Merial found a smile for him. “Thank you, My Lord. You are most kind.”
“Now then,” he said, standing. “What may I bring you? I am yours to command. Might you be hungry? Thirsty? I alone will bring you what you need.”
“I, I am a bit thirsty,” she admitted. “I do not feel hungry, however.”
Lord Buckthorn smiled. “I will bring you fresh water, wine from my own stock, and perhaps a mug of soup or broth. Believe me when I say I hired the best ship’s cook in the kingdom.”
Merial could not help but answer that sweet, boyish grin despite her fears. “That sounds lovely.”
He gave her a small bow, then left the cabin, closing the door behind him. Pushing back the blanket, she sat up carefully. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and a wave of dizziness and nausea swept through. Seizing hold of the bunk’s edge with both hands, Merial swallowed hard, waiting for the sick feeling to pass.
It did, albeit slowly, and she stood up. Only then did she discover that in addition to her painful head, her movements awoke a number of aches across her body. Still, she knew they were insignificant and no permanent damage had been done. Her balance swiftly returned to her as she walked around the room.
Once more, Merial tried to remember what had happened to her, yet the attempt merely served to bring on the pain in her head. Breathing deeply helped dispel some of it, and she took a moment to gaze out the porthole. Moonlight shimmered off the rolling swells of the sea, the stars glittered in the deep inky sky over the horizon. The beautiful sight and its calming influence did little, however, to assuage her feelings of utter helplessness and desolation. Rather, it added to her loneliness and fears.
I am alone on a strange ship, friendless, and lost.
Before she turned away, she caught a rapid glimpse of a shooting star flashing across the heavens. “Perhaps that is a good omen,” she murmured.
A knock at her door startled her. “Come in.”
Lord Buckthorn swung it open, awkwardly holding a tray complete with a pitcher and decanter.
“I brought you this,” he said, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her standing. “Perhaps you should not be up yet.”
Merial self-consciously brushed her hands down her wrinkled gown, having been trained from infancy that a woman should never be alone with a man not her husband. And here she was, with no possibility of a chaperone, and alone with a handsome man.
My mother would have a fit if she knew.
The random thought that came from nowhere startled Merial, yet she could not remember her mother, bring her face into her mind, nor recall her name.
But I had a mother who taught me proper behavior. I know what is expected of me, but do not remember how I know this.
“Miss Hanrahan?”
Lord Buckthorn gazed at her, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Merial brushed her gown again, feeling its stiffness from having once been wet. “I was just trying to remember.”
Lord Buckthorn set the tray on the table, then gestured. “I brought water, bread, broth, as well as wine. Please, will you not eat and drink? I know you must be terribly thirsty.”
“Thank you, I will.”
He held the chair for her as she sat down, and she motioned toward the other chair. “Will you sit with me?” she asked, glancing up.
“I would like that.”
He sat in the other chair, and poured wine into two goblets as Merial reached for the water. She had no idea just how thirsty she was until the cool water touched her tongue, and she gulped it down with unseemly manners. With a smile, Lord Buckthorn poured more from a pitcher into her cup, and she swallowed that down as well.
“Forgive my poor manners, My Lord,” she said, feeling her face heat.
“No apologies necessary,” he replied easily, taking a drink from his wine cup. “The sun would dry you out and kill you while you floated out there.”
The bread and broth tasted nearly as wonderful, but her appetite still had not come back. Nor could she seem to get enough water. “I do not understand why I am not hungry,” she murmured.
“I suspect you have been through a tremendous shock, Miss Hanrahan,” he replied. “You will start feeling better soon.”
Picking up her goblet of wine, Merial took a sip, hoping it might help soothe her headache. “What do you think happened to the ship I was on?”
Something crossed his expression so quickly she wondered if she had truly seen it.
“I dare not venture an opinion just yet,” he replied. “I do not have enough information. But that you were on a ship at one time, there is no doubt. You could not have survived long in the dinghy, so you did not set sail in it from England, that is for certain.”
Merial sipped her wine, desperate to remember. “And there is no land anywhere near where we are?”
“None.” His icy blue eyes rested on her with warmth and compassion. “We are three weeks from London, five from New York. We have seen no other vessels since our departure.”
“Perhaps it went down in a storm,” she suggested.
Lord Buckthorn shook his head. “How did you get into the boat, Miss Hanrahan? Who put you there? You were not in it long, as you are hardly sunburned, perhaps less than half a day. There have been no storms. Indeed, this is quite the mystery.”
