Lord of Devil Isle (13 page)

Eve tramped down the dirt track as fast as she could go without attracting undo attention from the other islanders who were making their way to the market in St. Georges. If the rain grew worse, the track would turn to mud and her footing would grow more treacherous. A horse would have made her flight much easier, but if she’d taken Nicholas’s horse, he might claim later that she’d stolen it.

She couldn’t chance it.

During the time she’d been on Bermuda, she’d seen a few poor souls in the stocks outside the courthouse. Sometimes in England, such a sentence resulted in death or loss of an eye if the crowd turned vicious and decided to throw stones. At the very least, the victim’s ear was nailed.

But here the islanders only hurled insults and pelted the condemned with rotting fruit. Shame, it seemed, was enough deterrent for the local miscreants.

Still, she’d never let herself fall into the hands of the law again if she could help it. She should have run when she was first accused back in London, but she’d been so sure her innocence would win out.

Now she knew better.

A pebble lodged in her slipper and stabbed at the ball of her foot. She stopped to take it out, the sudden pain stirring memories she’d rather not call up.

Shame was a miserable punishment. She thought she’d die of it when they stripped her to the waist and
dragged her half-naked before the assembled crowd. Loathsome and foul-breathed, the rabble pressed in on her, grabbing at her and hurling insults, as she was led bound to the stake.

Then at the first taste of the lash, shame burned away in searing pain. With each stroke, she lost a bit of herself. She ground her teeth and tried to hold back, but ended up screaming herself hoarse. Her muscles contorted in arching spasms. She was a broken marionette whose puppet master delighted in watching her dance to his cruel tune. She’d have done anything to make it stop.

Anything.

When it finally did, her spirit was as shattered as her flesh. She burned for five days with fever and three more with cold fury in the filth of Newgate’s big common cell.

Then her natural robust health returned and her back began to heal.

And with the newly formed scars, came her determination never to lose control of her own body again.

That’s what made Nicholas Scott so dangerous. Even without bonds, he made her want to surrender. With no lash but pleasure, she was near to losing herself in him. She couldn’t give herself over to another person so completely.

She didn’t think her spirit would survive it a second time.

Eve reached the outskirts of St. Georges and hurried down the narrow ways toward the wharf. She didn’t know if Captain Bostock’s vessel was still in port, but even if it wasn’t, she’d slipped a pair of silver spoons in her small bag. Surely that would induce some fisherman to ferry her to the island where the
Sea Wolf
made its berth.

She hoped Nick wouldn’t miss a pair of spoons.

Wind whipped her skirts and she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She turned in time to see Nicholas Scott barreling down on her atop his black stallion. She turned and ran, but it was no use. He leaned over and scooped her up with one arm.

“No! Put me—oof!”

She landed on her stomach across the horse’s back in front of him, her bottom bouncing skyward. All the air whooshed from her lungs and she fought to draw more as he kicked the horse into a full-out gallop across the cobbled square.

He hadn’t taken time to saddle the beast, she realized as her hands searched for something to cling to. She finally had to settle for Nick’s booted leg since falling off at this speed was sure to result in a broken bone.

When they reached the wharf, he reined in the stallion so hard, the horse nearly sat on its haunches. Nick slid off, tossing the reins to a wharf rat along with terse instructions for the horse’s care.

“What do you think you’re—” she started.

He cut off her question by dragging her from the horse’s back and flopping her over his own shoulder. “Put me down this instant.”

Nick didn’t answer her, but he doffed his hat pleasantly and spoke to everyone they passed on their way down to the
Susan B
’s gangplank.

Her pleas for help from the townsfolk were met with laughter and knowing grins. They howled with mirth when she pounded his back.

Nick waggled his brows at the islanders. “I deserved that.”

They chortled even louder. It was Punch and Judy without the strings. They decided her fury was merely part of the show.

Lord Nick was just having a bit of fun.

His pleasant tone disappeared once the deck of the ship was under his feet. “Sound the ship’s bell, Mr. Higgs. Is the crew aboard?”

“All but Digory Bock. Seems he’s in his cups again, sir.”

“At this hour? Strike him from the roll permanently. I’ve no use for a rum pot on my crew. Prepare to make sail within the hour.”

“But, this weather, Cap’n…”

“What do you intend I should do about the bloody weather, Higgs?” he demanded with a snarl. “I’m not God Almighty, am I?”

