Thinking hurt now. Why couldn't she lie down in peace in her cabin? She sidestepped him, but he caught her elbow on the hurting side, sending her to her knees.
He sprung from the chair and whipped her up into his arms. Her warm cheek smashed against his cold collarbone, but she didn’t care. It felt good to not lift her head.
“I didn't mean to injure you, Precious.”
“Not you,” she gasped and tried to blot out the searing pain as she'd done before, but couldn’t. Tears streamed out. “My arm hurts so bad.”
He carried her to the bed and set her betwixt him and the headboard. With his long fingers, he tugged at one button of her nightgown. Then another. "I need to see the shoulder."
She couldn't breathe, couldn't stop him. She wiggled a little to keep him from seeing the scars upon her back. “No.”
"Yes." He undid a final one and opened the gown. He pushed it down, exposing just her arm and more of her neck.
With a careful caress, he pushed at her stays and freed her shoulder. “This is bad, Precious.”
Her arm looked inflamed, twice its normal size. Too scared, too injured to move, she let his fingers trail her arm. He pressed, with his thumb, the high bone on top of the sore flesh and a noise like a wailing tomcat fled her lips.
His eyes narrowed and grim lines swallowed his mouth. “It’s not broken, but you popped your shoulder out of the socket, either from hanging onto the hull or by hitting the water hard. I have to push it back in. Do you trust me, Precious?”
She glanced up at him between waves of throbbing aches. The curve of the muscles of his forearms, his solid chest with the horrible scar that looked as if something had tried to cut him in two, all made her feel safe. He knew suffering and perhaps could understand hers. Maybe that was why he was so kind to her. But it still didn't add up, the concern versus the battle for control.
"Precious, you still there?"
"Yes. Fix it. I’ve no choice, do I?”
His fingers stilled from the slight massage of her shoulder. “You have a choice. Do you trust me?”
As much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t, she couldn't lie about how she felt. “Yes. I do.”
“Good mouse.” He put one arm behind her neck and stretched his palm to cushion her shoulder. With his other hand, he clasped the front of the joint. “This is going to hurt like nothing you ever felt.”
“Doubt it. I know a lot of ache.”
His chin nodded, and his gaze latched onto hers. Concern, and something else, some unreadable warmth, colored his intense stare. “Get ready to screech.”
"Don't let me scream. They'll think you're hurting me. You're not like them."
His lips tensed. "You don't know what I'm capable of."
She lifted her good hand to his chest; her fingers couldn't help but fall on the deep scar. "I don't want to sound weak to them or you."
"I won't let them hear. You ready for me to make this shoulder right?""
She nodded and counted, “One, two, three, four, ready.”
With a mighty shove, he snapped the joint back into place. The pop sounded like a china cup slamming against a rock. It deafened, but not enough to mask her howling.
Not that she could, not that she wanted him to stop, but, with his firm lips, he covered hers and caught all the remaining high notes of her scream.
The world grew black and inky, and his mouth stayed on hers, claiming her until she saw nothing at all.
Chapter Six: A Better Man
Gareth put his scope in his pocket and laid his hands at noon and three on the wheel. The setting sun had framed the right side of the ship, made making the water have a blood orange color. If red stayed in the water and away from the morning, they just might make it to Port Elizabeth without a horrid storm delaying them. Well, no more woman-made incidents. His brain filled with thoughts of Jonas’s stubborn nanny. Hopefully, there would be no Precious Jewell-made storms.
Three days ago, the girl fell into the ocean. Now she lay sick in his cabin with him and Mrs. Narvel taking turns caring for her. It was probably a good thing Precious was so bull-headed. Her fever had spiked pretty high before it broke, but she fought with all she had and then some. The girl warred hard against the ocean, and against him with the punch she’d delivered on the bow. That kind of fire comes from withstanding something horrid. What happened in the girl’s past? Would it always drive her to be reckless, running away in the middle of the night or dropping into an ocean?
