The Butcher and the Beast (2 page)

Stephen used liberal amounts of whiskey, then carefully stitched the wound up. It was a clean gash and the man was obviously healthy. “There. One down.”

After washing the bullet hole out, he grabbed his forceps. He got his first indication that the captain might be in pain, the man grunting and the big fists growing white. “Have you something to hold onto? I must get the round out, else you’ll go septic.”

The big fists tangled in the sheets. “Just do it.”

“Right.” Stephen bent to his work, only slipping once in his quest to get the little ball of lead free from the muscled thigh.

“Got it.” He held the ball up, triumphant, then poured whiskey into the wound to clean it again before binding the captain’s leg with thick bandages.

“Hand that whiskey up, Butcher.”

“I am not a butcher, you beast.” Stephen handed him the near empty bottle. “Now tell your hooligans to return me to the island.”

The man downed the last of the bottle before shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“You gave your word.” Stephen grabbed his bag, held it close. “I did as you requested.”

“I gave my word that I would release you when I no longer had need of you, good doctor.”

“What devilishness is this? I have patched you well and good!” His fingers wrapped around his scalpel. If he could reach the deck, he would throw himself into the ocean and swim for shore.

“I’ll decide when I no longer have need of you.” The captain nodded at the guard. “Take his stuff. He can bunk in here.”

The guard laughed and did as he’d been ordered, tossing a barb over his shoulder as he left. “Bit old for a cabin boy, isn’t he?”

Stephen pulled out his scalpel, brandishing it. “Take a step toward me and I will slice you.”
By all the hosts of heaven, please, help me escape
, he begged silently.

The scoundrel looked at him for a moment then began to laugh. To
laugh!
The poor fool must be unhinged with drink and pain.

“I assure you. I am most serious.” Stephen put on his most stern face.

The captain’s hand came out, fast as a snake, grabbed his wrist and twisted until he let go of the scalpel in surprised pain.

“I demand to be released!”
Oh, sweet heavens
. He grabbed for the scalpel with his other hand, a low, angry sound escaping. What would Elizabeth say? What would the governor do? What would happen to his patients?

The captain took the scalpel and tossed it out the port hole before tugging him close. “Demand something else, Butcher. It’s a sweet look on you.”

“Release me at once!” How could anyone so recently wounded be so strong?

The man purred.
Purred!
“And what will you do if I release you?”

“I wish nothing but to return home!” Stephen pulled with all his might.

The captain tugged him right down, grunting as he landed on the bandaged chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Butcher.”

“You won’t get a moment’s peace from me. I swear it!”

“Oh, I can think of a way of keeping you quiet.”

Stephen twisted, feet kicking, hair coming loose from its thin tie and sticking to his face. His captor growled softly and forced their lips together, tongue pushing into his mouth. He went still, in total shock, eyes wide and stunned. His mind simply could not comprehend such a thing.

A satisfied sound filled his mouth, along with the captain’s hot, slick tongue. The sound brought him to life, and he pulled his head away, his struggles returning ten-fold. “Demon! Beast!”

Chuckling, his captor let him go, which sent him crashing to the floor. He bolted for the door. He wasn’t a large man, but he was quick and sure as a cat. The door was unbarred and no guard stood beyond it. He guessed—correctly, it seemed—that the captain was not up to giving him chase.

He ran up the wooden stairs, quiet as he could. The sun had faded away by the time he hit sea air and he could see no hint of the island, nary a light nor a fire.

“Blast!” He crept around, searching for something—a small boat.

“Oy, lookie ’ere. It’s the butcher!”

“He’s right pretty, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, an’ you can look, but don’t be touchin’. I ’ear the Captain’s already claimed ’im.”

“Wot’s ’e lookin’ for?”

“’Ell if I know.”

Oh, sweet Lord, preserve him. “Let me be. I… I’m merely taking in the night air.” Closer to the edge now.
Come, Stephen. Better to drown than to be a prisoner of such hellions.

It was Havers—or someone who looked very much like the man—who grabbed his arm. “Come on, sawbones. You’re to stay with the Captain, ’member?”

“Unhand me!” Did no one keep their hands to themselves on this vessel? “I was promised a return home!”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Captain. We just follow orders.” Havers dragged him back down into the bowels of the ship.

