The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 26

26

G ibb watched Isabella sleep as he wove her hair through his fingers. She lay on her side facing him, her mouth slightly parted, the crescents of her black eyelashes skimming creamy cheeks. He still couldn’t believe she was there. A hint of trepidation entered his thoughts, but he quickly pushed it away. She had asked him to make love to her—the first and only gentlewoman he had ever lain with. Of course, he now needed to marry Isabella… in time . Presently, he was thankful to be moored of the coast of a remote beach in a foreign land. There would be plenty of time to think about their future on the voyage back to Scotland.

But presently, this magical night had come to an end. Gibb always stirred when the sky turned from black to cobalt, bringing the promise of dawn. This was his favorite time of day—the wee hours when night transitioned to morn. The hour always began in eerie silence, but by the time the sand fell through the hourglass, birds were busy and the ship bustled with the sound of sailors’ boots pounding the timbers.

Not planning to encounter any able seamen, he kissed her temple. “I’d best take you back to your own bed, lass.”

She stirred a bit but didn’t wake. Carefully, Gibb lifted her into his arms and carried Isabella to her cabin, tucking her in and giving her one last kiss before he slipped away. He rarely slept more than a few hours at a stretch, often awakened by the night terrors that had begun while he was serving his naval commission. It seemed a common malady for men who had fought during the wars—one he was unfortunate not to have escaped. But he’d sleep later. Presently he could barely feel his feet as he pattered about his cabin, preparing for the day as if he were on a cloud.

As the sun rose, Duncan brought in breakfast right on schedule. “Good morn, Cap’n.”

Gibb sat at the table and breathed in the scent of salted pork, fried eggs, and warmed ship’s biscuits. “A fine day it is, lad.”

“Will we be going ashore for the excavation?”

“Indeed we will, just as soon as the ladies are ready.” Gibb picked up the salt cellar’s tiny spoon and sprinkled his food. “Will you be stepping ashore with us, or has Thane assigned you lessons?”

“I’m stepping ashore, sir. Thane believes the excavation is a good lesson in Roman antiquity, and I agree. I’d far rather dig in the dirt and uncover ancient relics than sit in the shadowy mizzen deck reading about it.”

Gibb reached for his knife and fork. “I must agree. You’d best see to your chores, then. The ladies will need a good breakfast before they’re ready to disembark.”

“Straight away, sir.” Duncan headed to the door, tray in hand, but stopped halfway. “Cap’n?”

“Aye?”

“I’m glad we found Miss Harcourt…I mean Mrs. Schuyler.”

“As am I.”

“It’s odd, though, the way women must change their names.”

“How so?”

“Well, I reckon it is difficult to keep it straight. And I canna imagine living all my life with one name, and then having to change it all of a sudden.”

Gibb raised his pint of ale and did his best not to laugh aloud. “Then be glad you were born a man, laddie.”

After breaking his fast, he took a turn around the decks as he always did—meeting with his officers and ensuring the watch would be adequately manned during the hours of excavation. When he headed back to his cabin, he paused outside Isabella’s door.

Maribel’s voice resonated through the timbers. “You seem in bright spirits, madam.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” There was a bit of a pause before Isabella continued. “We have found the statue of Mars, for heaven’s sakes. It is a find for which most antiquarians search their entire lives.”

The rustling of skirts swelled through to the corridor, and Gibb placed his hand on his cabin’s latch, pretending to be coming out. “Ah, ladies, you have impeccable timing,” he said when their door opened.

“Good morning, captain,” said Maribel as she strode past.

Isabella stopped in front of him, her face turning scarlet. “It is a fine morning, sir.”

He gave her a sly wink. “Miss Hatch, will you be stepping ashore with us?”

“I think I’ll remain aboard. After our fiasco on the beach before you arrived, I feel as if I’ve seen as much of Spain as I care to.”

Isabella took his elbow, smiling and still as red as an apple. “It seems there is one particular officer who has also volunteered to supervise the watch.”

Gibb chuckled. Everyone aboard knew Gowan had fallen for Maribel, and the pair were all but inseparable. Which was best in his book. It took the crew’s scrutiny away from him, though honestly, he didn’t care what the men thought about him. However, he would call any man out who voiced an ill word against Isabella.

While the men rowed the skiff to the beach, Gibb sat on the bench beside Isabella with his thigh touching hers, wishing he could reach over and hold her hand. Instead, he moved even closer and shifted his leg so that it touched her thigh to his knee. Of course, when she pushed back, he swallowed a grin.

It wasn’t until they had set the men to work and headed off under the pretense of scouting the site that he was able to have her to himself. Once they had crested the hill and were out of sight, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since you stepped out of your cabin.”

