CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EVA WAS AWAKENED by a scream that made the skin tense along her spine as if an icy stream of water surged down her back. She jolted upright in bed, lost and disoriented, convinced she was still dreaming. Sunshine streamed through the small windows.
Sunshine? Her cabin had no windows. The unusual sensation of air hitting her bare chest drew to her attention downward. She still wore only her torn shift, which now gaped open. She clutched the fabric in her fist. Her robe was draped at the foot of the bed; it had been roughly stitched together.
“Good morning, Sister Eva.” Jacqueline perched on a chair near the bed, head bent over her needlework, tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. The young girl had a threaded needle in her hand and Eva’s open-sided tunic on her lap.
A loud crack ripped the air followed by another high-pitched cry. Jacqueline glanced toward the closed door, then back to her mending.
It hadn’t been a dream. She reached for her robe and rose from the bed. “What is happening?”
Jacqueline ignored her question but asked one of her own. “How are you?”
Some fleshy areas were sore. Bony areas ached. She gently prodded her bruised cheek, before touching her tender throat.
Her head...Did the captain give her rum?
“I’m fine.” Not really, especially since she had a recollection of snuggling against a warm, solid chest. She didn’t dream that part.
He kissed her!
The kiss was similar to the first one but different. Longer. Gentler. More tender. She brushed her fingertips along her lips, savoring the memory. Without the impairment of the tonic.
Had Drago told Jacqueline what happened? An involuntary shudder quaked through her shoulders. Eva studied the young girl’s features, which were decidedly blank, thereby answering her own question.
He had.
She searched for her shoes and found them next to the captain’s desk, which stood fixed against the wall nearby. Maps were strewn over a long table placed prominently in the middle of the room as if every other piece of furniture was secondary in importance.
“Finally.” Jacqueline lifted the repaired garment and bit her lip. “I’m finished. I’m afraid my needlework isn’t very good. I’ve only ever mended sails, stockings, and...rips in trousers.”
She said the last as if she wasn’t sure if she should add mending trousers to her list. Eva smoothed her fingers over the stitches. “Considering the condition that was in before you started, I think your stitches are more than adequate.”
A small, pleased smile darted across Jacqueline’s face; she nodded toward the desk, to a shallow bowl containing Eva’s destroyed rosary. “I wanted to repair that, too, but the crucifix is missing and it needs a new cord. Manuel said he’d help me restring it after--“
Another loud clap interrupted her. The girl’s smile disappeared. This time, the scream was shorter. Her attention once again slid to the door.
Eva shrugged into her clothing; she’d mend her shift later. “Jacqueline, mon cher, you haven’t answered my question.”
The young girl grimaced. After another quick glance at the door, she said, “Unless it’s to offer aid or follow a direct order from Captain Gampo, they’re not allowed to touch us.”
“Who?”
“The men.”
Eva reached for the door handle as understanding dawned.
Razin was being punished.
The image of Julian tied to the breastwork floated to the forefront of her mind. Mister Harvey had used an oar. The stroke of the whip signified a much more severe form of discipline.
Jacqueline hesitantly gathered the needle and thread and stashed them in the sewing box. “You shouldn’t go out there. Manuel is standing guard. He won’t let you pass.” She stared at the door. “He’ll follow captain’s orders no matter what.”
Eva arched a brow. Most likely, that was experience speaking. He had warned her about the twins’ antics, had he not? She eased open the door and peered out. Manuel’s back was to her. Like everyone else aboard, his attention was focused on the activity near the center of the ship. Shackled to the breastwork grate, Razin was stripped to the waist and had several long thick gashes crossing his back. The African, Raul wielded the cat-o-nine tails. Drago stood near the stair leading to the helm, a foreboding figure of authority and judgment.
He stood with his feet braced wide, corded arms folded across his chest. As usual, he was dressed in black from head to boots. A fierce scowl darkened his face and his steely eyes flashed beneath lowered brows. The quartermaster drew back the whip, flicked it, and looked at him.
Gampo gave the slightest nod and the cat whistled through the air. It made contact with the man’s back and clawed around his ribs. His body jerked violently before he let out a ragged cry.
Once again, Raul looked for direction. He received another inclination and the whip hissed again. This time, Razin’s voice was a crumbled warble. As if sensing her presence, Drago turned his head her. His expression teetered for a second, between intense interest and flat dismissal. His shout cut through the morning air. “Manuel!”
The hulk of a man by the door started before twisting his chin over his shoulder. He pulled the hat from his head and worried it in his hands. “Mornin,’ Sister Eva. I’m sorry but you must stay in the cabin. Captain’s orders.”
Before she could respond, he stepped forward, blocking her view of the deck, grasped the door, and swung it shut with a commanding click.
