by Playing
“Mr. Mason, Drew — that is, Captain McKenzie — is running a fever now.”
He sighed, coming his fingers through his thatch of curly blond hair. “I was afraid of this. The only thing we can do now is try to keep him cool and hope that it breaks.”
“What should I do?”
“I’ll send Mr. Stevens up with an ewer of water. Just keep Captain McKenzie’s head cool.”
She simply stared at the doctor. “Is that all? I already knew to do that.”
“So why are you here then?”
“Because I thought that you — a doctor — might have a better remedy.” She made no attempt to keep the exasperation from her voice.
“I am afraid that’s the best I can do, Miss Morgan.”
She turned away to go back to Drew’s cabin. “Very well then. Thank you.”
“He is a strong man. It will take more than that nick to fell Captain McKenzie.”
“I certainly hope so.” Her heart was heavy as she plodded back to Drew’s cabin.
She returned to his bedside, sinking back into her chair. He still tossed about. No sooner did she cover him, then the blankets tangled about his legs. She spent plenty of time tugging the covers free and smoothing them over him again.
“Oh, God.” The low moan rose from Drew, who had gone still. “Bridget…”
The blankets slipped from her fingers. Bridget?
“Why — why would you do that?” He began tossing once more. “Lies…all lies…should never have trusted — ”
She leaned a bit closer. What on earth was he talking about? She dipped her towel in the tepid water and pressed it to his forehead.
He caught her wrist. “Heather?”
She thought he was waking up, but his eyes never opened. He just squeezed her hand and repeated, “Heather?”
“Yes?”
“Bridget — why? God, I love that woman — so much it — I can’t get her out of my mind.” His voice grew louder as he vehemently shook his head. “I love her, but I can’t — I can’t…”
“Shh, Drew,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she smoothed his hair away from his forehead with her free hand. She didn’t want to hear how he still loved Bridget. What she’d heard so far sent a sharp pain shooting right through her. It hurt worse than she imagined it could, worse than any physical pain she’d ever felt.
Her throat tightened, tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed hard against both. Bridget must have been the B of the note in the book of poetry. He did still love her. Still, she forced herself to remain calm as she whispered, “Shh…”
He calmed down then, lying quietly, leaving her to gaze down at him with confused eyes. She wanted to shake him, to ask him to whom was he speaking? Was he telling her he loved her? Or, in his delirium, did he think she was Bridget?
She wanted so much to believe he was talking to her. Her heart had actually skipped a beat when he said those words. Her mouth went dry and it all made sense now.
She was falling in love with the dashing American sea captain. She shouldn’t, knew she was only setting herself up for heartbreak, but she couldn’t help it. She was falling in love with Drew McKenzie.
“Bridget — so beautiful — ” he groaned again, his voice now harsher. “But, so perfect for me. So perfect. Heather?” He paused a moment. Then his moaning grew louder, more panicked. “Heather?”
She slid her arms around his neck as carefully as she could, cradling his head against her breast. “I’m here, Drew. I’m right here.”
He calmed, settling against her. “I love you.”
She stared down at him, tears filling her eyes once more. Only this time, a smile lifted her lips. “Drew?”
He was at peace now, his head resting against her breast. “I do so love you.”
Her heartbeat quickened as she bent forward and murmured, “And I love you, my darling.”
He sighed again, mumbling thickly, “Stay with me?”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
But he didn’t respond. He was asleep again. Still, her heart sang as she sat there, a fool’s grin pulling at her lips. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
Drew loved her.
She ignored the pain in her back from her somewhat twisted position on the bed. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was what he had whispered to her as he pulled her close.
He loved her.
Chapter Nineteen
Drew’s fever broke during the night. He lurched violently, his pitiful moan jolting Heather from her light doze in the chair. She sat up with a start to find him blinking up at the ceiling with cloudy, confused eyes.
“What happened?” he murmured, pushing his hair off his forehead.
“You don’t remember?” She leaned away from him to light the lamp on the small table beside the bed.
He groaned as he shifted again. “Now I remember. That son of a bitch shot me.”
She rose from the bed to fetch him a fresh change of clothing and pull fresh linens from the wardrobe. “Do you remember anything else?”
She emerged from the wardrobe with everything in her arms, to find him staring at her through narrowed eyes. “I remember he attacked you.”
She tried to ignore her rising disappointment. She brought over his clothing, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. She took the towel out of the bowl of water Nick had brought down earlier, wrung it out, and pressed it to his forehead. “You were talking in your delirium.”
“I just know I hurt like anything,” he replied softly. Then, his eyes caught hers. “Did I say anything embarrassing?”
“No,” she assured him with a smile. “Nothing you would not want repeated.”
He groaned again, trying to sit up. Heather put a hand against his chest to stop him. “You need to lie back, Drew. Lie back and rest.”
He covered her hand with his. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she told him. “It looks far worse than it feels.” It was the truth. She had forgotten about the bruises Henry had given her, her mind far too cluttered with worry for Drew.
