The Sea Sprite

by Ruth Langan

  “Wait, Gryf.” She started to push away but he held her firmly against him, running those big clever hands along her spine, lighting fires wherever he touched.

  He’d meant it to be nothing more than a simple kiss. But he should have known better. The moment his lips touched hers, he felt the tug of passion, as compelling as any riptide. He was assaulted by wave after wave of need that swamped him, pulling him down, down, until he was drowning in her. Her taste, as sweet as a summer breeze. Her touch, as gentle as the kiss of a snowflake. Her scent, of ocean and woman and faintly, of some exotic island flower.

  “Gryf, we musn’t…” Pushing against his chest she started to back up, but his hands were already at her shoulders, holding her roughly against him when she would have turned away.

  And then, without any warning, her arms were around his waist and she was clinging to him, offering more.

  With a muffled oath his arms came around her in a fierce embrace. She was dragged against him, breasts flattened to his chest, thighs pressed to his.

  He heard her sigh as he took the kiss deeper. And then he was lost. Lost in a kiss that was both sweet and bold. He could taste her hunger. A hunger that matched his own.

  With a need born of desperation he plunged his hands into her hair and pressed kisses across her eyelids, her cheek, her jaw, before returning to claim her lips. They were the sweetest lips he’d ever tasted. He wanted, more than anything, to fill himself with her. To take everything, and then to take more.

  “Oh, Darcy. You feel so good here in my arms. So right. As though made for me alone.”

  His words had her choking back a sob. How could he possibly know what it meant to her to hear such things, when they’d already been spoken by another?

  She clung to him, feeling so many conflicting emotions. On the one hand she felt more alive than she could ever remember. At this moment, all her senses seemed heightened by the nearness of this man who was slowly capturing her heart and soul. On the other hand, she knew she had no right to lead him on this way. Yet, she was helpless to stop the growing tide of desire. She could no more resist this man than she could stop the rain that had begun pelting the deck above them. With a sigh, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment.

  Gryf could taste the loneliness in her. It spoke to the loneliness in his own heart. And though he knew he had no right to such liberties, the need for her was too great. He wanted one more heart-stopping kiss. One more moment to hold her just so, her heartbeat keeping time to his own.

  If that kiss should lead to something more, so be it. He had already slipped over the edge, and was taking her with him. The thought had the breath backing up in his throat as he feasted on her.

  She could feel her last thread of reason slipping away. Suddenly, all the sane and sensible things in her well-ordered life didn’t seem to matter at all. The only thing that mattered was here. Now. This man. The taste of him, dark and mysterious. The feel of that hard, muscled flesh against her fingertips. And the all-compelling tug of desire that curled deep inside her.

  She wanted him. Wanted this. More than anything she could remember, she wanted him to go on holding her, kissing her, until her head was spinning, and her body quivering with need for him. Only him.

  Take me. Though she didn’t say the words aloud, she thought them, and sensed somehow that he had heard, or sensed, exactly what she wanted. His hands moved over her, taking her higher, then higher still, until all she could see, all she could taste, was him.

  “Darcy, lass.” There was a quick rap on the cabin door.

  At the sound of Newton’s voice, followed by the opening of the door, Darcy and Gryf lifted their heads, then nervously stepped apart.

  The old man peered at the two of them, noting the flush on Darcy’s cheeks as Gryf reached for his shirt.

  “I was…dressing Gryf’s wound.”

  “Aye. I see.” The old man stayed where he was as Gryf buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his breeches. He could see that the man’s hands were none too steady. And that his breath was coming in quick bursts, as though his lungs were starved for air.

  What’s more, Darcy looked no calmer. Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. She locked her hands together to keep them from trembling. And her gaze was fastened on Gryf, following every movement he made.

  Newton’s eyes narrowed.

  “If ye’r finished here, the crew needs ye’r help above decks, Gryf. It’s raining harder now, and I want that blood swabbed before night falls.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Gryf turned to Darcy, wishing with all his might that he could touch her one last time. “Thank you for seeing to my wound.” He reached down and picked up the basin of water and the bloody cloth. “I’ll take these to the galley on my way out.”

