The Count’s Castaway

by Wynne, Aubrey

  “It wouldn’t be fair.” Zander gazed up at the darkening sky. The ship pitched under a sudden gust, and fat drops of rain dotted the deck and the black steel beneath his palm. “Jesu! Call all hands!”

  Katie braced herself against the table as the ship rocked to one side. The storm had snuck in at dusk, silent and threatening. Rain pelted the glass of the small window; the wail of the wind sounded like a battered old woman. She took a deep breath and grabbed the chair as it went by. At least the bed and table weren’t moving.

  Shouts drifted down from the top deck. Orders were called out and repeated, heavy footsteps sounded, the scratch of heavy objects sliding across wood. The bottle of ink slid past her and crashed to the floor, a black puddle oozing toward her then away as the ship tilted in a different direction. Her papers and book joined the ink, the book skidding to a stop against the wall. When she bent to retrieve the bottle, the ship slanted violently. She cried out as her head hit the corner of the table.

  The room spun; her stomach revolted. As the world tipped in the opposite direction, she squatted and crawled. Climbing onto the mattress, she clutched the counterpane. Her head pounded, and her fingers came away with the sticky warmth of blood. A horrifying groan came from the bowels of the ship. Katie clung to the bedpost as the room tipped sideways. Her feet pushed down to keep from being hurled across the cabin. Clothing, personal items, anything not nailed down or locked away flew about the room each time the ship rolled. Giving in to her terror, she held on, white-knuckled, closed her eyes, and prayed.

  Chapter Eight

  Tempests and Tribulations

  “All hands ahoy!” The cry was echoed over the deluge of rain and wind that came upon them so suddenly. Zander appreciated his experienced crew; they’d faced these squalls before and hadn’t gone down yet. A constant stream of orders was shouted out by him and Seamus, and the men executed them quickly and efficiently. The main sail thundered against the mast as the men struggled to pull it in.

  “One, two, three, heave!” The voices of the crew rose as they sang out. Their arms moved to the pulse of the chant, their weight thrown against the heavy cables to bring in the ballooning sail. Their hands would be raw before they were done.

  Rorick heaved on a rope, water dripping off his hat, hair plastered to his face, his expression one of fear and determination. The combination of the keening whistle of the wind through the rigging, loose ropes snaking across the deck, the urgency to take in the sails must have been a nightmare for the new seaman. He’d show his worth tonight.

  “We need to reef the topsail.” Zander shouted into Seamus’s ear.

  “I’ll go.” The Scot moved toward the foremast, nodding at another seaman, when Rorick grabbed his arm.

  “Let me help.”

  Seamus caught Zander’s eye, and he nodded his consent. “Careful as ye go, lad,” the quartermaster yelled over the young man’s shoulder, pointing and waving. “It’s slick, and the fall could kill ye.”

  Rorick nodded and shimmied up the mast ahead of Seamus and the other man. Reaching the sail, they spread across the yard that secured it, gripping the post and finding their balance on the swaying, slick foot ropes. Zander held a hand over his eyes and squinted into the sheets of rain. Rorick handled himself well. He watched the men pull and roll the sodden material, then catch a short rope attached to the bottom of the yard. Perched precariously on the shifting beam, sudden gusts pummeling their backs, they tied it around the sail and secured the bulging flaxen sheet.

  Seamus reached the deck, and the ship heeled to one side. Rorick was flung into the air, arms and legs flailing akimbo, his white face stark against the pitch night. Zander moved from instinct to follow the man’s descent larboard, dodging men and jumping cables. As he reached the bow, he saw an elbow slung over one of the lifelines. Leaning over the side, he found Rorick dangling from the rope; his arm hung at an ugly angle. Cursing, he bent to grab Rorick’s collar and planted his feet against the side of the ship, but a toe slipped. Just when he thought he’d join Rorick, a hand snatched his coat. Seamus and another man leaned back with their weight and pulled the men back to safety.

  Rorick landed on the deck like a floundered fish. His arm dangled from its socket, but he was alive. “Get him below,” yelled Zander. “He’s no use to us with one arm.”

