Chapter Text
Some love stories are meant to begin on bright, sunny days, others are born from storm, wind and rain.
It was the middle of the night when Ross Poldark woke up with a start to the sound of someone banging on his front door. He sat up in his bed, his shirt rumpled and his curls in a mess. Heavy raindrops were hitting the window and he could hear the autumn wind blow outside, discharging all its fury on the Cornish coast. Ross had been sound asleep all night, not even noticing the tempest raging.
“Prudie !” he called out.
The banging continued, without a sign of the servant going to answer the door.
“Prudie! The door!!” he shouted, his voice still gravelly from sleep, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she was snoring despite the racket going on downstairs. Jud and she had probably raided his pantry again and were too drunk to even hear it.
He got out of bed with a groan, wondering why he even had servants if they never did anything useful. In a haste, he put on the pair of breeches he had worn the day before and tucked his shirt inside. As he lit a candle and carried it downstairs, an anxious feeling started to creep into his speeding heart. Someone coming at his door at such an ungodly hour never meant anything good. Usually, it was a relative coming to announce a death. There were few other reasons why someone would come to his door at night. It couldn’t be a problem with the mine, since it was closed at this hour and all his workers were home. Someone he knew might have died, or was close enough to the grave they would have sent someone to fetch him. Maybe it was Dwight, needing urgent assistance with a patient. Or maybe it was only a traveler who had lost his horse in the storm.
The first thing that came in when Ross opened the door was the chilly wind. To his surprise, it was Zacky Martin that Ross found on his doorstep. The man’s clothes were drenched from the pouring rain.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour of the night, Ross,” the miner apologized, “but there is a ship that just wrecked on the cliffs. I’m pretty sure she’s one of the Warleggan’s.”
“And that shipwreck is on my land?” Ross asked with obvious interest. By law, anything that beached on his property was his, and it was a great opportunity to get some payback after everything George had stolen from him.
“Yes,” Zacky confirmed. “That’s why I thought I would notify you at once.”
“Thank you,” Ross told the older man, clapping his shoulder with a firm hand. “Go wake the others and join me at the beach.”
The miner nodded and took his leave right away.
Ross closed the door and ran upstairs to grab his coat and hat. He went to the stables and saddled Darkie. There was no need to wake Jud from his drunken stupor. It would take half the time if Ross did it himself.
By the time Ross got to the beach, the rain had stopped but the wind was still high and he had to put a hand on top of his tricorn hat to prevent it from being blown away as he jumped down his horse.
He found the survivors of the wreck on the beach, busy dragging two bodies out of the water.
In the first light of dawn, Ross could see that the ship had not sunk. The wind and waves had pushed her onto the cliffs. She was still clinging to the sharp rocks that had torn her hull open.
“Are you the only survivors?” Ross asked the men gathered there.
“Jack and Roger are dead,” one of the sailors told him. “There’s also Captain Hawkins. I don’t know if he’s still alive. I think he’s still onboard the ship. We couldn’t find him, so we took the rowing boat and came here.”
“You didn’t make much effort to save your captain, did you?” Ross remarked.
The man gave him a mean glare, but he opted for a cautious silence as the only reply.
A part of the Warleggan’s precious cargo had already washed on the sand and when Zacky and the other villagers arrived, Ross ordered them to carry the goods away from the water. The mineworkers were starving and if they could plunder what they would need to survive through winter, Ross had no problem being their accomplice.
“What are you doing?” Zacky asked him when he saw Ross pushing the rowing boat back into the water.
“I’m going to check if the captain of the ship is still alive,” he replied. Captain Hawkins was working for the Warleggans, and frankly, Ross had considered for a minute just pretending he did not know he might still be alive in that wrecked ship. But his conscience reminded him that Hawkins might as well be only an innocent men who did not know how devious and corrupted his employers were.
“I don’t know if it’s wise, sir,” the miner pointed out. “The tide is rising.”
“That’s why I have to do it now before it rises even more,” Ross insisted, obstinate.
“Let me come with you then,” Zacky offered.
Ross accepted with a quick nod and the two of them managed to push the boat past the breaking waves without capsizing and to row to the shipwreck.
They stepped on what remained of the deck and started searching for any soul still alive on the ghost ship. The grey clouds obscured the rising sun and there was not much light yet. It was difficult to find any trace of survivors. Ross had practically given up when, as he moved some wooden planks, he caught a glimpse of a man’s hand: fingers twitching to grab an invisible lifeline. Ross hailed the miner. “He’s here! He’s alive! Help me move that large beam here: he’s caught underneath.”
With their joined strengths, they moved the beam and some more pieces of wood and a fair-haired head appeared. When Ross grabbed the man under the armpits and pulled him out from the wreckage, he realized he was barely conscious. He was trembling and his muscles were rigid in a desperate attempt at warming himself up. Half of his body, from the waist down, had been stuck underwater for hours. No wonder the man was suffering from the cold.
“I have to bring him home, or else he’s going to die,” Ross told Zacky, lifting captain Hawkins in his arms. He was very light, almost like a child, and Ross had no trouble carrying him to the boat. “We must hurry,” the dark-haired man pressed Zacky. Ross laid the blond man down at the bottom of the boat. He took his coat off and covered the shaking form with it.
Ross grabbed one of the rows and help Zacky drive the boat back to the beach.
