Moonlight on the Caribbean
Chapter Nine
He still remembered the first time he saw her. Sunlight reflected off her dark curls, riotous even in the severe chignon, and made them shine the rich shades of autumn. The brisk fall breeze made her cheeks glow with cold, and some hidden secret made her eyes sparkle even brighter. He found himself wanting to know what made that soft smile cross over her face. He found himself wanting to know everything about her. In the company of two dour-looking elderly matrons, she was the radiant vision of youth and loveliness. Her eyes met his, and in that moment of silent communion, they knew their fates were forever linked.
It didn't take long for Viscount John Black to learn the identity of this foreign visitor to his rural English county or to discover the reason she had been sent. Isabella Toscano was the worst possible calamity to befall a notorious and powerful crime family—a girl with a conscience and a pure heart. Afraid her strong views on right and wrong might interfere with the family business, she was sent to live with a distant cousin in a remote English village, where she would be kept safe from all trouble.
But the rebellious spirit could not be quenched by a mere change in location. For within a year of her removal from home, the wayward Isabella had written home to announce her disavowal of the Catholic faith, her baptism into the Anglican church, and her upcoming marriage to an English lord by the name of John Black—all of which was done without her family's consent and in direct opposition to everything she'd been raised to believe.
John smiled at the memory of his fiery Italian love. One who knew her less might well suspect she had done all this to spite her family, but such a person could not be more wrong. Isabella had loved her family and grieved for her estrangement from them, but she had followed her heart always. Her spirit told her John was the only man she would ever love, and nothing could deter her from being by his side. That same inner guide had been repulsed by the blatant corruption of the Catholic church in its interference in matters of state and had sought out a faith based less in the affairs of this world and more with the next. She was one of the most devout Christians John had ever met. His own faith seemed paltry in comparison.
"Have faith," his IzzyB would say whenever the troubles of life got too much for him. He would look deeply into her eyes, great pools of love, and he would be able to believe. As long as he had her, he could believe that all the world would turn out right, that there was a God who loved him, that there was a purpose to his life. Even if that purpose was simply to love her all his days, it would be more than enough.
He didn't believe anymore. That tenuous faith was ripped from him the day he saw his wife and son—the love and light of his life—plunge beneath the cold ocean waves, never to rise again. That memory still tortured him every moment of the day, waking or sleeping. He could still remember blindly reaching out through the storm for any sign of them. He could still hear her last words. Like a whisper, they had come to him, though she must have shouted to be heard above the torrential rain and swirling waves.
"Have faith."
"What was that, Your Lordship?" Brady asked, as John unconsciously mouthed the words. He had been watching his father for a long time, while John sat with closed eyes, a hundred emotions playing across his face. More than anything, he wanted to know what thoughts came to John in his imprisonment. Did he think of Belle in the cabin a few decks above? Or his wife back home in England? Or did he perhaps remember the firstborn he had lost and the woman who had borne him? The same woman who had cried out for him with her last breath.
John started back to the present the moment the pirate spoke. A mask of steel descended over his features as he hid his emotions, a mask more impenetrable than the physical one the boy in front of him donned. "I said have faith," he returned coldly.
The captain literally jumped, and the expressive blue eyes behind the mask became momentarily clear. The viscount noticed the visible reaction of his captor. "Is there something wrong, Captain?"
Brady willed himself to relax, to be as guarded in his words and actions as his father was in his. After all, the words could mean nothing. And even if they did indicate a connection to his mother, he still had a role to play. "Not at all," he smoothly replied. "I was simply wondering about your choice of words. What do you have faith in?"
"His Majesty's Royal Navy, for one," John shot back without a moment's hesitation. "I have faith you'll be caught and hanged for your crimes."
Brady laughed and offered a mocking bow. "Anything to please, Your Lordship."
John eyed the insolent young man speculatively. "You are an enigma, Captain. I don't care for enigmas."
"I'm sorry you're vexed, m'lord, but I can hardly change who I am to suit your whim. What kind of man would I be then?" There was a sardonic edge to Brady's speech, planned perfectly to goad on the older man.
John arched an eyebrow at the captain's repartee. "I almost have trouble believing the stories I've heard about you."
Brady laughed again. The sound was cold, harsh, and brittle. "Whoever believes everything they hear is a fool. I have trouble believing you're such a man, m'lord."
"Well said," John returned approvingly. "You could perhaps clear up these misconceptions by explaining who you really are. What is your history?"
