by Liz Tyner
Warrington saw Ben’s stare. ‘You brought a woman because—’ Ben spoke, hands on his hips.
Melina stood, her scarf still knotted tightly and her jaw firm, and stared at Ben. Ben was getting sized up from the tip of his pointy nose to the last thread in his canvas trousers.
Warrington edged just to the side between them so he could see each face. He confronted his younger brother. ‘Since I am not the captain and do not have authority as such on this ship, she asked to talk to you.’
Ben didn’t speak, but his eyes darted up to the heavens in a disgusted manner.
‘Explain your request to the captain.’ Warrington spoke to Melina and clasped his hands behind his back. He leaned towards her, challenging them both.
She looked at Ben as if she stared across a battlefield and saw him as a target in front of her, then took a gentle breath—so small to be almost invisible. But the movement signalled a change in her.
Her shoulders dropped no more than a hair. She didn’t move her feet forward, but she swayed with the movement of the ship. Warrington was certain she leaned towards Ben as the ship moved and when it rocked back, he did not see her retreat. He locked his jaw and forced himself not to step between them or pull her back.
‘I wish taxidi—to travel to England.’ Her voice became lower—her accent turning into a siren’s husky whisper. Her hands reached to grasp the tied ends of her shawl and pull the knot free. ‘I have an agreement with this man.’ She spared a glance at Warrington.
Warrington commanded himself to remain still. Her voice dripped into him like warm pebbles of desire, bringing back the image of her legs and the spot at her breast. Perhaps he would take her back to her home and work out a true bargain there. The longboat could return him to the ship in the morning. He struggled to attend to the words of the conversation, making his plans for the night.
She reached up and pulled her scarf from her head, sliding the cloth away from her face, and the movements also caused the shawl to drop completely from her shoulders. Warrington watched two seamen collide in their haste to return the garment to her.
Ben’s expression glazed over. When Warrington saw that, his eyes followed his brother’s gaze.
Warrington stared, his mind not working. The scarf had kept drifting across her face before. He hadn’t truly looked beyond the spot on her breast.
Her eyes, he knew they were brown. And her lips red. And her nose, a normal nose. But somehow the arrangement of them and the curve of her chin, and dusts of her hair falling loose from her bun, swirled themselves around her in such a way as to bring them all into a delight for a man’s senses.
And that was before even looking lower to a mark that peeked out from the bodice, making one wonder what lay beneath—or making one fill in the imagination of what lay beneath in a stirring way.
‘You are in agreement,’ Melina said.
‘I would prefer not having a woman aboard…’ Ben’s voice sounded as a kindly father’s ‘…but since we can accommodate you with little effort I’ll allow it.’ Ben touched a flat palm to his chest. ‘I, of course, will be happy to share my quarters with you to make sure you are—’
Warrington knew too much of his brother’s life. Snaking an arm around Melina, Warrington pulled her close, sweat forming at his temples. ‘She and I have already discussed…the particulars. She will travel with me.’
‘Oh?’ Ben challenged, lowering his palm from his shirt. ‘I—’
‘Yes,’ Warrington said, feeling her brushing the length of his side. ‘We have discussed it. I will handle any expense she might incur. She will share my quarters.’ He levelled a glare at his brother. ‘I believe you mentioned that it might be best for me to have a woman’s company.’
‘Should lessen your growls to snarls, I hope.’ Ben smiled as he spoke. He looked at Melina. ‘If you could do that, miss, the entire ship will be grateful.’
Warrington could feel her hip through her skirts, pressed at his thigh, and smell the spiced scent again, which hinted at mystical pleasures. He felt nothing like growling.
He pushed the thoughts away and loosened his grip. Any tighter and he feared she would be gasping for breath. As it was, he felt on the edge of it and she seemed to have lost her words.
The captain looked at Melina. ‘Are you willing to sail this very night?’
She nodded.
Ben turned to Warrington. ‘While you lolled around on the island, the repairs ended. The wind is perfect, and the tide right. We can be at sea as the light fades. Show her your cabin, then get to the foredeck and give a hand.’
Warrington leaned his head towards Ben and spoke in a low voice. ‘Helping on deck is not what I had in mind.’
Ben smiled. ‘See the tears on my face.’ He turned and walked away, his boots clattering on the deck louder than before. With every step he shouted a new order to get ready to sail.
Melina whipped the shawl back around her shoulders. She took the parcel from the man who’d lifted it on board.
‘Follow me,’ Warrington said to her.
His berth was in the foredeck. The captain and the first mate had quarters in the aft deck, close to the wheel.
Warrington led Melina to his cabin, opening the door, which barely swung wide enough for his shoulders. He stepped back, letting her inside. He remained in the doorway and saw her survey the surroundings.
‘Take the bunk,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll get some other bedding.’
The hesitancy in her movements made him want to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He stood immobile, looking into the cabin. Everything appeared differently to him than when he’d first decided he would sail. Then, he’d seen the surroundings as an efficient use of space. Now he was not impressed to stand in the centre and be able to touch both walls.
