The True One (One and Only Series Book 2)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “Yes, bloody . . . Uh, sorry. Forgive my . . .”

  She held up a hand in dismissal. “That’s quite alright.”

  “My ship sailed into a storm that blew us off course. We sailed the coastline hoping for a sign to get back on direction when we were blasted out of the water.”

  “You were attacked?”

  “Yes. By blood-thirsty cutthroats. My crew was taken in chains.” His anger boiled anew. Pain lanced his jaw at his clenching muscle. “I will not tell you more.”

  “There’s no need.” Her soft voice echoed the sound of defeat. With quiet steps, she padded to his side. “How are your ribs?”

  “I’ve still got ‘em.”

  She sat down and gently poked his chest. Nimble fingers stroked his ribs as if to determine how many were broken. When she hit a tender area, he gave a sharp hiss through his teeth. She stilled.

  “Is this hurting you?”

  “No,” he replied hoarsely.

  “No?” Her raised brow divulged she knew he lied.

  Damned if he’d admit it.

  “No.”

  “There’s no shame in . . .”

  He gave a bark of laughter, then immediately regretted his outburst.

  “Are you going to tell me that didn’t hurt? Your expression says otherwise.” She pulled the blanket to his chin. “From your reaction and the bruising, I’ll warrant all your ribs are cracked.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  Her eyes softened to pity. The one thing he couldn’t stomach.

  “I’m still a man,” he said in a harsh voice. “My bones will heal. In no time at all, I’ll be able to hold my own and no longer a burden to you.”

  “You’re not . . .”

  “I’m not a burden?” He gestured toward his feet. “Even in my most stubborn state, I’m smart enough to know I cannot walk on these. So I’ll be indebted to you a while longer. Have no doubt, I’ll compensate you well for your trouble. If that doesn’t suit you, I’ll leave now.”

  Her sappy expression of confusion suddenly turned to anger. She braced her fisted hands on her hips. “All right, Captain Radbourn. Get up and walk right out of here. Or would you rather I drag you out. I can do it you know, you stubborn jackass. Is it too much for you to just say thank you?”

  With a huff, she whirled around and stormed out of sight.

  What a spitfire. Seems she just might have a temper to match his. He snuggled his head into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

  He just might enjoy being in bed for a spell.

  Chapter 6

  What did the blasted man think he was going to do with this anyway? Stuck in bed, yet he demanded she bring him wood. Did he plan to whittle shavings onto her floor? If that was his intention, he had another think coming. She dug in her heels and heaved the limb, a trickle of crackling leaves evidence of her labor.

  He did not handle confinement well. She presumed he’d been the same way with his captor, which more than likely, resulted in his punishment being more severe. His body grew stronger each day. So did his voice—loud and insistent. He had an opinion for everything and pouted when he didn’t get his way.

  Too much time on his hands, he came up with his latest idea. If it kept him from complaining, she’d do anything. So here she was, in the middle of a maze of trees, following his instructions.

  She walked for what seemed like hours before she found some limbs lying on the ground. One branch seemed large enough to provide several of the sizes he listed. Chewing on the end of her fingernail, she wondered if she could drag the whole thing back. After a few minutes deliberation, she decided to do just that.

  She pulled and tugged, and hoped she would not meet anyone, especially her neighbor, Barincott. He would not let her go without finding out every detail of what she did and why. For now, she wanted to keep her houseguest her secret. For her own protection, it would be better he not find out. Barincott knew a great number of people. Those who imprisoned the captain could still be out there.

  Several steps later, she dropped the base of her burden. Raising the canteen, she sipped fresh water. Cool liquid soothed her throat. She replaced the cap, and dropped the canister back on her hip. She raised a hand, shielding the sunlight from her eyes. A cloudless sky assured another hot day. She rolled her shoulders, lifted the tree limb and continued on her way.

  When her little shack came in sight, the band, the one she hadn’t realized she had around her chest, eased.

  I’m not alone.

  Knowing someone waited for her encouraged her steps. It didn’t matter the man was a stranger. He breathed air and blood flowed through his veins. A real person. The past few weeks may have been a trial, but she’d felt more alive than she had this past year.

  Stepping in from the afternoon sun, she hurried to the side room, unwilling to admit her eagerness to see him. Propped up on the bed, arms crossed, a sour expression covered his too-fetching face. She hid the smile that threatened.

  His head jerked up when he sensed her presence. “Are you alright? You’ve been gone a long time.”

  His concern sent a tingling thrill of warmth through her. “I’m fine. You did send me after wood.”

  “Figured you’d get that right outside your door.”

  “I wasn’t gone long.”

  “Long enough. I’ll feel much better when I can get out of this da . . . er . . . bed.”

  “Not for a few more weeks,” she said, ignoring his slip.

  “Weeks. Bah. I’m getting sores on my backside.”

