Safe in the Earl's Arms

by Liz Tyner

  Brushing his face against hers, he rose over her and gently lowered himself, entering her, and her fingernails plunged into his back, and she gasped.

  Something forbidding flashed through his mind. An unease hit him. But the moment couldn’t be stopped or interrupted. He held the woman of his dreams, bodies bound together with intensity.

  Carefully, he rocked into her, whispering tenderness against her ear.

  Her legs, he felt one wrap around him and he forced himself to go slow, to savour. To let the riches of her body wash over him.

  Now the ship seemed to smooth, to ease across the waters, and the storm raged inside—inside him. The waves rolled through his body, taking him on their skyward roll, their deepening depths.

  ‘Are you…’ He meant to ask her something, but his mind got lost in the feel of her and he could not form another full thought. She was everything at this moment—a world for him.

  He tried to move a hand up to brush back her hair from her eyes, but he couldn’t. He could not let the ship control his movements. He had to be careful, gentle and not let himself plunder her, but show her the tenderness he felt for her.

  ‘Melina,’ he whispered. The sound of her name, even that increased the sensations. He could feel so much more of her. Not just where their bodies touched, but the way she breathed, the richness of her voice, all the things of her that made her who she was.

  The room brightened briefly again and he saw her face clearly. The sight of her was too much. He could not last any longer for her, didn’t want to last any longer for her, because he wanted those seconds, the endless flashes of time where they were completely together, taking them into another realm of the world.

  He released, but it was something different. A connection and blending of their bodies, holding close, melding together in just those heartbeats.

  Moisture covered his body, as if he’d felt the rains and they’d cleansed him,

  He pulled her against him, falling back with the ship.

  When the room became silent—silent even with the storm mocking the tempest that had raged inside the cabin—Warrington’s mind hurdled ahead. Instead of a wash of satisfaction overtaking him—dread nudged the warmth into oblivion. His stomach churned.

  He looked into the shadows of her face and slowly pushed himself to the side. Lightning still splashed through the window, but the storm no longer concerned him. She made a sound, no more than a sigh, but the illegible sound of settling in for a jaunt through her own thoughts.

  The ship lunged and he reached out, not wanting her to be overwhelmed by the movement of the waves, and pulled her firm against his side.

  ‘Had you…before?’ he asked, hating the words. Dreading the answer.

  She murmured, ‘No.’

  She could not have understood what he asked. She could not have said what he heard. He spoke to the walls, letting his mind untangle the puzzle around him. ‘No one’s a virgin.’

  He tried to examine her face in the flashes of light. He saw the truth. ‘How could—’

  She scooted forward, pulling a bedcover over her. ‘I decided—for passage. I knew what I was doing. And tonight, I wanted to know…how you felt…’

  ‘I didn’t know, though. I didn’t know. You didn’t…tell me.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her brows bunched. ‘I said…something.’

  He sat up, looking over his shoulder at her. He felt betrayed. How could he feel betrayed again—this time? ‘I thought you were a lightskirt.’

  ‘I told you I wasn’t.’

  ‘I thought you meant you weren’t a common whore. That you expected more… That you chose who you…’ He’d been misled again. He didn’t know what to think or do. She was not supposed to be an innocent.

  ‘I had to bed you or Stephanos, the man who controls Melos. We have leaders, but he is the one who has coin and the leaders do not cross him.’ She sat, pulled her knees up and put her chin on them. ‘I would choose anyone over Stephanos.’

  He stared at her. Strength left him. He could barely keep himself from sliding with the ship.

  ‘But… You offered— I did not misunderstand you in the barn. I did not. You said…’ He heard the volume of his voice rise, embarrassing, and he regained control and pushed to his feet, unconcerned by his nakedness. He noted her quick intake of breath and jerk of her head when the lightning illuminated him. He reached to the washstand, bracing, and poured some water on to the flannel, then lodged the pitcher securely back to its base.

  She could avert her eyes, close them or watch. He did not care.

  He pressed the cloth to his forehead. ‘How could you be an innocent?’

