Heart's Safe Passage Read Free Page A

dubious. “She gave Watt a black eye when we took her. And she kicked me hard enough to make me lose my dinner the first time I set her free aboard the cutter so she could be more comfortable.”
    Rafe gave Mrs. Lee a sidelong glance. “Shame on Watt and you for getting in the way of such a little fist and foot.”
    She pounded the little fist, along with the companion to which it was attached, on the mattress.
    “And bit a hole in Watt’s hand,” Jordy added.
    “Let us trust she’s not rabid.”
    She squealed like she might be.
    “Aye, you may have at Mr. McPherson if you like.” Rafe stepped away from the door. “When I’m through with him.”
    “Don’t harm anyone.” Mrs. Chapman started to cry. “I told your men Phoebe wouldn’t want me to come and would try to stop me if I gave her a chance, but I couldn’t come without her. I just couldn’t.”
    “You should have warned me.” Rafe chose to remove the gag first. He could exact a promise of no violence if the woman could speak. “I need to untie the kerchief.”
    He needed to be close to her despite the abhorrent aroma of lavender. He moved her hair to untie the kerchief. The pale gold tresses lay across her shoulders and over the coverlet like a cascade of silk thread. He tried to brush it aside with the back of his hand. The strands clung and coiled and tangled in his fingers.
    Perhaps dropping Jordy headfirst from the crosstrees wasn’t punishment enough.
    Rafe extricated his fingers from the woman’s hair and slipped the sharp edge of his dirk between her pale skin and the kerchief.
    “Don’t hurt her,” Mrs. Chapman cried.
    Mrs. Lee lay still and quiet. He would have too with a dirk at his throat.
    A few deft strokes split the linen kerchief. It fell away, and she spit out the handkerchief gagging her mouth. “Water.” It was a mere croak.
    “Phoebe, your voice! What happened to your voice?” Mrs. Chapman leaped from the window seat. The Davina twisted down the side of a wave, and Mrs. Chapman flew forward.
    Rafe caught her shoulders before she struck the deck. “Have a care, madam. You do not have your sea legs yet.”
    “Nor will she get them.” Raspy, Mrs. Lee’s voice still held the bite of venom.
    Perhaps providing her with water for her probably parched throat was a poor idea. Who knew what she would sound like with her voice clear. Sound like or say.
    Rafe guided Mrs. Chapman backward to one of the chairs bolted to the deck around the table. It had arms and would hold her better. “Stay here until someone can help you.”
    “But Phoebe—”
    “I’ll see to your friend.”
    But not as he liked. He couldn’t risk putting her ashore.
    He patted Mrs. Chapman’s shoulder, then returned to the bound woman. “I am going to cut your bindings now, madam, but do not get violent.”
    “I am not a violent person,” she whispered.
    “Aye, and Watt walked into your fist?” Rafe lifted her hands and slit the ropes, then crouched to do the same with her ankles.
    The ropes fell away, revealing red marks and a few bleeding sores marring the creamy smoothness of her skin. He must tend to them. No, he would allow Mrs. Chapman to tend to them. Having an unattached and beautiful female aboard was bad enough without adding touching her to the bargain.
    He turned his back on Mrs. Lee and crossed to the table. A carafe of fresh water crouched between the fiddle boards slotted perpendicular to the tabletop to keep beverages and cups from sliding with the vessel’s roll. He poured water for Mrs. Chapman first, then carried a second cupful to Phoebe Lee.
    She lay huddled on the bed as though the ropes continued to bind her. If possible, her face—at least what he could see behind the spill of her hair—had grown paler, and her breath rasped between her lips.
    “Are you ill then, lass?” He crouched before her, the cup in both hands.
    “Phoebe, you can’t be seasick,” Mrs. Chapman protested. “I need you well, and I feel perfectly