Brady shrugged, automatically tensing. "Not one which would live up to the legend, I dare say. What is it again? Ah, yes. I was branded by the Spanish, and it blackened my heart. A nice summation, though highly figurative, of course."
Lord Black marveled at the pirate's cavalier attitude. He was nothing like the ruthless murderer he had been expecting. "Lofty words for a pirate. You strike me as an educated man, Captain. May I ask about your upbringing?"
Brady weighed the options in his mind, before deciding to speak a little, to see if John showed any signs of recognition. He had to know what, if anything, his father knew about what happened to his mother and himself. "Very well, Your Lordship. If you must know, I was raised in a Spanish monastery."
"What? How can that be?" John looked at the man across from him in a new light. He saw the burning rage in his cold blue eyes and felt hidden there was a world of pain as well.
The blue eyes didn't waver as Brady continued. "Quite simply. My mother was a prisoner of the Inquisitors. They kept her locked up and tortured in a dungeon cell, while I was upstairs learning my catechism. Ironic, no?"
John was appalled and suddenly pitied the bitter young man in front of him. Something about him struck a chord deep in his heart. "What happened to her?" he choked. "Your mother, I mean."
"What happens to all heretics?" Brady spat. "They killed her. Not immediately, of course. They are merciful, after all, the Spanish. They gave her time to repent. Years and years of time, half-starved and whipped for her sins. The rack is a marvelous example of Spanish engineering. The English could take a hint or two from them on what to do with us pirates."
"And that's why you became one," John concluded.
Brady nodded once, curtly. "I heard her screams," he whispered, barely aware of John's presence as he was lost once again in the memory that haunted him. "I heard her, but they wouldn't let me go. Three priests held me back, but I broke free. I ran down. I knew the way. I would sneak down late at night, just to be near her. But that day…she was…" His voice trailed off with a horror too deep for words, before he roused himself in a voice of quivering anger. "And I swore on her grave that I would make them pay for what they did to her. And so I shall. Every last one." His hand unconsciously strayed to his sword hilt.
John stared at this man lost in a sea of pain so deep as to make his own seem bearable and thanked God his own son had been spared such a fate.
~~*~~
"Dear God, when will it end?" Belle groaned weakly from the cot as the ship hit yet another wave. The storm that had come upon them late that afternoon had brought her seasickness back with an even greater fury.
Mimi and Chloe exchanged worried glances over Belle's head. Added to her already emotional state, this sickness seemed more frightening than the last. She appeared small and insignificant lying in her chemise and covered only with blankets. Her head lolled back and forth as she struggled to make it to the chamber pot before another round of heaving came upon her. She was flushed with fever, and yet she shivered.
Chloe pulled Mimi over to the other side of the small cabin. "Something is seriously wrong, isn't it?" she asked, correctly reading the anxious look on the normally fearless maid's face.
Mimi nodded, shoving back a lock of hair that had come loose in her tireless attendance of her mistress over the past several hours. "She's spent, my la—Chloe. She had barely begun to recover from her last illness. I don't think she has the strength to fight it again."
Chloe glanced back to the bed, where Belle was writhing in uneasy sleep. "All right," she breathed, trying to remain in control despite her worry for her friend. "Here's what we'll do. You look like you'll be sick yourself if you don't get out of these fetid quarters soon." Seeing Mimi about to object, she rushed on. "Not that I don't feel the same, but you took care of her the entire time she was sick on the Dolphin, never left her side for a moment. So now, I'll issue my one and only order to you, Mimi. Get out. Get some air. Get some sleep. Whatever you need. You can relieve me in the morning."
"No way," Mimi retorted instantly, crossing her arms defiantly and not caring about her insolence to a superior. In cases like this, station in life didn't count for much. "First of all, I promised Lord Black I would take care of her, so there is no way I would leave her now. Add to that: how much experience do you have with treating invalids?" Chloe's bowed head was all the answer she needed. "See? Belle needs me."
Chloe sighed in defeat. "You win, Mimi. I don't have the strength to argue with you now. But please, at least take a minute to get some air. I promise I'll do the same as soon as you get back. This foul room can't be good for our health." She wrinkled her nose as she said it, adding credence to her statement.
Mimi nodded her agreement. "We can relieve that a little though. I'll take the pot up with me and empty it now, while Belle's sleeping. It should relieve the stench a bit."
