by Lee Rowan
"Yes ... I think I will write to her today, after I speak to Captain Smith. “'Dear Mama, I shall arrive home in a few days and bring with me your new daughter ... ‘"
"I hope she does not hate me."
"'Dearest Mama,'” he corrected, meeting Zoe's eyes. “'I shall arrive home in a few days and bring with me your new daughter. She is a brave and beautiful girl, and but for her I would have died in the street, so I hope you will love her for my sake until you learn to love her for herself ... ‘"
He got no further as Zoe's lips found his. He would certainly ask the Captain about performing the service, but it could wait for a little while.
* * * *
Captain Smith proved to be a very genial lion. He was delighted to take on the task of joining two young persons in holy matrimony. “The only captain's duty that I have not yet had the opportunity to perform—I'd not expected to have the chance this cruise. And I can tell you from experience, my lord—if she's the girl for you, carpe diem. I did it myself some twenty years ago and have never had cause to regret it. Would you care to read the service?"
"Certainly, thank you."
As Kit perused the Book of Common Prayer, Captain Smith excused himself from attempting to perform the devotions that followed the pronouncement of marriage. “I shall read the blessing afterward,” he said, “but I remember my own wedding. Once I heard the parson say ‘I now pronounce you man and wife', I wouldn't have given a fig if he had vanished in a puff of smoke, but he prattled on for what seemed like hours. As for giving you Peter and Paul's advice on marriage—well, all I can say is I don't recall any mention of their wives, so I took their preaching with a grain of salt."
The language of the service seemed straightforward enough; Kit had attended enough weddings that there were no surprises in the text. “Thank you, Captain. When would it be convenient to hold the ceremony?"
"If the enemy stays as scarce as he has been, I think the day after tomorrow should do. Sunday. We can have a wedding in place of the usual Bible reading. Will that be agreeable?"
"Admirably so. Thank you, sir!"
* * * *
The gods of war and weather cooperated for once. Sunday dawned bright and clear, with enough of a breeze to please the mariners without distressing the landlubbers. Kit had just finished shaving—he'd told his cousin that he needed no assistance or supervision with that task—when someone rapped lightly on the door.
"Come in! Ah, good morning, sir!” It wasn't David, as he expected, but Dr. Colbert. “How do you do this fine day?"
"Well, thank you."
Kit raised an eyebrow. The doctor's accent was much slighter than it had been previously. “Tell me, sir—when you were about to marry Zoe's mother, were you nervous?"
"I was terrified.” He smiled. “Yes, I do speak English more fluently than I led you to believe. I have given this much thought, and decided that you should know that your father-in-law is a spy."
"Ah—I see. Thank you for waiting until I put the razor away. For which side, if I may ask?"
"Oh, the British, never fear. It was not my true profession; you might call it a hobby that I took up after Madame Guillotine began devouring my patients. But my usefulness grew less as the Committee became more watchful, and it was only a matter of time before I was suspected. You had the good fortune to be injured the same day my colleague arrived to take me and my daughter out of Paris, but I was always a little uncertain about you."
"I hope your fears have been laid to rest?"
"Yes. What I feared most was that you planned only to enjoy my daughter's company and then abandon her. I see now that you have honor, so I give you this.” He took Kit's hand and placed a ring in his palm. It was a dainty thing, beautifully crafted—two strands twisted together, one gold, one silver, that formed an unbroken circle. “This was my wife's ring,” Colbert said. “I have held it for my daughter, until now."
Kit swallowed a lump in his throat. The only ring he'd brought with him on the journey, a small signet, had been stolen in Paris. He had intended to ask Zoe if she had one he might use, but he had forgotten. “Merci, monsieur,” he said. “I have a ring that was my grandmother's, that I meant to give to her when we reached England. I will still give it to her, but this will always be her wedding ring. It is far more precious."
Colbert's smile said he had found the right words. “If you are to be my son, a bit of advice?"
"My own father died many years ago. I would be grateful for any advice."
"Zoe is very much like her mother ... my Nicolette. You may guide her, but you will never command her. A moderating hand, affection rather than force..."
"I had already considered that, sir, and I do understand."
"Very good. I will see you in a little while, then?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He took a deep breath after his father-in-law-to-be left, and finished dressing as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the deck, the rest of the party had assembled, save Zoe and her father. David and Marshall escorted him up the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck. Somewhere amidst the assembled crewmen, a flute began to play, a simple but sweet air that seemed perfectly right.
Escorted by her father, Zoe emerged from the captain's cabin to climb the stair, carefully holding her skirts out of the way. She was radiant. Kit finally understood why that word was always used to describe a bride. She was bright as the sun, a white lace mantilla over her shining hair, and the dress—how had she managed that? The dress, pale pink with simple trim, was so like the one she had worn to the party that he would not have known it was new. The anxiety that had followed him all morning suddenly vanished in the sunshine as she took her place beside him, replaced by a warm certainty.
Captain Smith stepped up before them, and the flute fell silent. He cleared his throat and began, “Dearly beloved..."
