"Do you feel up for another lap around the deck?" Grandmama asked a couple days later and kept a firm grip on her elbow.

"Yes! I'm tired of being in a cabin. Mark - " She caught the slip up should anyone overhear until Mark's new name was decided, "I mean, he even said it'd be good for the babe if I walk. It could progress things a little bit so labor won't be as long." She smiled at Grandmama's death grip on her arm. "I won't fall."

"If a wave splashes, it will make the deck slippery."

A laugh threatened - a laugh that would be inappropriate for a grieving widow. "I don't think it will, Grandmama." The January air had a nip, but the sun shined over calm seas today.

Mark approached in the opposite direction with Grandfather to do his daily exercise to heal his hip and help keep his knee from aching with disuse. The poor man still had a significant limp. The hot stones at least seemed to help the aching in his back so he could almost stand straight again.

Grandmama nodded to Mark. "Good day, Mr. Johnson."

She glanced over. More than a nod of acknowledgement might not be acceptable to a man when a recent widow.

Mark touched his forelock at Grandmama and gave her little more than a slight nod as he passed, offering blatant rudeness. These slights in public to protect her reputation had begun to wear thin.

"Really, the man doesn't seem to have many manners," Grandmama said loud enough to be overheard by other passerbys.

Unsure what kind of response would be appropriate, she kept quiet.

On the second lap around the deck, the quick glances from others began grew more frequent. Yet, no one gave a greeting. A few minutes later, Grandfather and Mark approached again, and Grandfather stopped for a moment to talk to Grandmama. Mark didn't even look over, which led to an awkward silence while waiting. So, she turned and walked to the rail, enjoying the fresh, although cold air.

On the third lap, it became clear that the glances were actually stares even though she pulled the cape around enough to hide the babe. It didn't seem to be a gestating woman causing them. Grandmama received the stares too. Half way around the third lap, a false contraction hit. She stopped and held the rail, closing her eyes to breathe through it.

Grandmama gave long strokes down her back and stood to the side, looking out of the sea in a nonchalant manner to the casual observer.

"Is everything alright?" Grandfather's voice cut into the concentration of the breathing exercises Mark had taught.

"More false labor pains," Grandmama said quietly.

"Should Mark check?"

She lifted her head as it passed. "No, I'm fine." Rubbing the last of the ache away, she turned to see Mark standing several paces away offering his profile. He didn't seem the least bit concerned. Of course he'd come if truly needed, but he could at least show some degree of human compassion. He certainly wasn't helping matters if there was to be a betrothal within three weeks. Pushing away from the rail, she took Grandmama's arm and continued walking.

"Tanya, it may be best to rest now," Grandmama said with a note of distress.

"I'm fine." Irritation gave renewed energy.

A couple passed again from earlier. "Is that what an Injun looks like?" the woman whispered to the male companion.

Her feet slammed to a halt. It shouldn't have come as a shock because that term had been thrown around often enough as a child. But apparently enough of Mark's town had been ignorant because it'd been months since anyone had noticed. Grandmama tensed but tugged her arm to keep going.

On the next lap around the somewhat small deck, Grandfather stopped. Mark still didn't glance. "You should rest - "

"I'm fine, Grandfather," she snapped. Going back meant having to talk to Mark about the slurs...to warn him what was coming. Or be examined for childbirth. Neither sounded appealing at the moment.

Grandfather pulled Grandmama aside. "You should take her inside..." His conversation faded into hushed tones. That left more awkward silence with Mark just an arm's length away.

Another stare from the same couple again, who nodded to Mark in acknowledgement but ignored her. Mark rudely turn away and toward them. Of course Mark didn't mean anything other than to protect her reputation, but the smirk on the man's face said exactly what it felt like at the moment - a slur because of heritage.

Humiliation slammed. She brushed past to walk in the opposite direction of where Grandmama talked with Grandfather. Heavy, uneven footsteps followed.

"And where do you think you're going alone, Mrs. Debonairo?" he barked, his tone lacking patience or cordiality.

