A shot rang out. Alex’s heart stopped, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as it instantly dried. Hestia! But it was Douglas who dropped to the ground. Alex kept moving, his legs lengthening their stride. He heard Ned’s cry behind him, and the sound of his pistol returning fire.
Alex turned to Ned viciously, yelling, “Don’t shoot, you might hit Hestia.”
“Look, she’s moving.” Jacob caught up with Alex as they ran toward the fallen Douglas.
Alex smiled a grim smile. Hestia was no longer deathly still. She was fighting her captors for all she was worth. “Good girl, Hestia, that will slow them down,” Alex said under his breath. “If they have only one pistol each, they’ll now only have one shot left. Jacob, I’ll try and draw their fire; make sure you get Hestia away.”
“Don’t get yourself killed; Hestia will never forgive me,” Jacob called after Alex’s departing back.
Alex’s plan was simple: he’d get to what he estimated to be the edge of the pistol’s range and take a shot at them. Hopefully they’d fire back and then he’d rush in, and together with Jacob and Ned overpower the two men.
Alex fired and his luck held: the shot was returned. “Now, Jacob, Ned.” Alex’s terse shout cut through the cicada-filled air louder than the echoing gunfire. He threw himself toward Connor and Patrick. They had reached the tree line.
Patrick dropped Hestia’s legs as he fought off Ned’s attack. Connor cursed through his teeth but continued to drag Hestia into the thick undergrowth. Alex jumped over Patrick, who was wrestling on the ground with Ned. Jacob had stopped to check on Douglas as he lay motionless in the sand, but Alex couldn’t worry about him now.
“If you want to live another day, you’ll let go of her.” Alex let steel infuse his voice. Both men stood glaring at each other with undisguised hatred.
With one huge hand wrapped around Hestia’s neck, Connor calmly said, “One step closer, Bedford, and I’ll snap her pretty neck. Lady Hestia and I are going to walk calmly into the trees and you’d best not stop me if you want her to live.”
“How do you think you’ll get away with abducting Lady Hestia? How are you going to escape the island? There is no place you’ll be able to hide, my men will scour the island until you’re caught, and God help you if even one hair on her head is damaged.”
“You’re not as clever as you think.” Connor’s smile was condescending. “There’s someone who’s paying me a lot of money for your fair beauty. I have a way off this island.”
Alex’s blood froze in his veins. “A small sloop that’s been following us, no doubt.”
Connor’s laugh was evil. “I knew you’d spotted the sloop. We wanted you to see it so you would make her stay on the ship.” Connor tugged Hestia’s hair so hard she let out a whimper.
Alex’s fists flexed at his side. It took all his control not to rush the big man. But Connor had two stone on Alex, and Hestia’s neck would be broken before he even landed a punch.
“So if we’ve finished our little chat, Lady Hestia and I have some personal business to attend to. Step back, Bedford, and we’ll be on our way.” Hestia’s eyes widened with fear as Connor drew her further into the trees; she stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground letting out a sharp cry of pain. Connor’s gaze moved from Alex to Hestia as he tried to pull her upright.
Alex saw his opportunity and launched himself at Connor. He tackled him to the ground, driving his fist into Connor’s face. It was like hitting a stone wall. Connor hardly flinched. Alex wasn’t quick enough and Connor slugged him in the head. It was a powerful blow and Alex saw stars. Shaking his head, Alex tried to clear his double vision. He rolled to his right just in time to avoid another huge punch from Connor.
“Come on, stand up and fight me like a man. You’re not so high and mighty now, are you, Your Grace?” Connor sneered.
Alex closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rose unsteadily to his feet. The sight of Hestia’s split lip and torn shirt fueled his steely calm. In icy tones he replied, “You’re a dead man, O’Laughlin.”
Pulling Hestia back in front of him, Connor laughed in Alex’s face. “Not from where I’m standing. In fact, I can’t wait to get better acquainted with the young lady.” His hand slid down inside Hestia’s shirt and locked over one breast. “Her ladyship has been panting after you since she came on board; perhaps I should give her what she wants.”
