“Very well then,” Tyrsdale acknowledged, losing all show of joviality. “The Admiral mentioned thinking you might have participated in one of the Actions in the year five, specifically, the one in which Captain Phaelan died. Is that a fact?”
“Why the curiosity?” Daniel put all his effort into keeping the tremor from his voice, his vision clouding over with the haze of unwanted memories.
Tyrsdale shrugged. “I recall hearing rumors following that battle about the particular misfortune of the Captain’s ship. Great debate ensued about the death of Captain Phaelan and the extreme damage done to the ship. Some believe the captain had been misguided by a Lieutenant, unsavory fellow from the sounds of it, I have an acquaintance or two who served aboard the vessel.”
“Why don’t you ask them about it in that case?” Daniel ground out, his hands fisting by his sides.
“Oh, I mean to, but sailors are notoriously difficult to pin down. We haven’t passed through the same circles for quite some time due to scheduling differences. But back to my main curiosity. Others contend the whole thing amounted to a bad blow of rotten luck. I don’t suppose you would know about that ship and what happened?”
During this lazy monologue, Tyrsdale had taken up an arc of pacing, completing a half circle around Daniel, which did nothing to lessen the mild spinning of his head. All this bantering amounted to a waste of time. Obviously, Tyrsdale already knew the information he asked about and wanted confirmation. Why, Daniel wasn’t sure aside from a conviction of some malicious intent, but he was through with this dance.
“The ship you’re referencing is the Opal, and yes, the captain was killed in that skirmish. I have nothing more to say on the matter.” Gravel crunched beneath his heel as he turned his back to the Baron, marching toward the doors and the gathering within the house.
His lungs ached, and he blinked against a bout of dizziness, but he gnashed his teeth and plowed on. Back and shoulders tightening against the harsh strain of his posture, he refused to allow any hint of his crumbling composure to surface. At least he learned that lesson well during his early days in the navy. Maintaining the outward appearance of calm when the entire world around him shattered.
Scanning the brightly lit room the instant he crossed the threshold, He searched for Lenore. She might not want anything to do with him, but he felt a desperate need to have her at least within eyesight if he was going to make it through the rest of this night.
Turning about yet again in her bed and tugging her feet loose of the sheets twisting about her ankles, Lenore came to rest on her back with a beleaguered sigh, staring up into the dark canopy. Unable to stop thinking of Daniel, she’d been lying awake for hours. She tilted her head on the pillow toward the starry sky visible through a sliver left open in the curtains and wondered how far off the dawn was. She had no proper sense of time, unsure if she’d been awake for only a few hours or most of the night.
Scrunching her hands into fists in the blanket on either side of her, she sat up with an angry huff. If she couldn’t sleep anyway, she might as well move about. She swiveled her legs off the bed and slid her feet into the slippers sitting beside it, then stood and reached for the wrapper draped over the foot of her bed.
As a child, her mother always made her warm milk when sleep evaded her, often laced with Valerian and honey. Perhaps that cure might ease her enough tonight to salvage the remainder of the wee hours. With any luck she could then speak with Daniel in the morning. Padding across the room and pausing to light a taper along the way, she opened the door and made her way toward the kitchen.
She wasn’t often in the kitchen anymore; it took her a moment to remember where cook liked to keep things. Rummaging about, the details came back to her, and she procured a cup, saucepan, and some milk. She had no desire to wake either cook or her scullery maids, so she rolled up her sleeves in preparation of discovering if she still remembered her way around a kitchen.
She located the Valerian and honey; the herb pantry had always been the most prominent portion of the kitchen. Locating the tinderbox proved the more difficult task. Once found, she set about lighting a small fire in the cook stove.
The estate claimed a large functioning hearth for the cooking thanks to its age, but luckily also boasted the addition of a more modern stovetop and oven, installed at some point during her mother’s upbringing. She set the milk on to warm, then turned back to the larder to consider what other additions she might want to make to her tea.
During her childhood, she spent hours in the kitchen with her mother and aunts, especially in the summer and fall, preparing medicines and tonics to see them through the winter. She all but abandoned the process in England, there were far too many other indulgences to divert one’s attention, and procuring medicines proved far more convenient in the more populated region.
Now, though, as she added the ingredients to the pot and monitored her progress, careful not to scald the milk as she allowed it time to warm gently on the stove, those old memories resurfaced, bringing with them a sense of happy nostalgia. There was something calming, almost healing, in the process of creating cures. One couldn’t rush the herbs, the finest tonics could be wrought with patience and care, while trying to hurry the process inevitably spoiled the mix.
But patience was often an elusive thing. Daniel never had it, which accounted for why, more often than not during visits from the Langdons, he roamed far from the kitchen, climbing trees or battling imaginary pirates on the moors-turned-sea of a child’s imagination.
Gavin had often been torn between his curiosity of the healing herbs and his desire to cavort with the other boys, making him far less reliable a helper with visitors present. A smile pulled at Lenore’s lips as she remembered those days, so far away now. So much simpler than the stresses of adulthood.
