by Merry Farmer
Her throat was dry, rasping. She needed water.
And it was there. Suddenly, without warning, drops of sweet, cool water fell onto her lips. She parted them, allowed more of the precious liquid to dribble into her mouth. Gentle hands smoothed back her hair, lifted her so she could swallow, then set her back down again.
Thank you.
She tried to speak, to say the words, but could only manage a hoarse croak. Still, it was enough. She slept again.
She woke to a familiar sound. A pen, the nib scratching across parchment. It was the sound of…home?
Where was that? She searched her memory but could not find it, could not recall where she had been when last she heard the scrape of a quill on paper.
She opened her eyes, blinked as she adjusted to the light, then focused. She was lying on her side in a bunk, a blanket covering her. Her hand still hurt. She looked down and caught sight of it then let out a startled scream. What had they done to her hand?
There was movement to her right. A man was there suddenly, tall, blond hair loose to his shoulders, his jaw covered in stubble. He wore a loose-fitting shirt open at the neck and with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His arms were tanned, muscular, his shoulders broad and powerful. He leaned on the wall beside the bunk regarding her quietly. Then, he smiled.
“Ah, you are feeling a little better, perhaps.”
His voice was not…unpleasant, but she did not answer. She could not; she did not know what the answer was.
A little better? Better than what?
“May I?” He gestured to the edge of the bunk, next to her.
Elisabeth nodded, and he settled himself beside her. His eyes were dark, she noted, a deep shade of mahogany. He was beautiful, in a peculiarly masculine way. It was not a word she had ever associated with a man before, as far as she could recall, which was not much, in fact. But it seemed right for him.
“You are in pain?” His brow furrowed. He appeared concerned for her, though Elisabeth had no idea why he might care.
“Do…do I know you, sir?”
He grinned. “No, at least, not yet. I daresay we shall become well enough acquainted since you are sharing my cabin.”
She closed her eyes, attempted to process this information but failed utterly. “How did I get here?”
“You were on board the Marlin, a slave vessel bound for Virginia as far as I am aware. I assume you were taken on board in New Orleans. You are now on board my ship, the Falcon. We attacked the Marlin three days ago and freed the slaves she was carrying.”
“You are a navy vessel, then?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Hardly. The Falcon is a pirate ship. My name is Will Falconer. Thief, buccaneer and cutthroat, at your service, madame.”
“A…a pirate. You do not look like a pirate, sir.”
His grin widened. “I assure you, that is my customary trade, but I make exceptions when I encounter slave ships. I have an aversion to forced labour and see it as my Christian duty to intervene when I can. This was just such an occasion.”
“You attacked the ship?”
He nodded.
“What happened to the other women? They were in the hold.”
“All released and now on their way to Santa Natalia where they will be freed to make their way as best they can.”
“You could have sold them yourself. Slaves are valuable.”
“I do not traffic slaves, madame. That was not my objective on this occasion.”
“I… I see.” She did not, not nearly, but was too exhausted to continue the struggle. “I was a slave, too. I think. They said…”
“You were not in the hold when we boarded the Marlin. I discovered you in one of the cabins. Can you remember what happened?”
She closed her eyes and was able to recapture brief snippets. “I… I remember being in the hold. It was dark, and it smelled terrible. There were so many of us. We had to cling on to the sides of the ship or we would be flung about like rag dolls. I was so scared…”
Tears were streaming across her cheeks, but she could not lift her hand to brush them away. The pirate, Will Falconer, produced a linen handkerchief from somewhere and wiped her eyes with it.
“If it is too painful to remember just now, this can wait. Let us concentrate on treating your injuries.”
“How badly am I hurt?”
Now his grin faded. “Your hand is broken, and our ship’s surgeon had to set it to straighten the bones. That is why it is still so painful. I could probably find some laudanum if you need it.”
“Maybe a few drops, to take the edge off.”
He nodded. “I shall ask Old Sawbones what he has on board. You took a nasty blow to the head, enough to leave you out cold these past three days, and there is bruising all over your body, too. Our surgeon believes you to have a couple of cracked ribs, and he wishes to bind those but had to wait for you to come around first.”
“There was a man, a savage brute of a man. He…he dragged me from the hold, and he hit my hand to stop me clinging to a rope when he pushed me down some stairs. He kicked me, too. I remember being on the floor, and he dragged me to my feet and threw me into a cabin.”
“Yes. That would be where I found you.”
“He tore my clothes,” she continued. “I was on the bunk. I tried to open my eyes but… He unfastened his trousers and he…he…” She was weeping in earnest now. “He raped me,” she managed at last.
“You were naked when I came in, and unconscious. Do you remember exactly what he did?”
“N-no, but…he meant to rape me, and kill me, I am sure of it. Why would he not do that?”
“I saw no obvious signs. Blood on your thighs, or semen, perhaps. Do you have any specific pain or discomfort to suggest that you were raped?”
“I hurt everywhere,” she sobbed.
“I know. I know that.” He stroked her matted hair. “We will not dwell on this if it upsets you. It is just, I would think it important for you to know.”