Stopping dead in her tracks, the public eye could serve in her favor for once. She turned and leveled him with a glare. It wasn't rational, but right now his slights hurt so much. "That's none of your concern, Mr. Johnson."

His gaze narrowed and he stopped almost toe to toe. "It most certainly is when a woman - in rather delicate condition - aims to wander alone on a ship with men of all caliber aboard," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Cocking an eyebrow, she held his glare. "As a widow, I have freedoms that are otherwise denied to women. While your concern is so endearing," she spat, "it is unwanted and unnecessary." Then she turned on her heel and marched forward. Pride prevented telling him the whole truth.

"Then I am forced under obligation to follow to ensure your safety if you're going to be pigheaded!" he called and his footsteps followed.

"Ha!" She stopped and turned, already several steps ahead of him. "That," she pointed, "is the sign of an arrogant man who deems it fine to dismiss others but cannot stand it to be done to himself!" Her heart pounded faster in temper.

He scowled and marched forward, holding the railing for support. "Says a woman who is using widowhood to her advantage! It is unsafe - "

"In my mood, it's unsafe for you, Mr. Johnson!" God, it felt good to yell, to let some of this hurt out.

His eyebrows rose and he stopped so close that her belly brushed his shirt. "You will get in the cabin," he growled, his voice so low that no one else would've heard. Those blue eyes bore into her as he glared down.

"My husband would not slight me in public," she hissed. "You are a patient of my Grandfather's, Mr. Johnson. My safety is of no concern to you."

He slammed down a hand on the railing in a temper. Several eyes turned to him. "Get in the cabin, Tanya," he hissed under his breath. "You will do as I tell you."

If those words didn't cause such anger, she would've gaped in dismay. "Why? Because I'm an Injun?" she spat.

His eyes bugged, as if completely blindsided by that remark.

"I will return when I please," she snapped, "Good day, Mr. Johnson." He stared in shock, and she spun on her heel and marched away.

Circling around half the deck, she returned to the cabin, slipped inside and locked the door. Releasing a deep breath, she sat on the bed and let the distant sound of waves crashing and the rocking of the ship fade away the hurt.

A knock sounded on the door a few minutes later. She opened it to Mark, whose brow furrowed in confusion. "Tanya - "

Tears burst out of nowhere. "I don't know why I yelled at you. I don't even know why I'm crying!"

He cradled her against his chest. "I think you do," he said in a patient tone and stroked her back. "Tell me why you think I'd ever be prejudiced against you."

With a sniffle, she shook her head and relayed the woman's comment. "I know you don't mean it that way, but I think they took your slights as scorn. I just...I got so angry."

"As is your right, but do not put such words in my mouth," he said in a hard tone. "And I shouldn't have said you have to obey me, but do not do something dangerous like wander the ship alone. If someone tried to harm you, it could take me hours to search the cabins," he growled. Then he pressed a kiss to her hair and whispered, "I need you."

Nuzzling his chest, she smiled at the confession. "Oh, Mark," she sighed in contentment, "I know. I need you too."

"What do you mean, you know?" he barked. "You are to weep or swoon or, or...I don't know, but not that!" the man studdered.

A giggle bubbled up and she leaned back to look up at him. "Have I left you speechless again, cuddle bear?"

The man's brow furrowed and his mouth moved for a moment from being speechless until he settled on the word, "No!" Then he seemed to regain his composure. "And do not take such pleasure in it, woman!" he huffed.

"But it isn't often the high-bred marquess has no idea what to say," she purred and traced a finger over his lips. "I never thought you a man for a beard, but you're so very handsome with it."

He blinked like the change in topic caught him off-guard.

"Take off your shirt." When his eyebrows rose in confusion, she smiled. "You wouldn't let me use the stones before breakfast, and you look sore."

The man grunted but unbuttoned his shirt.