“No, but he thinks he is,” Eve said, still draped over his shoulder and too breathless to pound his back any longer. “Doesn’t he, Mr. Higgs?”

Nick gave her bottom a swat, which was largely deflected by her panniers and yards of fabric.

“Oh! That was becoming to a gentleman,
Lord Nick
.” Her voice dripped irony.

“As silence is to a lady,” he fired back.

“But sir, the storm—” Higgs began.

“Higgs, you’re whining like an old woman. Once we clear the channel, we’ll outrun it. The wind will push us ahead of the storm,” he explained as he strode toward the companionway that led down to his cabin. “We’ve done it countless times.”

“Aye, sir, but never shaving things this close.”

Nick turned back to face him down. “Your objections are noted, Mr. Higgs. If you feel yourself unequal to your duties, I shall have you relieved.”

Eve twisted around to look at Higgs over her shoulder. The first mate’s mouth twitched with indecision; then he straightened his shoulders, but he didn’t drop his gaze a whit.

“No, sir. I’m fit for duty.”

“Then see the carpenter about a bolt for the outside of my cabin door and step lively. Carry on, Mr. Higgs.”

And Nick carried on as well, heading for the companionway door once more.

Eve briefly considered grappling with the doorjamb and trying to fight passing through it, but the
Susan B
was Nick’s ship. Just as St. Georges was his town.

She might as well try to fight the wind.

So she ducked her head as they disappeared belowdecks and decided to pick her fights when there was a chance she might win.

He kicked open his cabin door and dropped her on his narrow bunk. “Now stay there.”

“I am not your hound, to stay or go at your word.” She popped to her feet. “Nor am I a member of your crew to be ordered about.”

He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his in a hard kiss. He trapped her arms between them and ravished her mouth, demanding she open to him. When her lips parted slightly, he pressed his advantage and invaded. She couldn’t fight him. He was too strong.

And her body was his willing ally. Part of her welcomed him in with aching abandon. He made rough love to her mouth, pulling her down into his dark desires. She sank like a swimmer caught in a riptide.

Drowning was actually said to be quite pleasant once a body gave up.

Finally he released her and she drew a shuddering breath. With a fresh breath came fresh resolve.

“I need to get the ship underway, but I’ll be back,” he promised. “You and I began something last night that we haven’t finished yet.”

“Yes, we did,” she said. “You just didn’t like the conclusion.”

His head snapped toward the sound of a soft knock and he strode toward the door. “That’ll be Higgs with the bolt. I’m locking you in for your own safety.”

“Not your own convenience?”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “That, too. There’s some bread and cheese on the shelf. Get something in your stomach. This is apt to be a wild ride.”

Panic clawed her throat. Her last storm at sea had been harrowing enough to last a lifetime.

“Perhaps Mr. Higgs is right. Can’t the journey wait till the squall passes?” she asked, ashamed of the quake in her voice. Out the stern windows, the eastern horizon was the nasty yellowish purple of a week-old bruise. “You don’t have to do this to impress me with your seamanship.”

“No, it appears I have to do it to make sure you can’t run away again until we have this out.” His eyes softened for a moment as he searched her face, then his nononsense attitude reasserted itself. “And the lock is to keep you from folly. You have a history of leaping from perfectly seaworthy vessels, remember.”

He closed the door behind him. She heard a few sharp raps of a hammer and then a bolt slid home with finality.

Mr. Higgs had the crew well in hand when Nick reappeared on the quarterdeck, but seeing their captain at the wheel made the seamen leap even more smartly to their duties.

Nick had sailed the
Susan Bell
in plenty of dicey weather.

“The wind is her lover,” he liked to say, “and occasionally, the old girl likes it rough.”

He intended to outrun the coming storm. It was a
measure of his crew’s faith in him that spirits were high and there was nary a grumble from any save the cook, who was unhappy that Nick ordered a cold supper to avoid having a fire in the galley.

As soon as they cleared the harbor, he commanded all her canvas laid on and the
Susan B
bounded over the waves like a fox fleeing before the hounds.

Once they left the ring of reefs and shoals, Nick turned her nose south by southwest. She nearly lifted from the water and took flight.

“Mr. Tatem, did you bring along that wheezy old squeeze box of yours?”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Fetch it out and step lively man, we need some music to speed us on our way.” Nick looked up at the rigging, where every sail strained against the cords. “At this rate, lads, we’ll hail the Turks in record time.”

