Siren's Secret (15 page)

Olivia didn’t think her fingers could bend, pull, or dig through another piece of flesh. Then she saw Mrs. Tisdale, white with tears. To be fair, Mr. Riedell looked a bit pale as well. They carefully took off his shirt, using water to help clear it from the wounded area.

Mrs. Tisdale stared. “You’ve many scars, Nathan.”

“Sorry, Elizabeth,” he gasped. “Look away. I’m unsightly.”

“You fool.” Another wave of tears spilled from Mrs. Tisdale’s eyes. “It’s not that.”

Olivia sighed and waited for Andersen to do his part. It was brutal. The cutting and the cleaning seemed endless. All the while, Mrs. Tisdale held Mr. Riedell’s hand in silent misery. Olivia finally realized
he
was doing the comforting.

The captain joined them, having heard the news.

“Dammit, Nathan. You should have been first. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Didn’t think it was that bad, Captain.”

“Well, if I have to cut off that arm I’m going to be very angry.”

Mrs. Tisdale swooned. Olivia caught her and scowled at Stafford.

“I jest, Elizabeth. This man has survived worse wounds than this when he was half the size. There’s no danger we’re going to lose him yet.”

She wiped her eyes and nodded, not taking her gaze from Nathan.

Mr. Riedell smiled until Andersen poked him again. Stafford handed him a bottle of rum. “Drink.”

Andersen finished with the cleaning. “There you go, Professor. Your turn.” To Riedell, “We got some nice bright blood, Nate. It looks good.” He took his supplies. “Captain, I’m going to keep watch over some of the bad ones. You all right? Nothing else needs cleanin’ or stitchin’ that you’re hidin’ from us?”

“I’m good. Try to get some sleep. The day’s not over.”

“Aye, we’re only halfway through this one, is my guess.”

Olivia threaded her needle with purpose. Her fingers were cramped, her back ached, and her eyes were so dry when she blinked she could feel the grit. But she would do this as well as she did the first man.

“Drink this,” Samuel handed her something. “Coffee.”

She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. Still, anything might help. She took a long drink, the bitter sludge making her tongue curl. “Disgusting. Thank you.” She handed it back.

Her needle had just been cleaned and was still hot. She blew on it, careful not to burn fragile skin. Finally, she made the first draw through healthy flesh.

Mrs. Tisdale gasped.

Olivia did not look up. Her companion had sewed half the men herself that night, but it was as if Olivia had stabbed at her, not at Mr. Riedell.

Olivia didn’t stop her work, but gave her friend the briefest glance before pressing and pulling the needle through again. “Mrs. Tisdale. I need you to leave.” She made another stitch, and Mrs. Tisdale’s sniffle was like a gunshot in her ears. Olivia stiffened and looked to the captain for help.

“You’re exhausted, Elizabeth. Let me escort you,” the captain said.

“No. I’ll wait,” Elizabeth said.

Mr. Riedell succeeded where they didn’t. “She’s right, my love. Get some sleep. I promise I’ll still be here when you awake. You’re overtired. We all are. I need you to be strong for me later.”

The words were said gently. Lovingly. Olivia stabbed her needle again, ignoring his intake of breath.

Mrs. Tisdale agreed. “Come see me when you are done?”

“Of course,” he promised.

Cook guided her out with encouraging words and escorted her to their cabin. Olivia exhaled a breath of relief. A second later it was ruined.

“I love her.”

Olivia froze. She looked at Mr. Riedell in shock.

He repeated the words. “I love her.” He had a stupid grin, and gazed at the captain in amazement. “I love her, Sam. It’s like a miracle. I love her.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Olivia pointed out.

“One sip.”

“Stop giving him rum, Stafford. It’s affecting his brain.” To Mr. Riedell, “You’re exhausted. You’re bound to say things you wouldn’t normally.” Olivia pulled the thread through skin, careful not to stretch it.

“When I thought she might die, it was as if my entire life meant nothing without her. I love her.”

“Stop saying that!” Olivia’s shoulders tightened, cramping her neck muscles unbearably.

“Elizabeth Riedell,” Nathan uttered the words softly on his lips, cherishing the thought.

