Page 1 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Beached

June, 1778 – Yorkshire

Sabina didn’t see the body until she fell over it.

Not five minutes before the incident with the body, she was glorying in wild German Ocean, staring into the roiling clouds and the threat of lightning. Sabina had come to the beach to enjoy the storm because nothing made her feel more free or alive. Storms made her feel powerful, a rarity when she needed to appear inconsequential.

She cared not if she caught a cold, not with the wind whipping at her wet hair and the mist caressing her face. There was no sun to tan her dusky skin further. Every minute of her day was spent staying contained and quiet until she felt as if she had always been Miss Elden, schoolmistress for the village of Hornsea. Sabina would steal this moment for herself and be free.

Skipping down the dune toward the beach, she breathed in huge lungsful of sea air, redolent with spiteful, cold rain and the faint burnt scent of lightning.

Sabina landed hard, cushioned by the wet beach. She struggled to her feet, spit out sand, and started to run. That was the rule. When they find you, leave immediately, run, and never look back.

Her wits returned a few strides down the beach and she regained control of her impulses.

What if it wasn’t them? What if it was a log? They had been safe in Hornsea for years as the Eldens. What were the chances she would be discovered and ambushed on a beach?

Sabina chanced a look behind her and slowed. There was nothing threatening her and she felt like a ninny for running.

A large log of a body with matted hair and pale skin had tripped her. It was not unusual for bodies to wash up on the shore, sometimes sailors fallen overboard, sometimes bodies tossed into the sea for whatever reason. This one would have been a tall man had he been standing and was dressed in rags.

Sabina returned to the body. This had been a sailor, she decided. There was no smell of decomposition but the skin was pale. She tried to use her foot to roll the body onto its back and failed miserably. Perhaps she should leave and report the matter to the magistrate.

He could be alive. Sabina shook her head, disgusted with herself, and dropped to her knees to shove the body over. He started coughing instantly, causing her to jerk back, and filthy water spewed from his mouth.

Sabina thumped him on the back.

“Get it out, all the water. Who are you? Are you hurt elsewhere?”

Sabina asked. He didn’t open his eyes but stopped coughing, and was still again. She attempted to shake him but she may as well have shaken a boulder.

Sabina’s cottage was a brisk fifteen-minute walk but this man was in no shape to move on his own. Hornsea was another fifteen minutes beyond her home. The man was freezing and would certainly die before she could summon help.

If Sabina was wise, she would leave him there and forget she had ever seen him. She was safe in Hornsea, no one knew her past, no one knew her. There was no reason to risk her security for what was most likely a criminal.

Sabina pushed his dark locks from his face. His skin was clammy and so cold. He looked half dead already. She could read nothing from his face. He could be a good man. He could be a villain.

Could Sabina live with herself if she let him die? Was that the person she was now? Her hand went to the signet ring that hung between her breasts.

Oh crumbs. Her father would not have left the man. Sabina could never live with herself if she let him die. She needed to get him dry, warm, and fed, in that order.

Sighing, Sabina hitched up her skirt and ran for her cottage. Her aunt’s wheelbarrow was still in the woodshed and today it would hold something other than sod.

****

Roland returned to consciousness in a spectacular explosion of mental fireworks and misery. He didn’t open his eyes and allowed himself to exist in the pain for a moment, not certain if he was grateful to be alive.

He was moving, but he wasn’t on a ship. After living ten years at sea, most of those years on Ariadne, he knew the difference. The water on his face was rain, not seawater, and he heard thunder overland. Thunder sounded different over the sea.

What had happened? Had he been caught? Had the damned Swedish pirates finally killed him? It was a spectacularly ignoble way to finish off a less than sterling career. Goddamn them all, he had given up his family, his very name for this cause, and he would die on his feet.

Roland opened his eyes and moaned at the pinpricks of agony that jabbed his brain. Perhaps standing was beyond him at the moment.