  When he was gone Newton turned to the lass, who looked exactly the way she always had when she was a little girl, and her old nurse, Miss Mellon, had caught her snatching cookies from a platter before supper.

  “We’re still two or three days away from land. I’m thinking that after we deliver our cargo, we ought to stay put for a day or so, while the crew repairs the hole in the bow.”

  She nodded. “Alright. If you think so, Newt.”

  “I do.” He lowered his voice. “I’m also thinking that ye’re playing with fire, lass. And I’d not like to see ye burned.”

  “I’ll…be fine, Newt.”

  He touched a hand to her shoulder. “It’s too soon, Darcy. Ye haven’t given ye’r poor heart time to heal.”

  “Maybe this is what my heart needs. I…care about Gryf and the lad.”

  “I’m not denying he’s a fine man. And the lad’s lucky to have him for a friend. But it’s ye I’m worried about. Ye’re making him into something he can’t be. No man can take the place of Gray in ye’r heart, lass.”

  “I’m not asking him to.”

  He looked at her a long time before patting her shoulder. “I hope not, lass. I hope not. For both ye’r sakes.”

  He turned away and let himself out.

  When he was gone, Darcy folded her arms across her chest and stood, head bowed, eyes closed. Sometimes, when Gryf was kissing her, she found herself comparing his mouth to Gray’s. Comparing his halting, raspy voice to the smooth deep tones she’d known since childhood. Even comparing his touch, his taste.

  She pressed her hands to her temples, to blot out the thoughts that kept creeping into her mind. Thoughts of another man, another time.

  Newton was right. It was all too much, too soon. But she just didn’t seem able to stop herself. She wanted Gray back. But she wanted Gryf, as well. Oh, what was happening to her? How was she ever going to be able to resolve this?

  Newt was right about something else. If she and Gryf continued down this path, both of them might be wounded again. And this time the wounds could prove to be more than their already shattered hearts could endure.

  Chapter Eight

  Darcy threw herself into a flurry of work. Work had always been her refuge. And her salvation. She found that if she worked hard enough, and long enough, she would fall into bed, too exhausted to think.

  The only problem was, even in sleep she found no relief. Her dreams were filled with visions of Gray and Gryf. Visions that had her waking in the dark, heart pounding, lungs straining.

  The combination of work-filled days and sleep-deprived nights was beginning to take its toll. She was, as always, driving the crew to distraction with her demands. The deck was never clean enough. The sails never mended properly. The knots in the rigging never unfastened to her complete satisfaction.

  “Land dead ahead, Captain.” The sailor’s voice filtered down from the rigging.

  Darcy glanced over as Newton approached.

  As usual, the old man wasted no time with formalities. “I know ye’d like to make up for the time we lost in that battle, but I still think it best if we take a few days in port, to give the crew time to repair that hole in the port side.”

  “
Aye. It has me worried, too, Newt. Though we’ve taken on no water, I’d hate to see what might happen if we encountered storms.”

  “And well we might, lass. It’s a wonder we’ve been this long without winter showing us her nastier side.” He glanced at the crew, preparing to dock. “Besides, it’ll give us all a rest. We’ve earned it.”

  Darcy said nothing.

  He lowered his voice so the crew wouldn’t overhear. “Especially ye, lass. Ye’re driving ye’rself too hard these days. And the crew along with ye.”

  “I’m fine, Newt.” She saw him studying her a little too closely and felt the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks. “You know I thrive on hard work.”

  “Aye. That ye do.” He turned away. “I think ye should go ashore with me.”

  When she didn’t argue, he took it as a clear sign that she was distracted. Ordinarily, she much preferred to stay aboard ship and leave the business of delivering the cargo to him.

