Heart of Gold

by May McGoldrick

  “Damn,” he cursed. But before he even had the word out, another abrupt shift of the galley threw the warrior backward against the closing door, leaving him staggered against the bulwark with the offending chest tipped onto his outstretched legs. “The devil!”

  “Stop complaining and get me out of here.” Elizabeth pushed the clothing that was inhibiting her breathing away from her face. She wondered vaguely whose chest had been opened by the movements of the ship.

  “Where are you?” Ambrose called, as he took a step in the direction of her voice. His knees rammed the side of another chest. “What the devil is all this? I thought I said you were not to bring anything that cannot be carried on horseback.”

  “I don’t recall discussing anything of the sort,” she lied into the darkness. Gripping the side of a chest, Elizabeth pulled herself to her feet. She stretched her legs and flexed her hands. Amazingly, nothing appeared to be broken.

  Another sharp dip of the vessel once again sent her flying, this time in the direction of the baron’s voice.

  “Ambrose!” Elizabeth called as she landed with a thud on the hard wood floor.

  “Aye?” His voice now came from the proximity of the floor, as well.

  “Please help me. I believe I’ve bruised every bone in my body.” The cabin floor tipped once more and Elizabeth felt herself sliding across the floor, with the sound of luggage sliding after her. “Help me!”

  Her hands fluttered about her wildly with the hope of grabbing hold of something. Anything. But to no avail. With another crash, the young painter hit the far bulwark a moment before a collection of trunks, furniture, and loose clothing came tumbling after her.

  His hand found her ankle, and Ambrose pulled the limb toward him.

  “You are turning me upside down,” she called. “I don’t need that kind of help, m’lord. My stomach is about to empty itself as it is, and it doesn’t need any encouragement.”

  His other hand took hold of her leg as he searched for a better grip.

  “Ambrose Macpherson, you keep your hands off of me. This is no time to behave in this manner.” While one of her hands tried to fight off his hand as it moved up her thigh, the other reached out in search of the rest of him. Elizabeth was buried under a landslide of baggage, and she needed him to get her out from under it. She struggled against the onslaught. “Where are you?”

  “Make up your mind, my bonny one.” His hand slid over her round backside. She tried to squirm away. “Do you want me, lass, or don’t you?”

  “Oh, Ambrose. I’m so glad you came for me.” She now clutched him hard around the neck.

  The vessel heaved and dropped again. Elizabeth leaped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face in his neck. “Please get me out of here.”

  “This is no way to behave, m’lady, if you want out of this cabin.” His voice was hoarse.

  “I can’t help...” Another sudden drop made Ambrose lose his balance and fall backward. Elizabeth dropped like a sack on top of him. “...it.”

  “Really?” She whispered sheepishly as she struggled to pull one of her legs out from where it was pinned beneath his buttocks.

  “I thought I’d never get out of here, Ambrose. And then you came.” She snuggled quickly beside him as she heard the sliding chest. “Though I’m beginning to think we’ll never get out. Is the ship about to go down?”

  “It might.” He rolled quickly to his side and pushed her from him as another chest crashed into his back.

  Elizabeth heard the groan that escaped his lips as they were pushed across the floor into a pile of clothing.

  “We could die! Drown! Where is Jaime?” she asked in panic.

  “Right now, everyone is huddled safely on the stern deck. I saw her in the arms of the merchant and his wife.”

  “My sister?”

  “She came up, as well.” Ambrose reached behind her and found the solid wood of the bulwark behind the clothing. And right at the point where it met the floor, he found the rope. Running his fingers around it, he gripped it tightly.

  “Are we the only ones left below decks?”

  “The last ones.”

  The ship heeled over, but Ambrose held on to the rope and kept them where they were.

  Elizabeth felt her body crush against his as the cabin deck sloped sharply toward him. She found her hands planted on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Her chest, her hips, the length of her entire body were molded against him. Her head gave in to the powerful pull and nestled against his neck.