Kit had been to many weddings, and knew the words of the ritual. But today it was somehow as though he heard the words for the first time. “...mutual society, help, and comfort, both in prosperity and adversity...” Yes. That was exactly what they had. She had stayed by him through horrible adversity, now he could share the advantages with which he'd been blessed. Deep in thought, he actually jumped when Captain Smith addressed him:
"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
"I will!” he said, so loudly that David chuckled. Zoe said her “I will” in turn, promising to obey, serve, love, honor, and all the rest. They'd had sickness enough, God knew, and he hoped she would never have to go through that again for him.
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” The captain demanded, obviously enjoying the role.
"I do,” said Dr. Colbert.
"Repeat after me,” Smith instructed, and Kit and Zoe each duly took one another to have and to hold for better and for worse.
Then Kit took the ring from David. Zoe recognized it as he slid it on her finger; her eyes filled with tears. “With this ring I thee wed,” he promised. “With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
The captain pronounced them man and wife, and gave the benediction: “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favour look upon you; and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen."
Kit stood looking into Zoe's eyes as she smiled up at him, and the moment stretched on until finally Captain Smith cleared his throat and said in a commanding voice, “Well, get on with it, man! Kiss your bride!"
A cheer went up from the crew as he happily obeyed the order.
* * * *
"What a wonderful wedding gift!” Zoe said.
Kit had to agree. He had been racking his brain to figure out how they could possibly consummate their marriage in a hammock, but the crew of Calypso had rescued him from what seemed an insoluble dilemma. Here in the captain's cabin they had given the newly-wedded couple a simple but serviceable bed, constructed by the ship's carpenter and (from all reports) at least half the crew. It was no more elegant than the first they'd shared together, and it was lashed to an upright in case of unexpected movement, but it was the most delightful divan he had ever seen. Standing beside it in a dressing-gown borrowed from his cousin, he reached out to Zoe. “Come to bed, if you please, Baroness!"
"Baroness?” she said. “That is too strange, Christophe.” Taking off her mother's lace veil, she draped it over the foot of the bed and took his hand. “I think for a little while I shall be only your wife."
"When we're together, that's enough,” he said, pulling her close. She lifted her face for a kiss, and leaned against him. Just as it had that first night, the touch of her body against his sent a spark through him, kindling desire. “Let me help you with your dress."
"Will I have to have a maid, when we are in England?” she asked, surprisingly passive as he fumbled with the tiny buttons that held the bodice closed.
"I think you will need one,” he said. “I know nothing about fitting ball gowns or arranging a lady's hair."
That earned a giggle, and with the buttons undone, she raised her arms above her head. “You know everything about the undressing."
"Ah, but that is the easy part.” He lifted off the pink gown and laid it carefully over a nearby chair. Only one garment left—why was he suddenly shy? Their eyes met, and he saw the same hesitation in her look. “Come, my dear. Or—” He did not know how to ask; his ignorance was appalling, though in the next several months he expected he would learn quite a lot. “Would it disturb the baby?"
"The doctor told me only to be careful,” she said. “And you are very careful.” She undid the belt of his dressing gown. “You are careful, and wonderful, and—Ah, this cabin is warm and happy!"
Kit laughed as she tugged him down onto the straw mattress, and marveled at her combination of sweet playfulness and unabashed sexuality. The curve of her hip—was there anything to compare? He stroked her like a cat, and she responded like one, arching into his hand as her own hands drifted across his chest and sides. They kissed, and kissed again, a dozen times, lips and face and throat. He decided to kiss every inch of her, but was distracted by the time he reached her breasts. Each of them was perfect, just the right size for his hand, warm and full.
She squeaked as he licked one nipple, fascinated with the way it stood at attention. What amazing things! And when he sucked at it, what an amazing effect it had. Zoe cried out, caught his hand and drew it down to the triangle of soft dark hair between her legs, her other hand pressing the back of his head.
Kit knew that her passion matched his own, but he also knew that it had been some weeks since Portugal, and it would not take him long to reach fulfillment. He let one finger slip into her cleft, and was rewarded by her indrawn breath. “So soon, my love?"
"Christophe—it has been so long!"
His body agreed completely, but he could not resist teasing her just a little longer. He released her nipple, blowing a stream of cool air across it. She gasped, lovely as a goddess, her mouth ripe as a plum and her cheeks all flushed. “Greedy girl. I must still pay my respects to this other beautiful flower.” Still moving his finger within her, he leaned over and took the other nipple, sucking harder this time.
Zoe's body curved around his hand, but she took hold of his head with both of her own hands and pulled his face away with an audible pop. “Beast! Why do you torment me?” But her actions gave lie to the words; she caught his mouth in a fierce kiss and got hold of his cock, and his good intentions went astray.
And the two shall be as one flesh ... A poetic way of putting it, but so true. Why did they say a man took a woman? Surely it was the other way around, she opened herself and took him within. It was not taking, it was giving, receiving, both things together. As his body responded to her sweet smooth heat, thought became difficult until her body shuddered, sending him to his climax.
