Free From Kiss to Queen by Janet Chapman

be okay. I’ll be right with you.”
    â€œYou don’t understand! I can’t stand . . . I won’t be . . .”
    She was crying in earnest now, trembling all over while straining against his hold. Had she gone from believing he intended to kill her to thinking she might instead end up suffering a fate worse than death? Mark slid his hand to the back of her neck with a muttered curse, and softly pressed his finger to a nerve until she went completely limp.
    He barked another order, making several men scramble to help lower her to outstretched hands below, where she was carefully held until he could climb down and take her again. The men parted at his order, one of them leading Mark along a narrow, low corridor to a cabin thathad a wide, single bunk. He gently laid Jane down and quickly freed her hands, brushed the hair from her face, then pressed his palms to her cheeks.
    Lord, she looked dead but for the flush of her fever. Because of her illness, he hadn’t wanted to take away her consciousness, but hadn’t had a choice. Sitting beside her waiting for the ship’s doctor to come and hearing the signal that they were diving, Mark began to pray for her health and forgiveness for what he was putting her through. She’d saved his life and he was slowly killing her in return. If she would only get better, he would gladly stand unmoving before her and take any abuse she wished to give him. He deserved it.
    Because angels deserved better.
    Many women had come and gone in his life, all of them actively vying for his attention, and Jane Abbot had firmly captured his heart without even trying.
    The doctor pointed out that the damp clothes were adding to her shivers as Mark helped him undress the fragile, vulnerable woman. The small, healing scratch on her arm—which he knew was from a bullet—made him wince. It was red, but the doctor assured him it was not the cause of her fever. Fatigue, a raging head cold, and possibly pneumonia were responsible for Jane’s fever, which was likely responsible for her being listless one minute and hysterical the next.
    The doctor gave her a shot, further assuring Mark she would eventually be fine. Rest, warmth, liquids, and more rest were prescribed after the doctor heard about Jane’s last few days. Mark had to hand it to the man for nothiding his disapproval of how she’d been treated thus far, although the doctor did respectfully bow his leave.
    Mark respectfully dismissed him, then pushed a button on the communications panel and ordered the captain to have Jane’s clothes laundered and her boots dried. He set everything in the corridor and locked the door, then picked up her brace and studied it again, remembering the scars on her right ankle, which the doctor had said were evidence of several operations. He set the brace on the desk and headed for the adjoining shower.
    She was awake when he came out. Maybe. Mark’s gut tightened when he got a closer look at her. Jane was sitting up in bed with her knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing, her skin ashen instead of flushed. Actually, she looked catatonic.
    Frozen hysterics. He’d seen it before. Jane Abbot was claustrophobic.
    Mark nearly roared in anguish. No wonder she’d fought him tooth and nail. Her rage hadn’t been from fever; she’d been petrified of the submarine. He’d literally forced the woman into the bowels of her own private hell.
    Mark hit the panel hard enough to break the switch. “Surface, Captain! Now!”
    He was answered, frantically, in Shelkovan.
    â€œI don’t care if we’re sitting in the middle of the Potomac River—surface!” Mark didn’t wait for a response. He quickly dressed, putting on layers of clothes he pulled from the cabin’s closet. They were too tight, but would have to do. He then wrapped all the sheets and blankets on the bed around Jane and lifted her into his arms,