Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella (14 page)

She shivered, and Myron’s heel tapped
against her slipper.

She stood, back straight, feeling as though
the
mal de mer
might have taken root after all, her eyes
trained just above Captain Johnson’s head. Myron held her hand
tightly in the crook of his elbow, pinching her finger when she
gasped at the sight of the sailor being hauled across the deck,
already stripped to the waist. Dark bruising covered his face,
dried blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and a cut scabbed
across his eyebrow.

She would have asked if Myron had caused the
damage, given his ferocious anger, but he had spent every moment
with her once the ship’s doctor had left her cabin, which meant
other men were causing injury in her defense. She wasn’t certain
how to feel about such a thing. Gratitude seemed as though she
condoned the violence, but ingratitude might anger the potentially
aggressive men whose respect she needed to cultivate.

Hawley was struggling to get free of the
shackles and the men dragging him by them, screaming and begging
for mercy. One tiny squeak from Bella’s throat resulted in another
pinch, this time on her wrist. She swallowed hard and stared at a
cloud forming in the distance.

When the man began beseeching her directly,
“Please, Yer Ladyship,” crawling toward her feet, Myron kicked a
boot into his bared chest, throwing him hard into the wooden deck,
and growled, “Do not speak my wife’s name, you foul cur! Lay one
finger on the hem of her gown, and you will hang.”

A grating had been rigged at the ship’s
side, leather straps in place at the four corners, and most of the
merchant crew were eyeing it—younger men with trepidation, older
ones resignation, and a few out of the corners of their eyes as
they pretended to attend to other tasks.

Myron grasped her fingers so tightly they
ached, reminding her again to school her expression. “She has no
pity for you, nor do I. Bear up and face your death like a man, you
sorry dunghill, knowing Lady Holsworthy will take great comfort
from the fact of your suffering.”

Bella bit her tongue to hold back her
natural compassion, unsure whether she could watch, the
too-familiar sound of leather striking flesh already echoing in her
mind. She wished Myron hadn’t demanded she break her fast. The
porridge sat precariously on her stomach.

Using the shackles around his arms and
ankles, four sailors dragged him to the grating and secured him
there, Hawley screaming before the pain even started. With a nod,
Captain Johnson signaled the bo’sun to begin. Dragging the cat out
of the salt water, he applied the lashes with enough force to cut
on the first stroke. Bella held her head and neck so stiffly, she
might give herself a megrim, but she would not allow herself to
flinch.

The king’s soldiers and the merchant sailors
all stood like ramrods, silent under their officers’ commands.
Bella took her cue from the military ranks, biting her cheeks to
keep from showing any emotion, staring at anything she could find
in the distance, rather than being tempted to look to see if the
man would be killed.

Myron kept his hand on hers, curling her
fingers around his heavily muscled bicep. When blood began pooling
on the deck beneath Hawley’s feet, her husband’s shoulder kept her
standing firm; his forearm kept her from turning away. She
shuddered, and he leaned in, whispering in her ear, “Take heart, my
dear. You need not witness every stroke.”

She pulled just slightly away, keeping her
spine upright under her own power. “If I might, my lord, I should
prefer to stay until the bitter end.” At his look of surprise, she
added, “It is for my honor he is thus tormented. Is it not correct
I should witness it?”

He patted her hand and moved his arm to
surround her. “Indeed.”

Her fortitude seemed to earn her some
murmured approval from the men, though she was certain she would
never understand why. When Hawley was finally cut down, she
detached her arm from Myron and leaned over the doctor, who was
trying to determine whether the man had only fainted or died.

At a convulsion from the tortured sailor,
she said, “Doctor, you will need assistance nursing him, I expect.”
The doctor looked up over his shoulder, mouth flapping open. Myron
reached out to grasp her arm, and she calmly shook him off. The
captain started, “My lady, you need not—”

“Nonsense. Doctor, will he survive?”

Visibly gathering his words, pulling his
mouth back into a formation that would allow speech, the doctor
said, “He will, I think, though the damage is no small thing. I
foresee naught but light duty from now on.”

“If he will take on any duties at all, we
will need the coffer of medicines from my cabin and a great deal of
warm water to clean the wounds.” She turned to Myron. “I believe
you told me you brought extra fresh water on board?”

“Lady Holsworthy,” Myron began, “after what
he’s done, I—”

“Has he not borne the punishment you
demanded?” Bella consciously donned the same countenance she used
in the management of her uncle’s estate. “Two of you men will
please take him below, and put him in the green cabin. It is close
enough to ours that I will hear him stirring if he needs
attention.”

“My dear, that is the—”

“There is no royalty to sleep there today,”
she snapped. “If you feel it necessary, my lord, you may restrain
him, as long as it will cause no further damage, but he will live
if it is in my power. These men have sworn to die for me if need
be, Husband, so this will be my payment for their loyalty. It will
be my part to keep them alive.”

Myron stepped back and motioned for the men
to do her bidding.

Standing with one shoulder leaned against
the doorframe, Myron watched his wife assisting the doctor with
Hawley. Or rather, he watched the doctor assist her, taking away
the rags she used to clean the healing wounds, handing her the
salves she used to cover the lacerations, glaring down any protest
Hawley might have made. Though, in truth, he had precious little
protest left to make after she nursed him back to health with a
tenacity worthy of saving a king, not just a wharf rat.

She was seated on the edge of the bunk that
had been set aside for men of nobler birth and disposition, gently
bending and stretching the sailor’s arm and shoulder. She didn’t
even notice Myron had entered the room, such was her concentration
on the task at hand.

