“It is simple, really.” When he peered over his shoulder, he glimpsed her naked form, a treat he savored with regularity, yet it never grew old, as she donned her robe. Then, heavy-eyed, she walked to him. “Your greatcoat hangs on the peg, to the right of your locker, so you do not dirty the clean shirts and breeches, when your outerwear is damp from rain.” She pointed, and he snatched the item, cursing under his breath. “And your waistcoats are folded and neatly stacked in your trunk.”
“Why?” Resting hands on hips, he huffed in frustration. “I prefer everything to be stowed in one place.”
“But there is not enough space, and cramming your things into your locker makes no sense, as it only wrinkles your belongings.” Unaware of her tempting state, because she was still so innocent despite the luscious hours spent in his arms, with her rumpled hair and sheer night rail, she yawned and stretched. “As your wife, it is my responsibility to maintain your wardrobe, and your previous arrangement was grossly inefficient. Now, I have corrected the situation, and you should thank me.”
Whenever they clashed, and it was becoming more and more frequent, he wondered whatever possessed him to take a bride, because he could easily secure the services of an experienced whore, to provide the favors his tenacious spouse currently fulfilled. However, no three-penny upright had ever roused his whore’s pipe like his unseasoned debutante, and hell would freeze before he parted with her.
“Sophia, from hereafter, you are not to stick your lovely little nose in my affairs.” He stepped in her direction, hoping to intimidate her into acquiescence, but she stood her ground. “Do you hear me?”
“I wager everyone hears you, given your propensity for shouting, which is rather rude and unbecoming.” She thrust her adorable shin. “And I have been meaning to speak with you about the annoying habit, as there is no need to scream at me, because my ears work just fine.”
“Is that so?” He yelled even louder.”
“It is so.” To her credit, she matched him, roar for roar. “And I have had quite enough, believe me. Daresay it is no small surprise that your men follow you, given your foul temper and how you treat them.”
“That is because a crew of unruly tars requires discipline, not that you would know, as you are no ship’s captain, so you would do well to keep such ignorant opinions to yourself.” At his stern rebuke, she pouted, and he tempered his tone. “Trust me, I have plenty of use for you, your busy hands, and your succulent lips, between the sheets.”
“Is that all you ever think about?” She folded her arms, which framed her beautiful breasts, and his thoughts turned to her sweet, wet quim. “Is that the only reason you married me, because we have been at sea for more than a sennight, and I have yet to venture on deck? I am not even sure what day it is, and I cannot recall when I last wore a dress, but I suspect it was the evening we boarded the Cry Havoc.”
“And that is a problem?” As usual, she distracted him, and he decided the watch could wait. “Because you are quite fetching in your nudity.” Then he noted his favorite shirt hanging among the usable garments. “But you made a mistake, because this particular item has a large hole—”
“Which I mended, as you can see.” She displayed the repaired seam and then drew forth another of his preferred items. “And I sewed and reinforced the placket of your dark brown breeches, though I would argue they would not rip so easily if you would not wear them so tight.”
“Are you criticizing my attire, my lady wife?” How he admired her velvety brown gaze, which flared just then. “What else does my lady require?”
“Since you inquired, I will tell you.” He should have known better than to bait her. “The food is terrible. Indeed, it is what I consider inedible, and I would make improvements to the cooking, as I often prepared meals for my family.” She tapped a finger to her cheek. “And I would advise the men on cleanliness, as their dirty conventions provide naught but a foundation for illness and infection. They should take more pride in their appearance.”
Holding his belly, Leland could not moderate his gales of laughter, given the lunacy of her suggestion, because he knew exactly how his salty tars would respond to that gem of advice. When she stomped her foot, he guffawed even louder.