Stepping behind, she helped ease it down his shoulders. His poor back had green, yellow, black and blue splotches everywhere now that the bruises had begun to heal. The tiny incisions from the blood blisters looked very well on their way, but the large wound from where the wood had entered his back didn't look so good today. "This one is swollen, Mark." She set fingers to the edge of it. "It's warm too. There's too much bruising to tell if it's red."

"It hurts more today. Is your stomach feeling strong?" When she stepped around him and frowned, he added, "There are likely more wood splinters in there. Take a scalpal - "

Her eyes bugged. "You want me to do surgery?!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking you to cut out an organ. See if you feel anything hard."

She lightly pressed, but even that caused a whimper of pain. "I'm not sure."

"Yes or no," he demanded, a bit breathless.

There. A tiny lump almost impossible to feel. Another lump. And a larger one on the side. "There are some tiny ones and a larger one."

"Take a scalpal and make an incision across. It's two, maybe three fingers width. Then take the foreceps and force the incision open to get a good view - I'd rather not repeat this again. Pull out whatever splinters you find." He laid down on the bed. "Hop to it."

"While you're awake?!"

"If it's too much pain, I'll pass out. I'm quite tired of feeling ill from chloroform, and you do not need exposure to it this close to birth."

She marched over to Grandfather's cabin.


"Right there." Grandfather pointed to a tiny red spot that didn't look like the rest of the blood and gore.

She glanced at Mark to be sure he was still unconscious from the chloroform and then used the forceps and slowly guided out a splinter. Two centimeters...four...almost six centimeters long that ran parallel to his spine. "Grandfather, how did we miss this? If he'd moved just right, it could've gone into his spine." She dropped the splinter in a basin and brought the lantern closer, more determined to find any last sliver that might harm him.

"It wouldn't have been able to do that. His back must hurt so much that he can't feel localized pain. It's a wonder he even gets out of bed." He dug out a tiny splinter inside the incision.

"What if there are more down in his lower back or along the path it drove in?"

"We'll need him awake to tell us if he feels worse pain as I press along the trail. I expected the bruising to be gone by now so we could see if there's infection anywhere - I didn't expect him to have this degree of deep-tissue bruising showing up yet." Grandfather seemed to dig elbow-deep in Mark's back before he gave up after finding nothing else. "You check too. My eyes are not always so good anymore."

She swallowed down bile as Grandfather used the forceps and lifted a flap of skin to reveal part of the pocket where the wood had driven into Mark's back. Mark needed this so infection wouldn't make him ill. Rising to her knees, she searched the cavity and reached for something suspicious about four centimeters inside. It seemed hard on the other end of the forceps, so she gave a soft pull. Another sliver, this one a couple centimeters. "Why is this skin pocket not healed in?" There. Another tiny bump that looked suspicious.

"It was beginning to, but I tore the connecting tissue so we can see if there's anything."

"He will not be up for getting out of bed the rest of today, will he? I think that's the last of them."

"No, I'm afraid he won't. But I think he would prefer a couple days of discomfort than to succumb to infection or be ill when you deliver."


Even before he could open his eyes, Mark's brow furrowed in pain. His broken arm was closest, so she glided her fingers into his loose fist. "I'm going to put a cold compress on, Mark." The moment the cold settled in, his brow smoothed.

After a few more minutes, he gave a soft grunt. "Feels like sssomething ssshoved in...back," he slurred.

She stroked his hair from her seat on the floor beside him. "We had to dig deep in your back and found more splinters. I'm sorry, honey."

Once he could open his eyes, Grandfather palpated the length of the path the board had taken. "Tell me if it hurts worse." At the bottom right above his hip where the board had stopped right next to his spine, Mark gasped and his hand fisted in hers. "I feel it," Grabdfather said, and took off his belt and held it to Mark's mouth. Mark bit down on it and let go of her hand to clutch the sheets.

Her heart pounded and eyes flew to Grandfather. "What are you doing?"