Eliza never said anything of Precious's story, just that she couldn't do without her.
The wind blew hard, kicking his thin cravat into his chin. She’d lashed out wildly, slapping at him at the height of her sleep. It made sleeping next to her difficult, but far more interesting than being alone.
What was he to do with Precious Jewell?
Ralston marched up side him. “Captain, I can take over watch for you.”
He folded his arms and stared at the Judas who almost made his men turn against him. “Not too busy stoking rebellion to do your duties?”
A sheepish, almost boyish, grin peeked from underneath his mustache. He wrenched at his neck. “I’d like to blame things on the liquor, but that ain't it. I shoulda known you were still all man. Blast the rumors.”
The false rumors that a cannon blast had taken all his strength had persisted since war. Marrying Eliza and having an heir had squelched most of it, but now they appeared again. He turned and looked out at the vast ocean. Maybe focusing on the cold water would ease the volcano of anger ready to blow in his system. "Ralston, next time, I'm not going to give you any rope, unless it's about your neck."
The fool clapped Gareth's shoulder. “Dunkin’ me in the drink and taking that nanny woman, there is no more doubt about you now. I’ve done you a favor.”
He pivoted and squinted at Ralston. “I don't think I need those types of favors.”
“But the hellcat, she must make it worth it. I saw how you looked at her when you brought her on board, and then saving her. You know you wanted her, even if she works for you, even if she’s a black.”
Preposterous; he hadn't brought the girl along to find away to seduce her. Right? She was a piece of Eliza, dear to Jonas. Yet, the drunk had noticed something, enough to guess that Gareth had become partial to Precious.
There was no more denying it. The playful cat and mouse banter with her was something he enjoyed until she flung herself into the ocean. And the feel of her curling into him, the surprising softness of her scarlet lips, it stirred something inside.
He rubbed at his skull and pushed away his own inner doubts of his motives. Ralston needed to be a better man. He would be next in command if anything befell Gareth. It would take both his first mate and his friend Mr. Narvel to command Port Elizabeth.
As twisted as Ralston's values were, there was good in him. Gareth had seen it when he helped to rebuild a cottage for a widowed colonist. No man had worked as hard as Ralston to get that roof back over the poor old lady's head after the Xhosa raiders burnt it to the ground.
But how could he get through to his first mate? Perhaps with the truth. “Wenching doesn't make a man a man. At what point does all the sin just make him corrupt?”
A belly laugh poured out of the fool. “None that I could ever see.”
“You need to start spending time with the colony's vicar.” Gareth started to pivot, but stayed in place. “Ralston, I don't know how you are going to do it, but I need you to shape up. We are in charge of how this new world of Port Elizabeth grows. We are to make it good, or it will die on the vine. Wenching won't work for that. Women need protection, someone to count on. All the colonists need us to be fair, worthy to put their trust in.”
The laughter had drained away from Ralston’s face. The man gazed down and fidgeted with his hands. Maybe there was hope for him. Looking back from how Gareth had let Eliza down to how he’d been of use to Precious, maybe there was hope for him as well.
“Sorry, Captain.”
He extended a hand to him. “Behind Narvel, you’re the fellow I depend upon. It can't be if you have no morals. What if something happened to me or Narvel? I want the leadership of Port Elizabeth to fall to a man of conviction, not a war department bureaucrat.”
Head lifting, with a glint in his eyes, Ralston stood erect. “You see that in me?”
“Yes, when you're not boozing or starting mutinies. Take the wheel. No drinking up here.”
Smiling, Ralston stuck a hard handshake then took hold of the column. “You can count on me, Captain. But maybe you should head off to your prize. She hasn't left your room for days.”
Nodding, Gareth headed for his cabin. Perhaps Precious was awake and felt well enough to answer some questions. At some point he’d need to figure out what had happened to her. That kind of fear couldn't be kept inside. It could come out again and endanger her or others.
"Have fun, Captain."
