Pieces of Jade (Pirates of Orea) (23 page)

The captain shook me off furiously, his whole countenance radiating disgust. “For William’s sake, and because you deserve it, I will let you take the last of the lashes, and I shall add another two besides.”

William was cut loose and carried to the care of the doctor who immediately began applying ointment to his shredded back. I tried to be stoic as I took William’s place but my knees shook violently, betraying my fear. I had seen what it had done to a strong man like William. I knew it would be insufferable for me, but I couldn't let William stand in for me a moment longer. Thomas tied my hands and cut down the back of my shirt, exposing my bare skin.

The cat o’ nines landed like a hundred knives upon my skin, and as it bit into my skin, the sharp bits of metal seemed to light on fire, ripping apart my flesh as the whip was retracted. An inhuman scream burst from my throat and reverberated through the morning mist, echoing out into the lonely ocean. Edmond repeated the act, and the pain grew as more chunks of skin were ripped away. Blood poured freely down my back, warm at first but then chilling in the damp of the fog. I bit down on my tongue and drew more blood, the metallic taste barely registering as my teeth clenched and unclenched in a futile attempt to withstand the pain.

And again. Never before had I been subjected to anything like this. The pain was worse than I could have ever imagined. Reason left me, instinct kicked in, and I thrashed and tugged uselessly on the ropes holding my wrists, the rough bonds cutting deeply into my skin.

The whip lashed me for the last time and silence filled its place. It was so quiet that, despite my agony, I wondered if everyone had gone. I forced my tear-drenched eyes opened and I blinked through the wetness to see the captain standing behind Edmond, examining me. For the briefest moment a look of horror danced through his eyes, and I thought that perhaps he did have some humanity after all, but all too quickly his remorse was replaced by a cold glare, and I knew I had imagined it.

Lafe stepped forward, and began tugging on the rope to untie me from the mast. My body had reached its limits, however, and I could tolerate no more. With the rope no longer there to support my weight I fell helplessly into Lafe’s outstretched arms.

Chapter 15

I woke up face down on a hard cot that reeked of rum, my cheek pressed against the coarse cloth. I recognized the bloodstained floor of sickbay. A cooling sensation stung the tender skin of my back. “There you are, old girl.” the doctor mumbled, coming around so I could see him without moving my head.

“How bad is it?” I asked, looking past him to the rows of medicine bottles on their high-lipped shelves.

Doc—that’s what he went by—shook his head, frowning at the work the cat o’ nines had made of my thin, aged skin. “Bad enough. Still, it could have been worse. Most men get fifteen lashes.”

I shuddered at the thought of having to endure that much more.

Doc wiped his spectacles on his shirt. “Of course, if anyone else had done what you did, he would have been keelhauled.”

I gulped. “I suppose I'm fortunate then.”

“Indeed you are.” The doctor frowned, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher and handing it to me absently. “I’ve seen the bodies. Barnacle cuts make these wounds look pleasant.”

I drank the water greedily, the taste sweet in my parched mouth. I drained the cup and wiped my mouth. “I hate the captain.”

Doc frowned. “The Promise is our country. Its captain is our king and its rules are our laws. If there was no punishment, it would be anarchy.”

“He’s barbaric and brutal,” I insisted, closing my eyes.

Doc sighed and patted my hand.

“How is William?”

“Worse than you.”

“I need to be the one to tend to his wounds. He’s hurt because of me.” I struggled to push myself up on my arms. My back screamed as several scabs tore open.

“Have you lost your wits? You’re going to reopen all your wounds!”

“I know.” I forced myself into a sitting position, holding my breath, and willed the pain to ease. The hand that clutched the sheet to my chest shook from the intense pain. “But I need to do this.”

Doc raised his hands in surrender. “Very well, but not until tomorrow.”

Doc
left me alone for the rest of the day, although I knew that someone must be guarding the door. A plate of food was delivered, along with the requested parcel of herbs necessary for my disguise. I forced myself to drink the tea but I wasn't hungry and the dinner remained untouched. Night fell and I lay on my stomach, my back exposed to the air, and listened to the sounds of the ship as it sped through the water. I listened to it for hours as I drifted in and out of sleep.

A beautiful melody rose up and wrapped itself around my battered soul, comforting me. With a start I jerked awake. Someone was playing music. It was a sad and haunting melody, played on a violin. I had never heard the song before, but the rise and fall of the music seemed to capture the grief and sorrow that weighed down my own spirits and lulled me back to sleep.

