by Lynn Landes
"We need to tend to her wound, first," Chase snaps.
"Aimee, the Chen came, and …they burned your shop," Bronnah sobs.
Aimee gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "No!" She spins rushing to Allen, who catches her in his arms. "No… not my shop, it's all I had."
"I'm so sorry, Aimee, it's all my fault. If you hadn't helped me…" Bronnah starts to say, but Aimee whirls on her.
“This is not your fault, Bronnah. You didn’t ask for any of this. Just like those other girls didn’t. They are responsible for their own actions. I’m sorry, I just need a moment.”
Aimee runs from the room and climbs down a ladder into a small cabin where she can cry in privacy. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Allen asked softly. His brown eyes flicker with fury as the woman he loves sobs in the bottom of his ship.
“We will, but first we need to leave,” Chase demands.
“No one tells me what to do, Marshall. I don’t care who you are,” he growls, and they stand face to face.
“I can commandeer this ship in the name of the Federal Government, Captain,” Chase snaps in a lethal voice. Bronnah watches in shock and then leaps to her feet.
"Oh, for feck's sake, we need ta leave. Aimee's in trouble, Captain. The Chen burned her shop, and we fought them off, but they know she's involved, and they were not above killing her." Her Irish accent flares and they stare at her stunned by the switch.
Exasperated and hurting, Bronnah stomps out of the room, leaving them to sort out their differences and goes after Aimee. A sign above the opening reads, “Go down backward,” and points to a narrow ladder. It leads below deck. Bronnah follows the instruction and is surprised to find herself in a hallway with doors. She follows the sounds of Aimee’s sobs and knocks on the door. “Go away,” she sniffs.
"Please don't cry, Aimee. I'll make it up to ya, someday." Aimee opens the door and plops down on a single bunk bed. Bronnah steps inside a small bedroom with a low ceiling that has barely enough space to turn around in. A single window that overlooks the water, with a small mirror and hooks on the wall.
"Bronnah, I need to process this. I put every penny I had into my shop, and now it's' gone. I've lost everything all at once. Forgive my selfishness."
"That's nonsense," Allen says from behind them. He stares at Bronnah, "Could you give us a moment, please." Bronnah smiles and moves outside into the hallway. "Thank you," Allen says, "Help yourself to some tea in my quarters." She nods and starts up the ladder.
Allen steps inside the room and closes the door before turning to Aimee. “This is not how I had planned this evening, my love. I wanted to wine and dine you and turn your head with beautiful words, but it was not to be.” Allen drops to his knee and holds up a wooden box.
“What’s this?” Aimee gasps.
“This is a trinket box, meant for you to keep special memories in. I made it from the scrap wood of this ship. Open it.” Aimee’s hands are trembling, and she lifts the small wooden box and gasps.
Inside resting a white lace handkerchief is a small golden band. "It's not much, but I would be honored to call you to call you mine for as long as we walk this earth. Aimee Lancour, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?"
Aimee drops down on the bed and stares at him with tears streaming down her shocked face. She whispered, “Oui, je t’épouserai.” Allen stands up and walks over to her.
"I sure hope that's a yes," he laughs when she throws herself into his arms.
“Yes!” He kisses her, and they laugh. In one moment, she loses one dream and discovers a new one.
“Now tell me, Wife, why I have a U.S. Marshall threatening to commandeer my ship and Chen warriors trying to kill you?” Aimee’s head drops to his shoulder.
“Mon Dieu, it is a long story.”
Chapter 19
Bronnah hurries to the ladder and climbs up ignoring the stinging and burning in her side as the wound reopens from the strain. She hisses and drops her forehead to the rails, resting for a moment. Two strong hands reach down and lift her up as if she weighs nothing.
“Oh!” She squeals and Chase smiles as she clutches at him. “Warn a girl next time,” she snaps.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said grinning down at her. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Why don’t we take a look at that injury?”
“We? That’s very kind of you, Marshall but…” she pushes away from him and glares when he interrupts her.
