Bound by the Heart (44 page)

Each man brought stories with him of what was
happening on the gun decks. Each sound of footsteps in the corridor sent
Summer's heart thudding into her throat. The excitement and pride she heard in
the men's voices did nothing to ease the dreaded thought of seeing Morgan's
crumpled, bleeding body carried in on a litter. Two such bodies were brought in,
dead before Thorny had a chance to look at them. Several more were fed
quantities of rum and laudanum when their wounds were deemed too severe to be
helped. They lost seven crewmen in the opening stages of the battle, and the
sights and sounds of misery and pain became as steady as the blasts from the
guns.

When silence finally did rattle along the length and
breadth of the ship, the three working in the surgery were too frantic to do
much more than pass a brief glance at one another before bending to their
gruesome tasks again. Neither Summer nor the nurse, Gabrielle, dared to ask if
it was over; they simply braced themselves to watch for what Thorny referred to
as the die'ards.

"When ye see the likes o' them comin' 'ere ter
'ave an 'and sewed tergether what's near fallin' off, ye'll know the main
fightin's gone past."

The diehards failed to show, and the running
footsteps, the sound of frantic activity and the rocky motion of the
Chimera
continued.

After what seemed Uke an eternity of welcomed silence,
a particularly loud rumble from the deck overhead caused Gabrielle to gasp and
drop the swab she was holding out to Thorny. It was not the sound of resumed
gunfire; it was more Uke the rumble of an angry earthquake.

Thorny merely chuckled and sponged out the wound he
was working on with a corner of his shirt. "That be the other sign, lass.
Remember it, on account o' it bein' music ter the ears of a body stuck
b'lowdecks."

"But what is it,
m'sieu?"
Gabrielle whispered.

"Trunnions," he announced. "Means the guns'r
bein' 'auled in an' tied off. N'owt too tight, mind. Many a time a dead ship's
come back ter life ripe unexpectedlike. An, less'n I'm mistook"—he cocked
his head to one side—"they be only the port guns. Starboards'r stayin' owt
ter finish the kill."

Both women looked up. "Finish the kill?"

"Means the cap'n ain't in a gen'rous mood,"
he said, screwing up his nose as he removed a hunk of iron from his patient's
thigh.
 
"Ee ain't pleasured ter give
the Frenchies a prize, an' ee ain't of a mind ter drag 'er nowheres 'imself.
Ee'll drill 'er till she sinks. . . . 'and me them swabs, girlie. What yer
doin? Fallin' ter sleep on me?"

Gabrielle handed Thorny a wad of linen, but her eyes
were fastened on the door of the storeroom. Mr. Phillips was standing there,
his handsome young face hidden beneath layers of grime and sweat.

"W-a-all, now, if n it ain't one o'the first
die'ards. Didn't I tell ye? Where'r ye 'urt, lad?"

"No, no
...
I'm not hurt, Thorny." Mr. Phillips smiled at Gabrielle shyly.
"Nothing aside from a few bumps and bruises, that is. Captain Wade sent me
down to see how we stand with the wounded."

"Wounded, eh?" Thorny scowled from Phillips
to Gabrielle to Summer to the panting, sweating man on the bench. "Ripe
lot o' queries we been 'avin 'bout the wounded all afternoon. Bafflin', ain't
it, 'ow we ain't got an 'eap more with nobody's mind stayin' on business."

Phillips reddened and smiled at Summer before he
cleared his throat and addressed Thorny again. "How is Mr. Roarke?"

"'Angin' on. Ow's the Kameery?"

"Hanging on," Phillips grinned. "I
still don't believe we did it, Thorny. We took the
Northgate!”

 
"Cap'n fixin' ter scuttle
'er?"

"He hardly needs to. She's been hulled so many
times her sides are kindling. You can see clear through her in places."

"Hmph . . . ahh, got the barstard—" He
flipped a second chunk of metal onto the floor and chuckled at the sailor.
"All done, lad. Ye can leave go o' yer wind now if ye've a mind to. Eh?
What's that ye say, Jamie lad?"

"The captain would like you topside when you're
through here. He . . . ah, has one other man who needs tending."

"Tendin'? What kind o' tendin'? Why'n't ye bring
'im down 'ere?"

"Well, ah
...
I believe the captain prefers you to bring a dose of turpentine with you and
treat the man on deck."

"Turps? Who 'ad call ter be lashed? N'owt one o'
our boys, I 'ope?" He looked truly stricken at the thought.

"No, sir. One of theirs. An Englishman."

Thorny's face screwed up to ask the question, but
Summer had already recognized the look on Mr. Phillip's face.

"Farley Glasse," she breathed.

"Yes, ma'am. I wasn't supposed to say so. . . .
the captain didn't think you ladies needed any more upsetting. But yes, ma'am,
the captain ordered Mr. Monday to give him two hundred and fifty of his
finest."

Summer wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing
and started to the door. Mr. Phillips moved quickly to block her path.

"It isn't a very pretty
sight, ma'am."

"Neither was anything I
saw this afternoon."

"No, ma'am, but the
captain won't like you going on deck just the same."

Summer gazed up at him unwaveringly. "Please
stand aside. I have no intention of wasting any sympathy on Mr. Glasse; I
merely want to go up on deck a few moments. For the past several hours I have
been hearing more than I care to. about what the captain
said
or what the captain
did.
...
I have yet to see the captain
myself to know if he even said or did half the things he is
purported
to have done."