Then he remembered, the memories returning in a flood. The sudden turning of the crew, his crew. The hard faces, the unmistakable intent. The sudden shock as he dove into the water before they could kill him. The last glimpse of Ariadne before the stormy waves had taken him. Roland had made the fatal error of taking on a crew he barely knew from Jersey, but Oliver had vouched for them. Oliver had saved his life countless times, of course he had trusted his first mate’s judgment.

They had captured a Dutch ship, a fluyt belonging to Van Dellen Shipping, and Roland had taken everything they had needed, including the shipping routes as requested by their handlers. He had divided the spoils evenly, for a new crew needed to be paid. The crew had been unhappy when Roland had ordered the Dutch crew beached unmolested and the Dutch fluyt turned over to Roland’s handler.

He had been a bloody fool. He should have predicted it but he had trusted Oliver. Oliver had been his best mate for years. They had mutinied against him when the next Dutch ship had been spotted. Oliver, his first mate, his friend, had led the mutiny.

Roland remembered the way they had come for him. All work had stopped and Roland had looked up. That small detail saved him. He knew what happened to pirate captains during a mutiny. Instead of fighting against his own murder, he had jumped ship like a coward.

Then nothing. There had been only the blackness of the dark waves and the certainty that he was going to drown.

Except he was trundling along in the cold rain and very much alive. Roland braced himself for the pain and opened his eyes again. Then blinked.

Roland looked up at a grim angel. He saw flushed cheeks, a determined mouth huffing with exertion, and fierce eyes that were focused ahead.

His angel was only pretty, but in that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, since he had expected to be dead.

“You are going to be the end of me,”

she grunted, sounding breathless and tired. Roland tried to look around but any movement caused bright lights to drown out his vision. She was wheeling him over grass, there was no path. He thought he was in a wagon but now saw that she had somehow folded the entire length of him into a wheelbarrow.

And he was still being rained on. Why on earth was she helping him? Good Samaritans were a myth. He had learned that lesson harshly. There was no reason for her to save him.

Roland needed her to know that her efforts would be rewarded, for he would spend his life repaying this debt. Despite the rain, his throat was dry as dust. He opened cracked lips, and failed several times to speak.

“I love you,”

he finally croaked, then promptly passed out.

****

When Roland again woke, he was warm and dry. More importantly, he was not in a wheelbarrow, being rained on. Everything still hurt. He opened his eyes and saw a welcome, crackling fire. He was laying on some sort of padding next to said fire.

Roland also became aware that he was quite naked under a prodigious number of blankets.

He slowly turned his head. It was exceedingly painful, akin to a thousand needles slowly pushing into his brain. He was in a small cottage, it seemed. The fire illuminated a humble thatched roof, ancient beams, and walls that barely kept out the howling wind. Ah yes, it was still storming outside.

“Hello.”

Roland jerked up and snatched at what he saw. His angel was there, her eyes wide and his hand was manacled around her wrist. He let her go, reluctantly.

“Sorry,”

he croaked and fell back into the blankets. What a cad he was. She saved his life and he immediately assaulted her in her own home. At least, he assumed this was her home. “So sorry.”

“It’s all right,”

she murmured, making him feel more foolish. “You’re safe. Here, take some tea.”

She hauled him into a reclining position, shoving pillows behind him, and brought a cup to his mouth. It almost hurt, trying to swallow the warm tea, and then it was sweeter than honey.

As Roland drank, he stared into pale hazel eyes, eyes that reminded him of good whiskey or Spanish bullion. A man could get lost in those eyes.

She was a pretty girl, with a wealth of dark hair, and she was much stronger than she looked, proven by the way she had carted him up a hill to her home.

She was young. Too young to be living alone. Through the haze in his mind, Roland noted the dire impropriety of being naked and alone with a young woman who was gorgeously illuminated in the firelight.

“Where?”

Roland croaked. She was ladling broth from the pot near the fire into a large mug.

“Hornsea,”

she said in a low, lovely voice.

“What?”

“Hornsea. You’re in East Riding. It’s Saturday,”

she added helpfully.

“Yorkshire?”

“Yes, Yorkshire. Have some broth,”

she said, tipping the mug into his mouth as if he was a babe.

