Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

  Claire rose and walked Mr Hughes to the door. ‘Is there anything I should be on watch for? Anything that could go awry?’

  The older man smiled at her. ‘He will do well, I believe. Only danger is fever, but he’s strong. Even fever will not beat him, I expect.’

  She certainly had no intention of letting Lucien out of her sight until she knew he would recover completely.

  After the surgeon left, she returned to the chair next to his bed.

  ‘I will stay with him,’ she told Cullen and Ella. ‘You two go and get something to eat.’

  ‘Shall I arrange a room for you?’ Cullen asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘I am staying here.’

  ‘I will stay, as well, then,’ he said. He turned to Ella. ‘You’ll have a room, though. You need your rest.’

  Ella hugged him. ‘You are so good to me.’

  They went out of the room arm in arm.

  ‘You should rest, too,’ came a weak voice from the bed.

  She took his hand. ‘I am staying with you.’

  ‘Your reputation,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Dash my reputation,’ she said. ‘You did not let go of me on the raft and I am not leaving this room until I know you are better.’

  * * *

  She sat by his side throughout the night when he thrashed in fever. She and Cullen bathed his face with cool cloths.

  Somehow she knew that fever could kill, just as an illness or a pistol shot could kill. Or how the sea could kill. She could not remember, though, knowing anyone who had died. Not even the woman on the Dun Aengus. Not the maid sent to accompany her. No one.

  If Lucien died, though, it would be as if her whole remembered life died with him.

  Chapter Ten

  After fitful dreams of stormy seas and highwaymen and Lady Rebecca perishing at the hands of both, Lucien opened his eyes to a room lit by dawn peeking through the window. It took him a moment to realise where he was and what had happened.

  Cullen was sprawled out in two chairs, one holding his feet, the other, the rest of him. Lady Rebecca sat next to him. Though in a chair, she rested her head in her arms on the bed’s mattress. Her hair had come loose and he fingered one tendril.

  She’d said she’d stay the night in his room, he dimly recalled.

  He smiled. She looked peaceful in sleep, youthful and unspoiled by the events she’d endured since encountering him.

  His arm throbbed and he had a powerful thirst, but he did not wish to rouse his guardians. Across the room on a table was a pitcher of water and a glass. He could reach it.

  Keeping his eye on Lady Rebecca, he edged his way out of the bed, taking care not to disturb her. He wore only his unmentionables, he noticed. His chest was bare and his aching arm was wrapped in a bandage. He took his first step gingerly, pausing until the dizziness passed. Bracing himself against furniture, he made it to the water, poured himself a glass, and, still watching Lady Rebecca, drank the whole amount.

  She lifted her head and sat up in surprise until she spied him. ‘What are you doing?’

  He put a finger to his lips and pointed to Cullen, still inhaling the even breaths of sleep. Lucien poured another glass and finished it before making his way back to the bed.

  ‘You should not be up,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thirsty,’ he said.

  ‘You should have awoken me,’ she scolded. ‘I would have brought you water.’

  ‘You were sleeping.’ He winced as he climbed back into bed.

  She put her hand to his forehead. ‘Thank God. You are finally cool.’

  Her hand felt soft and warm against his skin. ‘I had a fever? That explains the dreams.’

  ‘Dreams?’ she asked.

  ‘Fever dreams,’ he responded. ‘They did not make much sense.’ Except they were mostly about losing her.

  Prophetic dreams, perhaps.

  ‘Did you summon the magistrate?’ he asked.

  She pursed her lips. ‘No, we were too concerned with keeping you alive.’

  ‘From this?’ He pointed to the bandage. ‘Takes more than a scratch to kill me.’

  ‘You lost a great deal of blood.’

  Another ordeal for her to endure, he thought. ‘I am sorry. I worried you.’

  She reached over and brushed the hair from his face. ‘As long as you mend.’

  It seemed so natural to have her seated close to his bed, touching him, conversing together. He’d grown used to her presence over these eventful weeks. He did not want to part from her, but his duty was clear. Help her remember as much as she could. Return her to her life. Return to the sea.

  Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder before she placed it in her lap. He might have had a feverish night, but his senses were still alive. Her touch roused him with desire and he was acutely aware of being bare chested in her presence.

  ‘Is my bag nearby?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She could not quite meet his eye. Had she felt that pang of desire, as well?

  He sat up straighter. ‘Could you bring me a shirt?’

  She rose and walked over to the bag, opened it and found a clean shirt Cullen had packed. She carried it to him and helped him put it on. The rest he could do when Cullen woke up.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she whispered.

  He was. Very hungry. ‘I can wait for Cullen to wake up.’

  ‘I will happily get you something to eat.’

  But it was not proper for an earl’s daughter to seek out the kitchens of an inn and ask for food.

  ‘Ask Ella to do it if she is awake.’ It was a maid’s job.

  She stood and stretched, reminding him of the Lady Rebecca of the fishing boat. Completely at ease.

  ‘Very well. I will ask Ella to bring the food if she is awake.’

  Only after she left did he realise she had not said what she would do if Ella were sleeping.

  * * *

  They had only procured two rooms at the inn and Ella had slept in the other one. Claire rapped lightly on the door.

