‘We’ll be over at this rate!’ She cried back, making to climb up to the tiller, which sat high on the stern. As she placed one nimble foot on the side rail to lever herself up, Talvas bent over to grab her arm, yanking her up in one flexible manoeuvre to place her beside him.
‘Are you out of your mind? I told you to stay down!’ he roared at her. He cursed as she stumbled against the pitching of the ship. ‘For Heaven’s sake, hang on to me!’ Grabbing fistfuls of his leather tunic, she gained her balance as he wrestled the tiller for control.
‘What ails the crew?’ she shouted up at him. He shook his head, not hearing her, then moved his head close to hers so she could yell in his ear. The wet strands of his hair brushed her lips as she leaned into him to repeat her words.
‘It was the meat—the meat in the stew must have been bad.’ His eyes glinted down at her, hair plastered to his head like seal skin. ‘Did you eat any?’
‘Nay!’ she shouted back. ‘I took only bread and cheese’
‘As I did. We were fortunate. Even Guillame is curled up in agony over there.’ he nodded over to the miserable bundle on the deck that was his squire. The deck lurched suddenly as a squall of icy rain blasted into her face.
‘Hang on properly! Put your arms right around me!’ Talvas ordered. ‘I don’t want to lose you!’ She swayed into the shelter of his flank, locking her arms around the leanness of his torso. He felt solid, a rock of dependability, of security, but one look into his eyes told her this was not so. His eyes sparked with the challenge of the storm, muscles flexing in his strong arms as he heaved at the tiller to do his will.
‘Holding our course is difficult.’ The deep voice in her ear made her jump at its closeness. ‘The mainsail has come away from the bar.’
Emmeline raised her eyes to the top of the square sail, examining the damage, blinking against the rain that drove incessantly against her vision. The sail was still in one piece, but the rope attaching it to the horizontal spar had come adrift. Despite the power of the wind, the vessel moved slowly, sluggishly, to the demands of the tiller, indicating the impact the damaged sail had on the overall speed of the ship. At this pace, another day or two would be added to the journey.
‘It needs to be fixed.’ Emmeline appealed to the determined set of his jaw.
Talvas rolled his eyes. ‘I realise that, mistress, but at the moment, we two are the only capable people aboard this ship.’ He gestured around at the groaning crew. ‘You are not strong enough to manage the tiller and I am too heavy to climb the mast.’
‘But I am not.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ His exhausted glance whipped over her.
‘I am light enough to climb the mast.’ Emmeline, her hands still fastened about his middle, tipped her head back so he could not fail to hear her words.
For a full moment, he scanned her pale face, a limpid pearl in the darkness, then threw his head back and laughed. Amidst the fury that raged around them, the continual lashing of the waves and the screaming of the wind, he appeared as a devil, at one with the fierce elements around them. The ripples of laughter coursed through his broad frame; she felt the power of his vitality through her arms that held tight against him.
‘I swear, mam’selle, you never cease to amaze me!’
She pulled at the sides of his leather jerkin, compelling him to look at her. ‘I’m serious, Talvas,’ she yelled up at him, pointing to the top of the sail. ‘See, only the rope has merely come away. It would be easy to mend.’
‘And you are proposing to fix it?’ he asked slowly, as if reluctant to hear her answer. He lifted his eyes from the horizon, studying her expression for a moment, trying to assess her conviction.
Emmeline peered up at him earnestly. ‘Aye, that I am. It’s a task I have often done for my father.’ His look of complete astonishment made her want to laugh out loud.
‘But you’re a woman! Nay, you stay down on the deck where I can keep an eye on you.’ he set his lips in a firm line, indicating the end of the discussion.
‘The journey will be twice as long, with the amount of speed we are losing through that gap in the sail,’ she continued persuasively. ‘And it’s not just the crew that are sick, the Empress has also been taken bad…We need to reach land quickly, so they do not worsen. We have no medicine or herbs aboard to treat them.’
The deck shuddered, creaking violently under the strain of negotiating the heaving sea, then dropped unexpectedly, rolling down a vast wave. Emmeline’s hold tightened around Talvas as her knees buckled under the pitching deck, as she fought to keep her balance without coming too close to the devastating leanness of his body.
