by Lynn Hubbard
“Are you alright?” he asked again.
Still lost in the last threads of sleep, Sarah took in his grungy appearance and smiled softly. It was so unusual seeing the well-kept man covered in soot, with hair askew. She reached up a hand to smooth it back from his face.
“Much better than this lot,” she replied, pushing herself up on her wobbly legs. She swayed a bit and Tristan grabbed her arm while steadying her. She pulled away, even though she felt dizzy. “I have much work to do.”
“You need to rest.”
“I did,” she retorted.
Tristan sighed wearily. “I brought some men to help. What do you need?”
Sarah looked around, giving a quick assessment. “For starters, we need those hatches opened, the more light and fresh air the better. The men will need to be stripped and their clothes discarded. Their blankets need to be washed in seawater and laid out to dry. The hold should be washed out with vinegar to kill any vermin.”
“Is that all?” Tristan asked.
“We could use some fresh drinking water down here and some food for those able to eat. Most should recover quickly with proper nutrition. Others…”
She paused, trying to control her emotions, “others aren’t so lucky. Some are with fever, and a few have bad wounds that are festered. They will need more treatment.”
“You can help them?”
“I will do my best,” she replied, grabbing his arm as the ship dipped low in the water from a wave. She leaned her head against his arm, trying to combat the nausea that swept over her. She was not used to being on a ship and her stomach lurched as the boat shifted again in the ocean.
“Sarah?” Tristan asked in alarm.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, taking low deep breaths trying to calm her stomach. It was a losing battle, and she turned and shuffled to an empty bucket and heaved. She silently cursed herself as Tristan knelt next to her in concern. Sitting back on her haunches, she took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
Tristan frowned at her, offering her a handkerchief. “No, you’re not.” Ignoring her complaints, he easily lifted her in his arms and carried her up to the deck.
The cool wind blew, and Sarah eagerly sucked it into her lungs. He sat her next to the rail and joined her. “What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.
“I’m not used to the motion; I’ll be fine."
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m feeling much better now,” she replied, lifting her face up to the sunlight. She took another deep breath and looked around slowly, not wanting to make herself any dizzier. She saw the crew tossing rags over the side of the ship and dunking the blankets in a mixture of salt water and vinegar. Others were wringing them out and throwing them on the rail to dry.
Satisfied with the progress, she turned and stared over the rail. There was water as far as the eye could see, the ship ebbed and flowed with the waves and she found it quite soothing.
“It’s beautiful. I see why you love the sea.”
“It is even more so with you here. It is not always so nice though; sometimes it can be quite cruel.”
“Such is life,” Sarah added, relaxing as she leaned back on his chest.
“You need rest. And so do I.”
Sarah protested as she was again lifted into his arms as if she were a child. Embarrassed as he carried her past his men, she hid her face in his chest and shut her eyes. She knew he was taking her to his cabin and blushed, realizing his men knew this as well.
She clutched onto his strong shoulders as he carried her down the stairs. Kicking open his door he gently set her on her feet. He pulled her close and she regretfully pushed him away.
“I’m not clean,” she explained, looking down at her dress stained with blood and sweat from the men.
He turned her, revealing a tub full of water. “It’s not warm, but it is fresh.”
Sarah eyed the tub warily; she needed to return to the sick.
Tristan sighed. “They are being cared for, you cannot help them if you are worn out.”
Sarah undressed with her back to Tristan; she stepped into the chilly water and sat down with an involuntary squeal. Not warm my ass; it was downright cold! She first cleansed her mouth and teeth with the salty water before moving on to her hair. She scrubbed her body last with the coarse cloth and sliver of soap. The soap had refused to lather in the harsh water, but she made do; her skin felt raw, but clean. She looked up to see Tristan lying on the bed watching her. “You’re next.”
He groaned and stretched. “I’m fine.”
