Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2)

by Meredith, Anne

  At his side stood Godfrey Hastings, the great-grandfather she already loved.

  “I do not know how you expect me not to cry,” she said.

  Camisha smiled, her own gaze shining.

  The footman helped the older women down first, and then Marley. Camisha and Ruth took her arms and escorted her the short distance to the Adventurer and to Hastings. Camisha carried the storage chest in her other arm. She released Marley near the steps and handed the box to Bronson.

  And then she saw Nan, standing to the side with Thomas Trelawney. She hesitated, her anger at her grandmother a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious day.

  Nan walked forward. As Camisha and Ruth released her, her grandmother took both her hands in hers.

  “My darling Merrilea. I cannot yet explain to you why I did the things I did. But I ask you to forgive me, not for my sake, but for your own. Anger in one’s heart is a seed of bitterness that will poison the rest of your life.”

  “Of course, Nan. I forgive you.” Marley hugged her grandmother. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Darling, you’ve never been anything to me but a joy. Do you truly not remember why I called you Marley?”

  She shook her head, pressing her lips to fight the tears.

  “You met your great-grandfather, many, many years ago.”

  Shocked, Marley glanced at Hastings, standing nearby, watching the proceedings with a mixture of affection for Marley and suspicion for the woman speaking. She went on.

  “Not long after—well, a long time ago. You had never been called anything but Merri, but he called you Merrilea, your given name. And you repeated it, trying to reproduce his accent in your own adorable tidewater tongue, and it came out Marley. You seemed bewitched by the sound of it—it was the only thing that would comfort you in those long, dark nights of grief. And so I started making up songs with it, and soon I was calling you that as well. Marley, it was how you said the name your mother gave you.”

  Nan held her by the shoulders, smiling brightly. “I wish you every joy and happiness with your young man, Merrilea.”

  With that, she turned toward Hastings, who moved forward with his elegant walking stick, offered her his arm, and escorted her back to the boarding steps.

  Then a voice came from the ship. “Who giveth this woman to be married unto this man?”

  Marley glanced up, surprised to find Raven there, also in a suit. His club of hair had been plaited down the nape of his neck rather than over his shoulder.

  “Her great-grandfather,” Hastings said, giving a slight bow. He then walked forward and placed her hand in Bronson’s.

  Hastings’ eyes shone as he smiled at her. “God bless you and your new family, Marley.”

  She then turned to Bronson, who walked close behind her up the steps, whispering low in her hair. “Are you surprised?”

  She whispered back. “With Ray? He can’t legally marry us, even if he is a captain. That’s a myth.”

  “Oh, he’ll be devastated. Let’s humor him, shall we?”

  When they reached the gunwale, Ray grasped her by the waist and hoisted her over the side. Then came Bronson, Hastings, Thomas and Nan, Camisha and Ruth.

  She was surprised when Ray picked up a Book of Common Prayer from a table and began the ceremony. This was not a ship captain’s ceremony. The somber piety with which he began the ceremony made him seem a different man—one much older, and certainly not the jester she’d come to love.

  More shock came when Bronson recited his vows—legitimate wedding vows.

  “I, Bronson Ambrosia Trelawney take thee, Merrilea Cassandra Miller, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart; according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  He looked at Marley with sober devotion—and a hint of expectation.

  Marley looked at him for an endless, awkward moment, then she looked to Rashall desperately.

  “Oh, of course!” He jumped, Raven once more as he turned the book toward her, laying his fingertip alongside her vows—nearly unrecognizable in their 16th-century form.

  Marley was surprised; the words were virtually identical. In such an old, traditional ceremony, she would have expected something more subservient for her vows.

  As she returned the book to Rashall, Bronson placed there three rings. One, a traditional band, the others stunning keeper rings, encircled with diamonds. Then he once more joined hands with Marley. In the flame from a torch, Marley saw an engraving inside the band that she could not read.

  Rashall took the rings and looped them in order onto the tip of his index finger, then held it out to Bronson. Bronson grasped the stack of rings, and Rashall gave him a small nod.

  “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Rashall then offered a prayer, and said solemnly, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  The ceremony continued with blessings and prayers, and even a celebration of communion using a common cup.

  At its conclusion, Rashall himself hugged them both, Bronson first with a stiff pat on the back, and Marley exactly as she’d seen him hug his own sisters.

  “You be good to each other.”

  With that, they led the procession off the ship, his arm around her, his hand stroking her back. He lowered his head to murmur in her hair. “Can this thing in your hair come off?”

  “Patience, my husband. I look forward to unwrapping you as well.”

  Purely sexual pleasure flooded his face at her words, and he chuckled. “Unless you have no wish to partake in your reception, put those thoughts aside.”

  “You started it.”

  His hand lowered to the firm, full swell of her backside and caressed her openly. She swatted at his hand when she heard the indulgent laughter behind them.

  Being the married couple, they were given the carriage, but Bronson helpfully offered rides to their respective parents, all of whom declined.

