She tried to kick him, but he merely laughed as his full weight settled upon her, one leg forcing hers apart. His fingers groped her calf, her skirts began to rise above her knees, and she let her mind drift blissfully away.
Her head spun.
Black fog drifted before her eyes, and she was unsure if it was smoke or purely imagined. The weight of him upon her body lifted. She knew Dobison was about to perform what he’d promised.
Just as the blackness swirled and claimed her, she imagined Addison’s deep, voice crying her name.
Chapter 27
The pallor of Anne’s skin as he cradled her to his chest concerned him, more so the shallow breathing and slight movement of her chest. He’d immediately divested himself of his shirt, placed it over her open wound, and tied the sleeves as tight as possible around her shoulder. Lifeless, she’d lain there like a sack of feed, so heavy in his arms, as if every bone in her body were filled with lead.
As if she died.
“We’ve no time to waste, Blackhurst. We must take her to the Royal Fortune and giver her over to Patchey.” Bartholomew touched his shoulder, compassion making his voice barely audible over the chaos of Roberts’ crew overtaking the Swallow.
Clenching his teeth, he pulled Anne into his arms and followed Roberts back across the deck, both of them nearly running with urgency. Bartholomew motioned to one of his crew waiting in a long boat on the port side of the ship. A rope ladder had been thrown over the side, having been used already to allow the crew of the Royal Fortune to overtake the smaller vessel.
Roberts deftly jumped over and made his way down the ladder. Addison positioned Anne’s limp form tightly to his chest with one arm, while he carefully lowered himself, rung by precarious rung, down to the awaiting boat.
Near the last rung, Roberts’ hands steadied him while he landed in the long boat. The short trip to the other ship went without hitch. Climbing up the ladder of the pirate vessel took a little more careful maneuvering. Roberts took Anne from his grip when Addison neared the top of the ladder. Once his feet landed upon the wooden surface, Addison cradled her back against his chest.
Roberts eyed him thoughtfully, but turned and led the way to the cabin Addison and Raphael had shared upon the voyage.
“Jones, get Patchey, straight away. Send him to the first mate’s cabin. Now!”
Jones sprinted down into the lower level before Addison reached it himself. Roberts threw open the door to the cabin, and he surged forward and placed Anne tenderly onto the bed.
“Jesu, she’s a fright.” Bartholomew’s astonished eyes glanced down where Anne lay in the large bed.
Addison’s heart lurched as he stared, in shock, at the swelling on her cheek, the dark purple stain of bruises marring her skin; blood crusted her lip and her nostril. The dark shirt he’d tied around her had become ever darker as the blood oozed from her wound. He pressed his fist firmly on the area above her breast to staunch the flow of blood. Had she been coherent, he knew she’d have come off the bed in pain. But, she barely breathed.
“If that bastard had not already ceased to breathe, I would kill him again.” His teeth would be filed down in no time if he continued to grind on them.
“We’d best remove her gown, Blackhurst. Patchey will know what to do.” His voice was gruff with emotion.
He met Bartholomew’s eyes, sympathy in the pirate’s gaze. Addison gave the famous pirate a glare. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be the only one undressing her.”
Acknowledging that with a short forward tip of his head, Bartholomew turned and walked from the cabin.
Pursing his lips together, he removed the bloodstained shirt first. “This is not the way I wished to remove your gown, love.” Hands shaking, he fisted them at the top of her gown, above her breasts, and ripped the neckline down to her waist, taking care not to injure her skin. It gave without fuss. The chemise beneath no longer white, but a bright red. He shredded the top of it as well, then gently maneuvered both pieces down over her arms and below her waist.
There were bruises on the back of her neck, and deep, long scratches upon her shoulders and forearms. Terrified of what he might find further, and knowing he must, he lifted her bottom and pulled the gown and chemise down over her legs, throwing them upon the cabin floor. Biting back a cry of fury, he discovered more bruises marred her thighs; more scratches trailed along her calves and shins.
Swiftly, he grabbed clean linen from the washstand and came to sit next to her on the bed, pressing it firmly to the wound to keep the blood from trickling out as much as possible.
“I’m so sorry, my love.” He whispered.
Dark lashes fanned her pale cheeks. She lay there, still as death. He closed his eyes, praying for her to live.
A man burst into the cabin just then, diverting Addison from the tears that welled up behind his lashes.
Through slightly blurred eyes, he saw Patchey might be good at sewing up the crew when in need, but he’d done a horrid job at mending himself. The pirate stood a good two feet shorter than Addison, a wooden leg thumped against the floor; burn scars adorned both hands and half of his face. He wore a short, tight cap over his head. Intelligent blue eyes assessed Anne as she lay there.
“Will she live?” Addison could not suppress the catch in his voice.
“That remains to be seen, milord. But, I will try my damnedest. I will try.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Right.” He ushered Addison away with a wave of his hand. “You stand over there. If I need you, I’ll holler. I must work quickly and without interruption.”
Addison backed away, turning to see two lads rushing into the room; one with a pail of steaming water, the other carrying a red-hot piece of iron, and a bottle of liquor. The iron would be used to cauterize the area to stifle the flow of blood and seal the wound. The alcohol had been used as a means of sterilization for centuries.