  It was almost as if the fear she was feeling had wrought some incredible change in the universe. She’d never felt her senses so alive. The smell of wind and salt water on his skin, the warmth of the cocoon that he’d made for her in his arms, the power of his build—they were all so intoxicating. Seemingly unable to control herself, Elizabeth let her lips brush against the skin of his neck. She found herself wanting to touch him. Her fingers traveled gently over the smooth linen of his shirt and then, finding the opening, moved inside.

  “I like your timing, lass,” he growled, lowering his head and capturing her mouth. The kiss was hot and carnal, his tongue thrusting hungrily into her velvety recesses.

  She took him in, suckling his tongue with a desperate longing. A longing to take him into her as deeply as she possibly could. She’d not known how much she needed him. Not until today, when she’d thought that the object of Mary’s attraction had been Ambrose Macpherson.

  Now the roar of the storm outside, the darkness that engulfed them, everything seemed to add to her overpowering need to have him, to experience him, to wrap herself around him. The world she knew, the solid world of precision, color, and light, was no longer the real world. It was another world, more dreary and unattractive than the undulating blackness she was a part of now. That other world was like some far-off dream, falling away farther and farther with every billowing wave of the sea.

  She wanted him, and she would have him.

  Elizabeth’s hands tore at the fasteners of his shirt. Her fingers greedily devoured his skin, exploring and kneading every sinewy muscle.

  “Is this it, lass?” the Highlander asked hoarsely. “Is this the way it’s to be?”

  “I want you, Ambrose.”

  “No stopping. No running off. No sudden fit of insanity.” Ambrose paused. “These are my conditions, Elizabeth. If you want me, you will have all of me.”

  “I accept your conditions,” she whispered, her mouth tasting his skin.

  Ambrose released the rope with one hand and pulled at her doublet. He, too, had crossed into a world of desire. Of course, it was a realm that he was far more familiar with than she. But vaguely, hovering somewhere about the level of consciousness, the idea took shape that he was feeling these sensations as if for the first time. They had come so close before, the two of them. But not like this. The change, the urgency of their need was perhaps due to the place, to the time. Perhaps even to the storm that roared outside and within.

  He wanted her now, and she would have him.

  Ambrose wanted to feel her skin against his, as he pulled down at the shirt she wore beneath the doublet. Instinctively, one of his legs crossed over her hip, trapping her writhing body under its weight. Yanking the shirt open in front, he found yet another tight, thick layer of cloth frustrating his attempts. Pulling at the laces that held it in place, he pushed the material away. All at once his hand was filled with the full round orb of one of her breasts springing free. Hauling her toward him, he crushed her body against his—skin against skin, flesh against flesh.

  Elizabeth pulled her hand from his chest and took hold of his bare knee. Clutching his thigh, her fingers delved uncontrollably beneath the folds of his kilt.

  Ambrose slid his leg slightly lower, making room for his own hand as he slid his fingers into the juncture of her thighs. The thick breeches inhibited his search, but all the same he kneaded with the touch that he knew she sought. The moan that sounded somewhere deep within
her triggered an even wilder desire in him, and as he stroked her rising pleasure, he slanted his mouth roughly over hers.

  Elizabeth encircled his pulsing member with her fingers. Running her hand over its silky length, she trembled with anticipation.

  His head fell with a thud against the floor. “How did I ever let you get away from me before?” he gasped. “I need you now, Elizabeth. I won’t wait. You are driving me out of my mind.”

  She tightened her grip on him, hearing his groan of pleasure. “I want you, too. Once, before we die. Take me, Ambrose Macpherson. Make me yours.”

  Everything around them—the storm, the turbulent action of the boat, even the constantly shifting baggage around them—was forgotten, and he let go of the wall. Rolling toward her, Ambrose moved nimbly on top of her.

  “You are not going to die, my sweet.” His hand reached to pull open her breeches. “I’m not letting you die. There is far too much passion left for us to enjoy. And we just can’t let all that go to waste.”

  Ambrose pushed aside the ring that hung between her breasts. His tongue flicked momentarily at a hardened nipple before moving to the other, where he settled, finally, suckling her tender flesh.

