Page 44 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
Hawk marched in, demanding of Mr. Pickering, “Well?”
Ignoring him, the surgeon slipped on round glasses, then poked and prodded. When he rotated Nathaniel’s shoulder just so, Nathaniel couldn’t bite back a gasp, the joint on fire. Hawk was suddenly right there, grasping the surgeon’s arm as if he meant to toss him across the cabin.
“Don’t hurt him more!” Hawk shouted.
“I was merely assessing the scope of the injury.” Mr. Pickering glanced down at his arm, where Hawk’s fingers dug in. “If you please, Captain?”
Hawk released him. “It’s only that if he doesn’t make it back to his father alive, all this will have been for nothing.”
Mr. Pickering turned back to Nathaniel, his expression neutral aside from a tiny quirk to his eyebrow. “Yes, well. It likely came very close to dislocating, but it’s only a sprain. Hardly life-threatening, I assure you. I’ll prepare a comfrey poultice to help with inflammation. Other than that, just rest it.” He gave Nathaniel a kind smile. “No more heroic rescues for a few days, hmm? Back in a tick.”
Uncomfortable silence stretched as they waited. Hawk stood at the stern window, facing out, his hands clasped behind his broad back, his long, muscular legs parted slightly, boots planted. A striking, shadowy outline against the sun’s rays.
“I’m sorry if I worried you.” Nathaniel caught his breath. Had he said the words aloud?
Indeed he had, because Hawk’s spine stiffened. He growled, “I worry about you getting yourself killed before I can exchange you for the money I’m owed. Nothing more.”
Nathaniel had heard it before, and there was no reason it should hurt now. Yet his chest tightened, throat too thick to reply even if he’d had a retort.
Still… Hawk fidgeted with his hands, and soon started pacing, occasionally glancing at Nathaniel and then jerking his head away and muttering to himself.
It seemed an awful lot like worry from where Nathaniel sat, and he bit back a smile.
Mr. Pickering bustled in carrying a small mortar. He placed it at his feet and reached for the hem of Nathaniel’s shirt. “Here, let’s get this off.”
“That will be all,” Hawk barked. “Return to your duties.”
“These are my duties, Captain. But as you wish.” He nodded to the mortar. “Spread it on several times a day. It’ll stain the skin a bit brown, but it’ll fade soon enough.” With that, he left, closing the cabin door behind him.
Nathaniel winced as he tugged at his hem, and a moment later Hawk batted his hands away. He lifted his arms, shoulder protesting, and Hawk peeled off the worn linen.
With one knee on the bed, Hawk scooped up a handful of the poultice, which was a greenish gray and smelled vaguely of dried bread.
Slowly, Hawk tended to Nathaniel’s shoulder, massaging the remedy over the sore joint with a light touch. Though it was soothing, Nathaniel’s heart skipped, and he realized he wasn’t breathing.
He took shallow sips of air, not wanting to betray his… What? Agitation? Excitement? No, that wasn’t quite it, as his prick remained unmoved.
“There.” Hawk stepped away, and Nathaniel had to bite his lip to refrain from calling him back, eager for more of that calming touch. He jerked his gaze to the floor as Hawk did return with a towel he spread on the mattress.
“Rest,” he ordered.
Nathaniel stared up at him. “You mean… Here?”
“Or the floor.” He huffed. “I don’t damn well care.” He stormed from the cabin, and Nathaniel gingerly stretched out on the mattress.
Compared to the floor, the hard, lumpy mattress was a soft, feather embrace. The motion of the ship lulled him to sleep, a voice in his mind whispering that perhaps Hawk did, in fact, care.
“Huzzah!”
The men lifted their cups and drank to Nathaniel yet again, and he gamely attempted another sip. The rum burned less now than it had when the evening started, and he was having trouble feeling his lips.
The ship rolled on another great wave, the wind having blown up suddenly as night closed in, rain clouds returning with a vengeance. Saliva flooded Nathaniel’s mouth, his stomach roiling.
Mr. Richards poured another round, the men laughing and boisterous, blithely unconcerned with the rough sea. Nearby, someone played a fiddle, and sometimes the men burst into sea shanties, their voices surprisingly tuneful.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Hawk stood steady as a rock as they pitched to and fro. He’d had one drink, and one drink only, unless Nathaniel had missed the others. He was certain he hadn’t, since he’d kept an eye on the captain throughout the evening.
Hawk watched from the shadows with an unreadable expression. Light from the swinging lanterns hanging from the ceiling caught the gold on Hawk’s belt and gleam in his ear.
Then his eyes locked on Nathaniel’s, the blue appearing almost black in the dim light of the forecastle. Nathaniel swallowed, his head light, queasy excitement unfurling through him, making him feel like he was floating.