She kissed him back feverishly. “And I’ve been waiting for you to do so.”

“I’ve been wondering…”

“Hmm?”

“Have you any regrets?”

“Not a one.” She started to kiss him but pulled away with a tiny gasp. “And you? Are you regretting having…ah…your way with me?”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Och, is that what you’re calling it now?”

“Well, I suppose I did initiate it, did I not?”

“You came to my door.”

“But I hadn’t knocked yet.” She looked up at him, the sun catching those incredible eyes and bringing out a midnight blue he’d never noticed before. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?” Gibb asked.

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “Harbor any regrets, silly.”

“Not a one. Life is too short for regrets.” He offered his elbow. “Where to now, m’lady? Where might you think Marcus and Flavia might have had their farm?”

She pointed to a spot in the distance. “If I were a farmer, I’d choose the high ground where there is plenty of undulating pastureland and an unobstructed view of the sea.”

“Then shall we?”

“Indeed,” she said, again placing her fingers in the crook of his arm.

They’d walked about a mile when Isabella stopped and spread her arms wide. “Look at this magnificent site. And nary a soul lives here.”

“But you believe this is the place?”

“I do. I feel it in my bones.” She strolled along, turning over a few sizeable stones with her toe. “But I would think there ought to be a brick or a stone with a bit of mortar attached to it—something to reveal that there might be ruins hiding beneath the soil.”

Gibb kicked a few boulders, seeing nothing but rock. “Are you certain Marcus didn’t write about his house?”

“Well, not the exact location.”

He tugged her into his arms and brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen from her chignon. “I’d rather keep my excavations to a more personal nature.”

She giggled as she gently pulled away. “What will the men think if they see us?”

“I care not what they think.”

Twirling in a circle, she raised her hands above her head as if she were as carefree as a Highland lass. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“What is it?”

“I, too, do not give a fig what anyone thinks of us, not really.”

After putting his shovel down, he grasped her hand and led her in a minuet. “You ought to.”

“Why? Because I’ll be ruined and all of society will treat me as an outcast?” She scoffed as she executed three perfect turns. “I was an outcast before I ever met you.”

“Merely a self-proclaimed outcast, however. That’s a wee bit different.”

Together they sashayed forward. “Then shall we continue to pretend our relationship is purely platonic?”

He released her hand and bowed. “Why not? At least, I see no reason to climb the main mast and shout about it for all to hear.”

“Very well, no mast climbing. But I’ll not deny my feelings for you.”

Gibb gulped. “Agreed. Denial would only make us appear foolish.” He picked up his shovel and prodded beneath another rock. “Where shall I start digging, madam? Since I brought along a spade, there’s no sense in letting it rest.”

“Very well.” She pointed to a copse of trees about fifty paces to the north. “Why not start there?”

Gibb took her hand and headed for the spot at a jog. Isabella squealed with laugher, holding her hat to her head. “Are you in a hurry?” she asked.

“Aye. We’ve a treasure to find.”

He was about to speed the pace, but something stabbed the back of his leg. With his next step, burning pain shot up his leg. “Argh!” he cried, dropping the shovel and stumbling forward.

“What is it?” Isabella asked, coming to an abrupt halt. “God no…”

Gibb stooped forward and planted his hands on his knees, blinking to clear his vision. “Not to worry. Give me a moment and I’ll be set to rights.”

“I do not believe so, captain. You’ve been bitten by a snake!”

The fearless captain’s entire body shuddered. “Och, I have never been able to abide slithering serpents.”

Isabella did what she could to help Gibb as he limped back to the men, but the bullheaded Scotsman refused to lean on her. Instead, he used the shovel as a walking stick. And though he pressed his lips tightly together and uttered not a word of complaint, there was no doubt he was in pain. By time they reached the statue of Mars, sweat was dripping from his face and he’d turned as white as the sands beneath their feet.

It seemed to take forever for the men to usher him down to the boat, the captain bellowing orders all the while as if he needed to prove he was still in command. As they rowed the tiny skiff, the wind worked against them, stirring up white caps in the sea and making it laborious for the men to row her to the hull of the Prosperity .

While Duncan and Mac held the boatswain’s chair, Gibb gnashed his teeth when the winch started hefting him upward. “Dunna let go of the ropes,” the lad hollered, worry written across his face.

Isabella gave the cabin boy’s shoulders a reassuring hug. “The captain’s as strong as any man I know. He’ll come though this, mark me.”

Duncan leaned into her. “Do ye reckon so? My da wasna so lucky.”

She grasped the young man’s shoulders and bent down so that her eyes were even with his. “I swear to you this day, I will not allow Captain MacGalloway to succumb to a measly snakebite.”

