by Jenna Jaxon
“Was it something she ate at dinner? Did something disagree with her, do you think?”
Margery gave him a withering glare. “You ate the same thing yourself, my lord, as did I. And I felt no ill effects. Neither did you, by the looks of you.” She eyed his tall frame with pursed lips. “I’d say, myself, it’s the seasickness. I never had any trouble myself, but there’s folk who can’t travel over the waves without retching like she’s been doing.”
“I wish she had said something about this before we left. We could have taken an overland route instead.” He peered at her sharply. “Was she this ill when she and Manning came over from the colonies?”
Margery shrugged. “I can’t say, I’m sure, Lord Dalbury. I was only engaged as Lady Katarina’s maid after she and her brother came to London. She never mentioned such sickness to me when we were getting ready for this voyage.”
Worry formed a cold knot in his stomach. “Go down to your cabin and get some sleep, Margery. I’ll stay with Lady Dalbury until you’re rested. We can each take a turn tending her and then I’ll–”
A pitiful moan came from within the cabin. “Margery. Oh God.”
He thrust the door open, and Margery almost fell inside the cabin. Katarina again leaned over the basin, moaning as though death were eminent. Rushing to her side, he gently cradled her forehead until it rested limply against his hand then eased her onto the bed. Seated beside her, he smoothed her hair away from her face with a feather light touch. She opened her eyes, two pools of pure misery, took a slow deep breath and managed to whisper, “Please leave.” Then she closed her eyes. Her breathing became short, sharp pants, as though to take a second full breath might incur another bout of sickness.
“My lord.” Margery shook her head and beckoned him toward the door.
He sighed and touched his wife’s cold cheek. She looked so vulnerable. To leave her thus wrenched his heart. At another fiercely whispered “my lord!” he rose, leaned over and kissed the clammy forehead then strode out. As soon as they were outside the cabin he tried to take command once more. “Go on to my cabin, Margery. You can’t nurse her if you are exhausted.”
The maid sighed but stood her ground. “She doesn’t want you tending her, my lord. And I can understand that. She’s probably embarrassed to have you see her like this. I’ll manage. I’ve done sickroom duty before and survived. I’ll snatch some rest here and there. Hopefully she’ll come out of this soon. Ask the captain how long before someone gets over seasickness. If anyone would know, he would.”
He nodded. “What can I do to help?”
“Can you send someone with a bucket of clean water? And some cloths so I can wipe her face? They need to take away the slop bucket as well.” Margery wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought.
“I’ll talk to the captain and get a crewman assigned as your assistant. He’ll do whatever you need done.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“And, Margery,” he said, grimly determined to regain some control over the situation, “I’ll want a report given to the lad every hour on my lady’s condition. If she ever falls into a deep sleep, let me know and I’ll take over while you rest.”
Margery nodded. “Thank you again. My lord.”
He stopped, eager to do anything that might alleviate Katarina’s suffering.
“I’ll tell her you are seeing to her comfort. She should know of your concern.”
“Thank you, Margery.” It had taken a crisis of major proportions, but at last he had made a favorable impression on Katarina’s maid.
He tore up the gangway, into the brilliant sunshine of a morning that had lost its appeal and hurried to the bridge, to Captain Stratton.
“Seasickness affects everyone differently, my lord,” the captain said. “Some get it from the moment they set foot on a ship ’til the moment they’re back on dry land. Others have a quick bout, then find their sea legs. Some are sick only when it’s stormy. Right now we’re still in the channel and there’s a good bit of chop. That may be what’s the matter with her ladyship.”
“Why is there no physician on board, Captain? You were given full authority to hire whomever you needed.” If he could have burned a hole between Stratton’s eyes with his glare, he would have.
“I’ve never needed one before, Lord Dalbury. And seasickness is not something a physician can treat. It generally just runs its course.” The captain’s tone was civil, but a trifle condescending for his taste.
“So, when we get out of the channel the water will be calmer? She’ll recover?”