“Your arm moves much better today than
yesterday. It seems you may yet recover.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Hawley muttered. “And I
thanks ye for it. More’n I deserve after I—”

She cut him off before he could say another
word that might recall the incident a fortnight earlier. “Indeed,
it is more than you deserve, but we will say no more of it, for you
have repented your actions toward me, have you not?”

Blushing in a way Myron never expected,
Hawley answered, “Yes, m’lady. Should never’ve—”

“No, you should not. Not with me, nor any
other woman, and I trust it will be your last such transgression.”
Her voice was as firm and cold as a spinster governess to a family
of unruly boys, and Myron smiled inside to hear it. He didn’t let a
bit of amusement show on his face, though, as he hoped that tone of
voice would forever shrivel the balls of any sailor who set foot on
The Amelia
. It would certainly shrivel Myron’s, were she to
turn it on him.

Hawley hung his head and nodded.

“Good. Now, as your arms are once again
working, I have a task I wish you to accomplish.”

“What task, m’lady?” he asked, his head
popping back up, a hopeful look crossing his face. “Anything. I
swear it.”

She set his hand back down in his lap and
picked up the other arm, again testing the range of motion.

“Doctor Anders says you are a dab hand with
a blade. Is that so?”

Anders’ face was disapproving enough that
Myron took notice. Whatever she was about to ask of Hawley, the
doctor was not fully in support of the request, though he made no
overt objection. Myron also marked the fact his sailors’ vernacular
was making its way into her conversation rather more quickly than
he expected or liked.

Shrugging, then wincing at the resultant
pain, Hawley said, “Was.”

“You will need considerable practice to
regain that skill, do you not think?”

“S’pose.”

“As will I.”

Hawley sat straighter, and glanced over to
see Myron. His eyes widened and face paled. “You, m’lady? You could
use a knife?”

“Not at present, no. But you are going to
teach me.”

“But—”

“The next time a man comes near me with your
sort of ill intent, I am going to gut him…” All three men pulled
back slightly at the look on her face, sharp as any knife could
ever be. “And you are going to teach me how. “

Myron cleared his throat, and Hawley looked
over at him with a strange mix of fear and gratitude. Bella smiled
to see him, and Myron felt the instinctive answering grin cross his
lips that he was coming to expect. He was a bit surprised how happy
it now made him to come upon her during the course of his day.

“M’lady,” Hawley began, stammering a bit at
the need to dissuade her, trying to subtly motion with his eyes for
Myron’s or the doctor’s support for his position. “It ain’t a good
idea fer a girl to—”

If Hawley would argue women’s roles with
Bella, he might lose the use of his hands yet. She had been more
than a bit indignant that she might be considered bad luck aboard
ship.

“An outstanding idea, my dear,” Myron said,
leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “Hawley is
among the most skilled bladesmen I have ever had in my employ. I
cannot think of a better teacher, especially as he must now move
slowly, which will allow you to pick up the skill more
readily.”

“But… m’lord…”

“No buts. You will do as my wife asks, under
my supervision and the captain’s, or I will throw you
overboard.”

This was said in such a cheerful tone that
Hawley didn’t know whether to take the words seriously or not—until
he looked Myron in the eye and met the cold, hard stare that belied
his easy smile.

Hawley swallowed hard. “Yes, m’lord. But my
arms ain’t—”

The doctor interrupted, glancing over at
Bella with the slightest censure, but not enough to really argue.
“You are strong enough to hold a dagger, and the exertion will help
strengthen the damaged muscles.”

Hawley sighed, but finally nodded his
agreement.

“Excellent,” Myron said.

In a moment, though, Hawley’s head snapped
up. “M’lady, it ain’t that I don’t want—er—Don’t mean you
ain’t—”

Bella patted his hand. “Yes, I understand.
You simply never expected you would be teaching the owner’s wife to
kill a man. I admit, Mr. Hawley, I cannot credit it. But teach me,
you shall, and I will be grateful for your tutelage.” At his blank
look, she corrected, “The lessons.”

Clearing his throat, once again blushing
like a chastised child, Hawley looked over at the doctor before he
said, “Er, m’lady, Cap’n said I weren’t to ask you… but might be
you won’t mind so much…” He trailed off, studiously avoiding
Myron’s questioning raise of one eyebrow.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Hawley,” the doctor snapped, “do you not
think it a poor decision to ask Lady Holsworthy for anything but
her forgiveness?”

“But she already give me that! I just…”

Bella cast quelling looks at both of the
other men. “Go on, Mr. Hawley. You may ask anything you like, as
long as you do so respectfully.”

“M’lady, I just thought… my Ma showed me the
reading when I were a boy, but she died before I could…” He cleared
his throat again and looked away.

Bella brightened. “Reading? Of course I can
teach you to read. It will be a good way for both of us to pass the
time.” She turned to Myron. “Do you not think, my lord?”

“You must do as you will, my sweet.” He
squeezed her hand and kissed the fingertips. He expected he might
not recognize his crew by the time they reached India. He certainly
hadn’t known Hawley had blond hair until Bella had insisted he
bathe, nor boyish freckles under his usual unruly facial hair.

Beaming, and with a slight bounce in her
seat, Bella clapped her hands and said, “Then we will start right
away.”

“Perhaps I might delay your first lesson an
hour or so,” Myron suggested, “as my lady’s presence is requested
by the sailmaker.”

Hawley and the doctor both broke out in
grins as wide as Myron’s.

“Whatever for, Husband?” she asked,
narrowing her eyes at the three of them.

“Only to provide you something that will
also be of help in your lessons in bladeplay.”

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes.”

Myron, Captain Johnson, the doctor, the
sailmaker, and Hawley had all been part of the plan now in motion,
and all had studiously kept Bella in the dark after her first
outright refusal.