Episode 5-Sudden Rescue

Upon Your Return

Chapter Two

Episode 5 - Sudden Rescue

Fara fought the blackness to the coming light. It was so easy to stay in the dark. It was comforting like a warm blanket. But the light held such possibilities. She knew she must rouse, as if something significant lay in wakefulness. She stirred and felt a pair of arms holding her. Then she heard a heartbeat beneath a rough fabric, felt a coarse texture of chest hair. It was so secure within that embrace.

When she finally realized it was a man who held her, she gasped and tried to retreat from the cord of muscles. She glanced up to be temporarily blinded by the lamplight to her left.

“Don't move,” said a soft but deep voice.

He spoke with the assurance of authority, likely used to ordering people around. Well, he wouldn't command her. She lifted her heavy head and whimpered as a stab of agony sliced through her skull. Fara squeezed her eyes shut tight. It was so much easier to be left in the dark for it was as if her head was being cut with so many knives.

“I will have you more comfortable in a moment. Please don’t move.”

How could she possibly move with all this pain and that large man rendering her limbs useless?

Suddenly, she felt a light cushion beneath her. The glare from the lantern came across her vision again when she opened her eyes and was then replaced by the outline of a man towering above her. On a panicked breath, she crawled away from him, but his hold on her waist hauled her back. Her head hurt so as he studied her face.

“Madame, the pain will lessen if you stay still. I promise I didn’t bring you here to harm you in any way.”

She gradually settled back on the pillows and looked at her keeper. He was an attractive man if one liked the rough, indignant kind. Dark layers of soft waves covered his head and ended at the nape of his neck. He was large, but slim in the right places...it spoke of years of hard physical labor.

His eyes captivated her as she studied him in such proximity. The shade of his eyes...a charcoal color; they were the most intense and unreadable eyes she'd ever seen. It was an odd, yet strikingly beautiful color for a man.

Oh, you silly girl, she thought. Really...how ridiculous for her to be wooed by only a pair of eyes. “May I ask you a question?”

“I insist you do, if you are not too unwell.” He gestured to her jaw.

Fara nodded, acknowledging the wound provided by the man named Bernard. She imagined what he referred to must indeed be a hideous sight. She looked around the room. It appeared to be a cabin of sorts. “Monsieur...how did I get here? Are we on a yacht?”

“A clipper ship. My ship, La Voyageur,” he announced firmly with a lifted brow.

She faltered at the damning tone in his voice. It gave the impression that he was accustomed to some ridicule, but she couldn’t fathom the reason for it. “You are a captain?”

“Oui, Madame.”

“Mademoiselle.” She blushed.

“Ah. I knew you were too young to be saddled to one man but thought it safer to say you were.”

“Monsieur...how long will I be here?”

He pointed to her throbbing jaw. “As soon as that is healed nicely, I will escort you to your home.”

Why, that could be days! Did he really mean to let her go, or was his intention to ask for a ransom? He had rescued her, but what if his motives were for reasons other than valor? She had learned the hard way not to be so trusting.

“My uncle...he will be concerned for me. I insist you take me home now.” She realized her voice was too soft to sound commanding.

He shook his head. “I will have a message sent to him. What is his name?”

She sighed. “Michel de Bellamont.” She began to protest, “Monsieur, surely you don’t intend to keep me here? That wouldn’t be right.”

“I do though. You fainted twice. I must be certain it won't happen again. That bastard hit you. I would be surprised if you didn't feel unwell. I will send the message to your uncle, informing him that his niece is in good hands. You will probably be better tomorrow. You may leave then if you wish.”

“All right, Monsieur. Merci.” He seemed to be concerned about her enough to care for her here. She still felt unsure about spending time alone with a complete stranger, especially a man, but she did not know how to convince him otherwise. He didn’t seem like the kind of man one questioned. And despite the fact she'd thought he could be trusted, she still must be on her guard. She had no idea what he really intended.

He went to the door and spoke quietly to a young boy, who nodded exuberantly, and then the captain shut the door.

She stared at him for several moments. “What might I call you?”

He turned to her, stood straight and bowed. “La Capitaine Hill. My name is Grant though.”

Grant Hill...it was a strong name. It spoke of a good lineage, yet it had a trace of foreign roots as did her first name. There were many people in France who would discriminate on petty things such as names or appearances. “Grant,” she murmured absently, suddenly captivated by his eyes again.

“And you, Mademoiselle Bellamont?”

“My name is Fara.” Her mother had named her, had claimed it was English for 'lovely, beautiful, or fair'. In Arabic, it supposedly meant ‘joy’ and ‘happiness’. No one knew this except her mother and father. She supposed most people could guess it wasn't a French name, like Capitaine Hill's. But she refrained from telling anyone because she knew how odd the French acted about origins. If one wasn't entirely French in every way, there was something low about it. It was a narrow-minded and proud society.

“Tis' a beautiful name, Mademoiselle.”

“Thank you.” She frowned. “If you are the man who came to my rescue, then why did those sailors run away?”