Tiredly, Meghan collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
The viscount exchanged the warm cloth in his hand for the ruined basin.
Closing her eyes, Meghan wiped her mouth and face.
This—this—was what all the fighting had been about?
Sweet Jee-zus.
The true prize should have been awarded to the poor soul who never had to board this unholy vessel in these even more unholy seas.
Registering the viscount’s looming presence, she forced her eyes open.
She found his gleaming boots and briefly went cross-eyed looking at them.
Meghan rubbed the back of her neck.
Lord Greyhold stood at military attention.
“Is there something you would like to say, Lord Greyhold?” she rasped.
“His Lordship asked whether you would like a tray brought—”
He reached for the basin.
Meghan snatched it back with sweaty, shaking fingers.
Bending over, she retched again. She was getting close to the end. She felt—
“Perhaps a meal—”
She shot one hand up in warning. “Do not!” she moaned into the bucket.
Not another word was what she would have said, if she did not fear embarrassing herself further. Had she ever truly believed there existed an emotion called pride? She had spent more than a year believing she possessed none where August was concerned. Yet she had felt like a bloody queen compared to this humbling ordeal.
Not all McQuoid lasses were poor sailors. The family whispered endlessly about Linnie’s ease at sea.
They called her the pride of the McQuoid men for the way she took to the ocean.
But no one spoke of those days in front of Linnie.
Not after Linnie had been caught in a bloody battle and nearly died.
Yet another experience August shared with Linnie.
Terrible. I am the very worst.That she would trade anything to have shared even that with August.
Tears formed in Meghan’s throat.
She gagged on them.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up, raw and painful against her throat already scraped raw from hours of tossing her biscuits.
“I am getting the captain,” Lord Greyhold announced.
Not for the first time.
Nor even thefifth.