"Call me Chase," he gently glides her into the Captain's quarters and closes the doors behind them. They stare at each other in the yellow glow of the kerosene lanterns. The room seems to grow smaller the moment the door closes, and she has to fight back the urge to back away from him. Trust is difficult to give after everything she's been through, and he's much larger in tight spaces.
“From this moment on, Miss O’Dalaigh you are in my custody. We must work together if you wish to survive.” Chase grabs a rag from the tea service and presses it roughly to her side. She hisses and steps back only to bump into a chair. “Sit down.”
"Marshall Rivers, I'd like to warn ya against man handling me. I don't care for it," she glares and pushes against his chest only to find a wall of steel. His hand covers hers, but his grin doesn't quite reach the cold strength of his eyes.
"I imagine there will be a great many things you do not care for, darlin' but I only have your best interests in mind. Sit down before you keel over," Chase orders and Bronnah drops into the chair gently tugging her hand away from him. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and a headache is beating at her.
“As soon as we leave, I will need to interview you.” Bronnah nods and is unable to speak as he slowly removes his hat and drops it on the table. Next comes his coat, and her mouth goes dry. Sweet heaven he cuts a figure. His shirt is tucked into denims with a gun belt and two pistols. When he squats down in front of her and reaches to touch her, she recoils.
His silver eyes look into hers, and he sighs, "I need to check your wound." Bronnah closes her eyes and lifts her arm. The side of her dress is torn and saturated with blood. Chase pulls his bowie knife and slices the dress down the side to reveal the corset underneath. Light blue silk, with stays in the back. A slow spreading stain saturates the corset.
“Damn, that’s a lot of blood.” He presses on the area, “You need to get this off. I think it’s causing the wound to bleed more.”
"I'm sure it's only a flesh wound, and I'll not be stripping in front of the likes of you," Bronnah hisses and lowers her arm. When she opens her eyes, he's still staring at her.
"I can't quite make you out. One second, you're a prim and proper English lady, and the next second, you're a hot-headed she-devil. So, which is the real you?" Chase wonders as he stares into the most exquisite eyes, he has ever seen.
Bronnah grins, “I’m Irish, Mr. Rivers. We’re sometimes a bit of trouble, but always worth it.”
Chase throws back his head and laughs. “We shall see, Miss O’Dalaigh.”
A thunderous sound of the anchor chain being pulled in has them jumping apart. "Heave, ho!" The Captain shouts out, and the ship begins to move. They're underway.
Aimee ducks inside and offers to show them to the sleeping cabins below deck. "I'm afraid we only have the one open cabin. These schooners aren't meant to be passenger ships, so most of the square footage is on the main deck, where the supplies we haul are kept."
"That's no problem, Miss O’Dalaigh is in my custody. I will be sleeping wherever she is."
Bronnah doesn't respond she simply, follows. They can clear this up when they're alone. Aimee has been through enough today. Once more they climb the ladder into the belly of the ship, and she walks down a hall and to a wooden door.
"I think judging by your size, Monsieur that this cabin will work best for you." It has a double bed tucked into the wall with a single window over top. A chair is in the corner and a small dresser with a mirror above. One small closet is built into the corner.
�
�Down the hall is the bathing room.” Aimee glanced at Bronnah, “There’s a change of clothes for you in the closet, I’m afraid it’s all I have.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Bronnah said softly, heartbroken for her friend.
The ships bobs as the main sails are set and the schooner begins to pick up speed. "Meet us on the top deck when you're through." Bronnah hugs her carpet bag close to her chest and sits heavily, fighting back a wave of nausea and dizziness.
"I think you might be right, Marshall. Perhaps it's time I tend to this wound. I was sure the corset protected me from the blade sinking inside, but it appears to have sliced right through."
"Chen blades are superior. You get out of that contraption, I'll fetch water." Chase tosses his gear down and grabs the water pitcher before leaving. Bronnah waits for him to go and digs through her bag. First, she gathers the ledger she stole from Rose Killian. Glancing around the room for a hiding place she decides on the mattress and quickly stuffs it underneath. It will have to do for now. Next, she pulls out the second item. A small black bag.
Inside is a small medical kit that she keeps on hand. She never leaves home without it. A hard-learned habit over the years. Inside, is everything she needs to suture a cut. She's quick to remove her black wig and toss it on the bed. Next, she unwraps the braids of her hair and runs her fingers through it rubbing at her scalp.
