Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

  The thought sickened her.

  No wonder Lucien became angry when she’d kissed him. It must have seemed to him that she expected him to comply because it was what she wanted.

  But she had wanted it.

  Was she nothing but a selfish aristocrat?

  ‘Viscount Waverland was not the only reason for my antipathy,’ he went on. ‘I was raised to detest aristocrats.’

  ‘By your mother?’ His father was absent, she recalled.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘‘That makes no sense. She fell in love with one.’

  He cocked his head. ‘We came to different conclusions. She wanted to be one. I wanted nothing to do with them.’

  And she was one of them. ‘Something must have happened, then.’

  He halted and gazed down at her with an intent look she did not understand.

  Finally he spoke. ‘My mother’s father owned land in Ireland. He was fairly prosperous, but he was tricked into losing the property by an unscrupulous lord. My mother and her brothers were suddenly impoverished and my mother never recovered from the change in her circumstances and prospects for a good marriage.’

  ‘What a terrible occurrence.’ The poor family. No wonder Lucien felt as he did.

  ‘That is why I was in Ireland,’ he explained. ‘To provide some needed funds for my uncles.’

  Her heart warmed towards him. Of course. It was the sort of thing he would do. Dear Lucien.

  ‘I should tell you more.’ His tone put her aback.

  ‘More? What more?’

  He faced her directly and looked down into her eyes. ‘The aristocrat who impoverished my family was the Earl of Keneagle. Your grandfather.’

  She felt a chill run through her. ‘My grandfather? My father’s father?’ Had she known her grandfather?

  He kept on. ‘I did not tell you before, because...well...you had enough to deal with. I feel I should have told you when we met your brother.’

  Her grandfather must have been as horrible as her brother. It was a wonder Lucien could even look at her.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling as miserable as she could remember. ‘It has turned cold. We should go back in.’

  Chapter Nine

  Lucien felt her withdrawal. Her pain. He was instantly sorry he had spoken. Why had he?

  If he was trying to separate himself from her, he’d done a fair job of it, but it brought him no ease at all.

  He shook his head. ‘I should not have told you all that. I fear it has only caused you pain.’

  Her muscles had stiffened. ‘Better for me to know—to know what sort of a family I came from.’

  Had he told her because he’d been tempted to pull her into the many shadows around the yard and taste her lips again?

  They re-entered the inn and climbed the stairs to their rooms. At her doorway, he reached out his hand for her key.

  She placed it in his palm and avoided a direct look at him.

  He turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

  All he could see in the room was the bed and temptation flared through him. Enter her room. Taste her lips again and this time allow her to say yes.

  ‘Shall I have breakfast sent up to your room?’ he said instead.

  ‘As you wish, Lucien,’ she responded in a sad voice.

  She held out her palm for the key and he returned it to her. Before he could say another word, she strode into the room, closing the door behind her.

  Curse me, Lucien said to himself.

  He returned to the public rooms, seated himself at a table and sent the tavern maid to bring him some brandy. A whole bottle.

  He poured one glass and downed it and poured another. Sipping this one more slowly, he let his gaze drift around the room, so much like any public room of a fairly respectable inn. Weary travellers. Jocular town folk. Easy women, needing to make enough to survive. Eager men willing to pay their price.

  Tucked away in a booth in the corner of the room sat his new valet and the chatterbox maid, staring into each other’s eyes as if no one else in the room existed. They had at least another hour before their duties would call them away.

  Too bad he could never have what they possessed. Love between equals. Strong enough that nothing or no one else mattered.

  But she would always be Lady Rebecca and he would always have the sea.

  He must stay the course. Bring her to London. Deliver her to Lord Stonecroft.

  And say goodbye.

  He downed his second glass of brandy and poured a third.

  He still wished he had not hurt her so this night.