Removing the simmering pot from the stove, she strained the herbs from her milk as she transferred it to a cup and added a respectable spoonful of honey to the brew. She’d chosen a thick clay mug, the better to wrap her hands around without burning them, and now lifted the vessel to her lips, knowing full well the milk was still too hot to drink. Half the healing, her mother explained to her, is in the process. From mixing to savoring, and including inhaling the fragrant steam, allowing it to calm the senses. Grinning, she set down the cup for a moment as she adjusted her woolen shawl around her shoulders, then picked it up again in one hand while reaching for the taper with the other.
She retraced her steps toward the stairs and her room, moving silently through the quiet hall, but as she crested the stairway a noise halted her. Pausing in place, she cocked her head and listened, not sure if she’d heard something or not. Only silence met her inspection, and she prepared to continue to her room, but as she took her first step forward, she heard it again. A shout, dim in the enveloping interior of the manor, emanating from the direction of the guest rooms. Eyes widening, she altered course and hurried down the opposite hall, concern for Daniel adding urgency to her steps.
She reached his door, panting with her effort, and paused outside. The warm milk sloshed dangerously against the confines of the mug, likely also settling somewhat lower in the mug than at the outset, as evidenced by a lingering drop or two of milk dangling from the bottom edge of the earthenware. Setting both cup and taper on a nearby console, Lenore came up short, staring with a frown at Daniel’s door. Silence blanketed the hall once again, but she was convinced she’d heard something.
Chewing on her lip, she shifted her weight as she thought. Knocking on the door to wake Daniel at this time of night would be foolish. Instead, she leaned in toward the door, intent upon pressing her ear against the thick wood paneling.
I’ll only wait a moment, she told herself, I’ll ensure myself Daniel is all right and go back to my room.
With a nod, she allowed her ear to adhere to the wood, her breathing slowing to shallow wisps as she strained at her task against the thick barricade. One heartbeat after another thudded in her chest until she w
as sure she must have imagined the whole thing and now stood outside Daniel’s door like an idiot.
An instant before her insecurity got the best of her and bade her turn about, another shout emerged from the inside of the room, repressed but full of pain and fright. Gasping, she reached for the knob, thankful he hadn’t locked the door, and let herself in, reaching for her taper as she went, the warm milk forgotten and left to linger on the console.
Once inside, a slew of muttering met her ears in various tones from mumbling to a child-like whimper, to the occasional angry outburst. Lenore closed the door behind her to prevent the noise from seeping into the hall, then turned her attention to the shadowed form struggling, as she had but far more violently, against the imprisonment of the bedsheets.
She raced over to the bed, setting her taper down on the mantle as she did so, fully intending to take hold of Daniel’s shoulders and shake him awake. Not until she reached the bedside did she realize her misjudgment. Not only did Daniel appear far too strong in his thrashing for her attempt to make any difference, she also belatedly realized that while he struggled with the sheets about his ankles, he’d succeeded in freeing himself from the majority of the fabric. The fabric which would have hidden the fact that he was completely naked.
Chapter 10
Acrid smoke scorched Daniel’s nostrils and burned at his lungs as he made his way across the deck, shouting orders and overseeing the cannons. The ship listed hopelessly, rudder destroyed. He’d long since given up maneuvering orders, focusing instead on aiding the men at the cannons to aim their weapons through the caustic black clouds surrounding the ship.
Grappling hooks flew through the air, glinting as they passed through random pockets of clarity and caught the sun. There was no stopping them now, the French would board the ship. Unsheathing his sword, he made ready for the attack and shouted for his men to do the same. The Captain stood at the helm, searching for something beyond the dark haze in his spyglass. At the sound of Daniel’s order to take arms, the Captain returned his attention to the main deck and marched toward the steps, his hand reaching for his sword at the same time as he signaled for Daniel to join him.
Captain Phaelan took one step down the stairs, then jolted back, a crimson dahlia blooming across the soot-covered white of his shirt and vest, staining his blue coat black. The commanding figure crumpled, pitching forward, and tumbling down the remaining steps. Daniel raced forward, catching the man in his descent a moment before his skull collided with the deck, pulling him to the side and under a sheltered eve. “Daniel,” Phaelan choked, lungs wheezing as they worked, blood seeping from both nose and mouth as he reached for him, “Daniel...”
Daniel bolted upright in his bed, heart racing, drenched in sweat, lungs heaving in their attempt to suck in cool, fresh air. He blinked, surrounded by darkness, unsure where he was. Slowly, his senses registered his surroundings, so unnerving in their difference from the reality of a moment before. The air didn’t burn, no wind or salt slapped at his face, the thunder of cannon fire and shouts of war died to mere echoes. Except for the voice calling his name. A voice far sweeter than he remembered.
“Daniel,” much softer now, and with a hint of concern and something... motherly. “Daniel...”
He blinked, realizing a woman’s voice called him. Rubbing his eyes, the room came into focus. A weak glow emanated from a short taper resting on the mantle across from the bed, attempting to magnify itself by reflecting in the mirror hanging there, and beside him the voice continued.
“Daniel, are ye all right?”
