Chapter 13
Thirteen
While the cut was not very long, the gash was deep, and there was a thorn imbedded within that must be removed before he could do anything else. Rhys also knew that Tempest would suffer more pain before he was done.
“I am afraid that the next few moments are going to be unpleasant.”
He first picked up the bottle and splashed a little rum into the gash to which she hissed and tried to pull back her hand but Rhys held tight. He then took the tweezers and tried and failed a few times before he finally grasped the thorn and pulled it free, which increased the blood flow.
He set it aside and then pushed a towel against her palm before he looked up.
“You are not done yet, are you?” Her voice shook with fear.
“I am not.”
At his response, she picked up the cup and took a drink of the rum.
While he should not encourage her to get drunk, having her passed out would be less painful for Tempest.
When the blood flow slowed, he took the previously boiled water and washed anything from her gash that did not belong.
Each time he did so, Tempest took a drink and he considered warning her to be careful.
She was a miss—a diplomat’s daughter and likely never had anything stronger than a glass of wine at supper.
He then splashed rum into the gash again, threaded the needle, then soaked that in rum as well. Rhys did not know if there was any benefit to doing so, but it also would not hurt her.
“This is probably going to hurt.” He hoped she heard the apology in his voice.
He hated what he was about to do. He had stitched fellow colleagues before and even removed a few bullets, but he had never had to stitch the hand of woman who was not used to injuries or being attacked. This was different.
Rhys reached over and picked up the bottle of rum and took a drink.
“Now is not the time to drink. Not while you are going to be pricking my skin with a needle.”
“It will steady my hand,” he lied. “One drink will have no effect on me.”
“It is your second,” she reminded him.
“That one either,” he argued.
“Is this really necessary?”
Did Tempest just whine?
“Unfortunately,” Rhys answered just as he pinched the wound closed and pricked the skin with the needle. Tempest sucked in a breath then took a drink.
Nothing else was said between them and he stitched her hand as quickly as possible, trying not to cause any more pain than necessary. It only took four stitches, but she drank with each one and the one time he did look up at her face, a tear had rolled down her cheek, but she did not once cry out.
“I am very sorry,” he said after he had secured the end of the thread so that it did not come out.
“You did not hurt me intentionally…though you did…except it was not to be mean.”
“No. It was not to be mean.”
He reached for the rum, but Tempest grabbed the bottle first then poured some into her cup.
“You had better be careful or you will not only have a sore hand tomorrow but a hangover as well.” Rhys moved it from her reach after he took a deep drink, then splashed some on the stitched hand for good measure.
“I suppose I just sit here like this with my palm up and watch it heal?”
“That would be rather inconvenient, as well as boring, now wouldn’t it,” he said as he returned to the cabinet where he kept bandages and Dover Powder, which she would likely need tomorrow.
“I will have you know that I have a very high tolerance for alcohol,” Tempest insisted as he wrapped a bandage about her hand.
“You do?” He chuckled.
“Yes!”
She was already tipsy and would likely pass out before he was finished. At least she would be oblivious to the pain in her hand.
“Are you done?” she asked as he secured the end of the bandage.
“I am,” Rhys answered as he put everything away and cleaned up the table. The only thing remaining was the bottle of rum, of which he took another drink.
“We should go out to the terrasse,” she suggested. “It is much nicer outside and we can watch the sunset. Have you seen the sunset Rhys. It is quiet breathtaking.”
“I have seen it nearly every night.” From his hammock.
“Then we should watch it tonight, together.”
“If you insist.” There was no point in arguing with Tempest when she was slightly inebriated.
The girls had waited on the terrasse, and their worried eyes darted from him to Tempest.
“It was only a cut to her hand. I stitched it.”
Each of them gasped.
“She also drank rum in the process to help with pain.”
“We are going to watch the sunset,” she told her sisters.
“I will see about preparing supper,” Nicoll offered then sent her younger sisters into the hut. “Tempest tends to be maudlin when she has drunk more than one should.”
Rhys pulled back in surprise. “She has gotten drunk?” Nothing could have surprised him more.
“Not often and certainly not drunk enough to be stumbling about and slurring words, but when she has drunk only a little more than she should, she grows regretful and takes on blame and there is no reasoning with her.” Nicoll sighed and retreated into the hut.
A sappy, teary inebriated Tempest was not what he was expecting this evening, but it could also prove to be interesting.
She wandered over to the stairs and took a seat and Rhys joined her as they both looked out over the sea and the sun as it was nearly touching the water.
“If it had not been for me, they would still be alive.”
“Who would be alive?” he asked.
“The sailors, Captain Goodard and Cornelius,” she answered. “Had I not been on that ship with my sisters there would have been room in the ship’s boat.”
“There was not enough room for all of them,” he pointed out. There was barely enough room for Tempest and her sisters, and him if he needed to join them in an escape, as Cornelius had.
“My sisters and I used all the seats and they went down with the ship and all because I had wanted to holiday with my uncle,” she continued as if she had not even heard him. “If I had not insisted, if I had not wanted…” She shook her head and sighed.
“What did you want?” Rhys asked quietly.
* * *
Oh, she should not have drunk so much rum, and Tempest knew that she should stop talking and just watch the sun set, because Rhys did not need to know about her regrets. She also knew that when she drank spirits she tended to share too much.
Except, she wanted to unburden herself, not that it would help, but for a moment it might.
Or was it because if someone else knew the truth, she would be punished as she deserved.
She also did not care. Who knew when they would get off this island, if they would get off this island or if they would even survive?
But if she did tell him everything, then he might not call on her and she wanted him to. Except, he did not know how horrible a person she was and it was only fair that he did.