He laid gentle fingers against the bruise on her cheek. “He will pay for this with his blood.”
“Please, Drew, I don’t care about him. I only wish to see you well again.” She shook her head. “Besides, you’ve already pounded him to a pulp. I don’t know that there is much left of him to punish.”
He sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “What did Mr. Mason say?”
“The only thing I could do was to wait for your fever to break. He really wasn’t much help once he removed the bullet.” She dabbed at his face again. “Would you like to have clean linens to lie on?”
He arched a dark brow. “I’d rather have you to lie on.”
“You are terrible.”
He chuckled softly, groaning at the same time. “It hurts to laugh.”
“Then keep your mind on the fact that you are wounded.”
He took her hands, drawing her down to his chest. “It’s hard to forget, but I am trying.”
Her eyes held his and she wished she were brave enough to remind him of what he’d said in his delirium, but she wasn’t. Perhaps he hadn’t meant her, but confused her with his Bridget.
Drew smoothed a loose tendril of her hair behind one ear. “What is on your mind, love?”
“Nothing. I’m worried about you.”
“I think I will live to fight another day.”
“It appears that way.”
He sighed softly, his eyelids drooping again. “I apologize. I am sleepy.”
“Sleep then. I will go down and fetch you something to eat when you awake.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Make certain you fetch something for yourself as well.”
“Of course.”
She waited until he’d fallen back to sleep before easing her hand from his. She sat back in her chair, chewing on her thumbnail. He did not remember what he had said to her, did not remember telling her he love
d her. The happiness that had sustained her through those dark hours seeped away. Her only comfort was that he also didn’t remember her reply. At least she was spared that embarrassment.
She reached for the blanket she’d used the night before, though she didn’t get all that much sleep. Now that his fever had broken, some of her worry slipped away, and exhaustion crept over her. She snuggled into the blanket, her head lolling against the side of the chair, and fell fast asleep.
Drew opened his eyes to find sunlight fading from the cabin and Heather asleep in the chair beside the bed. He lay back against the pillows, watching her. Even in her sleep she was adorable, resting her head against a folded hand, the way a child would. Delicate snores rose from the chair and he couldn’t help but smile. His lady snored.
He sat up slowly, wincing as fire burned through his midsection. He ignored it as he pulled the soiled, bloodstained linens from the bed and replaced them with fresh. It took some doing, as he was lightheaded, fresh sweat breaking out over his entire body. Still, he gritted his teeth and blocked out everything, concentrating solely on his task.
When he’d gotten the bed remade, he moved to the chair and carefully lifted her from it. She did not stir as he placed her in the middle of the tick, drawing the sheet up to her chin.
He was breathing heavily, sweat breaking out once more by the time he finished. He dropped into the empty chair to catch his wind before attempting to dress.
It was slow but he managed it, leaving the cabin to make his way to Sam Mason’s cabin. He pounded on the door, holding his aching side as he did so.
When the doctor opened the door, Drew pulled his hand away, clasping both behind his back as he straightened. “Mr. Mason, I want to see Donaldson.”
“Captain, you should be in bed. Not up and about just yet.”
He waved Mason’s concern aside. “I am fine. Now, where is he?”
“In bed, in manacles. Although, it’ll be some time before he is up and about again.”
Drew brushed past him to enter his cabin. “I wish to see him and I wish to see him alone.”
“With all due respect, Captain, I am not so certain that is a wise idea.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you think, Mr. Mason. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Mr. Mason gave up on his protests and led Drew to the small alcove of his cabin where sick or injured crewmen recuperated.
Henry Donaldson lay swathed in blood-stained bandages, on a narrow cot. His left ankle was manacled and chained to the wall by a short tether. He began whimpering softly, apparently hearing the fall of bootsteps on the planks.
“Save it, Donaldson,” Drew growled, which only made Henry whimper louder.
Drew braced his hands against the thin pallet, clenching his teeth as he leaned over. “You are damned lucky I didn’t kill you, you worm.”
Henry’s eyes went wide, his lips parting to reveal three broken teeth. “But, Captain, I — ”
“I ever see you anywhere near Heather again and I will rip you to pieces with my bare hands. You think you hurt now? I did this with a bullet in me. Think of what I will do perfectly healthy.”
Henry coughed. “But, she’s just a whore…”
Drew snatched a handful of Henry’s blood-spattered tunic, yanking him up from the cot. “I ought to kill you right here and right now,” he snarled, his nose practically touching Henry’s. “But that would be too kind.”
He slammed him back against the cot. “You think about that whilst you are lying here waiting for the pain to stop and the bones to knit.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned heel and stormed out of the alcove. He paused by Mr. Mason’s desk and said, “This time, you make damn certain he does not get out.”
“I still don’t know how he got out the first time. Scottie swears the manacle was locked correctly, that Henry had nothing that could be used to pick open the lock. Yet somehow, he worked open the cuff.”
“You just make damn certain there is no way for him to free himself this time,” Drew said, shaking his head.
“You have my word, Captain. There will not be a second time.” Mr. Mason paused a moment. “And, while you are here, why don’t I take a look at the bandage?”