The next morning, as he inspected and redressed my wounds, I mentioned the music to Doc. He informed me that it had been the captain playing. “He does that sometimes when he gets upset. We had to bury two bodies in the sea last night, plus he was fit to be tied over the state of his brother. I've never seen the captain so upset before,” he said, dabbing a salve onto my back. “We'll all miss those two something fierce, but the captain is taking it especially hard.”

“Impossible,” I muttered. “That man isn't capable of feeling.” Despite my harsh criticism of the captain, I had heard the haunting music he played. The melody was filled with a pain I couldn't deny, pain that was being channeled into the music from deep within the captain's soul. I'd had enough musical training to know that playing like that didn't happen without great emotion behind it.

Doc made good on his word to let me see William. He had located a dress and had it altered so the back was open, to keep the fabric from chafing against my bandages. The doctor helped me up, averting his eyes while I gingerly stepped into the dress, my sharp intakes of breath filling the room with periodic hisses as my wounds flared with pain. Once it was on, the doctor tied the pair of mismatched ribbons at the back of my neck that held the dress in place. Lafe came in and each took an arm and practically carried me to William’s room.

Thomas was on guard duty, and when we stopped in front of him he nodded and opened the door to admit us. They helped me into the room and eased me onto a stool beside the bed next to a bucket of water and a bundle of cloth.
Lafe and the doctor stepped out, leaving me alone with my husband.

William lay on his stomach, the burned side of his face showing. He was stripped to the waist and apparently sleeping. I winced at the ragged state of his back. Tightly woven stitches traced along the deepest of the wounds, and the entire length of his tortured flesh was bruised a deep purple.
A sheen of sweat coated his body and glistened on his forehead. Guilt assaulted me and I looked away.

I took a moment to compose myself before I touched the back of his neck. He was burning up.

I dipped a strip of cloth into the cool water and dabbed it across his neck. His eyes remained closed but a small sigh escaped his lips. The door opened and I glanced up.

“Haven’t you done enough?” the captain snarled
.

I jutted out my chin and met his gaze. “I’m here to tend to William.”

The captain arched an eyebrow. “I don’t trust you to be alone with him.”

“If I were nursing
you,
you’d have cause to be worried, but
he
,” I said, pointing to William, “has been nothing but good to me and has saved me twice. I would never hurt him.” I dunked the cloth back in the cool water and ran it along the length of William’s cheek.

Lafe
peeked inside the room. “I need to speak with you for a moment, sir.”

The captain nodded and strode into the corridor where he, Thomas, and
Lafe began a whispered conversation. I continued to tend to William but strained to hear what was being said. It did me no good; they were speaking too low for me to hear.

Soon the captain returned. “I have something I must attend to on deck. I'll have to trust you not to hurt him. If you do—”

“I won’t.”

“Good.
Because if you do, I’ll kill you myself. I'm leaving the door open so Lafe can keep watch on you.” He scrunched his eyebrows together before turning to Lafe. “Don't let anyone into this room but me. No one.” His eyes flashed warningly at me before he turned on his heel and walked away.

I continued my cool bath over William’s face and then slowly cleaned his back. The bundle the doctor had given me contained lavender, mint, and other herbs to make a poultice, which I administered. It would help to ease the pain and fight infection.

The poultice worked quickly, bringing down his fever. At length William regained consciousness and I sighed in relief. When he opened his eyes and saw me standing next to him, his body jerked in surprise.

“Sheridan?”

“Shhh,” I whispered, wiping his brow again.

“What are you doing here? Where's
Doc?”

“I convinced him to let me tend to you.” I twisted to reach the clean water. A soft groan escaped my lips.

“What happened to your back?” His voice sounded horrified.

I patted cool water over his forehead. “I couldn’t let you take all of my punishment. The captain let me take a few of the stripes myself.”

William’s face turned a deep shade of red, not from the fever this time. His nostrils flared. “Of course he did. Why would you do that?”

“Because it was wrong for you to take my punishment,” I said honestly.

William frowned. “It was my right. You never would have survived.”

I didn’t argue; I probably wouldn’t have.

“Sheridan, you’re recovering too. You shouldn't be here taking care of me. You should be in your room.”

“This
is
my room,” I said with an impish grin. “We share quarters, remember?”