“It is. I… I just cannot remember.” She frowned, racked her brain for anything at all, any snippet of memory. “I heard a loud bang, the ship rocked. He…he staggered back, away from me.”
“Our cannons, perhaps. We fired on the Marlin, and that might have been what you heard.”
“Yes, it could have been.”
“If his ship was under attack, I doubt even the most lust-crazed sailor would waste time sinking his dick into an unwilling woman. I may be wrong, but it seems that way to me.”
“You think he might not have…might not have…”
“It sounds to me as though we may have arrived just in time.”
She clutched at his arm with her good hand, hope and desperation surging in equal measure. “But how can I be sure? I need to be sure.”
“You cannot remember the actual rape, but you do recall that he staggered and seemed to fall backwards when we attacked. Add to that the absence of evidence that I mentioned, and you do not appear to have suffered the specific injuries we might expect from a brutal rape. I think perhaps God was on your side.”
She managed a hollow laugh. “I do not believe I have enjoyed the support of the Almighty for some time, Captain Falconer.”
“Even so,” he observed, “on this occasion it appears you may have.”
She pondered for several moments, then, “What will happen to me now?”
“You will remain on board the Falcon until we reach Santa Natalia. From there you will be free, as will all the other women who were on board with you.”
“Santa Natalia? I… I do not think I know anyone on Santa Natalia.”
He offered no comment on that. His concern appeared to focus more on her recent past. “I suspect you may be from New Orleans as that was the port the Marlin visited most recently. Given the circumstances in which we found you, I cannot believe it would be in your interests to return there.”
“But I need to go home. People will wonder what has happened to me.”
&nbs
p; “Of course. I will do what I can to assist you in letting your loved ones know you are safe. So, where is home?”
Elisabeth paused, screwed up her eyes in concentration, searching desperately for some semblance of memory however vague and indistinct. At last she was forced to concede. “I… I cannot remember, sir.”
“Very well. What about the people who will be wondering what fate befell you? Who are they? Who will be missing you?”
Again, Elisabeth rifled through fragmented slivers of recollection, all of them from the last few days or hours. She could remember the slave ship, and being attacked by the vile captain, but nothing prior to waking up in the dark, damp hold. She shook her head in defeat.
“So, let us try an easy question to start with. What is your name, madame?”
She peered up at him through tear-filled eyes, panic mounting afresh. She shook her head, frantic now as darkness seemed to engulf her all over again,
“I… I have no idea, sir. No idea at all.”
Will Falconer did not consider himself a man who most would turn to in times of need. He was not given to offering comfort or empathy, but he did not pause to think before wrapping his arms around the weeping female in his bed. He held her against his chest and patted her back, stroked her hair, and muttered words of solace until she eventually calmed.
At the same time, he was beginning to realise that he had, probably, taken on rather more than he originally bargained for. He had expected to offer comfort to a dying woman, then bury her at sea. Matters were clearly much more complicated than that.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes in his head that his mysterious passenger was no slave. Her hands, at least the uninjured one, were soft and delicate, not work-worn. Similarly, her complexion was pale, suggesting she was unaccustomed to an outdoor life. She was no milkmaid or plantation worker, and he did not believe she was a domestic servant either. He had not bothered to retrieve any of the torn clothing he saw scattered about the cabin on the Marlin but could tell from the tattered remnants that she had embarked on this misadventure well-dressed in fashionable attire.
She spoke to him in perfect English, though her words were accented. The lady was French, he was certain of it, and obviously educated as she had command of more than one tongue.
Will could not start to imagine what circumstances resulted in a well-educated lady of fashion and wealth being incarcerated in the hold of a slave ship, but they could not have been happy.
He was perplexed. In his experience, admittedly limited, loss of memory was usually the result of head trauma or deep shock, and the fact that she did appear to recall her experiences on board the Marlin in some detail would seem to suggest that whatever had happened to her had been earlier than that, before she’d regained consciousness on the slaver. He was baffled, but on one thing he was quite certain.
His mystery lady needed help and protection. She would have both from Will Falconer.
“Madame?” he ventured, when she ceased her crying.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were a delightful shade of green. They put him in mind of emeralds, sparkling and clear, though bruising still marred her features and one eye remained swollen. Her lip, too, was full and puffy, but beneath the damage he was sure he caught a glimpse of real beauty. She possessed a small, straight nose, mercifully unbroken by that lout on the Marlin, and glorious red-gold hair which fell almost to her waist. Although it was bloodstained and matted, he had no doubt that her titian mane would prove to be soft and gently waving given the right care.
Normally he preferred his females to be dark-haired and dark-eyed, but he could make an exception, he supposed.
Will gave himself a mental shake. She had suffered enough at the hands, he was convinced, of unscrupulous and cruel men. He hoped not to add to her woes.
“I will summon the surgeon. We should see to binding your cracked ribs.” He gently set her back down on the bunk. “I will not be long.” He got to his feet. “I shall have food brought, too. Maybe a little broth?”
“Did you not hear me? I told you, I cannot remember who I am.”
Her expression was close to distraught, and he could not blame her but saw no merit in both of them succumbing to panic. “I did hear, and we will come back to that. But first, we will see to your care and comfort. Ribs, then food. Yes?”
