SKETCHES OF THE crew remained very much in demand in the following weeks, for the sailors were much in awe of Cerynise’s talent. They seemed to enjoy her presence on deck, not only because her drawings drew their interest but also for her friendliness and lively wit. To their relief, they soon discovered that she was no stuffy aristocrat who’d be inclined to look down a condescending nose at them. She was just as ready to talk with them as they were to a woman, yet they were careful to show her the proper respect due a captain’s wife, calling her Mrs. Birmingham or ma’am or mum, seeming almost fearful to step beyond their boundaries. It was Cerynise who put them at ease about their rough manners. She had caught on to their jargon very quickly and used it deftly to mimic their comments or their way of talking, drawing hoots of laughter when she deepened her voice, hooked a thumb in her belt, and strode about with a hitch in her gait or a roguish swagger. She began to know many of the sailors by name, and plied them with such questions as where they were born, did they have any family, how long had they been sailing, and what were their hopes for the future. She talked with many who had no home life other than the sea, preferring to live unfettered by kith or kin, but they didn’t necessarily impress her as entirely happy men. They had just never known another way of life, having signed on at an early age or been impressed in some fashion or another. A few had grown up on farms and, when they were barely old enough, were forced to do service in the English navy. Some had families in the Carolinas or along the seaboard and were anxious to see them, having been away a goodly number of months.
During all of this, Beau remained at a tactful distance, allowing his men the benefit of his wife’s company whenever they were free from duty. He had bade Billy to find a way to stabilize her easel on deck and outfit her with a portable stand for her paints. The results keenly claimed his own close attention, for she vividly captured a mariner’s life on canvas, showing sailors in their rough garb clambering up into the rigging with the wind whipping their hair and, ever beyond them, the sea with its tumultuous waves. She even painted the younger helmsman standing steadfast at the wheel, with brisk breezes raking his tan locks and clothing. Beau never saw any paintings of himself, but now and then, when he would glance up unexpectedly, he’d find her closely studying him while sketching on parchment. But upon his approach, she usually busied herself with shuffling her drawings, and by the time he arrived, he found someone else’s face and form on the paper beneath her hand.
On a cold but gloriously bright day, dolphins were seen cavorting alongside the Audacious, where they remained for several hours. Cerynise was so intent upon getting a closer view and, at the same time, capturing them on paper that at one point her feet were completely off the planking as she balanced precariously over the railing. Spying her, Beau leapt swiftly across the deck and, swooping her off the wooden rampart, set her to her feet with an angry reprimand.
“Kindly refrain from tumbling in, madam,” he barked, scowling at her. The thought of her being caught unawares by a gust of wind or the bucking of the ship had sent piercing shards of cold dread through his heart. “’Tis a long way down, and your skirts would probably drag you under faster than I can swim.”
Cerynise blushed, realizing how foolhardy she had been. “I’m sorry, Beau,” she murmured, humbly contrite. “I didn’t even think about falling in.”
Placated by her soft apology, Beau lowered his tone to a cajoling request. “Please don’t get on the rail again while we’re at sea, Cerynise. It isn’t safe.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were muted, childlike.
He smiled down at her as his hand came up to caress her cheek with what seemed a husbandly display of affection. “Good girl.”
Suddenly Cerynise’s heart lifted, and with a smile, she leaned toward him until she found his arm about her waist. At the moment, she didn’t care one whit that Oaks and several others were watching them. He was her husband after all. “I didn’t mean to anger you.”
“Worry would better describe my feelings, my sweet,” he corrected, amazed that she had openly invited his embrace. “I’d hate to lose you after all my schemes and efforts to bring you with me. Falling off my ship would hardly show your gratitude.”
Although Cerynise suspected where his statement would lead them, she inquired in a guise of sweet innocence, “How would you prefer I show it, Beau?”
He held her curious gaze for a long moment, knowing only too well what she expected him to answer. Then a slow grin stretched across his handsome lips. “We’ll leave that to your imagination, madam,” he murmured. “But staying alive would be primary above all else.”
“I shall endeavor to comply with your wishes, sir.”