“Oh, God that feels better." That will help ease her headache. Next the top of her dress, lucky for her it's a two-piece walking dress. The light blue silk corset is laced up the back with strong ties, while the front is reinforced thin vertical strips of whalebone sewn inside. The Chen blade sliced through effortlessly missing the two bones. Glancing in the mirror on her tiptoes she blanches at the amount of blood.
As a nurse, she’s trained for it, but something about her own blood is terrifying. “They were trying to kill me.” Her hands tremble as she struggles with the ribbons. Chase enters the room and stops in his tracks.
Bronnah is a sight to behold. Her blonde hair is covering her breast in luscious waves, and she's on her tiptoes prodding at the wound. She gasps and leaps for the towel to cover herself. "Don't you know how to knock, Marshall?" she demands.
"Lord, woman. No wonder half of New York is hunting for you. You're glorious," he snaps and kicks the door shut behind him. Bronnah blushes and holds the towel closer to her chest.
“Thank you. Just leave the bowl and go. I’m a trained nurse. I can tend to my own wounds.” Sweat is beading on her forehead, and he ignores her as he places a bowl onto the dresser. It has a cutout just for this purpose.
"A trained nurse? You're full of surprises, Miss O'Dalaigh, but you won't be able to sew your own wound up at that angle. I trained as a medic and served during the war. Let me help you," he asked softly.
"Ms. O'Dalaigh," she corrects. Chase doesn't respond, he simply waits for her to decide. She chews on her pink, lush lip and he stifles a growl at the sight of her. "A medic? If you don't mind then." Bronnah picks up her kit and hands it to him. He moves efficiently pulling out the needle and thread.
"Turn around," Chase demands gruffly, and when she obeys, he uses his bowie knife to slice the ribbons on her corset.
“What the feck?” Bronnah gasps and clutches at the only material keeping her from baring her all to him.
Chase chuckles, “Do all Irish women have a mouth like yours?” Bronnah spins and glares at him, tempted to knock the smirk off his face.
"That's one question you will not be finding the answer too, Mr. Rivers." A blush of outrage has her cheeks stained with red, and she's feeling extremely vulnerable to him. "It was the only corset I have."
“We’ll work on that. Now, lay on your side, facing the wall and let me see this wound.” Trembling from his garish treatment of her, her eyes narrow as she contemplates whether she’s going to trust him. “Make your choice. Either you trust me, or you don’t. Which is it?”
"I won't be sharing a bed with you, Marshall, nor will you be staring at me like some piece of meat," she demands. "Turn around."
Chase holds up his hands and spins to face the closed door. She tosses the corset on the floor and takes a deep breath, still holding the towel over her breasts. Climbing on the bed, she kicks the offending wig to the corner and rolls toward the wall. "This should work."
Chase stares at her pale skin and back. His mouth waters with the urge to trace her spine and see how she reacts, but that'll have to wait. When she lifts her arm a trickle of blood trails down her rib towards the bed, and he catches it with a damp cloth. "Okay now, I'll try to be quick." He prods the wound and finds it to be about a one-inch puncture. He cleans it quickly and rinses the blood from her body. "It looked like a puncture. Did you jerk it out?"
"Yes, I thought the whalebone had deflected it, but I guess not." His calloused hand causes chills to erupt, and when he leans closer, she can almost feel the heat from his mouth on her.
“Ms. O’Dalaigh, it seems like it’s already beginning to clot. I think it was just the tip of the blade. I can suture the top closed and leave an opening for it to drain as needed. Let me see what they have on board for pain.”
"No!" Bronnah scrambles away from him with the towel clutched to her chest. Fear has her pressing back against the wooden wall. "No drugs." Terror fills her fairy eyes, and Chase sees he will have to gentle his approach with her. The image of the four young women he helped bury flashes in his mind and he knows how lucky she was to survive. He holds up his hand in surrender.
"Okay, then. I promise to be as gentle as possible. You're safe with me, Ms. O'Dalaigh," she stares at him for a moment and bows her head in shame.