Alex vaguely heard Hestia’s indignant huff over his own deep growl. He took a step closer.
Connor’s other hand tightened around Hestia’s neck. “Tut-tut, not too close now.”
Suddenly Connor’s eyes began to roll into his head. Jacob had crept up and hit Connor over the head with a piece of wood. He slammed to the ground with a thunk, crushing Hestia under him.
With his heart in his throat, Alex rushed to pull Hestia out from under Connor. He picked her up in his arms and cradled her gently against his chest, his heart still pounding with the realization of how close he’d come to losing her.
“Are you all right, Hestia?”
With a small sob she replied, “I’m so sorry, Alex. They got me in the boat before I could stop them.”
“Hush, it’s all right. You’re safe now.” Turning to Jacob, Alex barked out his instructions. “Tie them both up and take them back to the ship. I’d like to learn more about this sloop.”
Hestia clung to his neck and in a tiny voice she said, “It has to be Fredrick.”
He gently brushed his cheek against her hair. “Money and keeping his deception secret is his motivation.” He didn’t want to alarm Hestia further with the truth. Fredrick needed her dead.
With Hestia held tightly in his arms, Alex turned to make his way over the tree roots and back to the beach. A glint of steel flashing in the dimming light was the only warning he got before the pain in his side dropped him to his knees, Hestia tumbling out of his arms and rolling onto the sand before him.
Through his pain Alex heard Jacob’s curse and a shot rang out. Just as he lost consciousness, Alex heard Patrick’s death gurgle next to him and Hestia’s scream.
Chapter 12
Jacob’s mood was grave. He stood in the door of Alex’s cabin watching Foxhall; Alex had lost a great deal of blood. Anger scored his mouth; it had taken far too long to get Alex back to the Angelica. By the time Jacob had summoned more men and arranged for Douglas’s and Patrick’s bodies to be collected, chained up Connor, and then carried a weeping Hestia with her sprained ankle to her cabin, a good hour had passed.
“Will he make it?” Jacob’s voice was ragged with emotion.
Foxhall looked up from where he was stitching Alex’s side. “The wound doesn’t appear to be too deep. The dagger has cut downward, not inward.” He paused before adding, “In this heat, infection is his biggest enemy. I’ve cleaned the wound as best I can, but the wound needs to be bathed with brandy and a fresh dressing applied every few hours. It’s a trick I’ve learned over the years through trial and error. The alcohol helps ward off infection.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Foxhall shook his head. “You’ll need plenty of help to provide him care day and night. Please ensure the person seeing to his wound understands the importance of keeping it clean and dressed. He’ll also need something for the pain when he wakes. I gave him a strong dose of laudanum before stitching him.”
“Was that wise?” Jacob snapped to attention, pushing away from the cabin doorframe and entering the room. “That’s not a good idea. Lord Bedford won’t like it.”
Foxhall nodded. “A onetime large dose and a few smaller ones won’t hurt him. Anyway, he informed me that he can control his use. Besides, he needs to remain still if the stitches are to heal, and easing his pain will help stop him moving.”
Jacob ran a hand through his hair. How much did Foxhall know? “His lordship has a problem with opiates.”
“I know. I’ll watch him.”
“Not a lot I can do now because you’ve already given him th
e laudanum.” Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “Just limit the amount. A bit of pain never hurt any man.” Jacob’s tone indicated it was not a request.
Foxhall hesitated and inclined his head. “Of course. But he will only require a small amount for a short period. You’ll just have to manage him carefully. Don’t underestimate the need to keep those stitches intact—keep him still. It lowers the risk of infection as long as the wound is kept clean and fresh dressings are applied. I can’t stress that enough.”
“I’ve been around enough wounds to know that,” Jacob gruffly replied. Jacob understood Alex well, and there was no way Alex would want to be taking laudanum. Alex would rather endure the pain. Jacob inwardly grimaced. He’d rather tie Alex to the bed to keep him immobile.
