Twelve: Confessions
In exceptional circumstances, exceptional measures were taken. Horatio gave up his command (briefly) of the Hotspur to Bush, whilst he remained on the Indefatigable in the sick bay with Elizabeth. Her fever had lessened, but she was in considerable amounts of pain, and her wound bled afresh every time the bandages were changed. They had replaced her blood-stained black shirt with a new white shirt, but Horatio couldn't bear the thought of removing the bindings that held her chest. Se slept in a hammock, occasionally dreaming fitfully, but her murmured words were unrecognisable. It was not until Pellew had set a course for Portsmouth that she woke. She was dreaming, confusing, bewildering dreams that frightened her, and she frowned, trying to pull herself away.
…"Horatio!" Her voice echoed hollowly down the long, white corridor. It was eerily quiet. She walked down the corridor until it broke into two. Stopping, she looked around. "Horatio?" She took a step down the left corridor and appeared in a forest…
… "I'm not going to leave –"
"Yes you are, damn you!"…
…The marble fountain was cold beneath her fingers and she could see his faint shadow following her as she moved. He was like a ghost. No, he was a ghost. He stepped backwards, fading into the night, as she reached out desperately for him…
… "I couldn't bear to say goodbye"…
…His lips burned into hers, urging her, tasting her. She tasted blood, and moved away. There was blood on his lips and on his hands. She cried out in horror as he looked down and she followed his gaze – a gaping wound in his stomach, pouring scarlet blood across him…
…Her shoulder seared white-hot, flames of agony writhing over her. She cried out, feeling hot, wet blood pouring forth from the wound. She stumbled, landing in the crook of a tree.
"Oh, Horatio…" She whispered. She wished she could die a hero's death. But, who would notice? Not Horatio…
"Horatio!" She cried out, choking on tears. She could feel movement beneath her, and wondered why the world swung. Forcing her eyes open with a gasp, she saw wooden planks above her, with square patterns of sunlight swaying across them. She looked around, and saw a pair of intense brown eyes, filled with emotion. I must be dead, Elizabeth thought, and those are the eyes of an angel. "Horatio…" She whispered desperately, hoping that he wasn't dead too, as she had dreamed. Suddenly, she felt sharp, throbbing pains in her shoulder, and yelped in anguish. The angel spoke; the voice blurred and incomprehensible, and then she tasted something sharp on her lips. Laudanum… Sleep coaxed her back, drawing darkness like a comforting curtain around her.
He couldn't believe his eyes. She'd woken, her bright blue eyes vaguely fixing on him before Fairweather had given more laudanum for the pain. She had said his name. She surely had said his name. He touched the pendant, hidden underneath his shirt, where it permanently hung around his neck. After removing her gloves, he had found his button tied to a ribbon around her wrist, and it had given him some hope. As her breathing settled again, he looked at the drawn, freckled face. How could it be that someone so young had suffered so much? Her dreams distressed him as much as they did her, and he ached to soothe away her suffering. He reached out and touched her motionless hand, praying for her to be safe. It should have been him in her place – he should have made the last stand. Not a young girl… A hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder, and he looked up.
"Admiral Pellew." He smiled briefly, and turned his gaze back to his vigil. The Admiral looked pained.
"You weren't to know, Horatio."
"I should have recognised –"
"She kept it well-hidden." He took a deep breath and sat down next to the young captain. "She's a brave, strange woman. She kept it hidden from her family; it was easy to deceive us."
"But why? Why would she want to do… this?"
"Only she would be able to tell you that." Pellew rose again and patted him gently. As he began to leave, Horatio spoke again.
"How did you guess, sir?"
"I didn't. I had my suspicions."
"You came to Brest following your instinct?" It surprised him that his commander should follow a whim.
"You would have done the same." There was an irony in his words, and Horatio smiled.
"Aye, sir, I believe I would."
