A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Chapter Six

  Dominic St. Clair’s first thought when his senses returned after an infinite eternity of darkness was an oath that did not reach his lips. Pain cut through him. He was not sure where he was injured, because his agony was too powerful and too pervasive. Every bit of his body ached. The anguish began in his head and radiated down him. His right arm was on fire, and his right ankle throbbed.

  He cursed again, although the sound never left his mind. The last time he had ached like this was when he and his then partner Evan Somerset had nearly died while smuggling an early Renaissance painting out of Florence. His only consolation as he had spent a month healing was that those who had attempted to halt them had suffered more.

  Had they been jumped again? He dismissed that thought. He and Evan had parted ways several years ago when they had disagreed about accepting a commission to steal another piece of art. Evan had warned it was a trap, and it had been. Dominic had escaped with his life and his crew’s, but his ship had been sunk. His despair at losing that ship had been eased when he obtained La Chanson de la Mer after he promised to serve Napoleon as a privateer near the English coast.

  It had not been as interesting a life as smuggling art. Yet he had vowed to serve Napoleon, and he would not break that vow for anything or anyone, not even to save himself from his own boredom.

  As his eyes creaked open, Dominic stared at the green and brown blur over his head. Trees, his slow mind suggested, but trees at a very odd angle. Then he realized the tree trunks must be lying on their sides with their branches spread across the earth. But how had he gotten from La Chanson to whatever this place was?

  Not La Chanson, he reminded himself grimly, but the American merchant ship. Memory burst into his mind with renewed agony, and he cursed. Only a dull croak sounded in his ears. Damn, crazy Americans! When they learned that they had no choice but jail or a noose, they tried to destroy the ship and themselves. Apparently, they had succeeded in achieving the martyrdom they wanted.

  Dominic St. Clair was no saint ready to die so worthlessly for his country. No one loved France more than he did, but he would have served Napoleon poorly by getting himself killed by a crew of American zealots. If he had suspected that Fitzgerald had left such orders behind him, he would have slain every man on the ship. If …

  There was no time to think of “ifs.” He had to discover what this place was and how he had gotten here. It must be the English shore, because they had not sailed far enough toward France before the mutiny began for him to reach landfall there.

  He tried to focus his eyes to ease the blur into something that would give him a clue to what had happened since his last memory. Even that memory was uncertain, but it was clear that someone had brought him to this place. As resourceful as his enemies considered him, he knew his own limitations. In his obviously pitiful condition, he could not have dragged himself from the beach without help.

  Hands appeared out of the fog surrounding him. Compassionate hands which made every effort not to hurt him as they gently placed a cool cloth on his head. He moaned as a swift pulse of pain almost stripped away his senses again.

  “Who is it?” To his ears, his voice sounded as wobbly as an old man walking along a cobbled street with his cane.

  When he received no answer, he wondered which one of his enemies had survived the ship’s sinking. But why would any of his enemies keep him alive? Mayhap he had been rescued by one of the English. Again he dismissed that thought instantly. They were as much his enemies as the Americans and would have killed him before he could regain his senses. Then who was tending to him? He repeated his question.

  “Hush, Dominic. You should not strain yourself.”

  In disbelief, he listened to the softly husky voice which was undeniably feminine. Only one woman had been aboard the Republic. “Abigail?”

  “You are exerting yourself when you should be resting. Please stay calm.”

  Frustration fired him, giving him strength he had not expected he could find. He pushed against the sand as he struggled to sit, although it was an effort simply to keep his unfocused eyes open. “I demand that you tell me—”

  “Stay still. You have a head wound, and you should remain quiet for as long as you can,” she ordered.

  When her slender hands on his shoulder kept him pinned to the ground, he realized that he did not have the strength to fight her. Moving slightly, she reached for something just beyond the range of his vision.

  Dominic stared at her profile. Why was she tending to him? She had cursed him when he had tried to persuade her that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had guessed she would be happy to see him dead. But, she was caring for him instead of leaving him to die on the beach.

  He did not realize he had spoken her name aloud until she turned and asked in a whisper, “What is it, Dominic? You must be quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  “The English are not far from here.”

  An oath reached his lips. He snarled it again, but nothing eased his fury. “How many others?”

  “From the ship?”

  “Yes!”

  In the gray of what he was beginning to realize was a rainy dawn, he saw her glance away. Toward the sea, he guessed when she murmured, “As far as I can tell, you and I and Dandy are the only ones who survived the explosion on the Republic.”

  Dominic collapsed back against the ground. Just the two of them and the cat? Incroyable! Was she jesting with him? No—her face was serious in the dim light. “No one else?”

  “Not that I have seen. Your enemies outnumber you, Dominic.”

  “They always have.”

  “You like long odds?”

  “Always.”

  Arranging her wrapper around her, she said, “Then you have your wish, Dominic. As far as I can tell, we and the cat are the lone survivors of the Republic. No one who might rescue us knows where we are. You have several bad burns, a useless right arm, and possibly a broken ankle. If those odds are not long enough for you, I am sure I can think of other reasons why our situation is appalling.”