“Good.” With that simple reply, he slid his hand away in a slow, provocative caress of her waist, leaving her feeling wonderfully light-headed as he stepped away. It was only later, in the privacy of her cabin, that she was led to wonder if he was wont to observe her as closely as she did him, for she had barely dragged herself onto the railing when he was suddenly there behind her, hauling her off.
In the ensuing days, Cerynise ventured into the galley and coaxed Monsieur Philippe to allow her to sketch him at work. By this time the chef had taken on legendary proportions in her mind, and she wanted something to remember him by. Philippe chortled and fussed a bit but seemed clearly flattered that she would care to draw him. She completed several scenes of him working his wizardry in a space that seemed cramped to her but which, he informed her, was at least twice the size of a normal ship’s galley.
At no time did Cerynise catch even a hint of any ill feeling on the part of the crew for the punishment Wilson had been given. She could only assume that they had accepted it as his proper due and had thrust the matter from their minds. As for Wilson himself, he had been confined to the cable tier for a week and then was given rigorous duties befitting his crimes and the task of correcting the damage he had done below deck, all of which he labored at beneath close supervision. In redress of his wounding of Thomas Grover, he was also assigned that seaman’s normal duties and given the chore of waiting on the man until Grover was on his feet again. Whenever the announcement was made that Wilson would be working on deck, Billy cautioned Cerynise to stay in her cabin and, this time, made it evident that it was his captain’s orders. She complied completely.
Three weeks out, Cerynise woke to an unusually red dawn. So vibrant were the colors that she pleaded for Beau to let her come on deck at that early morning hour and set up her easel so she could capture the stirring display. When Stephen Oaks paused beside her later to admire her work, she could hardly contain her enthusiasm.
“Isn’t the sky absolutely beautiful?” she warbled eagerly. “I can’t remember ever seeing so vivid a sunrise.”
Oaks grunted, none too thrilled. “Oh, it’s vivid all right, but just the sort of dawn a sailor would rather not see come along.”
Cerynise looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Oaks took a long look around. “There’s an old adage sailors have long taken to heart, ma’am. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. I would venture to guess that we’ll be in for a bit of rough weather ere long.”
Although the sky was void of clouds, Cerynise allowed that the man had far more knowledge about such things than she did. No one seemed affected by this daybreaking harbinger, however. Indeed, the sailors climbed into the rigging with their usual vigor to spread more sail. Even Beau went up, which was a sight that Cerynise could have done without. He seemed well acquainted with making his way along the foot ropes beneath the yard. He even hoisted himself up on top of the spar itself and seemed to stroll leisurely along as he looked off toward the horizon and then, changing direction, inspected the sail that billowed beneath him. Cerynise watched him in trembling disquiet and felt her heart lurch when a sudden gust of wind snatched at him, causing him to thrust out his arms to balance himself. Her fear was too much for her to bear with any semblance of calm in the presence of others. Clasping a shaking hand over her brow to sharply restrict her view, she fled the deck and sought sanctuary in her cabin, where she paced anxiously about, awaiting the dreadful news of her husband’s fall.
Billy Todd brought her breakfast a short time later, and Cerynise feigned a casualness she by no means felt as she asked, “Is the captain having his breakfast, too?”
“Aye, mum. He just came down.”
With tears of relief spilling over her lashes, Cerynise breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving and sank weakly into her chair. Oblivious to her distress, Billy poured her a cup of tea and took his leave.
Cerynise hadn’t calmed to any measurable degree by the time she returned to the deck. Since the weather seemed unseasonably warm, she ventured forth with only a shawl draped over her shoulders. As soon as she moved away from the companionway, her eyes went searching until she espied Beau talking with the quartermaster, a grizzled man with corded muscles and a steely gaze. Both men were standing near the younger helmsman, who had the morning watch at the wheel. For the most part, the helmsman listened intently to his superiors, but he would give comment when spoken to directly. Cerynise couldn’t accurately fathom what they were discussing, but she rather gathered it had something to do with the forecasts of gloom Oaks had predicted. There was, she guessed, always a chance that changing the ship’s bearings a degree or two might enable the Audacious to escape the worst of a storm. Still, how could anyone foresee where the bad weather was centered?
Mr. Oaks was engaged in an activity that had aroused her curiosity ever since she had first become aware of it. Desiring to know more about the instrument that had so absorbed him, Cerynise meandered casually across the deck until she reached his side and then waited patiently until he lowered the device he was using.
