be expected of a half-breed, a Rebel—a savage cutthroat?”
“Miss Magee—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” she heard from the door, andshe froze, staring at the young man who now looked at her with an unhappy grimace. She looked beyond him. Jerome McKenzie stood there, slick with sweat and blackened from gunfire and battle. A nasty red gash cut across his chest. His eyes were brilliantly blue against his grimed face, and they focused on her with sheer fury. “Next time, remind me—she needs a muzzle as well as a solid knot!”
Michael muttered an uncomfortable, “Aye, Captain!” and made a hasty exit.
Risa stared at Jerome, rising cautiously. “Michael is a good, kind fellow, Miss Magee, but I assure you, without my command, he’d never have cut that tie.”
“I could have died here!” Risa informed him.
“The man posted near your door was to release you at the slightest hint of danger.”
“So …” she murmured, sinking back to the bunk. “The
Maid of Salem
is taken?”
“Aye.”
“And her crew?”
“Naturally, we slit the throats of all survivors.”
Her eyes widened, then she realized he mocked her. “And her crew, McKenzie?” she repeated.
“She lost three men in the fighting; we lost one. Some of my men have boarded her and will relieve her of her supplies, then see that she is painted, renamed, and reoutfitted as a Confederate vessel. Her crew will be deposited on a small beachhead frequently passed by Union ships heading to Key West.”
“So you are a success in all things,” she murmured.
“I am able to take unwary ships by surprise, yes. It is a modest talent,” he said.
Wincing, he came on into the cabin, taking a seat at the desk and reaching into the bottom drawer for a bottle of rum. He uncorked it, and took a long swallow, wincing again when he was done. Gritting his teeth, he leaned back and poured a stream of the alcohol over the gash on his chest.
The rum cleaned away some of the grime. Risa found herself on her feet, clenching her hands together before her as she saw that the gash was long and thick. “That needs to be stitched.”
He arched a brow. “You’re concerned?”
“I’m merely stating that your wound needs stitches.”
“Ah. And you’d like to give them to me?”
“Indeed, I might well relish the task of piercing you with a needle time and again,” she said sweetly.
He leaned back, grinning. “Honesty. How refreshing. I do applaud that in a woman.”
She caught her breath at how his white smile transformed his face.
“Our ship’s surgeon is busy with more serious wounds,” he mused.
She hesitated, wondering if she wasn’t losing her mind—or if she did relish the task of sticking a needle into his flesh. Maybe it was just that in her many months of working with the injured in St. Augustine, she simply couldn’t ignore such a gash on any man.
“If you can call for a needle and sutures, I will happily close that.”
His eyes narrowed.
She let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin Julian, but I’ve worked with those who took over his practice in St. Augustine when he moved inland with the military.”
He studied her for a very long time. He was probably assuming she meant to pierce a needle straight into his heart.
No less than he deserved.
But she would refrain, she decided. His men might well do her in to retaliate.
He shrugged. “As you wish. Michael!”
The young bearded fellow opened the door. “Bring us a needle and sutures. Miss Magee has kindly offered to tend to my wound.”
Michael’s eyes rolled toward her as if he, too, expected the worse.
“Oh, good God, I’m not a fool! I don’t intend to attempt to escape by wielding a stitching needle!” she said with impatience.
Michael arched a brow to Jerome who returned an almost imperceptible nod. A moment later Michael returned with the requested medical supplies, a bowl of water and a sponge. Risa approached the desk with arustle of
“Miss Magee—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” she heard from the door, andshe froze, staring at the young man who now looked at her with an unhappy grimace. She looked beyond him. Jerome McKenzie stood there, slick with sweat and blackened from gunfire and battle. A nasty red gash cut across his chest. His eyes were brilliantly blue against his grimed face, and they focused on her with sheer fury. “Next time, remind me—she needs a muzzle as well as a solid knot!”
Michael muttered an uncomfortable, “Aye, Captain!” and made a hasty exit.
Risa stared at Jerome, rising cautiously. “Michael is a good, kind fellow, Miss Magee, but I assure you, without my command, he’d never have cut that tie.”
“I could have died here!” Risa informed him.
“The man posted near your door was to release you at the slightest hint of danger.”
“So …” she murmured, sinking back to the bunk. “The
Maid of Salem
is taken?”
“Aye.”
“And her crew?”
“Naturally, we slit the throats of all survivors.”
Her eyes widened, then she realized he mocked her. “And her crew, McKenzie?” she repeated.
“She lost three men in the fighting; we lost one. Some of my men have boarded her and will relieve her of her supplies, then see that she is painted, renamed, and reoutfitted as a Confederate vessel. Her crew will be deposited on a small beachhead frequently passed by Union ships heading to Key West.”
“So you are a success in all things,” she murmured.
“I am able to take unwary ships by surprise, yes. It is a modest talent,” he said.
Wincing, he came on into the cabin, taking a seat at the desk and reaching into the bottom drawer for a bottle of rum. He uncorked it, and took a long swallow, wincing again when he was done. Gritting his teeth, he leaned back and poured a stream of the alcohol over the gash on his chest.
The rum cleaned away some of the grime. Risa found herself on her feet, clenching her hands together before her as she saw that the gash was long and thick. “That needs to be stitched.”
He arched a brow. “You’re concerned?”
“I’m merely stating that your wound needs stitches.”
“Ah. And you’d like to give them to me?”
“Indeed, I might well relish the task of piercing you with a needle time and again,” she said sweetly.
He leaned back, grinning. “Honesty. How refreshing. I do applaud that in a woman.”
She caught her breath at how his white smile transformed his face.
“Our ship’s surgeon is busy with more serious wounds,” he mused.
She hesitated, wondering if she wasn’t losing her mind—or if she did relish the task of sticking a needle into his flesh. Maybe it was just that in her many months of working with the injured in St. Augustine, she simply couldn’t ignore such a gash on any man.
“If you can call for a needle and sutures, I will happily close that.”
His eyes narrowed.
She let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin Julian, but I’ve worked with those who took over his practice in St. Augustine when he moved inland with the military.”
He studied her for a very long time. He was probably assuming she meant to pierce a needle straight into his heart.
No less than he deserved.
But she would refrain, she decided. His men might well do her in to retaliate.
He shrugged. “As you wish. Michael!”
The young bearded fellow opened the door. “Bring us a needle and sutures. Miss Magee has kindly offered to tend to my wound.”
Michael’s eyes rolled toward her as if he, too, expected the worse.
“Oh, good God, I’m not a fool! I don’t intend to attempt to escape by wielding a stitching needle!” she said with impatience.
Michael arched a brow to Jerome who returned an almost imperceptible nod. A moment later Michael returned with the requested medical supplies, a bowl of water and a sponge. Risa approached the desk with arustle of
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