“Horrible man.” She swatted at him, frowned, and bent to retrieve the shirt he discarded last night, when he stripped in haste, before fucking her into oblivion. “And is it too much to ask that you help me keep our cabin neat and clean?” Admiring the cleft of her bottom, which he had yet to defile, he unhooked his breeches, grabbed his fast-rising erection, and pleasured himself. When she noted his demeanor, and his stout whore’s pipe, she rolled her eyes. “Not again.”
“Oh, yes, my delicious Sophia.” While it bothered him that she did not seem to enjoy his skills between the sheets, when no whore in Port Royal could resist him, he told himself her disinterest and lack of enthusiasm was just a sign of her naïveté, and with time and instruction, she would grow more passionate. Grasping her hips, he backed her toward the bunk, turned her about, shoved her to the mattress, and brushed aside her robe, so he could take her from behind. “And do not worry, as this will be quick.”
With his knees, he forced her legs further apart, and she clutched fistfuls of the blanket. Caressing her beautiful, round arse, he positioned himself and thrust, and she gave vent to a muffled sob. Riding her hard, he dispensed with her needs, because her satisfaction mattered not at the moment, gritted his teeth as completion beckoned, and fired his seed deep within her.
“Well, you were not joking, although I do not know why you bother, when it is over before it begins.” Now that remark hurt. Standing upright, she pulled down her robe, in a display of her characteristic modesty, and her biting retort cut him to his core, although she could not have known it. “But if our marriage is to succeed, we must do more than make love, Leland. At some point, you will have to talk to me, else I will never know you, and you will never know me. Do you not see that I only wish to please you?”
Of all the situations they faced since their nuptials, that singular declaration most terrified him, because he had so much to lose if she learned the truth. And never would he describe what happened in their bunk as lovemaking. He fucked her, pure and simple. While he tried to convince himself that he needed but one thing from his wife, in reality he had come to rely on her for so much more, and it well nigh scared the hell out of him.
He had been there, before. Stood at the precipice of an imaginary cliff, peered over the edge, and begged for love. For acceptance.
If he closed his eyes, a child’s pleas echoed in his brain, and he returned to that fateful day, so long ago, when his life changed forever, yet the memories came to him as though it were yesterday.
At the time, he had been but a boy of six, too young to fully comprehend what was happening to him, as his parents sold him into service. It was not uncommon for poor families to barter a child they could not afford to feed, and the same could be said of Jean Marc, Leland’s closest friend. Only Jean Marc had been traded to settle a debt, whereas Leland’s father auctioned his son for a chance at a new start in another state.
How could he share that bit of information with Sophia, that he was unwanted, much less tell her she married a pirate?
The obvious answer was he could not tell her anything, so he would divert her as she did him.
“My dear, we have the rest of our lives to become acquainted.” In play, he smacked her delectable arse. “Right now, I am most interested in the treasure between your thighs. Focus your efforts in that respect, and you will please me.” After tugging on his greatcoat, he raked his fingers through his hair. At the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Tonight, I will teach you to ride me, and that should keep you occupied until tomorrow morning, so you should rest while you can.”
~
A ray of sunlight cast a bright glow on the wood floor, and Sophia rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes, as the Cry Havoc listed gently from side to side. H
ow many days had passed since she departed England she neither knew nor cared, because Leland kept her busy in their bunk, and she resolved to venture forth that day. If she did not make it out before he returned for the noon meal, she would end up right back where she started, because he had developed quite a routine, which she knew well.
First, he dined on the food, and then he supped on her flesh.
After freeing herself from a nasty tangle of the sheet and the blanket, she eased to her feet and walked, which proved painful, as he had exercised her thoroughly in the predawn hours, to the washstand, where she cleaned her face and teeth. Standing before the long mirror, she worked the tangles from her hair, and it was no easy task, given her husband’s salacious appetite and physical endeavors. Indeed, he seemed to delight in destroying the last vestiges of propriety.
From her trunk she pulled a pale yellow morning gown, and she struggled to tie her laces but managed to turn herself out in trim. At last, she made a few adjustments to her coif, made a final inspection of her appearance, and nodded to her reflection.