He was relieved to see her cautious nod. She was, just possibly, beginning to trust him. Will shot her a smile he hoped she would find reassuring and left the cabin.
He came across Old Sawbones sunning himself on the wheel deck, snoring softly. Will nudged him with his booted foot.
“She is awake.”
“Ah,” the surgeon acknowledged, opening one eye. “Then we may assume she will live.”
“Do you have laudanum? She is in a lot of pain.”
The surgeon dragged himself to his feet and tottered a little unsteadily. Will wondered if he had been at the rum again.
“Aye, I can give ’er a drop or two. No more. ’Tis too easy to develop a craving, an’ no good comes o’ that.”
“Another thing, she says she has no memory of anything prior to finding herself on the Marlin. No recollection of how she got there or who she is.”
The old surgeon scratched his head. “I have come across this before, though not often. There was a head wound, and it looked to me to be a few days old at least, which suggests it was sustained before she boarded the slaver. That could have been the cause. No memory at all, you say?”
“None, apparently.”
“Hmm, awkward. Where will we send the ransom note, then?”
“There will be no ransom note,” Will growled. “She is not a hostage, and you know it.”
“Well, aye, I do now.”
“Will she regain her memory?” Will persisted.
The surgeon shrugged. “Sometimes they do, in cases like this. If the cause was the blow to the head, as that heals, she may regain her memory. I have heard, though, that there are some cases where the patient chooses to forget an experience or incident which is too awful to bear, and this is a way of coping with it.”
“If that was the case, she may never allow herself to remember what happened.”
The surgeon nodded, then, “Let us just do what we can fer ’er, an’ let the rest take care o’ itself, eh?”
Sage advice.
“I shall see you in my cabin, then. After I visit the galley to see if there might be a bowl of broth to be had.”
“Tell them to water it well. She should no’ have anythin’ too rich, not fer a while.” The surgeon made his way down onto the main deck, presumably in search of his medicines.
Will returned to his cabin, the bowl of watered vegetable broth in his hands and Old Sawbones hot on his heels. They entered his quarters together to find their guest dozing again. She stirred at the sound of their arrival and tried to sit up.
“Let me help.” Will slid his arms around her and assisted her to a sitting position, the blanket tucked under her chin. Her shoulders were naked, as was the rest of her beneath the cover. Old Sawbones had advised against dressing her until her ribs were bound.
“We shall just have ter strip ’er again to wrap the binding around ’er, an’ that would cause ’er more discomfort,” he advised.
Will watched as Old Sawbones picked up the torn linens they had set aside for this purpose. He laid the bandages on the bed and regarded his patient critically. Will noticed that the woman seemed nervous and flinched when the surgeon extended his hand.
“May I examine your broken fingers first? I promise I will not ‘urt you.”
She looked to Will, who nodded his encouragement. Slowly, cautiously, she inched her hand across the blanket.
Old Sawbones lifted it gently, checked that the splints were still tightly fastened. “You may not regain full use of this ‘and, I am afraid, but the bones are now ‘ealing straight, and we’ve done our best. Some stiffness is to be expected…”
“Thank you,” she murmure
d.
“Now, does it still ‘urt to breathe?”
The woman nodded. “Very much, sir.”
“On which side?”
“Here.” She indicated her left.
“I need to be sure exactly where the fractures are, and for this you must lower the blanket and permit me to feel your ribs.”
“Oh, but—”
“Madame, I am a surgeon. And ‘e is a captain, so we do not count. Naked or otherwise, you will be quite safe with us.”
“I did not mean that. I just…”
“We have had ample opportunity to view your breasts already, and while they are most charming, I can assure you they are not out of the ordinary and will not drive either one of us into a frenzy of lust. So, the quicker we proceed, the quicker you will ’ave some relief.”
The surgeon’s matter-of-fact attitude seemed to be just what was required. Not for the first time, Will was glad of Old Sawbones’ skills in dealing with the sick and injured. The woman flattened her lips in resignation and nodded.
“Right. Good. So, this is what we will do.” Old Sawbones fixed his gaze first on Will. “If she is able to stand, that is best. You will position yerself just here, an’ the young lady will stand in front of you, facing you. She will lean on you, and you will support ’er an’ ensure she remains upright. I shall first examine ’er to ascertain the exact site o’ the fractures, then I shall bind ’er ribs tight, like, ter stop ’em moving when she breathes. That will greatly reduce ’er discomfort.”
“Right.” Will stroked the woman’s hair. “Do you think you can stand, if I help you?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Shall we find out, then?”
He stood and offered her his hand to assist her in getting out of bed. She accepted his help and slid from beneath the blanket. It took an effort of will not to wince at the sight of the purple and yellow bruising which bloomed across her torso and hips. Her legs, too, had taken more than a few blows, and he wondered at her inner resilience in having survived such an assault.
What sort of a man does this to a woman?
And what sort of a man could fail to be impressed by the sight of such a slender, willowy female body? Her breasts were small but perfect. Her hips, though slim, were gently rounded, her legs long and, despite the bruising, beautiful and shapely. She was, he decided, all in all, quite breathtaking.
