The big man’s breathing seemed to fill the cabin and her consciousness. It was steady and deep despite the amount of water he had thrown up when they had dumped him on the quayside. His lungs would be all right, she felt fairly confident of that. There was no excuse to check his pulse or lay her head on his chest to listen. No excuse to touch him at all.
And then she realised he was awake. His breathing did not change, his eyelids did not flicker, but there was a personality in the cabin with her now. She put down the cloth she had been folding and watched his face. His nostrils flared, like an animal scenting the air. He had come round, not known where he was, or with whom, and he was warily assessing the situation before betraying that he was awake.
Interesting, she mused. That took a lot of self-control, a highly developed sense of self-preservation and a very suspicious nature. Then she remembered those watchful black eyes; he had stayed alive so far by using all those attributes.
Cautiously his right hand flexed on the mattress as though seeking an object.
Her self-control was less good than his, she found. ‘Good afternoon, Major Brandon. Would you like something to drink?’
His eyes opened then and she found it an effort to stare back, unflinching. ‘Where is my rifle?’ he demanded without preliminaries. When she did not respond he snapped, ‘Who are you, how do you know my name and where the hell are my clothes?’ He levered himself up on his elbows, swore as his leg moved, and looked round the cabin.
‘I am Mrs Halgate.’ It seemed important not to allow him to dominate her. Could he tell that inwardly she was quaking? ‘I know your name because it is on your baggage and your rank is obvious from your uniform. Your clothes are drying and your rifle is in that corner.’ It was with his sword, but he had not asked about that as she would have expected an officer to.
‘And why is my leg hurting like the devil?’ He hauled himself up further with no attempt to catch at the sheet. It ended up draped across his thighs within an inch of indecency. Strange how dry one’s mouth became when one was frightened. And aroused.
‘Possibly because the wound still had bone chips and metal in it,’ she suggested, running her tongue over her lips. His eyes followed the movement. ‘It no longer has. You have neglected it and you have just immersed it in muddy water and over-exerted yourself. It is no wonder it hurts. I do have some laudanum if you find it troublesome.’
Brandon narrowed his eyes at her. Probably she would need six men to sit on him if she wanted to get an opiate between those strong teeth. He did not deign to answer the offer. ‘And who undressed me and dealt with my leg, Mrs Halgate?’
‘Two sailors helped me undress you. I imagined, given the paucity of your baggage, that you would not want me cutting your uniform off you. I cleaned and dressed your leg.’ Meg sat down on his small trunk at the foot of the bunk. Her legs were not feeling very strong. Had they cast off yet? She wanted to go and look through the porthole, but did not dare risk alerting him in case he still had time to throw her out.
‘I see. You appear to be a woman of talents, Mrs Halgate. I thank you. And where is Mr Halgate, might I ask?’
‘Lieutenant Halgate was killed at Vittoria,’ she said tightly, not wanting to discuss it. Certainly she did not want to explain that, in truth, she was not Mrs Halgate at all, that her marriage certificate was not worth the paper it was written on.
The major nodded. She was grateful that he did not launch into meaningless expressions of sympathy. ‘And Master José Rivera is safe, you will be glad to hear, although he is much subdued.’
‘Who in Hades is José Rivera?’ Brandon demanded, flipping back the edge of the sheet, reducing its coverage to little more than a loincloth in the process as he glowered at his bandaged leg. Meg fixed her gaze on an upper corner of the cabin. Looking at his naked body when he was an unconscious patient was disturbing; staring at it now with the muscles bunching and stretching beneath the skin and the dark hair arrowing down to the sheet was nothing short of disconcerting.
‘The small boy you saved from the Gironde. Do you remember diving in after him?’
He frowned more deeply. Did he have any other expression? ‘Yes. Most of it. I thought I was drowning—who was it who caught my arm?’
‘A group of sailors pulled you up.’ For some reason she did not want to admit to scrambling down that ladder and plunging half into the water to hold him. Meg got up and went to twitch his uniform into a different position on the nails.
‘That was not what I asked you.’ She turned and his eyes narrowed as he looked down her body to the wet skirts clinging to her legs. Without his expression changing she sensed he was seeing the form beneath the clothes. Or perhaps it was her own, mysteriously feverish, imagination. ‘It was a woman. You, I presume?’
‘Well, yes.’ Meg shrugged, turned her back and fidgeted unnecessarily with the wet clothing again. ‘I was nearest. I could not let you drown.’
‘I am in your debt,’ he said shortly. It was hardly fulsome, but it was sincere. It gave her some hope that he would agree to her proposal.
‘Would you like a blanket?’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw the realisation dawn on him that he was virtually naked and that she was a lady. Of sorts. Major Brandon swept the sheet over his legs and pulled it up around his waist. He did not appear bashful about his body, there was not a hint of a blush under the tan. Even with his lower body covered, the sight of his bare torso with its interesting array of old scars and fresh bruises should be enough to send any gently bred female into hysterics. It was lucky that life recently had knocked any pretensions to gentility out of her. And this strange hunger was not hysteria.
‘Thank you, no. As soon as you are returned to your own cabin, ma’am, I will get dressed.’
Oh dear, now it begins. Her smile was more to bolster her own courage than in any futile effort to charm him. ‘No, Major, you will stay in bed and keep the weight off your leg for at least another day, perhaps two, if there is to be any hope that you will not end up with a severe and incapacitating limp. Even then, you must take a good deal of rest. And I do not have a cabin; I am sleeping here.’
‘You are what?’ It was an effort not to take a step back, to retreat from the scowl and the harsh voice.
‘I am staying here.’ Her hands were knotted together. She unclenched them and congratulated herself on keeping the smile in place. The last thing she wanted now was to touch him.
‘And what does the captain say about a stowaway?’
‘Nothing at all. I told him I was your wife.’
Chapter Two
‘You told him you were my wife?’ Brandon repeated softly. She certainly had his full attention now and Meg was not at all sure that lying on a bunk with his leg in bandages made him any less dangerous. She had heard officers use that tone before, followed by a bellow of rage and some most unpleasant orders.
‘Yes. I need—’
‘Whatever you need, I do not need a wench, however good natured she is.’
The blood rising in her cheeks was either fury or shame—perhaps both. She knew what a good-natured wench was: one who would lie down with a man for a few coppers.