  And as soon as the carriage departed, he caught her in his arms and drew her across his lap. He held her immobile for a long moment, his free hand upturned in the air as if in wonder as he examined her. That hand opened and closed in anticipation, and his fingertips lightly touched her cheek, her throat, then hovered above her body as if unsure where to start.

  At last, he cupped her rounded buttock, pressing the fabric tight between her upper thighs, his fingers tracing there as his mouth lowered to hers.

  “Dear God in heaven! I cannot do this or I shall have you naked as we reach the cake table.”

  He pushed her back, his gaze hungry on the ample soft flesh displayed above her stays. “’Tis far too dark in here,” he whispered. “Just one touch … one kiss—”

  With that, his mouth lowered to her breasts, his tongue flickering into the deep valley between them. He raised his mouth to her ear. “How I love your womanly charms. And now, you must sit over there, and keep your hands to yourself.”

  With that, he brought her alongside him on the seat, his hand slipping with swift, sure knowledge into the fabric between her dress and her petticoat.

  “Dear God, you wore no shift on your wedding day!”

  His hand was between her thighs, his chest rising and falling. In a moment, he withdrew his hands from her, moving away. He looked toward the other window, where the shades were pulled to keep out the cold. Then, slowly, he began to laugh.

  “What?” she asked, trembling with desire.

  “This will be the shortest time any bride has spent at her reception.”

  She laughed, and their amusement went a long way in softening the edge of their hunger for each other. Looking at her warily, he reached out and took her hand in his, pressing his lips against her knuckles.

  Chapter Thirty-Four
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br />   Every liquor known to man had been brought to the wedding, and the bride and groom took part in toasts and well-wishing and, at last, cutting the cake—a traditional orange cake that Marley herself had baked for Thanksgiving, but had then saved for their reception.

  Bronson lowered his mouth to his wife’s ear. “And now, to bed.”

  A ripple of excitement ran through her veins and down the back of her spine as he kissed her cheek, his hand sliding down her waist to her hips.

  “Now.”

  With that, he caught her up in his arms and strode to the carriage.

  “We didn’t even talk to your father!”

  “I cannot hear you. There’s a buzzing in my ears that will not go away until you’re naked in my bed.”

  She gasped and waved at Camisha, who stood laughing with Ruth and Nan.

  On this trip, the carriage rushed straightaway through the cold night to the ship. Bronson again carried her, and he took the boarding steps quickly, alighting on deck with graceful ease.

  Then, down the corridor to the hatch, where he lowered her before dropping down himself. Half a dozen more steps and they saw Jem, waiting in dress clothes, a towel folded over his arm. He bowed slightly to his captain.

  “Congratulations, sir. Madam,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye at his old peer.

  Marley wondered if Bronson himself had set up the room, as perfectly outfitted as it was. Food stood in covered dishes on a trolley, along with an opened bottle of wine. She glanced at Bronson. “Oh! Is it—”

  With an intimate smile, he nodded. “Blackberry, of course.”

  “Sir, I hope the room is to your liking.”

  “Yes, Jem. Well done indeed,” he said. “Now begone.”

  Marley stifled her laughter and flashed him a look.

  “My apologies, Jem. Please join the rest of the group on shore. They’re having a party never to be forgotten—or perhaps that will be forgotten, if it gets any better. Look for Raven’s mother. She can show you where to sleep for the night.”

  “But you don’t need—”

  “You’ve fulfilled your duties so well, we’ll manage. Truly, you’ll have much more fun on shore. Enjoy yourself. ’Tis the best part of being a seaman.”

  The boy nodded and made his escape, closing the door behind him.

  Bronson looked around the room, inspecting. The room itself was warm, with a hot fire in the stove. The copper tub, filled with steaming water. A supper they had no need for—though perhaps they might need sustenance later in the night. And there by the long bank of windows, a single hammock, beside a table filled with cigars, an ashtray, glasses, a bottle of rum, and another opened bottle of wine.

  Presently he heard the sound overhead of Jem walking down the steps, and as he looked at her, a shyness seemed to enter him. His hesitation filled her with a potent arousal—and a provocative sense of power.

  “What first?” she asked.

  “A cigar under the stars?”

  She nodded, and he held out his hand in invitation. She put hers there, and he led her to the hammock, pouring a glass of wine and one of rum. He held it out to her, raising his own glass. “To a lifetime together, spent in the arms of my love.”

  Their eyes met as they sipped. Marveling at a man who could be flirtatious on his honeymoon, she crossed with a mysterious smile to the windows and looked into the winter sky.

  “Never have I seen so many stars as on those nights I’ve watched them with you. I wish it were warm enough to lie on the deck.”

  “Before you know it, we’ll be back in Bermuda. We’ve millions of stars to see.”

  “In the world I once lived in, we’ve all but blotted out the stars, looking at ourselves.”

  Then she lowered her head, noting the empty bookshelves. She turned to him. “Thank you so much for loaning Ruth your books.”

  “I don’t loan books. They’re too precious if lost. I’ll replace them. It was a small thing to do.”

