“The will,” Jamie rasped from the bed.
“What was that?” Captain Baker demanded, frowning.
Of course, he had not heard. It had been said much too softly to have been heard even the seven or eight feet to the door. “The earl has dictated a change to his will. He wants you to witness it.”
“My dear young woman, this is unconscionable. You are clearly taking advantage. I do not think this is wise, milord,” E. C. Baker called into the room.
“My … idea,” Jamie rasped back louder than before, then took a gasping breath.
“I’ve disputed this,” Amber told the captain. “He is resolute. And this arguing is sapping his strength.”
The captain pursed his lips and stroked his beard as he thought over the problem. “Very well. Has he signed this codicil to his will?”
“I thought it would be better if you sign before he touches the page. I have a health book that says objects the sick person touches can carry infection.”
Baker raised an eyebrow and stared as if considering her. Then he nodded. “Fine. We will do the ceremony first,” Baker said to Reverend Willis.
Willis nodded back. “I’ll need the names.”
“The man taken ill is Lord Jamie Reynolds, Earl of Adair, and this is Miss Helena Conwell.”
“Excuse me,” Amber interrupted. “My name is Amber Dodd. I am merely traveling in Helena’s stead. We traded places in our accommodations.”
“So you truly didn’t know the earl?” Captain Baker asked.
“I didn’t. It was a bit of a mistaken identity,” she said. “Helena failed to inform the earl of the change in her travel plans.” She glanced at the bed. “Jamie, are you still with us?”
“What’s holding … this back?”
She looked toward the men in the doorway. “Captain? Reverend?”
Reverend Willis cleared his throat and motioned Amber back to the bed. “I don’t know how to address a man of English peerage so we’ll just go with both his names. Make sure this is all legal and binding. Jamie Reynolds, Earl of Adair,” he said in a loud voice, “do you take this woman, Amber Dodd, for your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do, Pixie,” Jamie rasped and smiled sadly.
The minister went on, unaware of the poignant moment. “And do you, Amber Dodd, take Jamie Reynolds, Earl of Adair, for your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” she said.
Amber was grateful he had dispensed with all the promises they’d likely never be called on to test. And he certainly needn’t mention that death would part them. It was standing in the room, a dark witness, ready to claim him.
Captain Baker then read aloud the codicil and signed it at Jamie’s nod. Then Jamie scrawled his signature upon it. She returned to the door. “I will pray for his life, ma’am,” the captain said.
“And I will continue to do the same,” Reverend Willis added. “I will also write up the marriage papers and give them into the captain’s keeping.”
She nodded her thanks, then closed the door.
“It is done then?” Jamie asked.
“It is, but the entire affair was unnecessary. You’re going to get well. I’ve promised, haven’t I? I never break a promise.”
His energy spent, he nodded slightly, smiled sadly, then took a ring off his little finger and slid it on hers. It fit. She wondered if that was prophetic. And if it was a prophecy, what did it mean? Was she destined to wear it as his widow or, queer thought that it was, did it mean they were destined for each other? Whichever it was, while she stared at her left hand, he fell back to sleep.
Amber stored the codicil in her trunk and resumed bathing him, fighting the fever ravaging his body. She wanted him to live, but the longer he hung on, hovering between life and death, the more she cared about him. She prayed that if he were to die God would take him before she cared even more for him. But then she quickly revised her thought because the truth was … she already cared for him too much.
And now she was married to him.
This adventure had become her worst nightmare come true.
Chapter Four
Jamie opened his eyes and found her standing over him. He’d never have thought such selflessness would be part of her character. And the plainness of her dress and even plainer hairstyle surprised him, too. He hadn’t thought Helena, an upper-class princess, would own a garment so worn and simple. “Oh, you’re back again,” she said in that sweet voice. It lured him from sleep time and again even though pain awaited.
“And you’re still here,” he quipped, scarcely recognizing the hoarse sound of his own voice.
“I promised you I’d be here. Will you try to take some broth and tea? I think my grandmother’s recipe is keeping your fever down a bit.”
Just then sunlight flooded through the skylight and illuminated her lovely face. It wasn’t Helena. It was Pixie. He struggled to gather a name from his fevered brain. She was Amber. He’d thought she must be part of a dream, but she was real. So he had met her on deck.
Jamie nodded to her question about the broth and tea. He didn’t feel up to eating or drinking, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. She was taking care of him. The least he could do was cooperate and help himself.
Her lovely smile made the agony of swallowing worth the pain. He didn’t feel the same way when he tasted the bitter liquid he’d watched her mix with water and the contents of an envelope. “That last … quite disgusting,” he complained.
She laughed and laid a cool cloth on his forehead. “Your opinion of the doctor notwithstanding, we need to do everything we can to get you well. Meara is counting on us.”
Us? Jamie frowned as a fog rose between them and he felt his mind begin to descend into chaos. He fought to hold on to clarity, but could feel it slipping away. “Meara? You know my wee one?”
The pixie frowned. “No, you told me of her nearly a week ago. It’s easy to see how much you love her.”
Meara. His sweet trusting little angel. He shouldn’t have left. “Been … away … too much,” he tried to explain. He wanted to hide in his mind. He forced his eyes open and beheld captivating Helena. She floated next to his bed. Seeing her there made no sense. She hated him. But she needed protection. He had to make her see reason. “I gave … my word.” Speaking had grown agonizing, but she had to understand. “His blood … on my hands. Promised … Least … I can do. Died to save me.”
Amber sighed. So she was Helena again. Why did that bother her so much? She stared down at Jamie’s tortured expression and forgot her own upset. She knew the story of Harry Conwell’s murder and it clearly haunted Jamie.
He stared up at her, now engulfed in delirium. She decided to play along. What difference did it make if a delirious man thought she was someone else?
“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him. “It was someone angry over his mining interests.”
“Not sure,” Jamie whispered. “Gowery said … but … I wonder—” His eyelids slid closed.
He was gone again, but he had been lucid for a longer time than he’d been in nearly a week. Since the day he’d pushed her to marry him.
Amber plunked down on the stool next to the bed. Lord above! She’d married him. She’d come to care for him. And he could still die. His fever kept spiking toward sundown. She wanted to believe he’d live so badly, but even his recovery posed a huge problem