Jules finally came around as I kept a solitary vigil beside him, and although he awoke in a state of delirium, I could have predicted the first words he uttered.

"Why is there a bloody draft in my undercarriage?" He followed this up by trying to climb out of the cot. I gently nudged him back down.

"You're in a bathing cot, Captain. We're trying to bring your fever down."

I smiled at him as he took his time to scrutinize his surroundings. When his gaze landed on my face, I desperately hoped he would recognize me. But I knew his condition would likely cause him visual impairment.

"Oh, hello. I must be deceased. That's a relief."

My heart stuttered at his morbid admission. Had he really given up hope? "Why would you say that?"

He continued to squint at me as if it pained him. "You look like an angel I know."

Again, my heart leaped. Could he be speaking of me? Perhaps, that was too presumptuous. He was likely thinking of his sister, Alice. "I assure you, we are both living. Do you remember where you were before you became ill?"

He let his head fall to one side, staring past me with unfocused eyes. "On a journey to nowhere."

Oh, dear.

Where had Jules's mind taken him? Nowhere good, it seemed. I needed to guide him out of his melancholy. I took his wrist gently to check his pulse. "We all have somewhere we would like to be. Where would you like to be, Captain?"

He offered no reply. He just stared at my hand on his wrist. I gave it another go. "You're going to be just fine. The matron of the infirmary fetched you herself. She likely saved you from a much worse fate."

He grunted. "Some people aren't worth saving."

His words pierced my heart like a sword, reminding me of the awful despair his father fell into after the passing of Jules's mother. I was beginning to truly worry about his state of mind when Matron Orwell appeared at the screen.

"Ah, it seems our patient has responded well to your tending. How long has he been awake?"

"Nary a minute. And his pulse is already gaining strength."

"Good. It must have been the sight of your familiar face that did it."

As she sat down to check his temperature, Jules studied me, still clearly confused. "So, you were lying to me. You are the angel I know."

Matron Orwell's gaze flicked across the cot.

"I said both of us were living," I told him quickly. "I'm afraid I don't know this angel you speak of."

"His fever has broken. We need to get him out of the tub and dried off." As the matron prepared his towels, I helped Jules stand. It was then that he realized he was unclothed.

"Why the bloody hell am I nude?"

"It was necessary to bring your fever down," the matron told him. "Discretion was maintained throughout your treatment, I assure you. Now, let us dry you properly so we can dress you in something clean and warm."

As she and I took towels to Jules, he continued to eye me suspiciously. He seemed to be regaining his faculties, and I wondered how long it would take him to realize his eyes were not deceiving him.

"You really don't recognize this woman?" the matron asked as she tugged a medical gown over his arms.

Jules appeared to be fighting the urge to shake his head. As if a battle of wits raged there. "I'm afraid my mind is a bit muddled. And there's a strange halo around everything."

"That's the sepsis," she said. "Your vision should improve with continued treatment. In the meantime, I have arranged for you to bunk next to a comrade you're sure to remember."

We walked Jules to an empty cot beside his muscly boxing mate, and when the midshipman noticed us, he let out a laugh.

"Oy, Jules. You look like hell!"

Jules cocked his head. "Hugo? Is that you?"

"Of course. Who else could insult you and get away with it?"

The matron and I helped Jules get comfortable, and she sent for broth to be brought from the kitchen.

"I'm going to leave you in capable hands, Captain Thompson. I know she will refuse anyone else wishing to monitor your care. You need to mind her, now. I will check back in a few hours, and I don't want her giving me a bad report."

I couldn't help smiling as she left the infirmary. Maybe her manner softened the more fatigued she became. When I turned back to my patient, his friend was grinning from ear to ear.

"I expect Jules will be on his best behavior under the care of his beloved. Hey, Jules? I bet it was a right surprise seeing her cheerful face smiling at you when they brought you on board."

Once again, Jules held me in a curious gaze. Although they were glassy and red, I saw confusion and pain in the depths of those familiar blue-grey eyes. "I don't know who you're talking about. I don't have a beloved." He turned away from both of us and curled into the fetal position.

"A good dose of broth will set you right," I said. The captain offered no reply, and I leaned over Hugo's cot, speaking softly. "He's still recovering his senses. It might be best not to upset him with talk of beloveds."

I received a wink from the midshipman, and I stood to wait for the broth at the nurse's station. It was during this time that I noticed my eyes watering, and I dabbed them with my sleeve. I knew my body was in grave need of rest, which likely explained why my emotions were high. Surely, the captain would recover and remember his feelings for me.

