to switch hands. His shoulders twitched with indignation.
“The bastard wouldn’t hove to, even when he knew he’d been bested. His men and ship were nothing more than a means to him. Aye well, we sent him off to a world where he shan’t be annoyed with such trifles. He’s in Jones’ hands now.”
“What would push a captain to be so foolhardy?” Cate asked, squeezing out the rag, the water now brackish with blood and grime.
Nathan glanced up briefly. “There are two great motivators in this world, darling: ambition and fear, and not necessarily in that order.”
“I understand ambition, but what would make him so afraid?”
“Not what? Who?”
“Creswicke? He has that kind of power?” She had heard as much on the Constancy, but had taken it more in the way of exaggeration.
“He has a way of making examples what leaves lasting impressions,” Nathan said, with a cold finality.
He fell quiet as she worked. When she finished washing, she removed the basin to the washstand. He took that as his cue and attempted to rise. Hindered by her hand firmly on his chest, a dueling match ensued: he determined to rise and she, determined that he not.
“You should be lying quiet,” Cate said, pushing him down.
“Bloody hell, woman. I’ve no time to be cosseted,” he said, batting her away her. “I should be tending me ship.”
“You should be—”
Nathan lurched to his feet in spite of her insistence. In the process of struggling, his hand had come away from his head. The blood welled with renewed force and tracked down his forehead. Head high in defiance, he took two steps, wobbled, and then staggered to the basin, just in time to be sick. She caught him as he reeled sideways and wrestled him once more to the pillow. Scooping the cloth from the floor, she clapped it back in place—not sorry to see him wince—and redirected his hand to it. Knocking back the hair, she stood over him.
“If I thought taking your breeches would keep you here, that is exactly what I would do.”
“Can’t wait to see me in me altogether, eh?” The tease was short-lived. Darkening with determination, Nathan attempted to rise again. “I need to tend me ship.”
“You’re as white as that pillow.”
The pillow in question was actually a dirty off-white, but the parallel held, nonetheless.
“I need—”
“Am I to assume you prefer being seen wobbly like a colt and vomiting over the rail like a landlubber?” Cate demanded.
Chastened but not beaten, he laid back on the pillow, glaring up. “I’ll not lie here, whilst me ship—”
“Shall I call Mr. Pryce, then?” Huffing with aggravation, Cate wrung the cloth in the bowl and set to cleaning the blood from his face…again!
“Torturing me, you are,” Nathan huffed indignantly. “If you were so damned concerned regarding me miseries, you’d at least allow me a spot of rum.”
Having been married to a Scot for a number of years, she was well-versed in stubbornness, and in the process, fancied herself as having cultivated a similar streak of her own. In dealing with said Scot, she had learned a frontal attack was too often ineffective; a feint to the flank often proved best.
“There is still bandaging to be done,” Cate said with a suggestive lilt. “I’ll wager you’ve a fair good headache.”
“Hurts like the dickens,” he said, anticipation heightening.
“Well, in that case,” Cate began judiciously, “a bit might be allowed, for medicinal purposes only.”
“Of course!” Sobering, he lowered his voice. “Of course.”
“Very well, then, a bargain?”
“Negotiating, is it?” He brightened at the prospect. Batting his eyelids affectedly, he settled in for the challenge. “A parlay it is. Your terms?”
Mindful of the delicate nature of such proceedings, she paused, taunting him with a prolonged consideration. “You stay in that bunk…and I’ll fetch the rum.”
“This bunk, for that rum,” he reiterated, gesturing toward the salon. “Agreed!”
The village idiot could have seen his wheels of deception turning. She would have done no differently if positions were reversed, she thought as she fetched the bottle. His face fell in predictable proportions at seeing her pour a dollop into a cup.
“You said the rum. Those were the terms,” Nathan said in stunned betrayal.
“I didn’t specify how much, did I?” It was her turn to affectedly bat her lashes. “You were planning to jump up the instant I turned my back.”
“They say power corrupts,” he muttered, darkly.
“All the rum…” Cate held out the bottle in evidence of her good faith. He made a furtive grab for it and fell back into the pillows,