by Lisa Olech
“Circumstances like you have feelings for the woman?”
“Someone has to step up and be her champion.”
Ducky’s eyebrows pushed toward his hairline. “Strong feelings, then?”
“You don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t need to. You’re the prince of black and white. She signed the Articles.” Ducky ticked off one finger. “She served on the crew in some capacity.” He raised two fingers. “She didn’t get that little cut on her side shaving, which tells me she battled against a British Naval vessel. Our man wouldn’t have struck with such force unless she was armed. Am I correct?”
James ran an anxious hand over his hair. “The pistol wasn’t loaded.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ducky held up three fingers. “All it takes is one to make her guilty.”
Before James could respond, Stitch emerged, wiping his hands. “How is she?”
“Alive for now. If the fever doesn’t break soon, there’s no hope for her. I re-sewed the wound. Gave her more laudanum. If she survives the night, she may just live.” Stitch started to leave. “I’ll send up one of my men to stay with her.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Stitch spun on him. “You said the same thing before.”
“I made a mistake. It will not happen again.”
Stitch planted his hands on his hips. “She has to be bathed to keep her temperature down, and kept quiet.”
“I said I would tend to her.”
“Suit yourself, Captain, but if she rips those sutures, again, there’s little I can do.”
“She won’t.”
“I’ll be back later.” Stitch gave James a weary salute and left.
Ducky shook his head. “This is not a good idea.”
James shot him an impatient look. “Do you have a better one?”
Ducky waved a hand at the door. “You’re too involved. You’re not being objective.”
James threw his hands wide. “I’m being as objective as I can be, given the circumstances. I didn’t foresee any of this, but I can’t deny my overwhelming desire to protect Samantha. She’s been to hell and back already. If any member of the Scarlet Night crew has a defense, it’s her.” James slapped Ducky on the shoulder. “I’m grateful for your counsel, but let’s see if she survives the next twenty-four hours.”
Chapter 17
James stayed by Samantha’s side. His fingertips resembled pale dried fruit as he rinsed and wrung cooling cloths to lie upon Sam’s heated body. After four hours, he gave her another dose of laudanum. Still the fever raged through her.
Stitch returned shortly before tea. He laid a hand to her forehead. “Her temperature is still dangerously high. We may be fighting too strong a foe on this one.”
James rinsed another cloth. “I’m not done fighting, and neither is she.”
“Why not let me take over? It looks like it’s going to be a long night. You should get some food in your belly.”
James shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Let me bring you something.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
Stitch brought him a mug of watered ale. “Drink, then, and see if you can get some into her. With a fever this high, she’ll get dehydrated easily.”
After he left, James spooned a bit of liquid into Samantha’s mouth. He wiped a stray drop from her lip and sighed. “When I watched you leave the Whitmore’s ball with that man, I knew you were in some kind of trouble. I should have followed. Trusted my instincts. Had I, I wonder if you’d be here now? A day has not passed where you haven’t crossed my mind. I tried to push such thoughts away, but you sparked something in me with your kiss.” He slipped the spoon once more between her lips. “More than anything I wish you would open your eyes and let me kiss you all over again.”
He set the mug aside. “You asked me to forgive you. I only hope you can be the one to forgive me.” James brushed at the damp hair clinging to her temples. One perfect dark curl caught at his finger. “Open your eyes, Samantha.”
James lost track of the hours, but some time before the gray blush of dawn announced the start of another day, the fever’s hold on Samantha broke. He did his best to change the bedding and slip her into a dry shirt of his.
Stitch stopped by again after dawn. “I’m shocked. I wouldn’t have bet two bits on her. On you either, for that matter. If you ever want to give up your commission as captain and join us down in the surgery…”
James held up a weary hand. “No, thank you. One patient is more than enough.” He stood and stretched out his back. “What’s to be done now?”
“Now you go get some sleep. I can stay, if you’d like.”
James shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Not necessary.”
“Let her rest. Try to get more liquid into her. I’ll send down some broth from the galley to build her strength. And breakfast for you. Don’t even think about arguing with me.” Stitch covered the patient. “Last thing I need is to be playing nursemaid to you.”
True to his word, a tray of food and broth arrived a short time later. James managed to get Samantha to swallow a few more spoons of weak ale. She was still far too pale, but at least her skin was cool and dry.
He slipped her hand in his, unwilling to let a little thing like utter exhaustion break their connection. Sweeping a gentle touch across the backs of her fingers, he finally allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a moment or two.
“James?”
He jerked awake. The sun was high. How long had he been asleep? He shot a glance at Samantha and nearly shouted with joy. Her lovely eyes were open. Had he ever seen a more beautiful sight?
“Samantha.” He kissed the back of her hand still held by him. “Thank you, God.”
“W-what happened?” She rubbed at her eyes. “I remember asking you about Tupper…” She plucked at her sleeve. “My memory is so fuzzy, but I know I’m on your ship.” Samantha tried shifting. “Oh, God…it hurts.” She grimaced.
James held her still. “What hurts?”
“I think everything,” she whimpered.