"Ma'am, I swear—" Phillips stopped. He saw
Thorny's nod and moved reluctantly out of the way.

Summer climbed the two flights of ladderways to the
main deck. Nearly every member of the crew she passed stopped what they were
doing to touch their forelocks respectfully and murmur a startled greeting.
Just as many stories had come up from the lower deck during the fighting as had
gone down—about her gentle touch with the wounded, about the smile she gave
every man along with the treatment. Thorny's skill was unquestioned, but his
manners sent few away from the surgery with a flush in their cheeks and praise
for their bravery ringing in their ears.

Summer stepped out of the hatchway and blinked with
amazement at the eerie sight that stretched out before her. It was almost
pitch-dark; only a thin band of hazy light hovered across the horizon. A mist
was curling out from the land to cover the ship, cloaking the torn sails and
rigging with cottony wisps of moisture. Bits of wreckage Uttered the deck, and
somewhere up ahead, sailors were shouting to heave to as three cannon blown off
their carriages were angled back into position.

Sections of missing rail were being hastily rewoven
with thick cables, and topmen were busy overhead to repair and fit new spars
and attach new canvas where the old had been destroyed. No one was idle. Many men
she recognized as having passed through the surgery, their bandages soiled and
stained brown from dried blood.

She wiped her hands again, more of a nervous gesture
now, and walked out onto the deck. Lanterns were strung every few feet,
attracting swarms of small insects and fat moths. The wind had died away, and
the
Chimera
sat
steadily on the smooth surface of the water, a hive of activity in contrast
with the still night.

She heard a shout behind her and jumped as a bucket of
water was splashed across the deck. As she turned, a distant glow of lights
caught her eye off the starboard side, and she changed direction to stand at
the rail and look out at what remained of the frigate
Northgate.

She was less than fifty yards away, covered in
lanterns which showed clearly the unbelievable extent of her damages. There was
not a mast or beam or bulkhead that rose more than six feet above the gutted
deck. Her masts lay, for the most part, at odd angles over the rails, their
sails and lines drooping into the water. Smoke snaked out of countless holes in
her hull and Summer guessed that anything salvageable had long since been
removed and the fires simply left to burn.

Mr. Phillips had been correct. There was no need to
put any more holes into her.

"Danged shame, that is," Thorny grumbled,
joining her at the rail. "N'owt a very fit end fer a fine sailin' ship, is
it, lass?"

"It could have happened to the
Chimera,"
she reminded him.

"Aye. Could."

"What has become of the crew?"

"Shipped ashore, be my guess. Given ter the
Frenchies ter get what they can fer 'em. Don't fret none, them limeys'll be
traded off 'ome in no time."

Summer shook her head. "Whose side is de Ville
on, Thorny?"

"De Ville's," he grunted and spat over the
rail. "Onliest side ee's ever been on."

He muttered on his way past the heaps of broken spars
and salvage to find the bridge. Summer stayed to view the
Northgate
a while longer, then she, too,
pushed it out of her thoughts and wandered forward to the bow.

She saw Morgan when she was still partially hidden in
the shadows thrown by the huge mainmast. He was standing on the bridge, his
hands were gripping the rail, and a frown was creasing his brow as he stared
down into the center of a group of men gathered on the forecastle. He was
dripping wet as if he had just come out of the sea, and Summer could hear the
sounds of other men in the water scrubbing the stink and sweat of battle from
their skin.

Morgan looked so much like her memory of the very
first time she had seen him that she could not move. His hair was again curled
wetly against his cheeks and neck; his chest was bare and shining with the
moisture trapped beneath the pelt of black hairs. His trousers clung like a
second skin, outlining the power in every muscle and sinew.

One of his arms was marked where her pistol shot had
grazed it—had it only been three nights ago she had stormed aboard demanding
her daughter back? There were cuts and scrapes and bruises that she had fully
expected to see . . . and she felt suddenly foolish for her fears.

The dark blue eyes were on her in the next instant,
and he pushed away from the rail and swung his broad frame down the ladder.

"What is it? Is something wrong—is it
Stuart?"

"Oh, no. No, nothing is wrong, I—" She heard
a choked scream from the group up ahead and her cheeks paled.

Morgan took her arm and guided her forcefully back the
way she had come. "This is no time for you to be out for a casual stroll
on the deck."

"I know, but I
...
I just wanted to see you, just for a minute."

His voice softened. "Haven't you been getting my
messages?"

"Yes. And I know how busy you are, and I know you
don't have time for anything but your ship right now, but. . . I just. .
.wanted to
see
you. I wanted to know you were all right."

He raised a hand to cradle her chin. "And do you
believe it now?"

She lowered her lashes.
"Yes. I'm sorry. I was being foolish."

"But you couldn't help
thinking someone was keeping some horrible truth from you?"

"Something like that," she murmured.

"Some pirate's wench you're going to make,"
he said, and the lazy smile was on his lips. "But I suppose I shall have
to get used to someone worrying about me now whether I like it or not. I did
bring it on myself, didn't I?"

"You did indeed," she sighed and pressed her
cheek into his shoulder.

"A lucky thing you waited until now to come up.
I've been on the
Northgate
for the past half hour or so, although I don't imagine
anyone could have convinced you of that."