The Admiral's Ward

by Dinah McLeod

  The admiral continued to pump in and out of her even as she loosened her grip. If anything, his own ardor seemed to have grown, and he shook the bed as he thrust inside of her. Moments later, he was grunting with his own release. Then he was falling down beside her, gently caressing her face.

  “Sleep, my lady.”

  “But... what about breaking our fast?” A yawn followed the question straightaway.

  He smiled at her. “I am the admiral, remember? I employ the cook and I assure you there is time to rest before you are fed.”

  Curling up beside him, she had never felt so small, so cherished, so sure of the future.

  Chapter Seven

  Delia was aware of the fact that she could not stop smiling. Her face muscles were stretched to the point that it should have hurt, but by some miracle it didn’t. Maybe this is what it feels like to be in love. The thought made her smile even wider as she fell onto her bed, closing her eyes so that she could relive every moment of the wonderful breakfast she had just shared with the admiral.

  James. The thought made her giggle aloud. Though she tended to keep to sir in public, he kept reminding her to use his given name in private.

  It had been so wonderful to be out of her room and in the company of others again.

  “No trousers,” the admiral had told her, the corners of his lips twitching, before he had left her to get dressed.

  She only had the one gown, but she brushed it down the best she could and pinched her cheeks to give them some color before joining him.

  “You look lovely,” he had told her, making her blush.

  He had announced her to the room at large, and though she had noticed one or two men who hung back, seeming uncomfortable by her presence, most of them had been quite genial coming to introduce themselves.

  Barnabee had been one of the first to come up to her, introducing himself with a big, sweeping bow and a conspiratorial grin.

  She had fallen in line with the ruse at once, not wanting to give away her friend. James had pulled her chair out for her, and then they had breakfast. Oh, the breakfast! It was a feast of pastry, crisp bacon, seasoned sausage, biscuits with savory gravy.

  “I see no one eats so fine as when they dine with the captain,” she had teased.

  He had kept her laughing, and it was a pleasure to see how he interacted with his men. He was kind, jovial at times, but it was clear that they respected him a great deal. It made her proud to be the one on his arm.

  She had been sad when the morning ended and he had returned to her room. He had kissed her hand, his warm, soulful eyes seducing her with the promises that lay in their depths as he said he’d see her later. She was atwitter with all that had happened and there was nothing that could spoil it.

  Delia sat up when she heard a knock on the door. “James?” she called out. She launched herself off the bed, giggling as she ran to open the door. He must have not been able to stop thinking about her, either. The thought made her giddy.

  But when she opened the door it was Barnabee looking back at her. Her heart fell, but only for a moment.

  “Good day, m’lady. May I come in?”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. James had never told her that she could not have guests, after all. “Of course.”

  He stepped inside, all smiles. “It was a pleasure to see you this morning.”

  “It was quite grand,” she told him with a laugh. “I felt like a princess.”

  “Oh, I felt sure that you are royalty, m’lady.” He dimpled at her.

  Delia found his tan skin and wide dark eyes quite dashing, and though she was head over heels for the admiral, she did not mind flirting with the sailor. “I am not a princess. That would have pleased my mother beyond measure.”

  “But you are highborn, are you not?”

  She giggled. “How could you tell?”

  His smile widened. “I am afraid that you could not hide it if you tried, forgive me for saying so, m’lady. A woman with such... royal bearing and fine manners surely cannot pass for a commoner.”

  Delia shrugged a shoulder, but she was pleased.

  “You have family in Baasing?”

  “No. I am not sure what I will—” She froze as she realized what she was doing. No one, not even the admiral, knew her true story. She could not tell Barnabee, no matter how sure she was that she could trust him. “Yes, an elderly aunt,” she blurted out, holding her breath to see if he would challenge her lie.

  But he merely nodded. “I am sure she will be delighted to see you and to have your company.”

  “Ah... yes. And I her.”

  “I cannot stay any longer or I’m afraid I’ll be missed. The captain is dreadfully strict.” He winced.

  Delia giggled. “He is at that.”

  “I only came to see how you are doing. You looked quite cheerful this morning, but word has it that you got quite the whipping the other day.”

  Her eyes widened. “But... who...” And then she knew the answer. The guards at the door must have spread the news. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

  “The captain is quite hard-handed.” He tsked his tongue in sympathy.

  “I... I am afraid I deserved it,” she mumbled.

  “Nonsense. What could a lovely thing like you do to deserve such horrid treatment?”

  She could not help but be pleased with his words and did not protest further.

  “I brought you something.” Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out a small jar, which he passed to her.

  “How thoughtful. But what is it?”

  “It’s a special cream, m’lady. If you apply it to your... ah, the affected area, it will ease the pain somewhat.”

  “Oh.” She smiled warmly at him. “That was so thoughtful of you, Barnabee. Thank you.”

  “It is but a small thing, the least that I can do. I only wish I could do more. To be under lock and key of such a monster...” He gave a shudder.