  “Then roll over,” she said, more exasperated than any thought of wickedness.

  “Why, Miss Jennifer.” A wolf could not have looked more menacing. “Are you wanting to have your way with me, again?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. Railing to seduction in one breath. The man was exasperating. “You can rest on your side and give your . . . backside a break.”

  He winced. “Please don’t mention the word break. I’ve gotten accustomed to the idea of my bones mending.”

  He was adorably handsome when he scowled like a little boy. But he was a man. A robust man. When he completely recovered, he’d be a mountain. Thinking about him in a personal way opened up other thoughts—like how suitable he looked in her bed. The blanket rode low at his waist. Enticing. Her fingers begged to dance among the spiraling curls, to learn if they were as silky as those fine hairs looked—without soap.

  In her imagination, she saw him on a ship. The wind in his titian hair. Corded ropes for muscles. Feet braced apart while tight breeches caressed his thighs. Master of his ship, he would be the master of any woman.

  The breath caught in her throat.

  Good Lord, get hold of yourself.

  “Uh . . . Captain . . .”

  “Now might be a good time for you to call me by my given name,” he said. “Seeing as how we’re getting pretty familiar here.”

  Had she given herself away? Had he read her mind? She flushed at the possibility. Desire must have been written on her face. And him, being a scoundrel—he must be since he sailed the seas, probably a pirate—could read her all too well.

  She flounced away from him before he could do any more damage.

  If she thought to cool off out of doors, she thought wrong. Since it happened to be mid-day, the heat was oppressive. After a short walk, she returned to find Stephen in the same mood in which she left him.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  His eyes spoke of his desire for more than food. Or was it her own creativity at work? She really needed to get control over her wild imaginings.

  She prepared a light repast, and he insisted on feeding himself.

  “Br
ing your bowl and sit with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

  The arrogant knave.

  When she just stared at him, he said, “Please.”

  Good Lord, she was a pushover. Procuring her own bowl and bread, she sat beside him on the chair she’d become accustomed to since he entered her home.

  God, she was beautiful when she got her dander up. During his nap, she’d changed into a gown. True the thing had seen better days, and it hung loosely on her body. Earlier she’d worn men’s clothing, which reminded him there must have been a Mr. Jennifer. She never mentioned her last name. Where was the bloody boor? Run off? Left her alone? Stephen’s anger soared at the thought her husband snuck off, leaving her to survive alone.

  Hardened by the land, she was not weak. This woman was the strongest female he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. She worked hard, her calloused hands were testament of that. She demonstrated a kind heart, for she’d taken care of him without complaint. He could be harsh and unpleasant on a good day. Yet her gentle nature took a turn when her eyes sparked and her annoyance flared her temper.

  Hit him right where he most liked to be struck—in his funny bone.

  He liked the way the breeches molded her nice rounded bottom. But when she raised her arms over her head and tied her long sable tresses into a knot, the shirt shaped her curves, sending an ache to his gut. Watching her now, in her gown, the familiar itch returned.

  “When are you going to tell me about your husband?”

  The question took her by surprise. “I’m not.”

  Cool as a breeze across a moonlit deck, she didn’t even blink. “You are married?”

  “My husband died.”

  So, there it was. Out in the open. Now he could deal with it.

  “My condolences. How long ago?”

  She stood ready to flee.

  “Please,” he said, his voice coaxed. “If I promise not to mention him, will you stay?”

  She hesitated. Then, without speaking a single word, she sat back down.

  He let out a breath. Temper flared quick with her. Stubborn too. He didn’t want her to leave him. Peculiar how ardently he fancied her presence. Unaccustomed to being vigilant with his words, he needed to be more careful else his reckless tongue would chase her away.

  He started to whistle, then changed his mind. “So, how’s the weather?” Her smile freed the knot in his throat. “At least you aren’t threatening to drag my sorry arse out the door.”

  She gave a full laugh. “Tell me, Captain, a . . .”

  “That’s not my name.” He feigned a growl.

  “Stephen,” she said with all the syrupy sweetness of a young debutante at her coming out ball.

  “That’s better.” His tone hinted at anger, but he smiled with pleasure.

  “Tell me, do you like sailing the seas?”

  “What kind of question is that? I’m a captain. I’d live forever on the sea, if I could.”

  A flicker of emotion crossed over her eyes. Envy? Distress?

  “Seafaring’s in my blood. A good sturdy ship and a durable wind can stir a man’s soul. Sailing into the horizon brings a little bit of heaven here on earth.”

  “What about family? A home?”

  “I have family. I have a sister who’s a hoyden. But Katherine’s growing up. My parents died in a carriage accident about eight years ago. I took her to my aunt and uncle. Toughest thing I ever did in my life.” He scooped a spoonful of food and slowly swirled it around in his mouth. He could barely move his jaw, and he wasn’t taking any chances with it healing.