Her body froze, rigid and angry. “You can’t have her! Do you hear me? You are demented from your injury. You must control yourself before you say something that will only injure her feelings.” Olivia held the thread, her voice sharp. “Make him stop, Stafford, or so help me, I’ll kill him myself.”

Samuel intervened. Exhaustion hardened the angles of Olivia’s face. This last week she’d lost any remnant of safety and peace in her life. The thought of losing the one person she depended on was more than she could bear at this moment.

Samuel held a finger over his mouth to shush his deliriously happy friend. Nathan mouthed back, “But I love her.”

Samuel nodded and mouthed a silent, “I know.”

Olivia fumed, easily comprehending their conversation. “I still understand.” Her voice was tight, but she continued her task.

With each stitch Nathan smiled more, but remained silent until she was nearly finished.

“How many left, Professor?”

“Maybe five.”

“Five.” Nathan grinned broadly.

Samuel found himself smiling with his friend as the man counted down the stitches. He was counting down to the moment when he could go find Elizabeth. Samuel couldn’t begrudge him that. She was a fine woman, and Nathan deserved happiness. It was a good match. Maybe they’d ask him to perform the ceremony.

“There.” Olivia slowly unbent herself. “Don’t get them wet until Andersen says.”

It was silent. Nathan stared at Olivia.

She looked up and shook her head. “Don’t say it.”

Nathan’s expression openly begged for her blessing. “I love her.”

Unreserved bleakness wiped the light from her eyes, and Samuel’s heart sank at her reaction. She turned away from them and began to clean up the mess.

Finally, Nathan thanked her softly and left. To go to Elizabeth.

Samuel waited for her to recover.

“This is your fault. I told you they were not right for each other,” she said.

“Olivia.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Honey, those two were right for each other the moment their eyes first met.”

She frowned. “How can that be?”

“It just is.”

“No.” She tried to work out the puzzle. “It is false emotion. Mrs. Tisdale has been under
extreme
stress from the moment they met. Perhaps it hinders brain functionality. I must check Andersen’s books. Figure out the problem before they do something terrible.” She cleaned quickly, filled with renewed urgency.

“Olivia—”

“No. That’s it. Don’t you see? Why, it’s only been a week. Eight days since they met. They shouldn’t be talking this rubbish. It’s not logical.”

“Sometimes, stress has a way of making what’s most important very clear.”

“But then what?” Olivia ranted. “You can’t make real decisions like that.” She shoved the supplies at him. “Give these to Cook. I must save them before they do something extraordinarily foolish.”

She rushed off, leaving Samuel to stare after her.

Samuel spoke, but it was only to himself. “What happened, Olivia, to leave you so wanting of love?”

He agreed with one thing. Falling in love within a week was extraordinarily foolish.

And there was no bigger fool than he.

Olivia rushed to warn Elizabeth that she was not in possession of her right mental capacities. She knew Elizabeth would want to know right away.

At the sound of hushed whispers inside the cabin they shared, Olivia stopped dead, ice clutching her heart.

She was too late.

Elizabeth professed her love.

Olivia stepped from the cabin door and leaned on the wall. She listened to the calamitous conversation as they repeated their love like a litany, in between what she could only guess were ardent, stress-induced embraces.

“My darling, I must marry you with all possible speed. Please say yes. I have waited a lifetime for you. Another day is torture.”

“Oh, yes, Nathan. Yes! I love you so much. I cannot believe you love me too. It seems impossible after so many years to finally find happiness. I only want to be with you, any way you will have me.”

Olivia stepped back and tried to swallow. She tilted her head up as she tried not to let the hot tears escape. She was happy for Mrs. Tisdale. Indeed, she was. She inhaled a quiet, shallow breath of air. She had not realized Mrs. Tisdale’s happiness was so incomplete. It hurt that she had never said a thing to Olivia about it. Though Olivia knew firsthand it was not a thing one wished to admit.

Alone again.

A familiar pang of emptiness struck her in the stomach. She forced away memories of losing her mother. The hundred good-byes she’d bidden her father.

Alone again.

Alone did not mean she would be lonely or bored or bereft.

Alone again … on an ocean.

Well, technically, a sea. But what did that matter? She had her books. And her father. She would find him. She could read the hieroglyphics with near fluency now. That made her valuable to someone. She could still explore the tombs and even publish her findings. This time she would join her father, and they would make many discoveries together. She wiped her eyes roughly. That was still her plan. It was what she wanted. What she had always dreamed.

