They almost missed the entrance to the cove even with the prow of the ship pointed at it. Kasia let out a whoop of triumph, grinning with disbelief as the sloop passed the mouth of the inlet and left the fury of the sea behind them. Sheltered by the stony arm, the sloop rolled less wildly as the waves carried it towards the indistinct mass of cliff.
They both looked about, deafened by their hours in the storm winds, not quite certain that they had reached a safe haven.
“The anchor… Rob… drop it. We can’t… run… aground,” she said, gesturing to the bow. “May be rocks anyway … no matter.”
He dropped the anchor, saw the line run out, then the forward motion of the sloop stopped. He could hear her timbers creaking as she answered the motion of the sea and then swung about on her tether.
Kasia, at the end of her strength, was draped across the tiller bar.
He had little strength left himself, but the need to get his beloved below, to what warmth they could contrive, was foremost in his mind. And he did, half dragging her the short space from the seat to the cabin, slamming open the hatch, hoping that the waves had not seeped through and flooded their one refuge. He almost tumbled her down the stairs, but they both made it. She pulled herself into the bunk while he struggled to close the hatch.
She was shaking violently when he reached her. Somehow he got the sodden clothes off her coldly mottled body and rolled her into the furs. She groaned and tried to say something, but hadn’t the strength.
“Hot, must have hot,” he mumbled, trying to make his frozen fingers cope with striking a match to the charcoal-filled brazier which did duty as cooker. Sometime in the past he had filled the kettle with water for a meal which he had never had a chance to cook. Now he waited anxiously for the water to warm sufficiently for him to make klah. He’d heat the last of the fish stew they’d made – how long ago? He could hear teeth chattering, and realized that they were both doing it. He swung around to the bunk and rubbed her body as vigorously as he could to stimulate circulation. He nearly burned his finger, touching the top of the kettle to see if the water was hot enough to be useful. He had his answer and sucked at the burn while he poured water over the powdered klah, gave it a swirl, and then fumbled to open the sweetener jar. Sweetening was good to offset shock and cold.
He took the first sip – to be sure it wouldn’t burn her mouth.
Then, pulling her up against his body as he leaned wearily against the bulkhead, he held the cup to her lips.
“Sip it, Kasia, you’ve got to get warm.”
She was so cold she could barely swallow, but she did, and he coaxed sip after sip into her. When she craned her head round, making noises in her throat, her bloodshot, weary eyes pleading, he drank too. That cup drained, he made another and then put the soup kettle on to warm. He had all but fallen asleep when the steam hissing from under the lid woke him, but he caught the pot before the pressure flipped the cover off.
It couldn’t have been a long rest, but it had been enough for his resilient young body, and he poured soup into two cups, then put the water kettle back on. He’d towel her down with warm water.
That might help.
He took half of his cup of soup between struggling out of his wet-weather gear and finding clean, dry, warm clothing from the cupboard. He got out the warmest things Kasia had brought with her and the heavy woollen socks. These he put on her feet, after chafing them until she moaned and tried to draw them away from him; they were pink with his ministrations.
Now he had enough warm water and soaked a towel, passing it from one hand to the other before he pulled back the fur and laid it against her chilled legs for a few moments, coaxing warmth back into them.