Drew reluctantly lifted his shirt and let the doctor prod at the bloodstained bandage. Mr. Mason nodded as he straightened up. “Miss Morgan did a fair job, but it needs to be changed.”
“So change it.”
Mr. Mason snipped off the dirty bandage, peeling away the small square covering the actual wound. Drew gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of nausea slamming into him as the dried blood on the bandage caused it to stick, pulling at the wound. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he gripped the edge of Mr. Mason’s desk.
“Captain, are you all right?” Mr. Mason reached to steady Drew as he swayed slightly.
“I’m fine.”
Mr. Mason replaced the bandages. “You ought to be resting, Captain. Let that girl take care of you. She’d been doing well enough so far, and Lord knows she’s been watching over you like a hawk since yesterday. Wouldn’t let anyone near you.”
“I’ve a ship to run.”
“Mr. Aldridge is more than capable of running this ship in your stead. You need to rest. I took a bullet out of you yesterday. Try to remember that.”
“And you try to remember that I am the captain of this ship. And as such — ” He broke off as the room suddenly rocked and he sagged against the desk once more. “And as such — ”
“You will go and rest,” Mr. Mason finished quietly, a hand on Drew’s shoulder to steady him once more. “Now.”
He gritted his teeth as he stood upright. “I will be in my cabin if anyone needs me.”
“Of course, Captain.”
He wove his way back to his cabin, where he sank down onto the bed with a low moan of pain. The room swam about him and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the movement before it made him sick.
Heather woke with the motion of the bed and sat up. “Drew? Is everything all right?”
“No.”
He groaned, glancing down. A fresh stain had begun, creeping outward even as he watched. Dizziness washed over him and a sour taste stung the back of his throat. Heather’s gaze lowered, her cheeks paling. “Let me fetch Mr. Mason.”
“No. It’s all right. I need to rest.”
“Drew, you’re bleeding again.”
“I moved too much. I’ll be fine.”
She frowned. “Drew, you’re as white as this sheet.” She held up the sheet in question to wave at him. “Now please, let me fetch him.”
A muscle bulged in his jaw. “No.”
She scowled. “Very well. But if it does not stop soon, I am fetching him. Are you hungry?”
She sounded so far away. “Not in the least. I wish to sleep, love.”
“So sleep then.”
A wonderful idea. Drowsiness sank into him as he reached for her. “Stay with me?”
“Of course.”
Pulling her into his arms, he held her tightly and murmured in a thick voice, “Stay with me for always.”
Chapter Twenty
The following days were the longest of her life. Drew’s fever raged for two days. She hovered over him, not eating, not sleeping, not even dozing. Mr. Mason checked up on him every few hours, but there was precious little he could do.
“Miss Morgan?”
She whirled around to see Jeremy Allen standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I came to see how Captain McKenzie is doing.” Jeremy stepped into the cabin. “May I?”
“It seems you already have.”
He smiled. “You sound tired.”
“That would be because I am tired.” Her yawn was far too strong to stifle, so she didn’t even try. “Exhausted, really.”
“You should get some sleep. I’ll stay with him. I’ve my own cabin and you’re more than welcome to it.”
“Thank you, but no.” Tempting as the thought of a nap wa
s, she didn’t want to leave Drew. No matter what, she would stay by his side until he woke up, everything else be damned.
“If you change your mind, the offer will stand.” Jeremy glanced down at Drew’s still form. “Has Doc Mason been in?”
“He just left.”
“And?”
“There is no change. He’s still running a fever.” Hot tears stabbed her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to hold them back. “It’s been nearly three days. I don’t know that he is ever going to come out of this…”
The tears spilled over her lower lashes, streaked down her cheeks and Jeremy eased an arm about her shoulders to guide her to the chair. As she sank into it, he whisked a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, pressing it into her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with it.
He crouched down before her. “Everything will be all right.”
“How can you say that? How can anyone say that? He’s been in and out of consciousness for nearly three days. He mumbles incoherently, doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know who I am. And he keeps asking for Bridget!” She dissolved into tears then, her utter exhaustion overwhelming her, shoulders shaking under the force of her sobs.
“Bridget? Why on earth would he be asking for her?”
“I haven’t any idea!”
Jeremy’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you certain he said Bridget?”
“Positive.”
“But that makes no sense.”
She sniffed, then looked into his hazel eyes. “Why? Why would he not be asking for the woman he loves?”
“Loves? Who told you that?” He combed his thick dark hair away from his forehead. “As far as I know, he wouldn’t spit on her if she was on fire.”
“What?” It wasn’t his language that shocked her, but the matter of factness behind his words certainly did.
A dull flush crept into his sun-kissed cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, at one time he was in love with her. But it was a long time ago.”
“So, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still carry a flame for her.”
“Believe me,” he scoffed, “that flame died ages ago. He despises her.”
“Is that so?”
Jeremy drew a second chair to Drew’s bedside and sank into it. “Has he even told you about Bridget?”