There were times when the aftermath of a good storm lulled him to sleep. Tonight was not one of those. John prowled the room akin to a caged tiger. It was one of the downsides of being back on land. He felt trapped and could do nothing about it. Yesterday was his first day back at Cedar Lane and John spent most of it worrying about the girl. She was restless in her sleep, and that kept him from getting any rest himself. Throughout the day, he and Robert spent time catching up and reminiscing on the past. It was hard to imagine that years had passed, the two of them quickly fell in their old habits, talking about their triumphs and setbacks, happiness and sorrows. For a few hours, it felt like they were never apart. He really did miss his old friend.

It was now two in the morning, and John was experiencing cabin fever all over again. The storm had forced everyone to stay indoors, and after two days of non-stop rain, it was too muddy to try riding. When he lived on board his ship, moments like this didn't phase John. He would head to the bow and stare out to the open sea, breathe in the salty air or even climb the mast and marvel at the clear skies. But being back in society meant being trapped indoors, even if it was his own home. Maybe a book might help. Impatient, John headed to the library hoping the effort would help calm him enough to sleep.

The passage of eight long years had not brought any changes to the Library. John climbed to the loft where he kept a shelf dedicated to his personal books. He ran his fingers against the spines of a few of them and came across a volume on public education. He couldn't help smiling at the memory it triggered. He looked over at the cluster of chairs near the alcove. He still remembered finding the pair of pink slippers peeking out from under the window curtain. He was sure that his prank would absolve him and entertain Robert and himself but he didn't account for her reaction. I wonder whatever happened to her.

John grabbed the most boring book he could find and sauntered down the stairs. That's when he noticed the pile of books stacked on the floor by the Duke's favorite armchair. Curious. His father was meticulous in his habits and would never allow such a mess. This made John wonder about the content of the books. From what he was told, the Duke rarely visited Cedar Lane. This meant that the staff was given specific instructions to leave this pile alone. John knelt and looked through the stack. The strangest book caught his attention-a red leather bound volume with a handwritten title, A History of Pirates: Infested in the China Sea, scrawled neatly across the cover. It was an unusual book to say the least. It was an account of translated reports from Chinese to English. In it, on loose pieces of paper were questions about the work, neatly scrawled in his father's distinct style. John skimmed the first few pages, vaguely understanding the gist of the content. Conquerors are deemed successful robbers, while robbers are unsuccessful conquerors-leave it to the Duke to find the most obscure account of piracy and use it to gain information about his son's whereabouts.

John shook his head. Although he was surprised, it made complete sense that his father would read about his routes. The Duke always kept abreast of all his adventures.

Twenty minutes later, John walked back to his room, jauntily whistling a maritime tune about the fate of a seafaring pirate, with a tattered copy of A Treatise on Mummifying Corpses in Ancient Egypt. That should put him right to sleep.

He walked through the connecting door to check on the girl before settling down with his book. He was actually looking forward to getting some sleep tonight. He could see she was asleep but her breathing was uneven, he reached out and touched her temple. Heat was radiating from her temple, he swore under his breath. So much for settling down with his book. John took the pitcher and basin from the side table to her bedside. What can I use? He poured some water in the basin, went to the other room, and grabbed a clean cravat from his dresser. Returning to her side, John spent the next twenty minutes trying to cool her down by wiping her face and hands with the cloth.

Why was she running a fever? Vaguely, John remembered Robert mentioning the possibility of infection. He hoped that this was not the case, especially because earlier Rob had checked her wounds and praised his own handy work. If anything happens to the girl-I will murder him! Should I get him to check on her again? Dawn was still some time off, so John opted for trusting his friend and checking the wound dressing himself. He was tugging on the collar of her dressing gown when she opened her eyes. He could see she was feverish by looking into them, and her reaction was instant fear. He grabbed her flailing wrists and held them in his hands. "It's okay. You are okay. You have a fever-I am not going to hurt you."

