Willa’s gut clenched. He didn’t remember.
Cullen struggled to comprehend where he was and why. He was apparently a patient in his own damned surgery. What the hell had happened? Willa, his wife, was bending over him trying hard not to cry, but he knew well the look of unshed tears. Yes, this woman was his wife. That much he could remember, thank God.
Willa? Something about Willa was the last thing he could clutch from the jagged images blowing through his mind like fallen leaves in a late October wind storm back in the Highlands. He remembered well the look and feel of the tall, dark-haired, slender woman next to him. And those eyes, those seductive pools of gray a man could drown in.
He remembered arguing with her, always arguing. He remembered how stubborn she could be during their days together, only to fall apart in passion in his arms at night. But for the life of him, he could not remember what it was about Willa that had led to his current helpless state in a hammock in sick bay.
“You insisted on going in to Gibraltar our last day in port. Why? I was with a marine escort at the market. You couldn’t have been worried about me. Was it Ariadne? Did you need to meet with her one last time for some reason before she left the port?”
“Madame de Santis? Why would she be on Gibraltar? When did you meet her?”
“You don’t remember her and her partner, Monsieur Duvall? They were the only reason we were sidetracked to Gibraltar. They were the special diplomatic passengers we had to transport. While you were in Gibraltar, someone beat you nearly to death. You were found lying in the cemetery north of the city gates.”
He shook his head wearily and lay back down on the flat-bottomed hammock. “I don’t remember.” Suddenly, his eyelids felt as heavy as fireplace andirons, and when he closed them, a thick cotton fog like morning in the channel off Portsmouth obliterated what little memories he’d been able to grasp before.
He let go of the wisps of thought and drifted back to sleep only to be jarred awake in what seemed like seconds by his now-annoying wife and Mr. Parker.
Willa pulled a chair close to Cullen’s hammock and with Mr. Parker’s help, managed to awaken him again. The surgeon’s mate pulled off Cullen’s stockings and poked at the bottom of his bare feet to prod him awake. Once they had him in the chair, the mate kept him upright while Willa patiently fed him spoons full of the clear beef broth the Poppy kept in supply in the galley for patients in sick bay.
The short roundtrip from the hammock to the chair and back seemed to have left her husband as weak as a puppy. He could barely hold his head up, so they eased him back down onto his swinging cot.
When his eyes immediately closed as if to sleep, Willa shook him hard. “Not so fast, Dr. MacCloud. Stay awake, damn you. I’m not going to lose you again.”
He stilled and remained quiet, but his eyes flew back open when she retrieved the copy of “Gulliver’s Travels” and began to read again:
For my own part, I swam as fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide. I often let my legs drop, and could feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone, and able to struggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by this time the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that I walked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured was about eight o’clock in the evening. I then advanced forward near half a mile, but could not discover any sign of houses or inhabitants; at least I was in so weak a condition, that I did not observe them.
Cullen flung his arm outside the hammock and felt for Willa. He grasped her arm and lifted himself a bit. “That’s what I was hearing when I thought I was dreaming. You’ve been reading to me.” His comical accusatory tone made Willa laugh. “Of course, you silly man. How else was I to steal your attention?”
She continued again:
I was extremely tired, and with that, and the heat of the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as I left the ship, I found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder than ever I remembered to have done in my life, and, as I reckoned, about nine hours; for when I awaked, it was just day-light. I attempted to rise, but was not able to stir: for, as I happened to lie on my back, I found my arms and legs were strongly fastened on each side to the ground; and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the same manner.
From the corner of her eye, Willa noticed Lieutenant Dalton standing outside sick bay, sending pointed looks her way. Now what? She waved a hand to get the attention of one of the surgery mates who was attending to a landman who had caught a foot in a loop of rope in sail drill and broken his ankle. “Could you come sit with Dr. MacCloud for a bit while I see what Mr. Dalton wants?”
“But, Mrs. MacCloud, beggin’ your pardon, I can’t read.”
“Then recite some poetry.”
“Don’t know any…” He hung his head.
“Then how about a bawdy tune? Every sailor knows a bawdy tune or two.”
The man shocked her by immediately launching into “Good Ship Venus” in a rich baritone voice more suited to the singing of hymns. The ploy worked. Cullen’s eyes flew open, and Willa fled away from the bawdy lyrics,
