Desperate, groping fingers closed around the ancient hilt and pulled the heavy blade toward her, inch by torturous inch.
“I’ll make you pay, Sir Graham . . . so help me God, you’ll pay . . . no one makes the Pirate Queen look like a fool . . . damn your eyes . . .” With the last of her strength she pulled the sword up and under her breast and fell atop it, her brow touching the deck, her lips against the old metal. There she lay panting, her eyes clenched against her reeling vision, her arms folded beneath her, the sweat racing down her heaving sides to soak the bandage around her waist. But there was more than just sweat running beneath that bandage, she knew there was more than just sweat running— I’m bleeding, she thought, and raised herself on trembling arms. Her hair hung in a mussed braid over her shoulder, her face dripped sweat, and beneath her, the sword caught her tormented reflection.
Thick, ugly warmth spread from her waist, and she tried not to panic.
I'm bleeding. Dear God, I’m bleeding to death. She shut her eyes, wrapped her fingers around the sword hilt, and felt the blood running from her side, now soaking the nightshirt wrapped around her waist Dizzily, she raised her head once more. Gained her knees. Fell. And on her elbows, began to drag herself back across the deck flooring to the dining cabin.
The door was only ten—twenty?—feet away, but she knew she would never reach it. Try,
Maeve. You can do it. . . She paused, pushed the sword ahead of her across the carpet, followed it, cursed, struggled, bled.
Oh God, help me . . . I just need to reach the door . . . just help me get to the door, God, that’s all I ask—
It opened and the admiral walked in.
“Maeve!”
He saw a trail of blood, and Maeve, his beloved Maeve, wrapped in his nightshirt like a little child and lying helplessly on the floor, head drooping, forearms digging into the rug, pulling herself along by her elbows and leaving a slick crimson ribbon in her wake.
He dived forward, caught her as she collapsed, and swept her up into his arms. Without
breaking stride he pounded from the cabin, nearly knocking over the sentry outside, and raced down companionways, through deck after darkened deck, in his blind haste to reach the surgeon.
Chapter 19
She’ll be fine, Sir Graham,” the surgeon said, as he bound Maeve’s ribs with a fresh
bandage by the light of the swinging lantern above. He worked swiftly, for the admiral was pacing frantically, beside himself with worry, and the young woman’s blazing glare, hot enough to blister the skin off a seaman’s hands, followed him back and forth. The surgeon was not anxious to be caught between the broadsides of the two of them. In fact, the sooner he could finish his task, the sooner he could get to the bottle of rum hidden beneath the bench in the corner— “Well, thank God for that,” the admiral exclaimed. He took the girl’s hand, his thumb caressing her palm before raising it to his lips. Her eyes flashing, she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing rebuke that the admiral effectively cut off: “I daresay, she has taken a decade off my life with the amount of worrying I’ve done about her. Do be careful there, man. She’s to be my wife, you know.”
“Like hell I am,” Maeve snarled.
“She’ll not bleed anymore, I trust?”
“She may, sir,” the surgeon replied, working faster now, as nervous sweat began to stream from his brow, “but not to worry. Wounds of this nature often do, especially under exertions that you, young lady, should not be engaging in. My orders to you—”
“The devil take your orders!”
“I'll hear you out, man,” the admiral commanded, irritably. “She’ll answer to me.”
“I don’t answer to deceivers.”
“You were saying, Doctor?” Sir Graham prompted, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
The surgeon’s hands were fluttering, his heart racing. “My orders to you, Captain Merrick, are complete bed rest for the next several days. Sir Graham, a bit of air would not do her any harm either; perhaps you could have your captain rig an awning on the poop deck to shade her from the sun so that she may sit out—”
“Yes, by all means, I will have that attended to immediately.”
“And I would advise no exercise yet. And no exerting yourself, madam.”
“I want to return to my ship.”
“She will not exert herself, Doctor, you have my word on that—”
“I want my crew.”
“And also, Sir Graham, the wound must be kept clean and dry—”
“I want my blasted freedom!”
