The Sea Witch

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  "Were you?" With a trace of wonder she touched a hand to his face and closed her eyes, struggling to remain conscious.

  "Cap'n." From the bow of the Undaunted, he heard Newton's voice.

  "Here, Newt. Over here. Throw us a line."

  The sailors were already lining the rail, peering through the mist. When one of them located the darkened shadows clinging to the piece of wood, there was a roar from the deck of the ship. Minutes later a rope snaked across the water, and Riordan tied it around his waist. As he held fast to Ambrosia, the sailors hauled him in.

  When they came alongside the Undaunted, a rope ladder was lowered and Riordan climbed it, cradling Ambrosia to his chest.

  "Ye've found her, Cap'n."

  "Aye."

  "Is she...?" Old Newton's face was almost as pale as Ambrosia's.

  "She's alive, Newt. That's all I know for now." As Riordan headed across the deck, he shouted, "Any of the rogue sailors left alive?"

  "None, Cap'n."

  "And our sailors?"

  "None dead. But more'n half a dozen wounded. None too serious."

  "Good. That's very good. And the fires?"

  "We've put them out. We'll need to do a bit of mending. Our ship's listing to port. It's what had the lass tumbling over the rail. But we should be able to set sail by midafternoon."

  "That's good news, Newt. I'll leave you in charge while I see to Ambrosia." Riordan descended the stairs

  and carried her to his cabin. Inside he gently laid her on the bunk.

  Working quickly, he tugged off her boots, then used his knife to cut away her clothes. There was a deep gash in her shoulder, a second in her arm. He poured a generous amount of ale over the wounds, then bound them with clean cloth, before wrapping her in a dry blanket. As he did he caught sight of her hands. The flesh of her palms was torn and bloody. This couldn't have come from holding a sword. And then he remembered. The climb up the rigging. The stiff, wet ropes had torn her tender flesh and left it raw. He felt a wave of remorse, knowing it had been his orders that had caused her unnecessary pain. And even with these raw, torn hands, she'd managed to wield a sword with the best of them.

  She was so still it tore at his heart. He touched a hand to the bump on the back of her head. It worried him more than the sword wounds. She'd taken a terrible fall. He'd seen sailors who never recovered from such a blow.

  His hands shaking, he filled a tumbler with ale and downed it in one long swallow. Then he changed into dry clothes and pulled a chair up beside the bunk. He wasn't leaving until she regained consciousness.

  Though he didn't consider himself a religious man, he found himself praying. She had to recover. If she didn't, he'd never forgive himself.

  Ambrosia lay very still, wondering at the strange silence. Except for the gentle slap of water nearby, there was no sound. The slow, easy rocking motion was soothing.

  Was the battle over? Had she died? She moved her head and felt a quick stab of pain. Nay, not dead. She must be alive if she could hurt so badly. Very slowly she opened her eyes. Wonder of wonders, she was in her father's cabin, aboard the Undaunted, though she couldn't recall how she'd gotten there.

  Father. He'd come back. She smiled and tried to sit up. At once she was swamped with pain. Her head. Her shoulder. Her arm. She moaned and fell back weakly.

  "Ambrosia. Praise heaven, you're awake."

  She looked over to see Riordan Spencer sitting beside the bunk. His eyes looked red rimmed and weary. A growth of stubble darkened his chin.

  His voice seemed unusually tender as he asked, "Can you see me?"

  "Aye." What a strange question, she thought.

  "Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

  An even stranger question. Did he think her an imbecile? She gave him a most indignant look. "Four."

  She heard him sigh, and wondered at the sound. "Was I ... sleeping?" She couldn't seem to make her mouth work. She knew the words, but they wouldn't come out.

  He nodded. "All day."

  She glanced at the lantern, burning on a table. "Is it... night?"

  "Aye. We've lowered the sails until morning. We should make port tomorrow evening."

  "The rogues?"

  "Dead. Their ship crippled and sunk below the waves by now. We boarded her and took what meager bounty there was. Then we made what repairs we could to the Undaunted, and sailed until darkness forced us to stop."

  "The lad? Brandon?"

