Free Truth about Leo by Katie MacAlister Page B

again?” A female voice reached his ears, allowing him to focus on it rather than the need to swoon. He frowned at the floor. The voice sounded familiar. The woman spoke in perfectly correct English, but it was softly accented, as if she wasn’t a native speaker. Where had he heard her before?
    â€œThank you, Mr. Murphy. Can you help me get him back into the bunk? And if you could have one of the cabin boys bring me a fresh bucket of water, I’d be very grateful.”
    Leo straightened up, at least feeling like he had a grasp on consciousness. A woman bustled toward him, clad in some gauzy white garment that was clearly intended to titillate a male of her acquaintance, although the shawl she had wrapped around herself hid most of the good parts from view. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, and an oval face that he felt he should know, but studying her, he had to admit he’d never seen her before that moment.
    â€œMadam,” he said with dignity as the burly man complied with her orders without a word of protest, “I don’t know who you are, but I must ask that you leave my room.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Leo. If I leave, I can’t get you back into bed. Ugh. Your bedding is soaked. Oh! Your fever has broken!”
    Her thick woolen shawl slipped down her arms, falling to the floor with a soft whoosh as she clasped one hand to the back of his neck. He found himself staring at a pair of plump breasts barely visible through the thin lawn material of her nightdress.
    She had pink nipples. He loved pink nipples on a woman.
    â€œThank heavens those fever draughts worked at last. Now you just sit there, and I’ll get your bunk made more comfortable. Oh, Calvin, there you are. You can set the bucket down next to the wall, where it’s out of the way while we strip Mr. Mortimer’s bed.”
    The woman fit word to deed as she pulled bedding out from around him, the lad of about nine who was evidently named Calvin complying just as wordlessly as had the other man.
    â€œWho are you?” he asked, frowning as she fussed around him. “And what are you doing in my bedchamber in that advanced state of undress? Are you, by chance, a lightskirt come in hopes of earning a few bob? If so, I must disabuse you of that idea. Although your nipples are quite nice, I have evidently been ill recently, and doubt if I could perform to either of our satisfaction.”
    The woman looked down at her chest. The lad looked startled, accepted the bundle of sodden linen that she had shoved at him, and backed out the door without a word.
    â€œI’m not in an advanced state of undress. I’m glad you like my nipples, although I don’t see what they have to do with anything in particular. And I don’t know what a lightskirt is. My name is Dagmar. I am your wife.”
    â€œHa ha,” he said, shifting to the side when she dug out of a sea chest another armful of bedding. She spread it out on the bunk, holding on to his arm when he tried to stand. He weaved when he did so. “Ha ha ha ha ha. That was very funny. Even I, previously ill but now well, can appreciate that joke.”
    She got him settled on the bunk and returned to the sea chest, pulling out a small package wrapped in red silk. From it, she withdrew a large paper.
    He plucked fretfully at the nightshirt, wishing to remove its dampness but unwilling to expose himself to the lightskirt. She’d no doubt attempt to charge him if he did, and although he was a bit confused about just where he was and why his arm was sore, he was fairly confident that in time, memory would return to him. “I hate to ruin such a fine attempt of amusing me, but I can assure you that I’m not married.”
    â€œYou are.”
    â€œYou are mistaken. I would remember something like being married, especially to a Danish woman named Dagmar. I take it you are Danish?”
    â€œHalf. My mother was English. And I assure you that