“Watch your mouth,” the admiral chided mildly. “You’re in mixed company, my dear, and
the good doctor deserves some respect.”
“You and the doctor can both go straight to hell where I hope your balls burn off and your
—”
“Really, Doctor, should it be wrapped so tightly? I don’t think she can breathe.”
“She can breathe.”
“Can you breathe, dearest?”
“—cocks smolder away into ashes! I hope you all rot in hell forever, do you hear me? I hope
—”
“Yes, Doctor, I fear she can breathe very well. Wrap it tighter, if you please.”
“Ouch!” Maeve gasped, feeling the pressure.
“Not that tight, damn you!” Sir Graham snapped.
“Ease up there, yes, that’s better. Is that better, my love?”
“I’m not your love, you blackguard.”
“Is that better my love?” he repeated, firmly.
“Yes,” she bit out, from between clenched teeth.
“Very well then. A fine job, Doctor. I must remember you in my report tonight. Oh, bother, I hate reports. I shall recommend it to Captain Lord, he doesn’t mind paperwork in the least.
Should’ve been a lawyer, damn his eyes. Maeve? Maeve, sweetheart, can you sit up now? No, your shirt covers you, no need to blush, here, take my hand—”
She tried to jerk away from him.
“Maeve, dear, I said, give me your hand. ”
“I’ll give you a knife to the gut, you snake. Get the hell out of my life; just go away and leave me alone.”
“Women!” he exclaimed, with a smile that drove a boyish dimple into his jaw. Black lashes, almost feminine in their thickness and length, swept down to conceal the twinkle in his eyes.
“Really, Doctor, why do they insist upon giving us such a devil of a time? I’ve instructed the cook to prepare something light and nourishing for you, my dear, and he also makes frightfully good lemonade. Why, we’ll have you back on your feet in no time, if I do say so myself.”
“Aye, that we will, Sir Graham,” Dr. Ryder said hurriedly, sweating harder now, and
obviously ill at ease in the presence of one so highly ranked as Admiral Falconer.
“You’ve done a splendid job, as always, Ryder. Huzzahs to you, she looks as right as rain.
Ready, love? No, don’t even try to stand up, I won’t allow it. Has anyone ever told you how lovely you look in braids? So innocent and sweet; no, don’t scowl, it doesn’t become you at all!
Up we go!”
“Got her, Sir Graham?”
“Of course I have her, you fool,” the admiral said, but good-naturedly. Above Maeve’s head, he shot the surgeon a wink, then kicked the door open with his foot. “Damned comely burden, if I do say so myself. Hold that door for me now, will you, Doctor? Yes, thank you. You’re a fine man, Ryder, a fine man. Splendid work!”
“Thank you, sir,” the surgeon said, beaming.
“Pray, go reward yourself man, you deserve it. In fact, Ryder, why don’t you have an extra tot from that bottle you’ve got hidden beneath the bench? Rum, is it not? I say, ’twas Morgan’s favorite beverage!”
The surgeon blanched. “B-but sir, how did you know that I . . .”
But Sir Graham had already swept out of the room, leaving the surgeon gaping in disbelief, for surely, the admiral could not have known he had that bottle hidden t
here!
He remembered Captain Lord’s warning, spoken so many times:
Never underestimate Sir Graham.
One of these days, he’d remember there was more than just charm and good looks to the
man in charge of the Royal Navy’s West Indies Station.
And so, he predicted, would the Pirate Queen.
###
Humming as though he were a common seaman on his way to grog, Sir Graham carried her
up through the decks, his shirt smeared with her blood, the waves of his black hair caught in the gleam of swinging lanterns as they passed beneath them. She saw the fury in the tightness about his mouth, felt it in the tenseness of his arms beneath her back.
“You scared me, Maeve. I know I hurt you, but believe me that I would cut off my right arm before I would hurt you again. Evening, Lieutenant Pearson, carry on, carry on!” He paused beside a bulkhead and without warning, exploded, “But so help me God, if I catch you with so much as a FOOT out of bed against doctor's orders again, I’ll personally blister your damned hide, do I make myself clear?”
