Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Make port, Finch.”
Water whooshed through my ears along with the dull thud of a drum.
"Now! She needs help!"
I reached for the words to ask, who? Who needed help? I was trained in medical ministrations, perhaps I could lend a hand.
She.
Were there other women on the crew? I ought to introduce myself. Women on ships were rare enough that we should know each other, right?
“Who?” I whispered. I could help her if they’d let me, but I was sure that bastard pirate would just shove me back in the brig. I opened my eyes, confused when I saw a silhouette blurred against the light. Why couldn’t I see?
“Finch!”
Something warm wrapped around me. It was quite lovely.
However, the ache in my head worsened to a blinding pain and burst through the fog that was keeping me blessedly unaware.
Whoever or whatever had me needed to put me back down.
The drumming in my ears deepened, a rattling boom through my bones.
Heat washed over me, yet I couldn’t control the shivers that wracked my spine.
Then the drums went blessedly quiet and darkness washed over me.
Before it swept me away, a whisper drifted through my mind.
“It’s okay, Beastie. I’ve got you.”
Morning came through the porthole in a pale, thin wash that moved across the floorboards as the ship rode the waves back and forth.
The light chased away the nightmares, and I was happier for it.
It was nearly too bright for my swollen eyes, but I blinked them open.
Or, at least, tried to. Everything was still a blur.
Perhaps it was the brig still swallowing me whole.
It wasn’t the brig’s damp, rotting wood that I smelled, though. Rather, it was a pleasant musk that I wanted to luxuriate in. I felt I was on a bed of feathers, their softness enveloping my form and hugging it tight in blissful comfort.
Had he allowed me a pillow in the brig?
My eyelids fluttered against the sleep still fogging my vision until my surroundings became clearer. The ceiling above was dark timber crossed with beams that I didn’t quite recognize, though I knew for certain they weren’t those from the brig. Soft cotton teased my palms and—
“Good morning, Miss Godwin.”
My body froze. Was that…
“If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought you were going to die.”
I turned my head slowly, both to hold back the nausea and avoid startling the beast that sat beside me.
“Dying—” I coughed out, “—is not an option unless I will it so.”
“I figured,” he grumbled.
I tried, and failed, not to wince as all of the bodily aches and pains returned, especially the one in my shoulder. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, however, which was odd. Had someone set it?
“What happened?” I asked.
“You struck a fever.”
“Well, what did you expect?” I spat back, my voice weak but tone wicked. “Keeping me in that brig for days on end, no sunshine, moldy food, smelly water? I’ve slept in better conditions in a ditch under the pouring rain.”
He said nothing. Which was somehow more infuriating than if he’d argued.
I pushed myself upright and the room tilted. I had to take a few seconds to breathe through it, but I wasn’t going to let that deter me from my war path.
Until I caught sight of my surroundings.
The familiar lamp-light, the ornate desk off to the side, charts, empty cups of mead…
His cabin. I was in Silas Draven’s cabin.
My boots had been placed neatly at the foot of the bed, alongside my clothes and—
“Did you undress me?” I screeched in horror as I looked down at myself.
Bandages covered my torso and wrapped around my bad shoulder. I couldn’t bring myself to see whether or not my nethers were covered.
His expression didn’t change as he answered, “I had to dunk you in cold water to bring down the fever. Your clothes were soaked through.”
“That is not an answer!”
“That is, in fact, an answer,” was his retort.
Had I a gun, I would have shot him where the sun dared not shine. I yanked the blanket up to my chin and glared at him with every ounce of indignation my fever-weakened body could produce. “Who undressed me?”
“Does it matter?”
“Enormously!” I remembered mention of another woman on board, perhaps she had something to do with it. “Did the other woman on board do it? Where is she? I wish to speak to her.”
“There is no other woman aboard the Mourning Star.” He had the audacity to look unbothered; one ankle crossed over his knee and arms folded as he watched me clutch the blanket.
My cheeks flamed hotter. “Gods! Am I in your bed?”
The direness of the situation was hitting all too fast.
I was naked in Silas Draven’s bed.
He’d seen me naked.
“Did you undress me? Have a good peek while you were at it, did you?”
He sighed, those blue-grey eyes roving over my covered body like he was inspecting something clinical rather than looking at a full-figured woman. “There was neither nothing I’ve not seen before, nor anything that can’t easily be forgotten, Miss Godwin.”
“How dare you?”
The ghost of a smile quirked the corner of his lip, there and gone so quickly that I doubted whether I’d actually seen it. The scruff may have even hidden the beginnings of a dimple on his cheek.
“Bloody bastard,” I ground out.
“Get dressed,” he demanded as he stood and crossed over to the door with a sort of slow swagger that made me fume. He pulled it open and light fell across the threshold. “Clean clothes are on the desk, and Finch will bring food shortly. We work after.”
“We will absolutely not be working until after you’ve apologized!”
He paused in the doorway with his back to me, the broad set of his shoulders stiff in his leather overcoat. “My apologies,” he said and turned to fix his stare on me once more. “That there was nothing worth remembering.”