The berth took no more room than for a man to lie on, with storage above, and below an open cabinet with a railing around it to keep supplies from escaping and a brace midway.
He could not sit upright on the bed and felt he slept in a casket for a man of slight build. He had a chair cinched to the wall and his sea chest sat underneath a table. He had floor space slightly larger than the length and width of his bed.
‘Are you certain you wish to sail with us?’ He spoke the words to her back. ‘This will be the room you and I will share. You can change your mind now and I will see that you are returned to your home. The ship can wait to leave.’
She didn’t turn to him. ‘I have no choice.’
As he heard her, his mind knew what her mouth said, but her voice barely touched him. The curve of her shoulders and the delicateness of her skin—those things reached him. And he knew without a doubt in any hidden crevasse of his mind he’d not overcome his weakness. Not even facing his own death had changed him.
He could never curse a woman as much as he cursed himself for his foolishness.
At least on Melos she had a home and family. She’d be soon lost among the dockside lightskirts at Wapping docks, trying to entice men. But it wasn’t his concern. He had tried to keep her from the ship.
Thinking of her on the docks, plying her trade, made him feel angry again. She only thought she moved into a place to improve her circumstance. The stews of London took no prisoners and willingly released no one alive.
He forced the concern from his mind.
The seamen could have their abstinence. He didn’t mind so much when solitude was his own choice. But he did prefer to see noses without close proximity to whiskers. Before, he’d not noticed how women’s presence made the world feel differently, until he found himself surrounded by men.
He missed Whitegate, his true home, but he’d left it well before he boarded the ship.
He’d left a perfectly sound home behind for the chance to sleep on boards and inhale salt water through his nose. And instead of a crystal decanter, kegs held stale water. The biscuits sometimes had to be broken into pieces and slowly mushed away in his mouth.
He’d not thought past his wish to
keep her from Ben, or his own desires, to realise he was putting himself in such closeness with a woman. He’d never shared a room with a woman. Or awakened with anyone. Not even when he was married.
The act seemed intimate. More than a quick tumble would be. Sleeping near her, very near her, could be… His breathing increased. Pleasant.
Or not.
He examined her carefully, thinking of the rumblings from the ship at night. ‘Do you snore?’
She stood and looked at him. ‘Do you?’
‘No.’ He supposed he didn’t.
Her eyes opened wide, too wide. ‘If I sleep loud, will you go somewhere else?’
He smiled. ‘It’s an old sailor’s legend that if a woman snores it’s because she hasn’t had enough bed play to tire her into a sound slumber.’
Her nose went up. ‘It’s a Greek woman’s legend that if a man ronchalizo it’s because of the air moving about where his mind should be.’
‘We’ll have to find something to do together so neither of us sleeps.’
‘I do not snore…’ She paused and her gaze narrowed when she realised what she said. Her words were strident. ‘And it has nothing to do with bed play.’
‘It could.’ He returned the innocent look she’d given him earlier.
She huffed, not answering. He preferred the anger over the dread he’d seen on her face earlier. Before he sailed, he’d been concerned about the trip—and he knew his brother was a seaworthy captain and the crew was experienced.
Even so, he’d not liked the voyage and he’d hated the first climb up the ratlines.
‘I need to give you a bit of advice for sailing,’ he said.
She waited, eyes daring him.
‘Stay out from under me when I am climbing above. I am not as experienced as the others. If I fell, I could hurt you.’ He paused. ‘But if you decide to go up the ropes, please wear trousers. Otherwise, the men…would find it distracting.’
He hoped anger might help her forget the newness. Inside, he smiled at the way she ruffled from his words. Talking with her made the water seem smoother. His clothing less rumpled.
*
Melina saw the spark of humour in his eyes. He jested. She let her shoulders drop and her lips turn down. ‘Then I will merely lose my grip and see how the man below feels about breaking my fall.’
His lips thinned, but not in anger. ‘I could catch you.’
‘But you would not be able to keep your grip. The fall would frighten me so, I am sure my elbows might flail about.’
‘Would you like to test that?’
‘No.’ She made herself shudder. ‘I need to put my satchel away.’
He turned to the bunk. ‘Shove the bag under there. Wedge it tight or you will be fighting to keep it from sliding about.’
She moved, kneeling to be able to see and reach into the space. She lodged the bag inside and a tendril of her hair fell forward, loose from the bun. She finger-combed it back into place as she rose and then took one step to the door. ‘I would like to watch the sails as the ship begins to move.’
He moved in front of her, blocking her way out, his expression cold and dark. ‘I have to insist you not go about the deck. For the duration of the voyage, your attentions are mine alone.’
She opened her mouth to protest, then realised what he was saying. He thought her planning to sell herself to the men.
‘I—’ Her denial stopped before she could finish the sentence. She had sold her body and to him. It would be hard to convince him she didn’t use her attentions for funds. Every man on the ship thought her a porni.
Melina didn’t want their eyes on her. She already knew how sailors looked at the women they thought to purchase. She’d known it not safe to get too close. And now she was locked on a vessel with them. Her stomach roiled.
‘How many men are on this ship?’ she asked.
