Promise Me Forever

by Kimberly Nee

  "Save it, Donaldson,” Drew growled, which only made Henry whimper louder. Bracing his hands against the thin pallet, Drew clenched his teeth as he leaned over. “You are damned lucky I didn't kill you, you worm."

  Henry's eyes went wide and his lips parted, revealing three broken teeth. “But, Captain, I—"

  "Save it,” Drew growled again. “If I ever see you anywhere near Heather again, 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 and then groaned. “But, she's just a whore...” he whined weakly.

  Drew snatched a handful of Henry's blood-spattered tunic, yanking him up from the cot and eliciting another pathetic whimper from the invalid. “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 Sam'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.” Sam 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. Sam nodded as he straightened up. “Miss Spencer did a fair job, but it needs to be changed."

  "So change it."

  Sam 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. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he gripped the edge of Sam's desk to steady himself.

  "Captain, are you all right?” Sam asked suddenly, reaching out to steady Drew as he swayed slightly.

  "I'm fine."

  Sam replaced the bandages and said, “You ought to be resting, Captain. Let that girl take care of you. She'd been doing a fair enough job so far, and Lord knows she's been watching over you like a hawk since yesterday. Wouldn't let anyone near you."

  Drew managed a slight smile. “I've a ship to run."

  "Mr. Aldridge is doing a fine job. 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,” Sam finished quietly, a hand on Drew's shoulder to steady him once more. “Now."

  Drew nodded, gritting his teeth as he stood upright. “I will be in my cabin if anyone needs me."

  "Of course, Captain."

  After weaving his way back to his cabin, Drew 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.

  The motion of the bed woke Heather with a start. She sat up. “Drew? Is everything all right?"

  "No."

  She heard the faintness in his voice. His shirt was still open and when he hit the bed, it slipped down over his ribs. Her eyes widened when she saw the fresh scarlet stain spreading over his belly, seeping through the bandage. “Let me fetch Mr. Mason."

  "No. I'm all right. I simply need to rest."

  "Drew, you are bleeding again."

  "I merely moved too much. I'll be fine."

  She frowned, cursing his stubbornness as she lifted her eyes to his face. He was still so frighteningly pale, lying there with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and rapid. “Are you certain?"

  He nodded slowly. “Positive."

  She paused for moment, then sighed. “Very well. But if it does not stop soon, I am fetching him.” She fell silent for a moment before saying, “Are you hungry?"

  "Not in the least. I simply wish to sleep, love."

  "So sleep then."

  He reached for her. “Stay with me?"

  "Of course."

  Pulling her into his arms, he held her tightly as he murmured in a thick voice, “Stay with me for always."

  Twenty

  The following days were the longest Heather could remember. Drew's fever returned, raging for two days. She hovered over him for those two days, 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 Spencer?"

  She whirled around to see Jeremy Allen standing in the doorway. “Yes?"

  "I came to see how Drew is doing.” Jeremy stepped into the cabin. “May I?"

  "It seems that you already have, then."

  He smiled. “You sound tired, my lady."

  "Exhausted is more like it,” she replied with a yawn.

  "I can sit with him, if you'd like to go get some sleep. I've my own cabin and you are more than welcome to it."

  "Thank you, but no.” She could only imagine Drew's reaction, should he ever find out about that. Besides, she could not leave him. Would not leave him. No matter what, she would stay by his side until he woke up, everything else be damned.

  Jeremy stepped up beside her. “Drew is like a brother to me. I would never attempt anything that might hurt him."

  She shoved her hair away from her face. It had pulled almost entirely from its plait and was annoying her. “Still, that's not a good idea."

  "If you change your mind, the offer will still stand.” Jeremy glanced over at Drew. “Has Doc Mason been in?"

  "He just left."

  "And?"

  "There is no change. He's still running a fever.” Tears pricked her eyes. “It's been nearly three days of fever. I don't know that he is ever going to come out of this...” A single tear streaked down her cheek and Jeremy eased an arm about her shoulders to guide her to the chair. As she sunk 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. “It 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's been mumbling incoherently for almost as long. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know who I am. And he keeps asking for Rebecca!” She dissolved into tears then, her utter exhaustion overwhelming her, shoulders shaking under the force of her sobs.

  "Rebecca? Why on earth would he be asking for her?"

  "I haven't any idea!"

  Jeremy shook his head. “Are you certain he said Rebecca?"

  "Positive."

  "But that makes no sense."

  She sniffed and looked into his hazel eyes. “Why? Why would he not be asking for the woman he loves?"