“D-don’t-t le-et me die h-here,” Hawkins stuttered in a weak voice as Ross took him out of the boat and carried him to his horse.
“I won’t,” Ross assured him. “You won’t die.” He realized now that Hawkins was pretty young: eighteen, nineteen maybe, not more than twenty two for sure: quite young for being the captain of a ship like this one. He might have remarkable sailing skills to hold such a position.
Mark Daniels and Zacky helped Ross pulling the young captain up on Darkie’s back and wrap him in Ross’ coat.
Ross set Hawkins on the saddle in front of him and draped an arm around his shoulders to prevent him from falling off, as if he was a rescued damsel. He hoped the blond man would pardon him that slight infringement to the codes of manliness, but Hawkins’ limp neck had his head resting on Ross’ shoulder anyway. It was already too late for trying to save appearances.
***
To Ross’ utter surprise, Prudie was up when he got back to the house and she opened the door to let her master in.
“I’m going to light a fire in the parlor. Go and get me all the warm blankets you can find,” he ordered in a cold voice as he brought Hawkins inside. Prudie didn’t ask any question and obeyed right away, too happy to make herself scarce. She was well aware her master was angry with her and she wished not to make it worse.
Ross carried the younger man to the parlor and gently put him down on the thick carpet next to the fireplace.
Ross crouched down by the hearth and stirred the remaining embers. Fortunately, they were still hot enough; he only had to add a log and the fire came back to life. Prudie arrived not long after with a pile of woolen blankets. Ross dismissed her and told her to go back to bed before he locked the parlor’s door with the old, iron key.
Ross knelt down next to the stranger.
The log burning in the fireplace shed a soft light on Hawkins’ face. He had truly enticing features: from the symmetrical and delicate lines of his face to the plump and perfectly shaped mouth. His shoulder-length, blond curls were gathered by a black, velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck. He reminded Ross of a print from the catechism book his preceptor had made him read as a child. The print represented the Annunciation and the man lying on his carpet right now was identical to the image of the angel Gabriel. He looked like purity incarnated: an angel fallen from the sky and into the sea.
Without thinking, Ross reached out with a hand and, with his forefinger, grazed the little crease in the middle of the clean-shaven chin.
Jim opened his eyes for the span of a few seconds and Ross withdrew his hand promptly. The sailor’s glazed eyes were of a greenish blue, just like the ocean where he came from. He did not seem truly conscious of what was going on around him. His teeth were still clattering and keeping his eyes open was asking too much strength for what he could give. He closed them right away.
Ross took the stranger’s hand in his. It was moist and cold to the touch. If Ross did not do something to warm him up quickly, he might still die.
It would take too long before the fire would warm the room sufficiently. Ross had little choice but to use his own warmth to save the other man. He did not hesitate and proceeded in pulling Hawkin’s shirt, boots and wet breeches off. Soon, he had the blond man fully naked on his parlor’s carpet.
Ross took a closer look at a few good bruises on the blond man’s right leg that worried him a little. His ankle was swollen, but hopefully it was only a bad sprain and not a fracture. The young captain could thank God for not being more injured than he was.
Hawkin’s body was slim, but well-built, Ross noticed. He was practically hairless, except for small patches of blond hairs around his nipples and a puff of slightly darker ones between his lean legs. His smooth chest and stomach were pale from the cold the poor young man had been submitted to, but it couldn’t completely supress the golden glow of his tanned skin. He had obviously spent a long time in some country where the sun was more generous than the Cornish one.
Hawkins was sure a feast for the eyes, but Ross could not lose any more time in contemplation. He took his own shirt off and tossed it away on a nearby armchair.
This was a matter of life and death, but decency still enjoined Ross to keep his own breeches on. He was positive that the warmth of his chest would be enough. He lied by Hawkin’s side and tucked them both under three thick blankets. Then, Ross took the smaller man in his arms to share his body heat. Ross shivered, part from the coolness of the younger man’s skin, part because it has been a while since the last time he had held someone like that. It has been a long time since the last opportunity he had had to feel someone’s heartbeat on his chest and a breath on his neck.
Little by little, the pliant body in Ross’ arms started warming up and relaxing. The convulsive shivers stopped, and soon, Hawkins had the peaceful breathing of someone in a deep sleep. He was not in danger anymore, but Ross decided to stay by his side a little more. He had to admit that the close proximity was agreeable and he was in no hurry to let go. Before he even knew it, he was asleep as well.
When Ross woke up, the light coming through the window was the one of the mid-day sun, albeit veiled by clouds. If the dark-haired man had noted this, he would have probably cursed himself for having slept for so long, but he had another, more urgent preoccupation. There were sea-like eyes darting across his face in a curious and coy expression.
Ross should have taken his arms from around the sailor’s smaller frame by now, but surprise and embarassment just got him paralyzed.
“Captain James Hawkins.”
“Sorry?” Ross mumbled in confusion, even if he had heard the three words perfectly well.
“James Hawkins,” the blond man repeated. “That’s my name. But you can call me ‘Jim’.”
“Captain Ross Poldark, but ‘Ross’ will do.”
“Can I ask you a question, Ross?”
“Of course.”
“By no means do I wish to complain about my current situation, but maybe you can enlighten me. What exactly am I doing naked in your arms?”