“That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve had a rough time of it, but you’re alive and that’s the important thing.” He brought her the broth. “Doctor’s orders.” James held the small bowl to her mouth, but she took it from his hands. “Let me try and fill some of the holes in your memory.”
He told her of the last forty-eight hours, assuring her Tupper and the man they call Bump were alive, how sick she’d been, and how relieved he’d been when her fever broke.
“You’ve stayed with me this whole time?”
“Aye.”
“I’m grateful, but,” she frowned, “I can’t help wondering why.”
James didn’t answer.
“You captured our ship. Aren’t I your prisoner?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“I’m afraid my mind is too jumbled to make sense of it all.” She winced again as she tried to move.
“We’ve plenty of time to straighten it all out, I promise you. You’re safe and under my protection.” He handed her another dose of laudanum. “The only thing you need worry about is resting and gaining back your strength.”
Samantha met his gaze over the rim of her cup. “I chose the most handsome man in the Whitmore’s ballroom to dance with the night of the ball. Who could have guessed our paths would cross again like this?”
“Some might call it fate.”
Samantha’s eyes slid closed. “Or in your case, Captain…perhaps I’m just a bit of bad luck.”
* * * *
Two days passed. Little by little, Samantha got stronger…. as did James’s feelings for her. She was still sleeping for long stretches. The laudanum saw to that. James was able to leave her for small spans of time to see to his other duties, but she was never far from his thoughts.
Stitch came less now, pleased with her
progress. “Give her another few days, and she’ll be well enough to join the others.”
As the Lion roared over the waves toward London, James knew his days with Samantha were numbered. He had yet to formally charge her with her crimes, claiming her health was more important. But the truth was, once the words were said, it made everything official. The hourglass of the fates would be turned. He hadn’t come up with a solid plan to resolve things for Samantha or Tupper. The horrifying prospect of what was to come circled the perimeter of his thoughts and kept him awake through the long hours of the night.
His prisoners below were sullen but compliant. James considered their recent request for some air time above deck. He had the manpower to keep them contained, but with prisoners it was wise to be wary.
When he returned to his cabin late that afternoon, the sight of Samantha awake and sitting up filled him at once with equal parts of delight and distress.
“I feel as if I should say ‘good morning,’ but the sunlight tells me I’m too late.”
James hung his hat and heavy uniform coat. “Aye, I’m afraid it’s past six bells.”
She gave a small shrug and tucked an errant curl of her hair behind her ear. “I never know what all the bells mean.”
“And you claim to be a sailor.” He grinned as he loosened his neckcloth. “Six bells means it’s three o’clock. It’s rung at each three, seven, and eleven.”
“Why wouldn’t you just ring the bells three, seven, and eleven times?”
“Fair question.” He sat near her and studied her lovely face. Her eyes were bright. A slight blush warmed her cheeks. James laid the back of his fingers against the pinked cheek. It was cool. “The official answer is quite boring, but I was always told it’s less confusing this way.”
She grinned. “Not to me.”
“My father still clocks the day with bells. It makes Mother cringe, but the staff doesn’t seem to mind.”
“We had to rely on the church bells in the village.”
“The one with the impossibly tall spire at the east edge of town?”
“Yes. You do know South Oxbridge as well as you claim.” Samantha lowered her gaze and fiddled with the folds of her blanket. “It seems a lifetime ago since I was there.”
“Why did you leave?”
She gave him a small sad smile. “I was a silly girl with fanciful dreams. I went off to meet my true love, save my family from poverty and hardship, and live an idyllic life full of promise.” Samantha tucked her chin. “But the promises were empty ones, and there was nothing true about the love.”
“Wessler.” James hated saying the bastard’s name.
Samantha turned to look away. “I’d rather not talk about him.”
“But there is something I need to know. After the night we met… how did you get from there to passing as a cabin boy on the Scarlet Night?”
It took her a long moment to answer him while she worried her lower lip. “Isabelle and Rebecca Whitmore. They knew his sons, and witnessed some of Wessler’s cruelty. They reached out to me in friendship and sympathy. They were my lifeline, but Damian hated them. He refused to allow me to visit or even speak with them after a while. We became quite clever in getting messages to one another, but things were growing worse by the day. They were afraid for me.”
She twisted the edging of her blanket. “The night of the ball, I was told a savior was coming to rescue me,” she continued. “Tupper. I had to make sure Damian’s punishments would include him locking me away in my room.” Samantha lifted her eyes to his. “That’s where you came into the story. I’m ashamed to say I used you.”
Her gaze locked with his. “Which is why you asked me to forgive you.”
She nodded, her throat working against the sudden welling of tears in her eyes. “I danced with you so he would see me. Led you onto the veranda knowing he would have to follow and find us…me…in a compromised position. That’s why I kissed you.” She covered her eyes. “I didn’t think it through, however. I never imagined Wessler would turn some of his anger toward you. That’s why I feigned drunkenness. To aim it all back on me.”
The image of her bruises returned to his mind. “Your plan worked.”
