Page 42 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
Docila nodded, moving to the bow where she would have the clearest view of the waters ahead. Her slender figure, braced against the railing as the ship pitched and rolled, became Sidney’s reference point — a focal reminder of what was truly at stake as they attempted this desperate gambit.
The inlet loomed larger now, the gap between the rocks revealing itself to be marginally wider than it had appeared from a distance — wide enough for the Seraphim to pass through, but with precious little room for error.
Jagged stones lined both sides of the passage, some visible above the waterline, others lurking just beneath the surface, betrayed only by the pattern of waves breaking over them.
“Steady as she goes,” Sidney called, his voice cutting through the tension that had fallen over the crew. “Mr. Turner, have men standing by with poles to fend off if we drift too close to the rocks.”
They were almost at the entrance now, the pursuing ship firing again in a desperate attempt to disable them before they reached the safety of the narrow passage. This shot struck closer, sending splinters flying from the aft railing, but causing no serious damage to the ship or crew.
Sidney adjusted their course slightly, compensating for a crosscurrent he could see affecting the waters at the inlet entrance. His hands were steady on the wheel, his concentration absolute as he guided the Seraphim toward the narrow gap that represented their best hope of escape.
“Captain!” Docila called from her position at the bow. “Submerged rocks to starboard, just inside the entrance!”
“Noted!” Sidney replied, already adjusting their approach to favour the port side of the channel. This was why he had asked for her help — with her keen eyes and quick mind, she had spotted a hazard he might have missed while focusing on the broader elements of their approach.
The ship slid into the inlet, the distance between their hull and the rocks on either side seemingly impossibly narrow.
Sidney could hear the gasp of indrawn breath from the crew as stone scraped against wood — not a direct hit, but close enough to set nerves on edge and send a shudder through the vessel.
“Steady,” he called, his voice calm despite the tension evident in every line of his body. “She’ll hold. Keep fending off to port!”
Men with long poles pushed against the rocks when they drifted too close, the physical effort helping to channel the fear that might otherwise have overwhelmed them.
Sidney kept the wheel firm, making minute adjustments to maintain their course through the treacherous passage, his eyes constantly scanning for the next hazard, the next challenge to their progress.
Behind them, the pursuing ship had slowed, clearly unwilling to risk the same dangerous manoeuvre without knowledge of the waters.
The second vessel, which had been waiting ahead, was now attempting to circle around to the far end of the inlet, but would need time to navigate the coastline — time that might give the Seraphim the advantage she needed.
“We’re through the worst of it,” Sidney announced, relief evident in his voice as the passage widened slightly, the rocks becoming less numerous. “Well done, all of you.”
A ragged cheer went up from the crew, tension releasing in a burst of celebratory sound that echoed off the rock walls surrounding them.
But Sidney’s relief was tempered by the knowledge that they had gained only a temporary advantage.
Their pursuers had been delayed, not defeated, and would undoubtedly continue their hunt once they had determined the Seraphim’s new course.
As they emerged from the inlet into a small bay sheltered by the surrounding headlands, Sidney relinquished the wheel to Harris, his hands suddenly unsteady now that the immediate crisis had passed.
The delayed reaction to danger was familiar — the body’s rebellion once the mind allowed itself to acknowledge the peril it had faced.
“Set a course northeast,” he instructed Harris. “Keep us close to shore where our draft gives us advantage, but not so close we risk running aground if the wind shifts.”
“Aye, Captain,” Harris replied, his voice steadier now that they had successfully navigated the treacherous inlet.
Sidney moved to the rail, scanning the horizon behind them for any sign of their pursuers.
The larger ship remained visible at the inlet entrance, clearly hesitating to follow, while the smaller vessel had disappeared from view, presumably still attempting to circle around the headland to intercept them from another direction.
They had gained a reprieve, but not an escape.
The realization settled heavily on Sidney’s shoulders as he contemplated their next move.
The map secure in his cabin represented years of work, the culmination of a quest that had defined his life’s purpose.
Yet in that moment of decision, with Docila’s safety hanging in the balance, he had been prepared to abandon it all without hesitation.
