Hot Winds From Bombay

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  While she worked at his remaining clothing, his hands were busy, too, stroking the quivering plane of her stomach, circling into her navel, gripping her hips. When he reached a particularly sensitive area just below her hipbone, she fell back and uttered a deep sigh. Taking advantage of the moment, his palms slid down over her and his fingers dug into the tight little curls, which were an even brighter flame color than the hair spread out on her pillow. His fingers tangled themselves in the curls as he tugged gently.

  “Zack!” Persia gasped, half rising.

  Using no great force, he pushed her back to the pillows. Once more his inquisitive fingers set about their exploration. In no time, he had discovered the secret place he sought beneath that flaming forest.

  Persia heard herself panting, but she couldn’t stop. Her eyes were tightly shut. And in her mind, she could see the circles his fingertips were tracing. They glowed against the blackness in hot, vivid colors. Her legs went numb now in her need. Her breasts ached with a delicious sort of pain. And the heat—the terrible, wonderful heat—was rising to temperatures hot enough to melt her insides. Any moment now, she would lose her grip on reality and float off to some distant, unknown realm.

  But a moment before that happened, he stopped. He took his hands from her body and sat back.

  “I think you’d better finish what you started, darling.” His voice was low, husky, almost pleading.

  She went back to his buttons, her fingers trembling so now that she could hardly manage them. Then, suddenly, she freed him. He burst out like a great tree trunk that had suddenly fallen into her own forest. Tentatively, she touched him. He groaned and gripped her waist. She curled her fingers around the velvety flesh. He sounded as if he were choking. She released him.

  “No!” he gasped. “Don’t stop!”

  As she lay there, holding the hot, throbbing shaft in her palm—squeezing gently, moving her fingers this way and that—a new kind of need filled her. She had been right. There was no other time or place. There was only here, now, the two of them… and this wonderful, miraculous tool of pleasure she now held in her sure, all-powerful hands.

  She fondled the smooth tip; he moaned. She let her fingers slide to the base; he shuddered. She tightened her grip; he collapsed forward, seeking her breasts, sucking hard and battering her nipple with his rough tongue.

  And then tree and forest met—one dry and insistent, the other warmly moist and accepting.

  She cried out when he entered her, but the sound had nothing to do with pain. He had loved her slowly and carefully. Now he would fulfill the rest of his promise by loving her thoroughly.

  Deeper and deeper he plunged. She felt as if his hard core were stroking at her very heart. His mouth possessed hers, allowing his twin thrusts to join forces, taking her to new and unreal heights of pleasure. She felt as if her body were glowing inside and out. And then it happened… the whole world exploded, sending their joined bodies flying off into space to take their shining places among the stars.

  A new kind of bond had been forged between Persia and Zack. In the dark night, upon the dark sea, somewhere south of the equator, these two had seen the meaning of life in a great, draining, cleansing, restoring, blinding flash of light. Nothing would ever be the same for either of them. They knew that, and they accepted it gratefully. As Zack had said shortly before their miraculous transformation took place: “Love is all that matters!”

  The Madagascar sailed on. At times, gale winds whipped the mighty sails and giant waves slammed into her, sending spindrift over her decks. At other times, the sea was as brilliant and calm and smooth as the newfound love between her captain and his sweetheart. But day in and day out, one thing never changed—Zack and Persia were together now and, they hoped, forevermore.

  “I don’t think you should even see him when we reach Bombay, darling,” Zack said to Persia. They were strolling the deck together on a particularly fine morning after a night of exceptional lovemaking.

  “Well, certainly, I’d just as soon not, Zack. But I do owe the man an explanation. After all, he’s expecting his bride any time. Surely he’s received Reverend Osgood’s letter by overland mail by now. Undoubtedly he’s been making all sorts of preparations.”

  Persia was dreamily preoccupied this morning. At the moment, she was staring up at a flock of seagulls playing in the airstreams overhead. It had been a while since they’d been close enough to land to see a bird. But now they had rounded the Cape of Good Hope and were sailing through warm seas off the island of Madagascar.