  Following the direction of her gaze, he saw Gryf swinging down from the rigging, with Whit following eagerly behind him. Aye. That was the distraction. And it had the old man more worried than he cared to admit. He stormed off, bellowing orders to the sailors who swarmed about the deck.

  “Lower the anchor,” he shouted.

  As the crew scrambled to anchor the ship and lower the skiff to the water, Newton turned to see Darcy avidly watching every movement Gryf made. It only strengthened his determination to put some distance between these two. For their own good.

  “I’ve changed my mind, lass.” He retrieved his coat, since the wind had whipped the waves into froth. “Ye can stay aboard and set the crew to work on repairing the damage while I take a few men ashore with the cargo.”

  “All right, Newt. That sounds fine to me.”

  He turned away and began calling out to those who would accompany him in the skiff. “Ye there, Will. And Gryf. And Fielding, ye’ll want to replenish our supplies. The rest of ye will stay with the cap’n and get to work on that hull.”

  “What about me, Newt?” Whit turned pleading eyes to him, and the old sailor had to look away in order to resist.

  “Nay, lad. Ye’ll stay here with the cap’n. That’s an order.”

  He turned away with a sense of satisfaction. He’d pulled that off smoothly. The lass didn’t have a hint of what he had in mind. For that matter, he wasn’t sure about it himself. He only knew he wanted some time alone with the man who was giving Darcy such nerves.

  “Easy there, lads.”

  Newton stood on the wharf and directed the dock workers who were retrieving the cargo from the skiff. When it was unloaded he watched as the items were checked for damage. Then he entered the small waterfront office where he accepted the money due them. He and the company representative shook hands before he took his leave.

  Outside, his three crew members waited in the rain. The old man took some bills from his pocket and handed them to the cook.

  “Here, Fielding. Take Will with ye and see to some fresh meat for the crew. When ye return with it, Gryf and I will be waiting to take ye back to the ship.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  When the two men walked away, Newt turned to the man beside him. “Since we have some time, I thought we’d warm ourselves at the tavern.”

  The two darted through the rain, grateful when they reached the comfort of a warm room. They stood a moment in front of a roaring fire on the hearth, allowing the heat to chase the chill from their bones.

  Newton pointed to a table drawn up in front of the fireplace. When they were seated a wench approached with tankards.

  Before she even walked away Newton had drained his tankard and set it on the scarred wooden table. Gryf did the same, then stretched out his long legs toward the warmth of the fire.

  Newton cleared his throat. He knew he was a plain-spoken man, but right now, he wished he’d been blessed with the skill of an oracle. He took a deep breath and plunged in. “Ye have eyes for the cap’n.”

  Gryf smiled. “What man in his right mind wouldn’t?”

  “But ye’ve done more than look.”

  Gryf held his silence, wondering where this was headed.

  The silence disturbed the old man more than words would have. Perhaps he’d hoped Gryf would offer a denial. Or at least a few words of apology. He wasn’t certain just what he’d expected. But not this tense, unexpected silence.

  He sighed. “I think ye should know. The lass suffered a heartache recently.”

  He saw Gryf’s head come up sharply.

  “I’d sensed as much. Can you tell me about it, Newt?”

  “I can. The lad she’s loved since she was just a wee lass was lost at sea.” Until this moment, he’d had no intention of talking about something so intimate. But now he realized this was his chance to watch Gryf’s reaction. Darcy wasn’t the only one who wondered about the mysterious man’s true identity. After all, he was the same height as Gray. Had the same look about him sometimes. The way he squared his shoulders and stared out to sea. The way he planted his feet on the deck and faced into the wind. Like a man born to the sea. Like Gray.

  The old man waited the space of a heartbeat before saying, “His name was Graham Barton.”

  There was no flicker of recognition in Gryf’s eyes at the mention of that name. In fact, no reaction of any kind. Newton wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Had he, like Darcy, wanted him to be Gray? Or had he only hoped to clear up the mystery once and for all? If so, he’d been mistaken. Now there were only more questions.

  “And she loved this man?”

