Lord of Devil Isle

by Connie Mason

  “Aye, Captain ordered everyone below and every hatch battened, tight as a tick.”

  “Then where’s Nicholas?” she asked, forgetting that she shouldn’t call Nick by his Christian name before his first mate.

  Peregrine was silent for a few heartbeats.

  “He’s lashed himself to the wheel.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eve hadn’t spoken to God since her flogging. Oh, she might have launched a quick prayer when she first saw that shark, but everything had happened so quickly that hardly counted. She attended church services when the occasion demanded because it was the “done thing.” Even before that evil day when she was humiliated and marked, she’d always relied on herself instead of seeking divine intervention. It seemed weak to expect help from on high when she was perfectly capable of helping herself.

  And after her conviction, she hadn’t had anything to say to a Deity who would allow an innocent young woman to undergo the pain and humiliation of the lash.

  She had plenty to say to God now.

  After Mr. Higgs left her in the dark and bolted her in, there was nothing she could do but hunker on the floor and pray.

  She prayed for the men manning the bilge pumps. Each time the ship rolled, Eve prayed that the Susan Bell wouldn’t keep rolling right over till she was keel to the sky. She prayed for her own soul, admitting she wasn’t as innocent as she liked to believe.

  But most of all, she prayed for the man lashed to the wheel.

  She pleaded for Nick’s life there in the darkness. Yes, it was his pigheadedness that had put them in this horrible position, but it was also his strength and courage that might see them out of it.

  She poured out her fears. She begged for mercy for Nicholas, hoping Someone was listening in the dark. She didn’t see how God might even take note of her since she could hardly hear herself over the roar of the sea and the wind and the awful growls of the ship’s timber.

  She feared the Susan Bell might splinter into kindling at any moment.

  When the waves washed over her shuttered windows, she held her breath, wondering if Nicholas did the same. Or was his body draped lifelessly over the wheel?

  A dozen different images of Nicholas Scott danced before her sightless eyes—brooding, lusty, laughing, furious, courtly, dangerous, brave to the point of recklessness—all mocking her, all inviting her to sample his delicious brand of madness.

  All trying mightily now to save her life and that of every other soul on board.

  “Spare him, Lord,” she murmured as weakness gripped her, pulling her into numbness. She curled into a tight little ball, her knees against her chest. Time expanded and contracted around her till she could only measure it in the next swell, the next breath, the next heartbeat pounding in her ears.

  “Save his life,” she whispered, her throat raw from pleading. “Save Nicholas Scott because…because…I love him.”

  Then as if someone closed her eyelids for her, in spite of the wind and waves, she sank into the blackness of exhaustion, like a pebble dropped into a well.

  Someone was shouting. The sound stabbed at her ears, but she could make no sense of the words. Eve tried to open her eyes, but they were crusted shut. She pushed herself into a sitting position and swiped the matter from her lids.

  The deck beneath her swayed gently. The sun knifed through the cracks around the shutters, sending shards of light into the cabin.

  Feet pounded in the companionway outside her door. Someone threw the bolt and kicked the door open.

  “Easy, lads,” Higgs was saying as several sailors tried to squeeze through the opening at the same time, bearing a heavy burden. “Mind his head, now.”

  Nicholas! Eve lurched to her feet. “What’s happened, Mr. Higgs?”

  “We’ve come safe through the storm,” he said wearily.

  “Thanks to the cap’n,” Tatem put in.

  “Aye, all night and for most of a day, he kept us from broadsiding in a trough,” Higgs said with a frown. “But before we could leave the pumps and relieve him, he must have taken a good clout on the head. We tried to make everything fast before we came below, but I must have missed something.”

  “A storm’ll stir up plenty o’ things from the deep,” Tatem said. “Why, it mighta even been a mermaid what whacked the cap’n on the bean with her tail.”

  “Stow that racket. You’ll scare the superstitious among the crew,” Higgs ordered. “My money’s on a loose pulley or a bit of the gunwale that ripped free. In any case, Cap’n Scott’s been pinched off like a candle.”

