Andrea realized, a bit too late, how long it had been since she'd peeked in on Ned and Katie. She headed to the kitchens to fetch broth for Katie to give to Ned, wondering if he had woken up yet. Poor boy.
She wondered what Katie had done. She hoped that the girl hadn't done something foolish if Ned had woken up.
Flaherty and Delia were still in the kitchens, looking far too close for Andrea to feel comfortable with, especially considering what she'd heard about Melinda's actions on deck.
Delia was most definitely neglecting her duties and Andrea wasn't sure how she felt about that. Melinda could have been kidnapped or worse earlier and Delia wouldn't even have known until later.
Andrea got the broth without saying anything. It wasn't her place. And who was she to judge, when she hadn't seen her own charge in hours? Leaving her alone with a man?
Andrea picked up her pace, feeling her heart beat uncomfortably. She had a sudden foreboding that she'd only find trouble in the cabin.
She pressed onward, reaching the door and suddenly Jamison was there, blocking her way. "Andrea," he greeted, voice booming. "Have you come back to deliver the meal?"
"Yes," Andrea said, trying to step around him but he folded his arms and stood his ground, stubborn.
"I expected you earlier," Jamison said.
"Well, let me through so I can make up for that," Andrea said.
Jamison cleared his throat. "Andrea, I…"
"What?" She asked impatiently.
His gaze swept over her before sighing and stepping aside. "Never mind," he said.
She tried the door and it swung open.
Ned was in bed, sleeping, it appeared, and Katie was sitting in the chair beside it, looking a bit rumpled but most definitely clothed.
Andrea felt a lingering suspicion but dismissed her fears. Katie was a smart girl. She'd never do something foolish.
Melinda spent the rest of her time tending to others in need of care, washing cuts and bruises, binding wounds and administering the meagre amounts of real medicine...most men made do with whisky or rum, taking it to dull the pain.
Night fell and she wandered back to Captain Clancy's cabin, barely realizing that she'd fallen back to calling him that.
Jamison was outside the cabin, arms crossed. "I was wondering when you'd be coming back," he said. "He needs someone to sit with him tonight, in case he stops breathing."
Melinda's heart jumped unpleasantly.
"I'd rather it was someone who'd actually pay attention; I most obviously can't trust Flaherty to that job, and Bobby is on duty," Jamison said. "As am I. There are some nasty clouds up ahead and I'll need to steer the ship out of them."
He looked at her. "Are you willing to stay with him tonight?" He asked, voice gentle.
She nodded, not daring to speak.
He opened the door and she crept into the room. It was dark, lit by a single lantern hung over Captain Clancy's bed.
"The desk chair is nailed to the floor, so you can't move it nearer to the bed," Jamison said. "But since it is so dark, you need to be closer to watch him."
"I can sit on the floor," Melinda said, walking forward with soft footsteps.
He nodded. "Let me know if anything changes," he cautioned and slipped from the cabin, closing the door firmly behind him.
Melinda settled onto the floor, sitting on her legs. Captain Clancy was still just laying there, so still that she feared he'd already passed. The blankets covered him and it was too hard to detect the sound of him breathing so she pulled the blankets back a little, now able to watch the rise and fall of his chest.
He had so many scars, she reflected. There was the new one on his right arm, and there were some farther down on his stomach that she couldn't see right now. There was right on his left chest, though, long and nasty looking.
She again pressed her fingers to the white skin there, the proof that he'd healed, that he'd survived. It was ugly but it was beautiful, all at the same time. It was proof that he was living, breathing, surviving.
She momentarily flattened her hand on his chest, feeling him breathe, and then settled back onto the floor, leaning her head on the bed. She could see the rise and fall of his chest; she could almost hear him breathe over the slapping of waves against the ship.
It was peaceful. Peaceful and dark.
She was nodding off, she realized, and she didn't want to. She had to stay awake to watch him.
Her neck was starting to hurt and she tried to switch positions but there were none that were even remotely more comfortable.
And she couldn't see him as well.
She glanced at the door behind her, feeling that hours had gone by, and her neck was aching even more.
She carefully moved onto the bed, climbing over him to curl into his left side, not wanting to jostle his right arm. His arm was in the way so she pulled it over her, and laid an arm across his chest.
It lifted with each inhale and dropped with each exhale.
She felt confident that she'd notice if he stopped breathing now. And she let herself sleep.
Dawn came, and Melinda stirred, feeling warm and loved, something she hadn't felt since her grandmother's death.
The weight of Captain Clancy's arm was still atop her; her own arm was still across his chest, and neither had moved in the night.
Worry pierced her heart. He was still breathing but he hadn't even rolled over. This wasn't sleep, by any means.
She got off the bed, hurrying outside. The sun was barely lighting the sky and she shivered in the cool morning air.
Jamison was up high, steering the ship, and she clambered up the steps to where he was.
"Did something happen?" He asked.
"Nothing," she replied. "He is still breathing, and still unconscious. But he didn't even shift during the night. It's not like any sleep I've ever seen and I'm afraid."
"It isn't sleep," Jamison said, a frown on his face. "Not really. I've seen this happen before. Sometimes men wake up. Sometimes they don't. The only thing we can do is wait."