He looked in the direction of the voice, his heart pausing in its settlement when he took in the shapely figure of Lenore standing beside his window, silhouetted by moon-glow with the tiny rays of gold from the taper illuminating the ringlets of her hair, unbound and flowing down her back.
A sight he procured more often than he ought to admit in his imagination, but with one notable difference; she had her back to him. She voiced her concern over her shoulder, hands clasped in front of her. From the angle and movements of her arms she appeared to be twisting her hands in worry.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he lied. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah heard a shout,” she continued, still tossing her words over her shoulder. “Ah was worried about ye.”
“Why are you standing like that?” He asked out of curiosity, glad at least she hadn’t tried to shake him awake.
“Well...” she paused. “You’re nae dressed.”
“Of course I’m not dressed, I was...”
The last of his confusion evaporated as he realized it must be the middle of the night and Lenore stood beside his bed. Looking down, he realized not only was he not dressed, which was only natural as he detested nightshirts and the way they tangled around him to accentuate his nightmares, but in his dreaming struggle he managed to fling away his sheets, so he now sat entirely exposed to the world.
With a barely subdued curse, he grabbed for the sheets, too out of sorts from his recent experience to either hope Lenore hadn’t seen him in all his glory or wonder in amusement if she had.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled “I’m covered now.”
With a small nod, Lenore turned to face him, showcasing the extent of worry in her eyes. “Ah wasnae sure if Ah should try tae wake ye...” She began, taking up a gnawing on her lower lip.
“Better just as you did,” he assured her, heat rising to his cheeks as unbidden images of how he might have mishandled her sprang to mind, along with the flash of his nephew’s terrified little face.
“Is there anythin’ Ah can dae?” She asked, bringing his thoughts back to the present.
“Not unless you know a way to erase memory from the mind,” he grumbled, rubbing a palm over his face.
Pressing her lips together, she approached the side of the bed with caution. He tensed.
“Hae ye ever shared these memories wi’ anyone?”
“No, and I don’t mean to.”
“Ye might find them less potent if ye dae—”
“No one else need be burdened with them, they’re mine alone. Thank you for checking on me, Lenore, you’d best get back to your own rest now. This isn’t exactly the best scenario for you to get caught in, even with an alleged engagement.”
Her eyes widened with what he recognized as anger, causing regret at his inability to temper his tone.
“Well ‘at’s a fine thank ye,” she huffed. “It’s nae as though Ah came in here wi’ any intent tae—”
“I know, Lenore,” he broke in, attempting to avoid any reason for his imagination to ignite with less than appropriate images. Having grown up around so many reckless boys, Lenore, like his own sisters, could be blunt when riled. A quality he normally appreciated but which would not help their cause now. “I just—”
“Ye just dinnae want me tae outwardly appear as th’ strumpet ye already tak’ me fur!”
Her eyes blazed even as they began to glisten, a replaying of the scene in the garden which had ushered him into his restless sleep.
“Lenore—”
“Nae need, Captain. See tae yerself then, I’ll make mah way back tae mah own room.” She turned with enough speed to send the corner of her wrapper flying out behind her.
Panic gripped Daniel. He caused Lenore enough pain in the garden, he had no wish to either amplify or perpetuate it. Without any thought to what he did, he scurried out of bed to stop her, catching her by the crooks of her arms just before she reached the door and pulling her back against him, freezing in place as he did so.
“Daniel?” She breathed.
“Yes?” He swallowed, making an active effort to maintain a loose grip on her arms and ignore the softness of her against him.
“You’re still undressed.”
Despite himself he let out a short laugh. “Yes, I am.”
“Well?”
“Well?” He repeated, confused.
“What dae ye want?” She demanded, making her best effort at
haughtiness, though her breathlessness undermined her.
What do I want? His mind screamed. I want you beneath me in that bed. He cleared his throat.
“I need to apologize. For the way I treated you in the garden.”
She stiffened in his arms, and he hurried to continue before she attempted to pull away from him. “Not the kiss. For my idiotic response to you.”
Her stance relaxed somewhat. “Gae on.”
A smile tugged at his lips for an instant before the gravity of what he had to say next settled upon him.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” He began, searching for words as he spoke. “I do know why I kissed you, and I should have told you then, but I was...”
A coward, foolish, selfish...
“Why did ye?” Her voice sounded as barely above a whisper.
Taking in a breath, Daniel barreled forward before he lost his nerve. “Because I needed to. Lenore, you’ve been the only light in this constant misery of my life for years. I didn’t realize it, not fully, until the Clerk’s office. Something about you... Your nearness calms me. In a way no medicine and no one in my family have been able to.” Swallowing, he considered his next words, Lenore silent in front of him. “It’s selfish of me and unfair to you, but in those brief moments I felt myself almost healed again. Forgive me.”
She remained silent for the space of several agonizing heartbeats before tugging her arms out of his grip. He let his hands fall to his sides, preparing to watch her continue her march out of the room, but then she turned, sliding her form across his skin without opening any distance between them, setting sparks flying along his limbs and spine before wrapping her arms around his waist and tilting her head back to look at him. His breath caught; he didn’t dare move.
The Captain's Surrender (Currents of Love Book 6) Page 9
