Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  * * *

  The pain in her shoulder brought dreams of Willy. Fragments floated piecemeal through Alexandra’s consciousness, memories mostly, none of which were very pleasant: her stepfather’s drunken voice bellowing from the doorway, his clothes reeking with alcohol and tobacco smoke, his shoulders shaking as he vomited into a chamber pot.

  Alexandra flinched, causing the dream to shatter, and blinked. Her eyes felt gritty and would not focus, as though they resented the intrusion of light into their quiet, dark domain. And her body seemed unnaturally heavy. She was tired and sore in a way she had never experienced. What had happened?

  Her gaze traveled around the room, taking in her surroundings. She was relieved to find Willy nowhere in sight. Instead of the neglected wattle-and-daub cottage where she had grown up, Nathaniel’s cabin materialized. The pirate captain himself sat on a chair next to her bed, his head falling forward in sleep.

  She studied him, her eyes beginning to work more smoothly, like two squeaky wheels after getting a bit of grease. His hair was disheveled, his face covered with dark whiskers. Tiny lines around his eyes and mouth made him look tired, or worried. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt only half-buttoned, as though he’d scrubbed his face and hand but hadn’t bothered to straighten his clothes.

  Was she going to die? Evidently the ship and Nathaniel had survived the storm. All was quiet now. But if the pirate captain’s ragged condition served as any indication, she was not so well off.

  She reached up to touch the shoulder that pained her. A linen bandage covered the wound, thwarting any real investigation, but her movement made Nathaniel’s head snap up. His blue eyes regarded her searchingly.

  “Thank God,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been shot.” Alexandra tried to smile, but even that small expense of energy exceeded her strength. “I hope I look better than you do,” she managed weakly.

  A ghost of a grin flickered on Nathaniel’s face, deepening the cleft in his chin. “You still look good enough to eat. Isn’t that what you accused me of once? Of being a wolf?”

  Alexandra felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Aye, and it appears you haven’t had a good meal for some time.”

  “Shall we remedy that, then?” He licked his lips as he moved closer, and Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. She thought he might kiss her. Though her head cried out for her to spurn such an advance, her heart raced with anticipation.

  He hovered only inches away. “I only want to know one thing,” he murmured. “Why? Why did you step in front of that bullet?”

  “I don’t know.” Alexandra forced the words out, knowing that even if she were strong and well she could never explain the emotions that had converged upon her senses when she had spotted that sniper. Admiration was perhaps most dominant. Despite the illegal methods Nathaniel used to obtain his ends, he was a born leader. He was strong, resourceful, and courageous. His men respected him. Her own opinion of him had changed drastically since their first encounter outside Madame Fobart’s. Watching him die would have been like witnessing someone shoot a wild black stallion, like seeing something of great strength and beauty brought low.

  Nathaniel took her hand, and she realized that just the vibrancy of his touch was enough to lend her strength.

  “Go ahead and rest,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Alexandra gave him a tired smile and let herself drift away, knowing, for the first time in a long while, that she was completely safe.

  * * *

  The next morning Nathaniel nearly bumped into Trenton as he entered the companionway. “How are the repairs coming?” he asked.

  “The repairs aren’t as much of a problem as that boy you brought from the Horizon. I moved him below with the rest of the men like you said, but he still won’t let Nanchu treat his wrist. He’s raising hell down there.”

  Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair. For the most part, he had turned the running of the ship over to Trenton, too concerned about Alexandra to perform his usual duties as captain. But his absence from command was beginning to show. He knew Trenton disagreed with his bringing Jake on board, and most of the crew thought likewise. Still, Nathaniel felt obligated to do what he could to save the young man’s hand. Jake was a fool, but he was barely nineteen if he was a day. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s constantly trying to pick a fight. I’m having a hard time keeping the men focused on their work. Most of them would give a week’s pay for only one shot at the little bastard, injured or no. And I’m tempted myself. He’s caused nothing but problems since the day he set foot on deck.”

  “We’ll be rid of him soon enough. How much longer before we can head home?”

  “Another day, maybe two. But we’re running low on supplies. You’ve eaten so little that you probably haven’t noticed the fare, but the rest of us have not been so preoccupied.”

  “We’ll make it,” Nathaniel said, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto his shoulders. “We always do.”

  “I only hope our luck doesn’t run out.”

  Nathaniel gave his friend a tired smile. “Will you tell Nanchu that Alexandra’s awake? Have him come take another look at her while I have a talk with our friend Jake.”

  Trenton nodded, and Nathaniel moved to go.

  “Nathaniel?”

  “Aye?”

  “What ever possessed you to bring Jake along in the first place?”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just hoping Nanchu can save his hand.”

  Trenton scowled. “He was eager enough to shed your blood. From what Garth says, he wanted to kill you.”

  “Of course he wanted to kill me. We were in the process of raiding his ship, remember?”

  “Still, he’s not as helpless and innocent as you seem to think. You were capable enough at his age.”

  Nathaniel paused, unsure how to answer. He’d been in more knife fights by the time he was nineteen than he could remember, but not everyone grew up as quickly as he had. “There’s no need to let him lose his hand if Nanchu can save it,” he responded simply.

