Three Ships

Chapter Three

Laura's father watched her shoulder the long coil of rope.

"I'm not happy, dear girl. I should be the one going down there, not you."

She gave a pointed look at his injured foot. The way down to the beach was not sheer but it was no gentle slope either and the footing would be treacherous. "Well, needs must," she replied firmly. "I'll be back quickly."

His response was a grimace. He secured the trailing end of the coiled rope to Acorn's saddle.

"Watch your step, Laura," he admonished.

Trailing the rope out as she went, Laura picked her way with care down the side of the hill where the low-growing grass was slick. She grew up here and knew the cliffs well enough to treat them with respect. The saltiness from exploding waves filled her nostrils. She could even taste it on the back of her throat.

The beach filled and emptied as the waves churned in.

She scrambled over one rock, then around another to reach the man. The hem of her skirt darkened in the splashing water.

Still a few feet away, she called out.

"Sailor! Sailor, ahoy!"

The man remained still.

Laura looked back up the thirty feet to where her father peered back, concerned. He called to her but his words were ripped away by the wind.

Her only choice was to approach the man.

The sailor's shirt was torn and shredded, the sodden fabric dark and clinging to the contours of his back. His black hair whipped in the wind like the damp grass around the chickens.

She touched his cheek. His skin was cold.

It might already be too late!

Laura drew a deep breath and grasped his shoulders.

"Come on sailor, time to wake up," she said hopefully, shaking him.

The man obliged her with a groan; Laura matched it with a sigh of relief.

"Help is here," she said.

The man raised himself to his elbows and looked blearily at her. It was hard to determine his age. He seemed much younger than her father but older than Dickie Wells.

"Where are you hurt? Your back? Your legs?"

The man sat up gingerly, shaking his head at each question.

"We're going to haul you out," she said.

The man looked her up and down and flashed her a quick smile, his pale blue eyes twinkling with sudden merriment.

"My guardian angel..." he rasped, interrupted by a hacking cough. "Where is the rest of your heavenly choir?"

"It's just me and my father," she said, pointing up the cliff. Laura shucked off the remaining coils of rope and looped the end under his arms, tying it around his chest to create a harness.

Despite his ordeal, the man seemed well enough, and fit too – his shoulders broad and muscles firm around his arms.

He tried to rise to his feet but stumbled. Laura caught his wrist to support him and he hissed in pain.

She glanced down and saw his wrist had been rubbed red raw. The man shook off her hand, ignoring her scrutiny and whistled sharply towards her father on the cliff.

The mysterious stranger limped across the rocks to a grassy area as Laura's father drove Acorn to take up the slack and then, with a jolt, the rope tautened and he began to climb the steep hill, supported by the rope.