The Charlotte Series: Book 1: The Pirate's Treasure

chapter 25

"Self-preservation more likely. Clarence walloped me if I didn't fight well. When you're a thin girl of but seven, it hurts very much when you get struck by a stick!"

"I can imagine. But you fenced with Clarence for six years." He reasoned. "Surely it was more than just a desire to avoid being walloped."

"I have to admit, once I could do it properly, I did rather like it. It is very exciting. And when I won, it felt—"

"Exhilarating." He smiled crookedly to avoid pulling on his split lip. "See. You do understand why we fight."

Suddenly tired of just lying there he sat up and groaned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to sit still for a minute so the room would stop tilting. The floor was cold and as he focused on his feet he realized he was barefoot. He spied his boots neatly paired near the chair. His coat hung on the back and his shirt was neatly folded on the seat of said chair.

Her eyes followed his gaze as he sat up. They lingered on his hand as it went to his bare chest and scratched absently at the fine dark hair swirling there. She remembered the way it felt under her fingertips...

"Ahem." His face wore a very naughty smile and she felt a blush creep up her neck.

"I had to wash the blood out." She said by way of excuse.

She discarded the waistcoat and picked up a bowl in one hand and a cloth in the other. As she neared, he saw it was a white handkerchief with MS embroidered on the corner. He had no such articles.

"Your lip is bleeding again." She dipped the handkerchief into the water and reached toward him.

He wanted to swat her hand away, but allowed her to attend him. He was surprised to find that a part of him enjoyed her attentions—or perhaps it was the view of her breast offered by her neckline when she bent low.

"I suppose you are right," she conceded. "About the fencing... and the fighting."

"Of course I'm right." He teased. "I'm captain, I'm always right."

She ignored him and continued to blot his lip.

"I never thought of it that way before. I don't suppose I shall ever learn to enjoy observing a fight, but at least now I understand why you do it."

"You didn't enjoy the fight?" he arched an eyebrow and winced as it tugged at his sore scalp. "I thought it was a good one."

She scowled at him and dabbed at the split again. If it was to stop bleeding he would need to stop talking for a moment!

"You were overly matched and took a sound pounding. When you fell, Mr. Stu picked you up by your pant waist and carried you to your cabin, easily as a basket of eggs."

"Ouch."

"Sorry." She hadn't meant to dab so hard. "I think you cut it with your teeth. But the cut is mostly inside so I could not stitch it."

"No, I meant the disgrace of being soundly walloped and then lugged about like a valise. I didn't land any good blows then?"

"A few... I must admit the look of surprise on his face when you hit him that first time was humorous. But when he got up he just rubbed his jaw and grinned. I knew you were done in. It's a good thing you are so quick on your feet, or it would have ended much sooner."

"Here now!"

"It is the truth!" she laughed at his wounded pride.

He chuckled and pushed her hands away.

"So it is." He caught her wrist that held the handkerchief now red with his blood. "Where did you get this?"

"Bailey's shirt was damaged beyond repair. I told you I made one for him as a remembrance. I made this one for you."