The broth was delivered, and the captain allowed me to feed him. However, his mood gradually darkened as the meal progressed. He had barely finished half the bowl when he refused to continue and turned his back on me again. I likely would not get a response from him until morning. So, despite my desire to be near him, I used his foul mood to catch a bit of sleep myself. If he came around during my absence, there were plenty of kind souls to manage him.

~ Wednesday, April 7, 1813 ~

When morning arrived, I felt as if I'd been afflicted with a fever myself. Unfortunately, sleep played keep away for most of my rest period. I kept willing someone to come to the barracks and report that Jules had remembered me and was refusing treatment until I returned. As I left my bunk, my movements were slow, and I hit my knee on the way down.

"Bloody hell!"

Collette eyeballed me as she stood in front of her locker, changing clothes. "What are ye doing up, Rose? Didn't ye stay to attend yer captain?"

The room grew quiet as every girl listened in. I had come to expect it and tried to remember how desperate I was for a bit of gossip during those long weeks at sea. "Yes. But I want to know if he's improving. He might have regressed."

"Doubtful. Typhus don't usually work that way. Jes stay there in yer bunk and I'll check on yer captain."

I wanted to argue with her. But, truth be told, I would have been no good to anyone in my state. So, I followed her orders and forced myself back up to the rafters, closing my eyes and shutting out the voices. I must have dozed off because the next voice I heard was Jasmine's.

"Sleepy head! I been talking at ye down here for days!"

"What's wrong? Is it Captain Thompson? Has he worsened?"

"Nay. It's yer other captain. The one in the brig. He fell ill overnight. They think it's sepsis from an untended wound."

"How could that happen? Matron Orwell is incredibly thorough." I clambered down from my bunk, hitting the floor much surer than I had previously, and Jasmine spoke to my back as she followed me to my locker.

"From what I heard, the wound is in a place nobody looked. His derriere."

I turned in the middle of pulling on my apron to make sure she was serious. Jasmine's sense of humour didn't always come across as humour. "Was he shot there?"

"Don't know the details. Just know he's asking for ye."

"He is?"

"Don't look so surprised. Everyone knows he fancies ye."

She was right. He had gifted me his prized pendant. And although only he and I knew about that, everyone else could see it with their own eyes. "Has Gunther asked about me? Should I stop by there first?"

"Ye leave the laundering to us," she said with a wave. "Yer in the matron's good graces now. I 'spect ye won't have to get her hands dirty no more. Just remember who yer friends are and don't keep the juicy bits to yerself."

Her parting words may have sounded like a casual request, but I knew better than to ignore them. Jasmine made no bones about the hierarchy of the whores on board, and although I didn't behave like one, I knew she had placed me at the bottom.

When I arrived in the infirmary, I intended to check on Jules first, but Collette cut me off halfway down the aisle and yanked me toward the privacy screen where we were welcomed by a curse.

"What the hell are you stabbing me with, woman? A sabre?"

"If you hold still, it won't hurt so much." The matron's annoyance rang true, and I pictured her scowl as I rounded the screen. I wasn't disappointed. "Finally, Mistress Hayes. Do what you must to get this filthy-mouthed pirate to watch his tongue before I drill him a new orifice."

I found it interesting that Captain Boucetta was the only man on board who the matron reprimanded for his language, and it made me wonder what he had said to her that first day to earn her wrath. The nurse assisting didn't seem the least bit put out by his manner.

"Rose, at last. You are here to rescue me from this barbaric woman." Duncan spoke through gritted teeth, and I kept my eyes averted from his backside as I took a seat beside him. From the looks of it, the matron was working dangerously close to the business end of his derriere.

"Matron Orwell is an expert in field surgery, Duncan. And cursing is not the way to repay her for saving your...well. You don't want the sepsis to worsen, do you?" I pressed my palm to his flushed forehead, but the heat radiated out so far that I didn't have to.

"I have survived worse things. Did I tell you about the time we were ambushed by cannibals on an island we thought to be uninhabited?"

He broke into a gruesome tale about a tribe of true barbarians while Matron Orwell finished her work. Although she was clearly put-out by his colourful storytelling, and shushed him each time he cursed, I could tell she was grateful for my presence, since none of the curses were directed at her. When he had been sedated, I helped the matron clean her surgical tools at the basin.

"Do you know what happens when you engage in anal sex without proper lubrication?" Her question had me flinching, and I dropped the tweezers into the soapy water.

