Moira froze. “Drowned? How do you know?”
“I saw him stand in the rowboat, his fist in the air, cursing us to the deeps, and then he fell overboard.”
Moira gasped and pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Evidently, the man couldn’t swim.” Sam’s blue eyes twinkled. “Couldn’t even float on his back until help arrived—unlike you, who now knows what to do if such a calamity befalls.”
“I am relieved—although I should be saddened to learn a soul has perished.”
“I, too, found it difficult to watch helplessly as a man drowned, but Nettles acted foolishly and bore the consequences of it.”
Moira felt rather breathless and realized she’d been hoarding an inhale. “I wish death on no man, not even him…not even on the enemy tribesmen who murdered my parents. Even so, I’d be a liar if I claimed to mourn Nettles’s loss of life.”
“I see it as a blessing, for now I don’t have to kill him.”
Moira tipped her head and felt the weight of the frown on her brow. “You planned to kill Major Nettles?”
“I didn’t plan it, darling daisy, but it would have likely come to it if we’d met face to face.” Sam arched a brow and his gaze darkened. “Be assured, Nettles most likely plotted and planned not only my demise but yours as well.”
Sam spoke the truth and the reality of it had a dizzying effect on her. So much so, she stated the obvious. “Nettles was on that British warship, following us?”
“Yes. And he was in the process of being ferried from the frigate to the Seahawk when he made the unwise choice of standing in the rowboat.”
Moira frowned. “Captain Harney would have allowed them to come aboard?”
“Nay, it was a trick all along.” Sam’s chest expanded with the deep breath he took. “As it happens, Harney and his crew are well-versed at escaping British frigates. Just part of being a sailor during this bloody war.” He raked his fingers through his golden-brown hair. “Suffice it to say, Harney has successfully outrun the frigate…for now.”
Moira took a step toward him. “Will they continue to follow us?”
“Most likely. As you might know, the British navy has been impressing men into its service. It’s the very action that sparked this war. Well, that, and the fact that we attempted to steal Canada from the Crown.”
Moira had all but forgotten about England’s war with the colonies. Until now it hadn’t impacted her life in any way.
But here she stood, legally married to an American spy. No doubt it was time to learn everything possible about the conflict.
Lesson four of her spy schooling.
“And, um, about what occurred earlier in Harney’s quarters…” Sam glanced over one shoulder then the other before inching forward. “You’re aware any vows we made were in pretense.”
Moira nodded. She knew they hadn’t meant anything to Sam.
“I thought I’d make it plain as you seemed quite sincere when you spoke.”
“I was sincere, Sam.” She’d promised never to lie or deceive him, and she wouldn’t. “I cannot take a vow before God in pretense.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Moira quickly placed her fingers against his mouth.
“But I know our vows mean nothing to you.” She let her hand fall away. “I’m also aware that as soon as we reach the colonies, you’ll file the appropriate legal documents to dissolve our…marriage.”
“No one wants to see you get hurt, Moira, least of all me.”
Too late for that sentiment, for somewhere deep within her she’d formed a strong attachment to Sam. He was, after all, her rescuer and protector.
“You’re not to concern yourself with me.” Moira turned back to the herbs for Brother Tobias’s fever. “When I was sixteen and all long limbs, large teeth, and limp bark-brown hair, Papa said it was apparent that I’d remain a single woman, and he prepared me to live independently. My inheritance was set aside with the intent of supporting me until I found a respectable position within a community or joined a mission team as my parents did.” She sent a glance Sam’s way and noted the way his gaze sharpened and full lips became a single, narrow slash. “I’m prepared to use the money for precisely those opportunities, whichever comes first.” Focusing on the herbs again, she added, “So if you’ll kindly point me in the right direction once we reach our destination, I’ll go my own way. You’re not obligated to me.” Lifting the bowl, she turned toward the entryway. “’Tis I who am obligated to you, Sam. I owe you my very life.”
