'I thought I'd go to the wreck today, get the rest of the food stores. We're getting low on hardtack and I'm pretty sure there's more barrels in the hold.'

Sarah looked over the top of her playing cards.

'There's more?'

'Yes, I didn't get it all when I first arrived, too much effort but if the ship lists anymore it might get wet and be useless. A good storm could be all it takes,' Billy said.

'Do you want me to come with you?'

He shook his head. 'No, it shouldn't take long.'

His focus returned to the game but when she picked up another card she found he was watching her intently, his eyes narrowed.

'You're better at this than you let on?' he said.

'Yes,' she acknowledged.

'Much better?'

'Yes.'

'Are you letting me win?'

'In part,' she pulled a face, 'It's sort of a habit.'

'Why?'

She shrugged. 'A good wife would never embarrass her husband's friends by exposing their shortcomings, so I learned to…dissemble a little.'

'By letting them win?'

She gave him an impish smile. 'A lady can occasionally win but only as long as it not down to superior skill, simply good fortune.'

He laughed. 'How do you convince them of that?'

'One never wins too obviously.'

'Show me.'

She bit her lip, her expression perplexed, the very picture of a novice. Giving him a demure, shy smile she placed her card on the discards pile with becoming hesitancy and then looked over at him expectantly.

Billy snorted with laughter.

'Who knew you could be so devious! Do you cheat?'

She gave him a superior look.

'Of course not, the wife of a Governor never cheats, besides there was hardly any need. Men often overestimate their skill at cards. Knowing I could win was enough.'

'I'll not make the same mistake, it's clear I need some practice.' He looked up at the sun. 'It's time I was going anyway. Not sure my manly pride can take the beating you're about to hand me so I'll bow out gracefully now.'

'Not that gracefully,' she said with another smile.

He winked at her and she laughed and waved him on his way.

It was only when the fading light made it difficult for her to continue with her embroidery that she realised how long Billy had been gone. Usually he returned before sunset and his absence worried her a little. She listened carefully. Other than the usual cacophony of noises emanating from the forest there was nothing to indicate his approach. She got up and walked to the edge of the camp. No large shadowy figure met her gaze.

The sky was rapidly greying to dusk and to search for him in the dark would be foolhardy, she had only a vague idea where the wreck was situated. Besides, there was a strong chance Billy would return shortly. It would do neither of them any good if she was hopelessly lost in the woods.

To distract herself she ate some dinner and then curled up with a book on his bed in the hut and tried not to fret. She had read the same paragraph at least five times before she sighed and put the book down, her thoughts kept intruding and making it impossible for her to concentrate.

Had he simply not had time to make it back before dark?

Had it just taken longer to remove the barrels than he had anticipated?

Was he hurt?

That final thought made her heart race.

She got up and paced the edge of the camp again, fists clenching uselessly at her sides. As she turned to retrace her steps the light of the dying fire caught her attention; if he was to make his way in the dark he would need a beacon. She stoked it back to a roaring blaze, hoping its golden glow would guide him home.

Eventually she went back to the hut and lay down again, waiting.

The morning found her restless and still anxious. She had slept only a little, in short bursts. Any rustle or movement from the forest would startle her awake and send her to the door to see if Billy had returned.

He had not.

She waited for an hour or so after dawn, expecting him to at any moment stride into the clearing, hearty and hale, but after a time she realised she could not put off searching for him any longer. Filled with determination she splashed some water on her face, tied on her hat and fixed a bundle of rags, a water flask and some biscuits into a scarf which she slung around her shoulder and tied across her chest. She left the camp in the direction of the wreck, nibbling on a biscuit and refusing to acknowledge the worst of her imaginings.

Several hours later her resolve was starting to fade and panic was rapidly setting in. She had found the wreck in the inlet but there was no sign of him. A small rowboat that she assumed he used to reach the ship was pulled up on the shore and his footprints in the sand leading away suggested that he was not still aboard. Unfortunately his prints quickly faded as she approached the trees. Searching for sign of him on the forest floor proved impossible, she had neither the knowledge nor the skill, and she cursed her lack of foresight.