***

Someone was sitting on the bed, next to her. She could feel the jarring pain in her ribs as the mattress moved beneath her. Her eyes were heavy, and she was keeping still as a statue, pretending to be asleep. She wanted to open her eyes, but her head ached and her eyelids felt heavy. A cool cloth was placed on her forehead, relieving the throbbing behind her eyelids. She was starting to relax again when the intruder pulled the sheet down from her shoulder. That was when she went full panic mode. Instinctively, she threw her arms up to block whoever was invading her privacy. She was startled and the pain of the movement jolted her wide awake. She saw the man a few feet away from her. Her teeth were clenched tight as the pain racked through her ribs. She was ready to attack. Just as quickly as her panic surged, her fear subsided at the recognition of the stranger. She knew him, she recognized his face and the soothing voice, "It's okay. You are okay. You are just having a fever-I am not going to hurt you." It was the same voice that comforted her on and off in her memories; it's rhythmic cadence now familiar as her own.

She relaxed after that. He wiped her brow again as she closed her eyes.

"Do you want some water? I can get supper brought up if you like."

Some time passed before she nodded. "Thank you."

John stood up and pulled the servant's bell. Minutes later, a footman scratched at the door. "Get me some food for our guest and clean water," John instructed, handing the basin to the footman.

"Are you in any pain?" he asked when he walked back to the bed.

She opened her eyes again and stared, waiting for her sight to focus. The room was filled with shadows and a small candle behind him made it more difficult to see his features clearly. "How long have I been here?" She asked.

"Nearly two days." He held a cup out to her. "Do you remember anything?"

She took the cup and sipped from it, delaying her response. Remember what? Did she forget something? It was hard to make sense of his question, her mind was groggy, and it felt like a fog had crept in and slowed everything down. She could feel the ache in her body in acute clarity. "Remember what exactly?"

"Your name? Where you are from or where you were going? Anything really would do." He brought a candelabra and ignited the tapers from the already lit candle, producing a sphere of light.

She felt her forehead and found the large knob at the temple. Ah-that explains it. She could see why he would ask her about her memory. At that moment a knock sounded at the door. Before the man could reach it,two footmen entered carrying a small table and a large tray of food. Another brought in a pitcher and basin to replace the ones currently in use. Finally, in marched a pristine indignant butler, at least that was Elizabeth's first impression of the man.

"My Lord, is there anything else you need?" The man said. How peculiar his tone was, almost disapproving but more vexed really.

"That would be all, Watson. You may retire for the night. And Watson-let the rest of the staff rest too. The cleaning can wait." It felt like he said this as an afterthought. How peculiar for a lord. Most lords wouldn't give a hoot to the comfort or rest of their staff.

"What were you trying to do earlier?" she asked.

He hesitated for a moment, and his expression looked almost sheepish. Then he shrugged. "I was trying to check your wounds for infection."

"Are you a physician then?"

"No-I just thought rather than summoning someone at this hour . . ." He didn't finish the sentence. "How are you feeling? Do you want more laudanum for the pain?"

Before she could reply, Elizabeth sneezed. Once, twice, and finally a third time.

"I guess that explains the fever. Let's get some food in your belly and then some more rest. That will help."

Elizabeth was starving, but at that moment, something was far more important than food. She needed a chamber pot. Her face heated at the thought of having to ask this man for help with such an intimate task. But the alternative was far more mortifying. She opted to ask for a water closet.

"Can you help me up?" She pushed back the blankets and gingerly moved herself to the edge of the four-poster bed.

He rushed to her and took her elbow, gently helping her stand. "Is this necessary? I can bring the food to the bed."

"Oh, believe me, this is a most necessary task." She swallowed her embarrassment and admitted, "I need a water closet."

***

Author's Note: It's been a while I know, sorry. Much love to all you readers! You are the reason we write! With work and school in full swing I am having a hard time finding a routine so I can get back on schedule. In the mean time, share your thoughts and please vote. Thank you for following along, and Happy Reading!