“Humph! You are covered in soot and who knows what else! What’s good for the goose...” she quipped, cutting off as he pushed himself off the bed.
With a grin, he began stripping down in front of her, mesmerized, she watched ‘til he too was bare. Her eyes roamed over the body that she knew so well. She stood up, clutching the towel to her nakedness. He stepped in and pulled her to his chest. She was rendered speechless as he leaned over and licked her throat from the base of her neck to her chin.
“Clean,” he agreed, before capturing her mouth in a soul-searing kiss. Sarah’s knees dipped and she clung to his hardened frame for support. His tongue twirled around inside of her mouth, mimicking his need that pressed against her stomach.
Sarah pulled back reluctantly, gasping for breath. He was more than willing to sate his need by nibbling at her ear. The ship tilted suddenly and Sarah panicked, knocking him off balance and toppling them both in the tub with a splash.
Someone hollered and soon there was pounding on the door, as Tristan cursed and rightened himself. Now covered in soot and water he marched to the door naked and pulled it open.
“This had better be good,” he growled.
“Sir, there’s a whole fleet of ships headed right toward us!”
“British?”
“No Sir, French.”
Tristan nodded before closing the door and grabbing the sopping towel off the ground.
“What is it? Sarah asked, her voice full of worry.
“I don’t know, stay here.”
“I will not!” she challenged, standing in defiance. She would have probably looked more intimidating if she were not naked.
His eyes raked over her before remembering the last fiasco when he left her alone. He sighed. “Fine, stay by me,” he ordered, washing his face and drying off as well as he could with a wet towel. Grabbing a clean set of clothes he donned them quickly. Sarah tossed on a clean shift, one of Tristan’s shirts, and fresh petticoats. She pulled her wet hair up in a messy bun, following him out to the main deck.
Chapter 26 The French
Most of the crew was scurrying about, adjusting the sails as Zack barked the orders. Tristan immediately headed to the rail and looked out at the horizon. The specs bobbing in the distance were indistinguishable to the naked eye.
He glanced at a crewman whom had climbed the mast for a better view. He had the brass watch glass extended and was fixated on the ships.
“Are you sure they are French?” Tristan asked, their options flickering through his mind.
“Aye, Sir!”
He moved down the ship to the wheel where Zack was in the process of turning the Vixen out of their path. “Should we raise our colors?” he asked.
Normally they ran with a British merchant flag, they had not raised it since dawn, but kept it handy in case any British patrols came within sight. However, they were not expecting French ships in the area and were not sure how to respond.
“I might have something that will work,” Tristan replied, heading back to his room. Sarah, not sure if she should follow or not, waited for his return. The ship lurched again in the sea, as did Sarah’s stomach. Funny how spending time with Tristan made her forget her illness.
True to his word, he reappeared moments later, his arms laden with a red and white striped cloth. “It’s an American Merchant Flag; I picked one up a while back. It might buy us a reprieve.”
>
Zack grunted, “I doubt they will worry about the Vixen. We’d have to be mad to try attacking a fleet of war ships.”
The flag was tied and lifted into place where it waived loudly. Sarah thought it was a great contrast to the blue flag full of stars that Washington hung outside of his headquarters.
“Hope you’re right,” Tristan responded to Zach, leading Sarah to the railing and pulling her to his side. He rested his hand on her hip possessively as they watched the ships creep closer.
“How far away can a cannon ball travel?” she asked with concern. It would be no good at all to rescue the men just to have them drown at sea.
“Depends on the size of the cannon, but further than you would think,” he said grimly.
The ships were closer now; she could make out the individual specks, the sight would have been breath taking had it not been such a threat. She leaned against Tristan, his warmth bringing her comfort. He kissed her cheek for reassurance.
With the Vixen out of the way, the hands joined them at the rail to watch the spectacle. Sarah realized the importance of this event. She clasped her hands in front of her as her heart swelled with glee.