  “Persia, are you listening to me? If all goes well, we’ll reach Bombay within the month. You have some important decisions to make.”

  “I know, Zack. I know,” she said, smiling up at him. “But I’ve made the most important one already. I’m going to be your wife. Still, I don’t like even thinking about Cyrus Blackwell. It makes me feel so guilty.”

  “Guilty? Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in all my life!” He took her hand in his, and his voice softened. “Darling, you don’t even know the man. And he’s been married before. Surely he’ll understand that love is involved here and give us his blessing. But I still say a well-worded letter to him would suffice. I see no need for you to have to meet with him.”

  “Oh, darling, look at that cloud!” Persia cried excitedly, pointing off to starboard at a looming, purple- tinged formation. “It looks just like a fairy dancing in the top of a lilac bush!”

  Zack laughed softly and shook his head. “My dear, impossible Persia! Only you could see such a vision in a storm cloud over the Indian Ocean. Time you went below. I’m afraid we’re in for some dirty weather before long.”

  And they were—the worst they’d seen. For a time, it seemed to Persia that she would never see the sun, dry land, or Zack again. She remained below in her cabin in eternal darkness, not daring to light a lamp for fear of starting a fire. And Zack had insisted that the deadlights be fastened in place over her windows for the duration of the storm. These heavy, wooden, shutter-type affairs blocked out every ray of light but kept the glass from shattering and possibly causing serious injury.

  However, she hardly saw what further injuries she could suffer. The ship alternately wallowed in the deep troughs between waves and was then tossed skyward by the violent, crashing seas. One moment Persia was up and the next moment she was down. She had bruises all over her body, a lump on her forehead where she’d been thrown against a wildly swinging cupboard door, and a fresh gash in her arm from a broken lamp that was paining her considerably.

  She lay on her back in the very center of the bunk, gripping the mattress with both hands. But still she was tossed and buffeted. Through it all came the scream of the howling wind, the groan of the ship’s straining timbers, and the constant roar of the sea. And from below, she could hear the grinding sound of the ice shifting.

  She was so tired. If only she could sleep. Then she could dream herself out of this nightmare. Still holding on tightly, she closed her eyes.

  “Man overboard!”

  She sat up in bed, fear turning her blood to ice. At first she thought she’d dreamed it. But the thudding of boots racing topside told her it was a terrible reality. No call was more dreaded at sea, and in a storm like this there would be little hope of saving him. Still, every man in both watches would turn out to lend a hand.

  Forgetting Zack’s orders to stay in her cabin, Persia slipped into the oilskin foul-weather coat the sailmaker had fashioned for her and fought her way to the door. It was a matter of one step forward and two steps back as the ship lurched and shuddered. Finally, she made her way into the passage and up the ladder.

  Rain and seawater poured down the hatch to soak her through. The whole world seemed a dirty, wet shade of purplish gray. And the ship was as dark as a cave. Was it day or night? She couldn’t remember, and she certainly couldn’t tell from looking.

  She watched hazy figures moving about deck, clinging to
lifelines that had been rigged from forecastle head to the break of the poop, along both sides of the ship. Shredded sails flapped above, looking like grave shrouds of the damned. She swiped at the water clouding her vision. She wanted desperately to catch sight of Zack, to know that he was all right. But she could make out no faces, only dark shadows moving about the deck. Her heart sank.

  What if Zack was the man who had been swept over the side? How could she live without him? Then darker thoughts began to crowd into her mind and weigh heavily on her heart. What if this was her punishment for having loved him when, by rights, she belonged to another?

  She stumbled back down the ladder, slipping twice and falling to her knees in the passageway that was now awash with saltwater. Crawling on all fours, she made it to her cabin door. She was exhausted, crying, hurting all over. Summoning more strength than she thought she had left, she shouldered the door open. Just then a mighty wave hit the ship broadside. The deck tilted beneath her, rolling her as if she were an empty barrel until she slammed painfully into the side of her bunk. She lay there, stunned, for a few moments, waiting for the ship to right itself. Then slowly, she climbed back into bed and gave herself up to racking sobs.