Foxhall snapped his bag closed and took one long look at Alex. “He was lucky. A few inches deeper and he’d be a dead man.”
Jacob ignored the remark. He swallowed. If Alex died it would be his fault. He should have been covering Alex’s back and stopped Patrick before he could strike. He’d let Alex down. He swore on his mother’s grave that Alex would live.
“It’s going to be a long night. Have someone relieve me at dawn.”
“Sorry, Doc, you’ve one more patient to check on.” Jacob called for Ned through the open cabin door. “Can you watch His Grace while Foxhall checks on Lady Hestia’s ankle? He’ll likely sleep for the next hour, but if he wakes up, make sure he keeps still. We need those stitches to heal as soon as possible.”
If Murad got word of Alex’s injury, the Angelica would become a target.
—
Hestia lay on her bunk, furious with her throbbing ankle. She’d tried to walk on it several times in the last hour in the hope of hobbling to Alex’s cabin, but her ankle would not take her weight. She was desperate to have news of Alex. It was so unfair; she still had no idea how badly hurt he was. She knew it was serious; there was so much blood and he was unconscious when they carried him on board. Her anguish built with each wring of her hands, the throbbing in her ankle forgotten in her worry.
But she knew all she had to do to ascertain Alex’s condition was open the door and call for Jacob. Hestia didn’t want to disturb David and take him away from Alex. She was too scared; what if the news was bad?
She closed her eyes and moaned. What if he died? All of this would be her fault because she had come to him with her problems. A small tear escaped her closed eyes. Damn Fredrick.
Alex had risked his life to save her—again. She would never forget that.
Images of Alex flashed beneath her closed eyes. Alex laughing at something she’d said, his bravery when facing danger, his never-ending patience when teaching her chess on their long voyage back to England all those years ago, and his ability to take her breath away with one heartrending smile.
Hestia choked back a sob. While he might not ever be hers, she hated thinking of a world without him in it. She wished she’d never asked him to undertake this voyage. Her selfishness was going to cost Alex his life. She felt sick.
A knock on her cabin door made Hestia sit up so fast she swayed, black spots swimming before her eyes. Quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks, Hestia quietly said, “Come in,” dreading what she might be about to hear.
David’s stoic face gave nothing away. “I’ve come to assess your injuries.”
She could not tell from his face the status of Alex. On a whisper she asked, “How is Alex…His Grace?”
“I won’t lie; he has indeed been gravely injured. I have managed to stop the bleeding and stitch the wound together. He’s resting comfortably. I administered laudanum and he should sleep for the next few hours.”
“But will he live?” Her voice caught on the word live, and her expression clearly said, Don’t lie to me.
His eyes filled with pain. “It would not hurt to pray.”
Only her pride stopped her from crumpling in a heap on the bed.
—
Hestia’s nightly nursing duties were due to start in a few minutes. Her stomach was quivery and she felt sick—sick with guilt and worry. What state would she find Alex in and how could she face him? Because of Fredrick he was in his cabin hurt, perhaps mortally wounded. If he died…now she understood Alex’s drive for revenge, for she would surely make Fredrick pay if Alex did not live.
She’d go crazy with worry if she didn’t pull herself together. Alex needed her.
She’d been so relieved when David agreed to let her nurse Alex. He had a crew to take care of too, and he needed sleep. She thought he might say it wasn’t proper being with Alex without a chaperon, but understandably he had no real choice. He knew she would follow his instructions to the letter. Keep the wound clean and change the bandages regularly. She would take the night shift because she had no jobs that needed to be done during the day, so she could sleep then.
Jacob, as captain, had enough to worry about and needed Ned to help him while Alex was indisposed.
There was also Connor in the brig to keep an eye on. Jacob was worried that there might be others among the crew on Fredrick’s payroll.
Alex was also less likely to need personal help during the night. All she was instructed to do was to watch over him as he slept, ensure he drank a small amount of water, and make him keep still. She would be diligent, watching for signs of infection such as fever, and change his bandages every three hours. She chewed her bottom lip; how hard could that be?