Chloe acquiesced, and the two girls went to work. Chloe resumed her position by Belle's side, sponging wet cloths over her in an effort to bring down the fever. Mimi hesitated for a moment, her eyes caressing her mistress with concern, before picking up her load and exiting the cabin.
~~*~~
He didn't mean to end up outside the cabin. Lost in his thoughts, his feet took him there of their own accord. He tried to convince himself it was simply habit. After all, it was his cabin. His path had nothing to do with the goddess inside. It had nothing whatsoever to do with his vague notion that she was the only one who could comfort him and heal his lifelong pain.
It wasn't the someone in his thoughts, but an entirely different feminine body that collided with him as he was rounding the corner. She managed to balance the bucket she carried and right herself, quite a feat considering the rocking of the boat in the storm. The auburn-haired maid gave another start as she looked up and her eyes collided with those of the dread pirate Blackheart of whom she'd heard such fearsome tales. With a small gasp of surprise, she backed up and curtsied awkwardly before him, carefully averting her gaze. "Captain."
Brady frowned. He had yet to have a single experience with the girl who had been the cause of such controversy between his father and his first mate. Come to think of it, Jason had taken a rather protective interest in the maid since the moment they had boarded the Dolphin. For an instant, he debated mentioning the subject to his friend but decided against it. His own behavior with Lady Wesley would bear little scrutiny. "Mistress," he bowed in return. He didn't add her name. He honestly couldn't remember it.
Mimi sensed that but took it as a good sign. The further she was from the captain's scrutiny, the safer she would feel. "I beg your pardon," she added, hoping he would take the hint and let her continue on her way. Instead, the pirate continued to stare at her in a perplexed manner, as if she was a puzzle he had to decipher. She felt her face flame with an unpleasant embarrassment, far from the strange but sweet sensations Jason's looks afforded her.
"Is something wrong, Mistress?" Brady asked finally. She had lines of worry upon her young face, and she looked hassled and frightened.
Mimi's head shot up, her green eyes locking once more with his deep blue ones. How could he know? The pirate was far too observant about people for her own comfort. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, Captain. My mistress is ill, that is all."
The blue eyes flamed, and Brady approached her, grabbing her arms. "Lady Wesley?" he demanded.
Mimi tensed the moment he touched her. She felt vulnerable when faced with his menace…and yet she sensed something else in him too. Something remarkably like fear. "No, Captain. Lady Black."
Brady abruptly let her go but reeled backwards, as if he'd been struck. "Isabelle," he murmured to himself. "Is she all right? What's the matter?"
"She will be fine, I hope, Captain," Mimi said, bewildered at the strange emotions the pirate was expressing. "She was seasick before on the Dolphin. It eventually went away, but…"
"But what?"
Mimi bit her lip before continuing, afraid to voice her deepest fear. "She is still so weak. I worry…I worry she will not be able to weather this storm." Captain Blackheart turned away, obscuring even what little she could see of his face. She heard him inhale sharply and wondered not for the first time what secrets this man carried with him.
Without turning back, Brady spoke to her, in a voice of deadly calm. "Your mistress will not die. I will return." He walked away without so much as another word.
Mimi frowned, watching him go. "He's a strange man," she mumbled, before shoving him out of her thoughts. She had been gone from Belle too long, and she had yet to even make it to the deck. Fighting her way against the rolling of the ship, she climbed the ladder and entered the biting rain. The cold, harsh wind felt like heaven on her fevered face, and she ignored its pull as she struggled to the rail, quickly dispensing of her burden.
She halted a few moments, letting the cool liquid wash away her stress for a moment. The swells of the ocean rose about the Vengeance, and yet she wasn't afraid. She could see the crew rushing about, all so sure in their duties. They were safer aboard this ship than they would have been on any merchant vessel in the Caribbean. She felt only a serene calm settle over her in the midst of the wild storm. As the water drenched her thick Spanish gown, making it even heavier, she felt her spirit grow light. Something about the sea called to her, telling her she was under its protection.
Reluctantly, and only when Belle's face surfaced in her memory, Mimi turned to make her way below deck, the now empty bucket still clutched in her hand. She fought her way back to the hatch and stumbled down the stairs. It was only once she had reached the end of the first passageway she became aware of someone following her. Her heart in her throat, she listened to the sound of footsteps. They sounded threatening, unlike the steady gait of both Jason and the captain.