  “Katherine is your sister?”

  “Yep. She’s a handful. When I dropped her at my uncle’s door, she met another hoyden, and the two of them think there’s nothing they can’t do. I knew my aunt would take her in hand and make Kat a lady.”

  “Kat?”

  “One of my pet names for her.”

  Jennifer stared out the little window. He wondered if she saw anything. Something captured her attention and it wasn’t anything visible. Giving her time to her private thoughts, he spooned more broth and the soaked bread melted away. He swallowed slithers of meat. Wasn’t sure what kind, but it didn’t matter. He could feel his strength returning. As soon as he could get out of this bloody bed, he’d work on restoring his muscles.

  “What are you trying to do, woman? Scalp me? Give me that blade.”

  “You only have one good arm.” She drew back, boldly holding the razor out of reach.

  “I’ll manage with this one.” Stephen’s glare would terrify her, if she allowed it.

  “This isn’t my first time.”

  “It’s the first time with me.” Thunderclouds could not have appeared darker than his expression.

  “I will be more careful.”

  “I’ll not be bled out by a bloody female.”

  “Oh good Lord. Have it your way.” She slapped the razor into his palm and then placed the bowl of water on his lap. “I’ll get bandages ready.”

  His vibrant laugh followed her through the door. Stubborn man. Let the fool cut his throat. What did she care?

  Obscenities thundered from the other room making her wonder if he would massacre his face to preserve his pride.

  “All right! Get in here.”

  Smiling to herself, she cocked her head. He had not asked. He demanded. Guess a ship’s captain expected everyone to follow his orders.

  She peaked around the corner of the doorway. “You bellowed?”

  “Being quiet is not a habit of mine.” With a sheepish grin and a menacing frown, he looked anything but sorry.

  A quick glance at his face and she shuddered. “What are you trying to do?” She hurried to his side. Blood oozed from a gash under his jaw. “I guess you’d rather bleed out by your own hand?”

  His grin grew bigger.

  “Men.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She wiped the blood away, making sure the wound was not deep.

  “It must be something or you would not have said it. You cannot group all men together.”

  “Oh, I can’t?”

  “No,” he growled.

  “I suggest you save your words for later if you want this job finished without any more mishaps.”

  His fingers curled around her wrist. “I’ll save my words for later, if you promise I’ll still have a throat to speak with.”

  Warmth flowed from his hand smoldering her skin. Tingles of awareness attacked her senses. How long it had been since she’d been touched by a man. Still, she’d never felt such heat, such burning intensity. Her response shook her.

  “If you can’t talk, it will be through no fault of mine.” Not if she could control the trembling he stirred within.

  “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” He released her hand and leaned back. “I like that.”

  It took every ounce of will to concentrate on her task and not his words. The man leered at her. There was no other word for it. His eyes watched her every move. Trying her best to ignore him—which was near impossible—she carefully scraped the hair from his jaw. Determined not to meet his eyes, she willed her fingers to be steady and not scar the man for life. Although, he currently presented a great number of scars.

  She held her breath and then slowly released it after each scrape. Her chest hurt from nervous tension. Sending her mind elsewhere, she drew upon her memories of other times she’d done this. Pretending Stephen was her husband only sent more heat to her center, so she halted that line of thinking immediately. The two men were as different as night and day.

  A ship’s captain. His size and his words hinted at the power he must have possessed before he’d been beaten and starved. Energy surrounded him as if he was
a man who knew what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. Somehow she didn’t think he would need to use brute force. His fierce scowl was intimidating enough.

  His features were somewhat handsome, not pretty like the dandies in London. Yet she found him incomparable. His green eyes, sharp and daring, pierced, and captivated her on contact. A sense of command in his dangerous gaze, then his eyes had gone soft, and he managed what could pass for a charming smile, considering the split lip on his handsome, swollen mouth. His full lips.

  She mentally gave herself a good shake. Experience had taught her of men and their dominance over women. She may be attracted to his body, but she would never be vulnerable to a man again.

  Somehow she managed to scrape his whiskers leaving his throat intact. She had no idea how she kept her fingers from trembling.

  When she met his gaze, the devil’s eyes twinkled. He knew his disturbing effect on her. The scoundrel.

  “I’ll empty this bowl and bring you fresh water for a bath.”

  “Now that sounds like a fine idea.”

  When she returned with a pail of water, his smirking grin was back in place.

  “You can wash yourself.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? My muscles are overwrought from having a shave. Never had a woman shear me before. Drained the energy right out of me.”

  She would never admit, to him or herself, that the idea of running a cloth over his nude body sounded delectable.

  “Very well.” She gave a little huff to disguise her inner emotion. She wrung the cloth and started on his shoulder.

  “You don’t have to scrub the hide off me. I have very little left.”