Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The next morning, I woke by Tristan's side, smiling at the way he'd continued to hold me through the night. He hadn't been able to finish telling me about the Templars, his shoulder paining him too much, and we'd gone to sleep. All evening, I'd dreamed of stolen treasure and my descent into the pit, adrenaline pumping through me.

"If ye stare at me much longer like that, ye're going to have to explain to the doctor what I was doing when my stitches came undone." He cracked open an eye, one side of his mouth rising in a groggy smile.

"I like watching you sleep," I declared, kissing him softly on the mouth.

"That's going to end up with my stitches popped as well," he said against my lips, clutching me against him tighter all the same.

A knock at the door interrupted us before he could continue what I might have been willing to let him do, and we rolled apart reluctantly as John Butler entered the room.

"Morning, Captain. Miss." He nodded to both of us, apparently undisturbed by our bedraggled state. "Mr. Kelly located the dress maker for ye, last night. I've been informed that she's awaitin' ye at the brothel."

"Oooo," I snickered. "A wedding dress made by a hooker. How exciting!"

"Mistress Kane is a Madame for the brothel," Tristan laughed. "And the best seamstress this side of the Cape. She'll make ye shine like the sun."

"She takes care of the girls, you mean?" I asked, not sure if I was remembering the job description right.

"Aye," John butted in. "And she was none too happy to be told to wait, Captain. I had to promise her a hefty sum for the work and short notice."

"It's fine," he answered, sitting up and rising from the bed. "Tell her we'll arrive shortly, and with a bottle of whiskey as thanks for her time."

With a curt bob, John left, closing the door behind him, and Tristan sighed.

"Would ye mind getting me a glass, lass? My shoulder is in a right fit this morn." He touched it gently, grimacing as he rolled it a little, trying to loosen the muscles.

"Are you going to be okay to travel into town and do this?" I asked hesitantly. "You seem to be hurting more than you were at first. Maybe I should get the doctor?"

"I'm well," he stated, watching as I crossed the room and poured him a cup of the whiskey. "The shoulder is tightening from healing, that's all. It's stiff to move, but I must if I want to keep any function in it. I can't be a captain who can't raise his arm."

The last part was said jokingly, but I felt a cold wave drip through my stomach. Of course he needed to move it. He needed physical therapy to make sure his muscles all worked right. But there was no way to be certain he'd even been stitched up correctly, let alone someone to monitor his progress. Once again, I cursed my English major, wishing I'd studied something that would have been more useful to me here. Knowing most of the classic literatures and their symbolism wasn't really helping all that much.

Carrying the glass over to him, I watched him drain it in two gulps and hold it back out, motioning for another.

"Just one more," he explained. "To take the edge off."

"I can go by myself," I offered. "You can stay here and rest."

"No," he chortled. "I want to come with ye. Besides, what would it say to the crew, their captain hiding in his quarters like a baby the entire time we're at port? No, I must make an appearance, at the very least to show to the other captains and crews that I'm not a cod fish."