The men danced the hornpipe below the mains’le, laughing and singing roughly.

A quarter hour later, Nick was ordering the sails trimmed. They wouldn’t bear the growing force of the wind. Then in another quarter, he commanded them taken up altogether, leaving the ship’s masts bare. The sea mounded up around them and sails only gave the storm a firmer grip on the
Susan B.

By the sounding of the next bell, Nick was faced with the grim knowledge that he should have listened to Mr. Higgs.

Eve tried to stay on the bunk, but the violent roll of the ship tossed her to the floor. She pressed her cheek to the smooth teak, deciding she was better off right there. She hadn’t been sick on the
Molly Harper,
but she’d already cast up the bread and cheese into the captain’s chamber pot in the corner.

Waves slapped the stern windows with such force, she expected the sea to rush in at any moment. Sometimes, it seemed the
Susan Bell
stood on end, dancing on the waves like a dolphin on its tail. The ship teetered on each crest. Then her nose would slam down and race headlong into the next trough.

Eve closed the thick interior shutters over the windows. She had no hope of the wood keeping the sea out if the heavy glass gave, but at least she wouldn’t have to watch it coming. The next roll sent her sprawling back on the floor.

There was a sharp rap on the door, the bolt slid and the door opened a crack.

“Miss Upshall?” It was Peregrine Higgs. “Cap’n ordered me to see to you.”

“I’m here,” she said weakly as Mr. Higgs came into the cabin, trailing a stream of water off his oilcloth coat. He snuffed out the oil lantern swinging from the low beam. They were thrown into almost total darkness, the only light a sickly greenish phosphorescence creeping in around the shutters.

“Cap’n has ordered all non-essential lamps extinguished,” he explained as he knelt beside her. He pulled a blanket off the bunk and wrapped it around her. “Very wise of you. You’ll be safer on the floor.”

Safer than what,
she wondered. The vessel groaned around them like a woman in labor.

“The
Susan Bell
is as sturdy a ship as a man could wish. And the pumps are staying well ahead of the water in the bilge,” he said, his voice clear and comforting.

Eve wondered at his calm speech, his stutter gone, in the midst of calamity. During the wreck of the
Molly Harper,
the sailors swore and cried out in fear. If peril gave a man a chance to show his true mettle, she decided Mr. Higgs was made of solid gold.

“There’ll be no supper, I fear,” he said. “Cook’s sick as a green lubber.”

“None needed.” Her belly roiled afresh at the thought of food.

“We need only wait till the storm blows itself out.”

“So the crew is safe?” The
Molly Harper
had lost a seaman over the side even before the ship struck that reef.

“Aye, Captain ordered everyone below and every hatch battened, tight as a tick.”

“Then where’s Nicholas?” she asked, forgetting that she shouldn’t call Nick by his Christian name before his first mate.

Peregrine was silent for a few heartbeats.

“He’s lashed himself to the wheel.”

Eve hadn’t spoken to God since her flogging. Oh, she might have launched a quick prayer when she first saw that shark, but everything had happened so quickly that hardly counted. She attended church services when the occasion demanded because it was the “done thing.” Even before that evil day when she was humiliated and marked, she’d always relied on herself instead of seeking divine intervention. It seemed weak to expect help from on high when she was perfectly capable of helping herself.

And after her conviction, she hadn’t had anything to say to a Deity who would allow an innocent young woman to undergo the pain and humiliation of the lash.

She had plenty to say to God now.

After Mr. Higgs left her in the dark and bolted her in, there was nothing she could do but hunker on the floor and pray.

She prayed for the men manning the bilge pumps. Each time the ship rolled, Eve prayed that the
Susan Bell
wouldn’t keep rolling right over till she was keel to the sky. She prayed for her own soul, admitting she wasn’t as innocent as she liked to believe.

But most of all, she prayed for the man lashed to the wheel.

She pleaded for Nick’s life there in the darkness. Yes, it was his pigheadedness that had put them in this horrible position, but it was also his strength and courage that might see them out of it.

She poured out her fears. She begged for mercy for Nicholas, hoping Someone was listening in the dark. She didn’t see how God might even take note of her since she could hardly hear herself over the roar of the sea and the wind and the awful growls of the ship’s timber.

She feared the
Susan Bell
might splinter into kindling at any moment.

When the waves washed over her shuttered windows, she held her breath, wondering if Nicholas did the same. Or was his body draped lifelessly over the wheel?

