Marrying the Royal Marine. Carla Kelly

      ‘I should have approached you sooner, sir,’ Private Leonard said, his voice full of remorse.

      ‘How were you to know?’ he asked. ‘We officers should have wondered what was going on when she didn’t come out for meals. Private, go find the surgeon. I am relieving you at post.’

      ‘Aye, aye, Colonel.’

      Uncertain what to do, Hugh hung the lantern from the deck beam and gently moved Miss Brandon’s matted hair from her face, which was dry and caked. She didn’t open her eyes, but ran her tongue over cracked lips. ‘You’re completely parched,’ he said. ‘Dryer than a bone. My goodness, Miss Brandon.’

      She started to cry then, except she was too dehydrated for tears. Out of his element, he didn’t know how to comfort her. Was she in pain? He wished there was a porthole he could open to let in some bracing sea air and banish the odour. Poor Miss Brandon was probably suffering the worst kind of mortification to be so discovered by a man she barely knew. If there was a better example of helplessness, he had never encountered it.

      Private Leonard returned. Hugh looked behind him, but there was no surgeon.

      ‘Sir, the surgeon and his mate are both tending to a foretopman who fell from the rigging.’ Private Leonard made a face. ‘He reminded me that no one dies of seasickness and recommended we get some water and vinegar so she can clean herself up.’

      ‘Private, she can’t clean a fingernail in her condition,’ he said. He stood there a moment, looking down at Miss Brandon, then at the Private. ‘Go get a quart or two of vinegar from Cook and a gallon of fresh water. If anyone gives you any grief, tell them they don’t want to know how bad it will be if I have to come up and do it myself!’

      The Private stood even straighter. ‘Aye, aye, sir. Should I get some cloths, too?’

      ‘As many as you can gather. Good thinking.’

      He closed the door behind the Private, who pounded up the companionway, obviously glad to have a purpose. He found a stool and pulled it close to the sleeping cot, which was swaying to the ship’s roll. He tried to keep his tone conversational, knowing that nothing he was going to do in the next hour would be pleasing to a modest lady. ‘Miss Brandon, the surgeon cannot come, but he has declared that no one dies of seasickness. You will not be the first, and certainly not on my watch.’

      ‘I. Would. Rather. Die.’

      At least she was alert. ‘It’s not allowed in the Royal Navy, my dear,’ he told her kindly. ‘When Private Leonard returns, I am going to tidy you, find you another nightgown, and put you in my sleeping cot, so I can swab down this one.’

      She started to cry in earnest then, which was a sorry sight, since there were no tears. ‘Leave me alone,’ she pleaded.

      ‘I can’t leave you alone. I would do anything to spare you embarrassment, Miss Brandon, but you must be tended to.’

      ‘The surgeon?’

      ‘Busy. My dear, you’ll just have to trust me, because there is no one else.’

      She hadn’t opened her eyes in their whole exchange, and it touched him to think how embarrassed she must be. She was obviously well educated and gently reared, and this was probably the first time in her whole life she had ever been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he put his hand against her soiled cheek and held it there until she stopped her dry sobbing.

      Private Leonard returned with the vinegar and water. He had tucked clean rags under his arm, and removed them when he set down the bucket. ‘I’ll get some sea water, too, Colonel,’ he said. ‘That fresh water isn’t going to go far, and you can swab her down with salt water.’

      ‘Do it, Private. When you return, close the door and resume your sentry duty. If there are two of us trying to help Miss Brandon, it’ll be too much for her.’

      He could see that Private Leonard was relieved by that order. He came back soon with two buckets of sea water; God knows there was plenty of it to spare on a frigate in a squall. Private Leonard closed the door quietly.

      Miss Brandon tried to sit up and failed. ‘If you leave the water, I can do this myself,’ she managed to say.

      ‘Begging your pardon, Miss Brandon, but I don’t think you even have the strength to scratch your nose right now,’ he told her. ‘I am so sorry that no one knew the extent of your extremity, or believe me, it would not have come to this.’

      She opened her eyes then, and he saw all the shame, embarrassment, and humility in the world reflecting from them. All she could do was shake her head slowly and put up her hands to cover her chest.

      It was such a defensive gesture that his heart went out to her. She was soiled and smelly and more wretched that the worst drab in the foulest slum in the rankest seaport he had ever visited. The last thing he wanted to do was violate her dignity, which was all she had remaining. He rested his hands gently on hers. ‘Whatever I do for you, I do out of utter necessity, Miss Brandon. I can do no less because I never back down from a crisis.’ He smiled at her. ‘My, that sounds top-lofty, but it is true. Take a leap of faith, Miss Brandon; trust me to be kind.’

      She was silent a long while, her hands still held stubbornly in front of her. ‘I have no choice, have I?’ she said finally.

      ‘No, you don’t. Take that leap, Miss Brandon. I won’t fail you.’

       Chapter Two

      Miss Brandon didn’t say anything, but her hands relaxed. Hugh did nothing for a moment, because he didn’t know where to begin. He looked closer in the dim light. She was wearing a nightgown, which chastely covered most of her, so his task was not as uncomfortable yet as it was going to get. He opened the door.

      ‘Private, go in my cabin. Bring my shaving basin, plus the silver cup next to it.’

      He was back in a moment with the items. Hugh put his hand behind Miss Brandon’s back and carefully raised her upright. He dipped the cup in the fresh water Private Leonard had brought, and put it to her lips.

      ‘It will only make me vomit,’ she protested weakly.

      ‘Just swirl it around in your mouth, lean over the edge of the cot and spit it out.’

      ‘On the floor?’ she asked, aghast.

      ‘Yes, ma’am. The deck—the floor—has suffered some ill usage. I’ll never tell.’

      She sighed. He held the cup to her parched lips and she took a small sip, doing what he said and spitting on the deck.

      ‘Try another sip and swallow it this time.’

      She started to protest, but gamely squared her shoulders and did as he said. ‘My throat is on fire,’ she said, her voice a croak.

      ‘I imagine it is raw, indeed, Miss Brandon, considering the ill treatment it has suffered for nearly two days.’ It smote him again how careless they had all been not to check on her. ‘Try another sip. Just a small one.’

      She did, then shook her head at more. They both waited, but she kept it down.

      ‘I’m encouraged. Just sit here,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to mix some vinegar in this little bit of fresh water and wipe your face and neck. I’ll see what can be done with your hair.’

      Silent, she let him do what he wanted, turning her head obediently so he could swab around her eyes and nostrils. ‘Soon I’ll have you smelling like a pickle, Miss Brandon,’ he joked, trying to lighten the mood. She did not indicate any amusement, which hardly surprised him. When her face was as clean as he could manage, he added more vinegar to the bucket of sea water and wiped her neck and ears.

      Her hair took much longer, as he pulled