“Lift the lantern higher please, Manuel.” She shifted the basket of supplies to her other arm as she peered into the makeshift cell. They were down in the hold. A couple inches of dank sea brine sloshed to and fro with the swells, dampening her hem and soaking her feet. He complied and she scrutinized the form sprawled facedown across a wooden pallet; angry red slashes crossed his exposed back. Dried blood stained the waistband of his britches from yesterday’s lashing.
Manuel unlocked the iron door and stepped inside, leaving just enough room for her to squeeze in next to him. Razin opened his eyes and glared. When his gaze reached her, it faltered in surprise. He recovered quickly and eyed her with a wary stare as he began to push himself up.
“Stay where you are please, Mr. Razin,” she said. He froze at her words, he shot a look to Manuel, then back to her, before he eased himself back down to his stomach. Dark eyes flashed with loathing and distrust.
She removed a small wooden bowl. “I made some salve that will help your wounds to heal. If you’ll allow me to apply it, you’ll find it also eases the pain somewhat.”
He’s jaw rippled as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Finally, he gave her a curt nod. Manuel moved closer to his feet, giving Eva room to work.
She dripped a tincture on the gashes, and he flinched at the sting. “In a moment, your discomfort will subside, but only temporarily. I’ll be able to rub in the salve without causing you additional pain.” She finished her administrations efficiently, packed up her supplies, and moved toward the door.
“Why?” Razin’s voice rasped, dripping with bitter hatred.
Why indeed?
She’d have asked the same question had she been in his place. The answer was simple.
She locked her gaze with his. “To please God,” she said. His face remained hard, but his eyes seemed to flicker ever so slightly. She took just two steps before coming nose to nose with Captain Gamponetti. She stopped so fast, her basket swung forward and struck his hip. She braced a hand on his chest to avoid a collision. Rigid tension curled under her palm, and she snatched her hand back. She didn’t think to ask permission first, although it appeared she should have.
“What are you doing?” His voice was brittle, the question deliberately articulated.
She tilted her head, trying to read his expression in the dim light, to see if his features mirrored his tone. His silver eyes glittered with shards of flint.
It did.
“This man paid for his crime. I assumed you still require his services, so I sought to speed his recovery to the best of my abilities.”
He folded his arms over his massive chest. The steel in his voice hardened his words. “Were I still a pirate captain, this bilge rat would have been given a dozen lashes, then tossed overboard as a pretty meal for the sharks, for his crimes. As per the articles.”
The visual made her cringe. She placed her palm on his forearm, which was hard as a granite boulder. She glanced at his fisted hand, and he slowly unclenched it, the muscle beneath her hand almost easing imperceptibly as he unfolded them “We must forgive those who trespass against us.” She nodded toward Razin. “That’s what I have done.” If only her anger at Hugo would subside as easily. Forgiving Dupré was hardest for her. It always had been.
He studied her. “You have a very complex nature. You’re much more merciful than I.” He offered his arm. “Watch your step.”
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, perhaps a little too tightly.
Manuel followed them up to the main deck. “Sister Eva?”
She stopped and faced him. “Yes?”
He plunged his meaty hands into his pockets. “I...I tried to fix your prayer beads.” He rocked forward and back.
“That was extremely kind of you, Manuel.” His distress was palpable. She beamed, hoping to put him at ease.
“The pieces were scattered everywhere.” He shifted his weight and withdrew a new rosary, beautifully restrung, with a hand-carved crucifix.
Eva sucked in her breath, reached out and ran her fingers over the cross. “This is exquisite. Did you carve it?”
He nodded. “From a piece of ivory.” He let it pour into her open hands.
To think that went to so much trouble, and worked so hard to do this for her was overwhelming. Aside from the nuns, the only person to show her such kindness had been her mother...and more recently, Capitaine Gamponetti. She smiled through watery eyes. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re crying!” The big man’s face crumpled, both hands clenched his hat. “I know you’re sad that your rosary was broken. I couldn’t find it all.” He swayed, distraught, and stared at the floorboards.
“These are not unhappy tears, Manuel. I am overjoyed.” She patted his arm lightly before remembering his aversion to touching. She jerked her hand back and froze. How could she forget? He tensed. His eyes drifted to his cousin, then back to her.
“Oh.” He examined the spot, where her hand had been. “Drago said I must let healers touch.” He released a long breath and looked at the captain.
He nodded his approval, and Manuel relaxed a little.
She admired the gift. Meticulously knotted beads and shells strung on a strong, silky twine. The crucifix glowed a soft white. No one had ever made something specifically for her.
“Manuel, this is the best gift I have ever received.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.” She hung the rosary around her neck. “I shall wear it always.”
His face broke into a wide smile. “I’m glad.”
“Oy, Manuel!” Harvey shouted. “We needs ye aft, ye blighter!”
He dipped his head. “Good day, Sister Eva.” He pulled his cap back on and still grinning, trotted away.
She met the curious perusal of the capitaine, grateful for his foresight with his cousin. He inclined his head then walked away. If she wasn’t mistaken, his lips had tilted up in a slight smile.