Gareth couldn't help rolling his eyes as he stalked down to the deck. He definitely couldn't give in to his attraction to Precious Jewell, who very well could be his sister by marriage, no matter how alive she made the dead parts of him feel.
Precious tried to open her heavy lids, but they must be sewn closed. Was she dead? Heart racing, she tried again, but couldn't. She must be dead or nearly dead.
Another moment of trying and she gave up and just let her fingers absorb the smoothness of the fine sheets. She must've fallen asleep in Eliza’s bed again. Eliza would forgive her once she saw how tired and how hurt Precious was.
Well, as long as Mr. Marsdale didn't catch her, she'd be fine.
As long his nephew never caught her again, she'd recover.
He hurt her real bad last time.
Something tucked bedsheets about her. She tried to stop shaking, but was too weak. She wanted to scream for Eliza, but her mouth felt dry, like bales of cotton.
A few blinks and she cracked her eyes open.
Mrs. Narvel’s face became clear. She leaned over and mopped Precious’s brow. “Your fever is almost gone. Oh, thank the Lord.”
That was the woman on the boat. Precious and Jonas were on a boat. Where is Jonas? She shook and cried out through her stiff lips, but no one heard her. Her face felt wet. Why couldn't she get to Jonas?
“Will Mammy be fine?”
The sweet voice. It was Jonas. He must be well. Oh come to me, Jonas!
Her pulse slowed, and she pictured him in his pinafore, playing with his favorite blocks, maybe looking at her with a shy smile.
“Yes, Miss Precious will be fine. Sometimes you need lots of sleep for the body to get better.”
Click. Clack. The sound of a wood block hitting another one echoed. “I better with naps.”
"Yes, sweet boy. Maybe Miss Precious might wake up today. It's been three since she became ill."
Days? As in more than one? The thought that she’d been laid up sapped the little bit of energy she’d started to muster.
And this woman with her pretty goldenrod dress had been waiting on Precious.
“Jonas, I need you to pick up your blocks and wrap them in the scarf. Lord Welling will be here soon.
Fluttering tired eyes, Precious caught a blur of a footboard. Leaves cut into the wood. Lord Welling’s wood. Oh, now she’d been sleeping in Lord Welling’s bed.
His words of her being the captain’s woman burst in her head and made it hurt more. She didn't know if she was or wasn't. Everything had become a blur except the water.
The power of not being able to hold on to nothing, of not being able to catch a full breath, taunted her in mixed-up visions. But the frigid water that had grabbed hold of her and yanked her down was real. She surely would have drowned if not for Lord Welling.
A sense of gratitude, overwhelming tummy-twisting thankfulness flooded over her, until she tried to move her arm. Her body felt beaten, lashed at. Was it sickness, or had he been repaid?
The only thing she knew for certain was that he’d kissed her. What happened after, she knew not. Another kind of empty filled her, her chest rattling with a hollow cough.
The door to the cabin opened and Lord Welling stuck his head inside. “Is all well in here, Mrs. Narvel. Has she woken up?”
“No. But the fever is much lower. By tomorrow she should be up for sure.” Her voice got all squeaky. “She moaned some strange things.”
The baron plodded near, his boots knocking against the floorboards. He bent and picked up Jonas. “Like what?”
“Bits and pieces, about being your slave and the captain’s woman. Some other odd things, but is any of it true?”
“Miss Jewel is an indentured servant, but she was enslaved by my late wife’s family.”
The lady's voice became screechy. "Why didn't you just free her? It’s England. Slaves have rights."
"But only in England. Now she has legal status wherever she goes, including Port Elizabeth."
"You could've kept her in England. She’d be free."
“Madame, it's never that simple.”
Precious tried to open her mouth, wanting so for the lady to explain, but nothing came out. He left off something vital in his first offer back in London. What else would he ignore in order to have his own way?
Mrs. Narvel took Jonas in her arms. “Is it because she’s your special friend?”