Melinda nodded, feeling her heart jump in her chest. "Should I change the bandages on his arm and head?" She asked and Jamison nodded.
"Wait for me," he said. "I'll help you this time."
She nodded. "I'm going to change my clothes," she said. "My dress is…" She let the words trail off.
"I'll send someone to watch him," Jamison promised, eyes softening as he looked at her. "You don't need to worry."
"Thank you," she whispered.
He lay a huge hand on her shoulder. "It is I who should thank you," he said. "You saved my captain's life, and probably mine too. I don't know how or why but things would have turned out much differently yesterday had you not intervened with Payne. And I'm not approving of your actions there, I don't know how you could even tell what was happening but the fact remains that...you are an astounding woman. And I need to thank you for it."
She nodded, feeling tears in her eyes. "I'd do it over again," she whispered. "Even with a different outcome."
Jamison nodded, sober. "What did Payne say to you?" He asked.
She just shook her head, looking out at the sea, and Jamison nodded, turning back to the wheel.
Melinda took a sponge bath, asked Andrea to help her with her hair since Delia was nowhere in sight.
In return, she helped Andrea with Katie's aunt, feeding her while Andrea rested.
Bobby was with Captain Clancy; she'd checked on that after dressing, and then come back to return Andrea's favor.
They were both a little quiet, subdued, worried. Andrea left often to check on Katie and Ned, and she was quickly growing impatient with how Jamison was making everyone leave them alone, fretting over what the two could be doing without a chaperone.
Melinda was merely envious of them.
She was in another cotton dress, a very light pink that was almost white, and she looked down at the barely sleeping Andrea. The woman worked so very hard. Melinda hated that she wasn't recognized or paid for her work. It didn't make sense.
"You can leave us now," Andrea whispered. "Go see your Captain."
Melinda smiled in spite of herself at the words, patting Andrea's shoulder. "He's not my captain," she said.
"His life is yours," Andrea said. "He owes it to you. So yes, he is your captain."
"Sleep well," Melinda told Andrea, rubbing her new friend's back a little more, trying to soothe the stressed woman. "Mrs. Lockport is fine and I'll talk to Katie."
"Thank you," Andrea whispered, and reached to grab Melinda's hand for a moment, squeezing it. "Thank you."
Melinda suspected that Katie and Ned were, indeed, losing some control, since after her knock she heard some distinct rustlings, and the sound of something falling; or Katie jumping from the bed.
She looked very rumpled when she opened the door; flushed. Her lips looked red and tender. Melinda knew that look.
"Is Ned feeling better?"
"Very well indeed," Katie gasped.
"I am," Ned nodded. "And my cap'n?"
Melinda sighed, stepping into the cabin. "He hasn't woken up yet," she told him.
He looked down, a bit shamefaced. "Can I see him?"
"You're still injured yourself," Melinda said. "Katie, I could stay with Ned if you need to change or bathe."
"I'm fine," Katie insisted, tugging at her green dress.
Melinda didn't miss the way Ned's eyes followed the younger woman.
"I'll just go, then," Melinda murmured, slipping from the cabin, knowing that she wasn't quite needed or welcome there currently.
Bobby was slipping from Captain Clancy's cabin as she approached it. "Oh, good," he said upon spying her. "My stomach is begging me for food. Could you stay with him?"
She nodded fiercely, slipping inside the cabin, approaching his bedside.
He was definitely still sleeping. It looked like Bobby had changed the bandages, and she felt guilty that she hadn't returned in time to do it herself; she felt jealous of him over the task.
Why hadn't her captain woken up yet?
Melinda pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling a sob well up, trying to keep control. She hadn't risked her life only for him to lose his in this manner. He had to wake up.
There was a chair next to the bed now; Bobby had probably grown tired of sitting on the floor.
Melinda perched there, on the edge of the seat, reaching out so she could take Captain Clancy's hand, feel the pulse present there, the proof of his beating heart present there in his wrist.
And she waited.
The day passed. He didn't stir.
Melinda's heart seemed to break more by the hour.
When Jim woke up, he felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. There was an immediate feeling of doom, grief, heartbreak.
Melinda was gone. Payne had taken her. She'd sacrificed herself for all of them and he had no idea why. He kept his eyes closed tight, processing all that had happened.
It had to be because she felt...something for him. If she had been doing for Ned's sake, why would she put herself between Jim and Payne's sword tip?
He remembered the feel of her, the weight of her body perched on his chest, the view he'd gotten of her hips, narrowing to her waist, and the feel of her hand on his mouth as she'd silenced him.
The feel of her finger in his mouth. The taste of her. How she'd reacted to that.
And the look on her face, when she turned back to him and said his name, Jim.
His name. Not Captain Clancy. Jim.
It had to mean something. She wasn't trying to escape them, she couldn't have been.
He opened his eyes, trying to sit up, his head pounding; right arm aching.
"Whoa, lay back down," came the rumble of Jamison's voice.
"How long have I been asleep?" He asked.
"I wouldn't call it sleep," Jamison said, arms folded. "Almost two days."
