Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (8 page)

What was he to do? Backed up against the wall, the enemy was advancing with nowhere to turn. If he climbed the wall to escape, he’d turn wraith in a week. That wouldn’t do at all. The world would keep changing and he planned to live forever, watching it, enjoying the immortal life. Fighting, drinking, gold…and women. What else was there?

If he stood and fought, he’d have to figure out how to break his bloody curse. Couldn’t deny he felt a pull but whether it was fate or his normal love of all women or something more disturbing, he didn’t know.

There’d been countless ladies over the years, he’d lost count of how many women he’d loved for a night or a few weeks. But never had he spent more than a few months with one woman. Yes, Colin and Emily had found each other, broken Colin’s curse but he didn’t believe it would happen again so soon. It’d only been a year.

All the Shadow Walkers were talking about what had happened. None of them would presume another of them might be saved or damned, depending on how you looked at it.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, he stood up from his slouch as Ian entered with what he’d asked for.

“Captain, I’ve brought what ye needed. And some clean clothes for the lady.” Ian stood there gawking at their unconscious guest.

“Aye, thank ye lad.”

“Um, Cap’n?”

“What is it?”

“The lady smells awful bad, even with the window open. Shall I have a bath drawn?” His cabin boy screwed up his nose in distaste.

A grin touched his face. “Aye, the stench is worse than the back alley of a butcher shop. Draw a bath and once I’m done, burn her clothing and all the linens or they’ll stink up me whole ship.”

Ian agreed and went to fetch the tub. Robert focused on his unwanted guest. There was another avenue…maybe this was simply some kind of measure of loyalty to Thorne. Fine. All he had to do was play along and be nice to the woman but he wasn’t telling her about the curse. Let the week run its course and see. If at the end of the week, he was doomed—cue the foreboding music, he’d parlay with his commander and make a new bargain. The way he looked at it, the god needed him for the war that was fast approaching. In the meantime, he’d get to know the lass, love her for the time they had together as he’d loved so many before her. A strangled laugh broke free from his throat. Damn the fates and damn Thorne for fucking with him. No way was he falling for the wanker’s little game or test or whatever they called it. No one bested him—after all, he was Black Bart, the most fearsome pirate who’d ever sailed the seas, and he’d be damned to hell and back before he let Thorne win.

Of all the times to be without his powers this was the worst. Swearing under his breath, Robert grumbled. Would have been so much easier to heal her and send her on her way but he was stuck with her and he’d make the best of it. Wasn’t her fault she was drawn into Thorne’s little game.

Alas, he could do nothing for her suffering thanks to her starting the bloody clock ticking. Powerless for a blasted week. Had to rely on whatever skills he’d honed prior to becoming a Shadow Walker or what he’d learned since. The fever would have to run its course, the wound must heal on its own.

While Ian was doing Robert’s bidding, he moved closer to the woman. Normally he had a doctor on board but the man’s grandfather had passed so Robert gave him leave to attend to the funeral and other details. Not to mention the thought of someone else touching her made Robert uncomfortable. So instead he’d tend her and call Doc Jones to find out what else to do for the lass. Robert pulled the water from the heat, dipped a washcloth and gently cleaned the wound. Washed it out, finishing it by pouring whisky over it. Did the same to the cut on her hand. Stirring, she moaned but didn’t wake. He should have a helicopter pick her up, take her to hospital but he knew as sure as he knew the sun would rise, this woman would not want to be taken to a hospital or have the authorities involved in any way. Blasted injury was still bleeding, he’d have to cauterize it. Thank the gods she was unconscious. The toughest men usually screamed like babes when hot steel was applied to skin. On the bright side, the stench of burning flesh couldn’t possibly smell worse than the foulness currently assaulting his nostrils.

Pulling a dagger out of his boot, he poured whisky over it and placed it in the fire that was already burning to provide the cabin with warmth. Taking a large swig of whisky, he studied her face, remembering the look of shock when she saw him.

A warrior, no, a Celtic goddess, that’s what she looked like with her long fiery curly hair and those emerald eyes of hers—sad, yet wise beyond her years. The lines on her face attested to a hard life. Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth added to her strong, fierce beauty. Those same creases would vanish, filling with happiness when he plundered her body, made her scream her release. Mentally scolding himself, he pulled the dagger from the fire.