“Please, no one will know if you let me go. Tell them I jumped overboard. Tell them anything, but allow me to go!” Honestly, in addition to everything else, the motion of a ship did not agree with him.

“You’d rather drown than stay on board?” The man shook his head, chuckled. “I’ll never understand the gentry.”

“I am not here of my free will.” Would no one
listen
to him?

“You’re hardly the first to say that. Play the cards you’ve been dealt.”

“I will not. I demand to be released! I refuse to remain!”

Havers chuckled. “Refuse all you like, sawbones. You’re here regardless.”

They entered the captain’s cabin again, the man sleeping now, moving restlessly.

Stephen tried to pull away, fist connecting with Havers’ shoulder. “Let me go!”

The man shoved him hard, sending him sprawling to the floor. “You can do this easy or hard, sawbones. There’s them here that want you to make it hard. I wouldn’t give ’em the chance if I was you, but it’s not my choice.” Havers glared hard at him then slammed the door closed, leaving him alone with the captain.

Stephen went to the port hole, looking, wondering if he could possibly squeeze through.

“What are you doing?” the man on the bed asked, voice rough.

“Looking out of a prison, apparently. Go back to sleep.”

The captain chuckled. “If you’re trying to appeal to my conscience, Butcher, you’ll find that I don’t have one.”

“I simply ask that you honor your word. I doctored you. Let me go.” He tried to open the port hole.

“I gave you my word that I would release you when I no longer have need of you. They are your words, not mine. I still have need of you.”

“I have bound your wounds and stitched you up. What else do you need from me?”

“Use your imagination, Butcher.”

“I am
not
a butcher! And I refused to waste my talents patching up your band of ruffians!” Stephen stamped his foot, fury filling him.

“I would have thought you had more imagination than that.”

“Pardon me?” His head ached, as did his chest, a dull, pained sensation that refused to fade.

“Warm body. Love the curls, Butch…” The captain’s eyes closed, the big body once more lax on the bunk.

Stephen rolled his eyes. The captain was obviously rotten with drink and pain. He tried the door, growling as he found it locked. Fine. He would find a weapon, take the wounded man hostage and demand his terms. Immediately—the ship lurched—as soon as he finished being ill.

Chapter Two

John floated in and out of sleep for several hours, but he couldn’t be sure what was real and what wasn’t. The pain and the whiskey and the stuff the doctor had given him made everything kind of swim. The rocking of the boat was real, though. Familiar, as right as his own skin.

He opened his eyes at the sound of retching.

Ah, the slender doctor with the fine curls. Those curls were damp with sweat now, skin pale as the bandages on his chest as the man curled over the chamber pot, gagging. The retching wasn’t sexy, but the sweat and pallor did nothing to diminish his desires for the doctor. If it wasn’t for his damnable injuries, he’d have had the man already.

After setting the pot aside, the doctor wiped his lips with a handkerchief, swaying a bit.

“You’ll get your sea legs in a day or two.”

Those eyes popped open, glared at him. “Let me go home.”

John grinned, absolutely delighted by the man’s ire. “No.”

“Bloody liar.” The man turned, refusing to look at him.

He chuckled. “I didn’t happen to lie to you. Yet. But you should know that I don’t take offense at being called a liar.” He didn’t get a response, simply a snort. “It’s a good lesson for you, actually. Make sure you pay attention to what you are agreeing to. If you had insisted on my promise to take you home as soon as you’d finished patching me up, then my keeping you would be a lie.”

“I obviously haven’t the practice at dissembling that you have.”

“Oh, you’re young yet, Butcher, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of practice.” He was having fun. It would be even better if his wounds didn’t ache so.

“I am the governor’s physician and betrothed to the admiral’s daughter. They will come for me.”

“Excellent! We’re out of practice, which is how I ended up with the wounds.” His crew had grown soft, forgotten how to take a ship—how to come out on top.

The doctor seemed to shrink a bit, pull into himself. John couldn’t have that. “Come here.”

“No.” Simple. Stubborn. Angry.

“Don’t make me get up, Butcher. Come here.”

“Amuse yourself by hurling threats from afar, Pirate.”

