“Oh God, Danielle,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. He swiped his mouth with his knuckles. “Oh God. Princess, I’m so sorry. What’s happened? What are you—? How did you—? Oh God.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”
She pushed up. “My body is not hurt, if that is what you mean.”
“But how did you—? That is, how did I—?”
“A nightmare,” she told him. “I heard you shouting from my room and was concerned. I was trying to settle you. You were...” an exhale “. . . inconsolable. And so I consoled you. Then we... Well, you’re awake, obviously. You know the rest.”
He tipped his face to the ceiling. “You are kind. And I am a lunatic—or I can be in the night. It would be impossible to deny the nightmares, so I won’t try. But I will apologize for them. It never occurred to me that tonight—” He cast a sidelong glance at the fire.
“I’d been drinking,” he said. “A stupid indulgence. It always makes the nightmares worse.”
“It is the same dream every time?” she asked, scooting to the headboard. The fabric of her chemise was hung under her back, the weight pulling the garment.
Luke’s eyes fell on her exposed shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.
“Bannock?” she prompted. “Is the nightmare always the same?”
He blinked up. “Yes. Actually.”
“The rescue of Viscount Fernsby? The nights adrift at sea?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “No. Swimming with Fernsby is a daydream compared to—” He stopped. “The nightmare is... before. But I needn’t burden you with the timeline. You’ve had the misfortune of witnessing the result. You can guess.”
“On the contrary, I cannot guess. You’ve told me so little. Before tonight, you’ve seemed impervious to me. No fear, no anxiety. Then again, you’ve been playacting since the beginning.”
He dropped his head. “I have not playacted. I have...” He did not finish.
Dani was ready with a rejoinder, it was on the tip of her tongue, but she’d not come into this room to rehash his lies. By some miracle, she’d managed to express all of her feelings in the hedge maze. She could say it all again, and maybe eventually she would do. But he hadn’t tried to disprove her. Her pain and resentment were legitimate, and he’d accepted them.
No, she thought, the reason she’d come into his room was to comfort a tortured man. She’d remained because she wanted to know what tortured him. She glanced up. He’d moved off of her and dropped against the headboard. He was shirtless, one leg propped, a muscled arm balanced on his knee.And, if she was being completely honest, she also remained because—
“The night the French lugger attacked my boat,” he said, speaking into his lap, “I ordered my crew to fight. It was second nature; we always fought. My men were well trained, loyal, courageous. But I underestimated Surcouf’s advantage in ten different ways. His crew outnumbered us, visibility was shite, the storm was unrelenting, his maneuvers caught me off guard. If I’d been more aware; if I’d stopped for five seconds to gauge the situation, I would have seen. I should have assessed the risk and called for a surrender rather than a counterattack. If we’d surrendered, perhaps he would have spared my crew. Possibly he would have spared the boat, but that is inconsequential compared to the men I lost.”
“You believe you’re at fault because you gave the order to fight? Instead of immediate surrender?”
“I believe I’m at fault because of my pride. I considered us to be indestructible. I was the superior captain, with the scrappier crew and the nimbler boat. We were outlaws and renegades. Of course we could fend off an attack.”
“Perhaps it was pride,” she ventured, “or perhaps it was the confidence imperative to strong leadership. My knowledge of sea battles is, admittedly, very thin, but is ‘surrender at first engagement’ ever the correct order? Don’t most men put on the defensive first and give it a go?”
Bannock was shaking his head. “Perhaps. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll never know, and my crew will never be recovered. It is easier if there is someone to blame. I am an easy culprit because I am the only one left.”
“And so in your dream, you wrestle with... yourself? With your call to arms? In your nightmare, you shouted the wordNo, and evenPleaseagain and again. It was as if—”
“Did I?” he cut in. He wouldn’t look at her. He was abashed—stupid man.
She stared at his profile. A muscle worked in his jaw. His hair was tousled, hanging over his forehead. His posture was defeated, but his bare chest and arms appeared no less powerful. She wanted to reach across the bed and touch him. She wanted to pull him against her. But he’d drawn away so purposefully. He did not want to be comforted by her. She must not be deceived, he had never wanted anything from her but leverage against his enemy.
“The nightmares are,” he continued, “a relentless, moving mural of the methods used by the French captain to kill my crew. Battle is, by nature, vicious and deadly—inhuman, really—and battle at sea is the worst sort. It involves hand-to-hand combat on the small and ever-shifting deck of a boat. There is rain, wind, fog, and, of course, the sea, waiting to swallow you up. We were prepared for this; at the very least, we were resigned to it. We’d seen combat before; it’s a constant threat when you sail. The event for which we were unprepared—which surely no one could prepare—was the torture and systematic drownings. There are rules of engagement, especially in a battle between Navy vessels, flying the colors of known world powers. We were sailing as privateers, not a ship of the line, but we were under orders from the Admiralty, with a detachment of uniformed Royal Marines and their lieutenant on board. And even if we hadn’t been—even if we’d been bloody pirates—Surcouf’s methods were barbaric. And,” an exhale, “thatis what comes to me in these dreams.”
“Will you say it?”
He gave her a hard look. “No, I will not say it. May you live out your days without having to know the things men do to each other in the name of war.”
“Oh,” she said. “I see. More regulating of what I should or should not be told. If given the choice—which has yet to happen—I should like to be the one to decide what I hear or what I am spared.”
“This is not the same as discussing the betrothal with you, Danielle.”
