The Beauty of the Mist Read Online Free PDF

them trembling as they clutched the elder woman’s cloak. His eyes traveled up again quickly to her face. She was indeed young, very young. Beyond the pallid, dirty face and a tangle of black hair, he could see there existed a terrified, young woman.
    A thin, drunken rattle of a voice could be heard on the outside of the throng of men surrounding them. The surgeon, a member of the Douglas clan and a man that John was sure had been sent along as Angus’s spy, slowly approached. He was a puffy, bleary-eyed monk with more of an interest in wine and a soft bunk than the welfare of either his fellow man or their souls. John’s face clouded with anger once again as he watched him taking his time in answering his summons.
    “We’ll talk later,” the Highlander growled, standing at once as the surgeon sidled up through the crowd.
    Ignoring the man, John gestured sharply to the mate. “The woman’s been out in this damp air long enough. Take her below; the surgeon can see to her there.”
    “I shall stay with her?” Maria asked quickly rising to her feet and turning to the ship’s commander. The inflection of her words wavered between that of a command and a plea.
    This time their eyes met, but only for an instant, before Maria averted her gaze in embarrassment.
    “Aye,” John responded. “Of course. I’ll look in on you in a short while. My men will see to your needs. There are still questions that need to be answered.”
    She nodded, then stood silently, waiting for the men to move her aunt.
     
    There was very little space to clean up, and nowhere to spread out her wet, soiled clothes in the small room adjoining the large cabin where Isabel had been taken. A young boy had entered the cabin right behind them as they arrived and had, without a word, handed her a woolen dress and some linen undergarments. Maria had been thankful for the thoughtfulness of the gesture, but had not really known whom to thank. On deck, she’d seen many gentlemen and women standing about. Thinking about it now, she was surprised at the number of women aboard ship. Clearly, it was one of those ladies to whom she owed her gratitude.
    Holding her wet garments up, she scanned the room helplessly. From where she was, Maria could hear the murmuring voices of her aunt, who had thankfully regained consciousness, and then the sound of shuffling feet moving out into the corridor. Finally giving up on the clothes, she placed them in a neat pile in the corner. There was a small wash bowl and pitcher set into a board along one wall of the tiny cabin, so Maria carefully swabbed at the painful open blisters on her palms and fingers. Wrapping strips of linen dressing around her hands, she tried unsuccessfully to tuck under the ends of the bandages. Having both hands reduced to nothing more than raw flesh made it almost impossible. Besides, even at this she was a novice. She shook her head with disgust. Unskilled in even the simplest of tasks.
    With frustration and disappointment pulling at her, Maria tearfully jerked the wide, forest green sleeves of the woolen dress down over her wrists. Then, dashing a glistening droplet from her cheek, she yanked open a narrow door and stepped into Isabel’s more spacious cabin.
    Her aunt’s eyes traveled to her at once from where she lay. Maria watched as the older woman put her finger to her lips, hushing her for the moment. The young woman complied and stood back, waiting as the surgeon’s boy gathered together the bloodied dressings from the small table.
    “You were lucky, m’lady,” the surgeon rasped, reentering the spacious cabin. “The ball just grazed you. But your sailor had no chance.”
    “Then he is dead?” Isabel asked.
    “Aye. Dead and gone to his Maker.” He glanced back at the older woman. “Sir John wants to know the man’s name. For the prayers when we put him into the sea.”
    “I...I don’t know it.” Isabel said with embarrassment, looking at Maria.
    “His name was Pablo,” the