From the oarsman’s lips, huge clouds burst forth against the early morning chill with each labored breath. Large callused hands gripped the handles, muscles strained, as oars rhythmically splashed upon the surface of the channel water. The veteran skiff determinedly advanced toward its island destination. Glancing up at his solitary passenger, Lucas could not help but admire the handsome woman delicately perched on the stern plank. Obviously she was no stranger to the sea as the dip and slap against the waves had no effect on her balance.

Lucas had made this journey several times at the behest of his employer, the Earl of Northumberland. He usually gave little to no notice of his passenger. He simply put his head down and his back into the task; steeled against the arduous journey ahead. Most often he was tasked with the transport of a servant to work in the remote family castle. His fare would be anyone who his Lordship, Algernon Percy, did not find of sufficient social standing to provide a more comfortable passage

This particular passenger perplexed Lucas. He could see she was not made of servant stock. Her attire was not much to speak of. Her coat was sturdy enough, as though she was prepared for the windy channel at this time of year. Her dress was handmade. It was not the clothes that perplexed him. There was something about her bearing — while not regal or pretentious — neither was it humble. He could not quite put his finger on it.

Daring a pause; Lucas stopped his rowing. He could see that his attention made her nervous. In an effort to put her at ease, he beamed a crooked smile and inquired, "Have ya made this crossin' before?"

With a nervous start, the young woman bravely returned his smile and replied, "No kind sir, this is my first crossing."

Her soft, lilting voice caused the oarsman's heart to flutter — just a little.

"I suppose you have made the trip many times before?” she added.

"Yes'm, I have lost count as to how many times I've made the crossin'."

He began rowing in earnest.

She's no servant, Lucas thought. This made him even more curious about the reason she was bound for a castle on an island so far from the mainland. In his way of thinking, it was a mystery why more people didn't die from complete boredom on that island.

As a soldier in the King's army, he had his share of excitement. If it were not for the enemy lance that crippled him, he would be leading a hero's life — or more likely — he'd be in a grave. At least in the Earl's employ, he had a better chance of living to the ripe age of forty-five — maybe fifty.

It was not more than a few pulls on the oars that his curiosity once again got the best of him. Lucas stopped his rowing.

"M'lady, are ya comfortable sittin' on that hard plank?"

"Yes, this is fine."

Lucas resumed his rowing.

"M'lady", Lucas blurted as he yanked the oars out of the brine.

"Yes sir?"

"M'lady, would ya mind too much me askin' yer name?"

"Darling, Grace Darling. You may have heard of my father, William."

"Nay, I can't say as I have", as he put oars to water.

Stopping; he queried, "William Darling is yer da?"

"Yes, William is my father. Do you know him?"

"Nay, I can't say as I've ever heard of him," the grizzled soldier muttered as he dropped his oar towards the water.

"He is the keeper of the lighthouse at Longstone."

"In Longstone, ya say," shaking his head from side to side, "I don't know him."

"My father kept the lighthouse at Brownsman for years before that", Grace continued before the oars made contact with the water.

"Ya don't say".

A half dozen strokes were completed before he stopped, then added, "Is yer mum with him now?"

At this question Grace became very still and Lucas feared he had gone too far. Worrying the kerchief in her hands, Grace looked out to sea. Lucas resumed his rowing.

A silence fell between them. The only sounds were the wind and the splash of the oars. Lucas kept his head down and his back into it.

Turning back toward Lucas, Grace shuffled on her seat and raised her hand. Noticing this movement, Lucas ceased rowing.

"She died. My mother died of consumption. It was horrible how long it took her to pass. It took such a toll on Father. I just hate to leave him alone at a time like this."

"Well why don't I take ya back then", Lucas offered with his oak tree logic.

"Oh, only if I could dear sir; only if I could. I am afraid that I may never see my father again."

"Well me lass, I cannot see any reason I shouldn't turn this boat around so's ya can be with yer da."

"If it were only that simple," Grace said as she stared past the horizon, wringing her kerchief all the while.

Lucas rowed.

Grace's eyes opened very wide, hands rising to cover her mouth, as she looked ahead. Lucas saw the change in her mood and stopped rowing while glancing over his shoulder. Seeing only the island in the distance — the small castle coming into view — he suspected that to be her cause for alarm.

Resting the oars on the gunwales, he could not help himself from asking, "M'lady, with yer da grieving and needin' ya so, why on earth are ya goin' to that bloody island? There's nothing out there but useless crones, a few devout monks and screeching seagulls. Why waste the best years of yer life?"

Grace was deeply affected by his concern.

"It was because I loved a man — a Spanish man."

Lucas' face clouded up as he spat out the words, "A Spaniard, ya say?"

Ignoring Lucas, eyes glazing, she reminisced, "Taking my walk along the seashore one morning I saw a young man near the water. At the time, I did not think anything of it. I saw him every morning for the next week. One morning, as I came around the dunes, he was close — as though he were waiting for me."

"Did he attack ya?"

"Oh no, dear sir, far from it, he simply bid me a good morning and went on his way. It was like that every morning. I began to look forward to seeing him. As the days wore on our exchanges became longer. I found him to be fascinating and he was always genuinely interested in my thoughts. Carlos, his name was Carlos, was like no one I had ever met before. He had been to so many faraway and exotic places. I couldn't help but be attracted and eventually fall in love."

"So then the black-heart made rude advances towards ya when he gained yer confidence?"

"No, not at all..."

"Well then, woman," Lucas bellowed, "What in blazes are ya goin' to the bloody island fer?"

Grace bravely continued, "A very unfortunate coincidence occurred at the most inopportune time. The Lord was riding on the beach when he saw us together. As he galloped towards us, Carlos fled behind the dunes. Lord Algernon was furious. He shouted at me how I was consorting with the enemy, and, if it were not the filthy Scots, it was the dastardly Spanish invading his land. In a furious rage he said he would have none of it and would stop at nothing to hunt the despicable blight down and stain the ground with his blood."

Scowling, Lucas spit out, "He was right to say that. Ya has'ta know he was just after information and a frolic. Them damn Spaniards swarm like ants if ya don't stop 'em. Kills the men, rapes the women, then steals all our rum they will. I've stuck 'nuff of them bastards with m'sword. The only regret is, I didn't sticks more of 'em."

Lucas got back to his rowing. He had run out of questions. He wanted to hear no more.

Grace turned her head to stare at the rolling swells. Her face clearly reflected her mood, a lost soul adrift, drowning in a sea of despair. "He seemed like such a nice young man."

Lucas vaguely sensed her emotional turmoil; he no longer cared.