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Elizabeth woke again, her foggy mind clearing as she saw moon shadows on the wooden ceiling above her. She felt the rough cloth of the hammock she lay in swing to the tide. It was night, and silent. She heard footsteps on the planks above her – someone on watch moving to and fro. She didn't want to move, already feeling the dull throb of pain in her shoulder, but she could hear breathing nearby. Slowly she twisted her head to look around, and winced as she felt warm blood seep from her wound. Horatio sat slumped in a chair, his hat and pistol lain in his lap beneath his hands, his head lolling on one shoulder as he slept peacefully. She smiled at the sight. He was so handsome, she thought, so brave and enchanting. His long lashes brushed his cheeks, and his shapely lips were slightly parted. Her heart beat faster, but she felt a crushing ache in her chest, knowing they would never be. She had betrayed him. He would no longer care for her – she doubted if he had ever loved her. She reached a hand up to touch the bandages, and looked down in surprise. She wore a white shirt, with the bandages beneath the cotton. She moved her fingers and touched her cheeks – bare. And her hat was gone, her hair loose over her shoulders. Her heart plummeted. He knew her guise. He knew her secret. He would never trust her again. She had to leave; Elizabeth was overcome with panic at this thought, and hastened to rise, groaning and sinking back down at the sharp jolt of tenderness from her injury. Horatio stirred at the sound, and she froze, blood pounding in her ears, as he settled down again, his hat slipping to the floor. She looked down and saw the flowery scarlet blush of blood on her bandages. She would never move with that. She had to stay, unless… carefully, so as not to move her bad arm, she struggled to an upright position and swung her legs over the edge. Damn, they'd taken her boots. She cast about the room, but she saw no boots. Never mind, Elizabeth decided, standing, she could do without. She approached the window – there was nothing but stretches of sea. They were in the channel. If she just knew whether France or England was nearer, she could make it. She turned, deciding that she would row the opposite way to the ship – she preferred her chances in France. She could assume a new identity… begin again… without the trouble of La Sombra or class-ruled life. Elizabeth tiptoed towards the door, and paused beside Horatio's chair. His breathing was low and gentle. Her heart stung at the thought that she may never see him again. Carefully, she reached out and touched the tips of her fingers on his chin, running them along his lips and cheek.
With a gasp of surprise, Horatio woke, snatching his pistol and jabbing the end into the stomach of his attacker. The silhouette stumbled back from the gun, and with a familiar cry of pain, tripped and landed on the floor, clutching their right arm.
"Elizabeth!" He yelped, realising who he had just assaulted. He fell to his knees next to her, reaching for her. She shied from his hands, her eyes filled with agony. "Oh Lord, I'm so sorry." He saw the blooms of blood across her shoulder and swore loudly. "Sorry." He muttered, realising he'd just cussed in front of a lady. He slowly helped her to her feet. "I'll get the doctor." He darted for the door, but she snatched his arm.
"No." Her voice was pleading. "He'll just give me more laudanum and I can't bear the fogginess anymore." He came back to her side, cautiously cupping her cheek in his hand. She closed her eyes and rested her head into his palm. "Oh Horatio." He could hear her heart breaking in those words.
"You need your wound re-bound." She opened her eyes, and took a step back. He thought she was angry until she answered:
"We can do it."
"Elizabeth…" Now is not the time to be stubborn.
"Please, Horatio. I don't want to go back to sleep again. I can't bear the dreams…" He bit his lip, and nodded slowly. "Thank you. Find the bandages, please." He turned away and opened the drawer where Fairweather kept the rolls of cloth. Picking one up, he turned back around, but froze, his mouth sagging open. She had turned her back on him, and unbuttoned the shirt and taken her arms out, so that it rested around her waist. She had unwrapped the bindings around her chest and discarded them. Her hair fell in a sheet down her smooth, bare back, her face turned sideways on as she carefully untied the bandages on her shoulder, wincing as she did so. Her skin was as smooth as marble and looked as soft as silk, bathed in the milky paleness of the moon, there was a slight curve at the base of her back, and he could see the dip of her spine. Her shoulders were dusted with freckles, and she had two dimples at the bottom of her back. He blushed as he felt a stirring in his groin, and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the feelings the sight caused.
"I… I have the bandages." Elizabeth paused, biting her lower lip, which only caused his staunchness to slip all the more. Oh Lord, this is too sweet a torture! He saw the last of the dirtied bandages slip from her wound, and saw the tear in her flesh, vivid and red and weeping blood. "You will need to bind them. I'll… I'll leave the room." He stretched out his hand, offering the bandages, and modestly looking away.
"Horatio. I can't tie them tight enough." This statement was met with silence. He knew what was coming, and wished it to be so, yet fervently wished that it wouldn't happen. "Look at me." She barely whispered. It took all his willpower, and Horatio looked at Elizabeth. She was facing him now, her eyes wide and trusting. He visibly gulped. "Please." Her small, round breasts were the colour of ivory under the moonlight, her belly smoothed, with the tiniest teardrop-shaped curve below her ribs and hugging her breeches. He opened his mouth, but could make no sound. Forcing his feet to move, he approached her, and saw her blush at his blatant appraisal.
As he started to wind the bandages about her wound, carefully, he saw her jaw tighten in pain. He had to distract her from it… He had to distract himself from her…
"Victoria Taylor doesn't exist, does she?" He asked slowly.
"No. I invented her as an easy excuse to leave."