The breath burst from her lungs on a loud guffaw—
“Hang it, woman, do I make myself clear?! ”
She met his blazing eyes, smiled malevolently, and spat, “Very.”
He stared at her for a long moment; then he sighed and to her surprise, crushed her fiercely to his chest, burying his face against her hair and tightening his arms so hard about her that she couldn’t draw breath. “I love you,” he murmured, his body shaking beneath and around her. “By all that’s holy and all that’s not, I love you.” He held her for a long, long moment, then raised his head and said hoarsely, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
Then, as though the outburst had never happened, he relaxed his death grip on her and
resumed his brisk pace.
She was too stunned by his unguarded display of emotion to remark upon it, and instead,
maintained a sullen silence as he carried her up through the hatch to the next deck. A myriad array of feelings tore through her, not the least of which was guilt. She swallowed hard. His behavior when she’d awakened to find him hovering anxiously over the surgeon, alternately pacing, slamming his fist against a bulkhead, inquiring after her prognosis, declaring his love for her in one breath and damning himself in the next for having left her alone— could not have been more genuine.
Don’t let yourself be fooled, she told herself. He'll only hurt you. Betray you. She tightened her arms protectively over her heart. Abandon you. He’s a rake for God’s sake!
A very handsome rake. And in that glittering admiral’s uniform—
She shut her eyes, feeling the heat of his body against her own, his muscles moving
smoothly beneath her as though she weighed no more than his hat and coat.
“I love you, Maeve.”
“Really? Well I love you, too. About as much as I do el Perro Negro.”
“Maeve, that hurts. I know you’re angry, and you’ve a right to be. But if you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, I fear you must work harder. When you’re well again we can fight all you want.”
She tilted her head back to stare up at him. “How can you be so nice to me after what I did to you?”
“Pray, what did you do to me?”
She thought of the bloodstained hemp aboard Kestrel with which they had bound his wrists, the dank cell they’d kept him in, the cruel treatment he had endured at their hands. Shame washed through her, deep and biting and sharp.
“Maeve?”
She looked down. “Never mind.”
“Oh, you must be referring to my, er, captivity while on your island? Your ship? Dear lady, do not trouble yourself over that; it was indeed an adventure. Why, ’tis not every day that an admiral who wishes he was born a pirate gets to be captured and held prisoner by a whole gang of them! Indeed, it will be something to tell our children about.”
“Tell your children about,” she corrected him.
“Oh, no, Majesty. You will marry me. I vow it.”
“Over my dead body.”
As usual, he continued on as though he hadn’t heard her. “We’ll have fine, strong sons, and daughters as lovely as you. You’ll have to give up your piratical pursuits, of course—I’ll have no wife of mine risking her neck by sailing the seas as a pirate, no matter how charming I might find the vision!—but oh, think of what children we shall have; why, I hope they get your hair, have I ever told you how beautiful it is? I had a most wonderful time braiding it. Come to think of it, I’ll wager that the formidable Anne Bonney’s was of a similar shade—”
“I want to go back to my ship, Gray. ”
“However, her beauty and fire would not have held a candle to yours. I am the lucky one,
am I not? My God, I can’t wait to get you to England, and show you off to my sisters, my family, my peers, my friends at Portsmouth . . . How they shall envy me!”
“I— want”—she ground out through clenched teeth—“to go back to my ship. ”
“No doubt you do, and then you’d be away from me and leading me a merry chase. Ah, yes,
where was I? England. We’re going there, you know. The Admiralty has granted me some leave time and so we'll be escorting a fleet of merchant ships back home. They can use all the
protection they can get, what with the damned French running around loose. And Nelson, he is in awe of you. Do you realize how much favor you have won with him for your bravery, for
returning me to him, and, of course, for telling him where the French had really gone? He was most impressed, dear lady, most impressed; why, he has invited us both to his home, Merton, upon our arrival in England, where he wishes you to make the acquaintance of his dear Lady Hamilton. You will like her, Maeve, she is a true sailor’s woman, full of bawdy humor and ribald fun, a real gem if I do say so myself.”
