The first thing Jamison did was find out how the hell Melinda had gotten on deck in the first place.
"Flaherty, you told Ned you'd take care of Delia and Melinda," he growled, showing rare anger.
His captain's body was limp in his arms, and Bobby was hunched over Ned, examining him.
"No, I thought Ned said he got Melinda," Flaherty stammered. "I put Delia in the kitchen. Oh, curse this thing."
Melinda was standing in the middle of the deck, staring around her.
"Andrea," she said. "And Katie. Where are they?"
"They're in their cabin," Jamison said, starting off towards Jim's cabin without faltering. "Go let them out, Flaherty, and Delia. Maybe one of them knows about nursing."
Jim didn't even stir. Jamison did not like the look of the lump on his head. And Jim was their doctor, or supposed to be.
This was not looking good.
Melinda was running after him, short legs carrying her surprisingly quickly. "How is he?" She gasped.
Jamison looked down at her, realizing that everyone on this ship owed her everything. He didn't know what Payne had said to her; no one had been able to hear that, they'd just watched in horror as he started off with her, and then suddenly he'd cast her back on the deck and pulled away.
"I don't know," Jamison said grimly. "Can you go ahead to his cabin and prepare the bed?"
She nodded instantly, running ahead, throwing the door open and slipping inside.
Jamison followed slower, the weight of Jim slowing his steps.
When he walked into the cabin, Melinda had pulled the blankets back on the bed, so he could lay Jim straight on the white sheets.
"It's his arm," Melinda said. "And his head. Those are his only injuries. He'll be alright, won't he?"
Jamison shook his head. "I cannot assure you of that, Miss Gordon," he said. "Head injuries are strange things. Men can walk around like normal with them and then just die during the night."
"We won't let that happen," Melinda said fiercely.
Jamison started back out of the cabin. "I need to go see to Ned," he said, voice harsher than he intended. "You need to take care of getting his coat and shirt off so we can tend his arm. After I see if Ned is worse off I'll come back to look at his arm. For now, you need to apply pressure to the wound and…" He opened one of the cabinets, finding what he knew would be there; one of Dan's bottles of rum. "Wash the wound with this," he said, handing her the bottle.
Melinda stared after Jamison, clueless.
She understood why he'd left her alone. He was no doctor and he had to make sure of the others on the ship, but she was alone.
With Jim.
Captain Clancy.
And he'd told her to remove his shirt.
She forced herself to not be a shrinking violet; she had a job to do. She went to the collar on his coat, tugging it away from his neck and letting her hands slide down to his buttons.
Her fingers pressed into the hard buttons, carefully and painstakingly sliding them through each hole; the material of the coat was stiff and it was a bit tricky.
The coat was done being unbuttoned. Melinda carefully pushed the heavy material aside, painstakingly lifting his left muscled arm, heavy from his unconsciousness, and slid it through the material, acutely aware that she was leaning over him; that her breasts were pressed against his chest, in his face.
What would happen if he woke up now?
Why did she want him to?
His left, uninjured arm was free from coat, and she managed to thread her arms around his rock hard midsection to lift him and push the coat underneath him so she could take it off his right arm and jostle the wound there less.
He was heavy. Very heavy. She swallowed, as her arms could only just meet around him. She felt her breath escalate as she pressed into his body, trying to pull the coat through; needing to lift him and move the coat underneath him at the same time.
She was straddling him, she realized, sitting on his stomach as she had earlier, but this was so much different.
She moved off of him, going to the wound on his arm, pulling the coat off his right arm and letting it fall to the floor. There was only his white shirt left, soaked with sweat and, on the arm, blood.
She needed water first. She didn't want to pour rum right on the wound, first she had to get the shirt away.
She grabbed a pitcher; it didn't have much in it but it had enough. She poured it on a rag, soaking it, pressing the cloth to his arm and shoulder and then looking at his shirt. It had no buttons, it went on over the head.
She ran her hands down to the end of it, tucked into his trousers, fingers lighting on his toned stomach there, hesitated.