He shook his head, but before he could speak further on the subject, Moira slipped past him and headed for the feverish man.
She heard Sam’s booted feet set off behind her, trailing her all the way into the saloon and then into Brother Tobias’s cabin.
Moira set down the bowl of herbs and water.
Rachel sent a grateful look her way. “He’s fevering badly.” She soaked a rag, wrung it out, then placed it on Brother Tobias’s forehead.
“You should not be here,” the sick man croaked. “You must go at once.”
“Nonsense.” Rachel squared her shoulders. “You need help.”
“Then help yourselves, dear ladies and Mr. Stryker…leave me be.”
“Perhaps if you told us why…” Moira stood directly behind Rachel, who had seated herself on the bed.
“The orphans home…” His breathing seemed somewhat labored. “Our monastery helped those pitiful children. They’d contracted….” He sucked in another breath. “Contracted the typhus.”
Moira froze while Rachel popped up from her bedside perch. The typhus! Everyone knew it was a fatal disease.
Sam pushed his way to Brother Tobias’s side. “How could you beg me to take you aboard when you knew—”
“No, sir, please believe me. I did not know I had it.” He wheezed as he sucked in a breath. “Thought I’d escaped with my health intact.”
“Sam.” Rachel touched his forearm. “I’ll need you to undress him as his robe and any other contaminated garments will have to be discarded.”
He gave a nod.
“Take care and put his clothing in a sheet then toss it overboard. However, none of the crew must see you. If word gets out there’s typhus on board, mutiny may result.”
“Understood.”
“Moira, come with me, if you please.”
They traipsed back to the galley where Rachel concocted some warm drink that included a healthy dose of rum and quinine. Worry lines seemed etched into her forehead. Moira touched Rachel’s forearm. “I’m not afraid to die, my friend. I’ll care for the man. You have a husband and a son to look after. God knows we need our captain and little Anthony needs his mum.”
Rachel whirled around. “What about you? You’re young and newly married.”
Except my husband didn’t mean a single word of his vows. “Sam will not mind, I assure you.”
“Of course he’ll mind.” Questions clouded Rachel’s gaze. “What are you saying?”
“He knows my parents were missionaries and that I would rather die, being about the Lord’s work than not.”
“Well…”
“I shall care for Brother Tobias.”
Rachel’s lovely dark features smoothed out. Her gaze filled with gratitude. “Whatever you need, just slip a note beneath the door.”
“Thank you.”
With the new herbal water prepared, Rachel filled another bowl with warm water, then added a scrub brush, a rag, and a bar of strong-smelling lye soap. “The first thing you must do is scrub that man from head to toe.”
Moira’s face felt as though it caught fire. She’d never seen a naked man and would feel quite uncomfortable washing his private areas.
As if reading her thoughts, Rachel handed her a bowl to carry and said, “Perhaps Sam would deign to help you in this one instance. But afterwards, banish him from Brother Tobias’s cabin or he’ll be the next victim.”
“Yes, of course.” The last thing she wanted was for anyone
else to catch the deadly disease.
As they made their way down the companionway, Moira recalled being exposed to a host of diseases and never once did she get sick. No doubt God had protected her and guard her health once more—of that, Moira had no doubt.
When they reentered Brother Tobias’s cabin, Sam was gone. Bathing the sick man would be up to her alone. He lay beneath a single sheet covering the lower half of his body.
Moira stepped forward. The air in the cabin had grown thick and stale. Staring at the round porthole, Moira wondered if, perhaps, some fresh air would help the man’s disposition. She made a mental note to inquire after she scrubbed up Brother Tobias.
Rachel remained on the threshold. “Are you certain about this, Moira? You are putting yourself in grave danger.”
Moira wasn’t afraid. All she felt was that peace that God said would surpass all understanding. “I will be just fine. Thank you.”
“Very well.” Rachel’s smile looked rueful. “You’re an angel. An absolute angel.”
