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‘She’s gone.’
‘Not to me.’ His words barely rose above his breathing. ‘The bitch still burns in my heart.’
Chapter Eight
Melina opened the door and stepped into the morning air, pleased to have her shawl keeping out the chill. The Ascalon briskly skimmed the water, bow up, proud.
The men showed the effects of the night. They worked, trance-like, eyes focused on the task in front of them, whether it be the ropes in their hands, the buckets or the stones they used to scrub the slippery mould from the deck. She looked to the stern and saw Gidley at the wheel. His eyes had the red-rimmed look of too much wind and too little sleep.
‘We near lost ’em both.’ Gidley’s head trembled in a negative shake and he turned his face to the sea.
‘Who?’ Melina asked, stopping a few inches from his side.
‘Capt’n and Stubby.’ He turned back, searching her face. ‘Warrin’ton didn’t tell yer? Guess a man’s thinking of other things when he’s close to a woman.’ His voice faded. ‘Stubby wouldn’t ever grow old enough to make a single whisker if not for Capt’n.’
Melina waited, feeling a coldness splash into her. ‘Both are well?’
Gidley shrugged. ‘Stub’s shook or he’d a been dancing ’round my feet this mornin’. Capt’n Ben—’ He paused. ‘Take more’n a bump to do him in. Prob’ly be walkin’ again before we get to shore. One leg’s lamed up and he’s prob’ly listenin’ to a few ribs shouting at him. Though none stick out. Always a good thing when the bones stay skinned over.’ Gidley squinted at Melina. ‘Yer ever took care of a sick body?’
‘My mother.’ She hated to say the words. Her mother had died slowly, death taking her by squeezing health away a heartbeat at a time and replacing everything inside her with pain.
‘Well...’ He took his time saying the word. ‘Capt’n is sayin’ for you to care for him. I’ve some laudanum in him and when he wakes he’ll not be fine, but I’m needin’ to keep my eye on the sails.’ Gidley tilted his head, indicating the cabin closest to the helm. ‘Go see to him.’
She gripped her skirt, raising it just enough so she could walk quickly, and moved to the captain’s quarters. Melina rapped on the door and when no one answered, she peered in. He was asleep.
Melina took stock of her surroundings. The cabin, spacious by comparison to Warrington’s, gleamed with polished wood and accentuated the paleness of the captain’s face.
He slept because of the tonic and she knew not to give him any more until he complained of pain. She touched his forehead and didn’t feel burning. His eyelashes fluttered. Compassion stirred in her. He’d survived the night, but death from an injury could wait days. And she owed him. Without the captain agreeing to let her sail, Stephanos would still be a threat.
She moved back the covers to look at the bruising on his chest, then sat in the only chair and settled herself for whatever care he’d need.
* * *
Hours later, when the door opened, she jumped awake and Warrington strode in—his eyes appraising everything. The light emboldened his ragged features. Whiskers darkened his chin and blended with the shadows under his eyes. His hair—neatly combed—contrasted with the rest of him.
‘How is he?’ Warrington moved to the bedside, staring at his brother.
‘He rests eirinikos, well enough, but I believe it is because of the draught he was given. He did wake long enough for a thimbleful of water. But he has the right speech and doesn’t appear worse than he was earlier. His side is bruised. Leg is straight, scraped some, and his knee is swollen nearly as big as his head.’
Warrington studied her for a moment longer than necessary, then he turned to his brother. He stepped to the edge of the berth and put a hand lightly on the captain’s shoulder.
Ben’s eyes flickered, but remained closed. ‘The boy still alive?’
Warrington’s head jerked up in answer. ‘Stubby is doing better than you. You look like a man who danced with the wrong fellow’s wife.’ Warrington’s voice remained gruff.
Ben opened one eye. ‘You, on the other hand, look like hell.’
Warrington’s smile changed his face, bringing a life to his eyes she’d never believed possible.
‘You infant,’ Warrington continued, his words light. ‘You’ll try anything to convince me to sail the next voyage with you—but it won’t work.’