Relying on the memory of her arrival, she strolled into the narrow passage, which led to a larger opening, where several men lingered. Scanning the room, she spied no sign of her husband.
“Hello.” She dipped her chin.
“Ma’am.” A scruffy character saluted. “Cap’n is at the helm.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and continued her advance. “But I am looking for the galley and the cook.”
“That would be the forward gun deck, ma’am,” a young sailor replied.
“She does not know what the forward gun deck is, you son of a gutter whore.” A grey-haired man glanced at her and sobered. “Apologies, ma’am. That would be on this level. You can follow the corridor, toward the bow of the ship.”
“My thanks.” Determined to start out as she meant to go on, Sophia navigated the impressive vessel, crouching in the cramped and confined space and choking on the musty air. As she walked past the guns, she noticed the odd names etched into the wood frames, such as “Rude Awakening” and “Equalizer,” until she arrived at the galley, where she located another peculiar individual, as he dressed down a young lad. “Good afternoon.”
“What the—who goes there?” A coarse ruffian assessed her from top to toe, stood upright, and smacked the boy. “Doff your hat in the presence of a lady.” Then he bowed. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Red Bateman, cook for the Cry Havoc, at your service. Can I help you?”
“Actually, I wish to help you.” At his expression of confusion, she laughed. “I am Mrs. Stryker.” In deference to his position, she half-curtseyed, as he saluted. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bateman. I wonder if I might be of assistance, given I know numerous recipes and am quite fond of kitchen duties.” She noted the spilt flour, spattered animal fat, and grains of rice scattered about the cooking surfaces. “Since I discovered a few weevils in the bread, at dinner, last night, I had thought to make improvements, which would benefit the crew.”
“I see.” Bateman averted his stare and shuffled his feet. “And Cap’n is all right with this?”
“Of course.” She shrugged, as if Leland had granted permission, when he insisted she remain naked, in their cabin, but she refused to live at his beck and call. “Shall we get to work?”
“Sure, ma’am.” The cook rubbed his chin. “There is soap powder in that container.”
“Have you a clean cloth and an apron?” She realized, too late, that she should have brought such provisions from home. “And perhaps you should begin by removing the excess food, so we do not contaminate future dishes, and then we will sweep and mop the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bateman glanced at the lad. “Well, don’t just sit there. Help the lady.”
“No.” As she tied the apron strings behind her, she shook her head. “He is too dirty and requires a bath. Anyone handling perishable items must exercise personal cleanliness, and that includes you, Mr. Bateman, else we risk sickening the crew.”
“You hear that, Tom?” In that instant, the cook checked his appearance and frowned. “Do as the lady says, and I will see to myself, later.”
“We should boil water to wash the dishes.” A pile of filth presented her first task, and she dove right into the fray. “How many men are aboard the Cry Havoc, Mr. Bateman?”
“All told, I feed one hundred and twenty-seven souls, ma’am.” Bateman grabbed a broom, and together they tarried. “Three meals a day.”
“So many?” Sophia considered the numbers and marveled at the effort required to fill those empty bellies. “I never knew the ship carried such a great populace. Indeed, we are but a floating community.”
“That we are, ma’am.” The cook collected the refuse in a burlap sack, as she ordered the stores. “And everyone brings with them a healthy appetite.”
“Then we shall compose some tasty menus to satisfy our family, will we not, Mr. Bateman?” Pausing, she stretched tall, assessed her handiwork, and smiled. “And I will teach you some of my recipes, as I make a delicious bread and butter pudding with currants, if that is all right with you. As this is your galley, I do not want to trounce your toes, and I would have you be honest with me. If you do not welcome my assistance, please, say so.”
“You are very gracious, Mrs. Stryker.” He compressed his lips and narrowed his gaze. Then he grinned. “I admit I was skeptical, when you first appeared, but my feelings are not so delicate, ma’am.” He glanced about at the now tidied kitchen. “And what you managed to accomplish in so little time is nothing short of amazing. Also, as a cook, I pride myself on putting out the best possible meal, so I look forward to working with you.”
