Alexandra looked at McPhee. “What do you think?”
“Seems we dinna have many choices,” he rasped.
Alexandra rubbed her head and took a deep breath. “That captain will sail us to England, by God, even if I have to pull out my pistol again.”
She marched back downstairs, charged into the tavern. Her knees were wobbling from fright. Reaching inside her coat, she pulled her gun out of its holster resting at her hip. A loud bang echoed through the tavern as she fired a shot into the air. She prayed she didn’t hit anyone. For the second time, the tavern was silenced by the curious onlookers.
“Which one of you is the captain of that frigate at the dock?” she bellowed, hoping no one could hear the terror in her voice.
“I’ll be the captain, Missie.” A weather-worn Goliath of a man was seated at a table nearby with three other burly men. “How can I be of service?”
Naturally, he would be the most terrifying looking man in the room. Before she gave herself a chance to flee, she thought of Edward and summoned every ounce of arrogance she could muster. Pushing her shoulders back, she sauntered to his table. Her gaze leveled with his. “I need to get to England. Can you sail me tonight?”
He drained the rest of his ale and smacked his lips. “I say, ye’re not planning on shootin’ that pistol again are ye?” Amusement filled his scruffy voice. The other men at the table burst into huge guffaws.
She slid her pistol into the holster and rested her hand on the handle. “Only if I need to,” she said. “But I will pay you.”
He scratched his chin. “Hmmph.” His wrinkled eyes sparked with interest. “How much blunt are ye lookin’ to pay? I was settin’ sail fer Spain.”
She straightened her spine. “How much will it take? I trust you can be a fair man, Captain.” More chuckles echoed around the room. “I have only twenty pounds left.”
He snorted. “Twenty pounds will get you but a dinghy and a paddle in these waters.”
The only thing she had left was Winston’s signet ring. It was a ducal heirloom but if it saved Edward’s life, Winston would understand. This hardened captain would most likely scoff at it, not realizing it’s true value, but was worth a try. She yanked the ring off the string round her neck and held it out to him. “Perhaps this will help.”
The captain inspected the ring and snorted. Arching his gray bushy brows, he looked at her with a new respect. “This be the Black Swan’s ring.” Pushing his chair away from the table, he rose, towering above her. Holding out his meaty hand, he returned the ring to her. “You’ll have your ride. High tide is in an hour. We shove off then.”
“I need assistance getting one of my men to the ship. He’s still unconscious.”
“Jake and Sweeney here’ll help ye, missy. Try not to shoot ‘em,” he added with amusement. He winked, and ambled out the door.
Chapter 18
The weather was hellish. The small ship was yanked about like a rag doll on a childish sea.
Still unconscious, Edward burned with fever. The only private cabin on the ship belonged to the captain, which he reluctantly gave up to them. It contained one narrow bunk which was occupied by Edward. McPhee slept on the floor and Alexandra used the single wooden chair down by the foot of the bed.
McPhee also grew worse. His skin took on a greenish cast, and he often heaved into a bucket. They were trapped inside the tiny cabin as the storm grew outside. McPhee’s arm was bandaged thoroughly, but Alexandra suspected more than merely his arm was injured.
Alexandra’s body ached all over and her head whirled from exhaustion, but she was too worried about Edward to allow herself to sleep. She discovered a stray bullet had slightly grazed across her left cheek when taking a quick glance in a small mirror on the wall. Only after she saw the wound did it start to sting. She cleansed it and applied some poultice. Then she changed into her plain brown dress.
She called for wet cloths to bring down Edward’s fever. Stripping off his shirt to better access his wounded shoulder, she shrieked at the sight of red raised welts striped across his chest and stomach. Her heart twisted as she found even more pronounced wounds still scabbing and bleeding across his back. Tears of rage rushed to her eyes to think he had been so badly flogged.
Grateful to be out of France, she knew they were still not out of peril. A constant shadow of terror hung over her. She pled with God. She cajoled Edward to open his eyes, and when that didn’t work, she ordered him not to die or she would shoot him herself. Even so, Edward still did not wake up.