  She noticed Ruth’s box on the table, and she set the wine aside and raised her arms to work with the scarf.

  “Let me.”

  His voice was gruff as he set the cigars in the ashtray. He walked behind her, his hands gentle in her hair, quickly loosening it from the scarf. She accepted the scarf from him and folded it, placing it in the box.

  “I would know about this world you speak of.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one you speak of from time to time. The world you once lived in, as if it were on another planet.”

  Marley found a cigar and puffed it with leisured ease. She followed it with a mouthful of his rum, pleased with the tastes.

  “Tonight I will tell you. Undress.”

  His eyes lit with amusement at her direction, and he gave a courtly bow. “As you wish, madam.”

  She rested her hips against the table, tasting the cigar and the rum as he crossed to the dressing area. He removed his coat and his waistcoat, hanging them on pegs inside his closet. His back was to her, and she enjoyed the freedom of watching him, seeing the strong flex of his back through his shirt as he moved to slip out of his shoes and put them away as well. Unselfconsciously, he loosened the pin at the back of his stock, then folded it and placed both the stock and the pin in a drawer.

  He turned, his gaze narrowing as he caught her watching him disrobe. He walked toward her, a crooked smile at his mouth. “If you’d like to see the stars, perhaps I’ll stop here.”

  She only smiled at the obvious line to follow.

  “Indeed?” he asked. “I kindly hand you a double entendre of that caliber and you merely smirk at me?”

  “I dare not try to best such keen wordplay,” she said dryly. “However …” She set the glass aside, held out the cigar to him, and reached up to unbutton three buttons of his shirt. After a moment’s consideration, she unbuttoned the rest.

  He let her arrange his clothing to suit her, tasting the cigar and the rum. “Well?”

  “You seem a little shy. Just thought I’d help.”

  She saw a flash of gold within his shirt, and she reached for it to tease him about his pirate’s plunder.

  The items on the chain slid into her palm, and he watched her, a half-smile playing about his lips, as she held her hand up to examine his trinkets. She stared, not quite able to make them out in the light. Then she brought her lips to his chest and kissed him, and he gave a light sound of pleasure. She looked again at the ornamentation.

  A cross and a dove.

  She gave a soft cry and dropped them. She handled them again, remembering the coroner she’d met at the dig that day, carrying the personal effects of the man he deduced to be a sea captain—including a cross and dove necklace identical to this.

  “They’re quite harmless.” When she met his gaze, she was surprised to find a gaze as innocent as a boy’s. “’Tis but an effort by my father to protect me.”

  Filled with affection both for him and the father who had worried him over him, she forced the terror within her away from her. Later, she would deal with it. She brought them to her lips, then returned them gently to his chest. He started to remove the necklace, and she touched his hand, stopping him. “No. Don’t take it off, ever again. Wear it always. Even when we sleep.”

  “My thanks.” He walked to the hammock and refilled the rum. “I admit I’m a bit intimidated tonight. My vows echo in my memory. I must have heard those words a dozen times in my life, but they meant nothing until I spoke them to you. With my body, I thee worship. Doesn’t that strike you as … striking?”

  “Almost erotic.”

  “Yes.” His gaze on her was heavy lidded. The corner of his mouth hooked into a half smile. With practiced grace, he settled into the hammock with his cigar and rum still in hand. Jem had covered the knotty ropes of the hammock with a thick, red velvet spread, and Bronson looked like some exotic blond sultan, leaning on an arm, legs spread casually, one bent.

  “Should I get my own rum? I’d rather have that for now.”


  “What’s mine is yours, my love.”

  “And mine, yours.” With a flourish, she gestured at the length of her body. “Your preference? ’Tis only fair.”

  The fire lit his eyes, and the cigar smoke wreathed his head. “Very well. Remove the dress.”

  The rum had stirred a warmth that began deep within her, and she unhooked the dress with some effort and let it fall.

  “And that quilted … thing.”

  Rather than stepping out of the lovely ivory petticoat, she pulled it over her head. She folded both garments and lay them in an empty drawer, placing Ruth’s wooden chest with them.

  He bit his lip thoughtfully, gesturing at the stays. “That contraption must go.”

  At last, she stood gazing at him in stockings and a gauzy short shift.

  “Perfect. Come, my love, and lay with me.” He set the cigar and the rum on the table.

  This time, the arrangement came easily, gracefully. She thought sharing a hammock must be like marriage; tricky in the beginning, but a much more relaxing rhythm when each realizes what the other brings to the balance.

  Bronson settled her hips easily within the cradle of his own, his hands lingering on her hips. She wasn’t aware when she gave a soft sigh at his caressing as he melded against her in intimate precision.

  Inhaling the sweetness of his cigar—for she had learned that far more often, the aroma of better cigars was not at all unpleasant—she lightly pressed her hips against him in response and turned her upper body to gaze up at the stars. She lay within his embrace, unaware of his scrutiny on her.

  “Is this how you ever imagined spending your wedding night?” he asked.

  “Hm. I don’t think I ever imagined it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get married. What would you rather be doing?”