She had called and called to no avail, there was no response. She didn't know what she would do if she couldn't find him and she was also concerned she may have missed him and he was already back at the camp. If he found her missing she was certain he would come looking for her, exacerbating the injuries her panicked wits kept picturing, imaginary wounds that became more grievous with each passing minute.

Torn between continuing her search and heading back to the hut, she found herself paralysed in an agony of indecision. She didn't know what to do for the best. As she stood vacillating between her options she heard a noise that made her tense. A swishing of foliage and unsteady footsteps. She turned towards the sound just as Billy emerged from between the trees. She gave a tiny cry of relief.

He was limping, one of his shirt sleeves was missing and there was blood all over his shirt from a gash on his temple. His eyes were slightly unfocused but he seemed to recognise her as she approached.

'Billy, thank goodness,' she said, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, thankfulness making her forget herself completely for a moment. He engulfed her in his arms and buried his face in her neck.

'Sarah, Sarah, I've found you,' he slurred hoarsely.

She pulled away, frowning in consternation at the state of him.

'What happened to you? No wait, you should sit,' she said urging him to the floor.

He did as he was bid, wincing as he put too much weight on his ankle, and then slumped against a tree, his head swaying slightly. Sarah undid her bundle. Splashing some water on one of the rags she offered him the flask. His hands shook as he took it from her and she found herself supporting its weight for him as he gulped down its contents. Once he was finished she took it back and stoppered it.

'What happened Billy?' she said, using the wet rag to clean some of the blood from his face. His eyes met hers but there was a still a vagueness there, a small frown of confusion on his brow.

'I fell,' he said uncertainly. 'One of the boards gave way, I fell. My head, I hit my head?'

'You fell on the ship?'

'I hit my head, and my ankle, I hurt my ankle.'

'Is it broken?'

'I don't know, it hurts. I think it's not broken. My side hurts.'

Sarah was relieved, a sprain she could deal with, a break was something else altogether. She tipped his head up so she could look at his injury. The cut didn't look too deep but there was a lot of blood and a small lump. She tentatively cleaned around the wound and then bound his head with a makeshift bandage of rags, hoping it would suffice until she was able to get him back to the hut. She stood, straightening her skirts and regarded the large man in front of her. This was going to be difficult. She knew she didn't have the strength to bear his weight but hoped that he would be able to walk on his own, using her for support.

'Come along, up you get,' she said bracingly.

Billy's head lolled a bit but he obeyed, leaning heavily on the tree as he found his feet. She re-tied her bundle and took his arm, draping it over her shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was stiff with dried blood and he leaned heavily on her to such an extent that she doubted her ability to get him home. As it was she managed it but she suspected it was mainly due to his strength of will rather than her own. She was exhausted by the time they reached the clearing and the sun was high in the sky, well into the afternoon. Guiding Billy gently into the hut she lay him down on the bed. He seemed on the verge of sleep and was tractable to the soft pressure of her hands. She went outside and found the bucket of fresh water, picking up some clean rags and the bottle of rum, and then went back to him.

'Billy,' she said gently, 'I need to clean up your wound properly and then I'll have a look at your ankle.'

Billy lay on his back and only acknowledged her words with a groan. She took that as tacit agreement and carefully untied the bandages about his head. He flinched as the pad of bandages stuck slightly when she pulled them away. Apologising quietly she continued her ministrations, washing away the rest of the blood. Another look at the wound showed her it was fairly shallow, and despite its gruesome appearance was actually quite minor.

