The Wayward One

by Danelle Harmon

  And she had not complained.

  And now they were finally on their way, the wide open Atlantic opening up before them as Brest and the coastline of France fell away off their starboard quarter.

  Ruaidri, who’d also enjoyed a well-needed bath, lay now in his cot, cursing the weakness of his body and thanking the One who walked on water once for sparing him what he’d thought would be an inevitable fever.

  He had much on his mind.

  “Go to England and bring me back that explosive,” John Adams had said. “Your country is dependent on you. Godspeed.”

  Yes, he’d crossed an ocean to bring an explosive rumored to be more fantastic than anything anyone had ever invented, back to America. He had risked his life and lost his heart. He’d carried out his mission, but he’d never dreamed that his bounty would include not just the explosive, but a wife.

  A wife he had yet to tell his deepest secret and darkest shame to.

  A wife who knew nothing about Josiah.

  Or Delight.

  Maybe there was no need to tell her. It was all in his past, anyhow. His past as Roddy, not Ruaidri. He would leave it there.

  No harm done.

  He got up, limped to the stern windows, and scanned the horizon. No Hadley, no sails, nobody in pursuit. Just sunlight on clear blue swells, the ship’s wake trailing back toward a Europe he was desperate to see the arse end of.

  The effort of just moving this far exhausted him, and he cursed what little blood still remained in his veins. His head swimming, he took off his uniform jacket and lay back down on the cot. His gaze fell on the ship model he’d made as they’d crossed the Atlantic to get here. Maybe it was time to start another, perhaps of Tigershark herself. But no. Even the idea of carving a model hull made him feel tired. How long would it take for him to get his energy back?

  The door to the cabin opened and Nerissa came in, her cheeks pink and fresh from the stiff wind that drove them steadily westward. She paused, looking at him lying there in the cot.

  They were alone, the two of them, for the first time as man and wife.

  “You should sleep, Ruaidri,” she murmured, her eyes darkening with concern.

  “I’m tired of sleeping.”

  “You want to heal, don’t you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She raised a brow and turned, going to check her reflection in the tiny mirror above his washstand. His gaze traveled down her proud shoulders and back, her tiny waist, her rounded bottom in Cranton’s breeches. He didn’t care what she was wearing. She looked delicious, and he felt himself beginning to harden as he watched her try to comb her pale, windblown hair into some sort of semblance, tidying herself for her man as women had done since time began. He wondered if she was nervous. If the idea of consummating their marriage filled her with as much unease as it did him. Would his body be able to perform the task to which it would soon be called? He grinned wryly. The head and heart are willing, he thought…but oh, do I have the strength to pleasure her as she deserves?

  Time would tell.

  Or he’d die trying.

  There was a knock on the door. Andrew came in, frowning as he saw Ruaidri lying weakly in his cot. “You look like hell,” he said flatly.

  “I’m fine.”

  Nerissa turned from the mirror. “Andrew, don’t you have some place to be? Something else to do?”

  He actually had the good grace to blush. “I suppose you’d like some…privacy.”

  “I suppose we might,” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “You have protected me long enough, dear brother. But you have given me to Ruaidri here and that is now his task, not yours.”

  “At the moment, he’s not fit to protect a fly from a spider, let alone—”

  “I’m fine,” Ruaidri insisted, yet again.

  Nerissa sighed and crossed her arms. “And just what do I need protecting from, Andrew?”

  Andrew’s color deepened. “Right. I understand. I’ll…leave you two to it, then.” He moved to the door and there, paused to look one last time at Ruaidri. “Remember my warning, O’ Devir. Be gentle with her.”

  Ruaidri raised a brow. He supposed he ought to take offense at such a remark and a few short years ago when he’d been younger, his temper hotter and his moods more volatile, perhaps he would have. But Andrew was her brother, a family member who loved her very much, and having been in a similar situation with his own sister not so very long ago, Ruaidri knew just how hard it was to turn and walk away, leaving your little sister in the care of a man who was anything but a brother and who had every intention of making her a woman.