The ship’s captain sent his cook with some food, but she could not eat.
Once she thought Edward murmured a few words when she was packing cool cloths on his chest. Occasionally he swallowed the water she poured into his mouth.
At last, the weather calmed and McPhee convinced Alexandra to get some air. As she stepped on the deck, a cool breeze washed over her face. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. It was almost dusk. The sun was a fiery red ball on the horizon, with orange and violet clouds billowing all around. It seemed to reflect the deep rage she felt at Edward’s injuries.
This ship, she noted, didn’t reek as the last one had on the way to France. It was much more well-kept. She strode to the starboard railing and stared into the water. The turbulent waves seemed to lull her frayed senses.
The captain approached. He was a barrel-chested giant with ruddy skin like faded leather. “Good to finally see ye on deck, missy, although I’ve seen ye lookin’ better.”
She would have been terrified of him if not for the glint of humor in his eyes. She gave a weary smile. “I’m grateful we’re still afloat, after that storm, Sir. I don’t believe we’ve ever been properly introduced, Captain. I’m Alexandra Weston.” She held her hand out and he took it.
“And I’m Captain Melvin Drood at your service, my lady, better known as Captain Shark, or just Sharky.” He smiled and winked and lightly kissed her hand. “’Tis an honor to have ye aboard.”
“I wish to thank you again for sailing us to England. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Oh, it looked to me like ye would o’ done some more shootin’! Ye know how to handle that pistol damn good,” he remarked with a firm nod.
“Do you really think so?” she asked, impressed with the compliment.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“How much farther do we have?” she asked.
“I reckon we’ll put in at Dover shortly after daybreak, if the weather holds up.”
“This is a fine ship, sir.”
“She’s a sturdy little thing, she is. She ain’t much, but she’s mine.”
“Do you have a wife anywhere?”
“Why, ye be wantin’ ta marry me?” He chuckled. “Nope. Can’t find a woman that will have me. I guess this here ship is what I’m married to.” His bright eyes crinkled at the edges. “Has himself woke up yet?”
“No.”
A large sail billowed above them from a sudden gust of wind and Alexandra shuddered. The ship leaned sharply. She reached for the rail to steady herself. Captain Shark was not affected in the least by the leaning as he stood calmly next to her, his feet firmly planted.
“Well, we’re all hopin’ he pulls through, I’ll have ye know. He’s a fine mate, yer Black Swan.”
“You know him?”
“Aye, sometimes the sea can be a small place.”
“I mean, you know him as the Black Swan?”
His bushy brows rose. “Why of course, Missy. Jest like they call me the Shark, he’s the Black Swan, and a fine ship he has.”
“The Dauntless?”
“Aye. ‘Tis one of ‘em,” he said with admiration. “I was thinkin’ you were his woman, the way you were fightin’ for him back at the Bleu. But I guess I was wrong, and I ain’t wrong too much.”
Alexandra raised her chin a notch and looked at him. “You weren’t wrong, I am his woman,” she replied, relishing the thought that she was indeed a woman, and that her heart bel
onged to Edward. “He just doesn’t know it. The fact is, he rather loathes me.”
Sharky chuckled warmly. “And I was jest getting’ down on my knee to propose! Why would any red-blooded man not ken a bonny little lass the likes o’ you? You got plenty of sass and vinegar, and to my mind, ‘tis a good thing.”
Alexandra liked him. “Well, if I can’t change his mind, Captain, I’ll propose to you.”
Captain Shark threw his head back and howled with laughter. “Well, I hope he lives to be as stubborn as the old Corsican himself, but I’m guessin’ if he has eyes, he’ll be wantin’ to keep you.”
“I’ll invite you to the wedding,” she teased, rolling her eyes.
“A pistol-shootin’ weddin’?”
Her brows rose. “Now there’s a tempting notion. I’ll hold onto my pistols just in case.”
They both laughed. It seemed like eons since indeed she had laughed. But she did recall exactly when it was. In Paris, in the garden. With Edward. She blinked to fight back the tears.