She couldn't bring herself to tug the material from his waist. She noticed a dagger and used it to slit the shirt, neck to waist, and tried very hard to not look at his bare chest as she tugged the material from his right arm, leaving the rest of the shirt on him.
She couldn't help noticing the planes of his stomach, the hard defined muscles there that seemed as different from her own body as you could get. He was rock hard, in places she was only soft and curving.
The wound was visible. Her hand traced over the muscles in his arm before biting her lip and pouring the rum over it. She wondered if it stung, but he didn't even stir. She used the dagger to cut off a section of shirt and used that to bind his arm.
Then she looked at his head. Using the water dampened rag, she washed his face, looking at the lump and gash on his forehead from where Payne's men had struck him, using the rum to disinfect it. And then she sat back, still, afraid.
He still wasn't even stirring. She didn't know what to make of that.
She hurried up on deck after a few more moments just sitting there staring at him, admiring him, letting the sight of him take her breath away. He'd had other scars; she'd dared to rub her fingers over one on his chest, not letting her hand drop to touch the flat nipple, though she wanted to.
She instead pulled the covers up over him and hurried back on deck, not sure what else she could do for him and wanting to be useful.
Delia was there, and she ran towards Melinda. "Why did you do it?" She murmured, embracing Melinda tightly, pressing a desperate kiss to her forehead. "You have such a big heart, Melinda, even for your enemies."
"He's not my enemy," Melinda merely said, wondering where Delia had been, clinging to her friend, feeling her legs wobble. "What about Ned?"
Delia sighed. "Come with me," she said.
He was in a makeshift hospital wing of the ship. Most of the pirates and sailors had only sustained minor injuries in the fight; amazingly, the two most serious were Ned and Jim since they were the only ones to get head injuries.
Katie and Andrea were taking care of the wounded, and Melinda felt ashamed that she'd stayed so long with Jim, just lingering over his body when there were others to be taken care of.
"He needs stitches," Jamison solemnly pronounced, looking over Ned. He glanced up to see Melinda there. "You washed Jim's wounds?" He asked, not saying captain.
"I did," Melinda said. "I thought, um, you'd need the help here. He didn't even stir as I...tended to him."
Jamison nodded, looking down at Ned. There was an ugly open gash on his forehead; it had been washed but it was still gaping.
"Which of you is the best seamstress?" Jamison asked, looking at the women around him.
Delia shook her head. "I couldn't keep a steady hand working on him," she said.
Andrea frowned. "I could…"
Melinda also declined, knowing that her sewing samples were nothing special and definitely not any good.
It was then that they realized that Katie had already sterilized a needle and thread in the rum Flaherty had brought in.
"I'll do it," she said firmly, hands steady.
Andrea moved to hold onto Ned's head, and Delia grabbed the boy's hand.
Melinda watched, arms folded, as Katie's needle first pierced Ned's skin. She sewed in tiny stitches, very neat, pulling the skin tightly together, never once wincing or showing fear.
"Nicely done," Jamison praised once Katie had finished.
She cast the needle away. "Can we move him?" She asked, her voice tight. "So I can watch him in peace."
The others there just looked at each other. "Captain Gregory's cabin will be empty," Delia said softly. "It would make sense for Ned to be alone so his nurse doesn't get distracted from him."
Jamison nodded and summoned Bobby to help him pick up Ned. They carried him carefully between them, laying him in the captain's cabin.
Captain Gregory was back in charge, Melinda realized, watching him shout orders on deck. The uninjured pirates and sailors were listening to his orders to the letter, paying him absolute attention.
Katie perched on the edge of the bed, Ned's hand in between both of her own. "May I stay with him?" She asked, voice quiet but steely.
Jamison nodded. "We'll tell everyone to stay back," he nodded. "You both need some peace and quiet."
"But…" Andrea said, and Delia also looked hesitant about leaving them alone.
Jamison just looked at Andrea and she nodded, leaving the cabin. Melinda watched in awe and then grabbed Delia's hand, tugging her out so that Jamison could close the door.
