The metal cup was thrust into his hand again, one of the men shouting, “Down the hatch!”
Nathaniel gamely choked it down, enjoying the camaraderie with the crew while he could. He wanted to prove he was man enough to keep pace with them—and that he was someone they liked too much to kill.
When he belched, his stomach gurgling dangerously, they laughed and cheered him. But when his cup was refilled again, he could only take a sip, his head swimming.
He pushed to his feet, shoulder throbbing, barely managing to step over the bench without tripping on his face. The ship rocked, and he held out his arms for balance, saliva rushing in his mouth. He swallowed a few times and belched again. “I think I’ve had enough.”
This garnered a roar of laughter from the men, and a smirk from Hawk. Nathaniel’s stomach lurched and so did he, making for the entryway. This time, he would have stumbled flat out, but Hawk was suddenly there, holding him by the arms, thankfully well below his sore shoulder.
Then Nathaniel simply erupted—remnants of stew and what seemed to be an endless stream of liquid that was likely pure rum. Worse than that, it spewed all over Hawk’s shirt, trousers, and boots, splattering the polished leather and gold as Nathaniel retched.
Coughing on the last bits of acid bile, he realized there was utter silence aside from the low howl of the wind, the men’s mirth vanished. Nathaniel’s knees would have given out if not for the steel grip of Hawk holding him up.
Blinking at a chunk of potato clinging to black cloth, Nathaniel’s face burned. He couldn’t bring himself to raise his head to witness Hawk’s fury at the repulsive mess Nathaniel had made all over him.
Light and dark blurred in a swirl of movement as he was spun around and marched out. Nathaniel’s feet barely skimmed the planks as Hawk propelled him down the corridor. For a gut-wrenching moment, he feared he might be tossed overboard into the sea’s black, endless depths, but then they were inside the cabin, door slamming behind them.
Blinking, Nathaniel focused on the bookcases and swinging lantern. He could barely enjoy the relief of being safe before his guts lurched once more and he gagged, trying to keep it down. Hawk released him, and Nathaniel crumpled to his hands and knees.
Then a bucket—mercifully clean—was in front of him, and he heaved into it. He coughed and spat, his eyes watering, and thought perhaps being thrown overboard to meet his end might be preferable.
“That’s it. Get it all out.”
Nathaniel tried to obey Hawk’s command, although it hadn’t been spoken sharply, but in fact gently. After another minute of bringing up nothing more than drops, his empty stomach twisting fruitlessly, Nathaniel sat back on his feet, pushing the bucket away feebly.
Eyes closed, he breathed as deeply as he could, his brain seeming to seesaw along with the ship’s rocking. He’d conquered any seasickness after several days on the Proud William, but hadn’t contended with the demon rum.
He jerked as something pressed to his mouth, then swallowed gratefully when cool water passed his lips. Hawk’s voice was a low murmur. “Slowly.”
Taking little sips, Nathaniel’s heart seized when something passed over his head. Opening his eyes was too monumental a task, but he realized it was Hawk’s big, callused hand brushing back his sweat-damp hair. Not angrily or cruelly, but with infinite tenderness.
Then the hand and cup were taken away, and Nathaniel choked back a whimper at the loss. Nathaniel managed to pry his eyes open and crawl to his corner. His clothes had been splashed with vomit too, and he tugged at them hopelessly before giving up.
He had to sleep, and had only just curled into a ball when Hawk tugged on his legs for some unfathomable reason. He tried to kick, but it was no use.
Then he was lifted to his bare feet. The world spun mercilessly, and he glimpsed Hawk’s face—still not angry, but soft and patient—before closing his eyes once more. He shivered as cool air flowed over his flesh, his soiled clothing stripped away until he was naked.
Thick bands of warm steel lifted him under his back and knees, and he registered that Hawk was carrying him like a maiden who had swooned. He should protest, but instead buried his face in Hawk’s bare neck, realizing Hawk must have stripped off his own ruined clothing as well.
The hard bed was luxury once more, and he sank onto it gratefully. He mumbled about being lucky twice in a day as he settled, sighing as strong, gentle fingers smoothed more of the poultice onto his shoulder.
Though the ship still pitched and rolled, his head along with it, Nathaniel curled on his good side, eager to escape into dreams, instincts telling him he was safe. Hawk’s warm, powerful body soon pressed close behind, enveloping, an anchor in the tempestuous night.