“What about the wind? Notice anything different since you came on deck?”
She thought about it a moment before realizing that the air was cooler. “The wind has changed direction.”
He nodded, pleased by her observation. “And may again.” Noticing her sudden concern, he gave her a lopsided smile. “No need to fear, my sweet. Audacious has weathered many storms and has come through no worse for the wear of them.”
“I’ll never be able to find the horizon in bad weather,” she commented ruefully, casting a sidelong glance toward the one still in evidence.
Beau threw back his head and laughed in hearty amusement. Laying his arms about her shoulders, he drew her close and settled his chin on top of her head. “Then you’d best return to my cabin, madam, for I can promise, be it the foulest tempest to cross these waters, I can give you something to stare at and hold that will occupy your mind so completely, you’ll never even be aware of a storm passing.”
“Beau!” she chided breathlessly. She was becoming too aware of his bawdy humor to miss his insinuations. “For shame!”
He chuckled, gathering her closer to him. It had been far too long since he had been able to hold her thus. “Why? No one can hear us with this wind.”
“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t seem appropriate that you should talk to me the way you do when we might not be married in a few weeks.”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes, madam. Until then, you’re my wife, and if you won’t allow me to enjoy you like any normal husband, then you’ll have to bear my poor humor, for ’tis the only way I can take my revenge upon you.”
Feigning a pout, Cerynise started to push away, but Beau clamped his arms more tightly about her and, dropping his chin near her temple, whispered, “Stay put, or I’ll embarrass us both.”
Burying her face against his neck, Cerynise settled back against him, allowing him the protection of her skirts. She was glad that he couldn’t see her face, for the heat of it nearly stifled her. Yet she felt a strange, delicious contentment that her nearness could affect him even in the company of so many.
It was a very long moment before her husband loosened his arms about her, but even as she moved away, his hand followed the line of her inner arm until only the tips of their fingers touched. Then, with a grin, Cerynise glanced back at him and broke away, racing toward the companionway. Beau watched her go with eyes that glowed as he acknowledged to no one but himself his growing fondness for the girl whom he had once casually befriended with a brotherly affection.
The sea began to churn and soon became a dark, angry gray. Just looking at it made Cerynise want to retch. Low, roiling clouds gathered, stealing away the sunlight, and what warmth remained was blown away by the rising wind. Spitting rain stung the face and hands, and then the night-born gloom settled in like a dark, depressing shroud.
Cerynise retreated to her cabin, ate supper from her lonely tray, and slipped into her narrow bed. Everything about the mate’s quarters had grown suddenly stale and boring, and she fought a strengthening desire to flee to the comfortable masculine quarters just down the passageway. She seriously doubted that Beau would be there; he had spent many hours on deck during the day and as yet she hadn’t heard the familiar creak of the flooring outside her door that would have indicated his return to his cabin, but if she allowed herself, she could conjure all manner of reasons and excuses for awaiting his return and then yielding herself completely to that compelling, green-eyed gaze and everything else that would follow, no doubt in short order.
Reluctantly Cerynise stayed in her virginal domain throughout the night, but with the coming of morning, it seemed her world had taken on a drastic change, for the ship had already run afoul of rough seas. A strange, yellowtinged grayness loomed above them, which made it terribly difficult for her to even look up. She hated the dull winding-sheet that lay morosely over everything within sight. Indeed, she feared it was a bad omen for what was yet to come.
“We’re gonna have a real blow, we are, mum,” Billy announced in an excited tone when he brought her breakfast tray. “Cap’n says so.”
A wavering sigh escaped her, and with a small vein of hope, she queried, “Has he ever been wrong before, Billy?”
The cabin boy looked astonished. “The cap’n?” He seemed to search his mind a moment for an answer. “Why no, mum, I can’t say as how I’ve ever known him ta be mistaken. He knows the sea like the back—”
“Of his hand,” Cerynise finished gloomily. She groaned, pushing aside the tray. She had no doubt that her fear of storms was centered primarily on her memories of the one which had taken the lives of her parents. She just hoped this one would be kinder. “I feel as if I’m going to be sick all over again.”