Duncan swiped a hand across his face, obviously trying not to cry. “You promise?”

“I do,” she said, praying to God she was right. “But I’ll need your help.”

“You will?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“As soon as you touch your feet to the deck, fetch Cookie. He might have some sort of remedy for snakebites. Then I want you to find Maribel and tell her I need my medicine basket. Once you’ve done all of that, I’ll require a ewer of warm water brought to the captain’s cabin—and a bit of whisky. Can you fetch both of those things for me?”

“Aye, missus. I’ll have them for ye faster than you can tie a cat’s paw knot.”

They hoisted Isabella aboard next. She nearly burst her spleen when she arrived on deck to find Gibb holding on to the rail, bent forward in agony while engaging in conversation with the sailors who had remained on watch. Angry enough to breathe fire through her nose, she pushed her way through the group. “Your captain has been bitten by a snake and needs urgent care!”

Gibb glanced her way, his eyes red and drooping. “Not to worry. A few tots of whisky and I’ll be dancing a reel.”

Deciding his reply wasn’t worth acknowledging, she pointed to Mr. MacLean and Mr. Lyall. “Accompany him to his chamber…please.” At their gaping expressions, she added, “I believe he keeps a flask within—he can have a nip there.”

Archie took Gibb by the arm, but he yanked it away with a scowl that wasn’t nearly as effective as usual. “I can manage on my own. I’ll be inspecting the watch within an hour, mark me.”

Duncan arrived on board, and Isabella shook her finger. “You have your instructions.”

“Aye, madam. I’ll fetch Cookie first, I reckon.”

She gave the boy a nod as she hastened after the captain. Isabella didn’t know much about poisonous snakebites. They had adders in England, and they were venomous, painful bites, but not deadly. What about in Spain? What ought she expect from a viper on the continent?

I pray we are too far north for a cobra bite. She thought back—the asp hadn’t flared its neck like the Egyptian drawings she’d seen in history books.

Maribel met them as they proceeded aft. “Goodness, you’ve returned far earlier than I expected.”

Pulling her along, Isabella lowered her voice and quickly explained the incident. “I’ll need my medicine basket. Duncan has instructions to find you, and you bring it to me. The poor lad is terribly worried. I would be ever so grateful if you would console him.”

“I’ll fetch your basket straight away. Then Gowan and I will have a word with Duncan. I shall tell the lad the captain is in good hands with you as his healer.”

“God willing, and let us pray the snake wasn’t too terribly venomous.” Isabella made the sign of the cross, then patted Maribel’s shoulder. “Thank you, dearest.”

Once in the cabin, rather than sit, Gibb strode to the windows and looked out over the sea. “I reckon a storm is brewing.”

Mr. MacLeod moved beside him, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels as if it were Sunday morn and their fearless captain wasn’t about to succumb to the venom spreading through his blood and fall on his face. “Agreed.”

Since no one else seemed willing to take matters in hand, Isabella marched across the floor, planted her hands on her hips, and tapped her toe. “Excuse me, but am I the only person who understands how serious a snakebite can be? By your sweaty mien, Captain, it is clear to me that the viper obviously was poisonous. You need to lie down.”

He looked at her from head to toe as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns. “It is the middle of the day. I dunna take to my rack when the sun is still ablaze.”

She stepped toward him, throwing back her shoulders. “And you most likely have not suffered such an injury before. From what I have read on the topic of snakebites, you will doubtlessly grow sicker as the poison spreads.”

Gibb shuddered. “I detest the slithering varlets!”

A knock came at the door. “Your medicine bundle, Mrs. Schuyler,” said Maribel, popping inside.

Isabella hastened to retrieve the basket full of healing herbs and bandages just as Cookie arrived with a pail covered with a lid and a wooden box carried under his arm that looked as if it had been splattered with blood. “The lad said the cap’n is in a bad way.”

“I’ll nay allow a wee snake to best me. ’Tis just a scratch,” Gibb groused, in the midst of pouring himself a dram of whisky.

Isabella set her basket on the dining table and pulled out a chair. “Would you please at least sit down?”

“I reckon you ought to listen to the lady,” Mr. MacLean agreed. “Ought we weigh anchor and set sail for home?”

Gibb stumbled as he crossed the floor and managed to land in his chair while half the whisky sloshed out of his glass. “No, no, no! We’re not going anywhere. There’s the statue of Mars to unearth—and who kens what other antiquities might be buried there?”

“Do you really think we’ll find something more?” asked Mr. Lyall.

“Out!” Isabella shouted, thrusting her finger toward the door. “Everyone except Cookie leave this chamber at once.”