  * * *

  Their trip the next day took them through the mountains, and the scenic views of the peaks and valleys and lakes kept them all entertained. Lucien could hardly ignore that Lady Rebecca said as little as possible to him. Though they still sat next to each other and could not fail to touch, it was as if she were in another coach altogether.

  This was an odd choice of a route, Lucien thought. The pace was slow, the horses needing to conserve strength because the few coaching inns were a greater distant apart than on busier roads.

  * * *

  When they stopped at an inn at midday, Lucien asked the coachmen about it.

  ‘More direct, it is,’ the coachman said. ‘Saves time.’

  But the man did not look him in the eye.

  Twice that day they had to leave the carriage and walk so the horses could make it up a steep piece of road. This was not saving time. They should be out of this wooded, mountainous area and on to more-travelled roads.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, Lucien’s impatience grew, even as the road narrowed and the pace slowed even further.

  The carriage stopped one more time and the coachman opened the window below his perch. ‘Need you to walk again.’

  Lucien disembarked first and helped Lady Rebecca out. Cullen and Ella came next.

  ‘We might as well walk the whole way,’ Ella said as her feet hit the ground.

  Lady Rebecca, however, had not uttered a word of complaint.

  They walked ahead of the carriage, able to make more speed than the horses. When they reached the crest of the hill, they faced two horsemen aiming pistols at them.

  Ella gasped.

  ‘Your money or your life,’ one growled.

  The two men dismounted.

  Lucien edged Lady Rebecca behind him, but kept walking towards them. ‘We have little of value.’

  ‘Stop there. Empty your pockets,’ the highwayman said.

  The other man’s hands shook.

  Lucien had faced men with pistols before when capturing enemy ships. Hesitation got men killed.

  ‘I’ll show you.’ He kept approaching and made it look like he was reaching in a pocket. ‘There’s a pittance.’

  Instead he charged the man, who stepped back in surprise, but fired his weapon. Lucien felt a sharp pain pierce his arm, but he leapt at the man, grabbing the arm with the pistol. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cullen grappling with the other man.

  ‘What ho?’ The coachmen jumped from the box.

  ‘They are with them!’ Lucien cried.

  Lady Rebecca pulled Ella away from them and around to the other side of the road. The two coachmen rushed into the fray. Lucien held his own, but barely, and a punch to his injured arm nearly caused him to pass out. How long could he and Cullen keep this up?

  He grabbed the robber by the lapels and slammed him into the coachman. Both staggered backwards, struggling to keep on their feet.

  Cullen was having a worse time of it. The other robber held him while the other coachman pummelled him with his fists.

  Ella let out a cry as unearthly as a proper banshee. She leapt on to the coachman’s back and held on to his hair. The man swung a
round, trying to rid himself of her.

  Lucien swung at his attacker with all his strength. His fist connected to the man’s jaw with a loud crack and the man spun around and fell to the ground. The coachman charged him again and both he and Lucien tumbled over. Somehow the man’s hands wrapped around his throat. Lucien tried to pry his fingers loose, but his injured arm had lost its strength.

  Suddenly Lady Rebecca appeared. She threw her shawl over the man’s head and jerked his head back. He lost his grip on Lucien, who rolled away, but he turned, trying to get his hands on her. Lucien came down with both fists on the back of the man’s neck.

  The man fell to the dirt.

  Cullen freed himself and now brandished a knife, its blade gleaming as he slashed at his assailants. Ella had finally been flung off, but the man she’d leapt on took one look at the knife and yelled, ‘Flee! Or we’re done for.’

  The man started for the horses, but Lady Rebecca ran ahead of him, waving her shawl and scaring the horses into galloping down the road.

  Lucien went to the carriage. There was no way he’d allow these men to escape in the carriage and leave them stranded. He held the horses.

  Lucien’s assailants scrambled to their feet and stumbled off into the woods where their partners had already fled.

  Lady Rebecca walked back to Lucien.

  Ella had flung her arms around Cullen and was weeping loudly. ‘I thought they would kill you.’