Kit took a deep breath and eased onto his back, cradling Zoe against him. Already this sharing had the feeling of familiarity, a new part of his life. Thank God he had found the right woman—how dreary this would have been with some polite wife of good breeding and limited passion! How did other couples endure it, those well-bred, courteous folk who married others like themselves for all the proper reasons but forgot about love? It was no wonder so many of the people in his mother's social circle seemed to be dying slowly of boredom.
Zoe snuggled against him and mumbled something as he pulled the covers over them both. “What was that, sweetheart?” he asked.
"I said, I like it best in a bed."
He laughed aloud. With this brave, wild girl at his side, he knew that however complicated their life might become, it would never be sullied by boredom.
The End
CASTAWAY
The wind screamed like a mad witch as it tugged at the sheets the men were struggling to furl. Sprung from nowhere, the storm had been upon them without warning, and His Majesty's Frigate Calypso was fighting for her life. The foremast had been split earlier that day in an engagement with Spanish privateers, split and mended, but the weak point was giving way; the only thing to do was take the damaged topgallant mast off altogether, furl the topsail, and leave the forecourse up to give them some means of keeping her in line with the killing wind.
Will Marshall's men were up there, and David Archer's, too, as the two midshipmen stood to one side below, relaying their captain's shouted orders that barely carried above the wind's howl. If anyone could bring them through this gale, it was Captain Smith; he had been up in the mizzen himself, encouraging by example, before the crisis at the foremast brought him back to the quarterdeck.
Disaster, when it struck, was swift. The wind veered, splitting the crippled foretopmast, tearing it off aft and larboard, striking the topmast yard like a battering ram and carrying half of that away as well. Lines parted as the missile plunged for the deck. Marshall dove out of its path, reaching for David's arm, but the loose line had whipped back on itself and snagged Davy already, dragging him along as the splintered mast bounced off the deck and flipped over the rail. Will's men needed no direction; they scrambled to cut the lines free before the rest of the mast came down along with it. He had to get Davy out of there before it all went over.
The mast teetered on the rail for an instant, the wind now holding it up almost playfully. Marshall was able to get hold of his friend. Then the mast pitched over, and he thought his arms would be dragged from their sockets. Marshall cast about desperately with his feet, trying to get a purchase, but everything was wet, too wet.
"Let go, Will!"
"No!” Where were the men, damn them, where were they? They had the broken mast cut away, could they not see they were about to lose a couple of shipmates over the side?
No, they likely could not. The way the rain was coming down, it was doubtful they could see anything at all. Help would come, eventually, but right now it was up to him.
He redoubled his grip on the oiled canvas of Davy's raincloak and the jacket beneath. He only had to hold on for a moment. Just a moment.
They slipped another few inches.
"Damn you, Will, let go!” Davy struggled to slip away, and Marshall was tempted to hit him. But to do that, he would have to let go. He could not let go.
They weren't going to make it.
"Will, no—"
The Captain's voice bellowed over the din, "Mr. Marshall—"
Too late. They were over the side, and Will had only an instant to suck in a breath before they hit the heaving sea. With one hand he fought clear of the treacherous tangle of line and sail, realizing with enormous relief that David was keeping his head and helping him, and the
y broke the surface just as something splashed down beside them. A coiled hammock—but before he could do anything about it, it was yanked away by its line as the Calypso was driven before the wind.
Another projectile landed, something bigger, and he was quick enough to catch it. A box? A crate?
"What is it, a chicken coop?” David yelled as Marshall wrestled the thing close in.
It didn't matter what it was; it was floating. If they ever got back to the Calypso, he'd have to commend someone's quick thinking. “Just hang on,” he shouted back, shoving his friend against it. When Davy did, he explored the object with his free hand, and found eight or ten feet of line, probably used to lash the crate down; its end was cut clean. Their buoy probably was a coop. Some of the landsmen had been cleaning the beasts’ cages on deck before the storm hit and had not had time to take them below or put the chickens back in.
Getting the line around them both and tying the loose end to the crate was an exhausting task. It took him far longer than it should have in the storm-tossed water, but at last they were secured by the line as well as by half-numb fingers. He let his head sag and suddenly found David's shoulder beneath it, his friend's arm around him.
"Will.” David's voice was loud, right in his ear. “Why did you do it?"
"So we won't slip away,” he said, wondering dazedly how Davy could be so ignorant.
"Not that, you ass.” David sounded exasperated. “Why did you not let go of me? What's the use both of us drowning?"
He blinked stupidly. He could not see David's face, but he could feel the warm circle of his arm, the only warmth in a wet, freezing world. “Need you, Davy. Who would I be without you?"
"Oh, for God's sake,” David said, shaking him. “Will? Will, wake up!"
* * * *
"Will, wake up."
He didn't want to wake up. His body weighed a thousand pounds, his eyelids at least a hundredweight.
"You've got to move a little way. Just up the beach a bit."
Davy. Overboard.