  Minutes, hours, it could even have been days later to Persia’s mind, a hand gripped her bruised shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” demanded a familiar, husky voice.

  “Zack?” she cried. “Oh, Zack, I thought you were dead!”

  She threw herself into his arms, but his touch was cold. His arms seemed frozen at his sides.

  “I saw you when you came up the ladder, Persia. That was a damn fool thing to do. I told you to stay put and I meant it!”

  She drew back from him, feeling like a chastised child. “I heard the cry and all the men running. I only wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Well, I’m fine, as you can see. But I certainly won’t be if you get yourself swept overboard and I have to go in after you.”

  Suddenly, she returned to her senses. “Zack, who was it?”

  “Mister Barry,” he answered in an icy voice. “He went up in the rigging to batten down some sail. A monster wave hit, and…”

  “And?” Her voice was small. She already knew the answer.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Oh, Zack, I’m sorry.”

  “Not nearly as sorry as you’ll be the next time I see you coming on deck. In fact, I won’t risk it. Lie down!”

  Grabbing up a length of rope that had slithered in from the sea outside her door, Zack quickly lashed her to the bunk.

  “There! That should hold you,” he said. “It’s not over yet, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  Furious, she screamed his name and a few foul epithets after him, but he paid her no heed. She lay, trussed like a fish in a net, seething and straining to escape. But Zack knew his craft well. She would not be free until he came back to release her.

  Totally exhaused, she closed her eyes. Although the ship was still rolling, she was no longer being tossed about from pillar to post. She relaxed within her bonds and let sleep carry her away.

  Sometime later, deep in the night, near the end of the second dog watch, she awoke to find the lamps lit and Zack standing over her. The storm seemed to have passed. He fingered the rope and grinned.

  “Oh, could I amuse myself with you in this position!”

  He tugged at one of her bare feet, then let his hand slide up her leg. Leaning down to kiss her, he brought his hand to her breast to play there a bit.

  She squirmed against her bonds, but they held her tight. She was totally at his mercy. The thought both repelled and thrilled her.

  Ever so slowly, his hand drifted down her body—pinching here, teasing there. Then his fingers moved lower, to a more tender region, to concentrate on more serious fondling.

  Persia, inflamed, pulled her mouth from his and demanded, “Zack, untie me! This minute!”

  She was oddly disappointed when he did as ordered.

  The Madagascar had literally been thrown back across the equator by the fury of the storm. Luckily, their cargo had not thawed enough to shift dangerously. Still, there was a great deal of damage and, of course, one man lost. But miraculously, the ship was still seaworthy and still on course. With the right winds, they would see Bombay in only weeks.

  But their luck did not hold. After the storm came the calm. The Madagascar lolled, motionless, in the region about the equator called the doldrums, caught in the void between the two trade winds. They were one hundred and fourteen days out. They had made good time. But now it looked as if they might be trapped in this same airless spot of ocean for days or even weeks.

  The ice now became their main concern. The warm seas caused rapid melting. All day and all night, the rasp and cough of the hand-operated pumps on deck disturbed the hot, airless silence. The ship’s hold had to be kept as dry as possible. Otherwise, the melting process would only speed itself up. A fortune could be lost in a span of days.

  Zack had been busier than usual since his first mate was taken from him by the sea. Stoner was a fair second mate, but the man would never be officer material. So it’ was up to the master of the ship to fill both positions. Most difficult of all was keeping the sailors of the starboard watch busy at all times. He had them polish all the brass from ship’s bell to binnacle and then start over again. They swabbed, they varnished, they painted, they scraped. Down on their hands and knees in the baking, tropical sun, they holystoned the decks until they gleamed.

