In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (29 page)

Not knowing how long it would be until Aidan had time to leave his post, Sarah brought the chair Slim had been using closer to Jacques’ side and placed the bowl of clean water onto it. After dipping and wringing out the rag she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and skimmed the cloth around the wound.

A mournful sound gurgled in his throat. Tears stung Sarah’s eyes; she hated knowing she was causing him more pain. But he made no other sound and she soon found herself willing him to make another noise. Any noise.
Don’t die. Don’t die
.

She secured a clean bandage, prayed this one would stay clean longer. Sarah didn’t know how much blood a body could lose but she was terrified Jacques was nearing his limit.

She wiped his fevered brow, face and neck. “I won’t be far, Jacques. I’m just going to look onto your crewmen.” She gave his arm a squeeze and changed the bloodied water before moving to the next man.

Billy groaned as she approached. His arm had been broken and while Slim had set it in place, he’d also had to suture closed where the bone had protruded. Then he’d secured it with slats cut from an empty barrel and tied the whole lot together. Billy held the arm close to his chest, no doubt not wanting it touched again. While she could grant him that wish—as Slim figured it should be all right for a few hours at least—the bandage covering his head needed to be changed.

“I won’t bother your arm,” she reassured him with a smile. “I imagine it’s had enough bumping and moving for a time.”

While his grunt of a response wasn’t encouraging, she took comfort from seeing his shoulders ease onto the planks. She stepped closer, holding the bowl to her stomach. “May I change the bandage on your head? It’s seeping blood.”

He mustn’t have believed her because he checked for himself with his uninjured hand. When his fingers came away bloody, he sighed. “Fine.”

Sarah dragged the chair over, set the bowl onto it. She cupped his neck, lifted his head and gently unwrapped the bandage. He’d taken the butt of a blunderbuss to his temple and had a deep gouge that had needed a dozen sutures to close. Sarah looked at them, winced. He should have had double the sutures. These were sparse, uneven. Skin gaped between them, accounting for the blood. But at least she hadn’t had to do them. Sure she could do neat and tidy stitches when she was sewing or doing embroidery but she doubted her hand would have been as steady on a living body.

Like she had with Jacques, Sarah bathed his wound, rewrapped it from the pile of strips Slim had left her. When she was done, she lay his head down. She startled when he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m finished, your wound should be fine for a while; the bleeding is slowing.”

“I meant the cool cloth. It feels nice.” He cleared his throat, released her and looked away. “I don’t mind the humming either.”

She’d been humming? She hadn’t noticed. Just as she hadn’t noticed her trousers were wet from the water sloshing over the basin. Or that the ship was rocking beneath her feet. Apparently they were well underway as things were certainly swaying more now than they had been.

Aware this time she was doing it, Sarah hummed as she rinsed the bloodied rag, once again turning the water red. She bathed Billy’s face and neck, smiled as she did because he’d closed his eyes.

“Are ya done babyin’ him?” the third man—Cobb—down the row grumbled.

“Wait your bloody turn,” Billy groused.

“I have been!” he shouted.

“I’m coming,” she assured Cobb as she dumped the cloth into the bowl, dragged it and the chair down the line.

His eyes were open and he watched her carefully. Like Billy, his wound wasn’t life threatening. He’d suffered a long gash across his stomach but it hadn’t gone too deep and Slim’s sutures seemed to be doing the job as there was only a little pink discoloring the fabric. He didn’t appear to be suffering from a fever either but the lines carved around his mouth told her, fever or not, he was in pain. As he was the man who’d knocked the cup out of Slim’s hand, Sarah approached him warily.

“I think we can leave your bandage for a bit longer. The bleeding seems to be slowing. Moving you may worsen it.”

“Slim said we could have some rum.”

Sarah bit her tongue. She didn’t think he’d appreciate being reminded it hadn’t been long ago he’d tossed such an offering against the wall. “Would you like some now?” she asked instead.

“I’ll have some as well,” Billy said.