  ‘Stephanos. Years ago, he put it about that if any man touched me, his family would be punished.’ She raised her voice. ‘I have no care for Stephanos. But unless I gave myself to him, I couldn’t marry. I didn’t mind not having the choice of another—but Stephanos decided he was tired of waiting. I was not.’

  He knelt beside her, followed the length of her shoulder to her hand and placed the flannel in her palm.

  Then he stood. The oilcloth coat left behind by the previous seaman didn’t fit his shoulders and the arms of it stopped just below his elbows, but he dressed quickly, donning the coat last.

  He hadn’t been Cassandra’s first and had been too green to realise it until she taunted him with it.

  Now, when he least wanted one, he’d bedded a virgin.

  Chapter Seven

  The sky sparked and the rain pounded with an unthreatening insistence. Nothing inside Warrington flowed as serene as the sea.

  Lowering his head from the drops hitting his face, he kept close to the ship’s upper cabin walls, moving slowly towards the bow. He stood with the wind behind him, facing the bowsprit, and his back pressed into the outside of the cabin. Shadows concealed him. Only men who must stayed out in the weather and they would be too busy staying alive to notice him.

  He’d had to be away from Melina and think.

  A virgin. She’d been recompensed, but he’d actually paid nothing for taking her innocence. Having her on board the ship had taken no funds from his pocket.

  The London docks at Wapping couldn’t come quickly enough. He should not have agreed to the journey. He’d never step willingly on a ship again, unless the whole of the world began to fall into the ocean, and then he would consider sailing briefly before drowning at peace with his decision to avoid the vessel.

  A movement at his side, not in harmony with the rhythm of the sea, caught his attention and he stepped sideways, avoiding being stumbled into. The slight build could only belong to one person.

  ‘Stubby.’ He spoke to the small form of the cabin boy, who’d huddled into the space beside him. ‘You are not to be on deck. Go below. Now.’

  He heard no sigh, but saw a heave of thin shoulders.

  ‘Gid says this storm’s still just a baby. Shouldn’t scare anybody but a lady. Supposed to get worse by morning, though.’

  ‘Stubble it. You’re to be asleep.’

  ‘Can’t sleep. The thunder pitched me from the hammock.’

  ‘Stub. The bed wraps around you. It’s hard to fall out of the hammock once you’re in it.’

  ‘But once you’re out, it be hard for me to crawl back in without help. I’d sleep under it, but I’d be rolling around all night.’

  ‘I’ll get you a place to sleep.’ He moved to the stern of the ship, borrowing one of the quartermaster’s lanterns, and Stubby trudged along behind him.

  ‘You be out here because the woman’s in your berth?’ Stubby said, his voice still imbued with youth.

  ‘Yes.’ Warrington truly didn’t want to speak.

  ‘I want to stay here with you.’

  ‘You’re going below.’

  The lad who could scamper through the rigging faster than a breeze immediately changed his speed to that of a sore-footed turtle, grasping at the sides of the ship’s cabins, as if he could hardly stand upright. Warrington locked his jaw and grabbed
Stubby’s shoulder, turning the lad around the edge of the cabins and towards the opening to the lower decks.

  Stubby stopped. ‘Gidley says the woman’s showin’ you her treasure. You seen her treasure?’ His voice bounced with excitement.

  ‘Just a bit of marble stone.’ He gave another push, moving Stubby faster. The lad would not take a step without a nudge. Warrington kept a hand on Stubby’s shoulder, propelling him forward.

  ‘Can you show me?’ Stubby moved to the steps to go below deck.

  ‘No.’ Warrington ducked his head and followed Stubby down the rungs, into the bowels of darkness, the lantern giving just enough light to guide their way. They followed the men’s snores, which made Ascalon sound like a beast with a rumbling stomach.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Stubby.’ He spoke sternly, hoping to quiet him.

  ‘I know. I know,’ the cabin boy grumbled in the darkness. ‘Stubble it. Stubble it. That’s not my real name. But I been called Stubby so much I forget the other one.’

  ‘You’ll remember some day.’ Warrington hoped he told the truth. ‘Or you can pick out something you like.’

  Stubby paused, a delaying tactic. ‘I’m trying to think of one.’