“Is that a sextant?” Cerynise asked with a smile, indicating the metal contraption that looked like a triangle with a curved base and several interesting attachments.
“Why yes, it is,” he answered, surprised by her knowledge. He held it out for her to see more clearly. “With this and a chronometer, a sailor could almost plot a course through heaven itself.”
“How is it done, may I ask?”
Smiling at her interest, Mr. Oaks gallantly offered, “Allow me to show you, ma’am. You see, one simply looks through the telescope here”—he tapped that part of the instrument with his forefinger—“and focuses it on an object in the sky, in this case the moon that has obligingly remained in the morning sky.” He stepped behind her, extending his arms beyond hers to make the necessary adjustments, and then leaned close over her shoulder to correct it back a degree. “One then measures the angle between the object and the horizon. With that angle, a sailor can refer back to the appropriate books of tables and, in only a few moments, calculate our latitude.”
Cerynise was thoroughly engaged in studying the moon, for even as pale as it now appeared, she could make out vague shadows across the surface. “This is amazing, Mr. Oaks. I never thought I’d be able to see so much.”
“Aye, ’tis,” Mr. Oaks agreed. “Before the sextant was invented, sailors had to rely on the astrolabe, but that was a bad business in its day, for the instrument had to be sighted on the sun. Navigators who served a goodly number of years regularly went blind.”
Cerynise felt a measure of dismay as she lowered the sextant and stared at him. “You must feel extremely fortunate to have an instrument as fine as a sextant at your disposal.”
“Indeed, madam. Now let me show you how to calculate an angle.”
He was in the process of doing that when a sudden awareness swept over Cerynise. One moment she was thoroughly occupied with learning the operation of the sextant. The next she was oblivious to everything but her heart gathering speed and the certain, inexplicable realization that Beau was close at hand.
That perception was swiftly confirmed with a gruff question. “What are you doing, Mr. Oaks?”
The mate stiffened apprehensively and, dropping his arms to his sides, stepped back away from Cerynise. Blameless he was, for there had been no slightest hint of impropriety, yet in spite of that fact he started stammering. “B-begging your pardon, Captain, but your wife…I mean, Mrs. Birmingham expressed an interest in the workings of a sextant.”
“I see,” Beau replied, his eyes raking them both. The wind ruffled his raven locks as he considered each of them, increasing their discomfiture no small degree.
Cerynise felt a keen regret for having involved the mate in this situation that, although innocent, had apparently nettled her husband’s ire. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have interrupted Mr. Oaks while he was busy, Captain. I shan’t do it again.”
Beau turned his attention upon his first officer. “And were you able to finish with your instructions, Mr. Oaks?”
Stephen Oaks shifted his stance uneasily, folding his arms around the sextant as he clasped it to his chest. “I was just showing Mrs. Birmingham how to calculate an angle, sir, but I wasn’t able to finish.”
“Then carry on, Mr. Oaks,” Beau urged, returning a grin to their gaping stares. “I don’t know of anyone who can tutor her any better.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” the mate stuttered in relief.
Cerynise curbed her amusement as she watched her husband strolling leisurely away. She had the sinking suspicion that Beau Birmingham had deliberately set about to frighten them nigh out of their wits for no other reason than his own puckish enjoyment. Perhaps the boy he had once been, who had relished teasing her long ago, had not entirely vanished after all.
Cerynise hurriedly begged leave of the mate. “Excuse me, Mr. Oaks, but I should like to have a word with my husband.”
Leaving the man, she quickened her steps to catch up with Beau and casually fell in beside him. He glanced askance at her, displaying some surprise at her presence. The coy grin she gave him was quite charming. “I gather you’re feeling rather smug by now, Captain.”
He seemed perplexed by her statement. “Madam? What are you saying?”
“You know very well what I’m saying,” she challenged. “I’ve been acquainted with you far too long not to recognize that devilish wit of yours. You intentionally harassed that poor man, making him think you were jealous.…”
Beau squinted as he lifted his gaze into the shrouds above their heads. “I am jealous.”
His simple acknowledgment baffled Cerynise so completely that she could not find further words with which to accuse him.
