now dull
in the aftermath of the first battle won. Ginny reached for his wrist to feel
his pulse that was rapid, but not dangerously so.
" You
must rest in the cave whilst Peter and I launch the dinghy."
The cave was cool and damp beneath the cliffs, and the
sailboat on a wheeled trailer offered mute salvation. Edmund sank into a
corner, his back against a rock. " Help
me," Ginny said to Peter. "I am able to do it alone, but it will be
faster with two."
Peter, who knew nothing about such things, followed her
instructions, lending his weight as she swung the trailer around so the
dinghy's bow faced the sea. They ran across the sand, hauling the trailer
behind them, and at the shoreline, she swung it again, pushing both trailer and
boat, stern first, into the shallows.
"Take this back to the cave, and fetch Edmund." It
was a terse instruction that Peter Ashley obeyed because Virginia Courtney knew
what she was doing. Knee deep now in the water, she was unfastening the boat
from the trailer, pushing the dinghy free as Peter dragged the trailer clear.
She then held the boat's painter and tossed her sandals over the bow into the
boat.
Peter ran the now-light burden to the cave, shoved it to the
back, and helped Edmund to his feet. " She
was always thus," Edmund said with a gasp of effort. "No tree was too
high, no cliff too steep for Ginny."
Peter smiled grimly, supporting the wounded man around the
waist. " In this matter of sailing, my friend,
I am glad to yield authority to one who knows. I do not care for the sea."
Alex, order restored in the orchard, searched the house. She
had disappeared again, and this time he must find her himself. He longed to see
her, ached to whisper i n her ear his delight in that mole she
had, high on the inside of her right thigh, the bruise, like a ripe plum, on
her hip. Had she acquired it thumping open the door of barn or dairy when her
hands were full? He wanted to know.
She would be on the beach, of course. She had told him last
night that that was her special place.
Alex strolled across the cliff top, hiding his eagerness
beneath the commander ' s swagger. Halfway down the broad
path to Alum Bay, the only path that he was aware of, he saw her. She was not
alone as she pulled a boat on a wheeled trailer to the water's edge. Alex began
to run in the same blind panic that had informed his search of the preceding
night. He could not lose her, now that he had found her, whatever Royalist treachery she was engaged in. Royalist it
most certainly was, to judge by the long hair and broad sash of the man helping
her. Alex saw her swing the boat into the sea with all the expertise of one
well versed in these matters, saw the man run up the beach with the trailer
until he was lost to sight. Alex's feet pounded on the path, and he was
thankful for the light clothes that he wore,
the lack of armor that made it easy for his fit body to eat up the yards. The
long, broad path descended diagonally to the beach, and when he reached the
bottom, he was hidden from the shoreline by an outcrop of rock at the water's
edge at the extremity of the cove.
He saw the man reappear, together with another whose arm was
in a sling and who staggered like one whose strength was at a low ebb. Ginny
was holding the boat in the shallows, up to her knees in the water, and as the
two men drew close, she pulled the dinghy back to the shore. He heard her
voice, clear in the sea air. "You must remove your boots if you do not
wish to land with wet feet."
The two men did so, the able helping the injured. They handed them to her, and she tossed them into the dinghy to join her own before stretching her free
hand to steady the men as they clambered aboard.
She would not go with them, would she? Not after last night?
But he saw her hitch herself over the stern, hoist the gaff-rigged sail that
stood crosswise to the mast. She held the boat into the wind as the uninjured
man followed her instructions and dropped the rudder into
in the aftermath of the first battle won. Ginny reached for his wrist to feel
his pulse that was rapid, but not dangerously so.
" You
must rest in the cave whilst Peter and I launch the dinghy."
The cave was cool and damp beneath the cliffs, and the
sailboat on a wheeled trailer offered mute salvation. Edmund sank into a
corner, his back against a rock. " Help
me," Ginny said to Peter. "I am able to do it alone, but it will be
faster with two."
Peter, who knew nothing about such things, followed her
instructions, lending his weight as she swung the trailer around so the
dinghy's bow faced the sea. They ran across the sand, hauling the trailer
behind them, and at the shoreline, she swung it again, pushing both trailer and
boat, stern first, into the shallows.
"Take this back to the cave, and fetch Edmund." It
was a terse instruction that Peter Ashley obeyed because Virginia Courtney knew
what she was doing. Knee deep now in the water, she was unfastening the boat
from the trailer, pushing the dinghy free as Peter dragged the trailer clear.
She then held the boat's painter and tossed her sandals over the bow into the
boat.
Peter ran the now-light burden to the cave, shoved it to the
back, and helped Edmund to his feet. " She
was always thus," Edmund said with a gasp of effort. "No tree was too
high, no cliff too steep for Ginny."
Peter smiled grimly, supporting the wounded man around the
waist. " In this matter of sailing, my friend,
I am glad to yield authority to one who knows. I do not care for the sea."
Alex, order restored in the orchard, searched the house. She
had disappeared again, and this time he must find her himself. He longed to see
her, ached to whisper i n her ear his delight in that mole she
had, high on the inside of her right thigh, the bruise, like a ripe plum, on
her hip. Had she acquired it thumping open the door of barn or dairy when her
hands were full? He wanted to know.
She would be on the beach, of course. She had told him last
night that that was her special place.
Alex strolled across the cliff top, hiding his eagerness
beneath the commander ' s swagger. Halfway down the broad
path to Alum Bay, the only path that he was aware of, he saw her. She was not
alone as she pulled a boat on a wheeled trailer to the water's edge. Alex began
to run in the same blind panic that had informed his search of the preceding
night. He could not lose her, now that he had found her, whatever Royalist treachery she was engaged in. Royalist it
most certainly was, to judge by the long hair and broad sash of the man helping
her. Alex saw her swing the boat into the sea with all the expertise of one
well versed in these matters, saw the man run up the beach with the trailer
until he was lost to sight. Alex's feet pounded on the path, and he was
thankful for the light clothes that he wore,
the lack of armor that made it easy for his fit body to eat up the yards. The
long, broad path descended diagonally to the beach, and when he reached the
bottom, he was hidden from the shoreline by an outcrop of rock at the water's
edge at the extremity of the cove.
He saw the man reappear, together with another whose arm was
in a sling and who staggered like one whose strength was at a low ebb. Ginny
was holding the boat in the shallows, up to her knees in the water, and as the
two men drew close, she pulled the dinghy back to the shore. He heard her
voice, clear in the sea air. "You must remove your boots if you do not
wish to land with wet feet."
The two men did so, the able helping the injured. They handed them to her, and she tossed them into the dinghy to join her own before stretching her free
hand to steady the men as they clambered aboard.
She would not go with them, would she? Not after last night?
But he saw her hitch herself over the stern, hoist the gaff-rigged sail that
stood crosswise to the mast. She held the boat into the wind as the uninjured
man followed her instructions and dropped the rudder into
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