Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (51 page)

He could not answer knowing that his next steps would take him over the water and bring that gut wrenching sense of vertigo he always experienced. Only this time it would get worse once aboard the
Sea Witch
.

Sensing his disquiet, Jeanie frowned. “What’s wrong?” She did not believe it had anything to do with her statement.

He took a shuddering breath and released it.

“Do you remember what I said about me becoming sick when crossing water?” he whispered, praying that Fernando was far enough that he could not hear.

Jeanie nodded. Fear sparked in her eyes, reflecting his concerns.

“I’m going to be – how can I say this?” He let out another nervous breath. “You’re going to have to deal with the Captain and make sure Fernando leaves us alone in the cabin.” He set down the baggage and pulled out his wallet. Counting out what Captain Richardson was expecting for his payment, he handed the notes to Jeanie.

“What’s this for?” Her eyes grew wide at the amount in her hand.

“To pay the Captain.” He stared at the water dancing between the planks. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company until we land in Calais.”

Blinking in confusion, Jeanie stuffed the notes into her coat pocket and waited for him to pick up the suitcases before she resumed her journey to the ship. With her back momentarily to him, Jeanie did not see the Angel stumble as he stepped onto the planks.

The
Sea Witch
bobbed on the surf as Jeanie and the Noble stared up at the Tern Schooner’s three masts. The sails fluttered in the light breeze as the crew made ready to leave port. One future passenger stood behind the two, his hands clutching the handles of the suitcases in a grip threatening to crush the hard wood as he kept his eyes closed in every attempt not to see world spin around him. Every part of his being tensed in the attempt to keep his trembling at bay, he did not want to open his eyes and see the gang board leading to the deck.

“Ahoy!” came the cry from the ship. “I see that you and your companions are ready to depart, Miss Stuart.”

“Aye, Captain Richardson,” called Jeanie. “May we come aboard?”

“Please. And I take it that you have my payment?”

“Aye, half now and half upon reaching port.”

“The gang board is yours.”

Jeanie took the lead up the inclined ridged plank. Her shoes clicked as she steadied herself with the rope railing. It was her first time aboard such a vessel and despite the Angel’s reaction to the adventure she could not keep her excitement in check.

Upon reaching the deck, Captain Richardson held out his hand and smiled. When she first met him, she thought him a letch. Now he seemed to carry himself with the decorum of a naval officer. His blonde waves cut close under his hat; his smile lit blue eyes in a rugged square face when her hand shook his. She figured him to be in age with her father.

Fernando’s sudden presence onboard wiped the smile from the Captain’s face. “Miss Stuart said she would be bringing others,” his accented voice slid lower. “And you are?”

“I am Fernando de Sagres, the last heir to the Fidalgo de Sagres,” stated the Noble matter-of-factly as he took in the appearance of the
Sea Witch
and it’s Captain. “And I take it, sir, that you are the Captain of this ship.”

“Yes, I am,” replied Richardson. His tone quavered under the Noble’s intense glare.

“I don’t recognise the accent, sir.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “American, sir.”

An amused smile alighted Fernando’s face. “A man from the colonies – interesting. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

A murderous expression ran fleetingly across Captain Richardson’s face before smoothing to a more cordial one. “The United States has been separate from England for a long time.”

Fernando waved off the correction and walked away as if finding more interest in the grain of wood in the decking.

The Captain scowled and turned back to speak to the lady when he witnessed the tall, cloaked figure slowly making his way up onto the deck. Mouth slack as the last of the passengers finally boarded, Richardson found he could only stare and did not hear Miss Jeanie when she spoke.

Clearing his head with a quick shake, Richardson tore his gaze away from the grim figure before him to the beauteous one. “I’m sorry ma’am, what did you say?”

Jeanie frowned and held out the bills. “I believe this is the agreed upon amount?”

Captain Richardson flicked his gaze to the money and took it out of her hand, reality snapping back at the firmness of the paper. Licking his thumb he counted out the notes and smiled, pocketing the large amount. “Jones will show you to your cabins.”

A lithe young man with new sprouts of dark brown facial hair dropped down to the deck from the rigging and took a lantern from the hook on the rail. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am,” he said trying his utmost to ignore the grim figure standing beside the pretty lady.

Jeanie could not see the Angel’s face beneath the hood, but she knew he had fallen into one of his silences. He had said that he was going to be ill on the voyage, but so far she had not seen anything to indicate his unease in crossing water. Walking up to him, she gazed up and noticed his eyes tightly shut. A touch on his arm startled him, snapping his eyes open before he sighed heavily, shoulders slumping.

Turning to face the crew hand, Jeanie followed the young man down under the deck. Thankfully Jones remained respectfully quiet as the walked the small halls below deck.

The height below decks caused the Angel to duck under the planks. It was hard to keep his balance as he felt the ship rise and fall under the simple swells. Leaning against the walls for support as his feet moved leadenly, he knew it was going to be worse once away from port and then the nightmare would begin. Thankfully, Fernando had chosen to stay above deck. He knew it would impossible to hide from the Noble his discomfort and weakness and was immensely grateful when the young seaman opened the door to their berth in the aft of the schooner.