"Flaherty should take Miss Gregory broth later to give to Ned," Jamison told Delia. "You should tell him that. I need to confer with Captain Gregory. Andrea, could you go with Miss Gordon to check on Captain Clancy and see her handiwork?"
"Come along," Melinda said, nodding at Andrea. Andrea followed along after her without a second thought.
There was a warm weight on his chest, and Ned could feel a hand on his own. He stirred awake, feeling his head ache, and everything else.
But he was alive. Images flashed through his mind and he groaned, trying to sit up.
"Jim," he rasped. "Is he living? And Melinda. Did Payne take her?"
"They're both fine."
He opened his eyes and it was Katie there. He opened his eyes and he was in bed and she was curled next to him, on top of the covers, clinging to one hand, head lifted off of where it had been resting on his chest.
"Katie," he breathed. "You're all right. The pirates...what happened?"
"They're gone," Katie whispered, lifting his hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Payne left without Melinda."
"Why?" He asked.
Katie shrugged, one shoulder lifting.
She was dressed now, and he wished for the nightgown she'd been wearing earlier, the white lace that left her skin deliciously bare.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
She pressed his hand into her chest, clinging to him. "So are you," she said, tears in her ears. "The most beautiful man I've ever met."
His hand was caught in hers but that didn't stop him from feeling the press of her breasts against it. He blinked up at her, marveling at this moment, not quite believing it.
"Katie," he whispered, letting his other hand travel up to her face. She leaned into the caress, a smile on her face.
"You came back," she whispered, and let go of his hand, slowly lowering her chest onto his and pressing her lips to his.
Her touch was gentle, as though he was breakable. Ned kissed her back, pouring every ounce of passion into the response, letting his mouth fall open beneath hers, and letting his hands drift down, to her shoulders, to rest there and feel them solid beneath his hands.
His tongue reached out to tangle with hers and she gasped, and Ned pulled back, afraid he'd gone too far but Katie was already moving forward, her tongue slipping into his mouth, making him moan, and he heard Katie's earthy gasp in return, a sound that awoke many more feelings in him.
She was shifting forward, moving to straddle his waist, her skirts riding up.
He could feel her legs tight against him, as she bent over him, lips meeting his, her long hair creating a curtain over their faces, sheltering them from the world.
Ned shifted up, pushing himself to a seated position, needing more control over the embrace. Katie slid down, landing on his arousal, and they both gasped, breaking away, staring at each with wide eyes.
He thought that she'd back away. Maybe he even hoped she would, feeling scared that he'd ruin this somehow.
"Is this how it's supposed to feel?" She murmured, running her hands up his arms, to his face, letting her hips settle onto him, making him moan.
"What, Katie?" He whispered, moving his face nearer to hers, almost capturing her lips.
"Love," Katie whispered back, the obvious joy in her voice startling and pleasing him. "I love you."
"I love you, Katherine Gregory," he managed to say.
Their lips met again, hungry and eager, battling each other now, trying to pleasure the other more than they were being pleasured.
He let his hand slip down, to her waist, and his other hand fell there too, as if drawn. He slid them down, massaging, and then up, daring to cup her breasts.
She gasped as he did so, arching into the touch. Her dress was green, ruffled, with buttons up the back.
As Ned touched her, feeling the weight of her breasts, trying to locate her nipple through the layers, she arched her back, bringing them nearer, and he realized that she was unbuttoning her dress.
His hands joined her there, aiding her in undoing the tiny buttons, until he was able to peel the dress down til it sat at her waist and she was there, free and proud, in a thin white chemise and corset.
Ned leaned forward, his mouth falling to touch her chest, kissing the skin there, feeling drunk on her embrace.
She was moving her hands all over him, clinging to his head, grasping at his back.
He edged the neckline of her chemise down, rolling it over her shoulders.
She made a little sigh in the back of her throat as her nipples were revealed, and Ned stared at the dusky, hard little tips that only seemed to draw him closer; as though they called his name.