“Thank you, so much.” A burst of pride filled her chest, as she gathered ingredients for the noon meal. “Because I wish to be service.”
“Bateman, Cap’n wants a cup of coffee.” A tall, lanky sailor started when he peered at Sophia. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
“Oh, may I take my husband his coffee?” she asked the cook. “Given we are at sea, I have had few chances to serve him.”
“Let me pour it.” Bateman opened a cupboard. “And that would be Alpheus, Mrs. Stryker.” To the crewman, the cook said, “Make your obedience to the Cap’n’s wife.”
“Hello.” Suddenly nervous for no apparent reason, except the obvious, she untied and removed her apron, dusted off her skirts, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. To her chagrin, when the cook handed her the steaming cup, her fingers shook. “Thank you, Bateman.”
“You are most welcome, ma’am.” He rested fists on hips. “You can follow Alpheus to the helm.”
“After I deliver my husband’s coffee, I will return and continue preparations for the noon meal and dinner.” As she trailed in Alpheus’s wake, she nodded a greeting to every seaman she passed, and each crewmember treated her with deference. Balancing the cup, she climbed the companion ladders and shielded her eyes, when she emerged into the sunlight.
As was the case below deck, her arrival caused some commotion, and she maintained her practice of addressing each person. When she spotted her husband, she waved, and he arched a brow and brushed aside another sailor.
“Good morning, Leland.” With a half-curtsey, she delivered the cup. “You requested coffee, and your wish is my command.”
“What are you doing out of bed?” With a finger, he traced the curve of her cheek, bent, and kissed her forehead. “I rode you hard just before dawn, and I expected you would be asleep when I returned at noon.”
“I cannot spend my life in our cabin, sir.” It was then she glimpsed the ocean, and she inhaled the fresh air. “Upon my word, it is beautiful here.”
“It is the sea.” He slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. “You are beautiful. And I prefer you naked and in our shared bunk. Given you are my wife, a fact of which you are so fond of reminding me, I would have you devote your time and skills to that particular aspect of our marriage.”
“I know
what you want, but we cannot build a relationship based on conjugal duty, alone.” Somehow, she would break through the wall he constructed about him, because she desperately wanted to know her husband, and it hurt more than a little that he seemed to have no interest in knowing her, but she would change that. “Why will you not open up to me? What are you hiding?”
“Why are you so suspicious?” When she hugged him, he tensed. “My dear, it is early in our union, and there are adjustments to be made on both sides. All I ask is that you be patient, and I am certain things will develop naturally.”
“I find that rather hypocritical, given your dedication to a particular task.” Resting her head to his chest, she sighed. “You want me to show more enthusiasm, and I am convinced that would not be an issue, if I knew more about you. Otherwise, the act is intimate and hollow, at once. Yet, I have not refused you, and I would never do so. Whatever you ask of me, I abide because I am your wife. Will you not meet me halfway?”
“What do you want to know?” He set his chin firm, and her heart sank. “Pose your question, and I will answer it.”
“What do you fear?” She could not have missed his violent flinch.
“What do you mean?” Ah, the arrogance appeared with a vengeance. So often he wrapped himself in a shroud of conceit when she pried into his personal history, such that she could have predicted his response. “I fear nothing.”
“We all fear something, Leland.” When he gave her a gentle nudge, she lifted her head to receive his kiss, another diversion from her original aim, which did not fool her.
“All right, Sophia.” He rubbed his nose to hers. “What do you fear?”
“That you might never trust me enough to share yourself with me.” If she hoped to reach him, she had to offer the honesty she demanded of him. “That what we share in the confines of our cabin will comprise the sum of our interaction, and that terrifies me, because we could have so much more, if you let us.”
The Marooner (Pirates of the Coast Book 3) Page 6
