Page 42 of Go, Rogue

Chapter

17

He watches her sleep, pacing by her bedside like a caged beast. Surges of righteous anger pulse through him, demanding retribution. It’s exactly the same feeling as when he took that vessel from the East India Company.

He became someone else in that moment, just as he does in this one. Someone who will do whatever it takes to right a wrong. Someone who will steal a ship and then burn it. Someone who will not hesitate to gut like a fish the person responsible for harming her while she’s aboard The Elphame.

Under my protection.

He does not for one minute believe she wandered down to the hold in the middle of an emergency and knocked herself out on a bit of oil on the ground. There was the incident with the hatch, of course, but she’s not prone to hysterical overreactions or pratfalls. She didn’t even flinch when a man held a knife to her throat in a darkened alleyway in Covent Garden.

No, whatever happened to her was someone else’s doing and made to look like an accident. And when he finds the man who dared hurt her, he will not stop kicking until his boot is so far up that wretch’s arse he tastes Spanish leather for days. He will not stop punching until the cur’s mother cannot even recognize his face. He will—

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” he hears her say quietly from the bed behind him.

He whips around to find her pushing herself upright. “You’re awake,” he says, followed by, “I’ll make you some tea.” As if leaves in hot water could cure a blow to the head.

But it’s all he can do until he figures out who’s responsible for her injuries and those goddamned fires. The incidences are related; they have to be. Whoever perpetrated one is almost certainly responsible for the other.

“No more tea,” she says and shakes her head, before wincing in obvious pain.

“What do you need then, lass? Tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

She steadies herself on her arm and breathes in deeply. He can tell that even that small exertion hurts, but she pushes herself through it anyway until she is all the way upright.

“Let me help you,” he says, but she only shakes her head again.

Whatever she’s trying to do, she wants to do it alone. He frowns but lets her be, hovering nearby in case she needs him.

“Stop fretting,” she says as she begins to shift her feet off the bed and onto the floor. “You’re worse than a clucking mother hen.”

He only shrugs at that. “Just trying to make sure you don’t kill yourself, Menace. Is it too much to ask that I not have a dead body to deal with? Christ above, lass, we’ve already lost our navigation twice and had to put out four bloody fires aboard this ship. Not to mention the need to address whatever it is that’s happened to your head. By Elphame, maybe we’re cursed.”

“Oh, stop. If we were cursed I’d be dead.” She grins at him. “And I am clearly not deceased. Although, what do you mean we’ve lost navigation twice?”

“Just as I say. We’ve been off course twice. But James, the helmsman—nay, the former helmsman—is now relieved of his duties.

“You didn’t mention that before.”

“I had my attention diverted,” he says. “Fires and stubborn Sassenach lasses and whatnot.”

“No need to concern yourself over me,” she says and pushes her weight off the bed, trying to stand. Her feet hit the deck unsteadily and far too quickly for her to catch her balance.

“Menace!” He lunges forward, catching her as she staggers.

When he has her safely in his arms, he holds her there, pressed against himself, his heart beating riotously inside his chest. She smells like smoke and sweat, but he doesn’t care. He would bury his face in her hair and inhale the whole of her if he thought for half a second she’d let him.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, her voice stifled from where her face still presses into his shirt.

He takes a deep breath and pulls away from her. “Then what in hell were you trying to accomplish? I am standing right here, waiting to help you.”

“I don’t need your help. I’m quite fine.”

“You obviously are not! Just tell me what you need, lass, and I’ll get it for you.”

She sits back down on the bed, a heavy thump on the thin mattress. “I have to use the water closet,” she mumbles.