Patchey gave quick, precise orders to the two young men, who seemed used to being ordered about in that fashion. They worked diligently, and Addison gave thanks to the sea gods Anne had lost consciousness. There was no need of strong spirits or pieces of wood to bite down upon. And, no need of worrying over propriety or embarrassment at her state of nakedness.
He wrung his hands in the corner and paced the floor for the next half-hour during the flurry of activity. He doubted he’d recall any of it if he’d had to even an hour later. His thoughts focused on the prospect of life without Anne. Inconceivable. His heart lurched at the loathsome concept.
He’d known her for only a short time, and yet she had become every thought in his brain, every rush of fire in his blood; the very tempo of his heartbeat.
Biting on his knuckles, despair filled him like he’d been dipped in a kiln of lead. Her last thought of him had been that of a man who’d used her to acquire property and wealth. The hurt marring her face before she’d stormed from his office would be implanted in his mind forever . . . should she never awaken.
The entire episode could be laid squarely upon his shoulders. He should have admitted the agreement with her father right away, that first day in the study. There would have been no need for her to become angry over his conversation with her father; no need to flee in a pique. And, to find out she’d been abducted, stolen from under his very roof because she had fled to Cranford Hall without the protection he should have provided her. He was convinced he could have stopped the entire turn of events.
“—keep any fever at bay.” Patchey’s voice floated through the haze, his thoughts drifted away.
“I’m sorry, what was that? Will she live?” His gaze flew to where she lay on the bed, a white sheet pulled up to her chin; the fiery hair flying all about the pillow decidedly brighter due to the pallor of her face and the white sheet.
“Not out of the woods yet, milord. Now, you must keep her cool. Watch for any si
gn of fever, or infection around the wound. I’ve cauterized it, and plied it with plenty of alcohol, but sometimes the infection grows anyway.”
Addison searched Patchey’s knowledgeable eyes, ignoring the burns marring his skin.
“If she even feels slightly warmed, you must keep any fever at bay. Once she’s out of the woods for the fever, she might pull through. But, she’s lost quite a bit of blood.”
The man held out a wet cloth, which he took willingly. “I’ll make sure she lives, then.”
“Yes, I believe you will.” A knowing gleam entered the man’s eyes as he stared at him, then turned, whistled at the lads, and they exited the cabin.
Addison strode over to Anne, air catching in his throat.
So fragile.
If not for the mottled purple and black bruises, and the swelling in her cheek, she’d have resembled a fire-headed porcelain statue. The color of her skin had not changed, and the movement of her chest as she breathed remained shallow.
No matter. She would live.
He pulled the bucket of tepid water near the bed at his feet, and sat next to her on the bed.
“I hope you do not mind I stay here with you.” Speaking to her helped to calm the terror in his heart.
He remained bare-chested, and kicked off his boots. Bending down, he sopped the cloth in the water, allowing it to rest for later use, and pulled his legs up to rest beside her thigh. With a trembling hand, he smoothed her hair back from her forehead, placing a kiss there.
“You are commanded to live, Anne. I won’t have you leaving me.” The coolness in her skin lingered, thankfully, but she remained in oblivious slumber.
Addison removed her sheet, a sad smile pulling his lips up. “Still breathtaking and beautiful.” Even with the bruises and scratches.
To assure he could detect any sign of fever, he moved his body down to lie flush with her, wrapping an arm about her waist. Perhaps she could draw energy from him.
He snuggled in close, skin-to-skin, and stared at the side of her face that remained unchanged and delicate. Her freckles reminded him of the mischief she could not contain.
“If you stay with me, we’ll make love in every inappropriate place you can dream up, my love.” His finger twirled against the smooth skin near her navel, and he imagined the seductive smile she’d given him in the stable.
Closing his eyes, he fell into a dream. He dreamt of his brothers, Holt, Eliza Teach, and sailing the high seas with the successful pirate, Black Bart. They fought off pirates, and Addison found himself diving into the ocean, thrashing about in the deep water. He dove deeper and deeper, chasing a mess of deep, red hair that continued to sink further into the abyss.
Struggling to breathe, he gulped in air and bolted upright in the cabin. The sheet no longer settled on his body, it bunched around Anne’s hip. And then, dreadful heat penetrated his body. No, not his body. The fire-like heat radiating from Anne, where her leg rested along his. She was burning with fever.
Patchey said to keep the fever at bay, or she would die if the fever lingered.
He tore the sheet from her and reached for the pale of tepid water. “Please, don’t leave me.”
Chapter 28
“Get out there and fight, you coward!” She shoved against Jack’s shoulder as he leaned his back against a crate in the hold, a drunken smile lifting his lips. “Jack, please!”
One of his arms extended and pushed her away from him. “Get out of here, wench. The men are busy celebrating here. We’ve no need of your theatrics down here. Not today.”
Hurt and angry, she turned back to her companion. “It appears that it’s up to us, Mary. Again.” Turning to give Jack one last look of contempt, and hoping her disapproval poured from her eyes, she shrugged. Let the drunkard be skewered. She cared not any longer.
