Spring had long given way to summer when their voyage came to an end.
The Rescuer eased into the almost empty port just as daylight began to fall. Silhouettes of warehouses, taverns and narrow townhouses lay ahead, cut sharply against a sky bruised purple by the dying gold of the sun. Lanterns raised, sails dropped. The anchor plunged with a hollow roar and the vessel grew still.
"Ship's docked!" Lawrence called into the wind.
Brand left the helm and moved towards the rails, his hands clasped behind his back. He drew in a deep breath. The air was colder than he expected, and stifling.
He blinked purposefully, mumbling to himself, "Back again."
He had again returned to the stiff drawing rooms, the whispered gossips and the teasing of his brother. And, inevitably, to the naggings of his mother. Brand shook his head. Oh, how he preferred the tempests. Society suffocated more than any storm at sea.
Behind him, he sensed her before he heard her.