  The storm lasted several hours, but the squalls subsided after the first initial bursts. No crewmen were lost. Satisfied, Zander found a lantern and made his way below deck. The tossing of the ship had shaken the bilge water in the hold. His nose wrinkled at the offensive odor. He thought of Katie hiding there and enduring the stench, and an urgency to see her gripped him. He stopped in steerage to check on Rorick on his way to the cabin.

  “I didn’t know Patch was the surgeon too. He popped my shoulder back in place, Captain. Never had anything hurt quite so much, but once it was done, the worst of the pain was gone.” Rorick rubbed the injured joint. “He gave me his hammock for the day. It’s lower, and he worried about me climbing onto my own. It’s nice to have a mother along to fret over us.”

  “And the rest of you?” Zander asked with a chuckle, imagining Patch as a maternal type. “No broken bones, then?”

  “No, sir. I’m right lucky. My thanks to ye for saving my life.”

  Zander shook his head. “It was the rope that did it, though it took your arm from the socket. Seamus and I only pulled you aboard.”

  “If you hadn’t moved so quickly, I’d have been lost. Seamus told me as much.” Rorick picked at the blanket around his shoulders. “I hope to show ye I’m a man worthy of yer trust. Especially after…”

  “Upon further consideration, I’ve decided not to dock your wages. I’ll tell the quartermaster to issue your full pay when we anchor.” Zander held up a hand when the man opened his mouth to argue. “I make the decisions here. If you want to impress me as seaman, then don’t argue when I give an order.”

  Rorick grinned. “Aye, Captain.”

  Zander left steerage and hurried toward his own cabin. He wondered how Katie had fared. “Merde!” he muttered as he opened the door and saw his quarters in chaos.

  The ink stain on the planks caused a spasm in his gut when he thought it was dried blood. He picked up the papers, books, broken plate and cup from the floor. Zander turned toward the bed, the blanket hanging jaggedly, showing only the foot of the mattress. He pulled the wool back, and his heart stopped.

  His white linen shirt she wore over her breeches, along with the bedclothes, were splattered with dried blood and ink stains. Her pale fingers still clutched the far bedpost, her body spread across the width of the mattress. Bare feet hung over the edge, dark smudges on her toes and knees as if she’d crawled across the floor.

  He leaned over the bed and studied her chest. Her breathing was shallow, but she lived. She’d hit her head somehow. The gash on her left temple seeped fresh blood when his fingers pressed the surrounding area.

  Zander went to the door and clanged the bell to summon help. A seaman on duty appeared within a few minutes. “Tell Patch I need him for an injury.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Patch arrived, one eye squinting at his captain as he took in the bedlam of the cabin. “You’re hurt, sir?”

  “No, it’s Miss Wilken.”

  “Holy Mother of Mary,” the cook murmured, moving toward the bed. “Did you move her?”

  “No. I remembered your instructions when one of the men fell into the hold.” Zander tried to keep the apprehension from his voice. If he’d checked on her earlier, or at least sent someone to warn her and make sure she was settled, this might have been avoided. He wasn’t accustomed to worrying about guests in his quarters. “It appears she hit her head and crawled to the bed.”

  “With your assistance, Captain, we’ll gently move her lengthwise on the bed, so I can tend her wound. Then I’ll be able to tell you how bad it is.” Patch approached the prone form, his expression bewildered as to how to move the woman, then he jerke
d his head. “I’ll take the feet, and you can have the top half.”

  Once situated, Patch sponged the gash and whistled. “It’s long but not too deep. The amount of blood from flesh wounds can be deceiving. Hopefully, it’s only a concussion.”

  “Will she wake?” A knot formed in his stomach as he gazed at her colorless face.

  The cook shrugged but continued to work. “Hard to say if the skull is cracked. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He began to wrap strips of linen around her head. “I’ve stopped the bleeding. If she wakes, give her this tincture for the pain. A drop or two in some tea.”

  Zander took the small vial of opium. His stomach twisted at the word if.