  “Here,” Eve said as she pulled back the top sheet on the bunk, so the men could deposit Nicholas there. His eyes were closed and his skin was the unhealthy color of day-old suet. Her heart froze. She couldn’t seem to inhale. “Does he yet live?”

  “Aye, miss,” Tatem said. “Though I had to check twice to make sure.”

  Her heart skipped in her chest once more.

  “It’d take more than a dent on the noggin to do for the likes o’ Cap’n Scott.” Tatem’s voice was even rougher than usual. “But he’s in pretty rough shape. Don’t suppose a lady like you has much skill in the way of nursing?”

  “You underestimate me, Mr. Tatem,” she said, hoping she sounded more competent than she felt. These men had slaved all through the storm to keep her safe from the sea, and their work was not yet done. She suspected the Susan Bell had sustained considerable damage and it would take all hands to set her to rights. The least Eve could do was tend their captain. “Bring me a pitcher of hot water and a handful of rags. Clean rags, if you please.”

  “Come, lads. You heard her.” Tatem tugged his forelock almost in a salute and led the seamen out of the cabin. “We’ve plenty to do. Lady Nick has this matter well in hand, I’m thinking.”

  “Lady Nick?” she repeated.

  Higgs unshuttered the windows and light flooded the cabin. “You must excuse them, miss,” Higgs said, blinking slowly. Dark splotches showed under his sleepless eyes like deep bruises. “They’re naught but simple sailors. Lord Nick has chosen you, so to their way of thinking, you must be his lady. Lady Nick.”

  “Hmm.” There were worse fates, she was certain. “Well, help me get him out of these wet things.”

  “Aye,” Higgs said, tugging off Nick’s boots. “Hold up this blanket while I take care of his trousers and trews.”

  Eve smiled and obeyed him without a word, averting her gaze. She was grateful for Peregrine’s calm, competent presence. She’d already seen every bit of Nicholas, but Higgs seemed to want everything done with decency. Nicholas wouldn’t care one whit and in fact, would be amused by having her undress him.

  After Higgs smoothed the sheets over his captain’s waist, Eve lowered the blanket and helped support Nick into a sitting position while Higgs removed his shirt.

  “Oh!” She put a hand to her lips. There was a little blood on the pillow.

  Ashen-faced, Higgs parted Nick’s hair to reveal a gash and a goose-egg-sized lump at the base of his skull. “I didn’t see this before. What shall we do for him?”

  Eve had seen two men with similar injuries during her stay at Newgate Prison. One came round on his own after a bit, complaining of an empty belly and a blinding headache.

  The other never woke up.

  “I can bathe off the salt,” she said, noticing the tiny grains trapped in the dark hairs on his arms and chest. “And then, Mr. Higgs, we wait and hope.”

  Higgs cleared his throat. “I watched a physician perform trepanation on a gentleman with an injury like this once. He said it relieved the pressure and allowed the body to heal. Without his intervention, the patient had no hope. We’ve no surgeon on board, but with your help, I believe I could—”

  “Absolutely not!” Eve said, aghast. “No one is going to cut open his skull.”

  Tatem returned with the pitcher and rags, and then disappeared to continue his duties. Eve poured some of the steaming water into a basin and wet the rags.

&nb
sp; “I can manage now, Mr. Higgs,” she said in a gentler tone. “You need some rest.”

  “Yes, miss,” he said. “I expect you’ve the right of it.” Then his young face hardened and he straightened to his full height. He seemed to have grown a couple inches in just the short time she’d known him. “With the cap’n down, I’m in command now. An injury like this can only be left so long and then it’s too late. We’ll give him till tomorrow morning at eight bells, and then I’ll do the trepanation. With or without your help.”

  Higgs turned and strode out of the cabin.

