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Chapter Eleven
The jolt to his system as the doctor warned of Letty’s impeding demise made Bertram wonder if he was about to have an apoplexy.
“H-how will we do that?”
The physician looked back at Letty with a sigh before turning to the soldier, “Go to my tent, and fetch my wife.” He turned to the Duke, his mien sober. “We will have to strip her of all her clothes. Perhaps dip her in an ice bath. I know it might be shocking but it’s the only—”
“Do it,” Bertram interrupted, stepping forward to lift her into his arms. “Where do I take her?”
“Your tent will suffice. I will ask you and your men to wait outside, however.”
“Of course.”
Johnson came hurrying back, trailed by a rotund woman with rosy cheeks. Bertram walked into his tent, followed by the doctor and his wife. “Shall I have my men fetch some ice? Do we have some in camp?”
Mrs. Fischer nodded. “Aye, we do. Thankfully we took an order of fish yesterday and we still have the ice it was packed in. Someone had the presence of mind to store it well. I’ll just—” she made to turn away.
“No! You stay here with the good doctor and tend to Miss Strange. I shall fetch the ice,” Bertram said, placing a hand on her arm to stop her leaving. She nodded, hurrying to the bed to begin stripping Letty of her clothes. Bertram left the tent, gesturing for his soldiers to follow him.
“Stay here, in case the doctor needs something else,” he told Tom before striding away quickly.
* * *
Letty kept drifting in and out, not really knowing what was real and what was not. There was a woman sitting by her bed, knitting in hand, who fed her one concoction after another every time her eyes opened. She didn’t know where she was or how she got there. Speaking was difficult and the woman kept telling her not to try.
She was sweating a lot. Or else someone had poured water on her. Or perhaps she was merely dreaming. Suddenly she was back on the boat, the sea was rough, making the ground beneath her feet sway from side to side. Strangely enough, the Duke was there, too. He was on the other side of the ship, calling her name, asking her something she couldn’t quite hear.
She wanted to tell him she was sorry. That she never should have spied on him but the words wouldn’t come out. Suddenly a giant wave swept through the ship, rending it in two. She was on one side of the ship and the Duke was on the other. The last thing she saw was him tossed in the air, his mouth open in a soundless scream.
“Bertie!” she yelled and woke with a start.
A shadow loomed over her, resolving into the anxious face of the Duke himself as her vision cleared. She blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Am I dreaming?”
“Miss Strange, lie back down, please.” He put gentle hands on her shoulders and pushed her down. She went, too bemused to protest.
“What—?” she whispered.
“Hush, everything is all right. You will be fine.”
She looked around, noting that she was in a cot-like bed, covered with a rather luxurious-looking, soft duvet. It was definitely no bed of hers. She looked up to see that the Duke was still present, still fussing over her pillow.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, his eyes soft with concern. She blinked, unable to fathom what could possibly be happening.
“Are you real?”
He huffed a laugh. “Yes, I am. You’ve been fevered for the last four days. It was touch and go for a while there, but the physician says you’ve turned a corner.”
She frowned in confusion. “Four—?”
“Yes, you’ve been delirious for most of that time but Mrs. Fischer says you’re definitely getting better.”
“Who is Mrs. Fischer?”
To her surprise, he smiled. “The physician’s wife. She’s been taking care of you.”
She looked around the room, recognizing that she was in a tent. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“You’re with the British Army, in my tent.”