Forcing herself to remain in control, she continued on, afraid to look behind her and confirm her suspicions. If she could only make it to the cabin, she would be safe. Only two more passages to safety. She wished she had brought a lamp to guide her along the dark path. There was a lamp outside the cabin door, but the rest of the way was black. She had learned to feel her way along the passages, but she was suddenly aware of taking a wrong turn.
To turn back would mean confronting her stalker, if such he was, and she couldn't bring herself to do that. She could only pray that the way she had chosen would lead her right eventually. She stumbled along, becoming increasingly disoriented as she took first one turn and then another. Unbidden, a cry of fright rose inside her, but she squashed it down. Better not to alert the man that she was aware of his presence.
One last turn brought her to an impasse. She felt in vain for a way out. Only solid wood met her fingers. The footsteps behind her grew louder. Summoning all her resolve, she turned to meet this threat head-on. Within moments, a tall, burly man stood before her. She could see no more than the vaguest outline in the blackness. But she could smell on him the reek of alcohol and sweat. He was breathing heavily, and his breath was foul, causing her to cringe.
There was no way around him, and she clutched the bucket tightly in her hands. It was the only weapon she had. "Who are you?" she demanded, hoping her voice didn't shake.
"Never you mind that, honey," the man leered, coming even closer to her. His hands reached for her, but she pushed even further back into the wall. "No need to be like that, girl. We're only gonna have some fun. You'll like it, you'll see." This time, Mimi had no place to hide as his hands reached out to grab her arms in a way that made her wish she was still being interrogated by Captain Blackheart.
"Don't touch me," she ordered, managing to find some small measure of authority in her voice as she tried to slip out of his drunken gasp. "Your captain ordered that we were to be unharmed. I have a feeling you would not want to risk his displeasure."
The man laughed as his hands began roving over her, his large form pinning her to the wall. "Cap'n don' mind much of anythin' lately. Too busy with that prisoner o' his. And that high-born wench. Mighty hard time he'd have tellin' us not to touch, when he's takin' some for hisself. I had enough o' it, I say. A pretty lass like you makes a man's fear kinda melt away."
And then his mouth was trying to claim hers, as his big, greasy hands ripped and grabbed at her clothing. Mimi pushed down her revulsion and tried to focus on getting away. This wasn't the first time she'd been accosted by a drunken sailor, and it wouldn't be the last. She knew how to take care of herself. The moment he abandoned his grip on her, presumably to drop his own pants, she swung out with the bucket, colliding with his ribs and being rewarded by a grunt of pain.
"You bitch!" he howled. "I'll make you—"
But whatever he was going to make her, he never got the chance. While he was still recovering from her first blow, Mimi raised her knee and made direct contact with his groin. Cursing, he doubled over, and Mimi ran past him, intent on escape. She might have made it had she not tripped over her own voluminous skirts. She scrambled for her feet, but strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back towards her attacker. With a cry of fury, he pummeled her back to the ground, his fist making contact with her cheekbone.
Mimi screamed, seeing her only chance in rescue now, but he quickly silenced her as a hand clamped over her mouth. She felt his solid body lower on top of her and tried to think of a way to fight back. She had none. He was just too strong. As his mouth railed curses down on her, spitting venom beyond his mere breath, his other hand had made its way beneath her many layers of clothing and was shoving them back.
"This coulda been good," he told her, as he pulled down his breeches. "Now, I gotta show you who's boss."
"I could have sworn that was me," a droll voice sounded from behind him.
Mimi had never been more grateful for anyone in her life as she was in that moment for Jason Masters. The weight pinning her down was suddenly removed as the pirate got to his feet, awkwardly trying to bring his pants over his obvious erection. Mimi stood and turned away, humiliated and ashamed, as she pushed down her skirts and tried to make some order of her appearance.
"I dinna mean no harm, Jase," the sailor tried desperately to explain. "But a man's got needs, and it ain't nat'ral havin' all these wenches on board and not bein' able to touch 'em. Come on, Masters, you must've tried 'em yourself—"
"Enough!" Jason roared, in a swift move pinning the other man against the wall, his cutlass to the pirate's throat. Mimi felt a slight wave of satisfaction at seeing her assailant so overpowered. "You touch this woman—or any of the others—again, and I will kill you myself. You so much look in her direction, and I will hang you from the yardarm. Not by your toes, but by another, more painful body part." His cruel smile was apparent even in the dim light as his sword lowered momentarily for added emphasis. "You know better than to think I'm joking, Winters."
"Oh, I promise, Masters," the drunken pirate sniveled. Mimi nearly laughed to see him turned into such a coward at a few mere words from Jason. "I won' touch the lady again. No, sir. She's yours, sir. I get it."