  Warrington reached the crowded hold and, clutching the shoulder of Stubby’s shirt, walked by hammocks with sleeping men until he found an empty one. He hung the lantern, the scent of burning oil mixing with rain and musty men.

  ‘But that woman I give the medicines to—is she hidin’ gold?’ Stubby’s voice was a whisper, but the kind that bounced from walls.

  War stepped back to the empty hammock and knelt to make a step with his interlaced fingers for Stubby’s foot.

  ‘I wager it be gold,’ the waif continued, moving close to Warrington.

  Stubby’s small fists held the edge of the hammock. He secured his foot in Warrington’s hand and tumbled into the ropes. ‘Gidley says having gold is better’n having teeth ’cause if you have gold, then someone will chew your food for you.’

  ‘Go to sleep,’ Warrington said, turning to retrieve the lantern.

  ‘I’d like to have me a big hunk of gold. I’d like to have me a gold ring to wear in my ear and a gold sword to fight pirates, and gold buttons and gold—’

  ‘Do not go back on deck tonight.’

  ‘If Capt’n says all hands ahoy, I will. Capt’n says all hands ahoy, even cook goes.’

  ‘Not in this storm. If Captain Ben and Gidley both think the storm will be angry, then you should stay below. I’ll take your place.’

  ‘I be man enough. Been in more storms than you could even think of. I be a sailor.’ His head wobbled with pride, then his voice dipped to smugness. ‘You be just an earl.’

  ‘One big enough to thump your backside. You will not go on deck.’

  Stubby didn’t answer, but turned his head. ‘I be real sleepy now and you be keepin’ me awake.’

  ‘You had better not go on deck before sunrise.’

  ‘I might need to piss.’

  ‘Then you best hold it.’

  Warrington turned away, leaving with the cabin boy scooting around in the bedding and swinging the hammock even more than the waves did.

  Warrington returned to the spot where Stubby had interrupted him. Stubby’s chatter had reminded him of Jacob and caused a longing for his child. But he could not expose Jacob to the risks of the sea and he had not been able to stay on land where the memories were disastrous. Now he wanted to get home and see his son, and throw him up in the air, and pick him up around the waist and carry him like a sack with flailing legs.

  And Jacob—how could anyone ignore a blast of life like him? If Jacob were on the ship and saw the men climb the rigging, he would be serenely waiting until a head was turned and he’d be scampering to the top, five years old, thinking himself a man.

  Warrington was only days from seeing his son again and this time, he’d not leave him. Jacob needed a father. Well, he decided, perhaps Jacob did well without a father. The child had a nursemaid, servants around who doted on him and an uncle for guidance. Jacob would do well—father or not. But Warrington knew he needed his son’s laughter. Now, when Warrington was too far to see his son’s face and too far for the sound of delight to carry, he knew where his heart belonged. Warrington wanted to be the one Jacob followed.

  Being away had helped him find his compass. He’d put the starkness of the Ascalon into his past, along with this woman he’d happened upon, and begin anew with his life.

  And if Jacob ever saw the scar across his father’s back, and asked about it, the version he heard would be a tale of a cutpurse attempting a crime.

  He’d send his past into the depths and not even let Melina linger in his thoughts. But he could still feel the brown-eyed siren. She had skin softer than any touch of silk. Lips that caused his body to boil with desire—not to mention the mark that drew his eyes more than any breasts or arse.

  But she wasn’t a goddess. She was human. Like everyone else. Their coupling had been a transaction for her passage. She’d been straightforward. And no foolish words of love. Anyone would be better than Stephanos, she’d said. No false praise there.

  She was, in a way, the perfect woman, drawing his eyes, setting a price for her affections and taking herself away when they docked. But he’d not touch her again. Not risk giving her a child.

  If he could only forget she’d been a virgin.

  *

  ‘All hands ahoy.’ The voice rang out, carrying through the cabin walls.

  Warrington opened his eyes, coming awake instantly. A true storm was upon them.

