Page 3 of Only By Grace
Ronan was not certain when the feud between the two families had begun, but it had never ceased since. According to the stories passed down from generation to generation, the Flynn family had always sought to fight the Donnellans for control of the bay that led to the Atlantic, between two peninsulas. There had been one case of romance between the families which had ended in tragedy, akin to Romeo and Juliet. Ronan had no desire to carry on the feud, but neither could he seek reconciliation when Flynn was determined to continue with his nefarious activities. Neither could he allow Maeve to fall into such hands.
Something more permanent would have to be done about the situation, but Ronan did not favour cold-blooded murder, even though Flynn certainly deserved such punishment. It was not the smuggling that bothered Ronan—anyone who’d lived through the rampant poverty from the potato famine not so long ago would never begrudge the only source of income they could find for their families. If that was all he’d done. Ronan shook his head. No, Flynn was known to ruin those who stood in his way. With this on his mind, it was some time before Ronan could fall asleep. His blood boiled any time he thought of Flynn and his touching Maeve that fateful night they’d been introduced, and he’d had the impudence to dance with her before Ronan could stop it.
Whenever they were on board ship, he always woke early so he could watch the sun creep over the horizon. It was an unreal experience that he never tired of. He dressed, left the cabin and climbed up to the quarter-deck, standing at the helm to let the wind rush against his face as the ship cut through the water like a knife.
“Maidin mhaith. At this rate, we will be making good time back,” Ronan said as he approached O’Brien and Kelly, who’d been at the helm for the night watch. “Any wagers on when we will arrive?”
“No, Cap’n, but there is one small matter you should be aware of.” O’Brien was fidgeting nervously, which was odd.
“Shannon deals with small matters,” he replied.
“Aye, but Shannon is not with us, if ye recall.”
“So he isn’t. What is it, then?”
“We have a stowaway. We did not discover them until a few hours ago when we were already well into the Channel. We did not think you would wish us to stop.”
Ronan could not think how they had acquired a stowaway. If they’d been in one of the busy ports, perhaps, but they left from Westwood’s pier. An ominous sinking feeling came over him, but the two sailors were looking at him with concern.
“Did we do wrong, Cap’n?”
“No. I said we needed to make haste, and we do. But I have a feeling I will not be pleased when I discover who the stowaway is.”
“It did seem to be an accident. She demanded to be taken to the closest port immediately,” Kelly said by way of a guilty confession.
“And how far is the nearest port now?”
“We’re not yet to Portsmouth, but as ye ken, it would be difficult to turn about now.”
“Where is she?”
“The first mate’s cabin, sir.”
Ronan ran his hand over his face. As if matters were not dire enough as it was, now he likely had a Whitford sister on board, whether intentional or accidental, and she had been gone all night. Even if it were possible to sneak her back without anyone knowing, he would be sacrificing precious hours—days, even—to return her, and he’d already delayed enough for the wedding. His sister’s fate might already be determined. But if he could save her, then he had to try. Even if he had to sacrifice himself in the process. Westwood was fiercely protective of his wards, and even though he knew Ronan would never harm the girl, her reputation would be in tatters and he would expect Ronan to do the right thing.
“Continue on course. I agree that it’s too late to turn about now.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” O’Brien said with visible relief.
Ronan was furious, but it wasn’t his crew’s fault. They knew almost as well as he why they were in a hurry.
Delaying the inevitable would not help things, so Ronan decided to go and discover which sister he was to deal with for the near, and possibly forever, future. Was it to be the meek, shy Grace? Or the wild, adventurous, still-in-the-schoolroom Joy? Despite that, he could not envision either one of them stowing away intentionally, but how could such a thing have happened accidentally? One did not just meander off to a secluded part of the ship and remain there for hours until the ship had long sailed. Had she over-imbibed and passed out drunk? Ronan frowned. He had never seen either one of them drink much, if at all. Perhaps seasickness had induced one of them to seek a place to lie down. And how could her family have not noticed she was not with them when they left? Then again, that actually might be more understandable because it had been a bit chaotic and crowded with so many people on deck.
Dread grew with each step he took towards the cabin. Reaching it, he drew a deep breath and hesitated before knocking.
He heard a light thump and then the door was unlocked before Grace Whitford opened it, with her black, glossy hair ina dishevelled mess. Her deep blue eyes widened at the sight of him.
“Lord Carew? I did not expect to see you on board.” Her cheeks flushed.
“That makes two of us.”
“There has been a dreadful mistake. I had a megrim and was put in here to sleep it off. Then no one woke me. Then I discovered we had sailed in the middle of the night and your crew refused to wake you or turn the ship around or leave me in port.” She rambled the words together in one breath. He struggled to keep up then held up his hand to stop her. He had never heard so many words from her mouth. Often, they’d been paired together the first Season when he had been helping to protect the sisters, but she’d seemed too afraid of him to speak much.
“I realize this was not intentional.”
“Then you will take me back?” She looked so hopeful that he hated to disappoint her.
“I am afraid I cannot take you back at this point.”