  “And what if he can’t? What then?”

  “Then there’s nothing more we can do. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “But what are we going to do even if Nanchu does save it? Let him go back to England with a list of all our names?”

  Nathaniel scowled as irritation welled up inside him. Only because Trenton was a lifelong friend did he steel himself against it. “Once his wrist has had a chance to heal, we’ll drop him at the nearest port and be done with him. He knows nothing that can threaten us. We’ll just have to keep it that way.”

  Before Trenton could respond, Nathaniel turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. His mind was relieved about Alexandra, but he was still tired and certainly in no mood for an argument. Trenton, on the other hand, seemed eager to vent the frustrations of taking over the captain’s post.

  His friend was right about one thing, though, Nathaniel realized as his stomach began to complain of its neglect. He’d eaten little over the past twenty-four hours, and now he was starved. As he descended to where most of his men slept, he wondered what Charlie might be able to whip together from their dwindling stores.

  Negotiating row upon row of hammocks slung from the ceiling like giant cocoons, Nathaniel passed Tiny. The big man must have had the night watch to be sleeping at this time of day, but the hand that suddenly reached out, impeding his progress, told Nathaniel Tiny was wide awake.

  “Can I ‘ave a word with ye, Cap’n?”

  Nathaniel paused. “What is it?”

  “That lad ye brought from the Eastern ‘Orizon…”

  “What about him?” The same feeling of annoyance he had experienced with Trenton swelled in Nathaniel again.

  “There’s something unusual about the bloke. ‘E—”

  “I know,” Nathaniel interrupted. “I’m going to t
ake care of everything right now.”

  He strode past Tiny to where Jake lay glowering at him. “I hear you’re a pleasant sort to live with.”

  Jake leaned up on his elbows. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “I suggest that you behave yourself while aboard my ship. Otherwise, I might be persuaded by one of many offers to rid us of your presence before we reach port. A swim in the sea might not improve your health, but your absence would do wonders for my peace of mind.”

  “How do you expect me to behave when you closet me away with filthy men crawling with vermin?” Jake snarled. “The stench of unwashed bodies nearly suffocates me, and the itching is sending me mad.”

  “Sounds as though you’ve finally found something that enjoys your company.”

  “‘Tis you who brought me here.”

  “I must have had a mental lapse.”

  “Which you will live to regret, I assure you.”

  Jake certainly had spirit, but Nathaniel was not amused. “Let’s forgo the threats for the time being. I had no idea that we have a problem with lice. It is a rule aboard this ship that my men keep themselves bathed, for the comfort of all. If they are neglecting that duty, it is well you brought it to my attention.”

  “Are you daft, man? How do you miss thirty men itching like dogs?”

  By keeping vigil over a beautiful woman who has lingered just this side of death for nearly two days, Nathaniel thought. He could have missed the Second Coming, immersed as he was in watching Alexandra whimper and moan and turn in his bed.

  “If things are as bad as you say, there’s one way to solve the problem quickly enough,” Nathaniel said. “I’ll see that you and my men have your heads shaved and a good bath. Immediately.”

  “You bloody won’t touch a hair on my head,” Jake shouted as Nathaniel returned to the ladder.

  Ignoring the colorful epithets the boy hurled at his back, Nathaniel chuckled. Jake could outdo them all for swearing.

  “I couldn’t ‘elp but over’ear, Cap’n,” Tiny said before Nathaniel could ascend the ladder. “Surely ye don’t truly intend to—”

  “Yes, I do.” Nathaniel spoke with conviction. “Any man found with lice will be shaved. I’ll not have vermin aboard this ship. All the hammocks will be washed as well.”

  “But those critters are aboard every ship,” Tiny complained, twisting his thick, stubby fingers through a full beard. “The men will not be ‘appy—”

  “Then they should have followed my instructions from the beginning. They’ve been warned before.”

  * * *

  By midafternoon, nearly half of the crew milled about the deck, temporarily bald. Acting as self-conscious as shorn dogs, they slunk back into the corners of the ship whenever they could, grumbling to themselves about feeling naked.

  Jake was the only one to put up a fight. But Nathaniel was on hand to see that his orders were carried through to the letter.

  “The itching can’t be too bad if you’re not willing to be rid of the cause,” he told Jake as Tiny tried to hold the young man still for Garth, who was acting as barber. “Could it be that you’re the one who brought lice aboard in the first place?”

  Jake tore away from Tiny’s grip and charged Nathaniel, his good arm swinging, but three other men interceded in time to haul him back. “I’ll not suffer this,” he yelled as the first thatch of sandy-colored hair hit the deck.

  “And I’ll not tolerate the spread of lice,” Nathaniel returned calmly. “I hope everyone understands that now.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” the men murmured, and Nathaniel doubted they would soon forget.

  “I’ll make you pay for this.” Jake twisted and turned to avoid the razor, but with his injured hand still bandaged and hanging in a sling, he was easily overpowered. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  Forgetting their own humiliation long enough to enjoy Jake’s misery, a ripple of laughter went through the men.

  “Look! The high and mighty first mate of the Eastern Horizon is as bald as a baby’s butt,” someone chortled as the locks fell away.

