“It probably has several. They call it the Holder.”
Rose blinked hard. She didn’t think Mr. Hunt was the sort of man to tell their private business to a stranger. Maybe the man was someone Mr. Hunt knew from back east or from when he worked in the university. Or maybe the man was holding a gun in his other hand.
One way to find out.
Rose licked her lips and pushed herself up, leveraging her right elbow under her, and pushing back.
From the clench of pain that stomped over her, Rose decided real quick she had overestimated her leveraging abilities.
She moaned, though she tried to hold it back.
Two sets of wicker chairs squeaked, then two sets of boots got louder as they came nearer her.
Well, this wasn’t her plan at all. Still, if Mr. Hunt had been under gunpoint, she sure hoped her diversion helped to give him the upper hand.
“Miss Small,” Cedar Hunt asked, near now, and clearly concerned. “Easy.” His hand pressed gently down on her good shoulder, and she just didn’t have it in her to put up a fight. “Do you think you can drink some tea?”
Rose opened her eyes, a little surprised she’d kept them clenched shut so long. Wasn’t like her to look away from a situation.
But the pounding at the back of her head and the blur to her vision said maybe her looking away wasn’t such a bad idea.
Something soft was being wedged against her back, a pillow maybe or a blanket roll, and then she rested her head, and worked on no more than staring up toward the ceiling until her head stopped drumming a beat.
“Miss Small?” Cedar said again, taking her hand. “Rose?”
Rose tried not to smile. He sounded so very worried. Almost distraught. It was sweet of him.
“Don’t worry so, Mr. Hunt,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and sour with the hot taste of metal. “Tea would be nice.”
He let go of her hand to see to it.
“Does she need anything else?” the other man asked. “Molly has a fair hand with medicine, though we’re running low on supplies.”
What a nice voice, Rose decided. Deep, with a little music to it, like maybe he hadn’t grown up in the Oregon Territory. She liked the sound of it. She hoped he wasn’t holding them all hostage.
“We’ll start with the tea,” Cedar said. “I laced it with a bit of laudanum to take the pain off.”
Rose turned her eyes away from the ceiling, catching sight first of the other man. He was light-haired and had a fine face, straight nose, carved cheekbones and a strong jaw that gave him the look of northern people. He was clean shaven, and his mouth seemed more than willing to smile.
His eyes…clear gray with a dark ring of blue at the edge, so striking it made her wonder if she was seeing them right. They were the color of storms and blue skies, framed by dark lashes.
Any one part of him might not be extraordinary, but taken all together, he was quite fetching.
Maybe it didn’t matter if he danced with his elbows out.
She supposed she might be staring.
She supposed she didn’t care.
“Take a sip, Miss Small,” Cedar Hunt said. “It will help.”
Rose looked away from the man’s face and paid attention to the cup Mr. Hunt held before her. She took a sip, placing her right hand under it so Mr. Hunt didn’t have to support it.
The tea was weak, but bitter with laudanum. She’d be asleep again soon for sure.
“Where are we?” she asked, the tea having put more of her voice back in her words.
“In the mountains,” Cedar said. “This is Captain Hink, and we’re aboard his airship.”
“Airship?” Rose’s heartbeat pumped a little faster, and she glanced again at the metal beams and as much of the room as she could see.
Of course, a ridged skeleton to carry the gondola. Above that ceiling would be the airbags—no, they were called envelopes. She wondered how many boilers she had on her, and how many fans.
“The Swift,” the man, Captain Hink, said. “She’s small, fast, and—”
“Beautiful,” Rose said with a sigh.
Captain Hink smiled and pride lit his eyes. “Yes, she is. Have you flown, Miss Small?”
“Only once. But not in a ship.” Rose’s neck was beginning to hurt from looking up at his eyes, but she found herself not wanting to look away.
She had so many questions. About flying, about the ship. She wondered if they had to use glim to power her like the Madders had used glim to augment the power of the balloon.
But the tea was already starting to make her tired. She reluctantly looked away from Captain Hink and held the cup out for Mr. Hunt so she wouldn’t spill.
Medicines were scarce and expensive.
“I’m filled with questions,” she said. “But my eyes are so tired. Is Mrs. Lindson well?”
Cedar placed the cup on a nearby shelf. “She will be. She overexerted herself.” That last bit he said with a deep growl in his voice. Rose had noticed that when Mr. Hunt talked about Mrs. Lindson, he often had a bit of the wild behind his words. Especially since she’d been so whimsical in the brain lately.
She didn’t think he noticed it, but he felt very protective of her. Likely felt more for her than he’d yet admitted to himself.
Funny how a scholar could lose all sense and logic when falling in love with a woman.
She had found it to be most entertaining on the trail so far. Well, except for the day she’d found Mr. Hunt covered in blood with that man dead at his feet. There was a difference between losing your mind when falling in love, and just plain losing your mind.
“…be in the air before dawn, if we’re lucky,” Captain Hink was saying.
Rose opened her eyes. She must have slipped off to sleep. The lantern was doused, and there were other voices, farther off, men. Maybe two or three, talking over fuel and lift and steam and something about temperature and rivets and tin.
She heard Mr. Cedar Hunt shift on the floor near her, and got a look at him. He sat, his back to the wall, his hat tipped down to shadow his eyes. Wil sat next to him, his bronze eyes aglow in the darkness, ears twitching to sounds in the ship she couldn’t hear. Mr. Hunt’s hand rested on Wil’s back, and Mr. Hunt was asleep.
The men at the end of the ship sounded like they were bedding down. She even heard the soft breath of a snore muffled by something like a pillow or an arm over a face.
And then Captain Hink was standing above her hammock, looking down at her.
She was startled to see him there.
He appeared just as startled to see her awake.
They held still, caught in a stare they could not seem to break.
He opened his mouth, closed it, glanced over at Cedar Hunt, who as far as Rose could tell hadn’t stirred, then finally back at her.
“My apologies,” he whispered. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was,” Rose whispered back, enjoying his discomfort more than she probably should. He looked like he’d swallowed a prickly pear and didn’t know how to get it down proper.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He lifted his hand and showed her the pillow he was holding.
“What did you mean to do with that, Captain Hink?” Rose asked.
“Lee,” he said. “Please, call me Lee.”
“I’m not sure that I’m on first-name familiarity with you, Captain Lee Hink.”
He looked down at the pillow in his hand, then back at her with a smile. “Maybe that’s not my first name,” he said. Then, “Would you be on first-name basis with a man who was going to offer you his feather pillow?”
Rose held her breath for a second. Was he just teasing her, or had he really come back here to try to give her a little comfort? Why would a stranger do such a thing?
“Is that what you were doing, Captain Hink?”
“Lee,” he said. “And yes. I just wanted to see you…just wanted to see if you were comfortable.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” a man grumbled from somewhere toward the head of the ship. “Just give the woman the pillow, Lee, so we can all get some sleep.”