It was now or never. This was going to hurt like a bitch. Hating to cause pain, he took a deep breath and readied himself. ‘Twas the best way to seal the wound.

Pouring more whisky on the blade, the droplets hissing as they hit the steel, he splashed her shoulder once more for luck. Without a moment’s hesitation he seared the skin. The smell of burning flesh hit his senses causing him to swallow hard. The skin popped and crackled, turning red and blistering as the wound sealed together. Screaming, she thrashed, trying to escape from whatever demon was tormenting her. Robert held her down and as her eyes rolled back in her head, she passed out again. Before she woke he did the same to the palm of her hand. Sweat beaded his upper lip and brow, his arms were shaking.
Gods, don’t let her scream like that ever again. I’d do anything to spare her pain.

Before he could dwell on the thought, he finished tending her before she came to again. Robert opened a jar of salve. It was made in France by a woman who practiced natural medicine. The crew swore it was magical and could heal anything. Who knew what was in it? Shrugging, he put a dab on the rope burns around his neck. Couldn’t hurt and if it helped him not to flipping ache then all the better. Carefully spreading the ointment over her wounds, he bandaged them, careful of the raw skin.

Skimming his hands over her feverish skin, he admired her form. ‘Twas the palest color of rose, the faint, blue veins standing out in contrast to her fair coloring. The bruises sustained during whatever had caused her to crawl through the sewers, blooming across her shoulder, arms, thighs and torso. Someone had done a number on her. What had happened?

Sitting back in the chair, spent, he drained the whisky and called for Ian to bring him another bottle.

“Is she better, Cap’n? The lady’s bath will be ready by the time you finish eating.” Ian looked anxious standing there.

“Soon, Ian. Thank you for bringing food. I’ll give the ointment time to work then bathe her and you can clear this mess away. Burn it.” He flung his arm out encompassing the bed as Ian left the cabin.

Robert ate, not bothering to change. Cleaning up could wait until after taking care of her. While he filled his belly, his eyes never left the woman in his bed. So many questions to be answered.

Ian came back, cleared away the dishes and addressed Robert. “I’ve brought clean clothes for the lady and the bath is ready.”

Robert inclined his head, distracted. Pushing open the sliding door that separated his room from the dining room, Robert saw the copper tub set up. Steam rose off the water. Towels and soap had been placed on the dining table next to clean clothing for the woman to wear. Had to quit calling her ‘the woman’. Going through her things, he turned the pockets inside out, looking for any clue as to who she was. Nothing. A lump under a chair caught his eye. A filthy, dirty backpack. He sniffed and almost retched. The bag smelled as bad as she did. Within he found twenty quid, wet bandages and a few tolietries. But no identification. Interesting.

Robert threw the backpack and contents onto the disgusting pile that used to be her clothes. Testing the bath water, he nodded to himself. A few steps back to the bed, and he was looking at his unconscious goddess. Bending, he scooped her up. The chit didn’t weigh much, he could count every rib. Lowering her into the bath, mindful of her shoulder, he kept the bandage away from the water. She murmured something as her skin hit the water but didn’t wake giving him time to soap her body.

By the gods, she was filthy. The sewage had seeped through her clothing, coating her from head to toe in the noxious sludge. The soap lathered in his hands, and he kneaded the tension out of her neck and uninjured shoulder as he scrubbed her clean. The woman needed to eat more. Muscles flexed in the water as he ran soapy hands down her arms and legs. No softness to her at all, she was lean and hard with small but nicely formed breasts. There were faint scars dotting her torso.

Ah, she was born a redhead. Washing her, he cleaned away the muck and grime from her toes, he squashed the urge to take her little toe into his mouth, to nibble on the arch of her foot and make her smile. Did she ever smile? Soon she would wake, and he would find out her name and what had happened. While not willing to tie himself to her for eternity, he was more than ready to tear apart whoever had hurt her. Men who ill-used women were the lowest of scum in his book. Every man who’d marked her ivory skin would die by his hand.

It was difficult to bathe an unconscious woman. He kept worrying she’d sink under the water. Strange, he’d been in tubs with women, relaxing as they washed each other or made love but never had a comatose woman in his bath.