A dozen different images of Nicholas Scott danced before her sightless eyes—brooding, lusty, laughing, furious, courtly, dangerous, brave to the point of recklessness—all mocking her, all inviting her to sample his delicious brand of madness.

All trying mightily now to save her life and that of every other soul on board.

“Spare him, Lord,” she murmured as weakness gripped her, pulling her into numbness. She curled into a tight little ball, her knees against her chest. Time expanded and contracted around her till she could only measure it in the next swell, the next breath, the next heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Save his life,” she whispered, her throat raw from pleading. “Save Nicholas Scott because…because…I love him.”

Then as if someone closed her eyelids for her, in spite of the wind and waves, she sank into the blackness of exhaustion, like a pebble dropped into a well.

Someone was shouting. The sound stabbed at her ears, but she could make no sense of the words. Eve tried to open her eyes, but they were crusted shut. She pushed
herself into a sitting position and swiped the matter from her lids.

The deck beneath her swayed gently. The sun knifed through the cracks around the shutters, sending shards of light into the cabin.

Feet pounded in the companionway outside her door. Someone threw the bolt and kicked the door open.

“Easy, lads,” Higgs was saying as several sailors tried to squeeze through the opening at the same time, bearing a heavy burden. “Mind his head, now.”

Nicholas!
Eve lurched to her feet. “What’s happened, Mr. Higgs?”

“We’ve come safe through the storm,” he said wearily.

“Thanks to the cap’n,” Tatem put in.

“Aye, all night and for most of a day, he kept us from broadsiding in a trough,” Higgs said with a frown. “But before we could leave the pumps and relieve him, he must have taken a good clout on the head. We tried to make everything fast before we came below, but I must have missed something.”

“A storm’ll stir up plenty o’ things from the deep,” Tatem said. “Why, it mighta even been a mermaid what whacked the cap’n on the bean with her tail.”

“Stow that racket. You’ll scare the superstitious among the crew,” Higgs ordered. “My money’s on a loose pulley or a bit of the gunwale that ripped free. In any case, Cap’n Scott’s been pinched off like a candle.”

“Here,” Eve said as she pulled back the top sheet on the bunk, so the men could deposit Nicholas there. His eyes were closed and his skin was the unhealthy color of day-old suet. Her heart froze. She couldn’t seem to inhale. “Does he yet live?”

“Aye, miss,” Tatem said. “Though I had to check twice to make sure.”

Her heart skipped in her chest once more.

“It’d take more than a dent on the noggin to do for the likes o’ Cap’n Scott.” Tatem’s voice was even rougher than usual. “But he’s in pretty rough shape. Don’t suppose a lady like you has much skill in the way of nursing?”

“You underestimate me, Mr. Tatem,” she said, hoping she sounded more competent than she felt. These men had slaved all through the storm to keep her safe from the sea, and their work was not yet done. She suspected the
Susan Bell
had sustained considerable damage and it would take all hands to set her to rights. The least Eve could do was tend their captain. “Bring me a pitcher of hot water and a handful of rags. Clean rags, if you please.”

“Come, lads. You heard her.” Tatem tugged his forelock almost in a salute and led the seamen out of the cabin. “We’ve plenty to do. Lady Nick has this matter well in hand, I’m thinking.”

“Lady Nick?” she repeated.

Higgs unshuttered the windows and light flooded the cabin. “You must excuse them, miss,” Higgs said, blinking slowly. Dark splotches showed under his sleepless eyes like deep bruises. “They’re naught but simple sailors. Lord Nick has chosen you, so to their way of thinking, you must be his lady. Lady Nick.”

“Hmm.” There were worse fates, she was certain. “Well, help me get him out of these wet things.”

“Aye,” Higgs said, tugging off Nick’s boots. “Hold up this blanket while I take care of his trousers and trews.”

Eve smiled and obeyed him without a word, averting her gaze. She was grateful for Peregrine’s calm, competent presence. She’d already seen every bit of Nicholas, but Higgs seemed to want everything done with decency.
Nicholas wouldn’t care one whit and in fact, would be amused by having her undress him.

After Higgs smoothed the sheets over his captain’s waist, Eve lowered the blanket and helped support Nick into a sitting position while Higgs removed his shirt.

“Oh!” She put a hand to her lips. There was a little blood on the pillow.