“I’m jealous of any man who claims even a moment of your time when that moment is not also spent with me. I could have shown you the sextant and explained the way it works, but since we’ve left London, you’ve been avoiding me as if I carried the plague. The only way you’ll consent to come to my cabin now is if I have other guests. Indeed, madam, you protect your virtue more adroitly than any chastity belt ever could.”
His accusations brought home to her the truth of what he said. She had been evading him. What could she do when every enticing moment she spent with him in private drew her ever closer to his bed? “You know why I can’t chance being with you.”
Beau sighed heavily, wearied by her arguments, and looked out to sea. “A storm is brewing.”
His abrupt change of topics took Cerynise unawares, and yet she was grateful for it. It put them on safe ground again.
“How can you tell?”
Stepping near the rail, he beckoned for her to draw near and pointed toward the gray churning mass curling away from the hull. “Was the water this choppy yesterday?”
Cerynise stared at the deep ripple of foam-capped peaks and the murk beyond before she shook her head.
“What about the wind? Notice anything different since you came on deck?”
She thought about it a moment before realizing that the air was cooler. “The wind has changed direction.”
He nodded, pleased by her observation. “And may again.” Noticing her sudden concern, he gave her a lopsided smile. “No need to fear, my sweet. Audacious has weathered many storms and has come through no worse for the wear of them.”
“I’ll never be able to find the horizon in bad weather,” she commented ruefully, casting a sidelong glance toward the one still in evidence.
Beau threw back his head and laughed in hearty amusement. Laying his arms about her shoulders, he drew her close and settled his chin on top of her head. “Then you’d best return to my cabin, madam, for I can promise, be it the foulest tempest to cross these waters, I can give you something to stare at and hold that will occupy your mind so completely, you’ll never even be aware of a storm passing.”
“Beau!” she chided breathlessly. She was becoming too aware of his bawdy humor to miss his insinuations. “For shame!”
He chuckled, gathering her closer to him. It had been far too long since he had been able to hold her thus. “Why? No one can hear us with this wind.”
“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t seem appropriate that you should talk to me the way you do when we might not be married in a few weeks.”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes, madam. Until then, you’re my wife, and if you won’t allow me to enjoy you like any normal husband, then you’ll have to bear my poor humor, for ’tis the only way I can take my revenge upon you.”
Feigning a pout, Cerynise started to push away, but Beau clamped his arms more tightly about her and, dropping his chin near her temple, whispered, “Stay put, or I’ll embarrass us both.”
Burying her face against his neck, Cerynise settled back against him, allowing him the protection of her skirts. She was glad that he couldn’t see her face, for the heat of it nearly stifled her. Yet she felt a strange, delicious contentment that her nearness could affect him even in the company of so many.
It was a very long moment before her husband loosened his arms about her, but even as she moved away, his hand followed the line of her inner arm until only the tips of their fingers touched. Then, with a grin, Cerynise glanced back at him and broke away, racing toward the companionway. Beau watched her go with eyes that glowed as he acknowledged to no one but himself his growing fondness for the girl whom he had once casually befriended with a brotherly affection.
The sea began to churn and soon became a dark, angry gray. Just looking at it made Cerynise want to retch. Low, roiling clouds gathered, stealing away the sunlight, and what warmth remained was blown away by the rising wind. Spitting rain stung the face and hands, and then the night-born gloom settled in like a dark, depressing shroud.
Cerynise retreated to her cabin, ate supper from her lonely tray, and slipped into her narrow bed. Everything about the mate’s quarters had grown suddenly stale and boring, and she fought a strengthening desire to flee to the comfortable masculine quarters just down the passageway. She seriously doubted that Beau would be there; he had spent many hours on deck during the day and as yet she hadn’t heard the familiar creak of the flooring outside her door that would have indicated his return to his cabin, but if she allowed herself, she could conjure all manner of reasons and excuses for awaiting his return and then yielding herself completely to that compelling, green-eyed gaze and everything else that would follow, no doubt in short order.