  ‘One moment.’ Ella’s muffled voice came through the door. She opened it. ‘Oh, m’lady. It is you.’

  She was dressed and the bed was made.

  Claire stepped inside the room. ‘I was not certain you would be awake.’

  ‘Me? I am used to rising early.’ She gave Claire a concerned look. ‘How fares the Captain?’

  ‘He is well.’ It gave Claire pleasure to say so. ‘His fever is gone and he is hungry.’

  ‘And Cullen? I expected him, not you, at the door.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I did not mean to sound like I would not want you to come, m’lady.’

  Claire held up her hand. ‘I do realise that, Ella. Cullen was sleeping when I left the room. He was up with the Captain most of the night.’

  The young man had been a great help, holding Lucien down when he thrashed about in the bed. He brought fresh water and towels and made both Lucien and Claire as comfortable as possible.

  Ella peered at her. ‘You look like you were up most of the night, too. I think you should rest. I’ll fetch the food for the Captain.’

  Claire glanced in the mirror. She had circles under her eyes and her hair had escaped its pins. And there were bloodstains on her dress.

  ‘I should change my clothes.’ She waved her hand. ‘But that can come later. The Captain is hungry.’

  ‘Right.’ Ella headed to the door. ‘I shall go to the kitchen directly.’

  After she left, Claire glanced at the bed, longing to simply lie down, but she did not wish to muss it after Ella had made it so tidy. She sat in an upholstered chair and leaned her head against its back, drifting off to sleep.

  Next thing she knew Ella was leaning over her. ‘M’lady? M’lady? Why don’t you lie in the bed?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’d
muss it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll simply make it again. You need some sleep.’

  She let herself be persuaded. The maid helped her out of her dress and she climbed under the bedcovers in her shift.

  When next she woke, Ella stood over her again. ‘The magistrate is here, m’lady. Captain Roper would like you to come speak with him.’

  She sat up and felt her hair, now half-down on her shoulders. ‘I cannot go looking like this.’

  ‘Let us make you presentable, then. Right quick.’

  Ella was true to her word. The girl helped her into her other travelling dress and put her hair in a knot as quick as could be. There was nothing to do for Claire’s pale complexion and dark circles.

  The magistrate was the local squire, Squire Vaughn, a man in his forties.

  He bowed to her. ‘My lady.’

  Why did this acknowledgement of her status always feel so foreign?

  ‘Sir.’ She curtsied.

  She glanced over at Lucien, who was clean shaven, seated in a chair and fully dressed, wearing a clean coat draped over his injured arm. He looked very pale.

  The magistrate asked each of them to tell what happened on the road and to describe the men involved.

  After they spoke and answered his questions, he said, ‘I can put the word out to look for men of their description. We can check at the inn where you engaged the carriage and drivers, but, you must understand, the people may not be inclined to turn in their own. There’s hardship here. Desperate people do desperate things.’

  The unusually cold weather had damaged crops and led to hunger throughout the country, not to mention the unemployment and privation caused by the war.

  ‘You do not believe the men will be caught,’ Lucien said in a grim voice.

  ‘I do not,’ the magistrate admitted. ‘And if I were you, I’d proceed on your trip as soon as possible. I am not saying you are in danger, but it seems to me many men must have been involved in the attempt to rob you and they all are probably worrying you’ll be looking to find out who and turn them in.’

  Claire could not believe this. ‘But if these men are not caught, they might rob someone else. Any one of us could have been killed.’ She gestured to Lucien. ‘Captain Roper’s injury could have killed him.’

  Squire Vaughn inclined his head. ‘I do understand, my lady. I am merely telling you what I think will happen.’

  ‘But—’ she started.

  Lucien cut her off. ‘Very well, Squire. I will take you at your word that you will try to discover who the guilty parties are. You have my direction in London. Write to me if you need me to return to press charges.’

  The squire twirled his hat in his hands. ‘I will do that, sir.’ He turned and bowed to Claire. ‘M’lady, I bid you good day.’

  * * *

  When the door closed behind the magistrate, Lucien rose from the chair. ‘We leave today, if possible.’

  ‘No, Lucien!’ Lady Rebecca cried. ‘You must rest a day. The surgeon said—’

  ‘No matter.’

  The magistrate had been very clear. By foiling the robbery attempt, they were likely in danger from the men who’d attacked them and those who aided them.

  He turned to Cullen. ‘Will you see if we can find drivers for the carriage or engage a new carriage and drivers to leave today?’

  Cullen straightened. ‘I will try, sir.’ He hurried out the door.

  ‘Ella, you can pack for us and arrange for some food to carry with us?’

  She nodded and followed Cullen.

  Lucien sank back into the chair.

  Lady Rebecca swung around to him. ‘See? You are too weak to travel.’

  He rubbed his forehead. ‘I am able to travel. It is nothing but sitting down.’

  Once they were on Watling Street, the road well travelled since even before Roman times, the danger would be minimised. No more isolated sections of roads where they might be attacked.

  She knelt down, bringing herself even with him. ‘Please reconsider, Lucien. Wait one day. Will it matter so much?’

