She just never expected to meet one in person.
Dropping her head in her hands, she sighed.Stop dreaming, Des.She didn’t know Caleb.No doubt his true character would emerge sooner or later.
A knock on the door sent a jolt of fear through her, but also expectation.Before she could respond, it opened and the doctor entered, a large satchel in his hand.“Let’s see to your wounds, Miss,” he said as another pirate remained in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.
Pulling a stool from the corner, he perched on it before her and opened the leather pouch.Inside were all manner of bottles, corked jars, bandages, and several archaic instruments she’d rather not know the purpose of.
“Lift your skirts, if you please,” he ordered.
Desi’s pulse raced.“What are you going to do?”
His eyes met hers.Deep brown, inquisitive, intelligent, but not evil.A wrinkle formed on his wide brow, adding to the ones at the corners of his eyes and the thick lines framing his mouth.Desi would guess him to be in his fifties at least.Additional bottles and implements peeked at her from several pockets on the brown apron he wore around his rather chunky frame.An odd scent of rum, herbs, and the sting of blood drifted about the man.
“I’m dressing your wounds, Miss, as the captain ordered.Now lift your skirts, or I’ll lift them for you.”
She complied.Not that she was shy or even terribly modest.For goodness sakes, how often had she worn a bikini on the beach or even on her boat?Yet things seemed different in this time.
“Humph.”He examined the wounds.“Not as bad as some of the men, but the little varmints had a fair feast here.”After rummaging through various bottles, he pulled out a large one, uncorked it, and poured a dab onto a cloth.The distinct smell of rum bit her nose.
Before she could protest, he dabbed it on her feet.Searing pain shot up her legs while an unavoidable screech howled from her lips.She jerked from his grasp.
“Sorry, Miss.Has to be done.”He forced her legs back and continued his torturous work.
You’re being a baby, Des.Stop it.Clenching her jaw, she did her best to keep her cries to a minimum.“You said you were trained at Cambridge,” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the pain.From what little she knew of history, Cambridge was already a prestigious university at the time.She also knew most ship’s surgeons were just glorified barbers.She braced herself as he moved to smear rum on the bites on her arms.“How did you end up here?”she ground out, trying not to jerk from his touch.
He huffed, patting the wounds, then finally corked the bottle and returned it.“Long story, that, Miss.One that does me no credit.”
Pain still radiated from every wound as he searched through the bag for another bottle.Great.He wasn’t done.“I’d say this ship is privileged to have such a well-trained physician on board.”
At that, he gave a cynical chuckle.“A well-trained physician who killed a nobleman’s son.”He opened the bottle and thankfully, no foul odor emerged.Just a sweet, pleasing scent.
“You murdered a man?”
“Wait.”She gestured toward the bottle.“What is that?”
“’Tis honey.And I might as well have.I couldn’t cure him.He died under my care.”Deep agonizing sorrow stung his voice as he applied the honey to her wounds.
“Physicians are not miracle workers.You can’t cure everyone.”
At that, his eyes met hers, both skepticism and an odd yearning within them.
“You are kind, Miss.”He finished applying the honey and corked the bottle.“But many have died at my hand since then.”
“Because you work on a pirate ship!Certainly, that’s to be expected.”
Frowning, he pulled out strips of cloth and wrapped them around the worst of the cuts.
“Tell that to the dozens of men who died under my knife, Miss.”He gestured to her tattoo.“An odd mark for a woman.”He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he seem to want one, along with further conversation, as he packed up his things and left, slamming the door behind him.
She didn’t even get a chance to thank him.
♥
“I almost lost theSentinel!”Caleb fumed, pacing his cabin.“And every life aboard with it.”
“But you didn’t.”Alden stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest.
Rays from a rising sun pierced the stern windows, shifting over deck and bulkhead and stabbing shadows away as they went.
