"Crazy fire, that is. One second all was quiet and the next it exploded in flames. Hope no one was inside," the driver said as he drives them towards the Hudson River.
Bronnah can only hope he's right. Aimee is supposed to be on the ship with her Captain. After a ten-minute ride, they are nearing the docks. The sails of the ships seem to glow an eerie yellow-orange under the flickering glass lanterns. "Here we are. You will find the dock master down on the docks."
Chase pays him and grabs her bag. "Thank you," she murmurs as he carefully helps her down. Once the driver is gone, he turns to her.
“I know you are wounded, but we need to move. They will send more after you. Can you continue?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Let’s go.”
“Stay close, the docks are rough.” Chase grabs her bag. “Miss O’Dalaigh we need to board the vessel tonight and set sail as soon as possible,” he informs her as he walks quickly towards the dock master.
"That will be nigh impossible as the tide has all but gone out," she snaps. The day's activities are catching up to her, and her side needs to be tended to. Chase is impressed with her knowledge but doesn't respond. He's busy looking for the person they need to find.
Three men are busy yelling out orders to the dock workers as they unload the shipment from one of the ships. “Stay here, I will find out where the ship is.” Bronnah nods and sits on a bench, thankful to be off her feet for the moment. She's beginning to feel dizzy from the blood loss. A slow wet stain is covering her waist, and she does her best to cover it. Staring at Chase, she can't help but smile. As he approaches the group, they all seem to wither in comparison to him. It isn't just his impressive height at six feet three, but the strength of his stare. The way he carries himself with such authority and power no one bothers to question him. He hurries back to her and holds out a hand.
She hesitates for a moment before placing her hand in his. Instant heat, envelopes her with a gentleness that has her gripping onto his strong, calloused hand as though he were her anchor in a world gone crazy.
“Not much longer and we can get your wound tended to.” Marching down the wooden planks, they stare in awe at their first glance of the Harbor Breeze Schooner.
There at the end of the dock, she bobbed restlessly, rising and falling with the movement of the tide. The strong familiar scent of the ocean strikes Bronnah, and she inhales deeply, drawing the salty air into her lungs and letting it soothe her soul.
Other ships line the docks, all dancing with the ebb and flow of the ocean. Chase notices the rope ladder on the side of the vessel, which moved slowly back and forth. One wrong step would land them in the salty grip of the sea. The Harbor Breeze is being loaded with provisions and firewood for the woodstove.
“I need to speak to your Captain,” Chase calls out to one of the crew members.
“Alright, give us a name,” he demands barely looking at them. He continues to stack wood hoping to finish up and be done for the night.
“U.S. Marshall, Chase Rivers.” All movement stops as the six crew members look at each other and then start to laugh.
“Look, Marshall, feel free to inspect the ship, we’re only carrying timber this trip,” the man said winking at Bronnah.
Chase can feel Bronnah swaying on her feet, and he is sure she is near collapse. Shivers are running through her body, probably shock, he thinks, and his temper is barely under control. "This is a Federal matter," he pushes his duster back revealing his colt and stares at the man as he blanches.
“Right, give me a minute.” He hurries quickly down into the belly of the ship and voices are heard, followed by feet. The Captain stomps onto the deck of his ship and glares at Chase and Bronnah.
“What do you want?” he scowls. Bronnah steps close to the edge of the dock desperate for shelter and rest.
"Please, I'm a friend of Aimee's, is she here?" He stares at her and nods. With a shrill whistle, they listen as Aimee grumbles in French and stomps out of the Captain's quarters.
“What kind of date is this, Allen?” Aimee stops talking when she notices everyone standing still. She glanced to her left past Chase and notices Bronnah for the first time.
"Bronnah!" She snaps out orders in French, and a piece of wood is placed down, serving as a bridge between the dock and the boat. "What are you doing here? Is that blood? Why are you wearing a wig?" Bronnah laughs at the look of exasperation on Allen's face at the rapid-fire questions, and her laughter soon turns to tears.
“Oh, Aimee I have so much to tell you.” Bronnah stumbles across the bridge supported by Chase.
“Marshall Chase Rivers.” He offers his hand to the captain.
“Captain A. H. Foster, at your service, Marshall.” Both men turn to watch the women hugging each other.
“We need a private place to talk, Captain. I need a quick getaway. I can pay you handsomely for your assistance.” Allen nods and leads the way.
“Come on love, let’s take them inside my quarters and sort this out.”
Allen leads the way into a small room with a living area, full-size bed, and windows flanking both sides of the room. Lush curtains are hung and can be released to cover as needed for privacy. Aimee guides Bronnah to the small love seat and gasps when she lifts her arm to check the size of the wound. The dress is torn and reveals a rip