Captain Stratton called to a passing sailor. “Larraby.”
The young man stopped and raised his face respectfully toward the captain. Duncan judged him a lad of perhaps sixteen, but his face and arms were the bronzed complexion of a seasoned crewmember, his hair already bleached tow by the sun.
“Her ladyship is having a bout of mal de mer, Larraby,” the captain informed him. “Go to her cabin and see what you can do for her maid. Whatever the lady needs, you’ll get, understand?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Good lad. Off with you, now.”
“I want a report, Larraby!” Duncan called as the sailor sped across the deck at a run. “In my cabin in ten minutes!”
“Yes, m’lord!” The nimble boy swung out of sight into the corridor.
Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the rail at his back and fixed the captain with his trademark haughty stare, designed to make men quail. “So, Captain Stratton, you were saying that once we get out of the channel the choppiness will disappear and Lady Dalbury will recover?”
The captain waited a moment then sighed and shook his head. “Probably not, my lord. Once we clear the channel we will be sailing in the Atlantic, and the ocean is anything but calm waters. We can hug the coastline all the way down, which may help matters, but that will extend the voyage by a week or more.”
“And there’s no way to tell how long before Lady Dalbury recovers from this affliction?”
“No, my lord. She could be fine by tonight or not until we dock in Italy. Has this happened before?”
“She mentioned nothing of it before we sailed. I’d hoped she would have told me of a problem this serious.” But would Katarina have confided in him? “My wife crossed to England from the colonies early in the year, so she would have known.” What he wouldn’t give to be able to ask his brother-in-law right now.
The captain sailed in silence for a while then glanced at him. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lady Dalbury is not expecting a child by any chance? The motion of the ship could have aggravated morning sickness.”
A snort escaped him. “No, Captain. I can assure you that is not the case.”
“Then, my lord, you might take comfort in the fact that no one ever dies of seasickness.”
He shot a glare at the captain. The man’s cavalier attitude toward Katarina’s welfare did not sit well. Stratton might have experience regarding the severity of the malady, but his optimism rankled, just the same.
Christ! If Katarina was ill the whole journey, his plan for romance on the high seas would be dashed to hell. And, devil take it, how was he to get her back to England when the time came? He could hardly insist that she sail, knowing this would happen again. Even if they traveled overland there was still the channel to cross. They might as well turn around and go home now.
Frustration made him throw up his hands, stalk off the bridge and head below for the first report on his wife’s condition. Larraby awaited him at his cabin door when he arrived there. He motioned the lad inside, took a seat in one of the soft leather captain’s chairs and steeled himself for the unsavory details.
“How is Lady Dalbury now, Larraby?”
Larraby stood straight, fixed his gaze on the ceiling and recited the report as though learned by heart. “Mistress Margery said to tell you, m’lord, that your wife fares much the same. She tried to drink some water but couldn’t keep nothin’ down. The cloths a
nd the clean water were much appreciated. And...and...your wife said...”
If only he could drag the words from the sailor’s mouth! He leaned forward, hoping to encourage Larraby.
“Your wife said ‘Thank you for leaving.’” The lad grinned, no doubt pleased to have remembered all of his charge.
Sorely disappointed, Duncan sagged back in his chair. “Thank you, Larraby. Tell Margery I will expect another report in an hour. And if she has need of anything she is to let you know. Any change, for better or for worse, tell me immediately.”
Larraby bobbed his head. A final “yes, m’lord,” and he was out the cabin door.
What to do? Give up and turn back, or wait it out and hope the sickness passed? Neither option was attractive. Katarina was so ill. Wretched and forlorn. A surge of love and protectiveness welled up in him, rendering the decision easy. If matters did not improve by tomorrow morning, he would order the captain to return to England. Stratton might claim no one died of seasickness, but he would take no chances with Katarina.
He smiled grimly. There was a silver lining to the situation, though a poor one. Her illness rendered her too sick to protest that she had again been cheated out of the opportunity to learn his disarm.