  "He's fine, thanks to you." And so was he now, Riordan realized. Until this moment, he hadn't realized how very afraid he'd been. For a while there, he'd thought his heart might never beat again. But Ambrosia was alive.

  And awake. And apparently unharmed by the bump to her head. He took in a long, deep breath, then touched a hand to her forehead. "Would you like something for the pain?"

  "In ... a moment. Tell me about ... battle. Did we lose any sailors?"

  "Nay. Some wounded, but none dead."

  "Ah." She closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, he was seated next to her on the bunk, holding up a glass. He lifted her head and held the glass to her lips.

  After a single sip she coughed and made a terrible face before pushing his hand away. "That's dreadful. What is it?"

  "Ale. Like none you've ever tasted. It's what the sailors drink to chase the cold Atlantic from their bones." He pressed the glass to her "lips. "Drink. It will ease the pain. Or at least make you drunk enough that you won't care about it."

  He held the glass until she drained it. Then he laid her gently back down. "Can you feel it working?"

  "Aye." She smiled dreamily. "And you're right about ... warmth. I believe my insides have caught fire." He laughed, feeling better than he could ever remember. "Oh, Ambrosia. You don't know how happy you've made me." "Happy?"

  "I was so worried. I feared you might have sustained some serious injuries." He brushed a lock of her hair from her eye. "I couldn't bear it if you did. But you're fine now. Out of harm's way." He stopped talking when he realized she had already fallen asleep.

  He felt such a wave of tenderness. After passing word the crew that Seaman Lambert was doing nicely, he returned to his cabin. Draping a blanket around his shoulders, he sat down in the chair, propping his feet on the bunk. With a smile on his face he joined her in sleep.

  Ambrosia was having the sweetest dream. A handsome stranger had sailed into Land's End. Dark and mysterious he was, causing the whole village to speculate that he was a pirate. When the vicar demanded answers, the stranger refused to comply, saying only that he'd come for Ambrosia Lambert, and he wouldn't leave until she agreed to sail with him for the rest of her life.

  "Aye," she whispered in her sleep. "I'll sail with you.

  For it's what I want as well."

  This dark handsome stranger smiled then and gathered her close, pressing his mouth to hers and commanding her to kiss him back.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered her lips.

  "Ambrosia." A voice broke through her dream. A deep voice that calmed, even while it sent a thrill of excitement through her.

  "Aye." She pursed her lips, waiting for that moment when he would take what she offered.

  "Ambrosia." The deep voice was right beside her ear. She felt lips pressed against her temple. Heat spiraled through her and she came instantly awake.

  "Riordan. I was ... dreaming."

  "Aye. A sweet one, I'll wager." He was sitting on the bunk, cradling her against his chest. The press of his arms around her caused the most amazing feelings. Feelings like none she'd ever known.

  "You won't leave me alone, will you, Riordan?"

  "Not if you don't want me to."

  "I don't." She rifted a hand to his cheek in an achingly sweet gesture that had his heart leaping to his throat.

  "Then I'll stay. And hold you." He stretched out beside her and then wrapped his arms around her once more. "There now. Is this better?"

  "Aye." She closed her eyes and snuggled close aga
inst his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She didn't know whether or not the sweet dream would return. But this would certainly help her forget her pain.

  As she drifted back to sleep, Riordan studied her in the path of moonlight drifting through the porthole above the bunk. She was so beautiful she took his breath away. Hair as black as a midnight sky. Eyes that gleamed with the light of the stars. Skin as milky white as the sand bleached by the sun along the cliffs at Dover. And such lips. He felt the quick rush of desire as he studied them, pursed into a little moue of pleasure. Lips made to be kissed.

  How could one woman—one obstinate, headstrong woman—have such an effect on his life? She had no regard for his orders. She deliberately flaunted the rules in order to test him. She took foolish risks, put herself in harm's way and nearly got herself killed.

  And he loved her. Hopelessly. Desperately. And had, long before he'd ever met her. From the first time he'd heard James Lambert talk about his vexing little sister, Ambrosia, and her skill with a sword. From the first time he'd seen her likeness on the locket her father wore around his neck. From the first time he'd heard John Lambert speak with such passion about his daughters. It had only been worse when he'd met her in the flesh.