"I... well... I suppose there could be a fair amount of discomfort."

She gave me a sidelong glance as she handed the tweezers back. "I expect you take proper protective measures. But a randy pirate at sea with rocks for brains is not thinking of all that. And from what I could tell, it was not a one-time incident. I had to make extensive hemorrhoidal repairs, which were likely there before he allowed someone to assault him in that way."

"Oh, my. How can we be certain it wasn't an act of violence?"

She didn't even bother to look up. She just clicked her tongue. "For a worldly courtesan, you have a naïve nature."

Naïve was not the word I would have used to categorize my nature, but I had no interest in bantering with the woman.

"Perhaps, it's your lack of experience with men of a rougher caliber," she went on. "With benefactors from the royal court keeping your finances flush, I expect you have never allowed a pirate into your bed."

There were lines I did not allow my colleagues to cross, and speculating about my professional conduct was one of them. Despite my desire to remain in the matron's good graces, I could not leave her comment undefended.

"I appreciate that you have given me the opportunity to prove my value to these wounded men. But I must ask that you leave my profession out of our exchanges. I chose my lifestyle because I desired independence over marital servitude, but I have never let it define my worth as a person."

My buttocks clenched as I prepared for her effusive rebuttal. Not many people spoke their mind to the matron. Not directly, anyway. But she did not lash out as I expected. She calmly set the clean instruments on the drying towel, wiping her wet hands on her apron as she turned to face me.

"Since the day you arrived on this ship, I knew it would not be easy keeping you in the laundry. You are not a follower. You make up your own mind about things. Forge your own path, which can be dangerous for a woman. That is why most of them just follow. A military vessel like this one needs people who are good at carrying out orders. It would be chaos if everyone wanted to do things their own way. Wouldn't you agree, Mistress Hayes?"

I tried to decide if I was being praised or scolded, so my response came a bit late. "Yes, I would."

"So, you will not mind if I insist that you follow the rules of my infirmary as long as you are allowed to remain here under my tutelage. In turn, I will not bring up the subject of your profession during our exchanges. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes, Matron. Quite fair."

"Good. I do not believe I mentioned that Midshipman Hornsby's condition has improved since he arrived on board. I suspect he had an allergic reaction to the toxic soap on the Pelican. So, it seems your diagnosis was correct. Now, you might want to check on your patient, Captain Thompson. He has been watching you carefully for some time."

It took me a moment to process her compliment, which I knew to be something rare. Then I scanned the row of men resting in their sickbeds, locating Jules. He had indeed been staring in my direction, but he quickly became interested in fluffing the pillow behind his head when our eyes met.

A flutter manifested in my gut as I walked toward him. I felt nearly as uncomfortable by our impending encounter as I had during my exchange with the matron. The worry of whether it would go well or go miserably was almost unbearable.

When I arrived at his bedside, he continued to feign ignorance of my presence even as I stood over him. But when I took his hand to check his pulse, he was forced to employ his manners and turn to acknowledge me.

"How are you feeling, Captain?"

"Fine."

His flat response had my hackles up. Was he still in a poor mood? Or was he annoyed with me?

"Your pulse seems to have stabilized. That's a good sign. And your skin is not so hot to the touch."

"I've been stable for the past two hours. You would know that if you hadn't been tending to that bloke behind the screen."

Ah, he was annoyed with me, and I couldn't help seeing it as a good sign. "That man needed urgent care. I do have other patients to attend to."

His eyes found mine, and there was fire behind them. Ice blue fire. "So, the only way a man can get your attention is if he needs urgent care?"

While his eyes may have radiated heat, his voice gave away his angst. This was the complicated captain I had chased across the ocean to find. Was he searching for some sort of apology? Was this his way of grappling with the realization that I was standing before him? "If you are unhappy with me, I can recommend another nurse take over your care."

"No, no," he said with a casual wave. "I don't want to be a burden."

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the awkward conversation I'd had with Matron Orwell, but his passive aggressive manner had tweaked a nerve. "Oh, I completely understand. You would rather sail halfway across the world than be a burden to anyone. Even when they tell you they very much want you to stay. And that their feelings had caused them a great deal of concern. And they were still working out whether or not they had fallen in love with an arse."

By the time I finished my tirade, I had roused all the men from the neighboring beds, including Matron Orwell, who stood with her hands on her hips watching me make a fool of myself. But any humiliation I might have felt was overshadowed by the smirk that now occupied Captain Thompson's mouth.

"There you are, Mistress Hayes. I was afraid I might have lost you."