Chapter 26
The reports Duncan received throughout the day became increasingly monotonous, for there was almost no change in Katarina’s condition. Bouts of illness occurred if she tried to eat or drink. She dozed fitfully but got no real rest. By eight o’clock that night, he could recite the report word for word with Larraby, although the last one did have a disturbing addition from the sailor himself.
“When I knocked on the door, m’lord, there weren’t no answer.” He seemed to meet his gaze with reluctance. “I knocked again. Still nothing and I was afraid, m’lord.” The boy must have sensed the fear mounting in him, for his lips trembled and his gray eyes widened. “So I eased the door open and...and...your wife was lying on the bed, just like always, but...but ...Mistress Margery was...all in a heap on the floor.”
His heart leapt. As he started up from his chair, bound for his wife’s cabin, Larraby held up a hand. “It was all right my lord,” he said quickly. “I ran to Mistress Margery quiet like, so as not to disturb her ladyship, and shook her and finally got her to wake up. She’s just all in, m’lord, since she’s been nursing her ladyship all day. I told her I’d come back after I reported to you and spell her a while so she could get some sleep.” He puffed out his chest a little. “I used to do that with me Mam when one of the little ’uns would take sick. I’ll take real good care of her ladyship, m’lord. You can trust me.”
Duncan passed a hand over his weary eyes. He might not last until morning himself. “Thank you, Larraby. I am sure Margery and my wife are grateful for your assistance. But I believe that I will go see for myself how my wife does.” He cocked an eyebrow at the lad, who obviously still burned with a desire to help. “I have another task for you, Larraby, if you’re game?”
The lad nodded enthusiastically.
Prepared to bully his way into the sick room if necessary, Duncan stood. “I want you to talk to the captain and see what he knows about treating seasickness.” He didn’t trust himself to deal with the captain right now. “We don’t have a physician on board, but is there anyone who might have some medical skill?” he asked as he set a brisk pace down the gangway toward Katarina’s cabin.
“We got the cook, m’lord. He sees to the crew when something’s wrong.”
Why in hell had he not foreseen the necessity of insisting on trained medical care for this voyage? “Then ask him as well. Perhaps he has some concoction that will help Lady Dalbury. Report back to me every hour until I give you leave to seek your bed. Agreed?”
Larraby’s face lit up, perhaps with the novelty of the task. “Agreed, m’lord.” They reached the threshold of his wife’s cabin. The unmistakable sounds of Katarina being ill came from it, making him shudder. God, how long could this go on?
“Wait a moment, Larraby.” He knocked on the door and Margery immediately called for him to enter, obviously thinking the sailor had come to relieve her. When he opened the door, the noisome air that filled the cabin seemed to rush at him, and he caught his breath and entered. A glance told him that things had deteriorated during the day. Now the floor and the bed sheets were stained and the slop bucket teetered, dangerously full. Worse, Margery’s greenish face now hovered above that receptacle.
“Larraby,” he said softly. “Take Mistress Margery up on deck and let her get some fresh air. Make her stay there a good twenty minutes. If she then wants to eat, escort her to the galley, then to her cabin. She is to remain there and sleep until the sun is well up tomorrow morning. Do you understand, lad?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“And send one of the crew here to replace the slop bucket and wash down the floor. Where might I find fresh linens?”
Larraby moved to Margery’s side and encouraged her to lean on him. “I’ll send Jenkins to swab the floor for you m’lord. He’ll bring the sheets with him.” With Margery’s arm draped over his small shoulders, he half-carried her out of the room.
Grimacing, Duncan immediately set the offending bucket outside the door, which seemed to remove the worst of the smell. Next he looked around for the bucket of fresh water and found it still a third full. He seized a cloth, wrung out and draped over the bucket, dipped it into the cool water, gave it a hard twist and approached the bed.
