Well, he hadn’t known she was going to get deathly sick on the Holyhead packet, she thought morosely as another wave of nausea hit her. How could anything be left? But, alas, there was. To her chagrin, and utter humiliation, she realized Lord Thomas was holding her, gently rubbing her back as she hung over the side. She managed, “I feel so embarrassed I could die.”
“But you won’t,” he replied, all matter-of-fact, as if he saw young ladies toss their breakfast every day.
“I...” A wave of dizziness overcame her. Little black dots started dancing before her eyes. She felt herself start to sink, but then a strong arm went around her from behind and with the other, he half-lead, half-supported her across the pitching, rolling deck.
“Patrick, get the blanket where it’s dragging,” she heard him say.
“What shall you do with her?” she heard her brother ask.
“Get her out of the wind. There’s a sheltered spot on the poop deck aft, since she does not deign to go below.”
She felt an urge to snap, of course I don’t want to be in that awful, smelly hold, but could not sum up enough energy even to open her eyes, let alone her mouth. Gradually, she felt warmer. There was no cutting wind anymore. When she finally raised her eyelids, she found he’d brought her to a sheltered part of the ship and set her upon—she glanced down—it was a hollow coil of line he’d place her on. Not only was it holding her in place, it was much softer than the hardwood of the deck. Thomas knelt in front of her, still half-holding her in his arms. “Feeling better?” he asked, then glanced up at Patrick, who looked deeply concerned. “Run get some water, lad. And stop worrying, your sister will be fine.”
“Will I?” she weakly asked.
“You’ve had a bad case of the seasickness, but of course you’ll survive.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” she said, managing a very small smile.
She struggled to stand, but he felt her fast. “Don’t try it.”
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“You’re no trouble.” He smiled. “This way I can hold you in my arms and everyone will think I am but a good Samaritan.”
She managed to gasp, “What other reason might you have?”
He gripped her tighter, brought his face to within inches of hers. “You know very well the reason, Evleen O’Fallon.”
Sick though she was, his meaning did not escape her. He likes me, she thought in great surprise. At another time she would have found his remark challenging, perhaps even thrilling, but she was too sick to care, too weak even to form an answer. Patrick returned with the water. With Thomas helping hold the tin cup steady, she drank her fill and asked, “How much longer?”
“Hard to say this time of year,” Thomas answered. “In bad weather, with adverse winds, it could take up to thirty hours, but today I should wager we’ll arrive at Holyhead in another ten.”
When she groaned, he reluctantly added, “I should warn you, it could get worse.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Patrick asked.
“Berthing at Holyhead’s port is sometimes hazardous. Pray the tides are favorable or we might not be able to get ashore.”
“Not land?” she cried, “but then what would we do?”
“Return to Ringsend, then be obliged to wait several days until the tides are right.”
The thought of sailing back to Ringsend over the storm-tossed Irish Sea was so horrifying, she could not find words. Better I don’t find the words.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “But that’s not likely to happen. You’ve been very brave. Hang in, for just a while longer. We’ll be in Wales before you know it.”
Although she took some comfort in his words, at that moment, more than anything on earth, she yearned to be back in the cozy cottage overlooking Galway Bay with her dear mother, and Sorcha and Mary, and even prickly Darragh. Such was not to be, though, and she must be brave for Patrick’s sake, but, oh, it was hard.
And, oh, will we ever get there?
* * *
Thank God, the miserable journey was over. They were not compelled to turn back at Holyhead and return to Ringsend after all. Instead, they landed without incident, Evleen’s health remarkably restored the moment her foot touched shore. Lord Thomas had been remarkably proficient at hiring a fine coach-and-four for their journey through the mountainous country from Holyhead to Shrewsbury. She worried at the start because the motion of the coach