Jones smiled at Jeanie, ignoring the tall figure with her. The room consisted of a bunk bed, a simple wooden table and two stools. A single porthole looked out onto the waters. For a ship this size, the aft berth was quite generous. It was clear that Captain Richardson was well versed in carrying passengers as well as cargo. Hanging the lantern on the hook above the table, Jones nodded his head and scurried out of the cabin.

With the sound of the door closing, the Angel dropped the suitcases and tore away the restrictive cloak pin. The heavy wool fell and he leaned forward, laying shaking hands on the table. Everything was spinning and the earth seemed very far below. He opened his eyes at the touch of Jeanie’s warm hand on his arm and saw only deep concern.

“Get some sleep,” he said, thickly. “I’ll be fine.”

Jeanie made a deep throat noise of disapproval. “I’ll no sleep while yer like this. Ye need to get t’bed.”

A smile quirked his lips, “The bed’s too small. I’ll take the floor.” He tried to stand straight and found the ceiling much too low. A cry from above decks and a lurch sent him grasping the bolted down table. They were under way.

“Let go.” He heard Jeanie whisper. “Yer crushing the wood.”

He did not know if he could. He was afraid that if he let go the ship would start spinning around him even more. Gentle hands unclasped his sword belt and he felt the weight lifted off his hips. He dared not open his eyes to see where Jeanie placed it. Again her warm hands found his and coached them to release the table. It was enough for him to risk opening his eyes. The world spun, but not too fast before he found the aft wall and sank to the floor, hugging his raised knees as his head leaned against the wall.

Seeing him weakened and sick frightened Jeanie. He was always strong, even in his silence and now she did not know what to do. He had said he would be ill during the trip, but she could not fathom how that was possible being that he was a vampire. Removing her gloves, Jeanie pulled the hatpin out and placed it and the hat on the table, and turned to latch the door before kneeling at his side. He did not seem to notice her until she placed a hand on his forehead. It seemed the most logical thing to do when someone was ill. What surprised her was that he actually felt hot.

Languidly, he opened his eyes and smiled wryly at her. Jeanie looked so beautiful with her hair up, allowing for wayward strands to curl in floating ringlets around her ears. Even her eyes sparkled despite her concern. He felt the ship move up and then, as quickly, back down, bottoming out his senses and tearing a pained groan from his lips. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wooden wall.

Removing her hand from his head, Jeanie worried her lower lip. She had nursed her dying mother when she was younger. Back then she had help. She had known what to do and what she could not do. But this was different. How does one help a sick vampire? Before she had known his true nature she had wanted to care for him. Now that the time had come and she was bereft of knowledge.

“What can I do?” she pleaded.

Without opening his eyes, he responded, his voice a bare whisper. “There’s nothing you can do, Jeanie.”

“There must be somethin’.” She smoothed white stray hairs away and touched the side of his pale face. “Ye look like death.”

His crimson eyes popped open and his face darkened at the comment.

Realizing what she had said, Jeanie pulled back her hand over her mouth in a silent “Oh.”

Releasing a deep shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes again. He knew that Jeanie had not meant it the way he took the comment and that she was just reacting to how he appeared.

“Go get some rest, Jeanie.”

She shook her head. She was not about to leave his side and was about to tell him so again when the rattle of the door followed by a knocking shocked her attention away.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Who do you think? Now let me in! We’ve got to talk.” Fernando’s insistent voice rang through the wooden door.

Eyes going wide, Jeanie glanced to the Angel whose fear laded gaze outmatched hers. She had never seen such alarm in his features and she knew she needed to protect him from Fernando’s prying nature. Rising to her feet, she smoothed down her dress in an attempt to compose herself by dismissing her own worry and evoking the loathing she felt for the Noble.

“Go away, Fernando,” she ordered in a firm voice.

“I’ll do not such thing,” came the tempered reply. “The Angel and I have matters to discuss and I’ll not let this door, nor you, stand in the way.”

Jeanie glanced back at the Angel seated on the floor beside the bunk, under the porthole. Terror glittered his eyes and he shook his head before closing them again with a groan as the ship lifted up and then back down, even causing Jeanie to stumble. She had to do something and quickly. The latch would not hold for a normal person and would most definitely give in Fernando’s hand.

An idea popped into her mind and she smiled at the door.

“I dinna think ye want to come in right about now,” she called.

“And why’s that, li’l miss?” Fernando hissed.

“Because if ye didn’t like what ye saw above the harbour, I doubt ye’d like what ye’d see here.” She lowered her voice to a whisper knowing the Noble would still hear her and added, “Stop that luv, he’s on the other side. Oh!”

A disgusted sound came from the hallway followed the sound of the Noble's shoes on wood.

“Don’t they ever stop,” was the last she heard before the steps took Fernando above deck.

Releasing her tension with an explosion of air, Jeanie wiped away the beads of nervous sweat from her forehead with her hands, smoothed her hair and then turned back to the Angel. Her skirts rustled as she lifted them and lowered to kneel beside him.