He washed the spot with whiskey, the simple act causing a groan from Mark. "This will be fast, but there's infection here, so it'll be painful. The belt is so he doesn't break his teeth. Ready?" Mark gave a slight nod and his back tensed.

Grandfather slashed the scalpal over a small spot. Mark cried out and buried his face in the pillow. Rancid yellow infection seeped out. Grandfather splashed whiskey over it, rinsing away the matter. And Mark screamed.

"Stop it! He needs chloroform!" She grabbed Grandfather's arm in a panic.

He met her eyes. "I'm almost done. It is better for his body to go without."

She grabbed Mark's hand, unable to get her fingers into his fist, and stroked his hair. "Do you want chloroform?"

He barely shook his head.

Grandfather pulled out a small wad.

"What is that?" She covered her nose at the rotten stench.

Grandfather gave a solemn look. "His shirt."

All the blood drained from her feet. His shirt, the splinters...oh god, it made sense. It should've been searched for a week ago. Mark now paid the consequences of poor medical care. Anger burned so hot that her hands shook. "I will see to the rest of this," she ground out between her teeth and scrubbed her hands with whiskey.

"I'm sorry. Our people do not wear shirts, and I've never had such a thing happen - "

"I will see to him," she snapped and pushed her way in as Mark panted in agony. "Go."

When Grandfather left, she surveyed the mess. "Mark, I think you need to tell me what to do. There's still infection."

He gasped out directions as she went and finally laid quiet once a bandage covered the open wound. She washed in the lukewarm water and then dumped the tools in, too exhausted to go get boiling water yet. Then she mopped his damp brow and back.

"Don't be angry - he didn't know any better."

"But he should've! I questioned him when he didn't go digging. I should've listened to my gut."

"You would make a damn fine physician - you have instincts for it. They have female medical universities in America." He shifted his legs and grimaced.

"You would be considered deranged for sending me." She eased onto the side of the bed and began a massage, careful to stay away from the surgical areas. His poor back grew hard already in spasm from the renewed trauma.

He hissed in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "I promise to make it up...for you doing the pampering during pregnancy," he gasped and a tiny cry of pain escaped his lips from the intensity of the spams.

"I haven't been prone to needing surgeries like you have. I'm going to get hot stones." Snatching the pail, she dumped the stones and hurried out, running right into Brigands.

Silent tears trailed from his eye to the tip of his nose when she returned. She grabbed the stones as Brigands set the pail beside the bed. Then she dumped them in as Brigands squatted beside the bed.

"My lady, rest. I can see to him." Brigands stood and touched spots on Mark's back. Then he set his hands on one spot and leaned down. Hard. Mark groaned like it offered relief.

But it would be hard to rest with Mark in pain. So she paced and held her own aching back while Brigands saw to him.

Mark opened his eyes and his gaze followed her going back and forth as Brigands laid stones on his back. "Does your back hurt?"

"It always aches from the babe."

"You have a restless look like a woman in labor." He grit his teeth and winced as Brigands did a hard press on another spot. "Contractions?" he asked when Brigands released.

"No, I'm worried about you." The backache intensified and she drew a deep breath. Then it eased a bit.

"She's in labor." He struggled to push himself up.

"I am not! The last thing we need is the babe to come at sea with you incapacitated. Lie down!" Goodness, where had that come from?

He froze mid-sit and blinked.

Brigands kept a passive expression. "My lady, have the master check - he won't rest unless you do. I'll step out."

When the door closed, Mark sat on the edge of the bed and sweat sprang to his brow as he grimaced. He washed with the hot water and then whiskey, mindful of his arm. He closed his eyes and held his breath for a moment from pain until it seemed to ease. "Come. If the babe is coming, you can have pleasure of seeing me panting beside you even after you've delivered."

She stepped closer. "Ha ha. As if it's even your fault, for one. For another, you do not need to try to deliver a babe with one hand and while in pain."

He frowned. "You're dilated, but that's not uncommon in the final weeks of pregnancy."