Reluctantly Cerynise stayed in her virginal domain throughout the night, but with the coming of morning, it seemed her world had taken on a drastic change, for the ship had already run afoul of rough seas. A strange, yellowtinged grayness loomed above them, which made it terribly difficult for her to even look up. She hated the dull winding-sheet that lay morosely over everything within sight. Indeed, she feared it was a bad omen for what was yet to come.
“We’re gonna have a real blow, we are, mum,” Billy announced in an excited tone when he brought her breakfast tray. “Cap’n says so.”
A wavering sigh escaped her, and with a small vein of hope, she queried, “Has he ever been wrong before, Billy?”
The cabin boy looked astonished. “The cap’n?” He seemed to search his mind a moment for an answer. “Why no, mum, I can’t say as how I’ve ever known him ta be mistaken. He knows the sea like the back—”
“Of his hand,” Cerynise finished gloomily. She groaned, pushing aside the tray. She had no doubt that her fear of storms was centered primarily on her memories of the one which had taken the lives of her parents. She just hoped this one would be kinder. “I feel as if I’m going to be sick all over again.”
“Now, mum, don’t do that,” Billy pleaded anxiously. “I’ll have to tell the cap’n, an’ he’s awfully busy right now. Besides, he asked me ta bring ye up on deck if’n ye’d like, seein’ as how ye won’t be able ta come up much more before we hit the full strength of the storm.”
Cerynise mutely agreed and, wrapping a cloak snugly about her, followed the lad up. The moment she stepped on deck, she felt the wind slicing through her garments and the icy impact of it on her face. Waves crashed in quickening repetition against the craft, sending thick sprays of foaming water over the railing. The Audacious continually dipped into the troughs between roiling gray mountains of water and then surged upward again as more swells passed beneath the bow. Cerynise put out a hand to steady herself as the deck seemed to drop from beneath her, making her eyes widen in mingling amazement and fear. Ropes had been strung across the deck to provide handholds, and although none of the men were using them as yet, Cerynise wasn’t that confident of her ability to stand upright without aid. She firmly gripped a cord and held on for dear life as she considered the world she had come to know. It now seemed very small, no more than a tiny speck in comparison to the immensity of the sea.
Instinctively she searched for Beau and found him talking to the quartermaster again. Both of them were looking out to sea, and their manner was calm but highly focused. Beau was garbed in a thick seaman’s sweater and wore a cap that sat rakishly upon his dark head, no doubt to keep the wind from whipping his dark mane into his eyes. There was a moment when he turned his face into a sudden gust and laughed as if he were enjoying himself immensely.
Shaking her head at the unfathomable ways in which men faced danger, Cerynise took a last look around and decided she had had enough. She now considered the relative calm of the mate’s cabin quite inviting.
The storm continued throughout the night into the following morning. Whatever light came with daybreak, it was barely detectable; there was only a thick, watery grayness that completely obscured everything, even the topmasts. Nothing was tangible beyond their small realm, and what would be left in the wake of the howling tempest remained to be seen, for it had become a demon that sought to wreak a terrible vengeance upon the vessel that had dared intrude into its midst.
It was well into the wee hours of two mornings hence when a sudden thump in the passageway snatched Cerynise awake. It was promptly followed by a muttered curse that set her heart to leaping. Flying from the bunk, she snatched open the door and leaned out to see Beau stumbling down the lurching corridor toward his quarters. He was tugging off his oilskins, which apparently hadn’t helped much, for the clothes he wore beneath them were thoroughly soaked enough to leave wet trails behind him. Even from behind, Cerynise could tell that he was shaking uncontrollably from the cold.
Flinging wide his cabin door, Beau forged inward without bothering to push it closed behind him. Immediately he tossed the slicker and his cap aside and then started stripping off his sweater and the long-sleeved, finely knit shirt he wore beneath. Cerynise followed in his wake and swept the portal shut, then hastened to a locker beyond his shaving stand. Beau glanced around long enough to realize he had company. His eyes flicked briefly over her nightgown, the same one he had seen her wearing when she had been sick. Although the soft billowing fabric clung to the ripe curves of her young body divinely, for once he had neither the strength nor the desire to become amorous.
“Y-you’d b-better get back to b-bed before you c-catch your d-death, madam,” he stuttered shiveringly, working open the fastening of his trousers with fingers that did not readily respond. They were so cold that he dreaded the pain of them being warmed again. Indeed, he couldn’t remember ever being so cold, even in Russia. “If you s-stay, you’ll be s-seeing a lot m-more than y-your virginal s-senses may be able to bear.”