  Eve looked down at Nick, watching his chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

  “You’ve taught that young man so well, he’s even starting to act like you—pigheaded, cocksure and devil-take-the-hindermost,” she said quietly. “And if you don’t want him to do something you may both regret deeply, you need to wake up before eight bells.”

  She found a small jar of soap and washed his face. In the deep relaxation of this unnatural sleep, all the frown lines had fled from his brow. Nicholas looked much younger, except for the couple days’ worth of beard growth stubbling his chin. Eve considered shaving him, but decided against it. She didn’t want to be holding a blade to his throat, in case he should wake suddenly.

  She lathered a rag and washed his arms and chest. His hands were swollen and splintered and there was a deep bruise on his shoulder. Eve had seen the heavy leather harness wheel men strapped on to keep the wheel from pulling from their grip and spinning out of control in foul weather. The leather had dug a deep channel in his flesh.

  She found a sewing kit on one of his shelves and used a needle to work the splinters out of his fingers and palms. When she swabbed his wounds with the contents of his silver flask, he didn’t even flinch. A sure sign he was totally insensate.

  She turned back the bottom of the sheet and washed his feet and legs. When she tucked the blankets around him again, his face was still deathly pale.

  She propped open the stern windows for a breath of air. The rap of hammers and the rasp of saws wafted in along with the fresh salty tang.

  “The rest of your crew is working and here you are lazing about like a slugabed.” She hoped her voice might make him stir. He didn’t twitch an eyelash.

  She took a clean cloth and turned his face toward the bulkhead so she could bathe the gash on the back of his head. The blood had matted his hair, but she scrubbed it clean. He didn’t respond when she dabbed the spot with whiskey. The one bright spot was that the knot just below the gash hadn’t grown any larger.

  Nick had a little brown mole right at his hairline behind his ear. She bent and placed a soft kiss on the small imperfection. Then she propped him onto his side so she could soap his broad back and his backside to remove the last of the salt residue. Afterward, she let him roll back into the indentation in the feather tick.

  There was only one part of him she hadn’t cleaned.

  “And this is no time to be a prude,” she told herself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already seen Nick’s cock and balls. But when she drew back the sheet and looked at him there, she knew this time was different.

  His balls lay in a relaxed mound with his cock draped over them. Quiescent. Soft. Vulnerable. A wave of tenderness washed over her.

  I love this man, she thought in wonderment. She covered him protectively with both hands.

  And his cock resurrected itself under her palm.

  “Praise be!” Eve giggled as she soaped up that part of him to remove the coating of brine, lest it gald him. Under her ministrations, he grew and swelled to an impressive size. “It appears that part of you will definitely live, Nicholas Scott.”

  She looked at his face, hoping to see him peeping at her from under his dark lashes, but he didn’t move. Not a twitch. Not a smirk. Not a suggestive raised eyebrow.

  Her smile faded. She toweled him off and drew the sheet up to his chin.

  It was time to talk to God in earnest again.

  And she didn’t think she ought to bargain with the King of Heaven while Nick’s cock was in her hand.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Twilight descended on the Susan B. Through the open cabin windows, Eve heard rough voices and coarse jokes interspersed with the sound of carpenter’s tools. The men were still working by lamplight, trying to repair the damage from the storm. She didn’t dare leave the cabin to see for herself what a pounding the good ship had taken.

  It was hard enough to deal with the beating the storm had given Nick.

  Cook recovered from his seasickness long enough to put together a light supper. Mr. Tatem brought her some piping hot broth and bread, which she hardly touched. She tried dipping the corner of a cloth in the broth and putting it to Nick’s lips, but he didn’t respond.

  Rhythmic chanting told her the men were hoisting a sail. In another moment, she felt the ship quicken and surge forward, borne on the wind over the waves.

  The Susan Bell was on the mend.

  The same couldn’t be said for her captain.

  As daylight faded completely and Eve lit the overhead lamp, she tried to convince herself that his color was better. That the unhealthy pallor was really just the result of poor light.