Dreams came with sacrifices. Losing friends along the way was one of them.

Moreau unfolded his spyglass. Since they’d learned of the sign of Lilith showing up in Egypt, it had been a race to gather information.

Across the sea, light from the rising sun illuminated four ships in the distance. Smoke drifted from the long, lean galley. Not the image he’d hoped for. Nuh, his confident, bloodthirsty corsair had failed.

Which meant that he would not be able to play the hero and save Lady Olivia. A shame. She would have been much more accommodating with him as her friend and savior. Now he would have to resort to trickery of an entirely different kind. The kind that became messy rather quickly.

He tapped his fingers on the rail, impatient. If Merryvale’s daughter was headed to Alexandria, then he would get there first and prepare for her. Merryvale and Lampley were his only obstacles—no, he corrected himself, assets.

Both needed money. Lampley had the benefit of being the military power in the operation. In the end that was most useful. He wouldn’t need Merryvale, once he had the man’s daughter.

Moreau studied the scene a moment longer. Stafford had proven resourceful. How disappointing. And distressful. Moreau was due to send the first report to his mistress. He’d prefer it recount his successes. He had a lead on the artifact that he was following to Algiers. Lampley’s men were easily bought, and without doubt he could collect the funerary cone and gain the leverage needed at the tomb site. Yes, with any luck that would all work out and then he could send an update with positive results. He would send a report after Algiers.

Satisfied with the plan, he collapsed his scope and turned away. He intended to get control of the situation, get the key to the tomb, find what his mistress wanted, and make sure there was no evidence or witnesses when he left.

If he failed, certain death awaited him in London.

He would not fail.

They burned the dead on Nuh’s ship the next day. There were cheers from the slaves and tears from the crew. No one liked saying good-bye. Especially not Nuh, as he watched from his noosed position, still on his toes.

Khalid’s ship showed up not long after.

“Look alive, men. Let’s not let them think we are not ready to finish them off as well.”

The crew rallied, and Khalid kept a safe distance. One meant for communication. They agreed to meet in the middle, and two boats were lowered to bring the captains to discuss terms. Samuel took Kelley with him to row.

“You look in good health, Captain,” Khalid said. “You seem to have eluded my cousin after all.”

“No, actually.”

Khalid’s attention turned sharp. “What happened?”

“He attacked,” Samuel said. “And failed.”

Surprise, but not disappointment, showed at the outcome of Nuh’s attack.

“Their ship?”

“Burned it with the dead.”

“Prisoners?”

“Kelley.” Samuel said the man’s name, and the boatswain signaled the ship. His crew lifted the prisoners by their hair up to the rail of the ship. He didn’t need to turn to know it.

Khalid nodded, solemnly. “Any chance my fool of a cousin lives?”

Khalid had taken his time in asking, but Samuel knew he was concerned about this one point of negotiation.

Samuel lifted a hand, and his men moved aside so Khalid could see his cousin hanging. “He’s in good health,” Samuel said.

Khalid nodded again and folded his hands in front of him. “So. What terms, my friend?”

“Out of respect for our friendship and the honor you showed me when we last met, I ask not for gold, though I know Nuh’s father would pay a fortune in ransom for him.”

Khalid nodded.

“Two things. One: I want every slave on your ship—American, African, or otherwise.”

Khalid balked. “You know I treat them well—” He stopped, a steady, knowing gaze in his coal black eyes. “I see. Don’t let emotion rule your negotiation, my friend.”

“This is not emotion, my friend. It’s rage. You can use Nuh and his crew as your new oarsmen. Whip them bloody and let them feel what it’s like for a couple years. Then talk to me.”

Khalid pulled his body up straight, his expression unreadable. “And the second of your terms?”

“If you find Moreau before me, find out who he works for before you kill him. Then we’ll be square.”

Khalid nodded. The two men shook on the agreement.

The trade was made with little difficulty—until Nuh made the mistake of insulting Samuel’s taste in companions. Samuel drilled his fist through the bastard’s nose.

“I judge a man by who he is, not who his parents are, Nuh. And I judge you unworthy.” Then Samuel tossed him overboard for the corsairs to fish out.