The two men are talking near the mast when they hear my shouts. They immediately start toward us, but they’re too slow. Lennox’s eyes roll back, and I am not strong enough to stop his body as he buckles to the damp deck at my feet. I stumble, gripping at his coat and falling with him, as I try to keep him from hitting his head. When Erik and Pike reach us, I kneel next to him on the deck.
“Get him to his cabin. Now!” I order them as they work together to carry his tall frame between them to the great cabin. Other crew members look on with concern as we pass, but I am more concerned with Lennox than their gazes.
“Get his clothes off. I need to figure out what caused this!” I shout once the door shuts behind us in the great cabin.
Erik obeys as Pike stands guard at the door, keeping the prying eyes of any curious crew members from seeing the Captain in distress; no matter the crew, a pirate captain with any weakness is not good for anyone. Once Lennox’s shirt is off, I notice a bloodied bandage around his middle. Grabbing my dagger, I cut it off and inspect the deep gash across the side of his ribs. He has to have been bleeding for hours.
I was so distracted by Charlie’s fatal wounds, the burial preparations, and my worry for Lyra that I hadn’t noticed anything off about the Captain. When he escaped to his cabin to clean up earlier, he must have bandaged it himself, donning his black coat to hide the sight of any seeping blood. My eyes dart around the cabin until they land on his, now damaged, leather coat, discarded in a heap alongside a bloodied shirt. He deliberately hid the wound from me.
“Damn you, Billy,” I murmur under my breath. “Erik, I need clean water and boiled wine. And grab honey and comfrey from my surgery. Now!” I demand. Erik nods once and immediately departs the cabin.
“I will stand outside the door, Mistress,” Pike states in his rich baritone. “I am at your service for anything you may need.” The cabin door closes silently behind him, leaving me alone with my panic.
My fingers roam his skin gently; the wound is red and warm to the touch, and much deeper than I expected. Herbs and tonics I can handle, but a wound this deep may very well be beyond me. My hands shake as I check for any other injuries and wait impatiently for Erik to return. Nausea threatens as I fret over the worst-case scenario, fighting to hold back tears.
“Please, please, stay with me,” I whisper shakily, placing my cool hands on his face. He leans into the sensation in his restless sleep, and my heart clenches in fear. Lyra returns with Erik and the supplies I requested. She has changed into a pair of trousers and a shirt, and her face is schooled in a neutral expression as she views her uncle unconscious and wounded.
“I will help Andromeda, you two can go about your duties,” she tells Erik and Pike, who still stand in the doorway, before coming to my side. “How can I help?” she asks me quietly as the men depart the room.
“Tear the linen into bandages while I clean his wound, then we can make the poultice,” I guide her.
Having her present allows me to focus and pull myself together, forcing the panic back down to keep her calm as well. I sponge the wound with clean water and then rinse it with boiled wine. Debating whether I should suture it, I chew my lip in contemplation, trying to remember everything I have ever learned. However, the idea of sticking a needle through someone’s flesh makes me feel faint. Plus, if it is inflamed and I seal the wound, I’m afraid I will be sentencing him to death. I have no way of knowing if he collapsed due to the injury itself, or from the loss of blood throughout the day.
Anger rises in me, easily overpowering my fear — a tactic I have relied on to keep myself going this long without falling into despair. I need more training to be able to handle this fully; training that ended when my temple was destroyed, and my lessons were cut short because of King Dargan’s bigotry.
With a visible shake of my head, I force myself to refocus, channeling the excess energy into my work instead. The only thing that betrays my true emotions are my hands, which still tremble as I sponge boiled wine on the wound.
Lyra has completed her task and holds a handful of bandages, ready for me to guide her. I show her how to mix the honey and herbs to make a poultice that will hopefully help the wound stay clean, and keep the inflammation from spreading. Once I’ve spread the sticky mixture over the wound, Lyra and I work together, passing the bandages across his body to wrap them around him. I secure the fabric with a tight knot, then cover him with the coverlet and rise to sit at the table with Lyra. Shadows have taken root under her eyes, and she droops in her seat.
“Lyra, go to bed. I will let you know if I need assistance. We will be fine.”
“You still haven’t changed yet,” she observes, looking over my stained clothing. “May I at least bring you clothes? A fresh shift? Tea?”
Genuine concern for me coats each of her words, and I realize how much I have come to adore this sweet young woman. Even after a day of so much loss, she still cares for the living.
“Actually, yes. Please bring me one of my simple dresses and a shift. I think I have enough water to rinse off a bit,” I answer, offering her a small smile. She departs quickly and returns within fifteen minutes, the articles I requested in hand and a female crew member in tow with a warm bucket of fresh water for me, despite my protests against it.
“The other ship has clean water stores, too — don’t worry about wasting it,” the woman says, dipping her head in respect, then leaves the room with Lyra.
Once the door closes behind them and I am alone, aside from the unconscious Captain, I allow my emotions to bubble to the surface. I curl inward as I sit at the table, my hands covering my face.
Tears fall quickly and silently as sadness and fear leak from my eyes. When my lamentation is exhausted, I strip my clothing off, rinse the blood and honey from my hands, and slip into my clean shift. Before joining Lennox on the bed, I retrieve a novel from his desk and quietly place the lantern on the table next to the bed. Propped against the headboard, the book in my lap to read, I am determined to distract my mind while he rests.
Chapter 18
Deep in the forest grove, strong hands caress my hips and thighs as I ride the handsome young man beneath me. My hair, dark as a crow’s wing, is free over my breasts and hangs down to my waist, softly tickling my flesh as I near release. He raises up, holding me against his smooth chest as I rock against him. Our lips meet in a passionate kiss, masks brushing against each other, as we reach our oblivion together.
* * *
My eyes blink open as I jerk awake in the dark room. Longing aches in my belly from my dream before it’s extinguished by the heat of the body at my back. Sometime in the night, I dozed off, drifting down on the bed next to Lennox. When I roll over to check on my bedmate, the book I was reading slides from my hip to lay between us.
Lennox’s brow is flushed with fever and burns against my palm. The sun peeks over the horizon, but the light is still dim even with the wall of windows, so I scramble out of the bed to light the lantern. The bucket of water from last night is now cool, and I grab it along with a clean cloth, pulling one of the chairs with me to the bedside. As I sponge his flesh, the cool water rouses him, and his eyes blink open.
“You damn fool,” I scold as he wakes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were wounded?”
“Nerissa?” his voice is rough with sleep. He brings his hand up to touch mine as I wring the cloth out. “I thought it was a dream, but you’re here.”
“Of course, I’m here! You passed out on the deck, and are burning up with a fever from this fucking wound. Where else would I be?” I chide gently.