“Let’s go, Anne. Someone’s got to protect the ship.” Mary pulled upon her sleeve, her brown as thatch curls escaping the tuck of her hat. Dirt smudged upon one cheek, and her doe brown eyes gleamed with the adrenaline-filled excitement they both felt at times such as this.
Mary, beautiful, dressed as a man, gave a sad smile . . . and then her cheeks began to droop, the flesh melting and dissolving to drip upon her neck. Her beautiful smile transformed into a jagged, bloody line. The sockets of her eyes were black, as if crows had eaten them. Anne screamed as long, bony fingers gripped her sleeve.
The face transformed into Jericho Dobison, and he laughed in her face, his fetid breath making her gag. A fire burned behind her, and all she could think to do was jump into it to escape the man before her. Turning, she leapt into a wide, gaping hole.
Blackness enveloped her, as if all the lights in the world had gone out. A lit candle beckoned to her in the distance, and she heard a deep, throaty voice say her name.
The voice grew faint as she was yanked backward, a hand pulling her further and further from the light the candle threw into the blackness. The strength of her body and limbs were nonexistent, but she fought the pull of that hand, its long bony fingers curled around her. She screamed at it, and found it had no body or face.
Something awaited her beyond the flicker of the flame in the candle at the end of the black tunnel. Her struggle with the hand with no body continued for so long, the only thing she heard in her head was that of her constant scream. “No!”
Deeper into the darkness, she could see the gaping mouth of Dobison, Jack Rackham, and several other men she’d known throughout her past, stood or leaned, glaring at her.
Menace and despair lay that direction.
“Anne, you must go.” Mary’s voice thrummed in her mind. The long fingers that gripped her hand evaporated and she saw Mary lying in the dirt of the cell they once shared. Tormented eyes stared up at her. “You must promise, Anne.” Her mouth had not moved, but Anne heard the words nonetheless.
Anne bit her lip, fighting tears. “I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll live.” Mary closed her eyes, a smile forming upon her once-beautiful features. When she opened them again, they were silvery-gray.
Crying in earnest now, Mary’s body melted away, and she cried out again at the loss of her friend. But, the candle flame moved closer. The image of those eyes burned into her mind. She had to reach the flame. The light.
She ran and jumped headlong into the flames.
Anne awoke to sunlight pouring into her eyes. The first sensation that registered was she no longer suffered inside the blackness of her past. Slowly, she moved her eyes to take in her surroundings. The gentle sway of a ship with the ocean alerted her she still remained at sea. The sun pouring through the windows showed her a clean, well-organized cabin.
So, she’d made it off Dobison’s ship. Relief poured through her. Bartholomew was triumphant then. And, she lived. Remembering the fight on the deck, she tried to move her body.
Wincing, every muscle in her body ached, and the excruciating pain above her breast nearly sent her back into a blackness she dare not travel into again. A moan escaped her.
“Yer awake, then. We thought you would not make it.” A pair of deep blue, intelligent eyes set in a face disfigured by scars stared at her as she turned her head to the voice.
“Water.” Her throat felt afire, so dry she would swear she’d been in the middle of a dessert instead of at sea.
A wooden cup appeared before her eyes as the man helped the cool liquid drizzle into her mouth and sooth the back of her parched throat.
“Thank you.”
Easing the cup from her, he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. “You’ve finally rid yourself of that blasted fever.”
She was alive. Discovering their course was foremost in her mind, and then making certain her children were truly cared for before she disappeared for good. Her past would haunt her forever. It was her dut
y to keep it from hurting her children, and Addison.
“How long have I been in this bed?”
“Three days, Miss. Your wound will take some time to heal properly, but I don’t see no infection. The fever took its toll on you, but you’ll be right as rain in no time.” The burn marks marring his face made him fearsome but for the compassion in his eyes.
Anne nodded, swallowing the dryness creeping upon her again. “Is this Bartholomew’s ship?”
“Aye. He’ll be glad to know you’ve made it through. My name’s Patchey, Miss. Should you need anything, just holler. There’s a lad just outside your door there to do your bidding.” He motioned behind him to the door. “Now, let me have one last look at that wound a’ yours.”
The will it took to keep from cringing as his hand pushed aside the sheet from her shoulder surprised her. The memory of Dobison’s touch did not die easily. The realization that she remained nude beneath the blanket and sheet did nothing to help alleviate her level of unease.
Patchey’s hand did not make contact with her skin, but he made a noise in his throat of approval and pulled the sheet back over her shoulder. “It’s healing as much as it can with your deteriorated condition, what with that fever and all. But, now you’re awake, we can feed you proper.”
The sudden growl of her stomach surprised them both, and the man’s mouth lifted into a smile. “I think that’s a good sign. Jones, Miss Anne needs some food.”
Anne flinched at his loud bellow, but gave Patchey a smile. “Thanks for patching me up, Patchey.”
A flush crept up the older man’s neck. “It’s me job. Captain Roberts would have had me head had you not survived.”
My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) Page 24