Tingles raced down his spine, and he suppressed a shiver. There was no doubt that he wanted her again. His body had done little but tell him so every time she was near. But they were on assignment.Heather’s assignment. And he was there to support her, not seduce her.
Ding-ding, ding-ding… The clang of the dinner bell resonated throughout the ship, breaking the spell holding him in place. He blinked, distancing himself from Heather’s decidedly biteable thigh, and closed the trunk.
“What does that mean?” Heather asked.
“It’s the dinner bell,” he returned, standing. “We can venture down together once you’re ready.”
Heather’s stomach growled. “I’m ready now.”
A huffed laugh escaped him at her keenness, but it was followed swiftly by anger. The earl was a right bastard for depriving her of proper sustenance. “Of course.” He nodded at her and led the way.
The gun deck had but a few men on duty; they were caring for the animals in the enclosure, restocking and repairing damaged portions of the deck, and cooking in the galley. He and Heather swiftly made their way down the companionway to the mess deck, where the room was warm, humid, and bustling with activity.
Men’s voices, and the clank and thump of their eating, sounded around them, and the scent of the sea, sweat, vinegar, salted meat, and the ever-familiar sea biscuits permeated the air. His pulse raced for an entirely different reason, as trepidation clawed up his spine.
Hell. It was the fragrance and the sound of his childhood and youth. A burgeoning panic fizzed in his chest as memories flashed through his mind. Hopelessness, guilt, and fear tore at his throat and squeezed so bloody tight they veritably stole the breath from him.
There wasn’t enough air. He could scarcely breathe but for the tightness in his throat. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, thudded against his ribs, and throbbed in his head.
He blinked, his vision wavering, before he forced a slow, deep breath and let it out through pursed lips.
The past must remain in the fucking past, Percy, he reminded himself. He’d found a way out of that life; it didn’t have to pull him back in.It didn’t. This wasn’t his childhood.
“Mr. Duncan!” Heather breathed from beside him.
Finally gaining control over his breath and body, Percy followed her gaze and spotted the bespectacled Scotsman sitting at one of the long tables.
“Come,” Percy urged hoarsely. “Let us greet him.”
She nodded. “Yes, please. I would very much like to continue our discussion on the apothecary and what medicinal plants I would be best suited to grow.”
He started forward, noting with irritation the curious and admiring gazes of the other pirates as they passed.This isn’t permanent. He closed his eyes briefly, then pasted a half smile on his lips as they approached the surgeon.
I can leave when I want, his mind screamed at his rapid pulse and the alarming tingling sensation rippling down his arms to his fingertips.I am in control of my time on this ship.
Despite the overwhelmingaroma of vinegar, Heather’s mouth watered at the plate of food Percy placed on the table before her. There were strips of dried, dark, and seasoned meat, a steaming pile of lentils, stalks of pickled carrots and asparagus, and what appeared to be a large oblong bun. After weeks of having her food monitored so closely by the earl—and before that, by her aunt and uncle—she was not only famished but desirous to savour every bite of her freedom.
Percy sat beside her as Duncan continued talking.
“Rosemary, ginger, an’ fennel are invaluable,” the surgeon said, listing the items on his fingers. “An’ ye cannae go wrong with comfrey, bistort, an’ goat’s rue. I ken ye ’ave some o’ them wot I listed, but ’ave they survived?”
Heather nodded along, eagerly soaking in the information as she swallowed her first bite of the bewilderingly sweet lentils. “They require water and sun. I believe that most will survive once properly cared for.” She leaned closer, excitement squirming in her belly. “Now, whatpartof each plant need I dry to best aid an apothecary?”
She was exceedingly aware of Percy’s rapt perusal of her face as she conversed with Duncan. The desire to question him was on the tip of her tongue, but she was suitably diverted by her delicious meal and the surgeon’s knowledge.
Duncan’s eyes lit up. “There are several methods o’ preparation tha’ I can show ye, but plants such as chickweed—orStellaria media—have leaves tha’ are useful fresh in a poultice. There are salves, teas, an’ liniments tha’ require dryin’ the leaves, flowers, or buds, but mayhap I can show ye instead?”
“Oh, that would be lovely! I brought a journal with me in which to document all I learn. Might I meet with you on the morrow to discuss this further?” Her pulse fluttered with anticipation and eagerness. She was already looking forward to filling her mother’s journal with everything new that she’d learned.
“I’d be ’appy t’ ’elp.” Duncan’s eyes creased in the corners as he smiled and stood. “Come t’ the surgeon’s rooms when ye like.”
And, with a tug on his forelock, he departed.
With excitement bubbling through her and a grin on her lips, Heather lifted a piece of dried meat and took a bite. Her jaw worked to break through it, while the salty spices burst on her tongue.
“Mmm,” she hummed, glancing at Percy. She swallowed the bite and grinned. “This is quite good. It feels rather liberating to eat what I desire.”And to wear what I desire. These feelings were entirely new and thrilling. It was akin to what she’d felt when she’d begun working for Bow Street.
“It is. You are welcome to eat as much as you please. There is plenty.” His dark eyes glimmered with something that Heather couldn’t quite decipher, then he jutted his chin toward her plate. “The pickled vegetables are often intriguing. Some have spice that tingles on the tongue. When that happens, the sea biscuit is excellent at cooling the heat.”