At her appointed time, Hestia quietly hobbled into Alex’s dimly lit cabin. Her hands were shaking as she closed the door behind her. She wasn’t sure how she’d react at seeing him so badly injured. She gave herself a shake. This is not about you, young lady. This is about aiding the man you love.
Hestia’s scolding did the trick, and having given herself a stiff dose of Dutch courage, she lifted her eyes to inspect the cabin. She took in Foxhall sitting at one end of the cabin sorting through his medicine case. But what sent her nerves spinning out of control was the sight that greeted her when her gaze finally moved toward the bed. She expected to be distraught at seeing Alex so hurt, and she was, but also there was something primal in seeing him like this and heat rushed through her veins.
He was lying on his back, eyes closed, sleeping soundly. If she thought him angelic looking when he was awake, nothing prepared her for the vision of his Greek god–like features so still against the pillow. His fair hair framed his face in complete serenity. His dark brown eyelashes were long against his pale cheeks. The stubble covering the narrow planes of his face made him look so much younger, his features open, soft, and vulnerable. Her heart clenched. It hurt to look at him, and the driving need to caress and hold him in her arms until he was better was painful.
Her body grew even warmer as she took in his bronzed torso, covered with bandages. She barely kept a small gasp from slipping out, and a tender smile broke on her lips at the sight of her shell, hanging about his neck on a strip of leather.
The fact he still wore it gave her hope.
She followed a path of golden hair down the hard planes of chest and stomach as far as the sheet would allow. It had slipped down his body to halt just above his groin, and his legs were spread wide underneath. Hestia almost forgot to breathe; it was obvious he was completely naked under the thin sheet. Hestia fought the inappropriate urge to let her fingers glide over his silky skin and draw the sheet away from the rest of his glorious body.
She fanned her face with her hand. It was stuffy in the cabin, so she limped toward the door to the balcony, opening it to allow fresh air to flow. Concentrating on her task, she recalled that she’d dreamed of being alone in his bedchamber, with him naked, for so long, but her lip quivered when she realized she’d never pictured Alex being hurt in order to achieve it. And she’d never forget this was her fault. For the hundredth time she wished she could swap places with him.
Mr. Foxhall looked up as she finished opening the door to the tiny balcony.
“Oh good, you’ve arrived. I have to s
ee to the men and also place an order for more supplies. How is your ankle?”
“The pain is easing, thank you. You look exhausted, David. Try and get some sleep tonight. I’m perfectly capable of looking after him, and you are but a call away should I need you.” With a small smile Hestia added, “I’ll manage the night shift perfectly well.”
“Right, then. I’ve just inspected his wound and I have applied a clean dressing. It’s unlikely he’ll wake for the next few hours. Please try to keep him still.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” With worry in her voice she continued. “I’m not that strong.”
He snorted. “You won’t need strength. I’m giving him a small amount of laudanum to ensure he stays drowsy and immobile. I have left a bottle here for you in case he stirs. Make sure he has one drop, and I mean one drop only, in some brandy just before you change his dressing. That’s when he’ll be in the most pain.”
Hestia’s face paled. She almost dropped her head in her hands, the thought she might hurt him when she cleansed the wound too much to bear. God was punishing her for her wicked deed. He was making her suffer by seeing his pain.
Mr. Foxhall eyed her dubiously. “Have you tended the sick and injured before, Lady Hestia?”
Hestia hung her head. “Other than helping you on this voyage, no.”
“I see.” David briefly explained how to change Alex’s dressing. He demonstrated how to clean the wound and reapply the bandage. He also described the signs of infection—fever, redness around the wound, weeping.
And then he was gone. She was alone with Alex.
Her ankle still throbbed, but with the strapping David had applied to it earlier and the intimacy of Alex’s cabin, she all but forgot about it. The men had moved one of the leather armchairs from the stateroom into Alex’s cabin so she would be more comfortable. They had placed it across from the end of the bunk bed so she could prop her ankle on Alex’s clothes chest. She’d brought one of her small tapestries with her to keep her occupied so she wouldn’t fall asleep.
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