Page 61 of Stilettos & Secrets on the 7 Seas

Twenty-One

Shrug tightened his hold on my arm as we stood outside the captain’s door. “What are we waiting on?” I asked, hoping to get my “healing” duties over with quickly while procuring information about Marco. I’ll show Caiyan my secret spy abilities are equal to his.

“Hold yer tongue, witch,” Shrug bellowed.

I opened my mouth to remind him I wasn’t a witch, then clamped it shut as Rowan joined us. I expected him to dismiss Shrug, lead me inside his cabin, rip off his pants, and expose me to his sick penis.

Instead, he knocked.

“Aren’t you the captain?” I looked up at his broad shoulders, square jaw, and surly attitude.

He grunted anas ifat me, then pushed the door open. I followed him inside. Shrug stayed outside.

I blinked at the summer sun filling the room with light and warmth from the glass windows at the stern of the ship. The room smelled of sweat, damp, and faintly of some kind of balm. Mint. I recognized it from the menthol rubs Eli used when he did muscle work on chiropractic patients.

A thick wooden table sat in front of a wall of shelves stockpiled with books. The table held maps, candles, a spyglass, a compass, and one of those measuring doohickies I’d seen from other trips to this century.

Clothes stuck out of a trunk on the floor, shirts and breeches draped over a chair. Rowan kicked a pair of boots out of my path as I walked inside. The room held a curious disorder, reminding me of my cousin Darryl’s townhouse. He called it “comfortable bachelor.”

A bed hung from the rafters by thick rope. It swayed with the subtle rocking of the ship. A lump lay covered in the bed.

“Captain, I’ve brought the healer.” Rowan stepped aside, allowing me to move forward.

I glanced at Rowan. He made no indication that I mistook him for Captain Hunk, before my gaze moved back to the bed. A hand emerged from the bundle and waved me closer. I walked around the bed until I saw the captain’s face peeking out from the blanket.

My breath caught.

He looked like, well, like, Peter Pan.

A head of sun-kissed auburn curls partially covered a case of mild acne. Cute brown freckles sprinkled across his turned-up nose. The captain was a teenaged boy, maybe younger.

“He’s a boy.” I glanced over at Rowan, who slid a hand across his scruff of beard like he’d made a mistake and should remove me ASAP.

The boy opened wide, pained brown eyes. “Are ye the healer?” His voice was barely a whisper.

I knelt next to his bed. “What’s the matter with him?”

“’Tis his back. He cannae walk.” Rowan cursed under his breath, which I supposed was better than a grunt.

“I fell off the lines.” The boy looked up at me, his eyes hopeful. “During a raid. But I dinnae take a blade to my body.” He tried to sit up, show me his body was intact, but dropped immediately, crying out in pain.

I’d seen Eli treat hundreds of patients with back pain. Some who crawled into the clinic and walked out. I didn’t have therapy machines or know the first thing about fixing a back. I closed my eyes and focused on Eli’s process when examining a patient. History. That was first.

I studied how the boy lay with his knees bent under him. I looked over at Rowan. “Did he hit anything when he fell?”

“Only me.”

I arched a questioning eyebrow.

“He fell on me.” Rowan’s mouth pulled tight. Not in anger. In concern.

“And you are?” If he wasn’t the captain, what position did the giant hold?

“Row’s my quartermaster. My da took him in when he was a wee one.” The boy chuckled, then groaned as another spasm hit his body.

I bent closer to the boy. “Let’s start by trading names. I’m Jennifer.”

“Maximillian, but call me Max.” A half smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

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