  Trenton laughed. “I’m just counting my lucky stars that I don’t bunk with the lot of them,” he told Nathaniel. “I have no doubt you’d do the same to me.”

  “I’d have my own head shaved if I had lice—” Nathaniel’s words suddenly fell away. Jake was now as hairless as those who had undergone the blade before him, but a purplish birthmark, shaped like a boot, marked the top of his head.

  The sight of it made Nathaniel sick. Tiny was right. This boy was no ordinary sailor.

  Jake opened his mouth as if to shout yet another curse, but no sound came out. Something akin to fear entered his eyes as his gaze met and locked with Nathaniel’s, and a sudden awareness passed between them as surely as though they had spoken the words aloud.

  “Take him back to his bunk,” Nathaniel ordered, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. “Everyone back to your posts.”

  Trenton watched Nathaniel curiously. “Do you feel all right?”

  Nathaniel didn’t answer. He’d never felt worse. He motioned for his first mate to follow him as he pivoted on the heel of one boot, then headed below.

  Chapter 9

  Alexandra was still recuperating in Nathaniel’s cabin, so Nathaniel led the way to Trenton’s, where they could afford themselves some privacy.

  “What is it?” Trenton asked as soon as he closed the door behind them. “What just happened up there?”

  Nathaniel didn’t speak. He paced the short expanse of floor while Trenton leaned against the wall, arms folded, waiting.

  “Does the name Albert Jacob Kimbolten mean anything to you?” he asked at length. He stopped moving to stare out the porthole, where a meager amount of afternoon sunlight streamed in.

  “The Kimbolten name always means something to me,” Trenton replied. “It’s the duke’s name. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Jake is Albert Jacob Kimbolten, the duke’s son.”

  A look of stunned surprise struck Trenton like a thunderbolt. “He can’t be.”

  “He can, and he is. Think about it.” Nathaniel watched his friend’s face as Trenton tried to reconcile the boy Jake to his image of Nathaniel’s half brother.

  Nathaniel knew it was hard to imagine. He could scarcely believe it himself.

  “He’s the duke’s son? The Marquess of Clifton? Jake talks like a sailor, not some high-born aristocrat.”

  “Aye, and under the circumstances, he’d be an idiot not to.”

  “He’s a belligerent fool—”

  “But who could my father trust to oversee the delivery of the guns more than his own son?”

  “Still…” Trenton shook his head.

  “He has a birthmark. Maybe you saw it. It’s in the shape of Italy.”

  His first mate nodded.

  “You remember when I was young, and Martha took me to see my father?”

  “Aye. He called her a liar and insisted that his first child died at birth.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “He also had the nursemaid bring his new son in to show us his heir. It was his moment of triumph. The baby had the same birthmark. “

  Trenton rubbed his chin. “That was eighteen years ago.”

  “Aye, and I’ll never forget it if I live to be a hundred. Do you think the day Martha died could ever fade from my memory?” Nathaniel flinched at the bitterness in his own voice.

  “Nathaniel, you were only seven. Martha made the decision to go back to Bridlewood, not you. How could anyone have expected the duke to send his men after the two of you—”

  “But I wanted to go,” Nathaniel replied softly, closing his eyes. “I was so hopeful that my father would—” Afraid his voice might crack, he fell silent.

  “You hoped what every other young boy would have hoped in your situation. That your father would finally accept you. I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing a child ever outgrows.”

  “Well, I’m not
a child anymore, and I’m not a powerless woman, either, a mere servant who loved a deformed boy to distraction. I can fight back. Greystone killed Martha. I know that as surely as I’m standing here.”

  Nathaniel pictured Martha’s broken body trapped beneath the carriage, remembered tugging on her arm with all the strength his seven-year-old body could muster. The agony that had gripped him as the one person who loved him, had always loved him, slowly died was the worst hell he could ever endure. He’d been careful not to love so deeply since, for fear of suffering the same kind of loss again. He owed the ugly scar that experience had left on his heart, as well as all the years of loneliness afterward, to his father. “How I long to punish him for that,” he whispered.

  Trenton shifted away from the wall and crossed to sit at his small desk. “Did Martha really plan to go to a barrister and fight for your birthright?”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “I can’t be certain. She talked about it a great deal. She knew by law I would inherit everything if she could prove who I was. But she was the only person who could testify to what happened on the day I was born.”

  “That Greystone tried to kill you.”

  “Aye, but fate doesn’t always follow a man’s will, even a duke’s.”

  “It takes a great deal of money to run an empire like your father’s,” Trenton mused. “So he starts smuggling rifles to Russia, and here we are.”

  Nathaniel closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. “Aye, here we are, with a beautiful, innocent woman lying in my bed, fighting for her life. And a bitter, injured half brother.” So many thoughts assailed his brain that he could scarcely sort them out, let alone deal with the emotions they provoked.

  “What happened to Alexandra is my fault, not yours,” Trenton said, as though reading his mind. “I was certain she was the woman I had seen four years ago.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s been my plan from the start. I’m responsible for Richard’s capture, for Alexandra, and now Jake, or rather Lord Clifton.”