Moira smiled. “Hardly, but thank you. Now you’d best go—for your own safety.”
Rachel gave a nod that appeared reluctant in every way. However, Moira’s mind was made up. She would care for Brother Tobias and, if miracles should abound, he’d recover from his ailment.
She shook the extra water off the scrub brush and began at Brother Tobias’s head. “Tell me if the scrubbing hurts and I’ll try to go gentler.”
“Feels rather nice, missus. It’s been a while since I’ve bathed. I apologize for that.”
“No need. All I need you to do is concentrate on recovering.” Moira worked her way down his neck and then saw clearly the rash hidden beneath Brother Tobias’s thick, brown chest hair. Its typhus for sure.
Sadness fell over her, although she would continue to hang onto hope. Nothing was impossible for God. He spoke the world into existence. Curing a man’s sickness was surely a simple task for the Almighty.
Sam returned and Moira informed him of the arrangement.
“Why you?” He set his hands on his narrow hips.
“Because I’ve the least to lose.” She whispered the answer while glancing over at the sleeping man in the bunk. “The captain must not get ill, Rachel either, for Anthony’s sake. And you’ve got a mother and brother, not to mention important news to deliver, so I—”
“Moira, if there is one thing I despise in a woman, it’s martyrdom.”
She dropped her gaze and studied the toes of her boots so Sam wouldn’t see how his words had cut her to her soul. “I prayed as my parents did, according to the sixth chapter in the Book of Isaiah.” The words came to Moira and she met Sam’s stare. “‘I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Then said I, “Here am I; send me.”’”
Suddenly she missed Mum and Papa so much tears flooded her eyes. “Tending this sick man is nothing compared to what my parents endured.” She barely choked out the last word before turning away.
“All right, Moira.” Sam turned her back around and wrapped her in his strong arms.
Moira felt sure and safe.
“Don’t cry.” He kissed her forehead. “I only have your best interest at heart. I don’t want you to catch whatever he’s got.”
“I believe it is the typhus. He’s got a rash on his chest.”
Sam released her, and Moira instantly longed to be back in his embrace. She looked on as Sam inspected the rash. He shook his head.
“Doesn’t look good, does it.”
“Nay, it does not.” Moira asked him to wash Brother Tobias’s manly parts. While Sam obliged her, she stood on the only chair in the cabin and opened the porthole. She breathed in the fresh salty sea breeze.
“Moira, look at this.”
She climbed down to find that Sam had rolled the sick man onto his left side and exposed a back that was slashed this way and that. Pus oozed from the deeper cuts.
“Looks like a cat-o-nine tails had its way with his flesh,” Sam said. “Could be why he’s fevered, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, certainly. But what of the rash?”
“Rashes come and go. Could be anything.”
Moira couldn’t disagree. Some fevers produced rashes and the illnesses weren’t necessarily fatal.
Sam leaned over the monk. “Tobias, who did this to you? Who beat you?”
“I cannot say. We in the monastery took turns beating each other last month. A ritual, you see, so we could…” He inhaled a lungful of air. “We wished to suffer as Christ did during Holy Week.”
“You poor, misguided man.” Moira set her hand on his arm. “Our Lord would not want you to suffer as He did. Have you not read, ‘He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon him, And by his stripes we are healed?’”
“I have not.”
“Our Lord suffered so we do not have to face such terror.”
“Too late now,” Sam muttered with a wag of his head. Several sandy-brown locks slipped from their queue and Moira longed for a chance to touch him, to brush the hair back off his face. He met her stare. “Wash his back carefully. I’ll fetch some bandages.”
“Thank you.” In Sam’s absence, Moira coaxed Tobias into drinking the rum-laced water that Rachel prepared.
“Bless you, my dear lady,” he murmured before drifting into unconscious bliss.
Moira took the opportunity to thoroughly clean the open sores. She realized it was the smell from his putrid back which had filled the room earlier. But the open window now took care of the matter.