  Yes, he understood.

  He smiled. “Ye have my word on it, Andrew,” he said reassuringly.

  With a last warning glance at Tigershark’s captain, Lord Andrew left the cabin.

  And Nerissa and Ruaidri were alone.

  * * *

  “Well,” she said, not quite so confident now that her brother had gone. “I suppose I should ask, ‘now what,’ but I think I know what comes next.” Her voice wasn’t quite as strong as it had been moments ago. “You…you will be gentle, won’t you, Ruaidri?”

  He sat up, wishing he had the strength to go to her, to lift her in his once-strong arms and carry her to the cot, to the stern cushions, even down to the deck flooring. But the effort of standing for his nuptials for even a few moments had taxed his strength and even sitting up was exhausting. “Are ye frightened, lass?”

  She shrugged and looked away. “A little.”

  “Come sit beside me, Nerissa.”

  She licked her suddenly-dry lips and moved hesitantly across the cabin, eyed the empty space beside him and at his urging sat down, as stiff as a canary frozen on its perch.

  “’Tis a confession I have for ye, lass,” he said, aching to reach out and touch her but forcing himself to keep his hands to himself for the time being.

  “A…confession?”

  “Aye.” He leaned back against the curved hull and looked at her. “We haven’t known each other for long, but in that short time, have ye ever known me to be frightened of anythin’, Nerissa?”

  “No….”

  “Have ye ever known me to be worried about anythin’?”

  She gave a little smile. “No.”

  “Have ye ever known me to be insecure, uncertain, or lackin’ faith in meself?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, here’s my secret, then.” He smiled, looking a bit sheepish. “I don’t know if I can do this…and that makes me all of the above, especially frightened.”

  “Do…what?”

  “Come now, lass. What do ye think?”

  She turned a bright, blushing pink, the color suffusing her cheeks and making him want to kiss her maidenly shyness away.

  “I wasn’t aware that the…the, um, marriage act required any particular acts of strength.”

  “It is what one makes it. But alas, since I’ve lost so much blood, I’m weak and faint, easily fatigued…no good to you as a husband today, tonight, maybe not for the next few nights.”

  There. A slight crease between her brows, a frown. “Do you mean that we…we won’t be doing…doing that, today?”

  “I don’t know if I can.” He sighed, looked up at her through his lashes, and let them droop. He was glad she could not see the smile he wore on his heart. Maybe she’d take up the challenge. Maybe she would not. He hoped she would. “But ye’re welcome to try, lass.”

  “Would it be dangerous for you?”

  “Don’t know. We could try it and see, I suppose.”

  He heard her swallow, hard. A long silence ensued, before she finally asked in a little voice, “What do you want?”

  “To make ye happy.”

  She moved a little closer to him. He opened his eyes and smiled as she took his hand, her fingers warm and gentle around his own. Let her think he was that debilitated. Perhaps he was. But by letting her explore him and take the lead in this act, to plumb the limits of what he
was capable of, it would give her confidence, alleviate her fear and awkwardness…and if he were honest with himself, allow him the chance to save his own pride for not being more assertive in bed on his own wedding day. The devil knew he wanted to be. God knew he didn’t have the strength.

  Above, Morgan’s command to set the t’gallants drifted down and he felt Tigershark lengthening her stride like a racehorse being let out to the buckle. His eyes drifted shut once more, defying his will to keep them open. Beneath him, he could feel the long swells driving in from the open Atlantic, could feel the ship’s eagerness to get home. All was right in his world, whether or not they consummated their marriage this afternoon. All was—

  His eyes opened as he felt a slight, uncertain touch at the corner of his mouth and he found himself gazing up into her steady blue ones.

  “Having four brothers, I know a little about masculine pride,” she said softly. “Though very little about the marriage act, save for what I’ve gleaned from my sisters-in-law. But if you find yourself so weak, Ruaidri…maybe I can do the work.”

  “Work?”

