After a restless night, she woke to the clang of the jetty bell. Instantly alert, she hurried into her clothes, calling to Pierre to prepare more porridge than usual.She ran to the jetty, almost dreading the sight of so many jolly boats. So many mother’s sons, she thought, as she plunged into the dockside chaos.Philemon gestured to her with a bloody hand and she ran to his side, kneeling there. He nodded toward a canvas bag.“It’s full of compresses. Sling that over your shoulder and follow Brian. He’ll tell you what to do.”She grabbed the bag even as she asked, “Am I ready for this?”“Beyond it, Laura. You’re one of my mates now.”He had no idea how that terrified her, but he had already turned away. She found Brian Aitken, Philemon’s chief mate, by the water’s edge. Before today, she had only been able to understand one word in ten of his thick Scots brogue. She discovered how quickly spurting blood could clear the intellect.His face speckled with blood, Aitken hummed as he worked, probably to take his mind off what lay before him.
