Page 26 of Only By Grace
“Touch her, Kilroy,” Ronan said, his voice cold and deadly, “and I’ll send you to the depths myself.”
The air in the room grew as taut as a bowstring. The storm’s howl seemed distant compared to the silence that fell within the cabin. Grace’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her wide eyes fixed on the pistol.
Kilroy’s sneer faltered, uncertainty flickering in his narrowed eyes for the first time. He straightened slowly, his hand dropping to his side as though the weight of Ronan’s words had struck him physically, his mutinous resolve wavering in the face of his captain’s unyielding stance.
Ronan did not lower his pistol. His voice, when he spoke again, was laced with steel. “To the hull. Now.”
Kilroy hesitated for a fraction of a moment longer before he stepped back. His rage clearly simmered still beneath the surface, yet he retreated without another word. Ronan remained in place, his pistol raised to follow.
“Are you harmed?” he asked Grace and Paddy with a quick sweep of his gaze over their persons.
They both shook with fright. “No.”
“Go to the other cabin and lock the door. I’ll return when I can.”
CHAPTER 9
They moved to the dark, tiny cabin, but Grace was grateful for a door that would lock. Paddy followed her with Theo and a lantern and slid down to the floor since there was nowhere else to sit. The storm still raged on, the boat listing from side to side and front to back, causing Grace to hold on to the berth and try to think how she could possibly wake up from this nightmare and be in her soft, warm bed at Taywards instead.
“I wouldn’t like to be Kilroy just now,” Paddy said, wide-eyed and breathless.
“What do you think is happening?” Grace asked, but suspected she knew.
“The Captain is making mincemeat of him I’d wager. He’ll get the cat-o’-nine-tails to be sure.”
Grace sank on her knees to the floor. She did not know what that was, but it sounded horrid. “All because they think I’m cursed.”
Paddy wisely did not comment.
At least she hadn’t been sick again, she thought with twisted humour. Though every time the boat seemed to be lifted to thesky then drop, she expected the pukes—as Paddy referred to them—to return.
The sharp sound of hurried footsteps outside the cabin drew Grace's attention away from her thoughts. She had been trying to distract herself from what had just happened with Kilroy and the relentless swaying of the ship, but her nerves were still on edge.
“Unlock the door!” she heard Carew shout.
Paddy did as commanded. The cabin door swung open with a force that startled her, and there stood Carew, his face set in grim determination. Cradled in his arms was Barry, one of the younger sailors, his face pale and contorted with pain.
“Miss Grace, Paddy,” Carew said, his voice steady but clipped. “I need your help.”
Grace’s breath caught as she took in the scene. Barry’s arm hung at an unnatural angle, and though he tried to stifle his groans, they escaped through gritted teeth. The boy’s skin was ghostly, damp with sweat, and smudged with grime. Blood stained the torn sleeve of his shirt.
Grace stood and came to his side without hesitation. “What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“He fell from the rigging,” Carew replied, carrying Barry through to his damaged cabin, then placing him on the table. His tone was brisk, but his movements were gentle as he eased the boy down. “His arm is broken, and he has cuts and bruises from the fall, but it could have been far worse. Paddy!” he barked, his voice carrying beyond the cabin.
“Aye, Captain?”
“Fetch clean water and cloths. Quickly,” Carew ordered. Paddy nodded and darted off.
Grace moved instinctively, gathering the spare linens from the storage chest near the corner of the cabin. “Is there anythingelse I should do?” she asked, glancing nervously at the injured boy.
Carew looked at her, his blue eyes steady. “You’ll need to help me splint his arm. Can you do that?”
She nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. “I can try.”
Barry groaned as Carew began cutting away the shredded remains of his sleeve with a small knife. His arm was a mangled mess. The bone protruded through the skin, and the swelling was already severe. That caused bile to rise in her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She forced herself to look at the boy’s face and steeled herself. The boy needed her, and this was no time for her weak stomach.
Paddy returned with a bucket of water and a stack of cloths, his face pale as he took in Barry’s condition. “Here, miss,” he said, handing them to Grace.
