Charles rushed across the room, sliding his pistol back into its holder and giving the crumpled form on the floor a good kick. Ned gave a yelping groan at the contact, but didn't stir from his spot, so Charles let him be for the moment and knelt on the bed beside Anne.

"Of course I am," he replied gruffly. "You sail with me, you get taken care of." The look in his eyes betrayed the simple answer, though, brimming with concern as they were. But saying more than that really wasn't Charles Vane's way, and he expected by now that Anne would understand.

Those concerns were shifted aside when she cried out. Charles pulled her blouse aside and peered at the wound on Anne's shoulder. "Not as bad as it looks," he assured her, then drew his own dagger to cut her loose from the bed. The knife served to cut a wide strip from the bedsheet, which he crumpled and pressed to Anne's shoulder. "Hold this here, press tight."