Loving Sarah Read Online Free PDF Page B

how far out of Liverpool they were. Another pitch and she felt weightless again, bracing herself for another hit against the rafter.
    This was insane. She wanted adventure, not broken bones. When the boat turned hard over, Sarah flew into the right bulkhead. She vowed that the minute she heard footsteps above deck she would scream for the man to let her out. Having no idea how long the seas were going to be rough, or when anyone might open the hatch so she could get some fresh air, she decided she just could not wait any longer. Oh, what was she thinking? No one even knew she was down here. It was then she realized spare sails didn’t need fresh air, just protection from water. If she didn’t die from smashing her noggin on a beam, she’d surely suffocate.
    It seemed an eternity before she heard voices and footsteps headed toward the bow. But as soon as she did, she let out with the loudest, longest scream she could muster.
     
    I an stood at the wheel with his eye on the fore-and-aft sail and foresail. Scanning the horizon once again, he caught sight of Avenger and knew Lucky followed his lead. He had an approximately six-minute lead out of the box, which meant nearly a mile separated the two vessels in this first ever Atlantic Crossing Challenge. Now, almost two hours into the race, ahead of him were one square-rigged vessel at full sail, and the Ann McKim . By luck of the draw, nineteen of the thirty-two boats entered in the competition left the starting box before him. Ian allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as he realized all that stood between him and the lead were the two vessels ahead, especially since the Revenge was a three-masted topsail schooner, which at first glance might not look nearly as fast as the Ann McKim with her long jibboom and four headsails, but was in fact much quicker.
    He knew a race such as this wasn’t won on the number of sails or masts. A skilled captain was essential, but what some sailors tended to overlook was the one thing Ian considered most important. The hull and the keel. And these two boats had been retrofitted specifically to his design. If he was right and he won, then his entire fleet of schooners would be designed the same.
    As he set a course to the next way point, Ian pondered the things he could do with that winning purse, the first being to hire a decent, reliable cook. It was during his musings that one of the crew shouted something to him from the bow. Looking out at the flying jib and seeing nothing awry, he motioned for the man to speak up.
    “Cap’n, there’s a lad stowed away in the sail locker!”
    Ian handed the wheel over to his second and climbed down from his raised poop and strode the ninety-odd feet to the hatch in the bow. “Did I hear you correctly? You said there was a stow-away?”
    “Right, Cap’n, sir. He’s a hollerin’ up a storm down there.”
    “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” Ian asked as he held onto the railing on the side of the ship. Just then he heard it too, a voice, bellowing up from below.
    “Get him out of there and ask him if he can cook. If he can’t, lock him up. We’ll turn him in when we return. He gets minimal ration, too. I’m not feeding some little whelp a full three squares if he’s broken the law and stowed away.”
    “Aye-aye, Cap’n,” the man said as Ian turned back to his post at the wheel.
    A few minutes later, as Ian contemplated who was going to cook now that Seamus was planning to plant some roots somewhere in the countryside for the remainder of his years, his crewman shoved a scrawny kid in front of him. His oil cloth slicker, two sizes too big, was buttoned to the chin and the knitted cap covered his head. “Cap’n, sir, he says he’s your brother.”
    “I don’t have a brother,” Ian said without needing to look down at the scamp. “Lock him up in the lazarette. I’ll deal with him later. And fetch Mr. Johnson for me.”
    “Where’s Lucky?” the definitely female voice squeaked