  "Loves? Who told you that?” he chuckled, combing his thick dark hair away from his forehead. “As far as I know, he wouldn't spit on her if she was on fire."

  That was not what she'd expected him to say and she couldn't help but gape at him. “What?"

  "At one time he might have been 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."

  "Oh believe me, my lady, that flame died ages ago. He despises her."

  "Is that so?"

  "Has he even told you about Rebecca?"

  "No. I only know that he was betrothed before, but he never told me to whom."

  "Rebecca."

  The blood drained from her face and the pit of her belly to drop through the floor. “What?"

  "That is who Reb
ecca is. And trust me, my lady. She does not hold a candle to you."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  Jeremy smiled. “I've known Drew since we were boys, my dear. I was there through the entire Rebecca fiasco and this—its aftermath. I've seen the way he looks at you. The way he watches you when you don't know it. He knew you were in danger the other afternoon. I don't know how, but he just knew."

  "Then why did he not realize he was in danger?"

  He shook his head. “It mattered not to him. You were his only concern. He would put his life on the line for you, as he proved the other afternoon. Somehow, I don't think Rebecca ever garnered that sort of sentiment.” He chuckled, shaking his head again. “Not even on their best days together."

  "What happened?"

  "I think I will let him tell you that,” he replied evenly. “After all, it's his business, not mine. Just keep in mind, he may not realize it yet, but he cares for you. And, when he does tell you about Rebecca, you will understand why he might not realize it. Trust me."

  "Why should I?"

  He grinned. “Because I want that hulking giant over there—"a nod in Drew's direction—"to be happy. It's been too long since I've seen that. Since before he met you as a matter of fact. And he deserves it. You are good for him. Just be patient."

  She cast a glance over at Drew, who was tossing about once more. “I can manage that,” she said thoughtfully.

  Jeremy moved to the door. “Just let me know if you need anything, Miss Spencer."

  "Please,” she said, giving him a smile, “do call me Heather."

  She could hear his soft laughter as he disappeared around the corner, and she couldn't help but smile. Then, she turned her attention back to Drew. “So another piece has been added to the puzzle that makes you, you,” she murmured, rising and crossing over to sit on the edge of the bed. “There is so much I still have to learn about you,” she told him, shaking her head as she smoothed the blankets over him once more.

  What could Rebecca have done to him? And if it was so horrible, why was he mumbling her name? It made no sense to her. No sense at all.

  She continued sitting at his bedside, even as her back grew stiffer and her eyes heavier. She pushed through her discomfort, rising from the chair only to bathe his forehead, straighten his blankets, and add oil to the lamp burning beside the bed. As the first pearly light of dawn entered the cabin, she arched her back, trying to ease some of the soreness from her muscles.

  Drew stirred, opening his eyes and whispering, “Heather?"

  She heard the dry croak and at once forgot about her pain. “Yes?"

  He lifted a hand, reaching for her. “Come here."

  She did as he asked, rising and slipping her hand into his. He squeezed it, gently drawing her down beside him. “What day is this?” he asked quietly, wincing as if the act of speaking hurt.

  She thought for a moment. “I am not even certain, myself. I'm afraid I've lost track."

  He eased an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close. “You look exhausted."

  "I am fine. How do you feel?"

  He grimaced. “Like I had a bullet dug out of me. It's a first."

  Snuggling against him, she propped herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him. It was so wonderful to see his beautiful blue eyes again. She knew she could never grow tired of looking into those eyes.

  Touching a hand to his forehead, she was relieved to find it cool. Damp, but cool, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. He was still so pale, but at least he sounded stronger. For the first time in days, she smiled a genuine smile. “It appears your fever has finally broken."

  "Thank the Lord,” he breathed, sinking back into the pillows. “I had the wildest dreams.” He arched an eyebrow, giving her a devilish grin. “And you were in some of them."

  "How could you be dreaming about—about that? I was so afraid you would never wake up."

  He chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “I wasn't so certain I wanted to wake up. Aren't you even going to ask what I dreamt about?"

  "I think I might be better off not knowing."

  Drew nuzzled her. “The chair, love. We were in the chair..."

  Heat flooded her cheeks as she glanced over at the chair in question, remembering what had happened there. She turned back to him. “You, sir, are incorrigible,” she murmured, reaching down to stroke the dark hair away from his forehead.

  His smile was tired. “You bring out the best in me, I suppose."

  She liked how that sounded. “You ought to try and rest some, Drew. You look terribly exhausted."

  "Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

  She lay flat beside him, tracing a finger over the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. He had nearly a week's worth of beard, but instead of making him look sinister, the growth only added to his appearance, making him even more ruggedly handsome.