They were here to join the cause, to put up a naval presence to rival the British’s. She had heard rumors that Benjamin Franklin was in France seeking aid, and this was a sign of that pact. The French Flag could now be seen flying proudly, the red, white, and blue blocks of color easily distinguishable now.
“Isn’t it glorious!” she asked, turning to Tristan, her eyes bright with excitement.
“I’ll be happier when they are further away,” Tristan replied. He was not comfortable putting Sarah in danger of any large guns, especially those he had no guarantee of allegiance with. And more, he was still miffed that their earlier romp was interrupted.
The Vixen was tossed in the sea from the wake as the larger French ships glided by without acknowledgement. The smile disappeared from Sarah’s face as her queasiness returned. She returned to her rhythmic breathing; she had much work to do and did not need to be indisposed.
Sensing her mood change, his attention shifted to her. “Seems like the excitement is over; we should sneak back to my cabin.”
“I’m fine, I have to return below.”
“It is my duty to make sure you are safe.”
“Great! You can come down and help, the more hands the better.”
Tristan sighed taking one last look at the French further off in the distance. Grumpily, he turned and followed her back into the cargo hold.
The acidic scent of vinegar filled their noses and Sarah was happy her preparations were taken seriously. A quick look revealed about half of the men remained. The others who were healthy enough moved to the deck and crew quarters. The ones remaining were leaned against the wall or sleeping peacefully.
She sent Tristan over to check on Jonathan while she headed to the corner where her small pox patient lay. She was glad to see he was on fresh bedding and his filthy clothes had been removed. Her hand instinctively went to his forehead; it was still warm but much cooler than when he first arrived. She pulled back the blanket from his naked form to examine his lesions. It appeared that some of the blisters had started to scab. A good sign, but he was still far from safe.
She hated to wake him, but he needed to drink. His gray eyes fluttered open when she shook him, and he looked at her bewildered.
“It’s okay, you’ve been rescued. You need to drink so you can heal.”
Unable to speak due to the sores in his mouth, he nodded. Taking half a dozen sips, he drifted back to sleep.
Sarah moved to the next patient, one of Tristan’s crew was with him and she joined him. His leg was exposed and an ugly gash could be seen. It was raw and open, the odor from it was repulsive. However, Sarah took it in stride. The wound was infected; his best option was to have the leg amputated.
“It’s not healing properly; you’d have a better chance if it was removed.”
“No disrespect ma’am, I entered this world with two legs and I plan on leavin’ with both of ‘em.”
Sarah looked at him sadly. “You could die.”
“I’ve seen men have their limbs hacked off and they died anyway. No thank you.”
“Ya could dunk ‘im in the Sea,” the hand spoke up. “Sea’s a magical thing, seen men festering and they clean right up. That is if the fish don’t get ‘em.”
Sarah tried to hide her smile at his suggestion. “Perhaps, it’d be easier to just let him soak in a tub. And I just happen to know where to find one.” The hand headed off to make arrangements and Sarah headed to the rest of her patients.
Her nausea faded and she even started to gain her balance in her new tilted world. She worked tirelessly until night, when Tristan put his foot down. He would not allow her to sleep in the hold with the men. He set up a watch in case any emergencies occurred and made sure she would be notified.
Satisfied, he guided her back to his room. Sarah washed up silently, she was nervous about sharing a bed with him with his men just moments away. So much had happened it was unfathomable that just yesterday they were at the ball. She hoped that the Colonel and Ryan were not punished for their actions.
She heard the bed creak under Tristan’s weight and was brought back to the present. Moving to the bed, she settled in next to him and was pulled into his embrace. The night air blew in through the window as the ship swayed gently in the water. Twisting, she lifted her hand and ran it through his silky hair. His lids were half closed when he glanced down at her; he’d been awake for almost two days and she was torn between resting and relieving the ache he had awoken earlier.
