Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

      Fully aware that an audience of men and boys stood eavesdropping a few yards away, Leander gave her a quick nod. He took a step towards her then stopped, not certain where to begin.

      She looked up at him questioningly, and quietly said, “Should we take off the nightshirt while I’m still in the cot?”

      “Of course.” He smiled uneasily as he came closer.

      Trying her best not to cry out in pain, Emily eased the shirt up around her legs. She took another deep breath. “Can you take it from here, Doctor?”

      “Do you feel up to this, Emily?”

      She attempted to smile. “Up to what, Doctor – taking exercise on the weather decks or having you take off my nightshirt?”

      The hospital walls thundered with the mirthful howling of its occupants. Leander turned scarlet.

      “If there is any more laughter out there,” he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll give you all a shot of laudanum that will put you out for days.”

      Instantaneously, a hush descended upon the hospital.

      “Well done, Doctor,” Emily whispered.

      Knowing her shoulder was still raw, Leander slid the nightdress over Emily’s head as carefully as he could. Underneath, she wore her chemise and his eyes passed over her breasts. His hands shook slightly. The feel of her soft hair, those dark expressive eyes of hers, the interesting curves of her face … she was beautiful. He picked up the blue jacket that Magpie had sewn for her and helped her into the sleeves one at a time, certain he could hear the men’s laboured breathing in the distance. Once Emily had done up her jacket’s brass buttons, he leaned over her cot and murmured, “Now, I’ll pull the trousers on over that ankle of yours.” She shuddered as he touched her feet.

      He turned his head towards her. “Did I hurt you?”

      “No, I’m … quite fine.” Emily held her breath while he gently hiked the trousers up her legs.

      “Now, I hope you can finish the last bit.”

      He walked over to the open gunport, his back to her as she struggled with the trousers. Pulling them over her hips and up to her waist, Emily had to stifle the urge to laugh when she noticed the flap front. Then, kicking off her blankets, she hooked her legs over the side of her hammock. “Ready for step two, Doctor.”

      Leander spun around, knowing his face was still flushed, and observed her figure in the sailor’s clothing as discreetly as possible.

      “Ah, you’ll be needing shoes!” He dashed to a cupboard in the wall and opened its door to reveal three shelves on which he had neatly arranged his own hats, shirts, and cravats. He pulled out a straw hat and her blue silk slippers. “Before you went for your swim the other day,” he said, holding up the slippers, “you smartly tucked these into your jacket.” Kneeling down, he placed them onto her feet.

      “I don’t know how well they’ll wear climbing the ship’s rigging and spars,” said Emily, “but they do match my new jacket.”

      Leander looked at her thoughtfully. “I have never known a farmer’s daughter who was able to climb the rigging and spars of a ship.”

      “In another lifetime, Doctor, I – ” She forced a smile rather than finishing her sentence.

      Leander held out his straw hat to her. “Maybe we could save spar climbing for another day.”

      Emily gathered up the long waves of her hair with the stronger of her two arms. When she was done, Leander popped the hat on her head.

      “Right, now, lean forward a bit,” he whispered.

      As she did so, he moved in so close to her face that she could smell the pleasant muskiness of his shirt. He placed one of his slender arms around her back and eased her out of the hammock and onto the floor.

      “Mr. Walby,” he called out, “we’re ready for you now.”

      Gus burst through the curtains as if on cue, waving a walking cane. Reaching across the hammock, Leander took the cane, handed it to Emily, and stood back to watch as she hobbled like a happy child towards the curtain. Gus held it open for her. In the hospital room, the men looked on from their hammocks with a curiosity to rival a group of elderly women observing couples at a ball.

      “Emily,” said Leander, avoiding his patients’ stares, “the winds are strong on deck. Mind the hat.”

      11:00 a.m.

      (Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)

      “SIR, THE DOCTOR has allowed that woman to wander freely above deck.”

      Octavius, whose pimply face was red and puffy from the hot Bermudian sun, interrupted James as he conferred next to the capstan with Mr. Harding, who, following Emily’s example, had obtained from Dr. Braden a crutch and an admonition against over-exerting himself, and left his hospital cot to resume his duties. There was much to discuss, as the Isabelle would be leaving Bermuda later that day.

      Jerking his head up, James squinted into the sun to search the decks within his sight. “I cannot see her anywhere, Mr. Lindsay.”

      “She’s standing with Gus Walby and Magpie – of all people – by the fore ladders.”

      James looked again. “I see Mr. Walby and young Magpie, but by the stars, I see no woman dressed in a corselet and chemise.”

      Octavius compressed his lips in annoyance. “Sir, the Admiralty clearly states that no woman, be she an officer’s wife or a cook, appear above deck while at sea.”

      “I’m well versed in navy rules, thank you. Need I remind you we are anchored in port?”

      The first lieutenant pointed towards the mainmast’s yardarm. “See how the men pause in their chores to watch her.”

      James and Mr. Harding both looked up, shading their eyes from the bright sun.

      “They are doing a fine job keeping their eyes in their heads and on their tasks,” Mr. Harding said, shifting his weight about.

      “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Lindsay.” James stared at him long and hard until Octavius looked away.

      “Sir! The men don’t have to look at Meg Kettle in the darkness of their cots. We are not all true gentlemen here.”

      Aware of the men toiling nearby, James dropped his voice. “We may have beggars and thieves from Newgate prison on board, but as far as I know there are only honourable men among us.”

      “Captain Moreland, I fear … I fear you are growing soft.” No sooner had he uttered the words than Octavius regretted them, as he watched James’s face change colour.

      “Mr. Lindsay,” James hissed through his teeth, “I will not make a scene here. Meet me in the wardroom at two bells.”

      Octavius opened his mouth, but said no more. He saluted and swiftly strode off.

      Mr. Harding waited until James’s complexion had regained its normal pallor. “Forgive me, sir … that young man … I know you’re well acquainted with his father, but that bold tongue of his deserves a flogging.”

      “Like his father, Mr. Lindsay is hotheaded and impulsive.” James’s glance locked on the young sailor who limped alongside Magpie and Gus Walby. “But he is right.”

      “How so, sir?”

      “I am growing soft.”

      * * *

      ONCE GUS HAD HELPED Emily negotiate the ladder to the fo’c’sle deck, he apologized to her. “My lesson with Mr. Austen begins shortly. I must leave you here. But you’ll be quite safe with Magpie.” His eyes brightened. “Today we’re studying the signal flags and communications at sea. It’s my most favourite subject of all.”

      “Then you