Chapter Twelve
Christian pushed into a sitting position. “Miss Warstein.”
Her face had gone pale in the shadows and he frowned. She looked at him as if she’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?”
She blinked and her mouth opened. And closed.
“Are you injured?” If Thorne or his men had hurt her . . . he leaned forward and grasped rough iron bars.
Her hand rose toward him before clenching into a fist. She gave a little shake of her head. “I’m not. But you are.”
That much was true. He’d taken a beating at the hands of Thorne’s crew of giants. He drew in a long breath, trying to determine where he hurt the worst. Though his muscles ached, everything seemed to be in working order. No broken bones.
Something dripped into his eye and he automatically wiped at it. A sticky wetness ran down his forehead and when he pulled his hand away, it glistened red in the dim lantern light.
He swiveled and took in the tiny brig. Their two cells took up most of the space. Without a porthole, the only way out was the ladder. Which led directly onto the gun deck. Putrid air filled his nose and he fought to keep from coughing.
They were alone.
His blood went cold. How many of his men had perished? The sting of bile crept up his throat. Too many. And where were the survivors?
After he’d been knocked down and restrained, the pirates had gathered his remaining crew together.
They had begun to be shuttled back onto the Falcon, but a voice from the quarterdeck, where the infamous captain observed from the shadows with his hat pulled low, had stopped them.
For some reason, Thorne had decided not to send him and his crew down with his ship.
Not even after Christian had shouted for him to show his face and fight him like a man.
The bastard had ignored him and disappeared into his cabin.
And left Christian to be dumped into this dark and tiny room. With no way out.
His heart began to pound as he sucked in a steadying breath. He couldn’t lose control. Not here.
A soft rent of fabric came from behind him and when he turned, Miss Warstein held up a strip of her chemise. “You’ve a nasty cut above your eye, Lieutenant.” She bent to retrieve a cup of water and motioned him closer.
“Don’t bother yourself. I’ll be fine.” He let his fingers explore the spot and winced at the little burst of fire the touch caused.
“Sir, it’s liable to fester in these conditions.” She swept her hand around the room. While moments before, he would have put money on her fainting, a look of determination had settled over her.
“Very well.” He leaned against the bars and she dipped the bit of cloth into the water.
When she raised her hand to his face, her fingers trembled. The pulse in the lovely dip of her throat beat a wild rhythm. Her other hand gripped the bar between them so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“Miss Warstein?”
The cloth hovered inches from his forehead and she met his gaze.
“You don’t have to do this.” He reached for the dripping fabric. “I can clean it myself.”
Her lips pressed together. “Nonsense. You can’t see what you’re doing.” She waved his hand away and brushed his hair aside. “This is going to hurt.”
If he were a gentleman, he would close his eyes and let her work in privacy. And he was a gentleman. But he couldn’t pull his eyes from her as she sucked in her bottom lip and gently touched the cloth to the tender skin below the gash.
He swallowed. Even in her disheveled state, Miss Warstein exuded a quiet beauty.
Here was a woman worth pursuing. Distinguished.
From a respectable family. Not a criminal.
Perhaps when . . . if they got back to Savannah, he could contemplate courting her.
He gave a little shake of his head. No. No time for courting.
In a featherlight movement, she washed the edges of the wound. Christian ground his teeth together when she touched raw flesh. His gaze traveled down to where her breasts strained against the pretty blue neckline. She was breathing too fast.
He reached over and touched her still-clenched hand. A little jolt ran up his arm and she jerked her gaze to his.
“Miss Warstein?”
She froze. “Yes?”
In a slow movement, he pried her fingers loose from the bar.
“Take a deep breath.”
After she followed his instruction, he pressed her hand between his. “Again.”
She gulped in a breath and he pressed a thumb to her wrist. Her pulse still raced.
“It’s going to be alright.”
Her brows furrowed. “How can you say that?”
He couldn’t.
He’d watched his ship sink. Watched bodies of his men thrown into the sea. And now, he was locked in a brig. It was hopeless.
Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
Not yet.
“I gave your uncle my word that I would—”
Her hand tightened within his. “My uncle sent you?” Disbelief laced her words.
“Who else would he send?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she laughed.
Had she lost her mind?
“Miss Warstein, have faith.”
Her shoulders shook and she gave him a sad smile. “Lieutenant, you’re the greatest pirate hunter on the seas and look where that got you. If you couldn’t save me, who else can?”
