Page 8 of Scandalous

Martín squinted. “You have the what?”

The woman fluttered her hand, as if to catch Martín’s attention.

“The choking fever,” the Dutchman repeated. “Mademoiselle Fisher assured me the thorn of Christ, which only grows in coastal marshes, will cure it.”

Martín looked from the sick man to the furiously blushing woman. She gave a minute shake of her head, and mouthed the word please.

What was this? She did not wish him to pursue the matter? Why not?

Martín shrugged away the questions. He would find out later. But for now . . .

“Ah,” he said, as if in dawning comprehension. “You have the choking fever. Yes, yes, I see. Well, that is indeed unfortunate.”

The woman glared at Martín’s mocking and exaggerated tone, while the Dutchman looked confused.

Martín smirked at both. But, as amusing as this was, he did not have either the time or the patience to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. He would question the woman later, perhaps over dinner in his cabin. Just the two of them—alone.

After she had taken a bath.

Martín stood. “Beauville will take you to our cook,” he told the Dutchman. “He is a good enough doctor. As for the ringleader of the mutiny, you brought him with you and he is on deck with my men?”

Graaf nodded.

“Bien. I will deal with him, and then we can make plans to be on our way.”

Martín’s hand was on the brass door handle when the woman’s ringing voice stopped him.

“What will you do with him, Captain?”

He pivoted on his heel. “Pardon?” He used his most discouraging tone, the one that made grown men feel for their weapons or look for cover.

“The first mate, de Heeckeren, what will you do with him?”

“I will do what is always done with mutineers. I will cut off his head and throw his body overboard.”

Her jaw dropped. “But, that is . . . barbaric,” she gasped.

Martín studied her with no small amount of bewilderment. “What else would you have me do? Invite him to tea and crumpets?” All the men, even the sickly captain, chuckled, and the woman flushed.

Martín gentled his voice. “A mutineer is like a mad dog that has bitten its master, mademoiselle. It will always bite again.”

“Could you not turn him over to the authorities in Freetown?”

“I can do many things. Anything I choose, in point of fact. What I will do is cut off his head and throw him overboard.” Martín sketched a brief bow and left the boardroom before she could say anything else.

His second mate followed hard on his heels.

“What do you want, Mr. Daniels?”

“What shall you do with the woman, Captain?”

Martín stopped so suddenly Daniels almost slammed into him. He pivoted to face the younger man, arrested. “Do with her? Are you asking me if you may have her, Daniels?”

The Englishman turned the color of a brick. “Of course not, Captain.”

Martín frowned at the man’s chiding tone, but decided to overlook it this once. “What the devil is it, then?” He turned away and took the stairs two at a time, leaving the other man to trot behind him.

“What will you do with her, sir?”