Lost Honor (13 page)

She vaulted to her feet and ran.

He whirled and caught the end of her hair. “I’m going to kill you. Slowly.” He limped toward her.

Her heart raced. If he didn’t kill her, terror would. Panic threatened to consume her. She spun and sliced off the end of her hair.

Free, she dashed toward the ladder until a boulder crashed into her. She collapsed to the ground on her stomach, pinned beneath a hulking weight.

“Give me that knife.” He fought for the weapon, ripping the scabbard from her thigh in his rage, but the knife was secure beneath her, and he couldn’t reach it.

He threw her onto her back.

She swung her arm up, and the knife sank into his neck.

His hands clutched the hilt over her fingers and then fell away as he dropped to the side.

Was he dead? She didn’t wait to find out. Fearing he would grab and murder her at any moment, she fled up the stairs. Where to go? Her cabin didn’t lock and Morgan may not be there.

There were always seamen above deck.

Heedless of her condition and partial nudity, she flew up the ladder to the main deck. Cold air hit her unclothed skin. Her frantic gaze shot to the quarterdeck.

“Morgan!” she screamed.

Chapter Eight

Morgan shot around at the distressed cry. Arianna ran toward him, half-dressed and covered in blood. His own blood turned to ice as he exploded from the quarterdeck. Catching her in his arms, she sagged against him, her blonde hair in a wild tangle around her pale face and her blue eyes large with fear. Andrew wrapped a coat around her trembling, exposed, upper body, and Morgan was grateful for his assistance. Lowering her to the deck, he asked, “Arianna, where are you injured?” He needed to stop the bleeding.

“All over,” she croaked out.

“The blood. Where is it coming from?” His eyes and hands ran over her, searching for the source.

“Not mine.”

Thank God.

Her lashes drifted downward.

He enclosed her cold, shaking hands within his. “Arianna, whose is it?”

Her glazed eyes burst open, and her quaking grew. Andrew laid a blanket over her. “You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I think I killed him.” She rolled to the side and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the deck. With his hands rubbing her back, he held her drained body in place until she finished and then wiped her mouth with the edge of the blanket.

Self-loathing shivered through him in increasing force. He hadn’t protected her. He had allowed Arianna, an innocent, vulnerable woman, to be brutalized while on his ship.

“Arianna.” His voice was soft and tender. He needed answers, but she needed care and a gentle hand. “Who did you kill?”

She swallowed. “B-Briggs. In the h-hold.” Her eyelids fell, and she went limp.

He looked up at the seamen surrounding them. “Mr. Markham, send men to the hold. Check if he is still alive.” So he could kill him. Raw rage, pure and unsullied, encompassed him. “And then send the surgeon to my cabin.”

With one arm behind her back and the other under her legs, he slowly lifted Arianna. She groaned. He winced at the pain he caused. As if she were a rare treasure, he carried her to his cabin and laid her on his berth with great care. He spied her swollen, red face and the cuts and blood that littered it, and his hands clenched. Murder raced through his mind.

He couldn’t stand to see her suffering and not be able to ease it. The sight of blood on her, even though it wasn’t hers, twisted his stomach in knots, and Morgan wanted to lash out. But he couldn’t. He needed to keep moving. To help her in some way.

The blood. She would feel better and so would he if he washed it off. He stood.

Her eyes flew open, panic swimming within them. “Morgan.” His name was a mere thread of breath.

He fell to his knees beside the bed. “What is it?” He wanted to touch her but didn’t know where. Every inch looked bruised.

“Please don’t leave me.”

A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. “I won’t. I am going to the washstand for a cloth to clean you. Do you mind if I am not beside you for a moment? You can watch me from here.”

It was the first time he had ever asked permission of anyone.

She nodded slightly, and her gaze clung to him every inch of the way as he crossed the room, poured water from the white pitcher into a porcelain bowl, grabbed a cloth from the stand and threw it in the water, then picked up the bowl, walked back, and set it on the floor.

He eased onto the mattress beside her. The fear shouting from her eyes unnerved him. “No one will hurt you here. I won’t let them. There is no reason to be frightened.” He bent down and wrung out the cloth.

Tears seeped from her eyes. “Did I kill him?”

“I don’t know yet.” He clenched his teeth. “But if you didn’t, I will.”

He had to compose himself. Anger and agitation at this point would do her no good. He forced his rigid muscles to loosen as he lightly wiped the cloth down one side of her face.

“I have never killed anyone before.” She started to shake again.

Morgan settled the blanket more securely around her, even though he knew cold wasn’t the reason she trembled. “You had no choice. Sometimes it is necessary.”

“He was going to rape me.” Her voice grew in pitch.

If the blackguard was alive, he would slice Briggs’s cock off. “Shhh, love. I won’t let him near you. Rest now.” He slid the cool cloth down the other side of her face, hoping to calm her.

“Morgan, hold me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

He would do whatever she asked. Even kill himself. It was his fault she was in this condition. He would change places with her if he could. Morgan leaned down and gently lifted the top half of her tense, quaking body into his embrace. She felt so good in his arms, solid, alive, and warm. He never wanted to let go, but it was impossible.

She eventually relaxed and the terror slipped from her eyes, although not completely. A wariness still existed.

Fearing he would cause her pain, he said, “Arianna, I need to finish washing you.” She didn’t protest when he laid her back on the bed. Leaning over, he wrung out the cloth and then continued the soothing sweep. She would feel better once the beast’s blood no longer coated her.