Happy to do so, for it meant they were feeling strong enough, Sarah slipped into the galley where Slim had left a bottle. She took a cup and bottle and returned to Cobb. He tried to lever himself up, cursed as he clutched his belly.

“Here,” Sarah hurried to help. She eased an arm under his shoulders to support him. Then, as she didn’t have enough hands to also pour the rum, simply handed him the bottle.

“Aye, that’ll do it,” he ground, before tipping the bottle to his lips.

Sarah didn’t know how much she should let him drink, but as she figured it helped with the pain, she let him have his fill.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Billy complained.

Finally, Cobb passed her the bottle and lay down. Since Billy had seemed to enjoy it, Sarah bathed Cobb’s face as well. His gaze held hers, dark and unreadable. Then he closed his eyes, sighed.

Sarah let out a slow breath. Perhaps they didn’t like her, but at least they seemed to be tolerating her. She wiped his neck as well, then seeing his hands were bloody, washed them as well.

“Blimey, am I ever going to get some rum?”

“Wait your damn turn.” Cobb tossed Billy’s words back at him.

“Rest, now,” Sarah said, passing the cloth once more over his forehead.

Then, taking the bottle she moved back to Billy. Helped him up as she’d helped Cobb and let him drink his fill as well.

To her right, Jacques started to whimper. The sound tore at her heart.

“I have to—”

“Go,” Billy ordered.

Sarah ensured Billy was lying flat then hurried to Jacques. He looked as though someone had splashed him with water. His face dripped perspiration, but underneath he was bone white. His mouth was twisted in pain and his breathing was haggard.

Oh, dear God. Unsure what to do, she grabbed his hand, used her sleeve to wipe his brow and cheek. “I know it hurts,” she murmured. “I know.” His hand tightened on hers, the only sign he gave that he knew someone was there. “You’re not alone, Jacques. Billy and Cobb are here and Slim’s on deck with Aidan, Chunk and the others.”

His body started to shake. Sarah’s eyes darted to the stairs.
Someone help me!
She wouldn’t leave him alone, was afraid he’d fall off the plank and further injure himself. But she’d never felt so inadequate in her life. He wasn’t conscious to drink anything and she was scared he’d choke if she tried to force some down. His skin burned beneath her touch. Tears welled in her eyes. His bandage was once again sodden with blood. She was terrified he was dying before her eyes and she was helpless to stop him.

“Don’t die, Jacques,” she pleaded, clutching his hand to her breast. “Please don’t die.” But his body went stiff, his eyes flew open, rolled into the back of his head and his body went lax.

“No, no, no,” Sarah wailed, pressing her ear to his chest. It was silent and still beneath her cheek. “Oh, Jacques,” she wept.

*

He’d done all
there could be done for now. The necessary calculations had been made and the course and sails had been adjusted accordingly. He’d given the order to keep the lights doused. They’d run dark until daybreak, as they needed every advantage they could get. With no moon to shine upon them, Aidan hoped it would be at least morning before they presented a target.

“God willing,” he muttered as he passed the wheel to Lucky. Slim had told him of Jacques’ condition but he hadn’t been able to get away sooner, nor spare any other hands. As captain it was his duty to protect his men. He couldn’t afford to sacrifice the entire crew’s safety for the wellbeing of one.

Even if that one was a friend.

Still, every moment he’d had to take on deck felt an eternity as he tried not to envision Jacques writhing in pain. And while the man’s suffering was going to get worse before it got better, at least they’d be doing something to help him.

“Slim, Chunk!” he hollered down the deck and signaled the men forward. He and Chunk would hold Jacques down while Slim had the unpleasant task of sawing off the leg.

He smelled death the moment his boot hit the first step. It wasn’t Jacques, he told himself. It was one of the other two. It had to be one the other two.

He leapt down the steps, faltered when Sarah turned her grief-stricken face toward him.

“There was nothing I could do,” she whimpered.

