Gently, Hawk eased the earring open and removed it from Nathaniel’s ear. Nathaniel laughed again. “Does it look that foolish on me?”
Wordlessly, for none could do justice to his affection, Hawk removed his own earring and fit it into the fresh hole in Nathaniel’s ear. Mirth vanished, Nathaniel watched intently as Hawk then slid the gold hoop into his own ear.
Nathaniel was silent for so long Hawk thought perhaps his meaning wasn’t clear—that he wanted no other by his side for the rest of his days. But then Nathaniel leaned in and captured Hawk’s mouth in a breathless, fervent kiss that said everything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hawk would never harm Nathaniel again, but in that moment, he missed the days when Nathaniel would quiver in his presence. It was useful in getting his way. He tried again, barking, “When did it start bleeding?”
From where he stretched out on the pallet in the captain’s cabin, Nathaniel shrugged in the faint light. “Sometime during our escape.”
“Sometime,” Hawk echoed, cold, clammy sweat trickling down his spine in the humid dawn.
Once he’d been certain they were far enough from Primrose Isle and weren’t being chased, Hawk had tugged Nathaniel belowdecks with a smile, eager to get cleaned up and lock themselves away. His visions of fucking until they reached Port Royal had vanished when he’d felt the dampness on Nathaniel’s dark shirt, his hand coming away a terrifying red.
“Why didn’t you tell me the wound had reopened?” he demanded.
“There was nothing you could have done about it. I didn’t want to trouble you with it.”
“Mr. Pickering! Get the fuck down here!” Hawk marched to the door to go drag down the surgeon, whom he’d seen amongst the remaining crew. “You will stay here. In bed. Yes?”
Nathaniel made a show of contemplating it, and if Hawk’s heart wasn’t in his throat, he’d have been charmed. Nathaniel said, “I wouldn’t really call this a bed. More a hard hammock, the way it’s suspended by ropes.”
Hawk pressed his lips together and did his most fearsome loom over the small cabin’s pallet. “I will throttle you if you so much as sit up.”
“Well, then I will need the surgeon.” Nathaniel had the nerve to smile. “It’s really nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ apparently does not have the same meaning for you as it does me.” He narrowed his eyes at the blood that had soaked through the bandage on Nathaniel’s stomach. “This is not nothing! It’s because of me you were injured in the first place.”
Nathaniel lifted his hand, and Hawk took it, sinking to his knees. Nathaniel said, “Because of my father. Not you.” He squeezed Hawk’s fingers. “I’ll rest now. I promise. Go get the surgeon, and I’m sure he’ll agree that all is well.”
Hawk kissed him quickly and stood, or else he’d dally too long against those lips, the novelty of their mouths meeting still too fresh. He couldn’t imagine tiring of tasting Nathaniel or hearing his sighs.
“Would you give me a real smile?” Nathaniel asked.
“What?”
“There is a vast difference between that hollow grimace and a true, joyful smile. I have charted them.”
Warmth bloomed despite his worry. “Have you?”
“Mmm. I’ve become an expert.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to smile genuinely as soon as the bloody surgeon tells me there’s nothing to fear.”
Fortunately, O’Connell arrived with Mr. Pickering, who clucked his tongue as he examined Nathaniel while Hawk paced the tiny cabin, contemplating ripping out said tongue with his bare hands. O’Connell shot him nervous glances.
“He should recover nicely,” Pickering pronounced. “I’ll re-stitch the wound, and as long as you rest and eat to keep up your strength, you’ll be good as new.”
“Oh, he’ll rest.” Hawk glowered. “Trust me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pickering,” Nathaniel said, rolling his eyes.
“Any rum on hand?” Pickering asked. “This will hurt.”
After Hawk rummaged through the cabin, Nathaniel had several slugs and nodded. “Ready. Any more and I might puke it up.” He caught Hawk’s eye and gave him a secret smile.
Sinking to Nathaniel’s side, Hawk took his hand and told Pickering to be fucking careful. As the surgeon worked, Nathaniel squeezed tightly, his lips pressed together, nostrils flaring. But he withstood it, as he did everything, and Hawk bent to kiss his forehead, not caring what Pickering or O’Connell might think.
When Pickering had finished and left, Hawk sat on the pallet with Nathaniel’s head pillowed in his lap. He twisted a curl around his finger, listening as O’Connell recounted what he knew of the rest of the surviving crew, who had splintered in their desperation to escape. O’Connell leaned against the nearby desk, clearly weary.
Hawk said, “They’ll probably show up in Port Royal or Nassau before too long.”
“Perhaps you could gather them together again.” Nathaniel slurred his words a bit. “Form another crew with another captain.”
“I suppose. Mr. Snell is capable but reluctant. The captain is a hard act to follow. How do you top the Sea Hawk?”