  But as temperatures soared, drinking water ran short, and still there was not a breath of air, tempers erupted. The sound of the never-ceasing pumps, sending useless water into the sea, only made matters worse. By the end of four days, two of the sailors were below, sweating it out in chains for having come to blows over a coconut one of them had fished out of the sea. Everyone else, including Persia, lay up on deck, sweltering and blistering through the long, hot days.

  The sailmaker had rigged a tentlike affair to protect Persia from the sun’s fiery rays. She appreciated the thought and it was a help, but the covering kept any breath of air from reaching her. There was nothing for it but to come out every hour or so and stroll the deck to breathe.

  During one of these interludes, Zack spotted her. His eyes narrowed. He had seen the way the sailors were looking at her. Normally they wouldn’t have posed a threat. But these circumstances were anything but normal. He had seen women attacked on board other ships when the sun had baked the senses from a man’s brain. He came up behind her and took her elbow, steering her back toward her shelter.

  “Do you want to get sunstroke?” he demanded.

  “No. I just came out for a moment. I thought there might be a breeze.”

  “There’s no breeze, my dariing. Just a dozen or so womenstarved sailors, half-crazed from thirst and boredom. Do us all a favor; stay out of sight.”

  “But Zack…”

  “No buts! That is an order, madam!”

  Sulkily, she crept back into her shelter. He might at least have joined her for a time. What was wrong with him these days? He was grumpy, harsh, even impatient with her. And they hadn’t made love… since when? Not for a week, at least. Surely he couldn’t have tired of her already! The thought nagged at her. She dismissed it. It was too hot to worry over things she could do nothing about.

  She gazed out across the deck. It shimmered in the heat. She could see a group of about ten sailors huddled together a few yards away. They seemed to be in deep discussion. And they kept glancing toward her. She was curious, but the heat did not lend itself to long concentration on any one thing.

  Using a seagull-feather fan one of the men had made for her, she stirred her own breeze. But it was a hot one. She opened the neck of her gown and fanned determinedly, shading her eyes with her other hand to scan the skies though the tent opening for any sign of a cloud. Rain would be such a blessing!

  “Ma’am?” The vo
ice just outside her little shelter made her jump. “Miz Blackwell, ma’am, could I speak to you a minute?”

  She gave the young man a smile. He wasn’t bad-looking—tall, tough, sandy-bearded. She’d seen him many times but couldn’t recall his name just now.

  “Yes?” she answered. “What is it?”

  He edged closer under the awning with her. He was grinning and seemed a bit nervous.

  “Well, ma’am, you see, me and the boys’ve been talking it over. It bein’ so fearful hot an’ all, we figured you could do with somethin’ to drink.”

  “That’s kind of you, but the water’s rationed. I wouldn’t want to take any more than my share. We don’t want to have to melt down our precious cargo in order to survive.”

  He laughed. “Aw, we wouldn’t steal no water, ma’am. The cap’n would skin our tails. Now, I got something better. A little present from the boys.” He pulled a flask out of his pocket and shoved it toward her. “Here!”

  A bit of the amber liquid sloshed from the neck of the bottle, staining Persia’s white cotton skirt. She stared at the sailor, unsmiling.

  “Where did you get this? You know spirits aren’t allowed among the crew! Why, the captain will—”

  “The captain will what?” Zack’s voice boomed.

  The sailor turned pale and might have scurried away if Zack’s well-placed boot hadn’t sent him sprawling first.

  “Stoner, arrest this man,” the captain ordered. “Take him below and chain him. He’ll be brought before the mast at noon tomorrow.”

  A stricken wail followed the sailor down the ladder.

  “Zack, you can’t do that. He didn’t mean any harm. He only offered me something to drink.”

  “Yes, I can tell. You reek of it! And what did you offer him in exchange?”

  “Nothing! Not a thing! How dare you?”

  “I’m the captain of this ship, and it’s up to me to keep order. I won’t have you or anyone else disrupting things, Persia.”

  “I never!” she protested.