Page 25 of Only By Grace
Ronan only had moments to think about Grace and hope she stayed in her cabin. He could only pray the crew was toooccupied with manning the ship to blame the storm on their lady passenger.
His hopes were dashed before he scarcely had the thought. Never satisfied and always looking for reasons for the cause of every perfidy, Ronan saw the crew exchange furtive glances as they laboured upon the deck, then a few of them clustered together. Their voices and bodies, though subdued through the storm, carried a note of sullen dissent, betraying the simmering unease that had taken root since Grace’s arrival.
He saw their expressions darken with mutinous resolve. As the ship’s timbers groaned under the pressure of the waves, so too did their patience falter, threatening to splinter entirely.
The lanterns swung wildly, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the crew, whose expressions ranged from grim determination to abject fear. Amid this chaos, Kilroy, the giant with shoulders as broad as an ox, stood in the centre of the deck, a storm of his own brewing in his piercing eyes.
He strode forward, his boots pounding against the slick planks, until he stood nose-to-nose with Ronan. Despite the tumult around them, Kilroy’s voice boomed like thunder, cutting through the clamour.
“Captain!” he roared, pointing an accusatory finger towards the cabins below. “Ye must do it! Toss the woman overboard, or we’re all doomed to the deep! It’s her, I tell ye. She’s brought this devil’s storm upon us!”
Ronan, standing tall despite the tempest, fixed Kilroy with an icy stare. His coat billowed in the wind, but he remained unyielding, gripping the railing to steady himself. “You dare to bring such madness to me in the midst of this gale?” he barked, his voice a whip of authority. “Get back to your duties, Kilroy, or you’ll be the one I’ll have to answer for!”
Kilroy’s massive hand shot out, gripping the rail as though he meant to rip it from its moorings. “It’s one person or all of us!”he bellowed. “We’ve seen it before, Cap’n. A Jonah aboard brings ruin to the crew! Ye may be too refined to admit it, but the men aren’t fools. They see what I see.”
“The only thing I see,” Ronan said coldly, his voice cutting through the storm with a razor’s edge, “is a coward seeking to blame his fear on a helpless woman. You shame yourself, Kilroy.”
Kilroy’s face darkened, his nostrils flaring. “Say what ye will, but we’re on a cursed ship! The sea won’t calm until she’s gone. D’you mean to sacrifice us all for some lady? I’ll not die for her!”
The men nearby hesitated in their tasks, glancing at one another and at Ronan, unsure whether to intervene. Ronan noticed this, his gaze flicking toward the wavering men.
“This ship will not be ruled by superstition,” Ronan declared, his voice ringing with authority. “You’ll do your duty, Kilroy, as will every man aboard, or I’ll have you in irons before you can mutter another word of your nonsense.”
Kilroy sneered, his teeth bared as the rain beat against his weathered face. “And how d’ye mean to enforce that, Cap’n, when half the crew agrees with me? Ye can’t put us all in chains.”
The tension crackled as fiercely as the lightning overhead. Ronan stepped closer, his voice lowering into a deadly calm. “Try me, Kilroy. But mark this—if you so much as lay a hand on her or incite another man to do so, you’ll be answering to me personally. And I promise you, you’ll wish the storm had taken you first.”
For a moment, Kilroy stood frozen, his breath ragged, his massive frame taut with rage. But something in the Ronan’s unyielding stare made him falter. With a curse, Kilroy spat onto the deck, turned on his heel, and stormed away into the chaos, barking orders to the men.
Ronan exhaled slowly, his grip on the railing tightening. The storm was far from over, and he knew Kilroy’s rebellion had onlybegun. But for now, Grace below would remain safe—and as the captain, he intended to keep it so, no matter the cost.
Then came the cry—a piercing shout from above. All heads snapped skyward to witness Barry, the nimblest lad among them, slip from the rigging where he had been sent to adjust a stubborn sail. Arms flailed, legs kicked helplessly at the air, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed that the sea herself would claim him. Gasps of shock froze in every throat as he plummeted towards the deck.
A resounding thud brought all activity to a halt. Barry lay in a crumpled heap, groaning faintly but alive. The sailors surged forward, the crew’s mutinous resolve momentarily forgotten as they surrounded their fallen comrade.
The collective breath of the sailors hung heavy in the air, their fear momentarily tempered by concern. Ronan pushed through the knot of men, cursing with a fluency that made even seasoned sailors blanch.
“Fetch O’Brien and Kelly!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the howling wind and the crash of the waves against the hull. He gestured sharply towards the wheel, where his second-in-command wrestled with the helm. With an urgent nod, the man took over, bracing himself against the storm’s wrath.
Meanwhile, as the men hovered to help Barry, their attention consumed by his injuries, Kilroy slunk away into the shadows, his towering form somehow blending with the chaos. His narrowed eyes gleamed with malicious intent as he slipped below deck, his movements swift and silent despite the storm’s clamour.
Ronan wasted no time once being assured Barry lived. With a last glance at the boy being tended to, he turned on his heel and sprinted towards his cabin, each step precarious on the slick deck. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from dread. He prayed he was not too late.
The door to the cabin exploded inward with a deafening crash, the splintering wood sending shrapnel scattering across the floor. Ronan’s heart thundered in his chest as he raced towards the scene, knowing instinctively what he would find. The roar of the storm barely masked Kilroy’s guttural snarl.
“Let me at the little witch!” Kilroy bellowed, his massive frame filling the doorway, his rage a palpable force. Ronan’s pulse quickened as he caught sight of Grace. She was huddled with Paddy, pale and trembling, clutching each other behind the table as though it might shield them from the brute. The sight of her fear struck him like a blade to the chest.
Ronan pressed forward, his boots pounding against the deck, but the scene unfolded too quickly. Kilroy would see Grace cast overboard to appease his superstitions.
Grace’s eyes darted to the sword in her hand, and Ronan could see her weighing her chances. Could she draw it in time? Even if she did, what hope did she have against Kilroy’s brute strength?
Kilroy advanced, his heavy boots shaking the floorboards beneath his immense weight. “You’ve cursed us all,” he spat, his voice venomous. He reached out a hand, rough and callused, towards Grace. “And I’ll see to it that the sea takes ye before it takes one of my men!”
Grace screamed then, a sound that tore through Ronan’s heart. She tried to heft the sword, her desperation evident in every movement. But before she could raise the blade, Ronan stormed into the cabin, his pistol already drawn.
“Enough!” he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His pistol was levelled squarely at Kilroy’s chest, its gleaming barrel steady despite the violent rocking of the ship.
Kilroy froze mid-step, his hand mere inches from Grace’s shoulder. His broad back stiffened, and he turned his head slowly to meet Ronan’s gaze. The flickering lantern lightrevealed the sailor’s drenched coat, his dark hair plastered to his brow, and a mask of fury carved into his features.