  Lucien had a strong urge to hold Lady Rebecca in the same manner, but he held back.

  She was breathing hard, but remained remarkably composed. ‘What now, Lucien?’

  ‘We need to leave. Right now.’ He didn’t want the highwaymen to regroup or return with reinforcements. ‘Cullen!’ he called. ‘Are you able to drive the carriage?’

  Ella released him.

  ‘I can try, sir.’ Cullen limped over to the carriage, climbed on to the box and took the ribbons in his hands.

  Lucien turned to Lady Rebecca. ‘I am going to ride on top with him. You ladies ride inside.’ He opened the door and helped them in. Closing it again, he leaned in the window. ‘You both did well.’

  The ladies had saved them all.

  Lucien climbed on the box with Cullen who flicked the ribbons. The horses started down the road.

  ‘Are you injured?’ Claire asked Ella.

  The girl had not stopped weeping, but she shook her head. ‘I thought they would kill Cullen. What would I do if that happened? How could I live after that?’

  She put her arm around the maid. ‘There, now. It is over. And you were very brave. Cullen is unharmed, is he not?’

  ‘He was limping,’ Ella whimpered.

  ‘Well, he is a strong man. A very strong man,’ she said. ‘I am certain he will be right as rain in no time.’

  ‘He is a strong man,’ Ella agreed with a sigh.

  Claire’s heart was still pounding. The whole scene played over and over in her mind. The highwaymen pointing their pistols. Lucien rushing towards them. She’d been terrified that he’d be shot. Ella’s sentiments were not unlike her own. How could she live if Lucien were killed? He was her one constant. When that man choked him, something in her snapped. She’d have killed that man if that was what it took to save Lucien.

  She glanced out of the window, her senses on alert lest the attackers return. The coachmen must have set up the attack. How could they have done such a thing?

  * * *

  After about a half-hour they reached a road with more traffic and soon crossed an old stone bridge and entered a village that looked as if time had not touched it in a century. The carriage stayed on the main road until they came upon a coaching inn.

  When the carriage turned into the inn’s yard and stopped, Claire heard Cullen’s voice. ‘Ella, m’lady. Come quick. I need you.’

  Claire opened the door and, without waiting for the steps to be put down, jumped to the ground, Ella behind her.

  Cullen had already climbed off the box. Lucien, pale as chalk, was leaning heavily on him.

  ‘He’s hurt, m’lady,’ Cullen said. ‘We must get him inside.’

  She sprang into action. ‘Ella, collect his things. Cullen, help me bring him into the inn.’ She came to his other side, ready to have him drape an arm around her shoulder, but his sleeve was dark with blood.

  ‘Lucien!’ she cried.

  ‘Started bleeding,’ he said. ‘Not serious.’

  He looked as if he would pass out at any moment.

  One of the hostlers ran ahead to alert the innkeeper who met them at the door.

  ‘What happened?’ the innkeeper asked, immediately taking over for Claire.

  ‘We were set upon by thieves,’ she answered. ‘Our coachmen were part of it. He’s shot, I believe.’

  The innkeeper directed them to a nearby room on the first floor. She and Cullen sat Lucien on the bed. Claire very gingerly removed his coat. His shirtsleeve was bright red.

  ‘The ball hit my upper arm.’ Lucien’s voice was low and strained.

  She looked over at the innkeeper. ‘Please send for a surgeon.’

  The man nodded and left.

  Cullen helped him off with his waistcoat and shirt. Claire moistened a towel from a basin in the room.

  ‘He bled something terrible,’ Cullen said.

  ‘It is still bleeding!’ She pressed the towel against his wound.

  He winced.

  Cullen removed Lucien’s boots.

  ‘Lucien, you must lie down,’ Claire insisted.

  He did as she said, closing his eyes as his head rested against the pillows. ‘Need to summon the magistrate.’