  Elizabeth arched her back, gripping his hair and pulling his face tighter against her breast as his other hand made contact with the moist folds of her womanhood. She heard her own breath coming in gasps as his fingers began to stroke gently, rhythmically, while the colors of heaven danced like fire before her eyes.

  The sound of running footsteps and the door slamming open froze the two at once where they lay. Elizabeth held her breath as Ambrose’s mouth lifted from her breast.

  “Damn.”

  Gavin peered inside the darkened room. His dim wick lamp only shed the dimmest light in the area by the doorway. All he could see was a room in utter shambles, the jumbled collection of clothes, trunks, and boxes scattered everywhere that the lamp illuminated.

  “Ambrose? Are you here?”

  The voice that reached him was muffled somewhat by the sound of the wind and waves hammering on the hull of the vessel. “Give me a moment, Gavin...to find my way.”

  “Have you seen Phillipe?” Gavin asked, raising his light to get a better look inside. “No one has seen him come on deck. His family is concerned. Ah, there you are.”

  Another lurch of the boat caused Gavin to brace himself against the doorframe. The young painter was standing with his back to him, and from what Gavin could see, Ambrose was holding the man and trying to steady him on his feet. But the movement of the boat was not helping the two. “You were gone so long, Ambrose, I thought you might have fallen and cracked that thick head of yours.”

  “I came after...Phillipe, but the damn door slammed shut on us.” Ambrose put his great hand squarely on Gavin’s chest and backed him out of the cabin. Elizabeth followed behind. “But why the hell am I explaining all this to you?”

  “Because I have more sense than you.” Gavin watched as Ambrose and Phillipe came fully into the light. His eyes widened. They were a mess. Ambrose’s shirt was torn open in the front, while the painter’s doublet was stuffed into his breeches rather than hanging over them, the customary way of wearing it. “You two must have had quite a rough time down here.”

  Ambrose glowered at him. But then he caught the painter by the shoulder as a dip in the ship nearly sent them all flying.

  “I mean with all those boxes and loose things flying around.” Gavin grinned. “You are just the right size to make a good battering ram, Ambrose. But Phillipe, I’d say, is not really strong enough.”

  “There is nothing wrong with him,” Ambrose growled. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to stand there all night flapping your jaws or are you going to lead us out of here?”

  Gavin straightened himself to his full height and snapped at him. “You foul-tempered Highland horse thief. I came down here to save your neck, and this is what I get in return.”

  “Just go,” Ambrose rumbled more gently, slapping his friend in apology and turning him down the passageway. “You got me at a bad time, Gavin. Just go.”

  Gavin turned grudgingly away. “You might want to bring a blanket for your sister, painter,” he said, directing his words over his shoulder at Elizabeth. “She is soaked through and needs a bit of comforting.”

  “Mary? Why, is she hurt?”

  “Just wet. A wee bit of water down her gullet, that’s all.”

  Elizabeth turned to go back into the room, but Ambrose blocked her way. “Go on up. I’ll fetch it.” He grabbed a cloak off the wall and placed it around her shoulder. The caressing touch that brushed her face went unnoticed by the other man, but Elizabeth felt it throughout her body. In the dim light of the passageway, she glanced up into his mischievous eyes, then turned quickly and followed the giant warrior out into the raging storm.

  The force of the wind nearly knocked Elizabeth back into the passageway, but she shielded her face against the biting salt spray that drove hard against her. Squinting her eyes, she could see the galley’s crew working to secure the huge casks at the forward end of the deck, and it looked like they must have lost a number over the side. As she watched, a small wave crashed over the side of the gunwale and washed across the deck, but did no further damage.

  “It appears the storm’s easing up a bit,” Gavin shouted at her. He jerked his head up toward the stern deck above them. “Your sister’s up here.”

  As Elizabeth started up the ladder, the ship crested a wave, and she held tight to the rungs as the vessel dove into the next trough. When the motion of the ship allowed it, she scurried up to the top and grasped the low railing as soon as she could get her feet planted solidly on the deck.