He began to protest, but she was right. Warstein wasn’t coming. No one was. And if they did, they’d suffer the same fate as he did. A worse fate.
Hopeless.
His jaw clenched. No. He’d reached her in time. She was still alive. A tightness formed in his throat. Somehow, he would get her out of here.
One thing was certain. He would die before letting her suffer the same fate as his mother.
She pressed the cloth to him again, this time without the careful gentleness she’d used before. When she finished, she tore another strip of fabric and bunched it up. She pressed it over the cut and his breath hissed out. “Hold this here until the bleeding stops.”
Grabbing the bars, she pulled herself to her feet and fluffed out her rumpled skirts.
Christian leaned back against the wall and watched her pace.
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted as he watched her.
For a split second, when he had first opened his eyes, he’d seen Red.
Thought his suspicions had been confirmed.
Until his vision had cleared and he’d found the frightened Miss Warstein staring at him instead.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling Red had a part in all this.
“What happened?”
She stopped. “Excuse me?”
“I saw your room. There was no struggle. How were you abducted?”
Her eyes widened and a blush darkened her cheeks. “You were in my room?”
“Briefly. But that doesn’t matter. Start from the beginning. Warstein told me you quarreled. What happened from there?”
“You needn’t have searched my room, Lieutenant. I was outside when it happened.”
“Your maid said you didn’t leave your room after you declined her help.”
She met his gaze and flashed him a small smile. “I climbed down the big oak tree.”
He raised a brow. “In that dress?”
“I have excellent balance, Lieutenant. I was in the gardens when a man came at me from behind. He held a knife to my back.”
“A man? Was there anyone else?”
She cocked her head to the side. “No. Just the man.” Her hands tightened into fists and she dropped her eyes to the floor. Lying. His pulse quickened.
“Miss Warstein, I need to know.” How could he get the truth from her? “Was there a woman?”
Her head jerked up and she took a step back. “A woman?”
“That night, or here on the ship, have you seen or heard a woman?”
She faced him, blue eyes blazing. “Other than myself, no.”
Truth.
His lips pressed together. Perhaps he was wrong about Red after all. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling he was right.
“What was your argument with your uncle about?”
With a shrug, she resumed her pacing. “My family affairs are none of your business.”
“Seeing as how we are both locked in Thorne’s brig because of your family’s affairs, I would beg to differ. Where is the map?”
“It’s on—” She snapped her mouth shut and frowned. “It’s safe.”
He tugged his cravat loose and tossed it to the floor.
Miss Warstein was as tight-lipped as her uncle.
Silence fell across the brig, save for the tapping of her slippers on the damp wood.
His eyes drifted shut as he contemplated his next course of action.
If he could get out and free his crew, perhaps they could take Thorne’s men by surprise.
A creak of hinges brought him to his feet and the hatch swung open with a groan. The same man who’d thrown him in the cell earlier came down the steps. He dangled a set of keys in front of him.
“Captain Thorne wants a meeting.”
Already? Christian crossed his arms. “No.”
Miss Warstein glanced over with worried eyes while the big man came to a stop in front of the cell.
“Did I hear you wrong? I could have sworn you said no.” The man’s voice came out in a low growl.
Thorne could wait. Christian wasn’t going to bow to any demands. He may be locked up, but he would show the mangy pirate that some things would happen on his terms.
He met the giant’s eyes. “Tell Thorne I’ll meet with him after supper.”
“You’ll meet with him now.” A key slid into the lock. So much for prisoners’ rights.
When the door swung open, Christian launched himself at the man. He aimed low, throwing a punch right into the groin. No reaction. What the hell?
His opponent’s hand snaked out and wrapped around Christian’s neck. He struggled to pull the vice-tight fingers loose while the man let out a laugh.
“You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”
Christian swung again. Higher. But his reach wasn’t long enough and the blow missed. His vision swam as the grip at his throat tightened.
“Now are you coming, or not?”
He gritted his teeth. “Not.” The word barely came out.
“Have it your way.”
With a violent shake, the man dragged Christian forward. Miss Warstein let out a little scream as the thick fingers crushed against his windpipe. Christian wheezed, trying to get air.
“Stop it!” Miss Warstein pleaded. “You’ll kill him.”
Another laugh. “He’d be better off dead.”