‘Thirty-three.’ His lips formed each sound of the word quite distinctly.
She didn’t like where his thoughts were going. ‘Women?’ she asked, her fingers gripping the back of the chair beside her.
‘One.’ Nothing in his expression changed.
She controlled her words. ‘I think I shall stay inside. I would not want one of the men falling from overhead when I am walking below. Nor would I wish to get tangled in the ropes. I have heard how things move about when ships are underway and sometimes mistakes are made.’
‘It would be wise of you to keep out of the way.’
She didn’t ask what he would have done if she’d not agreed to stay inside. From the look in his eyes, he would have been content with locking her in. And she would be able to do nothing about it. She tensed. She had stepped into a world where she was entirely alone.
‘Does the door—’ She had to ask. ‘Does it latch from the inside?’
He shook his head, one very definite movement. ‘No one would dare enter without my permission.’ His words held in the air.
Relief surged in her, until the next words he said reminded her where she stood.
‘And you cannot lock me out.’
‘I did not think to do so. I know what I have promised.’
He indicated the island with a turn of his head. ‘You can go back. Now. Last chance. No rock is worth going from your home. Leaving the people who can care for you.’
‘But it is worth leaving for the people I do care about.’
He stared at her, his eyes disagreeing, and left the room, leaving her alone with the reality of her actions slithering into her body.
Chapter Three
Warrington worked the davit, listening to the creak as it lifted the longboat to be secured on deck. He mustn’t keep thinking of her. This would be a bad time to get himself injured.
Taking one last look at the shore, he memorised the sight. If the fates were with him, he’d never see Melos again.
And if he had his way, he’d keep alive until they reached England. He had no sailor’s wish to be buried at sea. When he died, he wished to be boxed and put into a properly marked location.
He could understand fascination with sailing. The challenge of it. Men stood on rigging as comfortably as they stood on land.
Now the sailors unfurled the foremast sail, working from the middle, out to the side, and it dropped more softly than a lady’s skirt.
When the sun set the magic of the sea came out. In the night, the sails stiffened in the wind and the waters whispered a mesmerising sound. To stand on deck, with the blackness reflecting the heavens and the ship racing across the surface, a sailor could feel as if he were flying in an otherworldly vessel.
The moon rose well overhead and Warrington heard the bell, which signalled midnight and the end of the watch.
‘Well, old man…’ Warrington heard his brother’s voice ‘…I suppose you should go examine the trinket you’ve stored in your cabin.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’ Warrington watched Ben. ‘I’m not a man given to speed, but more to quality.’
‘It’s what we all say,’ Ben muttered, looking into the darkness at the rigging, and then patted the mast. ‘But I prefer to let the women boast about me.’ Ben called out, walking away, ‘And if you need instruction, return to me and I’ll explain how the deed is properly done.’
Warrington stopped, turned back, Ben’s form outlined in the moonlight. ‘Little brother, I see the error now. You’ve thought all along it is to be done properly, while the women most enjoy an improper tumble.’
Ben turned, waving Warrington on his way. ‘Get along, old man. Talk does not get the job done.’
When Warrington opened the door to the cabin, he noticed the lantern light flickering in the room. He looked to the bed. Empty. She sat in the chair backed against the wall, a bucket hooked at her feet by her heels, and looked up at him, her face ghostlike in the light.
‘I have lost…’ her voice followed the movement of the ship ‘…most food…’ another gentle sway of the boat forward, and her chin dipped over the pot ‘…I ha
ve eaten in the past year.’ The ship moved with the rocking motion of the sea and the breezes pushing them forward. She glared at him, but the look seemed more pitiful than angered. ‘No one told me…a ship would float so rough…trying to turn my insides…outside.’
‘You get used to it.’ He hung his cap on a peg. ‘About the time we hit land.’
She groaned.
Turning, he reached into the cabinet to move the brandy bottle aside and take out a cloth bag about the size of his hand. ‘Comfits. Don’t tell the men I have these. Wouldn’t want them to think me weak.’
He reached the bag to her, but she waved it away. He didn’t move back, but kept his hand firm.
‘I had some made with ginger. A servant I have, a former seaman, swears it helps when a man is at sea and his stomach refuses to settle into the ship. Just let it rest on your tongue.’
She frowned, but took the parcel, opened it and pulled out one of the orbs. She put it in her mouth and kept the bag clasped in her hand.
‘Since you’re not using the berth…’ he said, reaching to remove his coat and place it on the remaining peg, and over her shawl.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, thumping the wall behind her. ‘I can’t lie down. My feet keep moving higher than my head.’
‘Interesting.’
He usually sat in the chair to remove his boots, but no matter. Perching just on the edge of the berth and letting the bottom of the cabinet above him press against his shoulders, he tugged off his boots. Then he lifted them by the tops and pressed them into the railed opening beneath him so they’d not slide while he slept. He took off his waistcoat and stored it. Slipping his shirt from the trousers, his hand stopped when he looked again at her face. Her lashes rested against her cheeks. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and skin showed the same colour as the sails in moonlight.
For a moment he stared, torn between letting her alone and a need to brush tendrils back from her face.