  Delia’s brow furrowed as her smile slipped. “What a queer joke. I am not under lock and key. You saw that for yourself.”

  “But you are not allowed to leave, are you?”

  She hesitated. Though things were certainly better between her and James, he had not specifically lifted the instructions that she was to remain in the room. She pushed the thought away. “I left just this morning!”

  “Yes, but at his behest, under his watchful eye.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I thought so. He does not want you to know you are a prisoner, so he makes it seem like you are a guest.” He shook his head sadly. “Why, I s’pect he has his guards watching you at all times.”

  Her brow furrowed as she considered this. “But that cannot be. I met you when I left my room. There were no guards.”

  “No, m’lady, but did the captain not come to you right after?”

  “Ah, yes, but...” She trailed off, unsure what to make of this.

  “I bet someone, hidden out of sight, must have alerted him to your leaving.”

  “But... he would not do that.” She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. “He is a good man.”

  “I hope that is true, for your sake,” Barnabee told her in a tone that implied he did not believe it. “I have heard different things. Have you seen his study? I hear it is full of torture instruments.”

  Delia’s mind flashed back to the wall of paddles, tawses, and assorted implements.

  “Please, do us both a favor and keep that cream hidden. He must not know I came to see you, or I fear what he might do.” He gave a shudder.

  Her mind was spinning. She had so enjoyed herself only hours ago and now she was coming to see the admiral in a different light, questioning everything she thought she knew about him. “I... I will. I swear it. Thank you for risking coming to me.”

  “If I am able, I will come again,” he promised, his face earnest. “Though I fear the danger, I am more afraid for you, princess.”

  She
was so busy thinking about everything he had said to correct him. She hardly saw him leave.

  It cannot be true, she told herself. He is a good man. He is.

  But somehow, the room felt colder than it had before she had admitted Barnabee.

  * * *

  When the knock came at lunchtime—punctual as always—Delia had come up with and discarded a dozen plans. The truth was her head was a mess. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she was to do. She did not want to believe the things that she had been told, but she had known the admiral for such a short time. And what cause did Barnabee have to lie to her? It must be true.

  “Just... just a moment!” she called out, wincing at the way her voice shook. She could only hope that he would not notice. But when she opened the door it was not James standing there, but a sailor she didn’t recognize. “Ah... hello.” She held the doorknob tightly in her hand and did not move to open the door wider.

  “Good day, m’lady.” He inclined his head. “Admiral McCray requests the honor of your presence in his quarters.”

  “Oh. Ah...”

  He waited, looking at her expectantly.

  What could she say? What reason could she give to decline? If she did, the admiral would only come down himself to see what was the matter. Either way, she would have to give an account for her actions. “Certainly.”

  “Very good. Right this way, m’lady.”

  She followed him, trepidation in every step. She had been in the admiral’s quarters only once before, and it was not exactly a memory she cherished.

  The sailor dropped her at the door, bowing slightly before he departed. Swallowing hard, Delia opened the door.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  “Give me a moment. I am just finishing up.”

  Good heavens, his voice made her belly perform flips. Her body would not react that way if he was truly such a monster, surely? Women’s intuition would never allow it. Yet, she still felt nervous as she looked around the room.

  She noticed things she had not before. There was a bearskin rug lying next to a fire grate. She supposed it was meant to be cozy, but in light of the things she had heard, it seemed sinister. Above the fire grate was the head of a very large, angry bear—the same, she supposed, that had provided the rug. Its teeth glinted fiercely as its eyes glared with hollow light.

  Shuddering, Delia turned away from it, hoping to distract herself from the suspicious thoughts that now abounded wildly in her mind. Her eyes landed on the bookshelves she had noticed before and she moved toward them, caressing the rows of thick spines in an effort to calm herself.

  It worked. As she read the titles, she could feel the anxiety in her chest easing. A man who enjoyed a pastime of reading could not be all bad, could he?

  “What book has caught your eye?”

  Though she knew she had done nothing wrong, she suddenly felt that she had been caught misbehaving. Muffling a gasp, Delia whirled to face him. “Oh. I... I was only...” The sight of him standing there, tall and imposing, the sharp navy blue uniform with glittering gold buttons, robbed her of speech and she was quite incapable of determining whether she was frightened or love struck.

  “Only having a look,” he supplied. “I know. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

  Proof that you are nothing like Barnabee says, she thought. If only she were brave enough to say it. Looking into his familiar eyes, her heart constricted and she longed to confess her fears. Perhaps he would reassure her. But how could she tell him what she had heard without giving away her friend? He had seemed genuinely concerned for her; she did not wish to repay that kindness by getting him in trouble with the admiral. Still, it was tempting.

  “Ah... nothing in particular,” she said, striving for a casual tone and failing miserably.

  “Have you finished The Three Musketeers?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Really?” He raised a brow. “I am surprised at you, Delia. I would have thought you’d be done by now. What have you been doing to keep yourself occupied?”