He reached behind her and started to pull her laces out, trying to free her even more, until the corset fell away.
She gasped as he did so, breathing hard, raising her glorious breasts higher and they slipped from the chemise's fragile hold on them.
Her gaze darkened as she looked at him looking at her. He leaned to press a kiss to one; the other, and then he tasted her nipples, feeling like he'd die from the intense pressure he was feeling.
She suddenly pulled back, shoving at the material gathered at her waist. "I want to get out of this," she said, meeting his gaze. "All of it."
She moved farther, her gaze traveling his body. "And I feel like you're wearing far too many clothes."
"Where are we?" He suddenly asked, realizing his surroundings.
"My father's cabin, no one is going to come in," Katie said, jumping from the bed and going to the door, slamming a bolt into place. "Especially not now."
She was being too bold, surprising Ned, he'd surely think of her as loose, like she did this with every cabin boy who kidnapped her.
And then he was peeling his shirt over his head and she wasn't thinking about that anymore. She was thinking about the utter perfection of his muscled arms and back; the way his chest and stomach seemed to ripple with each movement he made.
She shoved her dress down, wiggling it over her hips, taking the chemise with it and she was only in her bloomers now.
Did she dare?
She hooked her thumbs in the fabric at her waist, waiting for Ned to look up again.
He did, his mouth falling open at the sight she made. And then he stood up, leaving the bed, and walked to her.
His arms around her felt like coming home. Being in his embrace, after so long not in it, made her feel like she was coming alive after being dormant for a very long time.
He was hard, everywhere, and all around her. He was moving his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere.
And then he slid the bloomers over her hips, falling to his knees before her as he did so, until his mouth was at the thatch of curls covering her entrance.
She stared down at him, unsure of what came next. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and promising.
His hands were on her derriere, cupping her there, pulling her to him, and then he stood up, swinging her into his arms and placing her on the bed.
She propped herself up on her arms as he started to undress the rest of the way, shoving his trousers down over his slim hips.
And he was revealed to her.
She lived on a ship, and over the years that had been incidents, times when the sailors had gone swimming and not kept properly clothed. She had...seen things.
But nothing so grand as Ned's.
She hadn't known they could be so large, or so firm.
She whimpered a little as he climbed onto the bed beside her, and he looked at her, worried.
"I won't be too big," he whispered. "I promise."
"I'm not worried about that, I was just admiring you," she said.
She reached out, unable to help herself, bringing him into her hands. He moaned aloud, pulsing in her hand.
She licked her lips, running her hands over him.
"Katie," he whispered.
"Will it feel good?" She asked him, as he lay her back on the bed.
"It will," he said, flushing a little. "I think. The girls...I've been with a few before and...they liked it."
She nodded, feeling very young.
He breathed in, and started to move her legs apart.
"What are you doing now?" She whispered.
"It'll be easier for you if you're more...prepared," he said.
And then he bent his head and placed his mouth inside her.
She almost screamed from the sensation, unable to believe how good this felt, nor how he just seemed to touch something and it shattered her, brought her closer, until she was bucking against him.
"You're so wet," he gasped, pulling away. "So ready."
She nodded, twisting on the bed, seeing him poised to enter her, and pushed herself up to meet him.
It did hurt. There was a pinch and she frowned, this didn't feel right.
And then something moved, changed. There was pain...and then there wasn't.
Then it was just Ned, moving inside her, filling her, like there had been a hole in her all along, just waiting for Ned to come along.
He shifted, pulling out a little and she shook her head. "Go in farther," she gasped. "Please."
He only nodded, concentrating hard.
"Faster," she gasped, pushing her against him, and whimpering from the sensations that brought.
He was grunting, trying, shifting on her, in her. "I'm so close," he whispered. "You?"
"I don't know," she said.
He nodded, bringing his hands down, and suddenly his fingers were there too, probing inside.
He touched that place again. Probed it, pinched it.
And then she shattered, and he grunted, spilling into her.
He pulled out of her, bringing her into his arms, holding her close. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her brow. "You have no idea how much."