Katarina lay on her back on the stained sheets, reminding him more of a tiny wax doll than his spitfire wife. Her pale skin made her eyes, sunken and ringed in black, seem enormous in her head. The fiery hair, slicked back from her forehead and woven into a loose braid, lay draped over one shoulder. Sweat stood out on her forehead and as he watched, her face contorted and she clutched her stomach. A low moan escaped her dry lips.
Shocked at the sight of her so wretched, he sat heavily on the bed.
Katarina opened her eyes a mere slit, then wider in recognition. “Nooo.” The word became a moan and then she was rolling toward the side of the bed. Duncan leapt to his feet, steadied her head then rubbed her back soothingly between the shoulder blades until the spasm passed. He eased her onto the bed and wiped her face and mouth with the cool cloth.
Her hollow gaze never left his face, but once he’d finished his careful sponging, she took a deep breath, marshaled her strength and managed to say, “Please leave.” Her tone was plaintive, but the exhaustion in her face added a piteous plea all its own.
He took her hand, and was stunned at the cold clammy feel of it. Trying to warm it, he chafed it lightly then placed a gentle kiss on its back. “I am afraid you are now stuck with me, my lady,” he said softly, taking up the damp cloth once more and running it over her arms. “Margery is exhausted and getting ill herself. I have sent Larraby off to make her comfortable in her cabin. As I cannot leave you to your own devices, my dear, I fear you must put up with me for the night just this once.”
She tried to curl her mouth in a smile, but never achieved more than a flicker of movement in her cheeks. Then her eyes closed against the crippling nausea and she moaned deep in her throat. Wishing with all his heart he could bear the pain himself, he squeezed her hand. The helplessness of watching her suffer hurt worse than experiencing the torment himself.
He’d started bathing her face again, when the door opened and a sailor he assumed to be Jenkins entered, carrying a set of linens in one hand and a bucket and mop in the other. Duncan took the sheets and hoisted himself onto the foot of Katarina’s bed as the seaman set to scrubbing the floorboards with a practiced hand. Within minutes, the room smelled of good clean soap. Jenkins promised to return with a fresh bucket of water, and exited.
From the bed, Katarina stared at him with big dark eyes.
“I am going to change your bed, sweetheart, and get you into a new gown,” he told her. “Perhaps that will help you feel a bit better.” Before she could muster a protest, he scooped her
into his arms and deposited her in the room’s one big chair. Perhaps sitting would make a difference to her, but he stripped the bed and tucked in the fresh sheets quickly nonetheless.
That task accomplished, he turned again to his wife, noted her bilious look and reached for the basin. The episode passed, and she lay worn out over the side of the chair, while he rummaged through her open trunk, searching for a clean night rail. Finding one was not difficult; getting her to allow him to put it on her might be a different story, even in her weakened state.
“My lady?” He straightened her in the chair. Exhaustion had claimed her. Even better. He swiftly stripped the soiled gown from her body, and was about to put the fresh one on, when a pungent aroma convinced him she could do with a wash as well. Praying the cold water didn’t rouse her, he hurriedly ran the cloth over her body, noting the beautiful swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the bright thatch at the top of her thighs. Images he set firmly aside for another time. His concern was for her comfort at the moment, nothing else. Lifting her limp arms, he slid the gown over her head then tossed the soiled one into a corner.
He pulled back the sheet, and glanced from his wife to the bed. Damn it. They were married, after all.
Moments later he lay propped up in the bed with Katarina nestled against him, her legs anchored between his. He hoped this posture would provide more stability if indeed the swaying of the ship caused her misery. Gently he placed his arms around her, enclosing her in the cocoon of his warmth, and waited.
Time ceased to have meaning. He had no idea if it were ten o’clock, or midnight, or near dawn. The cabin boasted a window, but inky blackness outside divulged nothing. The lantern hanging from the ceiling cast an eerie glow all around the chamber that gave no hint of night or morn. More than an hour must have passed since he’d sent Larraby off with Margery, but perhaps the captain had needed the boy or Margery taken longer to settle than expected.