“Now, mum, don’t do that,” Billy pleaded anxiously. “I’ll have to tell the cap’n, an’ he’s awfully busy right now. Besides, he asked me ta bring ye up on deck if’n ye’d like, seein’ as how ye won’t be able ta come up much more before we hit the full strength of the storm.”
Cerynise mutely agreed and, wrapping a cloak snugly about her, followed the lad up. The moment she stepped on deck, she felt the wind slicing through her garments and the icy impact of it on her face. Waves crashed in quickening repetition against the craft, sending thick sprays of foaming water over the railing. The Audacious continually dipped into the troughs between roiling gray mountains of water and then surged upward again as more swells passed beneath the bow. Cerynise put out a hand to steady herself as the deck seemed to drop from beneath her, making her eyes widen in mingling amazement and fear. Ropes had been strung across the deck to provide handholds, and although none of the men were using them as yet, Cerynise wasn’t that confident of her ability to stand upright without aid. She firmly gripped a cord and held on for dear life as she considered the world she had come to know. It now seemed very small, no more than a tiny speck in comparison to the immensity of the sea.
Instinctively she searched for Beau and found him talking to the quartermaster again. Both of them were looking out to sea, and their manner was calm but highly focused. Beau was garbed in a thick seaman’s sweater and wore a cap that sat rakishly upon his dark head, no doubt to keep the wind from whipping his dark mane into his eyes. There was a moment when he turned his face into a sudden gust and laughed as if he were enjoying himself immensely.
Shaking her head at the unfathomable ways in which men faced danger, Cerynise took a last look around and decided she had had enough. She now considered the relative calm of the mate’s cabin quite inviting.
The storm continued throughout the night into the following morning. Whatever light came with daybreak, it was barely detectable; there was only a thick, watery grayness that completely obscured everything, even the topmasts. Nothing was tangible beyond their small realm, and what would be left in the wake of the howling tempest remained to be seen, for it had become a demon that sought to wreak a terrible vengeance upon the vessel that had dared intrude into its midst.
It was well into the wee hours of two mornings hence when a sudden thump in the passageway snatched Cerynise awake. It was promptly followed by a muttered curse that set her heart to leaping. Flying from the bunk, she snatched open the door and leaned out to see Beau stumbling down the lurching corridor toward his quarters. He was tugging off his oilskins, which apparently hadn’t helped much, for the clothes he wore beneath them were thoroughly soaked enough to leave wet trails behind him. Even from behind, Cerynise could tell that he was shaking uncontrollably from the cold.
Flinging wide his cabin door, Beau forged inward without bothering to push it closed behind him. Immediately he tossed the slicker and his cap aside and then started stripping off his sweater and the long-sleeved, finely knit shirt he wore beneath. Cerynise followed in his wake and swept the portal shut, then hastened to a locker beyond his shaving stand. Beau glanced around long enough to realize he had company. His eyes flicked briefly over her nightgown, the same one he had seen her wearing whe
n she had been sick. Although the soft billowing fabric clung to the ripe curves of her young body divinely, for once he had neither the strength nor the desire to become amorous.
“Y-you’d b-better get back to b-bed before you c-catch your d-death, madam,” he stuttered shiveringly, working open the fastening of his trousers with fingers that did not readily respond. They were so cold that he dreaded the pain of them being warmed again. Indeed, he couldn’t remember ever being so cold, even in Russia. “If you s-stay, you’ll be s-seeing a lot m-more than y-your virginal s-senses may be able to bear.”
“You took care of me once when I needed it,” Cerynise countered matter-of-factly as she gathered a handful of towels and a blanket from the locker. “Would it be so hard for you to let me do the same for you?” She shrugged at the notion that she would be shocked. “Besides, I’ve seen everything about you that a wife is allowed to see.”
“That’s right,” he acknowledged, peeling down the sodden trousers and the long underwear he wore beneath. He dropped to the bunk and bent forward to drag off his boots, but with an exhausted sigh, he decided differently and sprawled back upon the mattress, flinging his arms wide. Immediately Cerynise was there. Kneeling at his feet, she tugged off the footwear and then his trousers and underwear.