A harsh groan sounded, no doubt from captain control. “Woman, you are nosy. She works for me. She cares for, goodness, loves Jonas. She is in my protection, just as you are.”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I like Miss Jewell.”
“Go put this boy to bed. And, you, too, Mrs. Narvel; I can't have two women sickly on this voyage. I’ll keep watch over Miss Jewell.”
The look on the woman’s face, dimpling forehead, flattening lips, mirrored Precious’s turmoil. “Yes, Captain. But you could take our cabin. Jonas and I can sleep on the pallet.”
“No. This is the captain’s cabin.”
Precious tried with all her might to sit up, to prove she could manage herself, maybe even go with the lady and Jonas back to their room, but even the slightest move made her shoulder radiate pain. A wince snuck free.
Mrs. Narvel took Jonas and stood. Her face still looked broken. “But she may awaken any moment now. We, I could…”
“I’ll watch over her like I have the past two nights. I’m the closest thing to a doctor to care for the stubborn girl. Go on, Mrs. Narvel. You may take over again for me in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” With Jonas waving, the lady left.
The door closed with a thud.
Lord Welling moved from the footboard and dumped his dark blue jacket into the chair. “Well, Precious Jewell, what shall we do to pass the time? Game of cards?”
He leaned down and put a palm to each cheek. “Much cooler. You got ocean water in your lungs, but you're going to be all right.”
He balanced against the footboard and pried off his boots.
She felt the weight of the bed shift as he lay down beside her. He was fully-clothed and inches from her, but a shiver started in her toes and kept going until everything trembled.
“You’re cold.” He shifted near and carefully tucked her into his arms. “There, that should keep you good and toasty until the morning. Eliza always said I was a firebox.”
His heavy arm now enfolded Precious. Her stiff shoulder fit next to his chest. He wasn't moving, and soon his snores began to fill her ear.
Half-scared, half-thawed, she stole a breath and willed herself to return to full sleep. Maybe Lord Welling would come into her dreams with his rapier, and murder the evil trapped in her head or drop him headlong into abyss over the side of the boat. If only.
Something swatted at his face.
Barely opening his eyes, he caught the fingers tapping at his jaw. Fingers?
He released them as he sat up.
Wide, almost wild, brown eyes peered at him from underneath him. Somehow, he’d nearly pinned Precious beneath him. “Good morning.”
He rolled onto his back, avoiding the temptation to pull her with him. He didn't want to frighten his mouse any more than she was. “Are you in pain?”
With a shake of her head, she shoved on his arm. “Move.”
He wiggled a little and produced an inch of space and bedsheets between them. “That's all you get. Any more, I’d be on the floor. Dumped from my own bed.”
The pout on her creamy face was as delightful as vexing her.
“You should be on the floor, crowding me. Don't you have a boat to steer? Someone else to tease?”
“Nope.” He raked a hand through his hair, reordering the sleep-confused style. “Not for several hours.”
“Then I should get up and go. You’re done with me.”
“Interesting Precious. You've been injured, but your awakening under questionable circumstances with a man in bed with you. What kind of example will you set for Jonas?"
She sputtered, spittle drizzling onto her fine scarlet lips. “But it's your bed, your room. You put me here. You kissed me.”
"Only ‘cause you asked, actually begged, me to."
Those chestnut eyes exploded. She started thrashing about too wildly. She'd hurt herself. "Nothing happened. You're not mine, Jewell, though my men or Mrs. Narvel may think otherwise. Know that you can trust me.”
One brow propped like he spoke with a forked tongue. “Like with papers? I was free and you took that away.”
“Oh, you heard that. I….”
With her good arm shaking, she started to swing again but stopped. "This is why you, all men, can't be trusted. You lie when your mouths move."
The poor girl had begun to trust him. A warm feeling grew in his chest as words of explanation bubbled. “You were only free in England. People still capture blacks and take them from England to enslave them again. Now you have registered papers that will protect you in South Africa. Slavery is still legal in all of Britain’s colonies.”
The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 Page 6
