Shipwrecked With The Captain. Diane Gaston

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       Chapter Three

      It took another hour for the ship to approach and lower a boat to row out to them, but Claire did not mind the wait. They were rescued.

      Soon enough they were safe on board the ketch and greeted by a man who introduced himself as Captain Molloy.

      Lucien immediately told the Captain, ‘The lady needs water and food.’

      Claire had not realised the strength of her thirst until Lucien mentioned it.

      Lucien.

      She could not think of him in more formal terms than his given name. He’d saved her life and he was the only person she had in her memory.

      He kept an arm around her, though she thought she could walk on her own.

      ‘We’ll get you both below.’ The Captain ushered them towards a hatch. ‘What vessel are you from?’

      ‘The Dun Aengus,’ Lucien replied. ‘Packet from Dublin to Holyhead.’

      Captain Molloy walked them to his cabin, a tiny space, but one with a table, four chairs and a berth. Anything else in the room must have been stored behind the cabinet doors which lined the walls.

      One of the men brought water. Claire nearly pulled the tin cup from the man’s hands.

      ‘Take small sips,’ Lucien warned her. ‘You’ll want to keep it down.’

      She nodded.

      He watched her drink before taking any water himself.

      ‘Can we find the lady some dry clothes?’ Lucien asked the Captain.

      Captain Molloy signalled to his man, who nodded and left. ‘We’ve been out only a few days, so there should be enough clean clothes to be found.’ He nodded to Lucien. ‘For you as well?’

      ‘I would be grateful.’ He took another small sip of water. ‘You are fishermen?’

      ‘That we are,’ the Captain said. ‘We’re after cod and haddock.’

      Claire saw concern flash on to Lucien’s face.

      ‘I am afraid you will be with us for a bit.’ The captain looked apologetic. ‘We’ll be at sea for three weeks at least.’

      ‘Three weeks?’ She gasped. It seemed so long a time.

      But why was she concerned? She knew of no other place she must go, no other place she belonged. She might as well be at sea.

      ‘My lady, you will have the use of my cabin.’ Captain Molloy glanced over at Lucien. ‘We’ll find a place for you, as well.’ He looked away and muttered, ‘Although I cannot imagine where.’

      Claire spoke up. ‘I do not wish to trouble you so. Is there not room for Lucien here with me?’

      She was not entirely selfless. She dreaded being alone with the emptiness in her mind. He was her one link to her previous life, the life she could not remember.

      ‘I cannot stay here,’ Lucien protested. ‘Your reputation—’

      ‘My reputation cannot matter here.’ She turned to Captain Molloy. ‘Can it, Captain? No one will speak of this, will they?’

      The Captain answered eagerly. ‘I’ll see they don’t.’

      A muscle in Lucien’s cheek tensed. ‘As you wish.’

      ‘Well, that is settled.’ The Captain clapped his hands together. ‘I need to return to my duties. Food and clothing will be brought to you shortly.’

      ‘Thank you, Captain,’ Claire said.

      He bowed to her, a gesture of respect that seemed foreign to her.

      After he left, she lifted her cup to sip more water, holding back from gulping the whole contents at once.

      Lucien frowned. ‘Are you certain about sharing the cabin, my lady?’

      ‘They saved us, Lucien.’ Was it not the least they could do in return? ‘I cannot repay them by causing more discomfort.’

      He nodded. Grudgingly, she thought.

      The reticule still hung from her wrist. She untwisted its strings and slipped it off.

      ‘Look inside,’ he said. ‘Its contents might tell you more about yourself. Spark a memory, perhaps.’

      It looked as alien to her as this fishing boat cabin, but she loosened its strings and reached inside to pull out the contents.

      A small purse filled with coin. A tortoiseshell comb. A white enamel etui painted with exquisite flowers and containing a tiny scissors, needles, pins and hairpins. A linen handkerchief with an embroidered edge and a monogram—R.P. Rebecca Pierce. The name that didn’t seem like her name. The items that didn’t seem like her possessions.

      ‘Nothing looks like mine.’ She trembled. ‘It is as though I have never seen these things before.’

      He moved closer.

      If only he would hold her. She’d become accustomed to his arms around her.

      Instead he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Too much has happened. Your memory will return in time.’

      At the moment, he was her memory.

      A few minutes later, one of the fishermen brought two tankards of ale and bread and cheese, which she ate slowly, as Lucien directed. When another man brought clothes, Claire looked down at herself. The lovely travelling dress she wore seemed as unfamiliar as the fishing boat. It had laces at the back.

      She glanced over at Lucien. ‘I fear I must ask for your help.’ She turned her back to him.

      He stood. ‘You could not have undone this by yourself. Might you have been travelling with a maid?’

      She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her insides twisted in pain. ‘Do you suppose I was?’ She turned back. ‘Did she die?’

      Did someone who tended to her needs die and she did not even remember them?

      His hand flattened against her shoulder and his voice softened. ‘We survived. Others would have, too.’

      ‘I cannot remember.’ She also could not remember if another man had ever touched her so—so gently.

      He loosened her laces and stepped back. ‘You’ll want me to leave. Give you some privacy.’

      ‘No!’ she cried, then felt guilty for it, but she had a dread of being alone. ‘Just—just turn your back.’

      He did as she asked and she slipped off the dress. But there СКАЧАТЬ