“I need to clean all of you. Can I pull the blanket down to your waist?” She was fragile and vulnerable. He needed to go slow so as not to upset her.

She nodded, but rolled her head toward the wall.

When he spied the teeth marks and gouges from fingernails that marked her breasts, he withheld the oath that sprang to his lips. The agony she must feel. His heart squeezed into a tight, firm ball. As tender and careful as he had ever been, he bathed her upper half. She withstood his ministrations bravely, not uttering one word, although she winced once or twice.

“Can I remove your skirt? It is ruined, and I’m sure very uncomfortable. I’ll give you one of my shirts to wear.”

She turned her face back to him. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Her eyes swam with tears.

What did she have to be sorry for? “About what?”

“I ruined your sister’s outfit.”

She was worried about the garment at a time like this? He smiled at her. “She will survive without it.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead with his fingers. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

The events of the day played havoc with her emotions. He grabbed a white shirt from the drawer beneath his berth and helped her into it before he dragged the skirt down her legs and off. Then he tugged the sheet and blanket up to her chin. Morgan wiped the tears off her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, the liquid burning him for his inability to protect her.

A light knock slid into the cabin. “Do you think you can let the surgeon check you?”

Indecision trembled through her watery eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly, her voice a mere whisper.

Morgan forced a smile. “Good.”

He rose and opened the door. With his eyes, he conveyed to the surgeon all he needed to know about her mental state, but Morgan was sure he had seen it before with the men he treated.

Morgan walked with him to the berth. Arianna clutched the blanket to her chin with only her face exposed. “This is Doctor Stevens, and he is very good at his job.”

“I am always happy to meet a beautiful woman. Only I wish it weren’t under these circumstances.” The surgeon flashed her a warm, comforting smile. “I know you are hurting. I will be as gentle as possible.”

Her rigid body and firm grip on the covers told Morgan she wasn’t convinced.

“Captain, please leave us while I examine her.”

“No. I want him to stay.” Arianna’s eyes shouted her fear as she fought to rise.

Morgan rushed to her and eased her down. “I’m not going anywhere. If you want me to, I will stay right here.” He turned to the surgeon. “You will have to examine her with me present.”

One short nod displayed his understanding of the situation.

Morgan turned back to Arianna. “I will wait over by my desk. Is that satisfactory?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Yes.”

He was not used to asking permission to do anything, but with Arianna injured and in agony, it came easily. This was his fault.

Morgan paced in front of his desk, horrible diagnoses speeding through his mind. He glanced at the bed, but the surgeon’s broad back hid Arianna and what he did to her from his view. Doctor Stevens’s soothing murmurs drifted to his ears as he strained to hear a cry from Arianna, which would bring him to her side in an instant. But she was courageous, and he doubted a sound of distress would fall from her lips.

What was taking him so long? Minutes seemed like hours.

“Captain.”

He spun to face the surgeon, expecting the worse but hoping for the best.

“She is sore and bruised, but there are no broken bones or permanent damage. She needs rest and sleep.”

Morgan released the breath he held. “Thank you, Doctor Stevens.”

“She is still frightened, but hopefully it will fade as she heals. I hear from the men she is spirited. I’m sure she will return to her old self quickly.”

Morgan glanced in her direction again and noticed the anxiety floating in her eyes as her gaze fixed on him. He clapped the surgeon on the back. “Thank you for examining her.”

“I’ll check in on her tomorrow to make sure nothing has changed.”

As soon as Doctor Stevens exited, Morgan hurried to Arianna’s side. “He says you will be back to your old self in a few days.” At one time, he wished her old self would disappear to be replaced by a more docile, obedient female, but not in this way. She had grown on him in the two days they had been together, and he wanted her determined, willful, brave personality back.

He tucked the blankets around her, leaving ample room so they weren’t tight and didn’t confine her. “He says you need sleep.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

Her hands shot out from beneath the covers and grabbed his wrist. “Please don’t go. I won’t be able to sleep if you do. Briggs or someone he knows might…”

“I will stay.” He slid onto the edge of the mattress. It was the least he could do for not performing his job as he should. If she had died…

Her eyes closed, her breathing evened into regular, deep breaths, and her fingers loosened and slipped from his wrist.

****

Every part of her hurt. Her face felt double its normal size. Confusion filled Arianna until the events of the previous day flooded back in vivid, rich detail. Her eyes flew open to the sun rising over the horizon, throwing a golden stream of light across the water. Her gaze darted from the window to the inside of the cabin, searching for Morgan. She found him slumped over the mahogany desk, asleep. Warmth spread over her, and she relaxed. He had remained as he had promised.

An urgent need hit her. She couldn’t possibly ask for his help, and besides, she didn’t want to wake him. She eased the covers off and rose from the bed on wobbly legs like an old lady. Dizziness swamped her, and she swayed for a few seconds before she steadied herself. How hard could this be? With one arm wrapped around her stomach that still burned from Briggs’ brutality, she shuffled on cold feet to the painted screen Morgan had erected in the corner of the room for her personal needs and the chamber pot behind it.

After finishing her business, she rounded the corner and came face to face with Morgan.

“You are not supposed to be out of bed.” He scooped her into his arms.

Her face heated. Had he heard her? At least with all the bruises, he probably didn’t notice her blush. “I had a matter I needed to attend to.” She tried to sound indignant, but failed.

He laid her on his berth. “The next time you let me know, and I will help you.”

“You were sleeping.”

He slid the blankets over her. “Call me. I am a light sleeper.”

She had discovered that.

“Are you feeling better?” Concern marked his face as he assessed every detail.