“Name,”

Roland rasped, hating how he sounded like a frog. He hated everything about the situation, especially how helpless he felt. At least he was at the mercy of a kind woman. Girl, really.

“Yes, I should like to know your name,”

she said dryly then shoved the mug to his mouth again. He could either drink the broth or drown, and thankfully the broth was delicious.

“Roland,”

he said. “I beg your pardon for imposing. Many thanks, miss.”

She dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“I’m Sabina Elden, the schoolmistress here,”

she said. “In the morning, I’ll fetch the doctor and we’ll see about setting you to rights.”

“No!”

Roland gripped her wrist again. She barely kept the mug from upending onto the floor. “No one must know.”

Then he saw the grim angel again, from the battle-ready glint in her eye to the set of her mouth.

“Release me,”

Sabina ordered firmly. Roland obeyed. She was most definitely a schoolmistress.

“Not a criminal,”

Roland said, abashed. He could not let her bring the authorities. His letters of marque were still on Ariadne and he had no proof of his identity. He needed to go to ground and regroup. “Please. I mean you no harm.”

Her pale eyes bore into him. He wished he could prove himself to her but all he could do was pray she was merciful.

“Promise me,”

Sabina said.

“I swear on my honor, you are safe with me. I beg you, bring no one. Please,”

Roland pleaded. He hated himself a little for groveling but he needed to survive.

Sabina placed the cup to his mouth again and he drank as he waited for her judgment.

“Very well,”

she said finally. “I hope not to regret this, Roland.”

“You will not regret me, I promise you,”

he said. Then his eyes rolled up and he went limp.

****

Sabina stared at the unconscious man in front of her hearth. She drained the rest of the broth, hoping he didn’t have any diseases. At the same time, she would not waste food.

“I swear on my honor, you are safe with me,”

he had said to her. Those were the ravings of a madman who had almost drowned but no one had ever said those words to her. He had been so fervent, she almost believed him. She wanted to believe him.

Roland said she was safe with him. He did not understand that he was not safe with her.

Sighing, Sabina pushed to her feet. Suddenly, she missed her guardians intensely. It had been less than a year since she had lost her aunt and uncle, and she ached for them still. The cottage was so lonely without her protectors. It was nice to have company now, even if that company was most likely a criminal. Fortunately, in his weakened state, Sabina was confident she could deter any advances.

What a fine specimen of a criminal he was. He had lovely blue eyes and dark, thick hair. She knew it was thick because she had run her fingers through his hair, checking for injuries. Now that it had dried, his hair glinted in the firelight, hinting at a lighter color.

Lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, as if he spent too much time squinting. His stubborn jaw had a very defiant dent in the middle. It was a very masculine face, quite plain taken in pieces but rather striking when viewed as a whole. She liked his face.

It had been a bloody nuisance getting him situated. The wheelbarrow had tracked mud into the cottage, naturally, and she had dumped him on the floor out of lack of options. After stripping him, which was much more arduous than she had expected, she had been stunned for a moment at the large, naked man in her home.

Sabina had never seen a naked body before and she could see the evidence of his trade from the way he was tanned from the waist up. His body was muscled, as if he was used to hard work, from his strong legs to the breadth of his shoulders.

She had never pretended to be a saint and allowed herself to linger only for a moment. Sabina’s hand had briefly traced the indent between the muscles of his stomach and his hip bones. Heaven knows if she would ever get the chance to touch another human, much less one this well made.

Disgusted at herself, she briskly dried the unconscious man, studiously ignoring the sudden warmth that sat low in her belly. She had enough self-control to not linger about his male member, which laid helplessly amidst the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

After a good scrubbing with dry towels, she laid out several quilts and managed to roll him onto the makeshift bedding. It would have to do because she had exhausted all her strength. There was no possible way she could drag or lift him to a bed.

She was heartened by the fact he had returned to consciousness so quickly. He might survive. Sabina set a bedpan close to him and built up the fire. With one last check for fever, she made herself a cup of tea and settled into Uncle Galfrid’s favorite chair. She typically avoided it but it was the best seat in the cottage.

If she was going to be a nursemaid tonight, she would be comfortable at the least.