She nodded. “Wessler…he reacted as I knew he would. Tupper arrived two days later. I don’t know what I would have done had she not come.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. She blinked them back. “I should have listened to her and stayed below during the battle, but she’d risked so much to come for me. I couldn’t sit hiding while she was captured or killed. I couldn’t. But something went wrong with the pistol. I’ve been over it in my mind a dozen times. I don’t understand what I did incorrectly. I clicked back the part holding the flint twice, like she showed me.”
Samantha shrugged. “I squeezed the trigger. Then everything slowed down, got quiet, as if the battle had somehow concentrated on what was happening just with me. The gun didn’t fire. A huge man swung his sword, and the world went black.” She shook her head and looked back at him. “The next thing I saw was you. I thought for a moment I was still at the Whitmore’s.”
“It was a shock for me as well, finding you amongst the wounded. Gave our surgeon a shock as well, discovering you weren’t a lad.” He tucked the same stubborn curl behind her ear again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble at the ball? I could have helped you.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “What would I have said to you? ‘Would you dance with me, Captain Steele, and save me from a mad man? Please, before we have punch?’ I was a stranger dressed like a rotted plum. You’re heroic and gallant, but even you would have run as far from me as you could.”
“Well, if you’d put it like that…” He lifted her hand, turning it over to trace his thumb along her palm. He started to promise her all would be well, that he would somehow keep her safe from what lay ahead, but he couldn’t make such a lie. “I am far from heroic or gallant. I have no right, but all I want to do is wrap my arms around you.”
“Before we have punch?”
He smiled, smoothing his hand over the back of hers before lifting it to his mouth for a kiss. Meeting her eyes, he gave in to the desire he’d had since their first kiss ended so abruptly. He stood and crooked his finger to catch beneath her chin, lifting her face as he lowered his to capture her mouth.
Chapter 18
Samantha slipped her hand around the back of his neck as the kiss deepened. Their first kiss had rumbled through her like summer thunder. This kiss was lightning. Bright hot, it lit up her entire being. His finger, tipping her chin, stroked down the front of her throat as he urged her lips to part. Shamelessly, she opened them to the sweep of his tongue, angled her mouth, and kissed him soundly in return. More lightning.
She should end this, push him away. But every inch of her wanted to pull him closer. She ached to feel his arms around her, his hands on her. Somehow she knew he’d love her with a slow, earth-shattering gentleness.
The bite of her wound was her saving grace. Shifting her knee sent a sharp-edged reminder. At her gasp, James broke the connection with a start. The blue of his gaze held hers a moment longer. Their breathing matched, coming fast and hard, his fanning the hair curling at her cheek.
“Forgive me,” he murmured before pulling away. Before she could answer, he doned his woolen coat and left.
Samantha dropped her head back against the pillow with a groan. Her body pulsed with a mixture of need and shame. He was promised to another. A wedding awaited him for goodness sakes. His future was bright and set. Hers was a shambles. She covered her eyes. What was she thinking, kissing him like that?
She was thinking she’d never known such kindness or caring from a man. Was she confusing desire with a deep sense of gratitude? No, it was much much more. Samantha brushed her swollen lips with her fingertips. She could still feel his there. Passion drove his kiss. Desire. She could still taste it. It was like honey to someone who had only tasted bitterness, and she wanted more.<
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“You’ve overstep your boundaries,” she scolded herself. “Wanting someone you can never have. Craving what you don’t deserve.”
She was his prisoner and his patient. Any feelings of caring came from his sense of compassion. It was foolish for her to spin it in spun sugar and see it for anything more. He was promised to another…another finer and far better matched than her. Did his betrothed love him? Did he love her?
“Aaahhh.” Samantha groaned at the paneled ceiling. Stop this now, before it goes too far. He’s simply a man—a polite, caring, handsome, compassionate man. She’d built him up into something else in her weeks of daydreams since kissing him at the ball. Something more than what he was. He was a fantasy that swept her away on a dance floor. A steeded champion to a damsel in distress. A strapping figure wrapped in a uniform. What woman could resist a man in uniform? How ridiculous. It was clothing. A woolen coat trimmed in gold. Nothing more. Worn by a man….
A man whose kisses stole her breathe. Whose eyes reminded Samantha of a clear summer morn. A man who didn’t sleep for two days while he nursed her, bathed her, dressed her in his shirt, and gave up his bed for her.
“I’m a hopeless fool.”
Still recovering, she slept fitfully through the day. James had left the laudanum nearby if she needed it, but she chose to bear the pain. The drug muddled her mind as it dragged her into a dark pool of sleep. She hated the grogginess when she woke. No, she’d rather feel the pull of her stitches and be alert when James returned. If he returned.
As the day melted into night, Samantha grew more and more agitated. She’d done little else but watch the damn door and practice how she’d apologize to him.
She had questions, too, about what was to happen next. To her. To Tupper and the rest. What would happen to Bump? She eyed the laudanum. Perhaps muddled wasn’t the worst thing.
It was late when Samantha heard the door open. Low lanterns dimly lit the room. She’d decided against the drug, but had fallen asleep once more without it. Before she could speak to James, another man entered.