'I'm going to need to splash some rum on the cut to clean it' she warned him, doing it quickly so he had little time to recoil. He flinched and swore, his voice sounding a bit stronger and giving her heart. Folding a new pad of clean rags she bandaged it in place. He moved his head restlessly but when she placed her hand on his brow to restrain him he quieted under her touch.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable she unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it free of his trousers, and then pulled him upright to lean on her shoulder so she could remove the soiled garment. He slid back prone with a vague protest. His neck and shoulder were caked in dried blood where it had run down from his cut, but worse, the removal of his shirt revealed to her another injury that she had somehow missed.

His missing shirt sleeve was tied around his middle and when she carefully peeled it away there was a large laceration on his side, a trickle of fresh blood already working its way down his hip.

She bit her lip. This was deeper than the cut to his head, a vicious slash across his ribs revealing muscle and possibly bone beneath. She dabbed pointlessly at the oozing blood, wondering what in Heaven's name she was going to do about this. Billy caught her hand.

'Sarah,' he said hoarsely, 'You need to sew it up, you can't leave it as it is.'

'Sew it up?'

'Yeah, like a tear in some cloth. You're good at sewing, it'll be easy for you.'

She doubted the veracity of that last statement but realised that there were no other options, she couldn't very well make Billy do it himself and the wound did need to be closed.

She went outside again to gather her sewing kit and in the absence of any wine, she put some water on to boil, adding several logs to the smouldering fire to get the flames going. Once the water was hot she went back into the hut and began her preparations. Billy appeared to be asleep but he awoke with a curse when she used the hot water to clean the wound on his ribs, trying his best to squirm away from her. She put a restraining hand on his stomach to keep him still, ignoring his objections, the muscles under her palm twitching and flexing as she washed away the blood. Inspecting the gash she picked out a few splinters of wood and then rinsed it again. This time she didn't bother to inform Billy when she splashed some rum onto it but she was mildly surprised when he only responded with a sudden intake of breath and some muttered grumbling.

'Billy,' she said, touching his chest to get his attention. 'I'm going to start now, do you want something to bite down on?'

'No, I'll be fine,' he said weakly. 'Just don't make the stitches as tight as you do when sewing, they need to be looser.'

'And no embroidered flowers, I'm assuming.'

His mouth quirked up in a tiny smile, followed all too quickly by a frown of discomfort.

'I'll do my best,' she said, trying to still the shaking in her hand. Really she had no idea what she was doing. She had never sewn anyone up before but there was no-one else to do it. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

The first stab of the needle made him suck in a sharp breath and she paused uncertainly.

'Just do it,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Quickly.'

It was nothing like sewing up a tear in cloth.

His flesh stretched and shifted under her needle, causing her stomach to churn, and blood continued to seep out onto her hands, making the needle slippery in her grip, but she worked swiftly sealing the slice as best she could. Her stitches were more untidy than was usual but given the circumstances she was cautiously pleased. When she was finished she splashed more rum on the area and bandaged it tightly, praying that she had done enough.

With that done she turned her attention to his ankle, eliciting a drowsy protest from Billy as she removed the boot from his injured foot. It looked swollen and faint purple bruising was visible under his ankle bone. A hesitant feel of the afflicted area gave her no idea of the extent of his injury and caused Billy to swear again and wrench his foot from her grip so she desisted. Aside from the swelling it didn't look misshapen so for want of any better ideas she bandaged it up, fervently hoping that if there was a break then the tightly tied strips of rag would keep it immobilised.

She dipped another rag into the warm water, seated herself at Billy's side and started cleaning the dried blood from his neck and shoulder. He seemed to be asleep, his breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling under her hand. She found herself staring. Never in her life had she been this close to a man in such a state of undress, not even her husband; relations between them had always been carried out with their night attire as a barrier to intimacy.

Without really realising what she was doing she traced the hollow of his collarbone, feeling the raised unevenness of the livid scar she had observed a few days ago on the beach. She heard his breath hitch, dragging her back to awareness and she stopped what she was doing guiltily. He sighed and murmured something incomprehensible but he did not appear to wake, however, when she gave herself a firm mental shake and started to rise his hand shot out and caught her arm.