Beau had closed his eyes, but he promptly flung them open again as he felt his long frame being vigorously rubbed dry with linen cloths. He was mildly amazed at his young wife’s boldness in toweling not only the whole length of his body, but his private parts as well. As much as he would have rallied with eager zeal to her ministrations under different circumstances, he was too spent to muster more than a muted plea for warm soup.
“I’ll get Billy up and send him to the galley to heat you some as soon as I get you under the covers,” Cerynise murmured, pulling the feather tick and top sheet from under him. In a moment she was tucking the bedclothes up over his shoulders as he huddled on his side. She slipped into the same elegant gentleman’s robe which she had found in the familiar locker and tied it about her. Then she left to find Billy and give him instructions.
In a few moments she was back and made haste to turn down the lanterns that had been lit in anticipation of the captain’s return to his cabin. She was aware of Beau’s bleary-eyed gaze following her movements about the room, but other than that, he was as still as death. When the soup was brought, she propped the pillows behind his head to brace him up. Greatly surprised that he would allow her, she began to feed him, but his fatigue was acute and his eyelids sagged closed repeatedly between spoonfuls.
Making the decision to stay in his cabin, Cerynise spread a blanket out beside his bunk, but at a muted grunt from Beau, she glanced up and saw him trying to drag the covers down behind him.
“Join me,” he pleaded in a low murmur and, with a heavy sigh, slowly closed his eyes again.
The hard floor hadn’t been very inviting anyway, Cerynise reasoned as she crawled over her husband and settled into the warm, narrow space between him and the wall. Facing his back, she tucked her knees beneath his and slipped an arm around him. Her hand found its way to his chest, and briefly her fingers stroked across the furred expanse and a male nipple before his hand came up to enfold hers within his grasp.
In the very next moment his slow, heavy breathing made Cerynise realize that he had fallen asleep. With a smile she brushed her nose against his stalwart back, and then, snuggling even closer, found a comfortable place for her cheek to rest.
Far too soon, Beau roused himself from the cozy haven of his bunk and the soft form sleeping within it and returned to the battle raging overhead. The crew worked in six-hour shifts, but he worked continually, driving himself far beyond the limits of endurance. He spent little time in his cabin, but when he did, Cerynise was immediately there, helping him strip away his wet clothes and nurturing him in a myriad of different ways that Beau hadn’t even deemed possible. He felt a sharp sense of disappointment that he was too exhausted to even enjoy the awareness of her soft body pressing warmly against his for the few moments he was able to snatch some sleep.
At last, the storm spent its fury, and the Audacious glided into a calmer sea. A full complement of sails were unfurled to catch the now beneficent wind, and once again they began to make good time. The quiet relief of the men was evidenced by their frequent smiles and their energetic eagerness to get on with the business of sailing.
Cerynise found her own contentment sharply dimmed by the realization that Beau hadn’t yet fully recovered the hardiness he had exhibited prior to the storm. At times, she was sure his face appeared flushed, at other moments pale and drawn. His movements appeared strained and listless, as if it took a concerted effort for him to walk from bunk to chair or to make an ascent to the deck. Cerynise was there when, from a distance, she saw him speak a few words to Mr. Oaks, who frowned with sudden concern. A moment later, Beau went below.
Usually by the middle of the afternoon the captain was present on the quarterdeck, but he made no appearance on this particular day, nor was he seen when the evening watch took over. Cerynise became increasingly concerned, and although she was reluctant to intrude upon his privacy now that the stress of the storm had passed, it seemed the least she could do was to make sure he was all right. If nothing else, it would ease her own worries.
His cabin door was closed, and no sound could be heard from within despite the passage of time she stood beside it in a nervous quandary. Cerynise could resist no longer and rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood. After a moment of continuing silence, she eased the portal open and found her husband sprawled naked on his back with an arm folded over his eyes.