Making her decision, she leaned up and over him, her lips a breath away from his. She slowly lowered her mouth until their lips touched and she kissed him gently. A soft groan escaped him and he moved to flip her over.
“No,” she whispered, pushing him back. She took her time letting her hands roam through his hair and she kissed him deeply. Her mouth languished over his and promised more to come. She trailed her lips and mouth down his chin and neck, alternating between nipping and licking. His skin tasted of salt and sweat and it only increased her hunger for more.
He was shirtless and she was grateful for not having that barrier to deal with. Her fingers traced the striations of his muscular arms. Arms she had watched work effortlessly today in aiding the sick. Although he put on an aloof front, he was very charitable. That fact alone just made her love him even more.
Her fingers and mouth trailed an intricate pattern over his torso. His scattered chest hair tickled her nose as she resumed her sensual maze. She rubbed it roughly against him trying to lose the sensation as he chuckled at her.
“Shhh!” she admonished, returning to her task. All too soon she reached the waistband of his pants. She tugged at the button, one of her most ardent nemeses. Taking pity on her, he released the offensive thing and was rewarded for his help as her hand found his need.
The sensation of her warm hand and the cool air brushing over him only heightened his arousal. He let out a surprised gasp when her tongue flitted out over the tip. He reached down for her and his hands were pushed away as she continued her sweet assault.
Motivated by his reaction, she opened her mouth wider and engulfed the tip. A slow hiss escaped his lips as he grasped the covers tightly in his hands. Not quite sure what to do next, she pulled back and used her tongue to trace his length. She felt it stretching even more underneath her hand and it fascinated her. She gripped him tightly with her fist and again tasted him. She was surprised when he suddenly grasped her shoulders and pulled her back up to him.
“I need you now,” he growled, covering her with his body. His hands pulled her shift up and he was happy to find her bare underneath. Sarah, used to his gentleness, gasped as he entered her forcefully.
His mouth went to her ear as he repeated, “I’m sorry,” with each determined thrust. Sarah, along for the ride, grasped onto his shoulders. He cried out with
his release; slowing his momentum, he matched his movement with the swaying of the ship. Sarah soon followed with her own rapture.
***
The cool light of dawn seeped into the room and dragged Sarah out of a deep sleep. Rubbing her sleepy eyes with her hands, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her befuddled mind took a second to register her surroundings. She was on the Vixen and quite alone.
Freeing herself from the tangle of sheets, she stood to locate her clothes. Dressing slowly, she sat and ran her brush through her tousled locks. The door clicked open and Tristan appeared, looking fresh as ever. He held a tray of food in front of him and sat it on the bed next to her.
“Hungry?”
“Yes,” she replied, eyeing the fresh fruit, cheese, and bread. She picked up the loaf and tore off a section to nibble on. “Do you think the Sea Maiden is alright?” Sarah asked, where the Vixen was not much of a threat to the French, the Maiden could be more so.
“Gabriel can handle anything. They’ll be fine,” he assured her, “besides, sound travels across the water. If there were any shots fired, we would have heard them.”
“When will we reach land?”
“We’ve had good winds and weather; two, maybe three days. Gabe is meeting us on a small island off of Georgia.”
“Georgia? Is it safe there?” she asked.
“Safe as anywhere these days, the British haven’t gotten that far south yet, but from what I’ve heard they have their eye on Savannah.”
“Heaven help us if they gain further control.”
“Let’s just worry about the task at hand. We have plenty to keep our minds occupied,” he mumbled between bites.
Sarah nodded, a wave of nausea washing over her; she closed her eyes and tried to fight back the sensation. She felt Tristan’s hand grip her arm, and she opened her eyes to look into his.
“How long does seasickness last?” she asked, embarrassed by her weakness. She didn’t have time for this; she had much work to do.
Tristan grinned. “It affects some more than others, one of my hands has been sailing for twenty years, and still upchucks on a regular basis. On rough days, half the crew will be hanging over the side.”