  Flesh. He studied the darkened cleft visible beneath the blanket. The sight of her when he'd cut away her clothes had given him a jolt. She was even more perfect than he'd dreamed. But then he'd been so worried about her wounds, he couldn't really appreciate her beauty. Now, while she was mending and asleep in his arms, he was free to indulge himself. She was, quite simply, the most beautiful creature he'd ever met.

  She sighed in her sleep and tensed in his arms. He pressed his lips to her temple. At once she settled back, relaxing once more. And as dawn light streaked the sky, he allowed himself to be lulled by the knowledge that the woman he loved was healing. And her sleek ship, the Undaunted, would soon be home.

  "Riordan." Ambrosia awoke to sunlight streaming in the small round window. But it wasn't the sunlight that was causing this heat. It was the warmth of the man beside her. A man who was sharing her bed. And staring at her with such intensity, she felt her cheeks grow hot. "What are you doing?"

  "Watching you. I've been watching you ever since I awoke."

  "But what are you doing in my bed?"

  "You forget, Ambrosia. It's my bed. And you invited me. In fact, you insisted that I not leave. Have you forgotten?"

  She looked away, embarrassed. "Aye. I do remember now. But it was probably the ale."

  "Was it?" He smiled. "What a shame. I'd hoped it was what you wanted, too."

  "I did. I ... do. But if you don't mind, now that I'm fully recovered, I think it best if you leave."

  "Fully recovered?" He glanced at the bruise that darkened her pretty cheek and the bump that still stuck out like an egg at the back of her head. "I'd say you're far from recovered yet."

  "And I say I am." She struggled to sit up, then scrunched down when she realized she was naked under the blanket. "Where are my clothes?"

  "I'll have Newt fetch them. Fielding hung them from the rigging to dry."

  She shot him an indignant look. "My breeches and chemise were hanging for all the crew to see?"

  "Only your breeches, I'm afraid. I had to cut off your bloody shirt and chemise and toss them away. They're beyond repair."

  "You cut..." She looked away, her face flaming.

  Seeing her embarrassment, he lowered his voice. "I had no choice, Ambrosia. You were bleeding. I had to examine your wounds."

  "Oh, I'll wager you did." She sat up, holding the blanket around her like a shield. "Next you'll probably tell me you didn't look."

  He couldn't help smiling. "I see no point in lying. Not only did I look, I admired. My only regret is that I was so preoccupied with your wounds, I didn't get to really appreciate your beauty."

  "My ... beauty?" She sat up and the blanket fell off one shoulder.

  Before she could pull it up, he closed a hand around her upper arm and dragged her close. Though the smile remained on his lips, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Don't pretend you don't know you're beautiful, Ambrosia."

  He saw the way her eyes widened at his words. And it occurred to him that she had never really thought about the way she looked. That only made her all the more amazing in his eyes.

  He lowered his mouth, until it hovered just above hers. His hands at her shoulders tightened, and he drew her fractionally closer. "You're the most beautiful, desirable sailor I've ever had aboard my ship. And after a day and night of watching you, and worrying over you, I'm going to have to kiss you."

  "You..." She pulled back. "You worried about me?"

  "Aye. When you fell overboard, I thought my heart would surely stop beating until I found you." He began to draw her close once more. "And then when I found you, you were bleeding, and nearly unconscious, and it was another blow to my heart."

  She touched a hand to his chest. "Such a poor, battered heart."

  "Aye." He caught her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "And then when I saw these..." he caught both her hands and held them, palms up "...saw what my cruel order had caused, I felt such remorse, Ambrosia." Very tenderly he pressed a kiss to each palm, sending heat curling deep inside her.

  He drew her closer. "Will you forgive me for ordering you to climb the rigging?"

  "Oh, Riordan." She touched a hand to his cheek, then allowed it to remain there while she looked up into his eyes. "It was my own fault, for goading you."

  "Nay. I feel like a monster for what I did to you."