  “Well—” she blushed once more “whatever it is that we’re supposed to do to consummate our marriage.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” he said cajolingly, secretly hoping the part of her that was a rebel would take such a challenge and run with it. “If you don’t want to.”

  “What would you like?”

  He looked up at her, his smile spreading. “I would like you to lean down,” he murmured softly, “and get right up close to me…yes, like that…and put your lips against the corner of my mouth that you just touched…and kiss me.”

  She moved a little closer to him and shyly, obligingly, did as he asked, her very nearness forcing away the air that lay between them until their bodies were nearly touching. He wanted to drown in the sight of her. Her beautiful, eager face. Her guileless, pale blue eyes with the slightly down-turned corners. Her high cheekbones and full, smiling mouth, the lips so pink and pretty.

  “Kiss me, Nerissa,” he said, lifting a hand to touch her arm, to run his fingers down the inside of her wrist, to draw little circles there with his fingers until a faint wash of color spread itself across her cheekbones at the teasing sensations it evoked.

  Nerissa lowered her head, and slowly put her lips against the corner of his mouth.

  For her, it was a mystery solved, a heady answer to tender exploration and quiet yearning. She nuzzled his skin, found it slightly rough despite the fact that his servant had come in to shave him earlier. He still tasted of the wine they’d shared after the binding words had been spoken and everyone had drunk a toast to the new Captain and Mrs. O’ Devir. She could smell his shaving soap and clean hair and skin, freshly washed in the same copper tub that she had used earlier. She could feel the warmth of his big, broad hand still gripping her wrist. The scent of him—all tough male, sensuality and desire despite his words protesting he didn’t have the strength—caused a little flutter of sensation deep between her legs. More sensation in her nipples and in the pit of her belly. Emboldened, she pressed her lips to his and guided by instinct, let her tongue slip out to lightly touch the corner of his mouth, to taste it, to trace the shape and texture of his lip until he made a noise of satisfaction deep in his throat.

  “Ah, love,” he murmured, and releasing her wrist, reached both hands up to thread his fingers through her hair, loosening the pins that held up the heavy tresses, grazing the side of her neck with a warm, raspy thumb, and finally, cupping the back of her head to hold her gently down against him.

  She angled her head, adjusting her position so that she was kissing him fully now, his lips hard against hers, his tongue coming out to find her own, to push against it, to taste her as she was tasting him. She heard a moan come from her own throat, felt the pressure against the back of her head holding her in place and urging her on. She lowered herself further, her nipples just grazing his chest. Though there was plenty of fabric between them, the sensation was like lightning striking her there, and she heard her breathing becoming heavier as his fingers drifted through her hair, pulling it down and around her shoulders, following it out to its ends until the back of his wrist just grazed her nipples through the fabric.

  “Do you want me, Nerissa?”

  “I want you, Ruaidri.”

  “Tonight, you will take the lead, and your body will tell you what to do. Tonight, you will do with me what you will, explore me at your own speed and comfort level, and if I survive it—” here, he smiled up at her in a slightly cajoling way—“I promise you that the next time you’ll have more man than you can handle, Sunshine.”

  “What if that ‘next time’ is later on this evening?”

  “Minx,” he murmured, still pulling gently on her hair.

  “Tell me what to do, Ruaidri. I think I know…but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Ye won’t hurt me. Just…don’t expect much from me.”

  “Is that a challenge to yourself, or to me?”

  “Both, I think. Unbutton my waistcoat, lass. Don’t be shy.”

  She kicked off her shoes, drew her legs up, and sidled closer to him, her hair hanging down around her face and just brushing the buttons of the garment he’d asked her to loosen. He was not fragile, she told herself. Weak from loss of blood, bruised, battered and most fortunate to be alive…but definitely not fragile.

  Her fingers fumbled as she found the top button of his clean white waistcoat, pushed it through the hole, then moved down to the next one…the next…and the next. Her knuckles brushed the fine linen shirt just beneath, her gaze lingered at the skin at his throat, tanned and masculine and showing a few wiry strands of black hair. Unconsciously, she licked her lip, wondering how warm that bit of skin would be against her mouth. What it would smell like. What it would taste like. Another button, now, and she could feel the hard strength of his breastbone against her fingertips, the heart beating strongly just beneath.