  “You’re quite brave, you know,” she said. Emotion threatened to close her throat. She ruffled a hand through his hair, smoothing it against his pillow. “Quite brave and quite foolish. If only you’d listened to…oh, Nicholas.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the sob. He should only hear pleasant sounds, not weeping and wailing.

  If he could hear at all.

  She rifled through his shelf of books and settled finally on a slim pamphlet. She squinted as she tried to puzzle out the words.

  “‘Case of the…Officers of Excise,’” she finally managed. “‘By Thomas Paine.’”

  She flipped several pages. Since it promised to be deadly dull, it didn’t matter where she started. She was only reading so Nick could hear her voice.

  “‘To the wealthy and humane it is a matter worthy of concern that their af…affluence should become the mis…fortune of others.’”

  She knew she read badly, halting time and again to decipher the sounds of the letters. But she reasoned if Nick could only hear her and know she was there, surely he’d make an effort to come back to her. She turned a few more pages, looking for an easy passage.

  “‘There is a striking dif-fer-ence between…dis-honesty arising from want of food and want of prin…principle.’”

  This was safer than trying to talk to Nick. While she found herself in agreement with the philosophical ramblings of Thomas Paine, the effort of reading kept her from feeling, either for the plight of the poorly paid excise men or for herself.

  She stopped between sentences to see if Nicholas showed any response. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of the hands folded on his chest.

  Finally, she put the book away and turned down the lamp. She stood at the windows, hugging herself as if she might fly apart. Moonlight shimmered on the black sea, leaving a long silver trail behind the ship.

  Eve positioned the chair beside Nick’s bunk so she could rest a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, but strong, and his ribs seemed to expand with deeper breaths.

  “That’s a good sign,” she said, more to reassure herself than him. His skin was warm, but not feverish.

  She tried to find a comfortable way to rest in the straight-backed chair, but each time she started to slip into sleep, her head nodded and she jerked back to wakefulness.

  She’d do Nick no good if she was giddy with exhaustion. Her decision made, she stood and unlaced her bodice.

  “Wake up, Nicholas,” she said softly. “I’m getting undressed.”

  Nothing.

  She reached under her skirt and removed her panniers and petticoat. She toed off her slippers, ungartered her stockings and pulled them off. Then she eased out of her gown and stood in just her chemise.

  For a moment,
she remembered what glory it was to have Nick’s naked body flush against hers, skin on skin.

  “No, I want to wake him. Not kill him with overexcitement, ” she said as she propped the chair beneath the door’s latch. If Nicholas wasn’t awake by eight bells, she still intended to fight Mr. Higgs over the threatened trepanning. A quack had performed that barbaric procedure on her father after a horse kicked him in the head, but he died anyway. And in far more agony than if he’d been left alone to die in peace.

  “But you are not going to die, Nicholas Scott,” she ordered as she pulled back the sheet and eased into the narrow bunk with him. She sidled close, arranging his arm around her so she could rest her head in the crook of his shoulder. She reached up and turned his face toward her. “You are going to live to steal my maidenhead, do you hear me? If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you.”

  She couldn’t be sure if she imagined it, but she was almost certain one corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Miss Upshall!” Peregrine Higgs raised his voice and banged his fist against the door to the captain’s cabin. “Open at once.”

  “I can’t,” came the answer. “I’m not yet fully dressed.”

  What the devil was she doing undressed? “How fares the captain?”

  There was no answer, so Higgs pounded again. “Miss Upshall, there seems to be some obstruction here. Please open the door.”

  “Of course there’s an obstruction. I put it there. Now unless Mr. Tatem is here with a bit of breakfast, please go away.”

  “Captain Scott!” he called out. “Are you awake, sir?”

  “Of course, he’s not awake.” Miss Upshall’s voice sounded closer now. If he put his eye to the crack around the door, he expected he’d see her glaring back at him. “It’s far too early.”

  “Eight bells have sounded, miss. And we had an agreement.”

  “No, we did not,” she answered with false honey in her tone. “You made a reckless suggestion which I utterly rejected.”