Page 27 of Only By Grace
“Good,” Carew said, taking one of the cloths and dipping it into the water. “Grace, hold his arm steady while I clean the wound.”
Her heart pounded as she knelt beside Barry, gently gripping his arm as instructed. He flinched under her touch, his eyes screwed shut, and a whimper escaped his lips. “Be strong, Barry,” she murmured softly. “The Captain will make it right.”
Carew worked swiftly, cleaning the scrapes and assessing the break. His hands were sure and precise, yet there was a quiet compassion in his movements. “Paddy, find something sturdy for a splint—a length of wood, smooth and narrow,” he instructed.
As Paddy scurried off again, Grace dabbed Barry’s forehead with a damp cloth. His breathing was shallow, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes despite his efforts not to cry. “You’re being very brave,” she told him, her voice calm despite her own inner turmoil. “We’ll have you patched up soon.”
Carew glanced at her, his expression softening for a brief moment. “Thank you,” he mouthed quietly before returning his attention to the task at hand.
When Paddy returned with a piece of smooth timber, Carew set about splinting the arm with Grace’s assistance. She held the boy as gently as she could, whispering soothing words as the Captain carefully aligned the limb and secured it in place with strips of linen. Barry cried out once, his voice raw with pain, but he did not resist.
Finally, the splint was in place, and Carew stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth. “That should hold until we reach port,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with relief. He looked at Grace and Paddy. “Good work, both of you. Now fetch him a measure of grog to help him sleep, Paddy.” The boy scurried off again.
Grace sat back on her heels, her hands trembling now that the task was done. She felt a wave of pride that she had managed to keep her composure, even as her heart ached for the injured boy. “Will he mend?” she asked softly.
“With rest, I hope,” Carew replied. “Thank you.”
She met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth at his praise. “I was glad to help,” she murmured, though she knew it had been far more than she expected of herself.
After a measure of grog, Barry drifted into an uneasy sleep. Grace realized that the storm outside seemed less fierce, as though her own courage had somehow calmed the tempest.
Carew left to wash and put away the supplies he’d used, then attempted the repairs to the door latch that Kilroy had split open.
She sat quietly in the cabin, her gaze fixed on the boy now resting on the berth. Only moments ago, he had writhed in pain, his face contorted with agony as they worked to mend his broken arm. Now, to her relief, he had succumbed to the healingembrace of sleep. The rise and fall of his chest were steady, a small comfort amidst the chaos of this evening.
Her mind drifted to the rigging, impossibly high and treacherous even in calm weather. She had watched the sailors scurry up and down those ropes with an agility that seemed almost superhuman. That a boy should be sent aloft during a storm chilled her to the bone. How could such a task be required of someone so young, so vulnerable? The thought of Paddy up there, his small hands clutching the rigging as the wind howled and the rain lashed, sent a shiver down her spine. She knew enough of the world to understand that children often worked for a wage, but this—a life so fraught with danger—felt unbearable to contemplate.
And then there were the men. Her breath caught as her trembling began anew with all that had happened—how close to being thrown in the sea she’d been. These men truly believed her to be the cause of all their misfortunes, their anger and superstition so deeply ingrained that one of them had sought to end her life. Someone had wanted to murder her, and the realization was a blow that left her feeling fragile and exposed. But for Carew, she was certain she would have been cast into the sea, even now a feast for the sharks. It seemed unreal, yet hadn’t women been burned at the stake for similar things?
She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers gripping the fabric of her clothing. The memory of Kilroy’s rage, the violent pounding on the door, and the moment the latch had begun to give—all of it replayed in her mind, each scene more horrifying than the last. How had it come to this? She had never imagined her quiet, unassuming life would lead her to the brink of hell.
The creak of the cabin door made her start, and she looked up to see Carew enter, holding tools. “The latch is repaired, you may rest there safely tonight. I’ll stand watch.”
There was a calmness about him, as though the events of the storm and the confrontation with Kilroy had left no mark upon him. He glanced briefly at the sleeping boy, his mouth curving into the faintest smile. “The grog works every time,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“Why on earth would such a small boy be sent up the rigging in the midst of a violent storm?” she demanded, her indignation again overcoming her caution. “Surely, putting a child in such danger defies reason?”
Ronan met her gaze steadily, his expression tinged with both understanding and the weariness of experience. “I understand your concern, Grace,” he said evenly. “But the boys aboard a ship, even one as young as Barry, know the risks. They are raised to understand the sea’s dangers and the part they must play to keep us all alive.”
“But a child,” she pressed, her voice softening with incredulity. “Surely his life is worth more than the speed of climbing a mast.”
“Aye,” Ronan said, his tone steady but firm. “And it’s that very speed that can save lives. Barry’s size and agility make him better suited for tasks that even the strongest man might fail at in time. A delay in securing the sails could mean losing the ship—or worse.”
Grace hesitated, her concern shifting. “And now? What will become of him?”
Ronan sighed, his voice also softening. “Barry’s spirit won’t let him be idle for long. But I’ll see to it he takes on lighter tasks until he’s properly healed. It’s his world, Grace. The sea shapes us all—young or old.”
Grace studied him, marvelling at how he could behave so normally after such an ordeal. He had fought both the storm and a murderous giant with a composure she could scarcely fathom. And now here he was, as though it were any other day.
But when he turned and caught her gaze, his expression changed. His sharp eyes softened, and in that moment, he seemed to see everything: her fear, her inadequacy, her lingering thoughts of the men who had wanted her dead. She looked away, unable to meet his piercing gaze.
Evidently recognizing the state she was in, he set down the tools with a purposeful clatter, his movements brisk and efficient. “Grace,” he said gently, his voice low but firm. He crossed the small space between them, gathering her up in his arms. “You’re safe now.”
The warmth of his touch steadied her, but her throat burned with tears. “He wanted to kill me,” she whispered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
“I know, but he did not,” he replied, his tone resolute.
“But if you had not been here?—”
