The Lightkeeper's Woman. Mary Burton
it on and headed toward the lighthouse. With the storm brewing, he’d have to light the beacon.
Crossing the small sandy beach, he entered the base of the lighthouse and climbed the spiral staircase up to the top. Ever ready, he kept the giant Fresnel lenses polished, the lamps filled with oil and the wicks trimmed. And now as the blue sky had vanished behind the thickening clouds, all that was left was to light the lanterns.
Caleb rechecked the lenses that magnified the light for dozens of miles, and then climbed down a small interior staircase that led outside to the crow’s nest, the wrought-iron balcony that ringed the top of the lighthouse.
Wind howled around him as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his spyglass. Opening the telescope, he scanned the ocean horizon. There were no ships and if luck held none would venture this close to the shoals, sandbars that stretched the length of the outer banks, until the storm passed.
The danger of the storm was far from over but as he stared at the endless waters he felt a measure of calm. Unlike his days in Richmond, he was in his element here. He understood storms and he understood the seas. Here actions, not words, solved problems and saved lives.
He moved around to the sound side. He didn’t expect to see a boat. His assistant, Charlie Meeker, had gone into Easton yesterday on a four-day pass. Charlie had sense enough not to brave the waters today as did Sloan, who had only come to the island three days ago to restock supplies.
Only a fool dared these waters today.
And the world was full of fools, he thought grimly as he raised the spyglass on the remote chance that someone would attempt a crossing.
Caleb peered through the telescope lens. For an instant, a slash of white appeared in his scope but it disappeared behind a wave as quickly as it had appeared. A man with lesser experience would have attributed the sighting to a whitecap.
But he waited, holding his glass steady. He understood just how deceitful the sea could be, so he waited.
When waves rolled down, the splash of white peeked above the wave again. There was no mistaking what it was this time—it was a ship’s sail. “Who the hell would be out there today?”
He looked closer. Instantly, he recognized the Sea Witch. Crowley, of course. Like a vulture the man came out from under his rock each time a ship went aground. The old bastard had also done his share of gunrunning and smuggling during the war. But there were no shipwrecks to scavenge. And Crowley never made a crossing unless the money was good.
“What is that old bastard up to?” he muttered.
The waves pitched higher, and the boat bobbed in the water like a buoy. Caleb knew that soon the rains would grow heavy, swamp the boat and capsize it.
“I should leave you to the waters, you old bastard.” Caleb touched the small scar on his temple, remembering his last encounter with Crowley. The bastard had tried to kill him.
Crowley shifted his position to lower his sail, now straining against the wind. That’s when Caleb saw the trim figure of a woman.
An oath exploded from Caleb as he squinted harder. Though wind and fog blurred her face, he saw the crop of golden hair, like a beacon in the storm.
His gut clenched.
There was only one woman he knew who was foolish enough to travel in this kind of weather with Crowley.
Alanna Patterson.
The daughter of the man who’d ruined him.
The woman who’d betrayed him.
Chapter Three
H owling winds filled the sails and tipped the boat dangerously out of balance as waves crashed over the bow. Alanna watched the icy water slosh back and forth in the bottom of the Sea Witch and clutched the boat’s rim as it dipped closer to the briny water. “Mr. Crowley, are we sinking?” she shouted over the wind.
He muttered an oath and hauled himself to his feet using the mast as support. Bracing his feet, he glared at the taut white sail as he unleashed the rope and let out the canvas. The boat righted herself instantly, but the thick sails snapped and fluttered wildly.
“Mr. Crowley,” Alanna repeated. “Are we sinking?”
“Just a bit of water. Don’t get all hysterical on me.”
She lifted a drenched boot. “The water is up to my ankles.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Then stop your complaining and start bailing.”
“With what?” Alanna searched around the boat but found nothing to use.
“You got two hands,” he shouted.
Fear crept up Alanna’s spine as she cupped her hands and started scooping handfuls of water out of the boat. She glanced up at the blackening sky. “Is the weather getting worse?” She heard the squeak of panic in her voice, but was beyond caring if Crowley thought she was a coward. She was afraid.
“What do you think?” he bit back. “Of course it’s getting worse.” Crowley wrestled the thick, flapping sail as if it were a wild bronco down to the wet boat bottom.
Alanna discovered that despite her frantic bailing efforts the water was getting deeper. “You said this boat was seaworthy!”
“She is. Mostly.” The oars scraped against the oarlocks as Crowley buried them into the choppy water. His muscles bunched and strained as he fought to assert his control over nature.
“Mostly?” Panic burned through her veins. She started bailing again. Oh God, Oh God. What had she gotten herself into? “Tell me we aren’t going to sink.”
“We’re not going to sink.”
“Do you mean that?”
“No.”
Alanna closed her eyes. If only she’d stopped to think this trip through. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive, she’d be safe at the inn or, better, in Richmond.
She remembered how quickly she’d left Richmond. She’d left a note of course, but she’d lied to Henry’s aunt and told her she’d gone to Washington. “No one knows we’re out here.”
A wave crashed into the side of Crowley’s face and he spit out a mouthful of water. “If we sink, it won’t matter who knows what. We’ll die any way.”
She glanced toward the lighthouse beacon. Clouds shrouded the island’s shoreline, but its light flashed bright. “How far is the shore?”
Worry had deepened the lines on the old man’s face. “Too far.”
Her clothes were soaked, and the cold was seeping into her bones. “Do you think he knows we’re out here?”
“If he does, he’ll not raise a finger to save my hide.”
Her teeth started to chatter. “Why not? That’s his job, isn’t it?”
“We had a run-in a few months back.”
Could this get any worse? “What kind of run-in?”
“I tried to kill him.”
Alanna didn’t ask for details. They didn’t matter now.
If she’d worked all day to select the most dangerous of circumstances, she’d not have done as well as she’d done in choosing to cross the channel now with Crowley.
The inky waters filled the boat. The rim sank closer to the water’s edge. A crack of lightning streaked across the even blacker sky.
Alanna’s soaked cape hung on her shoulders like lead and she couldn’t feel her toes. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Crowley.”
Droplets of rain dripped from his wrinkled face. His eyes no longer glowed with anger or frustration, but fear. “Who does?”
Frigid