"How long have you been La Sombra?"
"Two years. Oliver was for the two years before that." Who was Oliver? A lover? He concentrated hard on his task, trying to ignore the smooth shape of her collar as it dipped to her neck, creating a tiny hollow of skin, where he could place his tongue…
"Who is Oliver?"
"He was my best friend…" Her voice cracked, and there was silence. "He was killed in Spain."
"Why did you do it? Why did he do it?"
"I was never sure why he did it. He sometimes took me with him – Samuel, our servant, used to sneak me out of the house, and tell my family that I was suffering from a terrible migraine and wished to be left alone." She gave a short laugh, but hissed as it stabbed her shoulder. He hushed her gently. "When he was killed… I didn't want to carry on. But I couldn't just stop… And then a week later, Henry was killed." He saw her swallow hard, and felt himself lose a little more control. "Mother grieved so hard for him… It was my duty to do something. And so, I started to help the Englishmen. Before, no one ever saw us. But I had to help them – I couldn't let them die like my brother. They had sisters and wives and parents, waiting for them at home. Praying, just as we did for Henry. The Spanish called me La Sombra. The Shadow. It was appropriate, I guess. I never stayed for long. Appearing and disappearing."
"There are records on you. The first sighting was March, two years ago." He added.
"The month after Henry." She paused. He began to tie the bandages tight. "I never stayed for too long. I would have risked my safety. I couldn't die, and leave mother. But then, I also couldn't stay in case I became attached to one of those I helped. Because I knew that they might be saved that time… but the next time I couldn't say if I would get there in time." She looked brazenly up at him, and Horatio decided it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen – a half-naked woman staring at him, her soul laid bare in her eyes. "I made that mistake with you… I got attached. And I almost lost you… so many times; I thought that I would lose you. And then all this…" She trailed away, and looked at her feet. "I guess that losing you physically would have been better than this – better than having to suffer losing you, but knowing I could still see you, still hear you." He had finished with the bandages, but made no move to step back. She thought he had gone – she thought that he no longer cared. How far from the truth! He hooked a finger under her chin, just as he did in the garden that lifetime ago.
"Oh Elizabeth, you have no idea…" He gasped, leaning for her lips. She met him eagerly. "You have no idea…" He couldn't remember what he was meant to say. His hand ran from her chin in a gentle line down her neck and over her collar bone, his thumb touching that little hollow. Dare he… Theirs tongues met, and he felt rather than heard her groan. Her good hand wrapped its fingers around his, and moved his hand lower, until he felt the soft globe of her breast. Her hand moved away leaving his fingers touching her dark pink nipple. He caressed it carefully, eliciting another moan.
"Horatio…" She murmured as his lips moved down her throat, his tongue flicking out into the hollow at the crook of her neck. He felt the curve of her belly and the dip of her belly button with his other hand, until he felt the edge of her breeches and the crumpled shirt. She gasped as he tugged away the shirt. He could feel the strain in his groin, and craved the alleviate it. Her good hand roved down the front of his coat, and touched the bulge in his trousers. She gasped again, and pulled away, but as his lips crushed against hers again, it tentatively returned, and her fingers touched him. He moaned desperately, so close to losing control. "We shouldn't." She whispered against his mouth. "We can't." With a wrench, she pulled herself away, panting heavily, her eyes dewy with lust. She pressed her lips together, tasting him there. "I'm sorry." She managed to say, picking up her shirt and pulling it on with great difficulty. He had to redeem himself.
"Here." He stepped forward and began to button the shirt, knowing she couldn't do it with her injury.
"Thank you." He stepped backwards again; trying to stop the tides of sensations whirled through him. He was a gentleman, and he had been acting in a very ungentlemanly manner. He felt horrified at himself – he had been treating her like a common whore. "Horatio." Her voice drew him back to the present. "I want you to know… I have to leave."
"What do you mean, leave?" He exclaimed, startled.
"I can't stay aboard this ship. I'll disgrace my family – they'll turn me out and I'll have nowhere to go. You have to understand. I have to return to France."
"You can't. We're in the middle of the channel, and you can't row with your shoulder like that." Tears sprang to her eyes at his sharp words. He opened his mouth to apologise.
"Then what do you suggest I do? Even if they forgive me, I will be confined to the house, never allowed to leave without someone accompanying me. And then I will be made to marry that vile creature, Earl Daniel Minton." Tears poured hotly down her cheeks. "I could never love him. I used to think love was such a silly notion… but now… And Daniel is just horrid. I couldn't do it." She stared desperately at him. "I'd rather have died back in France, Horatio, than have to face a marriage to such a man."