“If I could only remember.” Frustration and fear rose once again in her heart. “What if my memories never come back? I will not know my family if ever I meet them. I will never know what happened, never understand where I came from. What will become of me in the future?”
As she spoke, Merial knew her voice lifted in near hysteria, but she could not seem to help it. Her heart raced, her head feeling as though it might burst at any moment. Lord Buckthorn made to reach for her, but he drew his hand back at the same moment Merial flinched from him.
“Calm yourself,” he said, his voice low, soothing. “You have only recently awakened from a traumatic injury. You must give yourself time to heal.”
Holding her arms across her stomach, staring at the table, Merial nodded. “I will try,” she whispered. “But please understand I am so very frightened.”
“Believe me when I say I do understand,” he replied quietly, and his deep yet gentle voice did much to quiet her fears. “When we dock in London, I will do my very best to help you return to your family. My father and my older brother have considerable influence in the city. If anyone knows the Hanrahan name, they will.”
Merial finally glanced up to meet his kind eyes, and tried to smile. “You are so good to me, My Lord. I hope that one day I may be able to repay you.”
“That will not be necessary,” he told her. “Just seeing you safe and back in the arms of those who love you is payment enough. So please, drink your wine and try not to be afraid.”
Merial did her best to obey him. He spoke to her about his vessel, the Valkyrie, his noble family, and the shipping business his father, the Duke of Heyerdahl, had founded. Between the food and the wine, it was not long before Merial grew tired, and she fought to keep her eyes open.
Lord Buckthorn noticed, and stood. “Get some sleep, Miss Hanrahan,” he said lightly, picking up the tray. “Perhaps, if your appetite has returned, you will join me in my cabin for breakfast.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Once again, he gave her the polite bow, and left her alone. Merial ambled, now unsteady on her feet, and gazed out into the darkness again. Above her, the tramp of feet informed her of the night watch pacing the deck, and she dimly heard a voice call the hour.
Blowing out the lamp Lord Buckthorn had left her, she undressed slowly, and hung her gown on a hook. Lying down on the bunk garbed in her shift, she covered herself with the blanket, grateful for it as the night sea air had grown chilly. Staring into the darkness for a time, she felt sleep overcome her at last.
* * *
Fire. Red and orange flames reaching for her. A man’s face, his mouth open a
s he shouted something at her. His expression of anger, of fear. A horse galloping under her. The wind in her hair.
Merial woke abruptly in the darkness, panting, panic gripping her throat.
Did I just scream?
Sweat trickled down her ribs, her body hot despite the cool breeze wafting through the round porthole. She sat up, the blanket pooling in her lap as she fought the fear, the terror.
I am safe. I am on board the Valkyrie.
The vessel creaked as she swept through the waves, the canvas sails snapped as the wind ebbed and flowed. Merial’s breathing gradually grew quieter, and she heard the watch call the hour.
Nearly dawn.
Her head throbbed as she rubbed her face with her fingers, pondering the idea of going back to sleep.
I will not be able to.
Covering herself back up with the blanket, Merial tried to remember the dream that terrified her, but all she could recall was fire.
What fire? Where?
Gazing at the round porthole, slightly lighter than the darkness in her cabin, she wondered at the significance of the fire in her nightmare.
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Also by Patricia Haverton
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The Lost Countess that Counted Stars
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Perfectly Mismatched with the Duke
A Game of Chess with the Marquess
The Haunted Knight of Lady Canterley
The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor
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About the Author
Born the oldest of three children, Patricia Haverton grew up believing that she’d follow in her father’s footsteps and pursue a career in science. However, her worldview changed when she decided to explore her British mother’s roots. The trip to her ancestral lands solidified her conviction that she had found her true calling in the romanticism of the Era of Kings and Queens.
A hopeless romantic and a firm believer in the idea of soulmates, Patricia changed the course of her life and decided to get her degree in Creative Writing and Psychology. As she jokingly says ever so often, “she lives in the past now, where love shows the way and Dukes save the day!”
When she’s not weaving tales of love that prevails, Patricia enjoys spending time with her husband, roaming the British countryside, where they have been living in for the past decade.
Now would be the time to let yourself go and experience the true magic of the Regency Era! Let your imagination run wild, live amazing adventures through the eyes of brave heroes! Like the legendary wise wizard, Patricia will be your guide!
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How To Catch An Earl With Ten Lies (Historical Regency Romance) Page 31
