and sweat, with undertones of orange oil and cinnamon. Styled without lapels, the deep cuffs reaching nearly to her elbows, the coat had the feel of having once lived a life of privilege. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see traces of its original rich burgundy where soutache or other decorations had once laid. Now faded to the point of near colorlessness, the garment bore few embellishments other than horn buttons.
The knife scrape on her breast burned horribly. She twitched at the sting of the nicks on her ribs and belly. Water dripped from her, patting on the floor with the regularity of a ticking clock. She ventured a hand to wipe the wetness from her face, quickly tucking it back into the coat before the movement was noticed. The tremors increased, threatening to tear her joints, with the realization of what had just happened, or nearly so. She kept a sharp eye both on the captain and the door, half-expecting the snarling pack to burst in and finish what they had started.
“Would you mind not staring at me with those damned eyes?”
Cate started at being spoken to. His voice held a timbre that could have been quite fearsome had it not been so throaty and ragged. It took her a moment to find her voice.
“I beg pardon. I didn’t realize—”
“Aye, well, you are,” he huffed indignantly. “Seeking to curse me, I’ll wager. I’ve only seen eyes that color once. On a jaguar idol in Vera Cruz, they were. Cursed me, the bloody thing did.”
He ended with a dramatic shudder. A squat brown bottle sat amidst the table’s clutter. He snatched it up, uncorked it, and took a long drink.
Cate ducked her head to hide a smile. It wasn’t the first time such comments had been made, most especially while living in the Highlands. Nearly as superstitious as mariners, the Highlanders had more than once accused her of casting spells and curses.
He continued to work, while she continued to stand, her gaze fixed on a point at her feet where rug and floor met. From the corner of her eye, she saw him dart a glance at her now and again, presumably in hopes of catching her evil eye.
If only putting a curse on him would be that simple.
“What are you—?” Cate was cut short by another fit of coughing, this one full of fluid.
The Captain straightened. His scowl was visible even through the dimness. “You look bloody awful!”
She cleared her throat, a wholly unfeminine sound. “I feel like I’ve swallowed half of the Caribbean,” she said more crossly than intended.
“Rum will answer.” He seized the bottle, and then glanced about, muttering darkly under his breath. “Ah,” he said at finally locating a glass atop a desk. “I knew I’d seen one somewheres or another.”
Looking up from pouring, he was disconcerted to find her still standing. “Well, don’t just stand there gaping. Sit!”
She came up against something hard and cold, and realized she had been inching backwards the while. It was a cannon, one of a pair, “Merdering Mary” roughly carved in its carriage.
“Jump and I swear I’ll cheer whilst you drown,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Come the bloody hell away from the damned window!”
Another glance showed she was indeed not much more than an arm’s length from a gallery of windows. Running ceiling-high, they angled out at the top, with a broad sill at their base.
“I didn’t mean…I mean, I wasn’t—” she began.
“Seems once in a day would be enough, but mark me, I shan’t raise a finger to preserve you from Jones’ locker. Most of the men believe ’tis the hand of God on a drowning soul. To save one is to deny God, so ’twill be no matter to watch you go.”
By the sound of his voice coming out of the shadows, he was pacing.
“Then why did you pull me out?” Cate considered how much easier things would have been if they had allowed her to drown.
“Because you are valuable,” he said coldly. “At least for now. But pressing the point could prove unwise. Value can be ever so relative, don’t you think?”
She had the impression the inquiry wasn’t meant to be answered.
“Pray, would you not oblige me to shout like you’re a f’c’stleman. Sit there if you like. Oh, hell, I don’t really give a damn,” he grumbled with an irritated swipe.
Minding the coat, Cate reflexively sat on the nearest thing: a chest beside her. Gripping the wood beneath her, the urge to cough built