Blocking the physical discomfort as best as she could, Elise kept going. She reached the dory and clung to the gunwale, struggling for breath. After a few seconds, she made her way down the side of the boat, hand over hand, inching toward Sammy.

“Are you all right?” she asked through gasps.

Sammy’s gray eyes had lost their perpetual twinkle. He looked exactly what he was—a frightened wee lad whose adventure had gone awry.

Elise glanced over her shoulder for the oar, but it was long gone. She had to get the bairn to shore before hypothermia set in, for both of them. With the rain pouring in sheets and the wind shrieking like a banshee, Elise had no other option but to tow the boat to shore on her own steam.

“Is the life preserver tied to the inner bow?” she asked, making her voice heard above the din.

“Yes.”

“Toss it to me.”

Sammy shook wet hair from his eyes, much like a dog, and flung the preserver in her general direction. Elise raised her arm and caught it by the center hole, then slipped the flotation device over her head and one shoulder.

“Hang on to the sides,” she instructed.

Letting go of the gunwale, Elise struck out for shore, swimming at a diagonal to the wind’s horizontal spate. Though the distance wasn’t far, Elise was shaking and panting by the time her feet touched the ground.

Shivering, she pivoted, gripped the bow, and pulled, grunting more from pain than effort, and ran the dory aground on the beach. Sammy climbed out and helped drag the small boat from the water’s edge.

“I’m awfully sorry, Lady Elise,” Sammy started.

Elise held up her hand, her teeth chattering. “Not now.” She went back up the beach and shoved her feet into her sodden boots and snatched up her jacket. Without a word, she started up the hill toward the castle with Sammy trotting in her wake. Rain and wind flayed them, making it hard to keep from slipping on the trail.

Sammy caught up to her on the terrace porch, just outside the conservatory.

Elise opened the door and let him pass. “Quit s-slipping off every chance you get, Sammy,” she shouted above the storm before slamming the door. “This isn’t y-your home; you are a guest, and we expect you t-to conduct yourself accordingly.”

Even to her, the words sounded stuffy, an echo of her father’s former lectures. Strange how his old tellings-off fell so easily from her lips. She wiped the rain from her eyes and cast a sideways look at the lad. Other than being thoroughly soaked, Sammy didn’t appear overly cowed . . . or repentant.