  Groups of travelers crowded the deck, but before she could search out her own party, a loud crack sounded above her, and she turned in time to see the very top of the closest mast break off. The sailors working forward stood frozen for a moment, gazing upward at the damaged gear. Then, springing into action, the men leaped into the sagging rigging of the aft mainmast and swarmed up the ropes, securing the dangling masthead and tightening the remaining lines. Though the two large triangular sails of the galley had been trimmed when the fierce storm winds had first blown up, those masts would be essential if the merchant vessel was going to complete the voyage to Marseilles. Without the use of the canvas, the sailors would be rowing the remainder of the distance—not a welcome thought for the experienced seamen.

  Turning her back on the action above, Elizabeth searched the huddled groups for her family and friends. Finding them sitting out of the wind in the protective shelter of the high railing, she worked her way over to them.

  Jaime was asleep in the arms of Ernesta, and Joseph sat beside Mary, his cloak rolled up beneath her head. The young woman’s eyes were half closed as if she were about to fall asleep. The ragged looks of concern on her two friends’ faces startled Elizabeth, and she put her hand on Mary’s forehead.

  “What happened, Erne?” she asked quickly. Mary’s skin was cold and clammy. “Did she have another attack?”

  “We don’t know,” Joseph answered, glancing at his wife. “She didn’t come up with us right away when the baron sent us up from the cabins. Your sister—”

  “She was on the lower deck,” Ernesta broke in. “She was at the railing and a wave nearly washed her overboard. She swallowed quite a bit of water. She hasn’t said a word since Sir Gavin carried her up here. I am not sure if she is even conscious.”

  Elizabeth looked anxiously at her sister. Mary’s black hair was plastered to her head, and her skin had a deathlike pallor.

  “Mary,” she called softly. Removing her cloak and spreading it over her sister’s wet clothes, Elizabeth rubbed Mary’s hand between hers and tried to stir some warmth into her cold body. “Mary, can you hear me? Come on, my sweet. Open your eyes. Look at me, my love.”

  There was no answer but the occasional gusts of wind and spray. Elizabeth watched for some flicker of life on her sis
ter’s wan and vacant features. She ran her hands through the young woman’s hair. Grabbing a corner of the cloak, she tried to wipe the water from her face. “Look, Mary. The storm is passing. It is going to be a lovely day. You’ll see. Come on, my beautiful one, talk to me.”

  Gavin stood a step away, watching the careful ministrations and listening to the gentle words that the painter spoke. There was so much affection apparent in the young man’s words. But he didn’t like the pale look of the young woman. From where he stood, she looked ill. Terribly ill.

  “Go to her.”

  Gavin turned at the sound of the Highlander’s voice over his shoulder. “Go and help Phillipe, if you want. He could use the extra hand.”

  Gavin frowned at Ambrose. Was his interest in the young woman so apparent? “Why don’t you go yourself?”

  Ambrose handed the blanket over to the black-haired warrior. “I’ll be of more use helping with the mainmast.”

  He watched his friend pause and then nod in agreement. But even as the Lowlander walked away, the baron couldn’t move. Standing there as Gavin carried the blanket over to the travelers, Ambrose found he could not tear his eyes from Elizabeth. He ached for her. They once again had come so close to making love. But this time it hadn’t been Elizabeth who had halted the onslaught of desire. Her passion had been as unbridled as his own. He had felt her spirit soar.

  Ambrose wanted her. All of her. Body and soul.

  Forcing himself to turn away, Ambrose gazed up at the brightening sky above the sailors working so far aloft. The sickly green of the heavens was giving way to shades of gray, and he knew that the back of the storm was broken.

  Elizabeth. He wanted to call her name. Shout it so that all might hear. And know.

  He knew there was more than just thwarted lovemaking behind his growing obsession with this woman. More than just the beauty that she kept hidden from the world. There was something even more mysterious about her. And its allure was driving him wild.