Chapter 13
Aloud grumble of complaint pulled Percy from his increasingly wicked musings. He glanced up at Heather as she tied off the thread in her sewing and smiled at her work.
They’d sorted their intentions for their journey, and while he’d written in Butcher’s journal, Heather had been sewing her replacement shirt, all while her sodding nipples were visible above her stays. Then she’d gone to work on those ludicrous stockings.
And with every passing moment, he grew more…heated. Blast it, this wasn’t what he’d intended. He’d not meant for them to be in such close quarters. But for the next sennight, would it be so wrong to engage in some carnality?
Heather slid one of the stockings up her calf and tied the ribbon at its top.
Percy forced his gaze away and willed his body to calm.
She hummed, as though in thought, and donned the other stocking, the extra material bunching along the back of her calves.
With that, she turned to rummage among Butcher’s things, searching a chest and the chest of drawers.
Her newly adjusted shirt billowed with her sudden movement, but it was decidedly more modest than the white had been.
She huffed a breath in exasperation.
“Is something amiss?” he asked, a smirk pulling at his lips.
Placing her hands on her hips, she sighed. “I haven’t any boots. I’d hoped to hide my stitching, but I might have to wear my damaged slippers.”
Percy stood and came toward her. “I’m certain Butcher must have had a spare pair. If not, there are undoubtedly boots somewhere else on the ship that would fit you.”
He joined in her search, peering into several cabinets before settling in front of a large trunk.
Heather hummed absently as she moved items in the last cabinet along the wall, and Percy’s pulse tripped.
It dawned on him, there in the captain’s cabin of a pirate ship, that he’d never before experienced a moment like this.
He’d been aboard ships and been with women, but this… This was decidedly domestic.
This sort of experience was something he’d neither imagined himself having nor thought he desired. And yet, as he knelt before a trunk full of Butcher’s shite, his heart told him otherwise.
“Nothing here,” Heather murmured, breaking through his thoughts. “You?”
Willing his erratic pulse to calm, Percy cleared his throat and opened the trunk with a loud creak. Sitting on top was a pair of well-worn boots. “As it happens, I’ve found a pair.” He held them out to her. “Try them on?”
With a pleased gasp, she accepted them and sat on one of the table’s chairs, bending to put them on. His pulse speeding now, Percy dug deeper among the fascinating items in the trunk.
A large, velvet pouch caught his eye, and he opened it to peer inside. Fuck. It was filled with unused condoms. His gut dipped, and his body erupted with nerves and desire, his cock giving one eager throb.
Setting the pouch aside, he continued to dig through the items.
“They’re a mite big,” Heather announced, stepping toward him. “They’ll do for now, but I shall need a replacement soon.”
“And so you shall have.” Percy nodded, then returned to his search.
“Ah!” he called triumphantly. “I’ve found what we require!” He turned to Heather with his hand held aloft. “A sheath for your dirk. It mightn’t fit perfectly, but it will do for the moment.”
With a sodding adorable bounce on her toes and a happy grin, she retrieved her dirk and brought it to him.
The sheath appeared to be made for a thin, curved knife, but the length was right.
It was a snug fit, but the sheath covered the blade, with the tip poking at the curve in the leather at the bottom.
He retrieved a belt from the trunk and attached the sheath before leaning close to aid Heather in fastening it about her hips—for easy access. But the scent of soap and freshly cleaned skin, and the gentle hitch in her breath, made him freeze. Hell’s tits.
Tingles raced down his spine, and he suppressed a shiver. There was no doubt that he wanted her again. His body had done little but tell him so every time she was near. But they were on assignment. Heather’s assignment. And he was there to support her, not seduce her.
Ding-ding, ding-ding… The clang of the dinner bell resonated throughout the ship, breaking the spell holding him in place. He blinked, distancing himself from Heather’s decidedly biteable thigh, and closed the trunk.
“What does that mean?” Heather asked.
“It’s the dinner bell,” he returned, standing. “We can venture down together once you’re ready.”
Heather’s stomach growled. “I’m ready now.”
A huffed laugh escaped him at her keenness, but it was followed swiftly by anger. The earl was a right bastard for depriving her of proper sustenance. “Of course.” He nodded at her and led the way.
The gun deck had but a few men on duty; they were caring for the animals in the enclosure, restocking and repairing damaged portions of the deck, and cooking in the galley.
He and Heather swiftly made their way down the companionway to the mess deck, where the room was warm, humid, and bustling with activity.