He shook his head. “That's not what I meant. Why aren't you lying down?”

“I needed to see you. I wanted to thank you for stepping in,” I said honestly. William seemed to accept this and refrained from arguing. He reached out and squeezed my hand. I took this as a good sign and pressed forward with the conversation I’d been waiting to have. “Why did you do it?”

“Because there was no way you could withstand ten lashes,” he replied instantly. “Clayton had no right to order such a punishment for you.”

“You don't think I deserved it?” I asked with surprise.

“That's not what I meant. He could have come up with a punishment that wouldn't take you to the brink of death,” he mumbled angrily, and began licking his parched lips. I reached for the glass next to him and held it so he could take a drink. He sighed happily as the water moistened his dry mouth and dropped back into his pillows, blanching from the pain.

“So you did it to prevent my death?”

He gave a terse nod, like it was no big deal. But to me it was everything. No one had ever done anything like that for me. Not even James. Gratitude and a searing sense of something I couldn't put into words nearly engulfed me, nearly suffocating me. I cleared my throat, speaking around the lump of emotion. "That was . . . very gallant of you. Thank you.”

I returned to tending his wounds, moving the poultice further down his back and refreshing his cold cloth. William's body tensed under my gentle ministrations. His eyes pinching shut as if in pain. “Are you all right?” I asked, my hands fluttering over his back to check his wounds. “Are you hurting?”

“No, it’s not that.” He watched me, looking unhappy, and I wondered what I had done to offend him. “I was hoping we would be able to skip this conversation, but you're as stubborn as I've heard.”

He sighed. I looked at him in confusion and waited for him to continue. “I did do this to protect you. But I also did it for my brother. I don't always approve of the way my brother does things. He's a good man at heart, but he's prone to rash choices sometimes. He's confident in himself, but with good reason; his plans usually succeed. It's how he came to be captain so young. But sometimes he’s impulsive and stupid. Sometimes he makes mistakes. I do what I can to keep him under control but I can't be there all the time.”

“I don't think anyone expects you to be.”

“Perhaps not. Still, Clay did very wrong by you.” His voice sounded pained and he dropped his gaze to stare at an undefined space around my feet. “He's treated you badly. I couldn't stand by and let him punish you when it was he who had forced your hand in the first place.”

I blinked in surprise. “I don't understand.”

William sighed again. “Let's just say that my brother needs to learn that his decisions really do have consequences.”

I balked. “So you let yourself be whipped to make a statement?”

“Partly.”

“You shouldn't have stepped in.” I pushed his hair from his eyes and smiled at him. “It will take you a long time to heal.”

I let my fingers trail down his scarred cheek, tracing the burns until he took my hand and pulled it gently away. “All the more reason for me to step in. I’ll heal; you could have died.”

I sat in silence at the full impact of his words. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. Thank you,” I said, gazing into his eyes and squeezing his hand in gratitude.

William grunted dismissively, like it was a small thing.

“Only a gentleman would lie bloodied and bruised and insist that his interference was nothing.”
Not for the first time, I wondered what had led to him marrying me. Was it because he was so kind that he saw my need and helped? It seemed perfectly in character for him.

William snorted. “I'm no gentleman.”

“I disagree.” I squeezed his hand again and made a movement to release it when something caught my eye. “What happened to your wrists?” Deep scars encircled them.

William pulled his hand away quickly and slid it beneath his pillowed head.

“I told you, I'm no gentleman,” he said gruffly.

“How did you get those injuries?”

“I don't take well to being manacled in a cell,” he replied.

I stifled a gasp. “You were in prison?”

“Yes. It was an awful, dark place that left scars much deeper than the ones marring my skin.”

“But what could have caused these?” I gently touched the imperfections on his face.

“They used Guardian Flames on me.” He turned his head away from me. “You’re married to an escaped convict.”

We had that in common. I had assumed his injuries had come from cannon blasts or sword fights, but knowing his past made me look at his scars—and him—in a new light. He had survived Guardian Flames, a magical fire that was almost impossible to put out. Few who survived it remained sane.

I’d often heard how prison could warp a man’s soul, yet despite everything, William overflowed with goodness.

It was hard to reconcile the scarred, battle-hardened pirate and prisoner with the kind, gentle man who had taken a beating in my behalf. He was such a contradiction. He seemed to be one of the most moral men I had ever met, and yet he was a pirate. It made no sense.