“There is more, is there not?” Rhys asked quietly.
“I fear that you will see me as selfish and frivolous if I tell you.”
He chuckled. “I find it difficult to believe that there is anything frivolous about you.”
“Exactly! That is how I am supposed to be, but I was not…or was…frivolous.”
“I do not understand. Explain it to me.”
“Oh, I should not. I would rather you think me morally sound, straight-laced and a prude who does nothing wrong.”
“Is that what I think of you?” he asked with a chuckle.
Tempest shrugged. “Everyone else does.”
“Who would say such a thing?” Rhys asked in outrage.
“I hear many conversations that I am cold, stubborn, have no softness, and am better suited to be a governess or teacher than a wife.”
Those words had hurt when she had overheard them, but she also had to agree with them. She couldn’t be silly or pretend that she must have a man to take care of her when she’d already been doing all the caring.
“Those men are fools,” Rhys ground out.
“Yes, well, they were, but not for the reasons of rejecting me,” she said. “You do not know me…well, away from here. I am…responsible and not frivolous and the one time I was, it got good men killed.”
“Tempest, I still do not understand.”
Of course he did not. Rhys did not know her and she did not really know him, they knew about each other, but not much.
“My mother died when I was ten and Nicoll was two. Father remarried when I was eleven and soon followed Margaret when I was twelve, then Ann, Ruth and finally Ellen when I was eight and ten. Their mother died a year later.”
Tempest frowned and looked up at Rhys. “Did you bring the rum out here?”
“Neither one of us needs any more rum.” Though he would probably drink more when he retired to his hammock later.
“Do you know that I have been my father’s hostess at his entertainments since I was six and ten?
His second wife, my stepmother, was a lovely woman but could not be seen in public very often because she was either increasing or in confinement because of a sister being born.
” Even as she said the words Tempest’s face heated, but she was also certain that Rhys McNaught, British spy working for The Lion Watch knew all about babies, where they came from and how they got there.
No doubt he was very well-versed on the topic.
Well, the part that a couple partook in to beget heirs even though one was not always a result.
She frowned. How did one not get with child.
Bachelors must know a trick to keep it from happening.
Something her father had never learned or she would not have had so many sisters born so closely together.
Her frown deepened. Except, she and Nicoll had eight years between them.
There must be some way that a couple could enjoy the supposedly pleasurable activity, that she would never experience, unless she wed, and that was unlikely to ever happen, and not end up with a child.
What had she been trying to tell him? Oh, yes, her role in her father’s home.
“Because Father was a diplomat, many dinners were held in our home. It was my duty to supervise the servants, the house, all that a mistress of a home would be responsible for. Then, when my stepmother died, I became the mother to my siblings.”
Oh, she did not mean to complain and Tempest quickly turned to Rhys.
“I love them dearly, so please do not misunderstand. But when the invitation to my uncle’s home for the Christmas holiday—a house party—came, I begged to attend.
It was the first opportunity that I would have to attend entertainments and the ball and not have to worry about if there was enough wine, if there was enough food, if the guests were happy, if the servants were doing what was necessary, if there were enough candles… ”
She glanced over to note his green eyes filled with sympathy, which made her feel even worse.
“I wanted to be frivolous and not think about the war. I wanted to have a holiday where I did not have the responsibility of the household or to sit and attend the letters my father dictated when an English soldier lost his life.”
“He does not have a secretary for that?” Rhys asked.
“My father wanted the letters to be more personal but he admittedly lacked the words or emotion to express regret at a loss so it fell to me.” Tempest took in a breath and blew out a sigh.
“I simply wanted to laugh and dance at a holiday house party.” She swiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Do you think me so horrible?”
Rhys put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “No. I do not think there was anything wrong for wanting what you did, especially since you have never had the opportunity to simply be a daughter, a miss or had the opportunity to enjoy being frivolous.”
She glanced up into his eyes to gauge whether he was being honest or simply telling her what he assumed she wanted to hear. But she read sincerity in the green depths, which helped alleviate her guilt, but not all of it.
“So that is the reason they are dead. I wanted a holiday. They may have been safely in the harbor had I not wanted to holiday.”
“You cannot know that as a fact, nor should you take responsibility for what happened. If your father and uncle had not wanted you to enjoy a holiday, your uncle would not have invited you and your father would not have allowed you to go.” He frowned. “Why wasn’t your father present?”
“He was supposed to be, but he was required to be in Dominica as the British finalized plans for Martinique.”
“There is your answer. Your father wanted you to visit your uncle. Otherwise, he would have kept you and your sisters home with him.”
“Except, he had wanted to do just that and I am the one who had begged him to let me go because I knew that there would be servants aplenty to watch over my younger siblings and I could be without responsibility for a very short time.”
Rhys squeezed her shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with what you wanted or what you did to gain that time.”
Oh, part of her knew that he was right, but Tempest also knew that she would also carry a good deal of guilt from her decision for the rest of her life.
She glanced out over the water. “The sun has set.” Soon it would be too dark to see without a lantern, candle or torch. “I do not suppose you finished the boat.”
“No,” he chuckled. “That can wait another day.”
She sat for the longest time, her head on his shoulder, and wished that she could remain that way forever.
“You do not think me horrible?” she asked quietly.
“Not at all. If anything, you are admirable.”
No one had ever called her that before and she rather enjoyed the compliment.
“Are you still going to call on me when this is over?” she asked. “Or were you telling a falsehood.”
Rhys chuckled. “I have every intention of calling on you. Remember, I find that I like you.”
She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “I like you too.”
He said nothing, simply smiled.
Was he humoring her? Did she care?
No. She did not.
“Are you going to kiss me?”