  They lay quietly for a long moment. His fingers absently moving over her hair, and she shifted, bringing her head to rest upon his chest. It was so wonderful to hear his heart beating so steadily beneath her, to feel those fingers caressing her hair with long, slow strokes, to hear something as simple as the sound of his deep voice. Her fears receded somewhat now, and she draped her arm about his waist, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  "What's on your mind, love?” he whispered.

  "Not a thing."

  "Come now, there must be something going on beneath those curls,” he chided gently.

  "No.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I am just thankful to hear your voice again."

  "You were worried about me, then?"

  "You have no idea."

  "Hmm...” He fell silent once more. He had only the faintest memories of the time that passed during his fevers. He remembered everything hurt—as though pain had moved in and set up house. He could recall vivid dreams, both good and bad. Rebecca was there, forcing him to relive his most unpleasant of memories. Heather was also there, kissing him and telling him she loved him.

  He recalled one very lucid dream. He was lying there, reaching for Heather. He pulled her into his arms and whispered, “I love you,” and she responded in kind, promising she would not leave him. It had seemed so real, but it couldn't have been, could it?

  Drew frowned, gazing down at the top of her dark head. It must have been a dream, for she spoke no such words now. That left him with a hollow sort of feeling. He remembered how wonderful it felt, how natural and right, to hear her say those words.

  He shifted. His muscles were tired, cramped, and it felt good to be able to stretch them out, to work the kinks from his joints. His side still burned, but when he peeked, he was relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped. He groaned softly as the wound twinged, sending a fresh course of pain searing through him.

  Heather lifted her head at the groan. “Drew?"

  "I'm fine, my lady. Just a bit sore still."

  She sat up, drawing the blankets down to peer at the bandage. The blood had dried, leaving the white linens a dull, dirty reddish-brown shade. “I think the worst is over now,” she said, meeting his eyes and smiling. “You will be up and about in no time. No time at all."

  "I certainly hope so,” he remarked, scratching his belly, above the bandage. “It's starting to itch."

  She lightly slapped his hand away. “Do be careful then, I don't want you to begin bleeding again now."

  His hand went still, his eyes remaining locked with hers. “You should get some sleep. No offense, but you look like hell."

  "Thank you,” she replied dryly. “What do you expect, when I've not slept in nearly three days?"

  "You've been up for three days?"

  "Someone had to watch over you."

  He shook his head. “You are unique, Heather. There is a surgeon on board, you know."

  "I know, but I don't trust that man. I know just as much when it comes to caring for you."

  "Really, now?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, you can rest no
w, love. As you can see, I am on the road to recovery.” Drew pulled her back to his chest. “Care to see how much better I am feeling?"

  "You are impossible,” she burst out, shaking her head. “A man shot you four days ago and now you want to—to—"

  "Make love?"

  "Oh!” She threw back the blankets and jumped up from the bed. “You are mad! You would risk re-injuring yourself, another fever, bleeding to death, for that?"

  He couldn't resist the grin tugging at his lips. Certainly she had no idea how lovely she was when she became emotional. Color flooded her face—flushed cheeks, deep red lips, dark eyes flashing passionately. All did nothing but add to her sensuality.

  He propped himself up on one elbow, arching his brow once more. “Sweetheart, it'd be more than worth it,” he replied evenly.

  "If I didn't know where Mr. Mason had pulled that mangled ball from, I would swear it was your head!"

  He chuckled softly. “Well, it wasn't my head now, was it?"

  "Drew."

  He heard the warning in her voice, could see the anger glinting in her eyes, and relented with a sigh. “I am but teasing, Heather. I should think you would be flattered to know a man would risk death to make love to you."

  "It isn't the slightest bit amusing to me, that you can joke so easily about your brush with death. I've never been so frightened before in my life and yet, here you are, acting as if it was no great hardship. I think you've gone around the bend,” she told him flatly, folding her arms over her chest.

  Drew took a deep breath and sat up. What had been teasing only moments earlier was now quite serious. He rose from the bed onto slightly unsteady feet, ignoring the lightheadedness swarming over him. “Heather, are you going to make a wounded man chase you?"

  "Get back in that bloody bed.” She jabbed a stern finger in the direction of the bed.

  He took a step towards her. “Come here."

  "I mean it, Drew. Back in bed. This instant.” She took a step backwards.

  "Not alone. Come here."

  She swallowed her rising irritation, unable to fathom that he wanted to pull her back into bed with him. It was incredible, that he would take such a risk. She could only shake her head at him as he continued creeping towards her. “I am not bloody joking."