When finally she and the cook were left alone with the captain, he sipped his drink and gave her a frown. “I’m no’ going to lie down.”

Cookie set his things down and rubbed his meaty hands on his apron. “Where’s the pain, sir?”

“I’m feeling no pain whatsoever.”

“And I’m Blackbeard’s ghost.” The cook shoved up his sleeves. “You’re whiter than the linens on the table and are sweating like a man who’s played a game of shinty in the hot sun. Tell me where the bloody bite is located or I’ll send for the crew to pin ye down and hold ye fast until I find it meself.”

Isabella grinned as she stood a bit taller.

“God’s stones.” Gibb rolled his eyes. “Right calf, just above the ankle.” As Isabella kneeled to remove his boot, the captain held up a palm to stop her. “I can do it myself.”

“Of course you can.”

“What did the snake look like?” asked Cookie.

“I only got a glimpse of it, but he had a brownish tinge with spots,” she replied, cringing as Gibb rolled down his sock. The wound was swollen, a red circle with two holes that had bruising all around. “Do you know what kind of snake it might have been?”

The cook stooped to examine the wound. “A bloody poisonous one—mayhap an adder of sorts.”

Isabella moved to her basket and started sorting through her vials of herbs and essences. “We’ll need to make a poultice to draw out the venom.”

Cookie removed the lid from his pail and pulled out two leeches. “This pair ought to do the job.”

“Not bloody leeches!” grumbled the captain, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Damnation, it is hot in here.”

Cookie paid him no mind and put the two bloodsuckers on either side of the wound, bringing a wince from the patient. “They’re tried and true, Cap’n. The best thing I ken for snakebites.”

Though Isabella had never used leeches, she’d read about their use by physicians through the ages, and by the size of them, she imagined they’d draw out the poison for certain. She also set to mixing a poultice with a small mortar and pestle. “I have some violets and whey for fever,” she said.

Gibb’s face had turned green. “I’m not about to succumb to fever.”

“Are you nauseated?” she asked, hastening to the washstand and fetching the bowl.

“I’m ready to fend off an army of Napoleon’s?—”

Thank goodness she didn’t listen, arriving at Gibb’s side with the bowl just in time for him to take it from her and lose whatever remained of his breakfast.

“Bless it, woman, you needn’t linger and endure this misery,” the man barked between heaves.

Cookie gave her a nudge. “We’d best give him some dwale.”

“I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

With his two-fingered hand, the cook held up a small bottle. “This is pure magician’s tonic, handed down through my family for centuries. Came from a cleric who worked under the Bishop of St. Andrews. The cap’n will be sleeping like a bairn within an hour, mark me.”

“Stop speaking as if I canna hear you. I tell ye now, I’ll be making the rounds within the hour. I?—”

The cook removed the bowl from the captain’s grasp and shoved a spoon of dwale into his mouth.

“Ppfh!” Gibb spat. “What the blazes is in that ghastly concoction?”

“A wee bit of lettuce, vinegar, bryony root, and bile.” Cookie cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward Isabella. “Dunna tell him about the opium, henbane, and hemlock.”

“What?” she whispered. “You’ll kill him!”

The cook slipped the bowl into the corridor and closed the door. “This contains only small quantities of the latter. Trust me. I make the brew meself.”

Isabella returned to her mortar and pestle, mixing with vigor. “Dear Lord in heaven,” she mumbled. “Please let no harm come to our captain.”

“Amen,” Cookie replied. “What’s in your poultice, lassie?”

She swirled the goo. “Honey, vinegar, and feverfew.”

“Ye ought to add a bit of gunpowder and the yellow of an egg. It’ll draw out the poison for certain.”

“I’m afraid that the Lady’s Journal of Home Remedies makes no mention of gunpowder.”

“That’s because whoever wrote that book most likely spent their days in a drawing room and never set foot on a battlefield.”

“But gunpowder seems so…so…so…”

“Cookie kens what ’e’s on aboot,” Gibb slurred, his head lolling.

“As soon as those leeches fall off, I’ll make certain he’s in his rack afore I go.” The cook tossed a bit of black powder into her poultice and then dug in his blood-covered box, pulled out an egg and a bowl, and proceeded to separate the egg and add a yolk, then topped it off with a splash of whisky.

Isabella sighed. Perhaps she ought to listen to Cookie. After all, he’d tended wounded soldiers, and, as far as she knew, they’d managed to heal. When compared to her book-learned healing arts, she hadn’t much to argue with. At least she’d tolerate the gunpowder and egg this once, but if Gibb showed any signs of infection, she vowed to never let the cook inside the captain’s cabin again.