  ‘We will worry about that later,’ she said.

  He was so pale and weak. It frightened her.

  This would not have happened if not for her. He would have already been in London by now, well on his way in his new life.

  ‘I am so sorry, Lucien,’ she whispered.

  ‘No need,’ he said. ‘Just a scratch...’ His voice faded off.

  * * *

  Claire and Cullen did all they could to control the bleeding and to make Lucien as comfortable as possible, but he clearly was growing weaker and weaker. Claire was nearly wild with worry. An hour had passed and the surgeon had still not arrived.

  ‘Cullen, go see what is happening,’ she pleaded. ‘Why is the surgeon not here?’

  The valet nodded and immediately left the room.

  A few minutes later Ella entered with some broth. ‘For the Captain. The cook here said he should drink as much as possible.’

  She placed the tray containing a pot of broth and a cup on the table next to the bed.

  Claire poured some and put her arm around Lucien to help him sit. She lifted the cup to his lips. ‘Drink this.’

  She slowly poured a little of the broth down his throat. He swallowed cooperatively, but could not keep his eyes open.

  His skin was hot to her touch and that worried her as much as the bleeding.

  ‘What is going to happen to him, m’lady?’ Ella asked, wringing her hands.

  ‘He is going to recover,’ she said determinedly.

  Because no other option could possibly be entertained.

  She could not remember attending church or saying prayers, but she prayed now that God would help him.

  There was a knock on the door. It opened before they could answer and Cullen entered with a grey-haired man carrying a leather bag.

  ‘The surgeon,’ Cullen said.

  ‘I am Mr Hughes,’ the man said.

  ‘This is Captain Roper.’ Claire moved away from Lucien’s bedside and the surgeon took her place. ‘He’s been shot in the arm. We—we haven’t been able to stop the bleeding.’

  Mr Hughes sat down. ‘Let us see it, then.’

  He removed the blood
y towels Claire had wrapped around Lucien’s arm, dabbed at the fresh blood and touched the wound, examining it.

  Lucien roused and pulled away.

  Claire went to the other side of the bed and eased him back against the pillows. ‘It is all right, Lucien. It is the surgeon. Let him look at you.’

  It looked as if the pistol ball had taken a slice out of Lucien’s upper arm.

  ‘Bring me some fresh water and towels,’ the surgeon said. ‘We’ll clean the wound and stitch him up. That should do it.’

  Claire held Lucien’s other arm and shoulder while Cullen held his injured one. Lucien trembled in pain as the surgeon picked out pieces of cloth and small pebbles from the wound, but he did not cry out.

  ‘It will be all right, Lucien,’ Claire murmured. ‘Hold fast.’

  Mr Hughes poured water in the wound to wash away smaller debris. Lucien gripped Claire’s hand and shook some more.

  ‘Now we’ll sew you up, young man,’ Hughes said in a calm tone.

  Ella stood behind Cullen, her hands covering her mouth as the surgeon stitched the wound closed. Lucien’s muscles tensed and his face was pinched, as he stoically endured this last bit of pain.

  Claire felt every poke of the needle, every stroke of the thread passing through his skin as if it were happening to her. Only when the surgeon had finished, giving the wound a final dab of the towel and leaning back, did she realise she’d been as tense as Lucien.

  ‘There you are,’ Mr Hughes said. ‘All done. Now let us wrap it up and all will be well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Lucien mumbled as he once more relaxed against the pillows. He gestured towards his coat, flung across a table. ‘Will pay you.’

  Cullen retrieved the coat and lifted the purse from a pocket, taking out some coins and paying the surgeon.

  Mr Hughes packed up his things. ‘He should rest a day at least. More if he still seems weak.’ He glanced towards Lucien. ‘Do you hear that, Captain?’ he said louder.

  Lucien nodded.

  He turned to Claire again. ‘He should have the stitches taken out in a week, assuming he’s healing well.’