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Authors: Caroline Kimberly
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and Phillip watched them scatter. Alone in the corridor with his quartermaster, Phillip tried to rein in his temper. It didn’t help that Kolton defended them. “You can’t hardly blame them, Cap. She’s a pretty little thing, after all. And most of ’em haven’t ever had a chance to talk with a lady like Mrs. Marshall.”
“She’s no lady,” Phillip groused. “She’s a harpy.” He pushed his way into the doctor’s quarters and stopped cold. Isabella had her back to the door, but Phillip could see over her narrow shoulder enough to see she was tending to Brownie—the quartermaster’s assistant who’d been shot on the beach. The young man was sitting on the narrow bench that served as the doctor’s surgical table. He was shirtless and smiling, chattering happily away as Mrs. Marshall changed his bandages.
Phillip thought he might lose his temper completely as she touched the sailor’s bare shoulder in a most intimate way. The look on his face must have mirrored his thoughts because when Brownie glanced up and caught Phillip’s eye, the smile fell from the young man’s face.
“I can finish it, ma’am,” Brownie said hurriedly and reached for his bandaging. “I needn’t bother you.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Brownie,” Isabella said, pushing his hand away. “I’m nearly done.”
Phillip noticed with no small degree of satisfaction that Brownie had broken a sweat above his brow. “He can manage, Mrs. Marshall,” he said acidly.
Isabella’s back stiffened at his voice. She didn’t bother turning around to face him, though he did hear her mutter, “How odd. I didn’t smell brimstone.”
Doctor Sullivan poked his head into the room from the antechamber that served as his personal quarters. Phillip almost didn’t recognize him. The old man’s white hair wasn’t standing on end as it usually did. It looked freshly trimmed and was slicked neatly into place. His whiskers were gone, and he seemed to be wearing his best suit. His blue eyes twinkled with merriment and he was actually smiling—something Phillip had never witnessed in his years on the
Intrepid
.
The bespectacled old codger nodded at Phillip and, instead of snarling as usual, said politely, “I’ll be with you in a moment, Captain.” Then the old surgeon beamed at Mrs. Marshall. “How’s our patient?”
“He should be fine,” she said. “As long as he keeps it clean and doesn’t run around playing pirate for a few days.”
Sully chuckled and ducked out of the room with the promise of a tonic. Mrs. Marshall finished attending to Brownie’s injury, while the young sailor eyed Phillip warily. As soon as she finished, her patient jumped to his feet—shirt clutched to his chest—and mumbled an awkward “thank you” before running out the door like a startled rabbit.
The young woman spun around and glared pointedly at Phillip before she turned her attention to the quartermaster and asked sweetly, “How is your head today, Mr. Kolton? Did that restorative I gave you help?”
Kolton cleared his throat uncomfortably and mumbled, “It’s much better today, ma’am. Thank you.” To Phillip’s scowl he said, “I’d best make sure the lads get back to work.” Like a coward, he retreated without waiting for the captain’s answer.
Left alone with Isabella, Phillip let his temper loose. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he seethed, glad to be yelling at her.
She turned her back to him and busied herself with cleaning up. Without bothering to look at him, she answered coolly, “I thought that might be obvious. I’m helping Dr. Sullivan treat patients.”
“No,” Phillip smarted. “You’re done helping.”
“What possible objection could you have?” she demanded, spinning on her heel to face him. “I’m out of your way and I’m doing something useful. If the good doctor didn’t want my help, I’m certain he would tell me himself.”
“It’s inappropriate,” Phillip said through clenched teeth.
“She’s no lady,” Phillip groused. “She’s a harpy.” He pushed his way into the doctor’s quarters and stopped cold. Isabella had her back to the door, but Phillip could see over her narrow shoulder enough to see she was tending to Brownie—the quartermaster’s assistant who’d been shot on the beach. The young man was sitting on the narrow bench that served as the doctor’s surgical table. He was shirtless and smiling, chattering happily away as Mrs. Marshall changed his bandages.
Phillip thought he might lose his temper completely as she touched the sailor’s bare shoulder in a most intimate way. The look on his face must have mirrored his thoughts because when Brownie glanced up and caught Phillip’s eye, the smile fell from the young man’s face.
“I can finish it, ma’am,” Brownie said hurriedly and reached for his bandaging. “I needn’t bother you.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Brownie,” Isabella said, pushing his hand away. “I’m nearly done.”
Phillip noticed with no small degree of satisfaction that Brownie had broken a sweat above his brow. “He can manage, Mrs. Marshall,” he said acidly.
Isabella’s back stiffened at his voice. She didn’t bother turning around to face him, though he did hear her mutter, “How odd. I didn’t smell brimstone.”
Doctor Sullivan poked his head into the room from the antechamber that served as his personal quarters. Phillip almost didn’t recognize him. The old man’s white hair wasn’t standing on end as it usually did. It looked freshly trimmed and was slicked neatly into place. His whiskers were gone, and he seemed to be wearing his best suit. His blue eyes twinkled with merriment and he was actually smiling—something Phillip had never witnessed in his years on the
Intrepid
.
The bespectacled old codger nodded at Phillip and, instead of snarling as usual, said politely, “I’ll be with you in a moment, Captain.” Then the old surgeon beamed at Mrs. Marshall. “How’s our patient?”
“He should be fine,” she said. “As long as he keeps it clean and doesn’t run around playing pirate for a few days.”
Sully chuckled and ducked out of the room with the promise of a tonic. Mrs. Marshall finished attending to Brownie’s injury, while the young sailor eyed Phillip warily. As soon as she finished, her patient jumped to his feet—shirt clutched to his chest—and mumbled an awkward “thank you” before running out the door like a startled rabbit.
The young woman spun around and glared pointedly at Phillip before she turned her attention to the quartermaster and asked sweetly, “How is your head today, Mr. Kolton? Did that restorative I gave you help?”
Kolton cleared his throat uncomfortably and mumbled, “It’s much better today, ma’am. Thank you.” To Phillip’s scowl he said, “I’d best make sure the lads get back to work.” Like a coward, he retreated without waiting for the captain’s answer.
Left alone with Isabella, Phillip let his temper loose. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he seethed, glad to be yelling at her.
She turned her back to him and busied herself with cleaning up. Without bothering to look at him, she answered coolly, “I thought that might be obvious. I’m helping Dr. Sullivan treat patients.”
“No,” Phillip smarted. “You’re done helping.”
“What possible objection could you have?” she demanded, spinning on her heel to face him. “I’m out of your way and I’m doing something useful. If the good doctor didn’t want my help, I’m certain he would tell me himself.”
“It’s inappropriate,” Phillip said through clenched teeth.
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