  Images of him lying on the deck in a pool of blood suddenly assailed her. Hadley’s triumph. Andrew’s empathy. She, running to the rail to vomit, shattered by the horror of what she had seen. He had come so close to dying. Indeed, she had thought him dead. Everyone had. But no, that heart was still beating and for a moment, she opened her hand, flattened her palm against his breastbone, and just absorbed its beat up through her skin, her hand, her wrist, letting its energy go all the way to her own heart.

  She didn’t realize her eyes were leaking tears until his voice brought her back to the present.

  “Nerissa.”

  Startled, her gaze flashed to his, found him quietly watching her.

  “Nerissa,” he repeated, looking up to her. “Why do ye cry? We don’t have to do this if ye aren’t ready… I’d never force ye, y’know.”

  The tears ran harder and again she saw the blood beneath his leg, mixed with seawater and rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship, and she could not speak.

  “I’m sorry I’m not the man ye might’ve chosen…sorry I’m just a sailor, sorry ye didn’t have the grand weddin’ ye deserved—”

  “I’m crying,” she choked out, “because I keep thinking of you lying in your own blood, and how I’d thought this heart I feel beneath my hand had stopped…and that you were dead.”

  His gaze softened. “Don’t think about it,” he said, reaching up to thumb away her tears. “I’m very much alive. Weak as a kitten, I’m afraid, but ’twill take far more than an English musketball to do me in.”

  She gave a jerky little nod without speaking, and his hand drifted down to anchor hers against his breastbone. Against his heart. For a long moment they just stayed like that, she trying to get her sobs under control, he quietly covering her hand with his own.

  “The best way to forget things we wish we’d never seen is to make new memories,” he said quietly. “We have our weddin’ night—or rather, afternoon—and the rest of our lives to make those memories.” He gazed up into her eyes, wil
ling her to hear what he was saying, to forget the dreadful things that she had seen. “Now, love, since ye’re so concerned about my heart, lean down and kiss me again but keep your hand there, and feel it beat harder, feel it beat stronger…feel it beat just for you and you alone.”

  She leaned over him, found his lips with her own and, with her hair falling down around their faces like a canopy of ivory silk, kissed him. The weight of her body pressed her hand down further against his chest and as she lost herself in the kiss, as his tongue plunged into the honeyed recesses of her mouth, she did indeed feel his heartbeat begin to thud, thud, thud against her palm.

  She broke the kiss, breathing hard.

  “Finish undoin’ me, Nerissa,” he said softly. “Ye’ve got a lot more buttons to go before you get me out of this waistcoat.”

  She nodded, her fingers fumbling, undoing the button just beneath his heart, the one at the apex of his ribs, the ones that trailed down his belly, the ones that were close, very close, to the waistband of his breeches. She paused, staring at her fingers. The front of his breeches. The white fabric was curved and hard, bulging with the part of himself that made him a man—and that would soon make her a woman. What did it look like? Feel like? What would his response be if she were to touch it?

  There. The last button of his waistcoat was undone. He sat up in the bed and she helped him out of it, allowing him to lean into her own strength as she eased him back to the cot. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, but lord, he was heavy. Solid. Full of muscle. He looked up at her and smiled, his eyes going foggy for a moment.

  “This is madness,” she said, worried.

  “’Twill be fun.”

  “You just lost what little color you had left.”

  “I’ll get it back. I’m lyin’ down again, aren’t I?”

  Indeed he was, his hair black against the pillow, the wild, spiral-curling mane spread out beneath him and giving him the look of some Celtic savage.

  “Are you sure this won’t kill you?”

  “If it does, mine will be the most envied death in the history of Mankind. Now take off yer clothes, Nerissa. Slowly. I want to watch yer fingers push the buttons through their holes and think about them touchin’ me.”