Read Online A Brother's Honor by Jo Ann Ferguson - Free Book Online Page B

Napoleon, and he would not break that vow for anything or anyone, not even to save himself from his own boredom.
    As his eyes creaked open, Dominic stared at the green and brown blur over his head. Trees , his slow mind suggested, but trees at a very odd angle. Then he realized the tree trunks must be lying on their sides with their branches spread across the earth. But how had he gotten from La Chanson to whatever this place was?
    Not La Chanson , he reminded himself grimly, but the American merchant ship. Memory burst into his mind with renewed agony, and he cursed. Only a dull croak sounded in his ears. Damn, crazy Americans! When they learned that they had no choice but jail or a noose, they tried to destroy the ship and themselves. Apparently, they had succeeded in achieving the martyrdom they wanted.
    Dominic St. Clair was no saint ready to die so worthlessly for his country. No one loved France more than he did, but he would have served Napoleon poorly by getting himself killed by a crew of American zealots. If he had suspected that Fitzgerald had left such orders behind him, he would have slain every man on the ship. If …
    There was no time to think of “ifs.” He had to discover what this place was and how he had gotten here. It must be the English shore, because they had not sailed far enough toward France before the mutiny began for him to reach landfall there.
    He tried to focus his eyes to ease the blur into something that would give him a clue to what had happened since his last memory. Even that memory was uncertain, but it was clear that someone had brought him to this place. As resourceful as his enemies considered him, he knew his own limitations. In his obviously pitiful condition, he could not have dragged himself from the beach without help.
    Hands appeared out of the fog surrounding him. Compassionate hands which made every effort not to hurt him as they gently placed a cool cloth on his head. He moaned as a swift pulse of pain almost stripped away his senses again.
    â€œWho is it?” To his ears, his voice sounded as wobbly as an old man walking along a cobbled street with his cane.
    When he received no answer, he wondered which one of his enemies had survived the ship’s sinking. But why would any of his enemies keep him alive? Mayhap he had been rescued by one of the English. Again he dismissed that thought instantly. They were as much his enemies as the Americans and would have killed him before he could regain his senses. Then who was tending to him? He repeated his question.
    â€œHush, Dominic. You should not strain yourself.”
    In disbelief, he listened to the softly husky voice which was undeniably feminine. Only one woman had been aboard the Republic . “Abigail?”
    â€œYou are exerting yourself when you should be resting. Please stay calm.”
    Frustration fired him, giving him strength he had not expected he could find. He pushed against the sand as he struggled to sit, although it was an effort simply to keep his unfocused eyes open. “I demand that you tell me—”
    â€œStay still. You have a head wound, and you should remain quiet for as long as you can,” she ordered.
    When her slender hands on his shoulder kept him pinned to the ground, he realized that he did not have the strength to fight her. Moving slightly, she reached for something just beyond the range of his vision.
    Dominic stared at her profile. Why was she tending to him? She had cursed him when he had tried to persuade her that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had guessed she would be happy to see him dead. But, she was caring for him instead of leaving him to die on the beach.
    He did not realize he had spoken her name aloud until she turned and asked in a whisper, “What is it, Dominic? You must be quiet.”
    â€œQuiet?”
    â€œThe English are not far from here.”
    An oath reached his lips. He snarled it again, but nothing eased his fury.