What did that say about his priorities now? About the shift that had occurred so gradually he had scarcely noticed it until crisis forced him to choose?
He became aware of Docila approaching, her duty at the bow no longer necessary now that they had cleared the dangerous passage. She joined him at the rail, her presence a silent comfort as he wrestled with the implications of the choice he had so nearly been forced to make.
“You navigated that brilliantly,” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen such seamanship, even from my father.”
The compliment warmed him despite the lingering tension of their situation.
“It was a near thing,” he admitted. “Closer than I care to repeat.”
“But you never hesitated,” Docila observed, studying his face with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see more than he intended to reveal. “Even when the crew questioned, even when the rocks seemed too close for passage — you remained certain of your course.”
Sidney managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A captain must appear confident, even in moments of doubt. The crew looks to me for reassurance, for the belief that we will prevail against whatever challenges we face.”
“And is that all it was? Appearance?” Docila pressed gently. “Or did you truly believe we would succeed?”
The question gave him pause, forcing him to consider his own state of mind during those critical moments.
“I believed in the ship,” he said finally. “In the crew. In their ability to execute the orders I gave, however difficult.”
He turned to face her fully. “And I believed in you, standing at the bow, watching for hazards I might miss.”
The admission seemed to surprise her, a flush of colour rising to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the exertion of their escape.
“I merely did as you asked,” she said. “Anyone could have —”
“No,” Sidney interrupted quietly. “Not anyone. You understand the sea, the reading of waters, in a way few do. You saw what needed to be seen, reported it clearly, without panic or exaggeration. That skill — that steadiness — may well have saved us all.”
Docila held his gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them in the aftermath of danger survived together. Then she glanced back toward the inlet, her expression sobering.
“They’ll come after us still,” she said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Whoever they are, whatever they seek, they won’t abandon the chase so easily.”
“No,” Sidney agreed, his own gaze turning back to scan the horizon. “But we’ve bought ourselves time. Time to consider our options, to prepare for whatever comes next.”
What he didn’t say was that their options remained painfully limited.
They could not outrun such determined pursuit indefinitely, not with the Seraphim already showing signs of strain from their desperate manoeuvres.
Sooner or later, they would be forced to confront whoever hunted them — be it Blackwell seeking the treasure or agents of Hugo Archer seeking to recover his niece.
The knowledge rattled him more deeply than he cared to admit, not for his own sake but for Docila’s.
The thought of her being returned to her uncle’s custody, forced into a marriage she dreaded, stripped of the freedom and agency she had fought so hard to claim.
It was intolerable. Yet the alternative might be facing Blackwell’s ruthlessness, risking the lives of his entire crew in a confrontation they could not hope to win.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Docila placed her hand lightly on his arm, the touch grounding him in the present moment, drawing him back from the spiral of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm his usual calm.
“One challenge at a time, Captain,” she said softly, echoing advice he himself had given to young sailors overwhelmed by the immensity of the sea. “We’ve survived this. We’ll face what comes next when it comes.”
Sidney covered her hand with his own, a brief acknowledgment of the comfort she offered.
“Indeed, we will, Miss Archer,” he replied, deliberately formal in the presence of the watching crew but allowing a warmth to enter his voice that conveyed more than the words themselves. “Indeed, we will.”
As the Seraphim continued her course along the coastline, putting distance between themselves and the immediate threat, Sidney found his gaze repeatedly drawn to Docila’s profile as she stood beside him at the rail.
The woman who had forced her way aboard his ship as an unwelcome stowaway had become essential to him in ways he was only beginning to understand — a transformation as unexpected as it was irrevocable.
Whatever came next, whatever choice he ultimately faced between treasure and her safety, Sidney knew with sudden clarity which he would choose.
The realization should have troubled him more than it did, representing as it did a dramatic shift in the priorities that had guided him for years.
Instead, it settled over him with a strange sense of rightness, as if he had finally aligned himself with a truth he had been avoiding for too long.
The treasure of El Dorado might have been his life’s quest, but Docila Archer had become his life’s compass, pointing toward a future he had never anticipated but now could not imagine surrendering.