Men’s voices, and the clank and thump of their eating, sounded around them, and the scent of the sea, sweat, vinegar, salted meat, and the ever-familiar sea biscuits permeated the air. His pulse raced for an entirely different reason, as trepidation clawed up his spine.
Hell. It was the fragrance and the sound of his childhood and youth. A burgeoning panic fizzed in his chest as memories flashed through his mind. Hopelessness, guilt, and fear tore at his throat and squeezed so bloody tight they veritably stole the breath from him.
There wasn’t enough air. He could scarcely breathe but for the tightness in his throat. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, thudded against his ribs, and throbbed in his head.
He blinked, his vision wavering, before he forced a slow, deep breath and let it out through pursed lips.
The past must remain in the fucking past, Percy, he reminded himself. He’d found a way out of that life; it didn’t have to pull him back in. It didn’t. This wasn’t his childhood.
“Mr. Duncan!” Heather breathed from beside him.
Finally gaining control over his breath and body, Percy followed her gaze and spotted the bespectacled Scotsman sitting at one of the long tables.
“Come,” Percy urged hoarsely. “Let us greet him.”
She nodded. “Yes, please. I would very much like to continue our discussion on the apothecary and what medicinal plants I would be best suited to grow.”
He started forward, noting with irritation the curious and admiring gazes of the other pirates as they passed. This isn’t permanent. He closed his eyes briefly, then pasted a half smile on his lips as they approached the surgeon.
I can leave when I want, his mind screamed at his rapid pulse and the alarming tingling sensation rippling down his arms to his fingertips. I am in control of my time on this ship.
Despite the overwhelming aroma of vinegar, Heather’s mouth watered at the plate of food Percy placed on the table before her.
There were strips of dried, dark, and seasoned meat, a steaming pile of lentils, stalks of pickled carrots and asparagus, and what appeared to be a large oblong bun.
After weeks of having her food monitored so closely by the earl—and before that, by her aunt and uncle—she was not only famished but desirous to savour every bite of her freedom.
Percy sat beside her as Duncan continued talking.
“Rosemary, ginger, an’ fennel are invaluable,” the surgeon said, listing the items on his fingers. “An’ ye cannae go wrong with comfrey, bistort, an’ goat’s rue. I ken ye ’ave some o’ them wot I listed, but ’ave they survived?”
Heather nodded along, eagerly soaking in the information as she swallowed her first bite of the bewilderingly sweet lentils.
“They require water and sun. I believe that most will survive once properly cared for.” She leaned closer, excitement squirming in her belly.
“Now, what part of each plant need I dry to best aid an apothecary?”
She was exceedingly aware of Percy’s rapt perusal of her face as she conversed with Duncan. The desire to question him was on the tip of her tongue, but she was suitably diverted by her delicious meal and the surgeon’s knowledge.
Duncan’s eyes lit up. “There are several methods o’ preparation tha’ I can show ye, but plants such as chickweed—or Stellaria media—have leaves tha’ are useful fresh in a poultice.
There are salves, teas, an’ liniments tha’ require dryin’ the leaves, flowers, or buds, but mayhap I can show ye instead? ”
“Oh, that would be lovely! I brought a journal with me in which to document all I learn. Might I meet with you on the morrow to discuss this further?” Her pulse fluttered with anticipation and eagerness.
She was already looking forward to filling her mother’s journal with everything new that she’d learned.
“I’d be ’appy t’ ’elp.” Duncan’s eyes creased in the corners as he smiled and stood. “Come t’ the surgeon’s rooms when ye like.”
And, with a tug on his forelock, he departed.
With excitement bubbling through her and a grin on her lips, Heather lifted a piece of dried meat and took a bite. Her jaw worked to break through it, while the salty spices burst on her tongue.
“Mmm,” she hummed, glancing at Percy. She swallowed the bite and grinned. “This is quite good. It feels rather liberating to eat what I desire.” And to wear what I desire. These feelings were entirely new and thrilling. It was akin to what she’d felt when she’d begun working for Bow Street.
“It is. You are welcome to eat as much as you please. There is plenty.” His dark eyes glimmered with something that Heather couldn’t quite decipher, then he jutted his chin toward her plate.
“The pickled vegetables are often intriguing. Some have spice that tingles on the tongue. When that happens, the sea biscuit is excellent at cooling the heat.”
“Sea biscuit?” Heather puzzled.