A man couldn’t be a pirate for as long as he had without seeing his share of deaths yet accepting them never got any easier. When one lived in such close quarters as a ship, where weeks passed with only each other’s company, bonds formed fast and strong. Perhaps other vessels were different, though he doubted it, but Sam Steele always had a loyal and good crew. That had begun with Samantha. A large portion of her crew had been men she’d saved from the plantation; therefore, they’d owed her loyalty and respect.

From then on, every sailor on Sam Steele’s ship had been chosen not only for his skill, but for his trustworthiness. If it was only riches a man was after, he had no business being aboard.

Unfortunately, when Aidan had become Steele, circumstances hadn’t allowed him to hand pick his crew. Time had been of the essence and he’d taken what was at hand, a smattering of Blake’s, Luke’s and Cale’s crew. He hadn’t had the opportunity to ensure that each one would be loyal to him first, not their own cause.

Damn Roche. It was that lack of time which led to the mutiny and now Jacques’ death. Yet something else the scoundrel would answer for. But first…

“I’m not sure anything could have been done, Sarah. Slim said Jacques had lost a lot of blood.” He stepped to her side, touched that she still held Jacques’ hand. “You were with him, I’m sure he appreciated the company.”

She sniffed. “He was in so much pain.” Her voice cracked. “All I could do was hold him and let him know he wasn’t alone.”

It wasn’t all she’d done. She’d wept for a man she hardly knew, had taken it upon herself to care for him, Cobb and Billy without being asked. She’d given Jacques dignity and compassion in his last moments. It was more than he’d done.

“Thank you for being here with him when I couldn’t be.”

She turned to him, her eyes wet and swollen. Her heart was there for him to see and he was helpless to resist her. Knowing how much she hurt, he gently took Jacques’ hand from hers, set it on the man’s chest, and pulled Sarah into his arms. Despite how well she fit against him, how comfortable it felt to hold her, he told himself he was doing this for her. She was hurting and he was simply providing comfort. Nothing more.

Yet it was she who stepped away first.

“What happens now?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “We give them a proper sailor’s burial.”

It was a solemn task, but one taken seriously amongst the crew. First and foremost, these were good men and they deserved to be honored. Unfortunately, with Roche likely not too far behind them, they needed to act quickly. They had privacy and safety at the moment; there wouldn’t be a more opportune time.

Fetching spare canvas, and praying they wouldn’t need it for repairs should they be lucky enough to beat Roche, Aidan took it to the main deck. He enlisted his men—and Sarah, who insisted—to sew the shrouds they would wrap the bodies in. Gathered on deck they worked, the only sound that of rustling canvas as it was moved and shifted. Cramped fingers were stretched and poked but the work didn’t stop.

While the sewers were at their task, Aidan went below to sort through each man’s belongings, choosing their best “going ashore” clothes to be buried in. He hadn’t known the other two as long as he’d known Jacques yet he took the same care with their clothes. One of the first things he’d learned when Samantha was Steele was that every man counted, every man deserved respect. Perhaps that was why they’d been so loyal to her, never questioning her position despite her age and gender.

He’d thought he was doing the same yet, clearly, he hadn’t been or there wouldn’t have been a mutiny. Three men wouldn’t be dead. Alone by the single flickering candlestick, the responsibility sat heavy in his heart. Had he been so blinded by his need for revenge that he hadn’t taken the time to earn his mens’ trust? Had he simply expected it? Had he, even unwillingly, made them feel less important than they were?

Aidan bowed his head. Samantha, he remembered, had suffered with each man that had been lost under her command. He’d watched her mourn and cry, witnessed her despair. And within a fortnight of taking over as Steele, he knew exactly how she’d felt.

Bloody awful.

Well, he’d always known life as Steele wouldn’t be easy. This was a difficult moment and he didn’t have to bloody like it, but Steele never turned from adversity. He’d seen the fortitude in Samantha, Nate, and Cale and, by everything that was in him, vowed he’d do no less.