Merline Lovelace - The Tiger's Bride

The man stretched out on the table stiffened. “Are you…soon done, lass?”

“Soon, Mr. Burke.”

He nodded and took another swill from the brown glass bottle clutched in his good hand.

The stink of rum and sweat and burned skin clogged Sarah’s nostrils. Taking a shallow breath, she pinched together another inch of the gaping temple wound.

“A few more stitches,” she promised softly, then dug the needle in again.

Straithe stood close by her elbow, too close, watching her as a keen-eyed kestrel watches its prey. Sarah tried to push him from her mind, but his nearness ate at her concentration.

Drat the man! She’d not soon forgive him for his threats…nor for the way he’d left her to stew and dither and fear about what was happening above decks!

Her mouth thinning, Sarah recalled her startled shriek when a cannon had boomed across the water. She’d heard the shot strike, heard as well the crew’s shouts and the clatter of rigging hitting the deck. Like the veriest coward, she’d huddled in the cabin, unsure what to do except pray. Most fervently.

An agonized groan in the companionway had cut her off in mid-psalm. Fighting the fear that clawed at her throat, she’d listened intently. Another moan spurred her to action. Even with the captain’s threat hanging over her, she couldn’t stay in the cabin. She’d nursed her mother through too many childbirths, tended her family through all their ills, and assisted her father in his ministries too many times to sit idly when someone was in pain. Pulling on her still-damp clothes, she’d gathered her courage and gone to offer aid.

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