‘Rest easy, mistress,’ he ordered tersely, his arm snaking around her back and shoulders, pulling her in with firm authority. ‘It’s devilish hard to keep one’s footing in these waters.’
‘Talvas, I have to go up. I have to fix that sail, or I may lose the ship.’
Talvas grimaced. Would the chit never let up? His parents, his knight’s training, all had raised him with the belief that women were delicate creatures to be cared for, cherished by men, their beauty and gentleness cushioned from the harsher realities of life. This woman defied every convention, revelling openly in her independence at every opportunity, challenging all his assumptions regarding the fairer sex. And yet who was he to command her? She did not belong to him, like a material possession; he was not her lord, to order her to do his bidding. He had no rights over her whatsoever.
‘Are you certain about this?’ he demanded suddenly. His eyes searched her face, the deceptive fragility of her figure.
The warmth of his muscle-bound shoulder cupped her back, searing the skin. She smiled up at him, knowing she had won, and nodded firmly. Moving out, reluctantly, from the protection of his arm, she began to untie the lacings of her cloak. Hanging on to his shoulder, she removed it, placing it in a wet, claggy bundle at his feet, then proceeded to release the side-lacings of her bliaut, drawing the dress over her head. Focused on her task, she remained unaware of Talvas’s increasingly bemused scrutiny. Against the squall, the close-fitting lines of her underdress clung to her damply, highlighting the tempting swell of her bosom, the soft flare of her hips.
‘Are you planning to climb up naked?’ Talvas threw her a lopsided smile, fighting the urge to embrace her, to tear that fine covering from her pearly skin. He turned his eyes sharply to the glimmering horizon as Emmeline bent down to fumble with the toggles that fastened her ankle-length leather shoes.
Emmeline laughed. ‘Nay, my lord, but it makes it easier to climb without these heavy garments. Rest assured, I shall be decent.’
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ he muttered under his breath. The slashed neck of her underdress gaped suggestively. Even in the darkness, he could make out the tempting curve of her bosom. ‘Bonne chance, petite.’ His words sounded stilted, untried. For a moment, their gazes locked, brilliant sapphire with sparkling emerald—it was as if he could see into her very soul.
As he watched her step tentatively toward the mast, a faltering roll to her gait, he felt powerless, unable to release his grip on the tiller, unable to climb the mast in her place. He had to have faith in her, had to trust her not to fall. He shook his head, trying to dispel the odd sentiment. Since when had he trusted a woman? He would do well to remember that the last time he had done so had been his undoing. This maid, with her fiery tongue and trim figure, had addled his brain, turned his senses!
Stretching high to anchor her fingers on to the rough fibre of the rope that coiled round and round the mast, Emmeline levered herself up, swinging her bare foot around to gain a foothold on the thick rope. She breathed deeply, forgetting the peril of her surroundings to concentrate on the task before her. The strength in her lithe body overcame the weakness in her leg, and she made steady, self-assured progress, her long, wet braid flying about her trim waist in the unceasing wind. The wooden mast was not high, the height of three men perhaps, so she gained the top easily. She would not look down at the r
oiling sea beneath, and did not care to look and see if Talvas might be watching her. Locking her legs around the mast, she braced herself so that both hands were free to reach out and grab the frayed ends of the rope and retie them around the crossbar. The muscles in her back flexed under the strain of holding her body as her cold, raw fingers fumbled to tie a knot and drag the sail back up to the horizontal. She pulled back to the mast, feeling the strength seep from her limbs as she watched the mended sail fill with wind. There! She had done it. Now all that remained was to climb down.
It was only now that she felt the iciness of the incessant rain soak her few remaining garments, the chill of the wind cutting in around her ankles. The deck loomed far away, an endless distance when all she wanted to do was sleep. The wet fabric of her underdress slapped at her naked ankles, her calves, sticking to her damp flesh and hampering her movements as she began to descend. She clung on desperately as the ship lurched and heaved—surely it had not been this difficult on the ascent? As she scrabbled for a foothold below, her fingers scraped along the coarse rope, slipping…‘Faites attention!’ A shout from below went unnoticed as she began to fall. The ship swung violently to the leeward side. She clutched out in desperation, the rope burning her hands but not allowing her to take hold as she fell through the shrieking, screeching air, arms flailing.