  “Those are quite enough for now.” He reached up and put his finger against her cheek to turn her gaze back toward him. “Are you hurt, Abigail?”

  “Other than a few scratches and bruises, no.” A smile tipped her lips. “I survived in much better condition than you.”

  He raised his right arm and wiggled his fingers. A tingling warned that sensation was returning to them. The pain was muted along his shoulder. Mayhap he had not broken his arm. With a grimace, he pushed himself up to sit.

  His head spun, and he cradled it in his hands. When a cool cloth was held to his brow, he drew his fingers away to see Abigail leaning toward him. What he had thought was a shadow was a bruise across her left cheek.

  “It seems I owe you my life,” he whispered.

  “You do.” She let him keep the cloth in place as she tended to the fabric wrapped around his aching skull. “If I had left you out on the strand, you would have come to your senses in time to face the hangman.”

  “If they had not taken care of me right here.”

  “Don’t be so barbaric!”

  He caught her wrist when she was about to turn away. “Abigail, this is not your aunt’s house in New Bedford. You are in the middle of a war.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” He ignored the pulse of pain ricocheting through his head as he drew her toward him. “If you truly had, you would have killed me out there by the water.”

  “I considered it.”

  Dominic laughed softly. “Good.”

  “You would not have thought so if I had rammed that rock into you.”

  “As bad as my head aches now, I’m not sure what difference it would have made.” Before she could retort, he added, “You cannot be so fainthearted. You are among your enemies here. Among our enemies.”

  “I know.” She eased her hand out of his grip. “That is one of the reasons I did not kill you. You know more
about England than I do.”

  “And what were the other reasons?”

  “You know them.”

  “Do I?” Again he tilted her face back toward him. “Could it be that you were unable to bring yourself to slay me because you were thinking of how you react when I hold you in my arms?”

  “You saved my life. I could not take yours.”

  “And that is the only reason?”

  “Of course.”

  He laughed again when her fiery blush belied her answer. Running his crooked finger along her cheek, he said, “Then I shall say again that I am grateful.” He frowned as he pushed a branch away from his head. “What is this place?”

  “The closest shelter I could find when I pulled you off the beach. These trees must have fallen in a recent storm.”

  “We cannot stay here. We could be seen by anyone on the beach.”

  She nodded. “I know. There is what looks to be an abandoned hut on the next cove. As soon as you can walk, we can go there.”

  “Walk?” Dominic did not hold back his curse when he saw the splint around his right ankle. That explained why his leg thundered with agony. Stretching, he touched his swollen ankle and winced. “I cannot feel any broken bones, so I should be able to hobble there, if you help me.”

  “And then what?”

  For a long moment, he did not answer. He tried to make his cobweb-infested brain work. If only his head would cease aching … “We find a way to get out of England.”

  “That I know. But how?”

  His blurred gaze moved along her. As if for the first time, he admired her brilliant blue eyes and the warmth of her red hair. He had to acknowledge what had been easy to ignore on the ship. Abigail Fitzgerald was not simply a pawn in her father’s lust for wealth. Although she seemed to have a blind spot in regard to Captain Fitzgerald’s activities, she was an intelligent woman who had managed to survive what her father’s crew and his own had not. He owed his life to her, and he was sure she expected a generous payment in return.

  “I think it would be better to discuss what we must do after we are somewhere where the English will not find us.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you have anything to drink?”

  “Are you thirsty?” she asked.

  “Very.”

  Abigail smiled at the sincerity in Dominic’s voice. When he was not in pain, she guessed that he would regain his arrogance, but he seemed grateful for her kindness. And he should be.

  Reaching behind her, she picked up the tin cup she had left out in the rain. She had guessed he would be craving water when he awoke.

  He took the cup and downed the water in one gulp. “Merci,” he murmured, then frowned. “Where did you get this cup?”

  “The English should not be the only ones to scavenge what is left of the Republic.” Backing out of the shelter, she was careful not to bang the pistol against the trunk. She had hidden it in her pocket, because she did not want Dominic to guess she had it.

  When she held out her hands, Dominic grasped them. He edged out of the shadows slowly. As soon as his head cleared the lowest branches, he jerked on her hands. She gasped as she fell toward him. His arms surrounded her when she struck his chest.

  “What are you doing?” she choked. As close as they were, she was unsure if the shivers were only hers or his, too.

  “Nothing yet, chérie.” He laughed as his fingers twisted through her snarled hair. A lightning bolt seared her when his gaze explored her face with yearning. Only when his other hand caressed her waist, outlining it with a warmth that sparked to her very center, did she start to pull away. His hands tightened on her as he whispered, “Now I am doing something.”

  His mouth slanted across hers. Everything she wanted was in his kiss, for it offered her as much rapture as it demanded. His fingers stroked her back, sending tremors up her spine. As her hand curved along his nape, his thick hair caressed it.

  When Dominic pulled back with a curse, Abigail blinked, still lost in pleasure. She saw him touch his shoulder and grimace.