  "But you were only—"

  Before she could frame a reply, he covered her mouth with his in a kiss that was so hot, so hungry, it left them both trembling.

  The blanket slipped away. Ambrosia was too caught up in the kiss to notice. But Riordan did, and felt a rush of need that had his breath backing up in his throat.

  He pressed her against the bunk and ran nibbling kisses across her face, her cheeks, her jaw. Then he brought his mouth lower, to the soft column of her throat.

  She made a sound that could have been a protest or a sigh. She knew they were sailing in dangerous waters, but she couldn't gather the will to stop him. His lips, his hands, were bringing such pleasure.

  "Then I'm forgiven?" He whispered the words against her throat.

  "Aye. At the moment I'd forgive you anything."

  "Ambrosia." His mouth moved lower, finding the swell of her breast.

  As his tongue circled her erect nipple, feelings jolted through her. Feelings unlike anything she'd ever known. Her whole body seemed on fire. She felt a curl of desire deep inside, and a warmth that even the fresh sea air couldn't cool. She found herself wanting things that until this moment she'd never even thought of. Things that frightened and alarmed her.

  "Nay, Riordan." She pushed him away and sat up, gathering the edges of the blanket around her.

  "You don't mean that, Ambrosia. You want this as much as I." His eyes narrowed. His breath was coming hard and fast. He hadn't realized just how close to the edge he'd come. And just how desperately he wanted her.

  "I thought I did." She was far too honest to deny it. "But I ... I need some time. I need to think."

  With as much steadiness as he could manage, he got to his feet. "Then I'll leave you to your thoughts."

  She glanced down at herself and gave a wry smile. "I certainly hope you can get me a shirt from someone in the crew. Or was it your plan to keep me confined to your cabin until the voyage is over?"

  His smile returned. "I think I can manage one shirt." He opened his seabag and handed her a shirt of white linen. "I'm certain of one thing. It will look far better on you than it ever could on me."

  He gave her one long final glance, then walked from the cabin and closed the door. When he was gone Ambrosia struggled out of the bunk and was forced to grasp the back of the chair to keep herself from falling. This momentary weakness was unsettling. In her whole life she'd never been ill. H
ad never been forced to take to her bed.

  She shook her head to clear the fuzziness, then proceeded to dress. By the time she was ready to take her leave of the cabin, she was feeling stronger. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself by showing any sign of weakness in front of the others.

  "Land's End, Cap'n." Newton pointed. "There's MaryCastle dead ahead."

  "Aye. I see it, Newt." Riordan was grateful for the sea air that had helped to clear his head. But nothing would lessen this need for Ambrosia. If anything, it had grown deeper.

  She had emerged from his cabin looking cool and beautiful in his white shirt and her black breeches, tucked into tall black boots.

  He turned to glance at her now, loving the way she planted her feet on the deck. Like a born sailor. The thought struck him, and he couldn't help but smile. She had her face lifted, as though breathing in the salt air. Without the scarf, her dark hair streamed behind her, tossed by the wind.

  He held the wheel steady as they drew near the shallows.

  "I'd be careful if I were you, Cap'n." Newton's voice had him returning his thoughts to the work at hand. "For the next hour ye'd best not let yer attention veer. Many a ship's captain made the mistake of thinking he was

  home free, only to find his vessel sunk by the rocks lurking just below the water's edge here at Land's End."

  "Aye, Newt. I'll remember."

  The old man moved closer, so that none of the crew could overhear. "It's easy enough to be distracted by a face as pretty as that, eh, Cap'n?"

  "Aye, Newt." He frowned. "She is a distraction. A most pleasant one at the moment."

  He ignored the surprised look on the old man's face and turned, shouting, "Seaman Lambert."

  She made her way across the deck to stand in front of him. "Aye, Captain?"

  "I'd like you to take the wheel."

  He saw her eyes widen before she carefully composed her features. "Aye, Captain."

  As she moved in front of him and took over the navigation of the ship, he took a step back, remaining directly behind her.

  "Why are you doing this, Riordan?" She kept her tone low, so that the other sailors wouldn't overhear.