Captain Shark pulled out a flask of whiskey from his vest pocket and uncorked it.
“Here’s to the happy couple.” He raised it in a toast and took a hearty chug. Then he passed it to her.
Alexandra stared at the flask for a quick moment, then took it from him. “Cheers.” She raised it and took a desperate gulp.
She was back at Edward’s side on the edge of the narrow bunk. McPhee had gone out on deck to stretch his legs. The sea rocked the ship like a baby’s cradle.
Gazing tenderly into Edward’s pallid face, she lightly touched her fingers to his brow. He seemed peaceful now, but he was still too warm. Yet warm meant alive.
Her eyes again filled with tears and she clutched his limp hand. Kissing his palm, she pressed it to her face. She remembered how he had caressed her face with this hand.
“Edward, please wake up! I know you despise me, but don’t die just to spite me. If you will only survive, I shall never bother you again. I promise to stay out of your life.”
She dragged her sleeve across her leaky eyes. “I really didn’t mean it when I said I hoped you got shot and bled to death. You didn’t have to take me quite so literally. When have you ever listened to me before, anyhow?” Climbing onto the tiny bunk, she nestled her body beside him, slipping her arm across his torso.
Her lips tugged into a sad smile. “Remember when you first taught me to swordfight?” She sniffled. “You pushed me to my limits and I loved it. You were my hero, and you still are. We fought pirates and highwaymen together, and I was your sidekick. You taught me to swim and we sailed ships we made out of sticks and string. Yours was the Black Swan and mine was the Dauntless. Ian gave me those names from one of his books. And you were the captain and I was the brat. I was so proud of that silly name, the brat, simply because you gave it to me.”
Her head whirled. Her exhaustion enveloped her like a thick fog. She knew she should eat, but her stomach was too tied in knots.
“Edward, if you die, I will die with you,” she said. Her voice crumbled into a sob. “Because I cannot bear this world with you not in it. I don’t want us to die, Edward. Sometimes I think we simply enjoyed tormenting each other.
With a sniffle, she lay her head on the pillow next to his and closed her eyes to block the tears. “I know you can never forgive me for your mother’s death, and I understand. Yet I want you to know this: I have never hated you. I have always loved you.”
Raising her head, she placed a kiss on his cheek as tears streamed down hers. “Please, Edward, live! If you will only live, I shall never bother you again. We’ll be back to England in the morning. Just hold on a while longer. Don’t die, Edward.”
Then, for the first time since she fled Paris, she slept.
In the shadows of night, Edward’s eyes fluttered open. He was on a bed. Someone held him, warm and soft. There were creaking noises, and rocking. Was he aboard his ship?
A jolt of pain seared through his shoulder. He wanted to moan, but his throat was too parched. Was he back in the prison? He gritted his teeth and tried to think. No, there was an ambush. He had been shot.
A young woman’s voice was pleading. “Don’t die, Edward!”
He sank back into the bliss of darkness.
Chapter 19
Higgins answered the loud banging at the front door of the Wilmington Square town house to a haggard-looking young man. A large brown coach pulled by four horses waited on the street.
“You be Higgins?” asked the young man.
“Yes, Sir.” He eyed the man suspiciously.
“I’m Lieutenant Thomas McPhee, first mate of Captain Edward Devon. The captain is outside in the coach and he’s been shot. We need assistance getting him into the house. Could you send out some men?”
Higgins blanched when it occurred to him who Captain Devon was. “Good Lord, Mister Edward!” he shouted, and raced back into the house to call for footmen. Then he ran to find His Grace.
Ashford stormed into Edward’s bedchamber. “What in the bloody blazes is going on here?” he shouted. “Where is my son?”
Sitting on the bed next to Edward, Alexandra turned to look at him. If she didn’t know it before, she knew from Ashford’s expression that she looked bad. Then Ashford saw his son lying on the bed and his face went ashen.
“Edward’s been shot, Uncle Ash. He is alive, but he has been unconscious for almost two days.” She wished her voice didn’t sound so hoarse.