"I used ta be brave, but don't mistake my trauma for weakness. I will heal, and they won't get away with this." The burning need for justice glows in her eyes, and he's relieved to see the fire in her soul.
“Good girl, now lay down before you bleed all over everything." Bronnah laughs a semi-hysterical laugh and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Call me Bronnah, Chase," Bronnah says as she lays on her side once more. Exhausted, she watches out the window as the sun begins to set. The sky is aglow with brilliant, pink and orange streaks painted with shades of yellow and red. She hisses but bites her lip as he quickly and efficiently sews three stitches.
"I'm almost done, Bronnah. Just hold on." Leaning forward, he slices the last thread and stares in awe at the curve of her breast and waist. He dips a rag in the bowl and washes the blood from her body. Chills erupt, and he rubs her shoulder. Bronnah moans in pleasure and wipes at a tear. Her sniffle causes him to jerk away, aware that he is being inappropriate.
“Just rest now. Let that heal. I’ll be back soon,” he snaps gruffly. Bronnah waits for the sound of the door to close behind her and sighs. She rolls over and moves to the mirror to stare at the second scar.
"Not bad, Marshall. That's twice now, they've marked me. I will make them pay." Moving to the closet, she stares at the dress hanging inside and sighs in relief. A blue-green satin with black lace bustle dress is hanging inside. She will have to make do without the corset, but it should do nicely. Aimee knocks on the door and calls out.
"May I come in?" When she enters, she's holding a long sleeve men's shirt and clean cloths to use as bandages. Aimee gasps at the sight of her bloody injury and bruises.
“Oh, Bronnah! I took this out of the laundry. It should do for the night. The Marshall told me you need to rest. He’s bringing dinner back with him.” Bronnah takes the white shirt and pulls it on, dropping the towel over the edge of the bowl. Quickly, she buttons it up.
“I’m sure I look a sight. Oh, Aimee what are ya going to do?” Bronnah sits down and stares at her friend. Aimee’s smile could light the night sky.
"I'm getting married, and he's promised me that I shall have my own shop in Maine. After we drop you, we're going home." Aimee claps her hands and spins in excitement. "It is wonderful, no?"
“Yes, it is.” Bronnah stares
at her shining with love and wonders if she will ever find that. Exhaustion beats at her. “I think I need to sleep for a bit.”
“Of course,” she gathers the corset and torn dress top. She holds it up and starts fussing in French.
Bronnah giggles in response. “First my dress and now my corset. He seems to have a thing for that big knife of his.”
"Oui, I can see that. Lucky girl." She laughs at Bronnah's blush. "I shall see what I can do with this. Rest for now." She leaves quietly, and Bronnah removes the long skirt, petticoat, and boots then stockings and garters. Now in a white shirt, she climbs under the covers and sleeps. The gentle rocking of the sea soothes her, and she finds peace for the first time in days.
Chase watches as Captain Foster maneuvers the schooner through the sea, staying close to the shoreline. They're picking up speed now with the wind pushing them to safety. The cold air blows around them as he looks at the stars.
“This was not something I saw on the horizon.” Chase grins and looked at Allen.
“Maybe you could fill me in, Marshall.” Allen phrases it as a question, but it’s more of a demand. “I’d like to know who wants to kill my girl and why?”
"I'll tell you what I know, but you aren't going to like it." Chase states. An hour later he leaves Allen and returns to the cabin. He quietly steps over to the bed and stares down at Bronnah. She's sleeping on her side with the moonlight glowing around her. One hand is clutching at her side, and she's shivering in the cold air. He draws the blanket over her and sits in a chair to watch over her.
Bronnah sleeps, tucked deep inside the belly of the ship, rocked by the gentle sway of the sea. Shivering in the dark, she sighs when a woolen blanket is draped over her. Chase is stunned by the urge to cherish and protect her. Bronnah is a puzzle to him. Educated and trained as a nurse she speaks like a lady, yet cusses like a sailor. From what he has seen she has quite a temper. He smiles thinking about it. Chase pushes his hat down over his head and leans back to sleep thinking that he has slept in much worse places and conditions.