“I don’t want to meet Lady Hamilton, I don’t want to go to England, I don’t want to suffer your intolerable company another blasted minute; I JUST WANT MY SHIP!”
They had arrived at the door of Sir Graham’s quarters, where a scarlet-coated marine,
assigned to guard the life of the most valuable man in the fleet, snapped rigidly to attention.
“Evening, Sergeant Handley,” Gray said brightly. “Breeze is getting up, I fear!”
The guard, staring straight ahead, did not shift his gaze, did not crack a smile, did not move anything except his lips. “Sir.”
“We shall have a blow by daylight, eh, Sergeant?”
Maeve’s temper exploded. “Furthermore,” she raged, “I will not marry you and spend my days as a—”
The admiral clapped his hand over her mouth. She bit him. He never flinched, only grinning and pushing his palm harder against her teeth to smother her snarls of fury.
The marine’s gaze moved, briefly, to take in the struggling girl in Sir Graham’s arms, and he caught the gleam in the admiral’s eye. He stared again over Sir Graham’s shoulder. “Er, yes, sir.
If I, uh, do say so myself.”
“Pay it no heed, I shall set storm sails to ride it out. Carry on, Handley!”
The admiral pushed open the door of his cabin and kicked it shut behind him.
“I have no intention of being your Lady Falconer,” Maeve exploded, the moment he
released her mouth. He carried her through the dining cabin and past the paneled bulkheads with their pirate paintings and crossed cutlasses. “I have no intention of giving up the sea, my ship, or my life, so I wish to hell you’d quit telling everyone otherwise. Furthermore, I will not stay near or with you one moment longer than I have to and I’ll never help the British Navy again, because you’re all a bunch of arrogant blackguards with no thought for anyone else and nothing but betrayal and conquest in your foul hearts. I hate you, I hate your navy, and I hate Nelson!”
“Maeve!” He halted, looking properly shocked, but whether it was genuine or not, she could not tell.
“What?”
“How could you hate Lord Nelson? Whatever has he done to you to make you say such
harsh things about him?”
“He lied to me,” she said, sullenly.
“Did he, now?”
“Well”—she faltered, suddenly ashamed—”he went along with your lies!”
“Pray, with enthusiasm or annoyance? I should think it the latter, as we had a bit of a tiff about that, he and I, and it was my impression that his lordship was not at all happy about having to play along with my game.”
“I’ll bloody bet.”
“Indeed, dear heart, he was not. Took me quite to task, and it was only after I assured him of my intent to marry you that he left off.”
“I will not marry you, d’you hear me? I—will— not—marry you. Period. ”
“So anyhow,” he continued, once again ignoring her outburst, “I think you’re being terribly unfair to poor Lord Nelson.” Still holding her in the curve of his arm, he bent to tidy the pillows on the sofa. “After all, you have him to thank for your life. If not for his quick thinking—and that of your crew, I might add—you would be dead. Now, where would that put you, if you were dead? I cannot bear the thought of it! And to think that he even allowed you aboard the Victory— he does not allow women aboard his ship, you know, does not suffer himself even to touch one unless she answers to the name ‘Emma Hamilton.’ More jealous than a school-lad, that one, and she no better besides! But oh, it suits them. A better-matched couple I’ve yet to imagine, although I must admit that you and I will have a fine go of it once the squalls leave off.”
He talked too much. And yet Maeve sensed it was not chatter, but merely a buffer, a way of glossing over some shrewd intent, some hidden motive, a way of lulling an adversary into letting down his—or her— guard. Falconer was no fool. She had already seen the swift direction his thoughts could take, the sudden turn of his temper, the rapier-sharp intellect behind the navy blue (and what a damned appropriate color) eyes. He knew how to put a person off guard, then slam in for the kill.
My Lady Pirate Page 19
