back. Afraid she might have missed an injury in the fading light, she traced the ridge with her fingers, then propped him up higher to get a better look.
A network of healing scabs crisscrossed his back, as though he’d been beaten or whipped. As Lily surveyed the extent of the damage, her sympathy for the soldier increased even as she wondered what had caused the marks. It reminded her of the horrors of slavery, and yet, even this far from America, she couldn’t imagine the man having been enslaved, not in the twenty-first century.
She thought of the uniform jacket her mother had carried downstairs. The man was a soldier. “Were you a prisoner of war?” She voiced the question in a whisper, not expecting a response.
Settling the man’s torso back gently onto the cushion, Lily let his head rest on her lap for just a second as she held the edge of the boat, preparing to scoot out from under him.
The man moaned and shifted his head.
Lily froze. She’d been thinking that he ought to drink something, but she didn’t want to shove it down his throat and risk drowning him. She figured if he was reviving, however slightly, now was her chance. She grabbed the water bottle her mother had brought her.
* * *
A dark blanket of pain settled heavily across his face. He wanted to push it away, but it felt so heavy, and his mouth was dry. So dry.
“Water?”
The word came from somewhere beyond him, a gentle, feminine voice.
“Can you sit up a little and drink?”
Who was this creature who knew exactly what he longed for? She’d soothed the pain on his face. She had water. He tried to obey her instructions, to lift his head.
He opened his mouth. Couldn’t she just pour it down his throat? He couldn’t see. There was too much darkness, and too much pain. His head throbbed.
“Can you swallow?”
Something touched his lips, and he felt a tiny pool of cool liquid. “More.” He tried to speak, but it came out as a groan.
“Here—slowly.”
He gulped too much, and sputtered. Afraid the woman would remove the water before his thirst was remotely quenched, he felt relieved when the bottle touched his lips again. He focused on each cool swallow that soothed his parched tongue and dry throat.
Then the water was gone, and he moaned, wanting it back.
“You’ve got to have a horrible headache.” Gentle fingers touched his forehead. “Can you swallow a pill? It will help with the pain.”
If the woman with the water could make his headache go away, he would know God had sent her. He tried to answer, to nod—anything—but the blanket was too heavy for him to push past. Gratitude swelled within him as he felt her place something just inside his mouth.
And then more water. Ah, sweet water. He swallowed it greedily until the bottle held no more.
“That’s enough for now. We don’t know if you’ve sustained any internal injuries, and we don’t want to overwhelm them.”
The gentle voice hinted at something. Injuries? That would explain the pain. Who was this gentle woman who eased his pain?
Come to think of it, who was he? Fighting back against the throbbing in his head, he tried to think, but the pain only pounded louder, the blanket of darkness heavier. He tried for a moment to resist it, then gave in to its pressing darkness.
TWO
Lillian left the soldier sleeping on the cushioned bench and headed for the pilothouse, where her father was bound to be sulking at the wheel, resenting her for rescuing the man. After helping her squeeze the soldier into an old T-shirt, her mother had gone belowdecks, where the 52-foot sloop housed three cabins, two bathrooms and the freshly stocked kitchen. Night had fallen, and Lily knew her mother was tired from the events of the day. No doubt she’d gone on to bed.
Padding silently up the steps to the pilothouse, Lily heard her father’s voice and realized he was on the phone. Not wanting to interrupt him, she held back, trying to evaluate how long he might spend on the call.
“Ha! I wish it had been a dolphin. I’d even take a shark. No, this time she rescued a human. What’s that? Yes, you heard right. A person. A soldier, actually. He was injured in all those explosions. Now he’s passed out on deck with some sort of concussion.”
Lily listened intently, hoping to discern how upset her father really was about her new project.
“If he has a name, I haven’t heard what it is. His uniform said Lydia. Yes, right above his medals, like it was his last name.”
Heart thudding hard, Lily wondered if her father might learn something that would help identify the man she’d rescued. She and her parents had sailed to Lydia to visit her uncle David, who was a general in charge of the Lydian Army. If that was who her father was speaking to, he might well know their mystery soldier’s identity.
Her father sucked in a breath. “But, Dave, we’re already twenty miles out to sea, and he’s unconscious. If I throw him overboard, he’ll drown.”
Lily clutched the doorframe and ducked back, suddenly aware that her innocent intentions had turned into serious eavesdropping. Her uncle David wanted the soldier tossed overboard? Surely her father would talk him out of it.
“I understand. Yes, yes, I see your point. I don’t know much about those kinds of injuries myself, but we don’t want him lingering for days just to die on our boat. No, she didn’t have any luck with the horses, and she’s still torn up about that. I suppose it’s better this way.”
What? Was her father actually planning to push the man overboard? He’d die for sure! Lily tried to think. Her father was upset with her for rescuing the soldier in the first place. She’d overreached his favor already, so there would be little use begging him to change his mind. Besides, she’d learned over the course of their visit to Lydia that her father’s older brother had tremendous influence over her dad—far more than she had.
As Michael Bardici went on about the soldier’s injuries, and his fears that the soldier might awaken in a terrible rage and murder them all in their sleep, Lily tiptoed back to the injured man’s side. He’d roused earlier, when he’d taken the pain relievers she’d given him. If those had gone to work, maybe she could wake him up all the way. He’d have to defend himself against her father. She didn’t see any other way out of the situation.
Crouching by his side, she patted his uninjured cheek. “Excuse me, sir? You’ve got to wake up!” He emitted a low moan, but didn’t move. She shook his shoulders. If she could just rouse him, surely the strong soldier would be able to ward off her father, even in his injured state.
“Please—you’ve got to wake up.” She bent close to his ear. “My father wants to toss you overboard. We’re way out into the Mediterranean. There’s nowhere to go if you go overboard. You’ve got to wake up!” She shook him hard, her alarm increasing as she heard footsteps crossing the deck behind her.
“Lillian.” Michael Bardici’s voice was stern. “What are you doing?”
She turned to confront him, not caring if desperation showed on her face. “This man is under my protection.” She wished her voice wouldn’t tremble.
“He’s injured. He probably won’t live more than a couple of days. Your uncle explained to me about these blast injuries. They explode a person from the inside—”
“His ears were fine. That means the impact of the blast wasn’t strong enough to cause internal injuries.”
“Then why won’t he wake up?”
Lily groaned. The man behind her on the bench was rousing. She’d watched his eyelids flutter. Given another minute, he might be able to