  “Thank you, Patch,” he said as the cook left, his eyes still on Katie’s face. “I’ll stay with her. We’ll tell Rorick in the morning and hope for good news.”

  The old man stopped, his hand on the door, his back to the room. “Captain?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just an old seaman’s opinion, but I think she’s worth keeping. Not saying you should swallow the anchor, and give it all up, but a man could stay on the right side of the law.” He shuffled his feet. “None of us are getting any younger, and we’ve made ourselves a fortune the last few years.” Then he ducked out the door.

  Zander grunted at the cook’s admission while he peeled off his clothes and donned dry stockings, trousers, and shirt. He pulled a chair next to the bed, took her small hand in his, and waited.

  A weight pressed against his chest as he considered Patch’s words. His affections for this stowaway waif had grown by the day. He was constantly torn between wanting to be with her and maintaining his distance. If he lost control, she’d lose her virginity, judging by her response to his kisses. Katie deserved so much more than an absent husband. He had no idea what his future would be, though his taste for smuggling had lessened.

  This sprite had made him long for company. Not the jaunty conversation of a chum, but the intimate bond between a man and a woman. Now his cabin would be filled with emptiness. His soul would know a loneliness not realized before Miss Katherine Wilken. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, stroking her still fingers.

  Zander stirred at the sound of her moan. The first rays of dawn brightened the dark quarters, showing her pale face and fluttering lids. Her fingers curled around his.

  “No, no,” she whispered. Her body thrashed as she fought an invisible foe. “I don’t want to go.” Her forehead glistened with perspiration; her head tossed back and forth.

  He placed his hand on her fevered brow. Was this a good sign or a turn for the worse? A mind in an endless sleep wouldn’t dream and murmur. Then again, he’d never witnessed this type of injury for any length of time. Fevers could easily become life-threatening.

  “Please…” she pleaded in a child-like voice.

  Her agitation increased. Zander stretched out next to her and gathered her in his arms, making soothing noises and stroking her hair. The tension eased from her muscles, and she relaxed in his embrace. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he held her close, her warmth seeping into his skin.

  What would it be like to wake up with her in his arms every morning? He knew the answer to his own question.

  Bliss.

  Katie smiled. Zander’s steady breath fanned her temple. She snuggled closer, then stilled. Her left temple ached; no, it pounded. Pain flashed down her neck. Slowly, her fingers moved up to her face and gingerly touched the bandages around her hair. Her eyes flew open. It was not a dream. She lay in Zander’s arms, their legs tangled, and the intimate position both thrilled and alarmed her. How had he… When had he… What happened to her head? A moan escaped her as she tried to roll onto her back.

  Zander’s obsidian eyes met hers. He shot up, dropping her onto the mattress, and she clutched her head with both hands.

  “Jesu! You’re awake.” A gentle hand brushed the hair from her face. The back of his fingers trailed down her cheek. “We didn’t know how you fell or how bad your injury was.”

  Katie shook her head, then cringed. “I’m not sure. I can’t think with this throbbing.” The blacksmith’s anvil came to mind, thumping on her head. She clutched her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”

  Zander jumped from the bed and brought her the empty water pitcher. She leaned over and spewed into it. He pulled her hair back, and she wondered at her lack of shame. The nausea overcame any embarrassment.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I suppose, except for the battering ram in my skull.”

  “I have something for the pain. We can put it in tea if you can manage a cup.” He sat in the chair next to the bed. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Us?” Her mind was foggy, but she heard the worry in his voice. For her.

  “Patch tended your wound, and I stood watch.” His face was drawn. “I’ll order the tea.”

  He left the cabin. Katie thought she might have tolerated the ache to have the captain lying next to her again. She was chilled without the warmth of his body. Looking down at her shirt, she gasped. Spots of dried blood and black smudges were scattered over the linen. She let her head fall back against the pillow.

  A storm. There had been a terrible storm, and the contents of the cabin had been tossed about. The ink bottle. She had tried to pick it up and… darkness. Her lids squeezed tightly, trying to recall the last moments of consciousness. Darkness.