  Oh, the usual, I suspect. Talking to your sailors about you, worrying myself sick, pacing the quarters you gave me six thousand times. “Just... t-thinking, I suppose.” She tried to smile, but it felt wobbly and unfamiliar on her face.

  If James suspected that anything was up with her, he did not say. Instead, he gestured her to sit at a small table set for two. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  She did a double-take. “Why, yes. That would be lovely.”

  Smiling, he nodded her toward the table and then walked over to a small stove she had not noticed before.

  Delia took a seat, watching him. He worked with quick, deft movements as though he had done it a thousand times before. He set the kettle to boil, the warm, earthy scent of tea filling the room. She inhaled deeply, feeling something within her settle. It felt a little bit like home, and she had not realized until this moment precisely how homesick she was.

  “Do all the sailors have a stove in their quarters?” she asked.

  James chuckled. “No, I am afraid not. It is a privilege reserved strictly for the captain. Some of these men are quite careless—good sailors, perhaps, but without much else to recommend them. I fear my ship would burn down.”

  She laughed along with him, feeling her fears ebb a bit more. The things he said cannot be true, she decided. How can a man who makes tea and has such an engaging sense of humor be so awful?

  Her eyes were drawn to the wall over his desk, the implements hanging on the wall seeming even more sinister illuminated by the firelight.

  “Sugar?”

  Surprised to suddenly find him at her elbow, Delia jerked and knocked the cup in his hand. As she watched, eyes wide in horror, a bit of tea sloshed out of the side of the cup and down his arm. She leapt to her feet, agog at what she had done. “I... I am so sorry. Here, let me...” Taking the sleeve of her dress she began to dab at his jacket, looking up at him with a pained expression when her patting did nothing for the stain on his jacket. “Oh, no.” She took a step back and bumped into her chair. “I cannot believe I did that. I am so, so sorry. Please believe me.”

  James set down the cup and saucer down on the table and reached for her, brow furrowing when she shrank away. “Delia, what is it? What have I done to cause you to look at me so?”

  She swallowed hard, feeling faint. “I am afraid I do not feel well. Might I beg your leave to return to my q-quarters?”

  The furrow in his brow deepened as he looked at her. “You look terrified, my dear. I thought there was something troubling you when you first came in, but you did not say so I thought perhaps I had imagined it.”

  Hearing that he had noticed her discomfort filled her with conflicting emotions. While it was nice to hear that he knew her well enough to see when something was amiss, at the same time she had to wonder how that fit in with what Barnabee had told her. Could he be the heartless monster he had been accused of being and gentle and considerate to her at the same time? It did not seem possible. Which was she to believe about him?

  “Please, Delia, sit down.”

  “I w-would like to return to my r-room. Please?”

  “Your teeth are chattering. Please, drink your tea.” His eyes were concerned.

  That had to be genuine, did it not? “I... I...”

  “I will hear no more protest from you, little miss.” His tone was gentle, but brooked no further argument. “Now, take a seat.” He pulled out the chair and waited until she sat. “There you are. Drink your tea.”

  She hesitated, but the cup did look so warm and inviting. Perhaps it would settle her nerves. Besides which, James clearly was not going to let her leave until she drank it. She picked it up and took a dainty sip. The warming effect was almost immediate. Delia felt herself relax the tiniest bit and took another sip. She could feel the admiral’s eyes on her, but she did her best to push that out of her mind while she drank her cup.

  He did not speak until she had finished
and put the cup back down. “Another?”

  “Yes, please.” The first had been so delicious and had done much to steady her. What could another hurt? Besides, that way she did not have to talk. Perhaps she would receive leave to return to her quarters soon and she could think these things out some more. Perhaps there was even a way she could get a message to Barnabee. If only she had more information... then she would know what to think, how to feel. At the moment, her thoughts were a frightful mess.

  James poured her a cup, and with silver tongs added a single sugar cube to her cup.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are quite welcome.” Then he sat down across from her and they sipped in silence until Delia had finished the second cup. Seeing her set hers down, he followed suit. “Now, tell me what has you all aquiver.”

  Delia dropped her eyes to the crisp white tablecloth. “I just got a bit of a chill on my way here.”

  “Are you being truthful with me?”

  When she did not answer, he reached across the table and took her hand. The warmth in his hand and the emotions even this slight touch sent coursing through her beseeched her to look at him. What she saw in his eyes made her heart flutter, albeit against her will. She wished she could turn off the part of her that had fallen for the handsome admiral, at least until she figured all of this out.

  “I thought not.” He smiled wryly at her.

  She flinched, embarrassed at having been caught without uttering a word. “But... I...”

  He shook a finger at her. “None of that, now. The truth is written clearly on your lovely face. You must always be truthful with me, Delia. Do you know why?”

  She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. “You will spank me if I do not?”

  His warm chuckle filled the space between them and sent tingles down her spine. “There is that, yes. But more important, we must be honest with one another because we need to be able to trust one another. Do you understand, dearest?”

  His words filled her with warmth and the lingering fear dissipated. She nodded.