Jim turned to Jamison, his eyesight a little blurry but getting better. "Are we following Payne? Did you pursue his ship?"
"No," Jamison said simply.
"You left Melinda to that bastard?" Jim shouted, throwing the blankets back and discovering that he wasn't really wearing anything.
"No," Jamison said, shoving Jim back onto his back on the bed, pulling the blankets back up.
"Then did you rescue her from him?" Jim asked, incredulous.
"No," Jamison said.
"Then what the devil happened?" Jim said, voice shaking.
"She rescued herself," Jamison said. "And everyone on the ship. You were knocked out, Payne sent his men back, and then he spoke to Miss Gordon. No one heard what he said, but he shoved her away onto the deck and then just left."
Jim stared at Jamison, trying to process this. "You mean...Melinda is still on board."
"Yes, Miss Gordon is still on board," Jamison said.
Jim tried to breathe, but was finding it more than a little difficult. Jamison offered him a glass and Jim took it, downing it, choking once he realized it was rum and not water as he'd thought.
The rum helped though, burning a hole through him and clearing his mind.
"Where is she?" Jim asked.
"Right now?" Jamison replied. "I believe she'll be sleeping. It's almost midnight."
Jim leaned back on the bed, bringing his hands up to his face, wincing a little at the pain in his arm. "Another scar," he said softly, knowing that this one would not have the same emotional residue. Not at all. If things were as he thought, this might be a scar he'd celebrate.
"Indeed," Jamison chuckled.
"Why did she do it?" Jim asked, voice raw.
"Miss Gordon keeps her own counsel," Jamison replied.
"But it has to mean that…" Jim stared at Jamison. "That she loves me."
Jamison shrugged. "It is true that I cannot think of something else that would cause her to throw herself beneath Payne's sword."
"What happened to me?" Jim asked.
"Payne had his men hit you, and this is the first time you've woken up," Jamison said. "Miss Gordon did an admirable job taking care of your wounds and watching you your first night."
"What?" Jim said, feeling his eyes widening, and a crushing feeling of disappointment. He'd missed her tending to him? He could only imagine it, and even that vision was so sweet he almost lost all control.
Her bending over him, hair in his face, tending his arm...he wasn't wearing a shirt.
She'd seen his scars.
That thought sobered him somewhat.
"She's an excellent nurse," Jamison said, his voice a bit smug, as though he knew exactly what his words were doing to Jim. "We had thought...feared you wouldn't wake up. She was constantly at your side from last night until tonight, when Delia forced her to sleep in her own bed."
Where had she slept last night, then? In the chair where Jamison was sitting right now?
My god, why hadn't he woken then?
"Ned," Jim said, licking his dry lips.
"He is also recovering nicely from his head wound," Jamison said. "Miss Gregory has excellent needlework."
"Needlework... " Jim said, voice trailing off, reading between the lines. "And he is uninjured besides that?"
"Yes, the battle was short enough, I suppose, that there were no casualties," Jamison said. "Captain Gregory has reclaimed control but his crew and our crew are working together admirably."
"Good," Jim breathed. "That's good."
He needed to think about this, process it all.
"Could you...do you need to be sitting there?" Jim asked. "I don't need to be watched anymore, do I?"
Jamison chuckled. "Impatient, aren't we?"
"Can I get up?" Jim asked.
"You're the doctor, you tell me," Jamison said.
"Then go away," Jim said, getting out of bed as Jamison left and pulling on a pair of trousers. Surely Melinda hadn't been the one to remove that piece of clothing, he hoped, walking about the cabin, needing fresh air.
What he needed was to see Melinda and he knew he wouldn't lose this restless energy until he did.
He opened his door, slipping out onto deck, seeing that Jamison was nowhere in sight and only idly wondering where he was.
He'd never learned what exact cabin Melinda's was.
He wondered what she slept in. He wondered what she'd look like right now; would her hair be up, showing off her neck, or fanned out on the pillow beneath her head?
Why had she saved his life?
His heart seemed to pound to the words and he was terrified at the possibilities the answer to that question held.
The night was still and quiet. He looked around himself at the world, at his world, at the ship that wasn't his but had become his.
He walked back to his cabin, slowly, legs feeling stiff from disuse.
He stood in the middle of it, seeing the new chair by the bed, trying to picture Melinda sitting there.
He wanted...so much...he wanted her there now. He needed to speak to her. He needed proof that she was alive, that she was there, that she was his.
Because otherwise, why would she have done what she did?
He moved back to the bed; though he hadn't woken in, what, two days, he still felt exhausted. As Jamison had warned, it wasn't really sleep that had kept Jim from waking.
He slipped back into bed, rubbing his hand over his forehead.
The door to the cabin creaked open and he turned his head slowly, to see if Jamison had returned.
There were whisper soft footsteps, and he gasped.
Melinda was standing there in the doorway.
He really hoped he wasn't dreaming right now.
Notes:
BTW, I don't want anyone to think that I hate Delia. Because I adore her, I really do. And her not quite paying attention to Melinda is supposed to be because she's experiencing her own love story now and not because she's a jerk or something.