Chapter Six
Teach came to awareness slowly. The first thing he saw at the side of his bed was an image from his fevered dreams. Though his eyes were half-closed, he swore it was Sister Bertilde who sat there in silence.
But it was the Sister Bertilde who visited him on all those restless nights, the one whose halo of dark wavy hair hung down below her shoulders. Unaware he was watching her through the slit between his eyelids, she sighed heavily then rose to drink from a cup on the table.
If this was a dream, it was one of his best. Gone were the saintly dark robes. She wore a soft white garment and, when she stood in the sunlight, he could clearly see the shape of her sweet breasts, restrained by thin ribbons of fabric begging to be unlaced. Her nipples stood out in hard little peaks just as he’d so often imagined.
To his amazement, she reached up, caressing one tight nub and squeezing it between her fingers. Her other hand strayed down between her legs, stroking the dark patch of hair he could see through the thin fabric. She glanced his way again, and he breathed deeply, keeping his eyes nearly closed. Apparently believing he was indeed asleep, she sat down in the other chair and slipped her hand up under her dress.
***
Mercy had never felt such intense hunger.
She watched the captain for a moment, assuring herself he was still deep in slumber, then gave way to her body’s craving and spread her legs, hiking up the soft folds of her skirt. Finding the throbbing female organ Sairy had explained was the key to a woman’s pleasure, like a male’s raging cock, she moved her fingers back and forth over it. Imagining this time it was she who captured his hand and guided it, that those were his fingers stroking her most intimate parts.
Her breathing quickened. She rubbed faster, reliving the sensation of his powerful hand holding hers captive around his huge cock as it throbbed and pulsed against her palm.
***
Teach let out an involuntary groan as he watched her then cursed inwardly when the nun abruptly ceased her sensual pleasuring. With a guilty glance in his direction, she pulled her skirt down.
After taking a swallow from the cup on the table, she sighed and reached for her dark robes. As she pulled off the sheer white garment, Teach feasted his eyes on the lush curves of her body. Then she covered herself once again from head to toe, leaving him to picture in his mind the sight of her luscious form. She was truly naked under the rough fabric, just as he’d so often dreamt.
Suddenly, Teach remembered the vivid dream that had brought him out of his deep sleep. One of her hand touching him shyly, awakening the desire that had been building up in him over the days at sea. He remembered feeling her hand wrapped around his hard cock, stroking up and down the shaft as desire turned to savage hunger.
But what he didn’t remember was how he came to be here in his cabin, naked in his bed. For this was no dream.
He tried to sit up, but fell back, weak as a newborn kitten.
Mercy rushed over to him. “Mon Dieu, Capitaine! Stop, I pray you,” she cried. “You have been gravely ill. You must not exert yourself.”
“What happened? Why am I here?”
“You were taken down by the dreaded fever,” she explained. “Your body has been fighting it for five days and nights. I have been caring for you.”
“My ship…” he muttered, trying again to struggle to an upright position.
“Do not fear. Mr. Sprague is in command. He has taken over the helm and has seen to our needs here, bringing me food and water so I might nurse you back to health. I dared not allow anyone else to enter the room. I myself seem to be fortunate to be unaffected by this illness, having cared for the occupants of Whitaker Hall for days without falling victim to it.”
Teach shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but the motion brought a stab of pain to his forehead so sharp he groaned. He sank back down on the bed, closing his eyes completely. He felt Sister Bertilde’s cool hands on his forehead as his mind began drifting back into darkness.
She held a cup to his lips, urging him to drink from it.
He took a sip – then let out a roar, spitting out the noxious brew.
“Merde!” she muttered.
Though he was raised in the English colonies, Teach recognized a French curse when he heard it. Even through the fog in his brain, he thought it strange a pious nun would use such coarse language.
She walked back to the table and poured a good measure of dark rum into the cup. Holding it once again to his lips, she urged him to drink. “The medicine is all gone,” she said tartly. “There’s only rum in the cup this time, so drink up.”
He sipped then had a bigger swallow. “It still tastes horrible.”
“That is only the lingering flavor of the potion I bade you drink earlier. Foul though it may have been, I credit my brew for snatching you from the jaws of death itself.”
Over the next day, he dozed and woke again, each time drinking more of Sister Bertilde’s rum and medicine mix. As he rested, she told him stories she created for his entertainment and read to him from books she’d found in the cabin, long passages fromGulliver’s Travelsand even bits from Voltaire’s scandalous novelCandide. At her urging he even managed to take a little supper.
By the next morning, he felt much more like his old self. He opened his eyes to the first rays of the morning sun streaming into the cabin. Sister Bertilde sat at the table, in her nun’s robes once again, bent over an object lying in front of her. It appeared to be a metal disc, silver perhaps, blackened with the tarnish of many years.