Brigit's Flame: Miranda - The Tempest
He saw her there. Beneath her feet, the pitiless wind swept rocky shore of home. The wind swept through her hair, bringing with it the storm clouds he could see above his sails. He could see her there. He knew she was waiting. He knew she would wait forever, come storm, gale, or God. His darling Miranda, his lady fair, would wait forever.
The lash of the rain drove drumbeats along the deck, whipping the men to their duty. All they truly wanted was to once more go below. To leave the captain to the tempest whipping around the mast as though it had a personal vendetta against them all. The sky was the gray of grave dirt and heavy as well. The rain brought its own silverish light, yet it was no comfort. Closing his eyes, he could see her standing on the shore, her eyes sweeping the horizon for hope.
"Miranda," he whispered her name to the storm as if it had the power to calm the howling. Her flame red hair caught in an errant breeze, the laughing green of her eyes, the movement of her hips that brought a twitch to her skirt when they danced, all those little things about her filled his vision. They filled his thoughts. They saved his soul. The night fell around them as the tempest beat down upon them.
The wheel hurt his hands, twisting hard as the water beneath the ship sought to turn her away from his chosen course. Yet it felt as though she were there, the cool touch of her hand over his giving him the strength to hold it steady and then to pull it back in line. For all the rain, he was parched with thirst, his only thoughts of her and with her, port. The others, his crew men, they whispered in the doorway heading down below. Had the Captain gone mad? He whispered the name of his beloved to the raging winds and pouring rain as a mantra, a magic spell. Perhaps it even was.
The moon peeked at them, or perhaps it was only the flash of lightning which lit the sky far on the horizon. He could hardly tell, his eyes half shut and full of water. He was tied to the wheel now, his strength flagging in the face of Heaven's wrath poured on his vessel. He rested his head against the wood, pressing his face to the rough surface. "Miranda." The word leapt off his leaden tongue. No one came up now. There was nothing the crew could do. The sails hung shredded and ghastly from the mast, flapping in the wind, each tear sounding like a scream. A large piece flapped away like a bird before falling into the sea. He sagged in his bonds, hands loosing the wheel. It could not spin for his weight, no matter how the sea dragged.
Light on the horizon forced him to open his eyes, forced him to try and see. Was it land? Had they reached the lighthouse at the edge of the bay? Would they find shelter in port? The rain continued. The howling wind knew nothing of his hopeful joy. "Miranda." He would see her. They would be together. He wondered if she stood on the shore, her bonnet pulled far in front of her face, the leather coat he'd given her keeping her as dry as one could hope in the present weather. She would have her hand over the knot at her heart, lips moving in a silent prayer for his safe return.
Oh how he would grab her and spin her, the sound of her laughter defeating the howling wind for space in his ears. Her eyes would hold him even as his arms held her. His Miranda.
The lighthouse, its height casting its light out onto the disturbed sea, was a welcome sight. Always to the left of the lighthouse and mind the whirlpool. The whirlpool had claimed many a life. As a captain he knew it. Closing his eyes, he repeated her name again as a prayer and threaded the hole between the lighthouse and the whirlpool just as he had done so many times before. However, all those other times, he had done so in day with calm seas such as the Sea of Belinda was known for. Tonight, the sea was far from calm.
The sudden jerk of the wheel threw him to one side and his head rang with the impact against the railing. Blood ran warm and thick through his hair and his fingers as he righted himself and began to fight the whirlpool for his life and the lives of his crew. His strength was fading. His hope as well.
Miranda.
Day dawned clear and Miranda was barely dressed before she was running down the path toward the sea, her blue dress flapping about her ankles. The bright red underdress beneath it peeked out as she ran, not quite the same shade as her hair, but the same shade as the ribbon with which she adorned it.
He was to be home today. Her heart beat fiercely with that knowledge. He would be home. He would hold her and they would laugh together, another voyage done. He was captain now. They would marry. Her head was full of those flighty, airy thoughts as she ran toward the cliffs where his ship would and should be moored.
The stones of the shore rang with the sound of Miranda's boots. Then there was sudden silence, filled by the frothing waves of the unforgiving sea. Miranda stopped, her hand coming to the knot at her chest. He had given it to her. At first she did not believe. His ship could not be smashed against the rocks. It was not true. It was not true. Her mind fought the knowledge even as the foundation of her heart gave way. A single tear trickled down and she dashed it away.
"Edward."