  Zander returned, helped her to a sitting position, and resumed his chair by the bed. He took her hand in his, threading his fingers through hers. It felt so right, their palms pressed together. She took a deep breath, willing the constant thrumming to cease.

  “Can you recall anything?” he asked as Seamus appeared with a tray. The Scot looked out of sorts, pouring and serving a cup of tea.

  “I remember the wind and the ship rocking. Everything on the table slid off, and I tried to pick up the bottle. Nothing after that, though I assume I hit my head.” Her hand waved over her borrowed shirt. “I’m quite a mess.”

  “Weel, it’s no’ like the captain could change your clothes,” Seamus said with a stern look at Zander. He opened a small bottle and added several drops to the liquid before handing it to his captain. “Drink this. It will lessen the pain and make ye sleep.”

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” Even as she asked, Katie knew her body needed rest. Perhaps when she woke, the pain might be gone. She glanced at Zander. “Will you stay with me?”

  His knuckles slid down her cheek. “A fleet of your imaginary pirates couldn’t keep me from your side.”

  Seamus cleared his throat, a crooked grin on his face. “Och, I’d better get topside. Hope ye’re feeling better soon, Miss Katie.”

  The door closed, and a long silence ensued. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her. “What do you want to ask me?”

  He sighed. “You were dreaming. A nightmare, actually, from the sound of it. Do you remember?”

  She chewed her bottom lip, brows knitted. “Vaguely, but it was probably the one I always have. I’m a little girl, and my father is floating above me. He’s laughing as Mr. MacDonald drags me onto the wharf in Boston.” She shivered. “I was petrified when we arrived, so alone, though I disembarked with Rory and Ma. That same terror haunts me in the dream.”

  “That’s why you were in my arms this morning. I wanted to chase away the nightmare.”

  Katie smiled. “Thank you.” No other words seemed appropriate, so she changed the subject. “I take it there was no irreparable damage last night?”

  He shook his head. “Clutter to tidy up, but we didn’t sink. There was one injury.” He told her about Rory. Her heart lodged in her throat when he described her brother falling from the mast and dangling in the ocean.

  “You’re sure he’ll be fine?” she asked, gripping his fingers. “May I see him?”

  He nodded. “After you’ve rested, I’ll send for him.”<
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  “Thank you, again,” Katie murmured, unable to keep her lids open. She pulled his hand to her neck, then laid her cheek against it, felt its strength, breathed in the salty scent of him, and smiled. She wasn’t sure what moment it had happened, or what fate had in mind by throwing them together, but this man had become dear to her. One last coherent thought claimed her as she drifted to sleep.

  With all her heart and soul, she loved this man.

  Chapter Nine

  Seduction and Sedition

  Zander kissed her forehead and shrugged into his coat. Katie had changed into a clean shirt and eaten a small supper. Afterwards, she’d spoken with Rory, who assured her he was fit, and drank more tea. Stormy the cat had also made an appearance. She slept soundly again, and he hoped to be back before she woke.

  Making his way to the main deck, he watched his men at work. A line of seaman passed the kegs across the deck and lowered them over the side. The men below lashed the barrels together to form a type of raft that floated between two boats.

  “Is that all thirty kegs?” asked Zander, signaling for the weighted bags to be loaded next.

  “Aye, Captain, ready to sow the crop. Just waiting for the signal.”

  The contraband raft would be towed toward the bank and left in shallower waters. The weights would then be attached, so the kegs were held just under the water’s surface. The land smugglers would then retrieve the miniature barge and stash it somewhere or transport it. It made no difference to him. Once the cargo was deposited in the shoal, and he had his voucher for proof of delivery, it was no longer his responsibility or concern. He’d collect the rest of his money in London.

  “I believe this will be the final adventure, my old friend.” Zander slapped Seamus on the back. “It’s been a good run, but I don’t want to tempt fate.”

  “Aye, you’re a long time dead.”

  A dim light shone from the bank. Once, twice, thrice.