Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Four: Part 2

Julia lifted her head at that, meeting Maddox's condemning gaze; his judgment of her plainly written in the hard lines of his face. A slight turn set her head spinning, but brought Gildeforte into her field of vision, his face only inches from her own as he supported her body. She opened her mouth to deny Athol's death, but her stomach rebelled again, and she once more bent over the chamber pot.

Gildeforte spoke up in her defence. "They think Lady Julia killed him? They're wrong. He was alive when I sent her out to the carriage." The hand supporting her shoulder gripped tightly, so that she winced away from the pressure on her bruised flesh. He relaxed the hand, but otherwise paid her no attention. "I can't guarantee he still lived when I left, though. Look, Maddox, I was there by chance. He owed me money, and—since I was in the area—I called in to collect."

Oh. So that was why he was there. It had not occurred to Julia to wonder. She had been dangling from Athol's hand, certain that this time he would kill her, and all of a sudden she was released, and Gildeforte sent her out to the carriage. Ever since, she had been either unconscious or consumed with her own pains, aware of Gildeforte only as a rather grumpy and reluctant knight errant.

Even in her misery, she snorted at the thought. Long ago, Aunt Bella had read her stories about princesses being rescued by dragons. Aunt Bella had a poor opinion of ladies who waited for other people to protect them. "Rescue yourself, my Jewel," Aunt Bella had said. Julia, enamoured of the idea of the handsome knight who thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, and who would love her above all others, had completely forgotten Aunt Bella's advice.

"That still doesn't explain why she's here on my ship," Maddox growled. "Why on earth didn't you take the bitch to her father and let him decide what to do about the scum she married? You know what the pair of them tried to do to Sally."

Julia felt the tears well. It was always about Sally Grenford. Or Toad Abersham--the Wellbridges now. They had stolen Julia's happiness, and made everyone hate her.

"No matter what she's done, she didn't deserve what that bastard was doing to her, and it isn't the first time," Gildeforte's voice turned persuasive. "The innkeeper's wife, who bandaged and salved her wounds, said she has old bruises going back weeks. She's been beaten regularly; perhaps daily. I couldn't leave her there. Yes, I hoped to palm her off on Firthley. God knows, I don't like or trust her. But I wasn't handing her over until I talked to the marquess to make sure he wouldn't send her back."

"M'Lord?" Another voice. This one rough and unpolished. "Cap'n's compliments, sir, and could you come topside? There's a storm brewing. This yere's the bucket, sir."

"She's your responsibility, Gildeforte. You brought her aboard. You can clean her up and look after her."

Gildeforte sounded panicked. "Maddox, I've never nursed anyone in my life. What am I meant to do?"

"You could start by washing her down and getting her into something clean." A thread of amusement hinted that Maddox enjoyed Gildeforte's discomfort. "Then put her to bed. Keep making her drink. She'll bring it up again, but she'll die if she doesn't get at least some water into her. And keep the cabin clean. The smell will only make her vomit again."

"But... Surely there's someone better able..."

Maddox was unyielding. "I need my ship's crew to sail the ship. You are the only person available to look after the unwanted fugitive you've hidden aboard without my consent. Abandon her or care for her. Your choice."

The cabin door closed. "Sorry," Julia told Gildeforte. And she was. Sorry he was stuck with her and that she was stuck with him. Sorry his decision to help her had made him a killer. Sorry she hadn't run away from Athol the first time she found out about his whoring and his gambling, or the first time he took a mistress. Sorry she had taken her anger at her whole family out on Sally Grenford, who was innocent of anything except having the affection that Julia craved for herself.

"Can't be helped," Gildeforte told her. His tone was sharp and irritated, but his hands continued to be gentle as he stripped her efficiently, washed her clean, and dressed her again in a clean nightrail, one of two he had bought when he purchased her widow's weeds, stopping to hold the empty bucket under her chin from time to time, as needed.

***

The ship heaved for days, and so did Julia's stomach, even though she had nothing left to bring up. Gildeforte, the bastard, kept forcing liquid down her throat, but she couldn't even keep water down. Brandy was the only thing that stayed for more than the time taken to swallow, and he wouldn't give her enough of that to knock her out, a consequence she devoutly desired.

And if it killed her, as Gildeforte said he feared, her nightmare would be over. No more marriage. No more rejection by everyone she had ever loved. No more pain. Everything hurt, though the bruising of her stomach muscles from the constant heaving drowned out the lesser agonies of the worst beating she had ever known.

Maddox said Athol was dead, but it couldn't be true. She was just not that lucky. She had run out of luck a thousand years ago, when Aunt Bella, the only person who had ever had time for her, had replaced her with a son.

No. Athol was surely alive, but he was left behind in England, and even in her misery, she would rather be dying here in an ocean storm than once again in that deviant, disgusting bully's hands.

At last, the heaving eased—both kinds. Julia woke after a long sleep to find that her stomach was her own again—aching with hunger, and not with nausea. The rocking of the ship, too, felt gentler, no longer pitching and tossing as if the next wave would drag them under.

She sat up cautiously. No nausea, though her head spun before adjusting to her upright position. The cabin floor had been freshly washed. There was no sign of the bedding Gildeforte had been using—he had spent the whole of the storm beside her, except for brief exits to replenish water or remove waste.

For all of the smell of some kind of disinfectant, the space reeked. Faugh. She reeked. She knew Gildeforte had washed her down a number of times, touching more of her body than anyone but Athol ever had, but lukewarm seawater in a sponge bath wasn't what she needed now. What were the chances of a real bath?

As she wondered, the cabin door opened and Gildeforte stepped in. "Oh good," he said. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Despite herself, Julia warmed to the concern in his eyes. This man is not my friend, she reminded herself. He doesn't even like me.

"Better," she told him. "Filthy. I would k—give a great deal for a bath."

To her surprise, he nodded. "We can probably manage a small one. One of the advantages of a steam ship is access to hot water. Eat first. Drink, rather. I have coffee and broth."

Hungry though she was, she could only manage about half the bowl of broth and a few mouthfuls of toast, but they stayed blessedly down. "Much better," she assured Gildeforte.

Julia noted the strain behind the smile he gave her, and guessed at the reason. "How long before you can—what was it?—hand me off to my father?" She winced at the sour note. She had intended to be charming and compliant; the least he deserved for keeping her alive yet again.

"Ah," Gildeforte told her. "As to that—Maddox won't turn back. We couldn't turn in the storm, you see, and we're now nearly halfway across the Atlantic." He dropped the pitch of his voice. "'I have speaking engagements in New York. I don't have the time to spare to take you back.'" Then, in his normal tones: "Arrogant prat." "He says he's afraid of the ship being impounded for harbouring fugitives. I told him your relatives and mine would sort it out. Which they will, of course. He's right, though. Who knows how long it will take?"

He gave her the boyish grin she'd seen addressed to other females. Close up, she could see the appeal. Julia, of all people, knew not to be taken in by a charming rogue, but at least this one had a heart.

"Well, Lady Julia," he asked, "what would you like to do while we're in New York?"