  “Be careful,” she said in a whisper, not daring to speak louder in case the English villagers were near. “You were burned when the ship exploded.”

  She was amazed when he grinned. “That explosion was not as fiery as your lips, chérie.”

  “You should not be thinking of that now.”

  “Why not?” He chuckled as he clambered to his feet, leaning against the tree trunks. “We may be captured at any moment, and I can think of nothing I would rather have as my last sensation than the taste of your lips. Well, mayhap a few other sensations we might enjoy, but you would slap my face if I were to list them.”

  At his roguish laugh, she looked away. With the white bandage twisted like a turban around his forehead, he could have been one of the legendary pirates who sailed the Caribbean over one hundred years ago. She refused to let his enticing gaze daunt her. She was no longer his captive.

  Abigail stiffened as she heard a sound from beyond the trees. Voices! The villagers must be returning with the first light to discover what had washed ashore. “You may get your chance for that last thought pretty soon,” she muttered as she motioned for him to follow her.

  He took a single step, then dropped to one knee. She hoped the hiss of his bitten-off curse did not reach English ears. Bending, she put her shoulder under his left arm and helped him back to his feet. As his arm draped over her, she feared her frantic heartbeat would betray them to their enemies. She should not be affected by him like this. She did not even like this pirate.

  His breath scorched her skin as he leaned heavily on her with each unsteady step through the undergrowth. She glanced again and again in the direction of the path that paralleled the beach. A parade continued along it as more and more villagers joined the others by the water’s edge.

  Abigail swallowed her gasp as Dominic suddenly pressed her back against a tree. She looked up at his face, which was as sharp as the trunk behind her. Nodding when he put a finger to her lips, she held her breath as she heard someone crashing through the underbrush. She tensed when the noise grew closer. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she gripped the butt of the pistol. Firing it would alert everyone on the beach, but she would not be captured without a fight.

  Her breath slipped past her tight lips when a dog ran past them, not pausing as it headed for the strand. Sagging against the tree, she smiled when Dominic did. There was nothing amusing about being spooked by a dog, but she was so relieved she could not help grinning.

  By the time they reached the battered hut that was set in a thick stand of trees, Abigail was fighting for every step. Dominic’s arm ground down into her shoulder. She wanted to tell him to lessen his weight on her, but she knew from his gray pallor that she had been fooled by the passion in his kiss into believing that he was as strong as he had been on the ship.

  “How did you find this?” Dominic asked as Abigail helped him through the door and out of the rain.

  “As soon as the thunderstorm passed—”

  Compassion blossomed in his eloquent eyes. “That must have frightened you greatly.”

  “Yes, and I was determined not to be outside in another.” She sat him on the uneven floor, for there was no furniture in the room that was so short he could not extend his legs fully. “I was scared and hungry and thirsty, so I went a short distance along the beach and found this.”

  Dominic leaned his head back against the wall, struggling to hold on to his senses. He needed to stay awake, because she could not fight alone if the English came here. He almost laughed bitterly at that thought. He would be of little use when he could not walk without her help.

  His head spun, and he knew he was fading. He had to keep her talking. That might keep him alert. “You have proven your skills are many, Abigail.”

  “At least I knew enough to get off the Republic before it exploded instead of vowing to go down with the ship.”

  “I assume from what I saw in your cabin that you had warning of what the
y planned.”

  She nodded. “Cookie told me.”

  “When?”

  “If you think I knew of their plans before last night, I assure you I did not. Of course, even if I had, I would not have told you.” She laughed tersely. “Not that they would have shared their plans with me when they were sure I told you every secret during the nights we shared a bed.” She folded her arms in front of her, then frowned as water coursed down the front of her nightdress. Moving to a spot where the roof was not leaking, she added, “Shows how wrong everyone was, doesn’t it?”

  “So you had no clue?”

  Anger tainted her voice. “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “You have to be the first to admit you have not had a history of being honest with me, Abigail.”

  “Or you with me.”

  “True.” He smiled as he drew up his uninjured leg and leaned his elbow on the knee.

  The rising sun glistened on her face and sent a flame of gold along her wet hair. He recalled how it had been drenched like this when he had held her on the Republic’s deck during the storm.

  When the colors wavered before him, Dominic forced another question from his lips. “Was that warning why the windows in your cabin were shattered?”

  “I had just tossed Dandy out of the window when Woolcott came in.” Holding up her arm, she revealed the scratches running the length of her forearms. “Dandy was not pleased.”

  “I can see that.” He reached out a finger to touch her swollen thumb. “Did he do this, too?”

  “He bit me.” She winced as he turned her hand slightly. “Be careful. It still hurts.”

  When he kissed it, she pulled her hand out of his. “Don’t be offended,” he said when she glowered. “I was only offering my sympathy.”

  “I think it would be better if you do not touch me, Dominic. I had to suffer your attentions on the Republic. I will not suffer them here.”

  He regarded her tight lips before his gaze rose to her sapphire eyes. That she continued to be afraid of him when he could not walk without her assistance astounded him. “It was never my intention that you would suffer, chérie.”