the bed.”
Cookie wisely kept his mouth clamped shut.
“I’m needed back on deck if we’re to have any luck getting by this weather. You stay with her and let me know the minute she wakes. See if she’ll tell you who the blazes she is and which crew member I’ll be hanging come mornin’.”
“Aye.”
Jaxon dropped to one knee to cut away the girl’s cincher and skirt. Why can’t you be dead? “What the hell is this? No wench wears satin slippers. She’s wearing a chemise. A fine milled one.” He looked into her face. Why can’t I be dead?
Filth obscured her features.
“Who are you?”
In response, the woman before him moaned, rolled toward him, and vomited on his boots.
“Bloody hell, woman.” Jaxon jumped to his feet. He spun on Cookie. “Clean this mess and find me the man responsible. He’ll polish my boots before I keelhaul the scurvy, cur-arsed son of a whore.”
* * * *
Back on deck sporting six new stitches across his brow, Jaxon retrieved the wheel from Quinn. Thanks to turning the ship south early on, they were heading into the leeward edge of the storm, but the squall was the least of his problems.
What if the chit was sick with more than just seasickness? On a ship, a case of the pox could kill them all. It didn’t tally, however. The hair, the chemise? Why would a servant wear the shoes of a highborn lady? Jaxon glanced at his soiled boots and swore he’d find the bastard that brought her aboard and tie him to the business end of a lit cannon.
One thing was certain. If the rest of the crew found out a woman lay in his cabin, his life wouldn’t be worth gull crap either. According to the Articles of Agreement, this rule remained steadfast. No women for any reason. Breaking this rule was punishable by a host of tortures, depending on the anger of the crew. A man could be keelhauled, marooned, or hung from the highest yardarm. If Jaxon were a wise man, he’d throw her over his shoulder, toss her overboard, and not give her another thought.
Just before dawn, Jaxon handed over the helm once more. The sea calmed and the wind’s gusts moved off to the north. His muscles ached and his clothing hung heavy and cold upon his back. Hot food, a healthy dose of fine brandy, and a long stretch in the comfort of his bed would set him right. Two out of the three would have to do.
Jaxon returned to his quarters. Cookie had done his job well and cleaned away all sign of last night’s bedlam, save one--the woman. Said woman lay ashen and still in his bed. Her face clean and a fresh bandage now wrapped about her leg.
“Still out?”
Pulling a blanket over her, Cookie nodded. “Aye. Think I’ve got the bleeding on the leg te clear away the bilge poisonin’ her blood.”
“Away with you, then. The crew will want food soon. Watch close for anyone taking an extra portion for our little traveling companion here.”
“Aye. I’ll put a lock on the hold as well. Anyone rummaging for me keys will be a sure sign. I’ll bring yer grub and relieve ye by four bells. Three slow knocks, and ye be knowin’ it’s me.”
Jaxon nodded and bolted the door as Cookie left. He moved to the bed and looked upon the face of his current curse. She looked like no servant he’d ever seen, far too lovely. Rust tinted lashes brushed smooth pale cheeks. Her brilliant hair glowed in the growing light. A purple bruise along her temple marred the gentle sweep of her cheek. He lifted the end of a thin blue ribbon that ran through the narrow trim of her chemise. Its tiny bow lay crushed and wrinkled. Serving wenches did not wear silk ribbons.
“Who are you, girl?”
* * * *
Annalise’s head pounded, and her leg burned. She prayed someone would make it stop. Alice, my head is splitting. She struggled to open her eyes.
A man frowned at her beneath brooding brows with eyes the color of a clear winter sky. She closed hers. I’m dreaming. She fought to open them again.
He was still there. Unshaven. His dark hair hung loose and damp to his shoulders. His shirt clung to his muscled chest and arms. The ties at his neck were loose, showing her a glimpse of bronzed skin and shadowy hair.
“Ah, she wakes.” The look on his face told her he wasn’t pleased. Dark brows knit into a scowl. The muscle along his jaw twitched.
“Where am I?” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s rasped whisper.
“You’re aboard my ship, the Scarlet Night. I’m Captain Jaxon Steele.”
She winced against the ache in her head. What happened?“You’re aboard my ship, the Scarlet Night.” Her leg burned. She needed to think.
Fog. She remembered the dense fog on the docks. It surrounded her like a shroud and made her clothing cling to clammy skin, but even through the thick of it, she’d found the boat called the Scarlet Night.
The harbormaster’s clerk had given her a crudely drawn map, which lead her to the storage room deep in the front of the ship. By feel alone, she’d crawled deeper into the blackness. Cold sweat slipped between her breasts as sounds of men’s laughter and footsteps came from above her.
Foul smells of the wharf and rotten fish only added to the strange odors within the ship. Water-soaked wood and tar added to the stench the deeper she crept. Just remembering made her stomach turn. She closed her eyes to fight against the nausea.
Within the utter darkness of that hold, panic squeezed at the air in her lungs. The floor beneath rocked in a slow roll. Her feet kept slipping through the wide spaces between the boards. Icy, fetid water filled her shoes. She’d clutched at the heavy bundle she carried, hoping she packed enough food and water.
Annalise recalled gulping deep breaths of the foul air as a queasiness settled upon her and the dark clawed at her. “See how brave I’m being, Alice? Remember when I hid in that musty old trunk? I finally won our game. You never thought to search for me there.” She’d sat in the darkness of that old wardrobe counting off the seconds until Alice called out to her. “All ye, All ye, In come free. Anna come out. Where are you?”
She fought to stay conscious. The pain in her head was excruciating. This was no child’s game she played at. She’d called on every ounce of courage not to turn tail and race away from their foolhardy plan. Be a stowaway? Why wasn’t there another alternative? They’d run out of options. There was only one way to save them. This was it.
Annalise reached for the comfort of her locket, but it wasn’t about her neck. Alice had it.
“Keep it safe for me. The ‘A’ can stand for Alice now. It will be your good luck charm. Return it when we are reunited.”
“But your father gave it to you.”
“And you are as close as a sister to me. He would understand. Take it.”
A lump formed in her throat as she pictured her dearest friend. Please, let her be safe. Let us both be safe. She prayed they had done the right thing. Blood pulsed in her ears as her heart ticked off each second