‘I have you!’ A familiar voice rasped in her ear as she hit a solid wall of flesh and felt thick arms come about her, holding her steady. She shivered with relief as her bare feet slid down to touch the deck. Through two thin layers of material, her chemise and her underdress, she felt the heat emanating from Talvas’s big body.
‘Here,’ he muttered, dragging his cloak from his shoulders to sweep it around her, one arm still about her waist. ‘The cloth is wet, but maybe will give you some warmth.’ The heaviness of his cloak threatened to unbalance her, but she revelled in the extra comfort.
‘I thank you, my lord.’
‘Nay, I should be thanking you, Emmeline.’ He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his admiring gaze. ‘You performed an amazing feat—see, we are at full speed now.’ He frowned at her, as if trying to work out some enigmatic puzzle. ‘I know of no other woman who would have done something so brave.’
Emmeline shrugged her shoulders. ‘I grew up with the sea. ’Tis of little matter to me.’ She tried to ignore the ache of the muscles across her back and shoulders.
He stared down at her, this little virago who tried to stand so tall before him, yet wilted with fatigue. Beneath the gaping sides of his cloak that she wore, the fine linen of her garments clung to the curve of her bosom, the flatness of her stomach. Her beauty drew him, irresistible. He ducked his head, his intention to place a kiss of thanks upon those rosebud lips. A butterfly touch, a brush of fleeting passion. As his lips grazed hers, a flare of desire kicked at him: he groaned, arms sweeping around her once more, pulling her soft curves into him as he savoured the taste of her. Emmeline swayed toward him, her legs unable to hold her, her body liquid. Her slender body cleaved toward his muscular frame as his arms tightened about her waist, one large hand splayed out over the delicate bones of her back. Need pulsed through her limbs, the kernel of her heart, a maelstrom of emotion that left her weak, helpless, clinging to him. The last shreds of reason melted away from her conscious thought; she entered a place that had hitherto been unknown to her. His lips spoke of a secret promise, a promise to sweep her away to a territory of uncharted waters—a magical place full of dreams and desires, a place of danger.
The kiss deepened, flowered with a devastating intensity that neither of them could control, firing sensation after sensation. As they clung to one another, two souls locked in unconscious passion, a huge wall of water crashed down over the ship.
Chapter Nine
The wide sweep of white shingle lay strewn with wreckage from La Belle Saumur; shards of timber, wrenched from their iron rivets, bobbed in the frothy surf. As the sky lightened, a night watchman from the harbour had alerted the villagers. They had stumbled from their cottages, bemused with sleep, to help pull the remainder of the ship securely on to the shore. Now the sun, peeking intermittently through the wraiths of mist, highlighted the scene of devastation: the broken ship, the crew huddled in borrowed blankets on the beach, either sleeping or talking quietly.
Emmeline sat on the pebbles, arms crossed tightly over her drawn-up knees. By some miracle, when the wave had crashed over the ship, the coast of England had been nearer than originally thought. The relentless waves, helped by a strong onshore breeze, had driven them landwards, too quickly for the crew to save the ship from being smashed against the shingle, but slow enough to get everyone safely to shore. They had splashed and spluttered their way through the shallows, the huge waves picking them up and flinging their wet dripping bodies on to the smooth round stones. She should have felt fortunate that her life…nay, all the lives on board were safe, but instead, a curious sense of loss plucked at her frayed nerves.
Her eyes stung, watering in the freshening breeze, her eyelashes gritty with dried salt. She rubbed at them, trying to dispel with the vigorous movement the memory of Talvas as he hefted her exhausted body up the beach, before going back to help the others struggle their way to shore.
‘Emmeline, do you feel all right? You weren’t hurt in any way?’
Emmeline turned her head, her hair falling about her shoulders in stiff tendrils. Maud sat beside her on the beach, her cloak drawn tightly around her. Despite their ordeal, the Empress’s embroidered linen veil still covered her head, although her golden circlet sat askew and her white, uneven skin was red from the piercing touch of the wind.