"I'm not his!" Mimi's virtue and pride made her interject. "I am no man's to claim."
Jason gritted his teeth at her obstinate nature. "Now is not the time to insert your independence, Mimi," he warned, before turning his full attention back to the wretch before him. "Yes, Winters, she's mine. So you can tell all your friends she is off-limits on pain of death. Understood? She is touched, harmed, or harassed in any way, and the person responsible answers to me."
"Yes, sir. See? No problems with us. No harm done."
"Get lost," Jason sneered, before giving the pirate a shove in the opposite direction of the passageway from Mimi. "And sober up."
"Yes, sir," the man babbled on as he backed up, his hands raised in surrender. "I'm getting' lost. You'll see. I can get lost better than anybody." In a few more seconds, he turned tail and ran.
Traces of silver light drifted through the porthole, as the moon came out from behind a cloud. Jason was illuminated to her for the first time since coming to her rescue. He had turned towards her, and the look on his face was surprisingly gentle.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, though he refrained from stepping towards her. The poor girl had been given enough frights tonight.
"I'm…I'm fine," Mimi stammered, trying to regain her senses. Her heart still pounded in her chest, and she was all too conscious of her flushed cheeks and torn dress. "Thanks to you. If you hadn't come when you did…" She couldn't finish the thought. Tears threatened to spill out of her emerald eyes, brilliant in the moonlight. Her shoulders shook as she tried to suppress her sobs.
Sure now that his interference could not possible make her any more upset than she already was, Jason moved to comfort her. In a few short steps, he had closed the gap between them and wrapped her tightly in his arms. She collapsed against him, strangely unafraid, and let the tears begin to flow. "Shh," he soothed, running a hand through her hair, which had been freed from its upsweep in her struggle with the pirate. He buried his hand in the rich, silky feel of her wet hair and murmured words solace to her. "It's all right, Mimi. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. I'll make sure of it."
Mimi let herself rest in his arms for untold minutes while she cried. She cried for the stress of the past few days, the worry for her mistress, the fear of the night. She cried for a world where men would always feel they had a right to use her. She cried for a life with no rights at all. None of this would be told to Jason, of course. Even if she could have found the words, she would never confide in him. But she felt safe in his embrace, protected from all the harshness of life. Nothing and no one could hurt her while she was in Jason's arms.
Eventually, her sobs quieted, and she pulled back, once again embarrassed. She ruthlessly brushed aside the last few remnants of her tears. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, averting her face.
Jason tipped her chin, cupping her soft skin and forcing her puffy-eyed gaze to his own. "You never have to apologize for the way you feel, Mimi. Not to me. It's all right to be afraid, but you're safe now. No one will bother you the rest of the time you're aboard the Vengeance. I pledge myself for your honor."
She looked up at him in confusion, remembering his words to the pirate Winters. "You claimed me," she spoke, without her earlier anger but with a great deal of confusion. "Why? I mean, what…what does that mean…? Well, I know what it means, but did you mean…? I mean—"
"Mimi, it's all right," Jason reassured her, his hands moving to rest lightly on her shoulders. "I'm sorry if you were offended, but you have to understand the laws of the Brethren to comprehend what that will mean to the rest of the crew. Suffice it to say, no one will touch you again."
"Because they think you are," Mimi finished miserably, shrugging away from his touch. "I'm not a fool, Jason. I know what it means. I just meant…did you really claim me, or was it merely for my protection?"
Jason eyed the girl in front of him, his gaze traveling from her frightened, yet desire-filled eyes down the length of her trembling body and up again to her moist and tempting lips. Despite himself, he couldn't help running his thumb along her bottom lip and seeing the longing deepen in her. Her body was betraying her at his first touch, but still he sensed her trepidation and forced himself to drop his touch. "I will protect you, Mimi. And I will never lay a hand on you until you give me your permission."
Her eyes widened in surprise. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? "I…I, um, I thank you, Jason," she stumbled as she tried to get her equilibrium back. "But I won't…I will never—there are things I would never do, and you, well, you're a pirate. Once I get off this ship, if I get off this ship, I will never see you again. And I won't…I won't be that kind of woman." Her words were hesitant, but her tone was firm as she finished. She had made her choice long ago, and she would not go back on it now, simply because of a pair of strong arms that made her feel safe and a pair of green eyes that made her weak.
