Page 3 of The Cornish Mermaid

A girl indeed, and not long dead by the look of her.

Her long hair once more clung to her pale skin, giving her a look of the mythical sea creature he’d first thought her. Dark lashes brushed her cheeks, and her lips were blue-tinged. Much as he recoiled from the task, he’d better disentangle her from his net.

Letting the Rosenwyn drift on the gentle swell, he rolled back the net from around the girl’s body with some difficulty and, hauling her forward, sent her flopping onto the bottom boards. Water trickled out of the corner of her mouth as he freed her limbs from the clutch of the weed she’d become entwined in. Rotten bits of old netting snagged her feet, both of which were clad in some strange white footwear the like of which he’d never seen before.

What on earth was he supposed to do with a dead body? Today, of all days, as well.

He received an answer to his question quickly enough. As she slumped forward, she coughed. More water cascaded from her mouth.

She wasn’t a mermaid, and she wasn’t dead, thank the Lord. A wave of immense relief washing over him, despite a quick misgiving that it might be harder to deal with a live young woman than a drowned one, Kit leapt into action.

With deft hands, he propped her on her side against the thwart and thumped her on the back until she coughed again, and more water spurted out. “That’s it,” he said. “Cough it all up and you’ll feel better in a minute.”

She didn’t look up but took his advice to heart and kept on coughing and spluttering, hunched there on the deck of his boat like a piece of flotsam. By the look of her, he’d better get her to the beach and onto dry land. Fast.

But where on earth had she come from? He gave a quick scan of the horizon as he gathered in the trailing ropes for his sails. Nothing. No sign of any boat, big or small, and definitely no larger ships. The horizon was empty. No boat but the Rosenwyn had been out fishing that day, and yet, he’d managed to catch a girl in his net.

A mystery.

Leaving the semi-conscious girl to cough her guts up, he took down the sails and slipped the oars into the rowlocks. Far quicker to row than to try to tack against the wind. With practiced skill and powerful pulls on the oars, he steered the little craft deeper into the cove.

As he drew closer, the sound of the waves rolling up the beach, magnified by the high, surrounding headlands, assaulted his ears—stronger surf than when he’d set out this morning, but he could do it.

He glanced down at the girl again. “Nearly at the beach. I’ll have you on dry land before long.”

No response.

Where the breakers began, he pulled in the oars and, grabbing the painter, jumped into chest high water to drag the boat behind him. By the time he had it pulled out on the sand above the high-water mark, he was soaked to the skin.

Lucky for the hot sun.

Now he could turn his attention to the girl lying crumpled on the wet boards. She couldn’t stay there. And for the first time he paid a bit more attention to what she was wearing. He’d thought her legs a tail, and he could see why now. Her tight breeches were of a faded blue-grey color not unlike the skin of a dolphin. Or of a mermaid. How very odd. And what was more, they rather disconcertingly revealed her exact shape from the waist down, something no young lady should consider doing.

He glanced at her top half and had to take a step back. All she wore at the top was some kind of thin chemise—and being wet it was almost see-through, revealing something black shining through from underneath—something black and lacy.

For a girl who’d attired herself in a man’s breeches, this black lacy thing seemed quite out of character, but what it actually was escaped Kit. Perhaps she’d lost the rest of her clothes in the water, and all of this was some sort of undergarment?

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to carry you. I apologize in advance for any impropriety—it’s not intended.” There, that should cover him.

Not quite sure where to put his hands on this very underdressed female, he bent into the boat and scooped her into his arms, her head lolling unresponsive against his chest. Then, with the sand hot under his bare feet, he strode up the sloping beach toward the narrow group of dunes. Laying her down, he knelt by her side.

Damn it. He really didn’t need this. Not today.

What should he do now? She’d coughed up most of the water, but her skin still had a worryingly grey tinge and her body had felt icy cold in his arms. She hadn’t opened her eyes, but at least she’d stopped coughing, although that might not be a good sign. He glanced about in indecision. No blanket, and his own clothes were so wet there was no point in offering her his shirt, which was all he had anyway.

He took her cold hand in his and chafed it. “Miss?” he tried. “Miss, are you all right?”

He felt a fool. She clearly wasn’t all right at all.

The girl stirred a little and her eyes opened a crack, enabling him to see they were startlingly blue. The bright summer sunshine must have dazzled her though, because she closed them again in a hurry.

“Josh?” she whispered, her voice feathery and light.

Who was Josh? A wave of unexpected annoyance washed over Kit that her first words had been for someone other than himself. He’d rescued her, after all, and not this Josh, whoever he was. Wherever he was. He cast a quick glance back at the sea, but it still remained devoid of all craft. No Josh in sight.

He patted her hand in what he hoped, not being used to rescuing damsels from watery graves, was a comforting way. There was nothing for it. He’d have to take her up to the farm despite what Jago would say about tonight. “You’re freezing. I need to get you somewhere warm. Do you think you can stand?”

Her eyes opened again, a little wider this time, enabling him to further appreciate their mesmerizing color. He’d never seen eyes of such an intense blue. She licked her lips. “I—I think so. If you can help me up.”