  Melina sat with her back against the wall and her feet stretched against the base of the berth. She’d wedged herself, holding firm when the ship moved. Her hands held the slop bucket. Lightning illuminated the room and her head was relaxed back, and her lips were softly parted in sleep.

  He’d not undressed earlier, knowing the call would sound in the night. He left the cabin, giving a quick glance over his shoulder before pulling the door shut.

  The wind popped the sails like a whip. The Ascalon rolled and he braced himself. The storm bucked the vessel and raindrops pelted like thrown pebbles against his cheeks.

  ‘Get the helm.’ Ben appeared from starboard side. Flashes of light illuminated the rain-soaked strands of hair spiking from under a cap he wore.

  Warrington gave a quick nod and moved past the quarterdeck. He had no more time to think when the ship jerked, tossing him forward.

  The bow of the ship plunged downwards, well into the waves, then bobbed up again, like a drowning person gasping for breath, only to be slapped back against water. He forced his eyes open in the onslaught of wind and rain attacking them. Water saturated his hair, but none ran in rivulets down his face, instead the wind dispersed the drops like shattered glass.

  When he stood at the wheel, Warrington braced his feet and locked his body so he could find enough force to control the rudder’s movements while the momentum of the ship pulled him forward, then pushed him back.

  The main sail was furled. Warrington thought of nothing but keeping the bow of the ship sailing into the waves. He stood, each muscle in his body used to keep tight control and every sense focused on his job.

  He couldn’t tell how long he’d been fighting the sea, but he had lost the strength to protest the movements and only survived them, when he heard shouts, and saw men scrambling. They were taking risks moving swiftly on deck in a storm and only one reason would cause such a pace. A chill scraped into his stomach and he forced himself to remain on task. Whatever had happened—the sea moved with such quickness and finality that even if he could have dashed to help—the outcome had already been determined.

  Pushing aside the knowledge of possible tragedy, he couldn’t risk letting his mind wander or make conjectures. If he didn’t know, then everything remained the same. He had no choice but to stare forward, ignoring the water blasts in his face and the thunder around him. The ship needed him now more
than anyone else.

  ‘Yer had yer two hours.’ The shout at his side surprised Warrington. He’d been so focused in his concentration he’d not realised Gidley stood near. ‘Yer need to see Capt’n.’

  ‘Why?’ Warrington did not release the wheel. Now, instead of bracing himself against the storm, he steadied himself for the first mate’s next words.

  ‘He tossed agin’ a spar. No blood coming out his ears or mouth, so it looks to be a bump.’

  Warrington stepped back as Gidley clamped a meaty hand on to the wheel spoke. ‘That boy bounces better ’n any frog I ever seen.’

  Warrington left, keeping close to the cabins, grasping rigging to keep balanced and praying Ben was not deeply injured. Warrington had always spent more time with his middle brother, Dane, than Ben, until this venture. Dane shared a more serious view of life. But Ben—

  Both the older ones had watched over him and tormented him. His sister, Adele, would never forgive him if he let anything happen to Ben, just as she’d never forgive Ben if Warrington went overboard. Well, she would forgive Ben. He was the youngest.

  When he reached Ben’s cabin, he opened the door. A scent of camphor, or some similarly pungent medicinal, hit his nose. The light cast everything into garish shadows. Stubby sat in a chair, feet hardly touching the floor, and looking as if a jib had caught him between the eyes. His thin face had grown in just hours and his nose would likely bear a reminder of the night for the rest of the lad’s life. A streak of dried blood caked between his nose and lip. Stubby’s wet shirt plastered against him.

  ‘We’ll both be a bit colourful in the morning.’ Ben’s words sounded tugged from his lungs.

  Warrington looked to his brother, resting on the berth. His arm lay over his stomach and the fingers of his right hand gripped, but held nothing. He wore no shirt, only dry trousers. His sodden clothing hung from a peg.

  ‘Gid says you thought to dance in a storm.’ Warrington moved inside and pulled the door shut against the rain. The water pooling at his feet added wetness to the planks.

  ‘The wind led the waltz and gave me a turn I’ll never forget,’ Ben said. His cheek looked to have been dragged along one of the stones they used to clean the deck. Pain pinched his face.