~~*~~
Chloe bit her lip as she watched Belle thrash helplessly on the bed, whimpering. She was obviously in the midst of some horrible nightmare, and try as she might, Chloe was unable to wake her. She shoved back her long braid and bent over her gravely ill friend, once again wiping the sweat from her brow. It was all she could do to ease her suffering. She felt so helpless. She wished Mimi would return. Mimi had been right. She wasn't equipped to handle this all by herself.
"Shawn," Belle whispered brokenly. The word sounded more like a sob than anything else.
"It's all right, Belle," Chloe soothed, taking her friend's limp hand in hers. "Shawn's all right. He'll be here as soon as he can. He's coming for you, Belle. Shawn loves you. Just wait for him. You have to wait for him." She wasn't sure if Belle understood or not, but she seemed to sleep quieter after that.
The minutes dragged by like years, and still Mimi did not return. "Where is she?" Chloe mumbled as she paced the small room. Belle seemed to be slipping farther away all the time. Her breathing was shallow, and she didn't even have the strength to move under the bed sheets anymore. "Please, God, let her pull through. Let her get better, Lord. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's my best friend." Chloe felt tears start into her eyes but shoved them back. It wouldn't do for Belle to wake and see her crying.
A pounding on the door brought her a moment of hope. "Mimi?" she cried hopefully as she flung it open. But her welcoming smile abruptly died as she saw it wasn't Mimi on the other side. Her cheeks, on the other hand, visibly flushed, even in the dim light of the lamp.
"Sorry to disappoint, Lady Wesley," came the sardonic response as the captain offered a small bow in greeting. Yet Chloe thought he looked tenser and more serious than she had yet seen him. "I wish to inquire after Lady Black."
"How did you know she was ill?" Chloe demanded, still blocking the doorway. She didn't think Belle would appreciate having the pirate who frightened her so much present at her sickbed.
"Her maid told me, but that is highly unimportant right now. May I see her?" Without waiting for an answer, Brady brushed by her, refusing to notice how appealing she looked by lamplight, her hair and dress a rumpled mess. The untidiness suited her somehow. But he couldn't think of Chloe right now. He had to concentrate on his sister.
It was the first time he had been close to her since the ride to the Vengeance. She looked even frailer now than she had then, and then he had thought of her as porcelain, easily broken. Now, she was on the verge of being shattered. Dismissing Chloe from his consciousness entirely, he knelt beside the thin cot and felt her clammy forehead. He put his head to her chest and listened to her heart and breathing rhythms. "How long has she been like this?"
Chloe watched in utter confusion. What could he possibly be doing? "Um…since the storm mostly. But she hasn't been well for a long time. The sea doesn't agree with her."
A sad smile flashed across the pirate's face for the barest instant before it was gone. "Yes, solid ground for Bella, I think. Shawn will have to rethink his career path."
"Does that mean Belle will be all right?" Chloe asked anxiously, grabbing on to the glimmer of hope in his flippant remark and ignoring all the questions that came with it.
"I wouldn't stop praying, Lady Wesley," he responded, getting back to his feet and turning to face her again. Blue clashed with blue as they tried to discern just how deep the other's concern went for the earthly angel lying on the bed. Finally satisfied, Brady headed for the door. "I need to go to the galley for a moment. I'll be right back. Try to keep her as comfortable as possible until I get back."
Chloe could only stand by in annoyance as Captain Blackheart left with the same flourish he had entered. Like she hadn't been doing that for hours before he showed up? With an impatient stamp of her foot and shake of her head, she turned back to Belle, hardly expecting the pirate to follow through on his promise. Yet only minutes passed before he returned, this time carrying a steaming mug of some foul-smelling brew. "What's that?"
"It will help her, assuming she can keep it down," Brady commented curtly, indicating she should move aside.
Too stunned to do anything but obey, Chloe observed as the masked man sat on the edge of the cot and gently lifted Belle into a semi-sitting position, ignoring her whimper of protest. He settled her back onto his broad chest and carefully spooned out a small portion of the liquid, bringing it to Belle's parched lips. "There's a girl," he encouraged her softly, as she swallowed her first sip. Slowly, each drink a seeming torture, he helped Belle down the strange mixture.
Chloe wearily sank onto the only chair in the room, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her. She continued to watch for some time as the multi-faceted murderer revealed yet another aspect of his personality in his loving attention to her friend. The last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep was his deep, caressing voice as he assured Belle that everything would be all right. And strangely, she knew it would be.
