force,” he said, his tone gentler now. “The sea has humbled wiser souls than either of us.”
Docila nodded, grateful for his unexpected understanding. “Still, I should have obeyed your order. You know your ship, your crew... the dangers we face.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his gaze shifting briefly toward the small porthole where rain still streaked the glass, the occasional flash of lightning providing glimpses of the churning sea beyond.
“But perhaps I’ve been too quick to dismiss your capabilities in other situations.
Your warning about the mutiny... it came at a crucial moment.
Had you not overheard Jenks, had you not come to me immediately. ..”
He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear.
“I’m glad I could help,” Docila said simply. “Despite our differences, despite how I came to be aboard... I would never wish harm to you or this ship.”
Sidney turned to face her, their proximity in the small cabin suddenly very apparent.
“I believe you,” he said, the words seeming to surprise him as much as her. “Though there’s still much about you that remains a mystery, Docila Archer.”
The use of her given name, so rare from his lips, sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with her recent soaking. “Perhaps less mysterious than simply complicated,” she suggested. “As are you, Captain Peters.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth at that. “Sidney,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “At least when we’re alone. It seems absurd to stand on formality after I’ve carried you bodily across the deck.”
Docila felt her cheeks warm at the memory, at the unexpected intimacy of his arms around her, the solid strength of him against the chaos of the storm. “Sidney,” she repeated, testing the shape of his name, finding she liked the feel of it in her mouth.
The cramped confines of the cabin seemed to intensify the weight of their conversation.
Sidney remained standing by the door, maintaining proper distance while the ship’s continued motion caused the lantern light to sway, casting shifting shadows across his weathered features.
Despite the physical proximity forced by the small space, the propriety of their positions — she seated on her bunk, he standing near the doorway — preserved the decorum that their circumstances demanded.
”You should rest,” Sidney said, his voice rough-edged in a way that had nothing to do with shouting over the wind.
“I’ll leave you to recover. Try to get some sleep - it’s been a long night for all of us.
”Docila nodded, recognizing the dismissal for what it was — not a rejection, but a necessary retreat from whatever had passed between them in that unguarded moment. “And you? Will you rest as well?”
He shook his head. “My place is on deck, now that the immediate danger has passed. The men need to see their captain, especially after...” He didn’t need to finish the thought. After the near mutiny, after his authority had been questioned.
“Be careful,” she said softly, moving toward the door. “The storm isn’t finished with us yet, I think.”
Sidney’s eyes met hers once more, something unspoken passing between them. “No,” he agreed quietly. “I believe you’re right about that.”
As Docila tried to settle herself in her small cabin, the ship pitching beneath her feet with each new wave, she found herself replaying those moments in his arms — the feeling of safety despite the storm’s rage, the unexpected tenderness in his touch as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, the way his voice had softened when he offered his given name.
The storm continued to rage outside, but within her, a different kind of turbulence was brewing — one potentially more dangerous than any tempest the sea could conjure.