Ashen-faced, Higgs parted Nick’s hair to reveal a gash and a goose-egg-sized lump at the base of his skull. “I didn’t see this before. What shall we do for him?”

Eve had seen two men with similar injuries during her stay at Newgate Prison. One came round on his own after a bit, complaining of an empty belly and a blinding headache.

The other never woke up.

“I can bathe off the salt,” she said, noticing the tiny grains trapped in the dark hairs on his arms and chest. “And then, Mr. Higgs, we wait and hope.”

Higgs cleared his throat. “I watched a physician perform trepanation on a gentleman with an injury like this once. He said it relieved the pressure and allowed the body to heal. Without his intervention, the patient had no hope. We’ve no surgeon on board, but with your help, I believe I could—”

“Absolutely not!” Eve said, aghast. “No one is going to cut open his skull.”

Tatem returned with the pitcher and rags, and then disappeared to continue his duties. Eve poured some of the steaming water into a basin and wet the rags.

“I can manage now, Mr. Higgs,” she said in a gentler tone. “You need some rest.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. “I expect you’ve the right of it.” Then his young face hardened and he straightened to his full height. He seemed to have grown a couple inches in just the short time she’d known him. “With the cap’n
down, I’m in command now. An injury like this can only be left so long and then it’s too late. We’ll give him till tomorrow morning at eight bells, and then I’ll do the trepanation. With or without your help.”

Higgs turned and strode out of the cabin.

Eve looked down at Nick, watching his chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

“You’ve taught that young man so well, he’s even starting to act like you—pigheaded, cocksure and devil-take-the-hindermost,” she said quietly. “And if you don’t want him to do something you may both regret deeply, you need to wake up before eight bells.”

She found a small jar of soap and washed his face. In the deep relaxation of this unnatural sleep, all the frown lines had fled from his brow. Nicholas looked much younger, except for the couple days’ worth of beard growth stubbling his chin. Eve considered shaving him, but decided against it. She didn’t want to be holding a blade to his throat, in case he should wake suddenly.

She lathered a rag and washed his arms and chest. His hands were swollen and splintered and there was a deep bruise on his shoulder. Eve had seen the heavy leather harness wheel men strapped on to keep the wheel from pulling from their grip and spinning out of control in foul weather. The leather had dug a deep channel in his flesh.

She found a sewing kit on one of his shelves and used a needle to work the splinters out of his fingers and palms. When she swabbed his wounds with the contents of his silver flask, he didn’t even flinch. A sure sign he was totally insensate.

She turned back the bottom of the sheet and washed his feet and legs. When she tucked the blankets around him again, his face was still deathly pale.

She propped open the stern windows for a breath of
air. The rap of hammers and the rasp of saws wafted in along with the fresh salty tang.

“The rest of your crew is working and here you are lazing about like a slugabed.” She hoped her voice might make him stir. He didn’t twitch an eyelash.

She took a clean cloth and turned his face toward the bulkhead so she could bathe the gash on the back of his head. The blood had matted his hair, but she scrubbed it clean. He didn’t respond when she dabbed the spot with whiskey. The one bright spot was that the knot just below the gash hadn’t grown any larger.

Nick had a little brown mole right at his hairline behind his ear. She bent and placed a soft kiss on the small imperfection. Then she propped him onto his side so she could soap his broad back and his backside to remove the last of the salt residue. Afterward, she let him roll back into the indentation in the feather tick.

There was only one part of him she hadn’t cleaned.

“And this is no time to be a prude,” she told herself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already seen Nick’s cock and balls. But when she drew back the sheet and looked at him there, she knew this time was different.

His balls lay in a relaxed mound with his cock draped over them. Quiescent. Soft. Vulnerable. A wave of tenderness washed over her.

I love this man,
she thought in wonderment. She covered him protectively with both hands.

And his cock resurrected itself under her palm.

“Praise be!” Eve giggled as she soaped up that part of him to remove the coating of brine, lest it gald him. Under her ministrations, he grew and swelled to an impressive size. “It appears that part of you will definitely live, Nicholas Scott.”

She looked at his face, hoping to see him peeping at
her from under his dark lashes, but he didn’t move. Not a twitch. Not a smirk. Not a suggestive raised eyebrow.

Her smile faded. She toweled him off and drew the sheet up to his chin.

It was time to talk to God in earnest again.

And she didn’t think she ought to bargain with the King of Heaven while Nick’s cock was in her hand.