  Yes. If it put her life in jeopardy one more time, it would matter a great deal.

  He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. ‘Do you not realise I have been through events more treacherous than what we met on the road? I have been wounded before. I will manage, I promise you.’

  She brought his hand to her lips. ‘I do not wish any harm to come to you. You were so very ill during the night.’

  He wished he could take her into his arms for his comfort as well as to comfort her.

  ‘I am better,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It will be quite all right.’

  * * *

  By midday, Cullen had engaged a carriage and two coachmen who were eager for the employment.

  ‘I’ll ride above,’ Cullen said. ‘To watch the road.’

  And to watch the coachmen.

  Lady Rebecca had insisted upon purchasing several pillows and a blanket to make Lucien more comfortable and, by the time they were several miles down the road, he was glad of it. He felt every bump and rut in the road.

  * * *

  They travelled the whole day, stopping only to change horses and take quick refreshment. By the time they reached Shrewsbury, it was still light, but the sun was low in the sky. Shrewsbury, a market town, was still lively even at that late hour. They passed whole streets of timbered buildings that made it appear they’d travelled back to medieval England, but the inn the coachmen turned into could have belonged in Mayfair. Four storeys of red brick, it sported a gold statue of a lion above its door.

  When they entered, they were greeted by Mr Lawrence, the owner and innkeeper, who set them up in two rooms, each with a closet where Cullen and Ella could sleep. By the time they climbed the stairs to the rooms, Lucien was spent, but he pushed himself, intending to arrange a private dining room.

  When they reached the door of the room that was to be shared by Lady Rebecca and Ella, he took a moment to lean against the wall.

  Lady Rebecca saw him. ‘Lucien!’ She rushed to his side. ‘You ought to be lying down. You look like death itself.’

  ‘I’m well enough,’ he said, straightening again.

  ‘No, you are not,’ she insisted. She turned to Cullen. ‘Cullen, take him to his room and put him into bed. This day has been entirely too difficult for him.’

  Cullen dropped the portmanteaux he carried and helped Lucien to the room next door.

  Lucien heard Mr Lawrence ask, ‘What is wrong with him? It is not the influenza, is it?’

  ‘Not the influenza. He was shot by highwaymen yesterday,’ Lady Rebecca replied.

  He could not hear the rest.

  Cullen helped him undress. Lucien climbed into the bed. ‘Arrange for a meal for yourselves,’ he told the valet. ‘Secure a private dining room. I merely need to rest a bit.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  He heard Cullen leave the room and close the door behind him.

  He hated feeling so weak, but, in the end, he could not fight it. He fell asleep within minutes.

  * * *

  Lucien became aware of sounds, a rustling in the room, but could not force himself to wake. A moment later the scent of broth reached his nostrils, as well as another scent. Lavender.

  He opened his eyes.

  Lady Rebecca stood next to the bed, placing a tray on a table.

  She smiled down at him. ‘I thought you should eat something.’

  The tray held a bowl of soup, some bread and cheese. Though eating had been the last thing on his mind as they reached Shrewsbury, his stomach now cried out in hunger.

  ‘Thank you.’ He sat up. ‘What of you? Did you eat?’

  She nodded and draped a napkin around his neck, her fingers touching his bare skin and waking him in ways that ha
d nothing to do with sleep.

  What did it say about him that he was at ease with her even though he was dressed only in his drawers?

  He’d become too close to her, obviously, which was an intimacy of sorts. Sharing the room on the fishing boat had started it, but with each step in her difficult journey, he felt more and more connected to her. At times he had to force himself to face the fact that, once she remembered everything from her upbringing, she would become an earl’s daughter again.

  But tonight...tonight he was simply glad of her company.

  He glanced around the room. There was a table and chairs by the window. ‘I’ll get up. Sit at the table.’

  ‘Very well.’ She picked up the tray again and carried it over to the table.

  He climbed out of bed and quickly donned his trousers and a shirt, wincing as he pulled his injured arm through the sleeve.

  She must have been watching. ‘How is your arm?’

  Again it seemed perfectly natural that she witness him dressing. ‘It is better.’

  She looked unconvinced.

  He sat at the table.

  She took the chair opposite him. ‘You have soup, as you can see. Turtle, I believe.’

  He dipped his spoon into the bowl and tasted it, nodding his approval. ‘It is good.’ He gave her a half-smile. ‘Of course, I am suddenly so hungry that anything would taste good.’

  She cut him a slice of bread and a slice of cheese. Simple fare, but exactly what suited him right now. ‘See? I was right. I knew you would be hungry.’

  Their time together had attuned them to each other. In fact, he was so used to her company that he expected it would be wrenching to separate from her in London.

  He looked up at her. ‘How are you, my lady? The carriage ride must have been taxing for you as well.’

  She smiled again. ‘I have endured worse things.’

  He could not help but smile back. ‘Yes, we have, have we not?’

  Their gazes caught and held.

  She lowered her lashes and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘Cullen learned something. There is a public coach, the Shrewsbury Wonder, that departs from this inn at five in the morning and reaches London the same day, although late at night. They have space for four passengers—’