Why was she so afraid of him? It seemed she knew him though he couldn’t remember ever meeting her. Laying before him was a puzzle waiting to be solved. At least it would take his mind off the fact he was powerless for the coming week. A feeling he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years bubbled up—helplessness. Was this how Colin felt? No wonder he was so cranky when he met Emily. Now Robert had an inkling of what must have been going through Colin’s mind.

Shifting her so he could wash her hair, he cursed. It wasn’t going to work. The tub was slick and she kept slipping, worrying him the bandage would get wet or he’d lose his hold and she’d sink under the water. Blast it. There was no way around it, he needed assistance.

A growl rumbling from his throat caught him by surprise—he didn’t want anyone else touching her, looking at her. Robert thought for a moment, smiled and called out, “Ian!”

The lad was never far. Was always underfoot wherever Robert went on the ship. The door opened. “Wait, do not enter. The lady is in the bath. Fetch Jaime to me. Quick now.”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

He supposed he could climb in with her but if she woke, he didn’t want to frighten her further by finding herself in a bath with the man she was terrified of. Instead he put his arms around her, mindful of her injuries and held her. The door shut with a soft click as Ian went to find the small boy Robert had recently taken in to his employ. Little Jamie…his thoughts drifted back to finding the lad this past summer. Discovered in a barrel of goods Robert was transporting to England. It seemed the gentleman in question had a fondness for young boys. The boy had been bound and gagged. The crew would have never suspected what was in the barrel except one of the cats on board kept pawing at a crack in the wood as it was waiting to be taken down to the hold. A sailor was curious and opened what supposedly contained cigars. Instead they found young Jamie looking up at them with fearful eyes and a tearstained face.

The kid was five years old. His parents had given him to the gentlemen with such distasteful tastes in exchange for forgiveness of their debts. At least he was an only child; no others for the parents to use. Robert delivered the rest of the goods to the Englishman, less one small boy. When the man had the temerity to demand the little tyke, Robert’s impetuousness got the best of him, and he backhanded the man so hard, the crowing rooster left an outline in the wall. He told the rich bastard if he ever used Robert’s services again, he’d end up feeding the fish. Thorne’s silly rules be damned. The boy found a place with his cook and learned more every day. The men called him Sweet Jamie for the pies and cookies he liked to bake.

The click of the door drew his attention. “Cap’n, you called?”

“Ah, Sweet Jamie. Come in lad. I require your assistance with a damsel in distress.”

The lad’s eyes grew large as he took note of the lady in the bath. “What happened to her? Is she dead?” He inched closer for a better look. “Why she’s no wearin’ any clothes!”

Robert chuckled. “Aye, she wouldn’t take a bath with her clothes on, now would she? No worries, she’s not dead, just suffered a bad cut and now she’s sleeping.”

Seemingly satisfied, the boy looked to Robert for his orders. “Do ye want me ta bake her a cake?”

“That would be very nice but first I require your assistance. You see the bandages?” Seeing the lad nod, he continued. “We cannot let them get wet but we must wash her hair. Do you think you can protect her wounds from the mighty water?”

The boy stood up straight and looked Robert in the eye. “Aye, Cap’n. I swear I won’t let a bit o’ water get on the lady’s Band-Aid.”

He smothered a chuckle at the solemnness of the vow. “Come then.” As Jamie supported her shoulder, Robert washed her hair, carefully pouring the water over her stunning red hair.

Sweet Jamie wrinkled his nose, “Something stinks. Smells like poop.” The lad leaned over to sniff near the woman’s hair. “Ugh, it’s her. She reeks.”

This time he couldn’t help it, the ridiculous situation, the bloody week ahead…he lost it and threw back his head roaring with laughter. “You’ve got that right, Sweet Jamie. The lady stinks to high heaven. Me thinks she crawled through the sewers. We’ll get her cleaned up, won’t we?” He reached out, ruffling the boy’s dirty blond hair.

“We will, Cap’n. Then she won’t stink no more.” The youngster screwed up his face in concentration. “Why was she in the sewers? Was a bad man after her?”

Robert’s voice was quiet when he answered. “I’m not sure lad. We’ll find out when she wakes, but she’s safe now, just as you were. Don’t worry, I’ll protect her too.”