Ashford approached the bed and his face tightened. He gazed down at his younger son. “Is it truly Edward? I haven’t seen him in nearly five years.” His voice trembled. “Where the devil is the doctor?”
“Higgins sent a footman to fetch him,” she weakly replied.
He turned to Alexandra. ““Why do I sense that Edward’s presence here is your doing?” He reached for a chair and crumbled into it. He rubbed his face with his hand and then looked at her. “Young lady, you owe me an extensive explanation. You look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”
“I have been through hell, Uncle Ash,” she sniffled. She was still too worried about Edward to answer more questions. “I’ll explain later. Have someone send up more towels and water. Edward still has a fever and I’ve been trying to cool him down. And he needs clean clothes.”
Ashford stared at her. “Alexandra, tell my valet what to do, and then you must get some sleep and a bath. And for God’s sake, eat something.”
“I can’t leave him until the doctor arrives.”
At that moment Higgins entered, ushering in the doctor.
“Where’s Dr. Barclay?” Ashford demanded.
“I am Dr. Barclay, Your Grace. The younger Dr. Barclay. My elder brother, Gerald, met his maker this year past.”
“My condolences. Apparently things have changed since last I was in London,” Ashford said.
The doctor quickly strode to Edward and opened his bag. Since Edward’s ragged shirt was already torn off, he lay bare-chested with blood-stained bandages wrapped around his chest.
“Do you have fresh bandaging in the house?”
A maid hurried to retrieve them.
He touched Edward’s forehead. “How long has he had this fever?”
“For almost two days, Doctor,” Alexandra replied. “He was shot in an ambush the day before yesterday outside Calais.”
The doctor looked at her wide-eyed. “In France? He was shot in sodding France and you brought him here?”
She exhaled. “We couldn’t leave him there. The French soldiers were trying to kill him.”
“I’m amazed he survived the trip,” the doctor said, shaking his head.
Ashford’s face turned chalky gray.
She suddenly felt self-conscious. “I’ve kept his bandages as clean as I could, and I packed the wound with these herbs,” she explained, handing the doctor the nearly empty packet of herbs.
The doctor peeled off the bandage from Edward’s shoulder and inspected the wound. “The ball has been removed
and the wound is clean. But he’s lost a lot of blood. There will be no using the leaches. Good work, Miss,” he said, impressed. “Has he been conscious at all?”
“No. Not that I am aware of, but sometimes he moans.”
“Oh. That’s encouraging.” He took out his stethoscope and listened to Edward’s heart, and checked other vital signs. He was inspecting for broken bones when he noticed the stripes scabbing across his chest and stomach. “Good God. This man has been flogged.”
“His back is worse, doctor,” Alexandra said.
Dr. Barclay looked at her in horror. “Help me lift him up a bit.”
Ashford sprang up. “Here, allow me to assist.”
Dr. Barclay and Ashford gently lifted Edward to a slight sitting position as the doctor examined his back. Then they carefully laid him back.
Ashford was seething as he held back tears of rage. “Those bloody bastards tortured him!”
“Yes, Your Grace, it does appear so,” Dr. Barclay said. His voice rose with angry disgust. “His chest and belly should heal well, but his back will retain some permanent scarring. Providing, of course, he survives.”
The doctor repacked his medical bag. “The only thing we can do for the time being is keep him clean and as cool as possible. Continue with damp cloths on him. Do not move him. If he has woken up, the pain could have indeed knocked him back out again. He needs to drink water, better yet, a clear broth. But there’s not much else we can do until he wakes up. I’ll leave some laudanum for the pain once he regains consciousness.”
The doctor turned to Alexandra. “You’ve done a remarkable feat, Miss. I’m quite sure if he lives it will be due to your vigilant efforts.”
Alexandra nodded weakly.
Ashford rubbed his brow; confusion etched his face.
Doctor Barclay straightened and picked up his bag. “Show me the other patient.” Higgins ushered the doctor down the hallway to McPhee’s room.
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