'Don't go' he whispered huskily.

Unsure what to do she seated herself back on the bed and he gave another sigh, smoothing his hand down her arm and taking her hand in his. His hand was warm and enveloped her much smaller one. There was something comforting in his touch, in being needed by someone, in being necessary, even if only in a small way.

The lack of sleep and physical exertions of the day were taking their toll and she reasoned that she could rest here a while at his side until he was properly asleep. She leaned back against the wall and looked at her charge. His eyes were closed and he appeared relaxed, although a small crease was visible between his brows that she wanted to smooth away. She resisted the urge and shut her eyes for a moment.

It was dusk when she woke. She stretched and rubbed her neck, sore from sleeping awkwardly upright. Billy showed no inclination towards consciousness, breathing slowly and evenly, and this time didn't stir when she carefully disentangled her hand from his.

The fire had died again so she set about reigniting it while keeping an ear cocked for sounds of her patient waking. She reheated some leftovers in the cooking pot, a thick fish stew that loosened into a palatable soup with the addition of some extra water. She was stirring it when she heard Billy call to her. Pausing to fill a mug with drinking water she went back to the hut. When she entered he was struggling to rise, grimacing in pain. She helped him into a seated position, trying to ignore the look of profound relief he was giving her.

'You're here,' he said gruffly. 'I woke and you'd gone, you said you wouldn't leave.'

His tone was almost accusatory. She felt slightly bemused and found herself apologising.

'I was just seeing to dinner, I didn't go far. Do you want some water? Something to eat?'

Noting how dim it was in the hut she gave him the cup of water which he accepted gratefully and fetched a taper to light the lamp. The warm yellow glow of the lamp filled the hut, casting flickering shadows across his face. She put a hand to his forehead, he felt warm but she wasn't sure if he was feverish.

'How do you feel?'

'Sore, and embarrassed,' he said with a slight smile.

She smiled back, trying to ignore how that lazy smile directed at her made her stomach knot rather oddly. Feeling unaccountably flustered she all but ran from the hut. She filled a mug with the soup from the cooking pot. When she returned and handed the soup to Billy he thanked her and took a judicious sip of the hot liquid. Resting the mug in his lap he looked at her seriously.

'I think it's my turn to thank you for looking after me, and for coming to find me.'

She shrugged and said in an offhand manner, 'Nonsense, I was just annoyed that my dinner was delayed. I was looking for food, our meeting was just a happy coincidence.' She regarded him gravely. 'You did bring me dinner, didn't you?'

He laughed and then winced a little, pressing a hand to his bandaged side.

'I'm afraid I've failed you. I was looking for books to augment your collection when I fell, I never made it as far as the food stores.'

He was looking for books for her? What was she to make of that? Anything? Nothing at all?

She stood rather abruptly and he reached out and caught her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

'Seriously though, thank you,' he said. Holding her gaze he raised her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles.

Sarah suddenly felt as if her stays were far, far too tight, except that her stays now resided at the bottom of her trunk and really couldn't be blamed for this breathlessness. Gentlemen had kissed her hand before, it was fairly commonplace, but with him it somehow seemed more intimate. Perhaps it was the warmth in his blue eyes or perhaps it was her rapidly growing regard for him.

She ruthlessly pushed that last thought aside.

'You're welcome. You should get some rest, you only have to call if you need me,' she said briskly.

It was his restlessness that woke her in the night and when she went to check on him his brow was hot and dry but he was shivering almost uncontrollably. He moaned again in his sleep, an anguished sound of loss, and muttered incoherently. The flickering light of the lamp showed the skin on his side around the bandages was inflamed, angry and red.

A sudden rush of memories crowded her mind. A fevered brow framed by dark curls. Tired, hopeless eyes. The putrid smell of festering flesh. And that final, terrifying silence.

This time would be different, she promised herself.

It had to be different.