The man whimpered softly just as Moira finished up and Sam returned. With his help, she bandaged Tobias’s back. They dressed him in one of Captain Harney’s nightshirts and covered him with the blanket.
“I’ll sit with him a while.”
Sam shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Then who should do it?”
The muscles in Sam’s jaw appeared and Moira looked away. A wife shouldn’t defy her husband, but they weren’t really married in Sam’s eyes.
However, they were in Moira’s mind—that is, she’d meant her vows—and her heart said as much each time she looked at Sam.
“If you insist, I’ll not nurse Brother Tobias.”
He shrugged. “I suppose that now I’m convinced it’s not typhus, I will allow it.”
Moira hid a smile. He certainly spoke like a husband. “Thank you.”
His gaze traveled the length of her body, sending a fiery heat into her cheeks. His eyes fixed on hers once more. “I’ll bring you some supper in a while.”
“I’d appreciate that, Sam.”
He gave her what appeared to be an affectionate wink and then left the cabin. Moira pulled the chair up to Tobias’s bed and pondered whether Sam had changed his mind about their marriage or if the playacting had simply gone to his head.
Chapter Thirteen
Three days and three nights.
On his back, stretched out on his pallet, Sam put his hands behind his head and stared at the shadows waltzing across the cabin’s ceiling. A moist sea breeze wafted in through the opened porthole. Moira would surely wear herself to the bone if she didn’t get some sleep soon. Why she felt compelled to sit at Tobias’s bedside escaped Sam’s comprehension. The man had a fever from self-inflicted wounds. Her constant presence made no difference. This was Tobias’s fight, and Sam felt sure that the stocky fellow would beat the fever. He seemed to possess a hardy constitution. Besides, Moira herself had said that life and death lay in the palm of the Almighty.
The ship rocked and creaked, movements and sounds he’d grown all too familiar with these past weeks. But even concentrating on them didn’t diminish thoughts of Moira.
So what really irritated him about her good deeds toward Tobias? Why should he care? He’d been struggling to find answers to those questions for hours now and greatly disliked the conclusion. He cared for Moira—cared for her
more than he wanted to admit, more than he should. And he envied the dying man. Truth to tell, at least to himself, Sam coveted her undivided attention. Moira ought to be seeing to her husband’s comfort!
Except Sam had made it clear that this marriage was as temporary as this voyage and, unlike Tobias, he wasn’t sick and dying.
Sam groaned. Nevertheless!
He tossed off the worn blanket and jumped to his feet. Still in his trousers, his suspenders dangling at his hips, his shirt pulled out, he didn’t bother with his appearance as he jerked open the cabin’s door. With purposeful strides he crossed the saloon. The wooden floor felt smooth and cool against the bottoms of his bare feet. Sam raised his fist to knock when the door opened. Moira’s sad and weary eyes met his gaze and he hated the purple half-moons beneath them. She was much too pretty to sport such a haggard look.
“You’re exhausted. I insist you go to bed and get some sleep.”
Her lips parted and he predicted a forthcoming protest.
“You’ll be no good to Tobias or anyone else,” he said before she could speak. “You must take care of yourself.”
“Oh, Sam…” Her shoulders sagged and she began to weep.
“I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, Moira.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’m worried about you.”
She felt so slight, so delicate, and she clung to him as if he were her bulwark. He allowed himself to revel in the feeling. Her breath warmed his shoulder and he felt each sob before they even erupted.
“Shh, Moira, don’t cry.” He rubbed his palm up and down her back. Seconds later, he inched back far enough to wipe her tears away with his thumbs. Her hair fell over the backs of his hands. “After a few hours of sleep things won’t seem so bad.”
“Sam…” She hiccupped. “He…he’s dead.”
“What?” Both sorrow and relief washed over him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Sam stepped around Moira and checked for himself.
Give Me Thine Heart: A Novella Page 9