“Beau…?” she murmured, moving quietly to the bed. His lack of response compelled her to reach out a hand and touch his cheek. He had not shaved since the previous morning, and that was most unusual for Beau, who had always been meticulous about doing so except during the height of the storm. But of far greater significance was the fact that he was burning up with fever.
Cerynise promptly set to work. After bidding Billy to fetch a bucket of water and a fresh bundle of towels, she shushed the boy’s concerns and assured him that she would do all she could to care for his captain. She bade him tell Philippe that a light broth would be needed as well as some of the medicinal tea which he had once boasted about while she sketched him.
Beau was mumbling incoherently by the time she returned to the bunk. He looked at her strangely when she sat beside him and tried to press a cup of water to his lips. It seemed as if the demons of hell had just threatened him, for his arm thrashed out wildly, sending the container and its contents flying. Cerynise managed to duck just in time to escape being hurt, but she was immediately back, spreading a wet linen across his brow. Soaking another cloth, she began to bathe his throat and body in an effort to reduce the fever, all the while speaking soft, soothing words to calm him. He raved on in disjointed sentences that made no sense to her, and she was constantly aware that any moment he could rise up and send a fist crashing into her jaw.
Bathing his body didn’t seem to have as much effect reducing his fever as she had hoped, and Cerynise fretfully changed tactics. After dribbling cool water over his chest, she spread a wet cloth over it and left it there. She did the same for his lower torso, providing him a modesty cloth of sorts, though in truth she was no more concerned about his nakedness than he was. She was too upset to think of such a trivial matter when she was far more intent upon getting him well again.
The cooling compresses were soon warmed by the heat of his body, and once again she addressed herself to sprinkling him down and laying on freshly dampened towels. She was leaning over him and reapplying a wet cloth to his brow when he drew his breath in sharply and opened glazed eyes to stare at her. Cerynise had no idea if he recognized her or not, but of a sudden she found both her arms seized in his unyielding grip. A smile slashed across his hard features as he drew her down upon his chest.
“I need you.…”
“Yes, I know,” she replied pleasantly as she tried to pry his steely fingers loose from her arm. She managed to lay the cloth over his brow, but in the next moment she found her breast encompassed by a large hand.
“Behave, my love. You’re sick,” she cooed, stroking the hair at his temples. “We can discuss this at a later time, when you’re feeling better.”
Her attempts to brush aside his hand seemed to amuse him. “Don’t be frightened, my sweet,” he rasped. “I won’t be rough with you.”
“You’re ill,” she stated, trying to penetrate his fevered trance. “You must rest. Now lie back and behave yourself.”
The tug of war that quickly ensued for possession of her breast ended in a rending of cloth which promptly separated her bodice to a depth well below her bosom. The ripe fullness spilled outward through the rent, masked by nothing more than a filmy chemise.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she gently rebuked.
“You’re beautiful,” he crooned, reaching to seize the pale orbs.
Cerynise promptly decided she needed to put some distance between herself and her feverishly amorous husband, at least until he sank again into uncaring oblivion. Gathering her bodice together, she flitted back to the mate’s quarters, garbed herself in a nightgown and robe and then returned to the captain’s cabin.
Beau had turned his face aside to the wall, and the twitching of his arms and legs indicated that he was in the midst of a dream that apparently had him waging a different sort of a game, perhaps one with a more aggressive combatant than she had proven to be. He began to mutter something about Majorca…the ship being threatened…a fight…men he had to free from a prison.…
The next three days were an agonizing torture for Cerynise. At times, Beau recognized her and was aware that they were in his cabin. He would eat and submit himself to her wifely baths with barely a complaint, but then his fever would start rising again, and he’d be drawn back into the demented world of delirium. Though Mr. Oaks and Billy both tried their utmost to persuade her to get some rest, offering to take turns watching over their captain, she firmly refused. The thought of leaving Beau even for so short a time was unbearable. Instead, she moved her clothes back into the cabin, ate the food that was brought to her without being even remotely aware of its taste, and kept her vigil as faithfully as a mother over her child. When she slept, it was beside her husband, for she knew if Beau took a turn for the worse during the night, she’d become immediately aware of the change while lying next to him.
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