"The babe isn't due for almost four weeks - "

"And I didn't expect you to make it this far without bedrest." He wiped his hand and then palpated the babe. "He's engaged. I don't think your body will be able to support him much longer. I would venture to say within the week he'll come if you aren't already in labor."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's too soon! What - "

"He will be fine to come now. He'll be small, but he will survive."

Mark said it with such certainty that it helped calm the nerves. "And how will you deliver in your condition?"

"I will make do. The splint does not inhibit use of my hand." He released a slow breath and leaned a hand on the bed like it took strain from his back. "An arm sling will help support my upper back to limit movement and heal from surgery..."

His words faded. Surgery. She'd helped do surgery on him. He would be in no shape to deliver a babe. "What would help the babe stay in longer?" she cut in.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Bedrest is the only thing, but at this stage, you'll deliver when you deliver."

"But even another week would buy you time to heal more."

"Tanya," he said gently, "the babe is sound, but he's already small for gestation. Your body is restricting growth because you cannot support a babe that is much larger. We are lucky that your body has restricted rather than birthed him."

She shifted her feet and held her back. "I have to walk," she panted in distress and walked out.

Uneven footsteps echoed behind. "Wait!"

Turning, she paced to him and shifted her feet long enough for him to put the cape around her shoulders. He'd thrown on a shirt but no cape for himself. She walked down the deck at a quick pace, the motion soothing this strange restlessness. Turning on her heel, she went toward him where he leaned against the wall and watched her pace the deck. Thankfully the wind had picked up and left the deck deserted. She stopped and set her hands on his chest.

His head bowed and he searched her face. "What do you need?" He stroked the babe.

"I don't know. I have to walk." The restlessness returned and she paced the deck again.

"Sweetheart, I think you're in labor. Let's go in the cabin so you're out of the cold."

She shook her head and walked past. "I'm not in labor."

Grandmama stepped out of her cabin and smiled. "She's preparing for birth. I did the same thing about three days before the birth."

"I've seen women pace during labor, but if she keeps up before even being in labor, she'll wear out." He followed as she went back onto the cabin. "Tanya - "

Mark. Touching him would ease the nerves and help remember how to breathe as this next contraction grew worse. She pulled his shirt out of his pantaloons and slid her hands over his heart, cutting off his words. Then she closed her eyes and focused on the steady beat of his heart.

His arm slipped around and he turned her. Then his hand cupped the underside of her belly and he eased her head back against his chest with his other hand. A gentle sway side to side calmed the restlessness and he stroked her belly as best the broken arm would allow. "A low hum helps counter the pressure," he said in her ear and gave a low hum.

Her hum turned into a low moan as a sweeping pressure built and then a contraction squeezed so hard that it felt like it'd take her whole body with it. Puffs in her ear broke through the concentration, and she clutched his hands and panted with him. Another contraction followed on its heels and left her breathless, but Mark didn't waiver.

It took several minutes of inconsistent contractions before they calmed enough to realize that her dress clung to her back and probably had soaked through Mark's shirt. There was a warm wetness on her legs too. Looking down in confusion, her eyes widened. A small puddle had spread underneath and hit Mark's feet too. Oh god, her water had broken all over him. She turned to face him. His shirt was damp from her too. "Sorry - " Another contraction hit and she grabbed his bicep and breathed through it while he applied wonderful counterpressure on her hips.

When it passed, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, grinning like an idiot. "I don't care, Tanya." Then he toed off his stockings and kicked them aside. He helped her slide off the dress and then pressed a kiss to her lips. "You're doing so well, and she's going to be so perfect."

Shaking her head, tears welled. "I'm scared. You can't blame her like Papa blamed me - "

Catching her face in his hands, he held her eyes. "You aren't going to die like your mother. I'm right here, and we're going to do this together. Don't fight your body. I need you to stay calm and trust me."

She held his hands cupping her face and nodded as a tear of fear slid down. "I trust you."

"You can do this, sweetheart." He smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I love you. We're going to have a babe tonight."