John hauled himself up, holding back his groan and his wince. Damned wounds were more painful now that they’d been treated than they’d been originally. He got to his feet, barely swaying at all. The doctor stayed seated, curled forward.

He made his way over and leaned down to grab the man’s collar. The doctor stood quickly, brandishing a heavy statue, using its weight to knock him backwards. John stumbled back to the bunk, sitting down hard, winded, dizzy. “If you kill me, my crew will have you, then kill you.”

“I have no wish to kill anyone. I simply wish to return to my home. Tell your men to allow me a rowing vessel and I will find my own way.”

“No.”

“Please. I have no wish to harm you. I have taken an oath to support life, but I will not remain on this ship.” The man was gray, swaying, hands trembling.

“On the contrary, Butcher. You will stay until I say that you may go.”
Stubborn fool.
Once he was no longer injured, John would enjoy that stubbornness. It would lead to many lessons, he was sure.

“I will not.” The statue was raised in those long, trembling hands. “Forgive me, Lord.”

John snorted and smacked the statue from the doctor’s arm, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Hells!” The doctor stumbled back, tripping as the ship lurched, going crashing to the ground.

John rolled his eyes. Goodness, the man needed to find his sea legs and he himself needed to be back on his feet. When the doctor didn’t stand again, he looked down, frowning at the blood seeping from a cut on the pale temple, the bruise already showing.

Damn the man to Davy Jones’ locker.

“Havers!” John shouted for the man as he lay back on his bed. Well, if the butcher proved to be more trouble than he was worth, they could grant his wish and toss him overboard. The doctor came around just as Havers burst through the door, the action knocking the man down again. John rolled his eyes. “Help the man up. I suppose he’ll have to share my bunk.”

John hauled himself up again so Havers could get the doctor into the bunk, then lay down, crowding the man against the wall. “Get his bag and doctor him up as best you can. And I need another shot of whiskey.”

Eyes the color of stormy seas fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. “I… My goodness…”

“You fell. Twice.” He poked the man in the side, earning himself a glare and a wriggle. “I imagine you’ll live.”

“It seems as such, yes. You, stay out of my bag! Those are my tools!”

“Calm down, Butcher. He’s just looking for something to clean up your head with.”

“Clean up my… Oh. Oh, my…” Those long fingers brushed along the mark, coming away bloody. “Messy.”

John grabbed some gauze from Havers and dabbed at the cut. “You’re fine.”

“Of course I am. I’m a pirate’s captive on a leaky boat headed God knows where. I’m perfectly fine.”

“My ship is
not
leaky.” John bristled.

“Leaky and smells of pitch.”

“It’s the best boat on the Pacific, you dandy.” How dare the man insult his beautiful lady?

“I am Governor Sheffield’s personal physician. I am not a dandy.”

John snorted. “Well, it seems that Governor Sheffield has lost his physician. Very clumsy of him.”

“Lost? I have not been
lost
!”

“Call it what you like, the good governor—himself a scoundrel, I’ll have you know—will have to find himself a new doctor.”

The doctor suddenly seemed to realize that he was lying on a bunk, sitting up suddenly. “Why have you chosen me to harass?”

“Because you react so beautifully, Butcher, with your curls flying about and your cheeks stained red.”

“I am no butcher!”

The frustration and fear and panic were clear in those maddening eyes. Oh, it was arousing, that look. John leaned in and licked the man’s lips. The doctor squeaked, scrambling back against the wall.

“Are you mad?”

“You wouldn’t be the first to make the accusation.” He crowded the doctor into the corner, pain all but forgotten in the wash of pleasure at having a toy to play with. “Havers. Get lost.”

“Don’t leave me here with him! He’s crazed!” The doctor’s eyes shot left and right, panicked.

“They respect and fear me too much to interfere.” John brought their mouths together, grinding his lips against the doctor’s.

The doctor was not as big a ninny as he appeared, however, and instead of freezing, those fingers pressed against his wounded thigh, driving him back.

“I am no woman! Have you lost all your senses?”

John growled, wishing again that his wounds were healed. “If you were a woman, you wouldn’t be in my bed.”

“You make no
sense
!” The slender man scrambled to the end of the bed, breath coming quick and light.