  “That she did. We…her family…feared she might never recover. But this voyage seemed like the right thing to take her out of her grief and get back to the business of living.”

  That would explain this ship and crew braving the winter in this part of the Atlantic. Gryf nodded. “Darcy’s a strong woman, Newt. You can sense it in her. She’s a survivor.”

  “Aye. That she is. But I’m not sure she’s ready to open her heart to another yet. It’s too soon. The wound is still raw.”

  Gryf idly rubbed his shoulder. “I’d know a bit about wounds and how long they can take to heal.”

  The serving wench returned with bowls of hot soup and a plate of crusty bread. When she walked away the old man reached for the bread and broke off a hunk. “Then ye understand why I worry about the lass. Her poor heart was broken. Shattered, if truth be told. She’s not ready for any more pain.”

  Gryf’s voice was low with anger. “What makes you think I’d cause her pain?”

  “Because—” the old man tasted his soup, then crumbled the bread over the surface and decided to be as bluntly honest as possible “—I think she’s getting ye all mixed up in her mind with the lad she lost.”

  He saw the flash of pain or perhaps anger in Gryf’s eyes as he digested that bit of news. It wasn’t something a man wanted to hear. Not if he cared about the woman involved.

  “Ye’r like him, ye see. In many ways.” It had to be done, the old man consoled himself. For Darcy’s sake. Though he’d never believed in meddling, this was different. She thought of herself as so tough. But underneath that hard shell she’d built around herself, she was still that little girl who’d once wrapped her chubby arms around his neck and wept against his throat when her kitten was crushed under the wheels of an errant carriage. She’d cried as though her heart would never mend. And in that moment, his own had shattered as well.

  She was as much his daughter as if he’d given her life. He’d die for her. Aye. And meddle, if that’s what it took to keep her safe.

  Gryf studied the old man, and could see what it had cost him to reveal Darcy’s secret. “I’m…grateful to you for telling me this, Newt.”

  The old sailor nodded and bent to his soup. And noticed that the man across the table had suddenly lost his appetite.

  “Nay, Whit. Like this. Smooth, even strokes.” Darcy took the tool from the lad’s hand and began planing the length of wood u
ntil it was smooth to the touch.

  “I see. Like this.” He ran a finger over the velvet finish. “Let me try, Captain.”

  She handed it back to him and the lad followed her example. She was grateful now that she’d remained aboard ship with the boy. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since she’d forced him to reveal his awful secret. She hoped this time together might ease any lingering tension between them.

  “You’ve a quick mind, Whit.”

  His smile was bright and open. “That’s what Gryf tells me. He said I can do anything I set my mind to.”

  “And what is it you hope to do?”

  “Be a ship’s captain like you.”

  She couldn’t help chuckling, even though she found herself flattered. “There are easier ways to make your way in this world.”

  “Aye. But none as satisfying.”

  “It is that.” She took up a plane and began smoothing the other end of the wood. The two worked in companionable silence, while the crew sawed and hammered nearby, repairing the damage to the bow of the ship.

  “Gryf told me that sailing gets in a man’s blood. The longer he stays at sea, the more he needs of it.”

  “Does Gryf think he was a sailor before his accident?”

  The lad shrugged. “He can’t recall. But I’m sure of it. I’ve seen him do things even some of the other crew members can’t.”

  “Such as?”

  “The first time he climbed the rigging with me, he never had to look at where to put his feet. Just walked up the ropes like he was walking up a ladder. It’s the same with the ropes. Newt said Gryf can tie a knot better than anybody he’s ever seen.”

  “Newt said that?” When the boy nodded, she arched a brow. “That’s quite a tribute to Gryf. Old Newt rarely pays a compliment.”

  “Gryf paid you a compliment, too.”

  Darcy’s interest sharpened. “What did he say?”

  “Gryf said that you’re just about the prettiest ship’s captain he’s ever laid eyes on.”

  She couldn’t help blushing, even as she tried to pretend the words were meaningless. “I’m probably the first female captain he’s ever seen.”