Chapter 18 #2
Hawke joined her. He didn’t like how near she was to the cliff’s edge, but he didn’t pull her away—as much as he wanted to.
“The sunset is in the other direction.” He wrapped the end of a stand of her hair around his finger, giving it a playful tug. “It is a glorious one.”
This close to the equator, night fell quickly. Within only a few moments, it would be completely dark.
She didn’t turn. The jungle noises seemed louder as darkness fell. The birdsong sounded like screeches. Things rustled in the undergrowth, and the buzzing of insects sounded harsh.
“My lady? Are you well?”
“I am.” She glanced at him, then shook her head, lowering her voice. “I am not.” She spoke so softly he had to lean close to hear. “I’ve never slept outside before.”
“You’ll be completely safe,” Hawke said. “Mr. Shadbolt is setting a watch, and we are well situated. An enemy will be seen long before he reaches us.”
“Yes, but . . .” Darkness had nearly obscured her face, and Hawke couldn’t make out her expression.
“What is worrying you?” he asked.
“What if ants get into my hair? Or a lizard climbs on me while I am asleep? Or a beetle?” She shuddered.
Hawke covered his mouth, hoping the darkness hid his smile.
“Insects and lizards prefer the coolness of the jungle foliage at night,” he said.
He had no idea what insects and lizards actually preferred, but Lady Annabelle did not need to know that.
What she needed was to sleep well, and she would not do that if she was afraid.
“And besides,” he said in his most flippant tone, “the sound of your snoring will keep any creatures from venturing too near.” He took her arm, leading her through the nearly complete darkness.
“I don’t snore!” Outrage gave her voice a high pitch.
“As the one who has shared a cabin with you for the past two months, I would beg to differ.”
“I don’t snore.”
Hawke snorted loudly as he drew in a deep breath, and then blew it out through tight lips that vibrated noisily, making a comically obnoxious snoring sound.
“You are ridiculous,” she said.
He was pleased to hear exasperation had replaced the fear in her voice.
Grieg had lit a few lanterns, spreading them throughout the campsite. The flicker of the flames and the insects flying around the light cast eerie shadows.
When they came into the light, Murray hurried over. He handed a bundle to Lady Annabelle. “Beattie insisted ye’d need a blanket,” he said.
She thanked him, wrapping it around her shoulders.
The men moved about, settling down for the night, and the pair wove between them, making their way to the wall of rock that bordered the clearing. The overhangs would offer her a little cover if it should rain.
Hawke took a lantern, using its light to inspect the ground all around where Lady Annabelle would sleep. He had chosen a spot far enough away from the men to give her some privacy, but close enough that she wouldn’t feel completely alone.
“Ant-free,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the ground in a courtly gesture.
She unbuckled her sword belt and the scarf around her waist, rolling the spyglass and the bottles of tonic carefully in the cloth.
Hawke moved the lantern and its circling pests away, but kept it near enough to give her light.
Lady Annabelle sat. She removed her hat and pulled off her boots, setting them aside. “Do you really think cherries could cause the sickness?” she asked. “I didn’t know fruit could be poisonous. But it seems much more logical than a curse.”
Hawke made a note to check her boots in the morning for scorpions, but he didn’t mention it to her. “I can’t be certain,” he said. “I have never cared for cherries, but today, the mere taste brought back a memory so strong that my body reacted in force.”
“Court doesn’t care for cherries either.” Lady Annabelle untied the scarf from around her head. “He said every cherry is either too sweet or too sour. The taste has never agreed with him.”
“Captain Courtney must have avoided the cherries on the island as well,” Hawke mused. “The Good Will’s cook had dried cherries and stored them in sacks in the larder. On the voyage home, with so many crewmembers lost, and our supplies low, I was hungry enough to not care about the taste.”
“Who would have thought something as simple as a food preference may have saved your life?” she said. “And Court’s.” She pulled her hair to one side, weaving it into a braid.
The lantern light shone on her exposed neck, and Hawke looked away. He cleared his throat. It was boorish to be staring, intrusive. Her nighttime rituals felt intimate. And he should leave while his thoughts were still relatively chaste.
“If you have no more need of me, my lady,” he said, clearing his throat against its sudden tightness, “I will bid you good night.”
“Wait.”
Hawke crouched down. “What is it?” He glanced around, making certain no creatures had come into the lantern light.
“Will you stay until I’m asleep?”
Hawke sat, settling against the rock.
Lady Annabelle lay down and arranged the blanket, covering herself as well as the ground beneath her head. She curled up on her side using her bent arm as a pillow. She was close enough that Hawke would need only to reach out his hand to brush the top of her head.
She shifted, seemingly in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. “Perhaps you might tell some more adventures of brave Mr. Fox?”
Hawke smiled. He leaned his head back against the rock.
“The thing you must understand about Mr. Fox is that his adventures vary significantly, depending on who is telling his story. In my mother’s telling, he often learned an important lesson, as in when a young fox needs to apologize, or why he must help clean the dishes or sweep the floor.
One of his most important lessons was learning how to play quietly in the morning when his mother didn’t have to rise early for work. ”
Lady Annabelle lay still, and Hawke could hear how her breathing had slowed.
“However,” he continued, “in my stories, Mr. Fox was a fearless hero, performing brave deeds, rescuing other forest animals, and outsmarting hunting dogs. He had a friend who often joined in his adventures. A jackdaw named, of course, Mr. Jackdaw . . . ”
Hawke continued telling the childish stories, his voice growing quieter until he heard Lady Annabelle’s breathing become even and deep. He stayed quiet for a long moment, waiting, but she didn’t stir.
Feeling satisfied that she was fully asleep, he rose, dusting off his trousers.
Grieg came into the lantern light. “If you don’t mind, Captain, Mr. Shadbolt wondered if you might remain where you are for a bit longer.” He glanced at Lady Annabelle and smiled softly. “I’ll relieve you at the end of the first watch?”
Hawke glanced at her as well. The first mate meant to post a watch over Lady Annabelle. Of course the crew wouldn’t leave her alone in the dark. And knowing how protective the boatswain and first mate in particular were of the young lady, he felt honored to be among those entrusted with the role.
“Of course, Mr. Grieg. Tell Mr. Shadbolt I’d be pleased to remain here.”
Hawke knelt beside Lady Annabelle. He pulled the blanket higher on her shoulder, brushing his fingers over her cheek.
She sighed, and the sound went directly into his heart.
It was only a few hours ago that Hawke had declared Isla de Plata the last place he wanted to be. But, now, sitting beside Lady Annabelle as she slept . . . his opinion on the topic was subject to debate.