‘I am quite well, my lady, thank you!’ She threw the Empress a quick smile. ‘But I should be asking you…how are you after your sickness last night?’
‘Oh…that!’ Maud’s wide, florid features crinkled jovially. ‘I seem fully recovered…and even better now that I have reached England, albeit a little shocked by our ordeal last night.’ She gestured at the broken shards of the ship.
‘’Tis important to you.’ Emmeline sunk one hand into the wet pebbles beneath her, the sticky salt from the hard, curved surfaces coating her fingers.
‘Aye, maid, for I seek the crown of England now my father has died.’ Maud assessed Emmeline with her small, hazel eyes, sensing an ally. ‘It will be difficult, for although my father made the barons swear to my accession on his death, they are still men who will resent a woman on the throne.’
‘Men resent women doing a great deal of things,’ Emmeline replied carefully, aware of a growing admiration for the strong woman at her side. ‘Yet we can do those things just as well as they can, sometimes better.’
Maud laughed. ‘We are two of a kind, mistress, each fighting for our independence. Let’s hope we both succeed.’
‘I thought I had,’ Emmeline replied sadly. She cast her eye despondently over the shattered remains of her ship. Most of the hull was still intact, apart from a huge hole that gaped from the bow, caused when the ship had been battered continually against the shore.
‘I will cover the cost of the repairs,’ Maud said kindly. ‘I always reward people who help me.’ Her friendly words were laced with conspiracy. ‘But for the nonce, may I suggest that you find some more clothes?’
Emmeline looked down at herself, and blushed. The salt-encrusted underdress clung damply to her curves, revealing the elegant lines of her body.
‘Allow me.’ A husky voice cut through Emmeline’s embarrassment. The lilting tones furled around her, settling over her like a salve; her pulse quickened. Muscular legs steady on the steep, shifting pebbles, Talvas picked up his damp cloak from the shoreline and threw the heavy cloth around Emmeline, at once hiding her small frame from prying eyes. She clutched at the sides gratefully, pulling the soft wool across her bosom. Despite having been recently immersed in sea water, the material smelled of him, a rich scent of horse and woodsmoke. She peeked up at him, appreciating the
gesture, wanting to thank him, but his attention had been diverted by a movement on the horizon.
‘Since when did you lose half your clothes?’ Maud asked curiously.
‘Since she climbed the mast and fixed the sail,’ Talvas cut in, a note of admiration in his voice. Emmeline looked at him, her expression fierce, eager to detect an element of condemnation in his tone. Dark stubble shadowed the lower part of his face, giving him a rakish, piratical look. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, wide and generous and…desirable. Her stomach knotted as the unwanted memory of their kiss on deck shunted vividly into her mind.
‘Your courage is to be commended, young lady,’ Maud spoke slowly. ‘You saved us all, you saved the life of your Queen.’
‘Don’t be too hasty, Maud.’ Earl Robert had clambered up the steeply shelving beach to join the conversation. He threw a lopsided, peculiar smile at Emmeline, his eyes lingering on the jade amulet that swung at her throat. Emmeline yanked at the cloak, annoyed at his observance. The sooner she could escape to her sister’s estate, the better!
‘I will not forget what you have done.’ Maud laid one hand on Emmeline’s sleeve, before shifting her eyes to Talvas. ‘Now, my lord, you know this country. Where in Heaven’s name are we?’
‘Fortune has smiled on us, my lady,’ he replied. Emmeline looked at him in consternation, then back at the fragments of ship that had been her livelihood, rigid with disappointment. Fortunate?
‘Surely you jest, my lord?’ She needed to be angry with him, to pick a fight with him, to stamp down on the bubbling excitement that threatened to overwhelm her every time his sapphire gaze touched her face, every time his broad frame moved nearer to her.
Talvas laughed out loud, sensing the maid’s resentment. ‘Aye, my lady, we are fortunate.’ He threw his arm northwards, away from the sea. ‘For not above two miles from here lies my own estate of Hawkeshayne. I have already dispatched Guillame to bring back horses and ox carts to transport us there.’
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