Page 60 of Only Scandal Will Do

“Then, my lord, you might take comfort in the fact that no one ever dies of seasickness.”

He shot a glare at the captain. The man’s cavalier attitude toward Katarina’s welfare did not sit well. Stratton might have experience regarding the severity of the malady, but his optimism rankled, just the same.

Christ! If Katarina was ill the whole journey, his plan for romance on the high seas would be dashed to hell. And, devil take it, how was he to get her back to England when the time came? He could hardly insist that she sail, knowing this would happen again. Even if they traveled overland there was still the channel to cross. They might as well turn around and go home now.

Frustration made him throw up his hands, stalk off the bridge and head below for the first report on his wife’s condition. Larraby awaited him at his cabin door when he arrived there. He motioned the lad inside, took a seat in one of the soft leather captain’s chairs and steeled himself for the unsavory details.

“How is Lady Dalbury now, Larraby?”

Larraby stood straight, fixed his gaze on the ceiling and recited the report as though learned by heart. “Mistress Margery said to tell you, m’lord, that your wife fares much the same. She tried to drink some water but couldn’t keep nothin’ down. The cloths and the clean water were much appreciated. And...and...your wife said...”

If only he could drag the words from the sailor’s mouth! He leaned forward, hoping to encourage Larraby.

“Your wife said ‘Thank you for leaving.’” The lad grinned, no doubt pleased to have remembered all of his charge.

Sorely disappointed, Duncan sagged back in his chair. “Thank you, Larraby. Tell Margery I will expect another report in an hour. And if she has need of anything she is to let you know. Any change, for better or for worse, tell me immediately.”

Larraby bobbed his head. A final “yes, m’lord,” and he was out the cabin door.

What to do? Give up and turn back, or wait it out and hope the sickness passed? Neither option was attractive. Katarina was so ill. Wretched and forlorn. A surge of love and protectiveness welled up in him, rendering the decision easy. If matters did not improve by tomorrow morning, he would order the captain to return to England. Stratton might claim no one died of seasickness, but he would take no chances with Katarina.

He smiled grimly. There was a silver lining to the situation, though a poor one. Her illness rendered her too sick to protest that she had again been cheated out of the opportunity to learn his disarm.

CHAPTER 26

The reports Duncan received throughout the day became increasingly monotonous, for there was almost no change in Katarina’s condition. Bouts of illness occurred if she tried to eat or drink. She dozed fitfully but got no real rest. By eight o’clock that night, he could recite the report word for word with Larraby, although the last one did have a disturbing addition from the sailor himself.

“When I knocked on the door, m’lord, there weren’t no answer.” He seemed to meet his gaze with reluctance. “I knocked again. Still nothing and I was afraid, m’lord.” The boy must have sensed the fear mounting in him, for his lips trembled and his gray eyes widened. “So I eased the door open and...and...your wife was lying on the bed, just like always, but...but

...Mistress Margery was...all in a heap on the floor.”

His heart leapt. As he started up from his chair, bound for his wife’s cabin, Larraby held up a hand. “It was all right my lord,” he said quickly. “I ran to Mistress Margery quiet like, so as not to disturb her ladyship, and shook her and finally got her to wake up. She’s just all in, m’lord, since she’s been nursing her ladyship all day. I told her I’d come back after I reported to you and spell her a while so she could get some sleep.” He puffed out his chest a little. “I used to do that with me Mam when one of the little ’uns would take sick. I’ll take real good care of her ladyship, m’lord. You can trust me.”

Duncan passed a hand over his weary eyes. He might not last until morning himself. “Thank you, Larraby. I am sure Margery and my wife are grateful for your assistance. But I believe that I will go see for myself how my wife does.” He cocked an eyebrow at the lad, who obviously still burned with a desire to help. “I have another task for you, Larraby, if you’re game?”

The lad nodded enthusiastically.

Prepared to bully his way into the sick room if necessary, Duncan stood. “I want you to talk to the captain and see what he knows about treating seasickness.” He didn’t trust himself to deal with the captain right now. “We don’t have a physician on board, but is there anyone who might have some medical skill?” he asked as he set a brisk pace down the gangway toward Katarina’s cabin.

“We got the cook, m’lord. He sees to the crew when something’s wrong.”

Why in hell had he not foreseen the necessity of insisting on trained medical care for this voyage? “Then ask him as well. Perhaps he has some concoction that will help Lady Dalbury.

Report back to me every hour until I give you leave to seek your bed. Agreed?”

Larraby’s face lit up, perhaps with the novelty of the task. “Agreed, m’lord.” They reached the threshold of his wife’s cabin. The unmistakable sounds of Katarina being ill came from it, making him shudder. God, how long could this go on?

“Wait a moment, Larraby.” He knocked on the door and Margery immediately called for him to enter, obviously thinking the sailor had come to relieve her. When he opened the door, the noisome air that filled the cabin seemed to rush at him, and he caught his breath and entered. A glance told him that things had deteriorated during the day. Now the floor and the bed sheets were stained and the slop bucket teetered, dangerously full. Worse, Margery’s greenish face now hovered above that receptacle.

“Larraby,” he said softly. “Take Mistress Margery up on deck and let her get some fresh air. Make her stay there a good twenty minutes. If she then wants to eat, escort her to the galley, then to her cabin. She is to remain there and sleep until the sun is well up tomorrow morning. Do you understand, lad?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“And send one of the crew here to replace the slop bucket and wash down the floor.

Where might I find fresh linens?”

Larraby moved to Margery’s side and encouraged her to lean on him. “I’ll send Jenkins to swab the floor for you m’lord. He’ll bring the sheets with him.” With Margery’s arm draped over his small shoulders, he half-carried her out of the room.