The Patriot Bride by Carolyn Faulkner

“Bring two buckets, James!”
    It was like that for so long that Wolf seriously considered taking her back onto land, but he did need to get to his mother, and he figured that it had to get better sometime within the next day or so, when she got her sea legs under her. Sailing wasn’t his favorite thing, either – he’d much rather have a horse beneath him than a ship any time. That’s why he’d joined the Army rather than the Navy.
    But, a day later, it wasn’t any better. She had nothing more on her stomach, and yet she continued to be sick every hour or so. Wolf was beside himself. They were under sail – he had made the decision to leave, and if she died, it would be his own fault.
    He sent young James for the ship’s doctor, who arrived and proclaimed that she had the worst case of seasickness he’d ever seen. He didn’t know why, but it struck Wolf at that point that seasickness might not have been the answer.
    “Could it be that she’s pregnant?” he asked grimly.
    If Hannah had been healthy, she would have slapped him across the face. As it was, she settled for a weak glare that he didn’t so much as notice.
    Luckily for her, the doctor chuckled. “I’ve never seen a case of morning sickness that was quite this violent. She was fine on dry land?” Wolf nodded. “And got sick as soon as we got under way?” He nodded again. “It’s sea sickness all right. Try to keep some weak tea or broth in her. She’s a slip of a thing and she doesn’t have an ounce to lose.”
    Hannah would have preferred to have been allowed to die. Anything would have been better than the awful contrary rolling between the ship and her stomach. There was no comfortable position, even on the big, fluffy bed, and she continued to empty nearly all of her organs into the buckets he provided on a routine basis, despite the fact that he kept trying to follow the doctor’s suggestion and keep a light fluid on her stomach.
    It was the corporal, who, like Wilkins, seemed to have become instantly enamored of his wife, who came up with the only thing that seemed to help. At one point, when Wolf was about at the end of his rope, and Hannah was sleeping fitfully, he knocked timidly at the door with a slice of dry, toasted bread. “Me mum gave it to us when we was feelin’ poorly, Sir. I ‘ope it’ll help Milady, Sir.”
    Although he was doubtful – and gave the eager, puppyish corporal a jaundiced eye – he still took the plate and lifted Hannah against him, touching the tip of the toast to her lips. “Here, sweetie, try this.”
    Hannah was so weak she just did what she was told, quite sure that nothing could make her any worse, and, as a matter of fact, several minutes later her stomach quit rumbling as loudly, and she was able to stretch out from the fetal position she’d assumed while trying to calm her tummy. She didn’t feel quite human, yet, but she was definitely feeling better than she had.
    Wolf wasn’t about to let her up and about yet, even if she had had the inclination, which she apparently didn’t, thankfully. He did thank the corporal, though, before dismissing and packing him out the door before the drool flooded the cabin.
    That night, she slept deeply for the first time in almost a week, although it wasn’t undisturbed sleep. In fact, it seemed to be quite fitful at times. Wolf remained awake and watchful of her, not trusting the sickness not to come back, and he knew what he was watching when he saw her rolling violently from side to side, arms up to cover her face. His own was grim and white.
    She was being beaten, and he didn’t like to see it even though – right now – it was only a dream. It made him want to throttle whoever it was that was accosting her in her sleep – and seconds later, when she woke herself up screaming, “Daddy! No!” – a serious suspicion was planted in his mind, one that he didn’t like the thought of in the least. He couldn’t believe that any man would take his