Free Into His Arms by Paula Reed Page B

there’s no need to sleep much at all.”
    Her eyes flew to his, but she could not tell if their merry twinkle said he spoke in jest or in hope. “Have you an extra blanket?”
    The humor left his face, and he again looked the part of cold-hearted pirate. “I give my word, you are safe from any unwanted advances, but neither of us will sleep on the floor, Faith.”
    She couldn’t help it; whenever she was faced with someone’s displeasure, she lowered her eyes and could not entirely find her voice. Besides, at a moment’s caprice he could become quite intimidating!
    “I only meant that one of us should sleep above the bedclothes,” she said. “The layers of cloth will keep our bodies separate.”
    Geoff felt a quick stab of guilt for glowering at her. “I didn’t mean to cause you fear. That’s a fine idea. A bit of a disappointment, but sure to do more to preserve my sanity. Look at me, now, I won’t bite.”
    She peeked shyly through her lashes, filling Geoff’s head with images that were bound to do little for his self-restraint.
    “Good then. I have duties to attend to above. It will be awhile till your clothes are dry. Can you keep yourself occupied here?”
    Relieved that the conversation was at an end, she nodded. “I am still weary. Perhaps I’ll just nap.” Perhaps if she napped, she would be too well rested to sleep at night. Perhaps then she would sit up and read until dawn.
    The thought of her lovely, white flesh warming his sheets sent Geoff tripping for the door with a brief nod of farewell. Perhaps, on deck, he could work himself into an undeniable exhaustion. He would need to be weary to the bone to survive this night.

Chapter 7
     
    Two days had passed since Diego Montoya, captain of the Spanish ship Magdalena , had made his humble plea to the prostitute-turned-saint for whom his ship was named. In those two days, his prayer that the late captain’s fever would leave the rest of them alone had been answered. The answer was no.
    There were no leeches on board the ship, so the surgeon used his bloodletting instruments, moving from one patient to the next with the red-stained blades. Each crewman only worsened, moving inevitably toward the sea, sewn in a pure white shroud. Diego himself felt dizzy, his coat and vest too warm to bear. The ship’s doctor noticed when Diego pulled the offending garments from his body and wiped his hand across his damp brow.
    “Here,” the physician said, pulling one of his knives from his latest patient’s arm. “Perhaps if I bleed you now, before the fever can get you in its grip, I can spare us the loss of another fine captain.”
    Diego eyed the bloody object and shuddered. Perhaps he was a coward, after all. “No,” he said, “I am fine, truly. Bloodletting leaves one weak, and I cannot be weak now. My patron saint, she is looking out for me.”
    “It may be your only chance.”
    “No. I will be fine.”
    He closed his eyes and prayed silently. “Santa Maria, you must help us. Cleanse us of this disease. Protect us from pirates. I will fight bravely, if I must, but we cannot fight if we are sick, our numbers depleted. Please, as you washed the feet of the Savior, wash our decks of this fever.”
    He made the sign of the cross and opened his eyes. Blood flowed from the arm of yet another crewmember at the surgeon’s slice, and he felt his faith flag. Who was he, Diego Montoya, a mere second-in-command, to captain the ship through such calamity? Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and he was tempted to retreat to his cabin to seek much needed sleep.
    “Capitán,” a small voice prodded, and Diego turned to look down upon his cabin boy, Galeno. “Capitán, I don’t feel so well.” The boy’s brown eyes were glazed with fever and wide with fear, and Diego knew that now was not the time to indulge his own weakness.
    Before the physician could lay his besmirched hands upon the child’s sweaty brow, Diego instinctively pushed Galeno behind