“You took care of me once when I needed it,” Cerynise countered matter-of-factly as she gathered a handful of towels and a blanket from the locker. “Would it be so hard for you to let me do the same for you?” She shrugged at the notion that she would be shocked. “Besides, I’ve seen everything about you that a wife is allowed to see.”
“That’s right,” he acknowledged, peeling down the sodden trousers and the long underwear he wore beneath. He dropped to the bunk and bent forward to drag off his boots, but with an exhausted sigh, he decided differently and sprawled back upon the mattress, flinging his arms wide. Immediately Cerynise was there. Kneeling at his feet, she tugged off the footwear and then his trousers and underwear.
Beau had closed his eyes, but he promptly flung them open again as he felt his long frame being vigorously rubbed dry with linen cloths. He was mildly amazed at his young wife’s boldness in toweling not only the whole length of his body, but his private parts as well. As much as he would have rallied with eager zeal to her ministrations under different circumstances, he was too spent to muster more than a muted plea for warm soup.
“I’ll get Billy up and send him to the galley to heat you some as soon as I get you under the covers,” Cerynise murmured, pulling the feather tick and top sheet from under him. In a moment she was tucking the bedclothes up over his shoulders as he huddled on his side. She slipped into the same elegant gentleman’s robe which she had found in the familiar locker and tied it about her. Then she left to find Billy and give him instructions.
In a few moments she was back and made haste to turn down the lanterns that had been lit in anticipation of the captain’s return to his cabin. She was aware of Beau’s bleary-eyed gaze following her movements about the room, but other than that, he was as still as death. When the soup was brought, she propped the pillows behind his head to brace him up. Greatly surprised that he would allow her, she began to feed him, but his fatigue was acute and his eyelids sagged closed repeatedly between spoonfuls.
Making the decision to stay in his cabin, Cerynise spread a blanket out beside his bunk, but at a muted grunt from Beau, she glanced up and saw him trying to drag the covers down behind him.
“Join me,” he pleaded in a low murmur and, with a heavy sigh, slowly closed his eyes again.
The hard floor hadn’t been very inviting anyway, Cerynise reasoned as she crawled over her husband and settled into the warm, narrow space between him and the wall. Facing his back, she tucked her knees beneath his and slipped an arm around him. Her hand found its way to his chest, and briefly her fingers stroked across the furred expanse and a male nipple before his hand came up to enfold hers within his grasp.
In the very next moment his slow, heavy breathing made Cerynise realize that he had fallen asleep. With a smile she brushed her nose against his stalwart back, and then, snuggling even closer, found a comfortable place for her cheek to rest.
Far too soon, Beau roused himself from the cozy haven of his bunk and the soft form sleeping within it and returned to the battle raging overhead. The crew worked in six-hour shifts, but he worked continually, driving himself far beyond the limits of endurance. He spent little time in his cabin, but when he did, Cerynise was immediately there, helping him strip away his wet clothes and nurturing him in a myriad of different ways that Beau hadn’t even deemed possible. He felt a sharp sense of disappointment that he was too exhausted to even enjoy the awareness of her soft body pressing warmly against his for the few moments he was able to snatch some sleep.
At last, the storm spent its fury, and the Audacious glided into a calmer sea. A full complement of sails were unfurled to catch the now beneficent wind, and once again they began to make good time. The quiet relief of the men was evidenced by their frequent smiles and their energetic eagerness to get on with the business of sailing.
Cerynise found her own contentment sharply dimmed by the realization that Beau hadn’t yet fully recovered the hardiness he had exhibited prior to the storm. At times, she was sure his face appeared flushed, at other moments pale and drawn. His movements appeared strained and listless, as if it took a concerted effort for him to walk from bunk to chair or to make an ascent to the deck. Cerynise was there when, from a distance, she saw him speak a few words to Mr. Oaks, who frowned with sudden concern. A moment later, Beau went below.
Usually by the middle of the afternoon the captain was present on the quarterdeck, but he made no appearance on this particular day, nor was he seen when the evening watch took over. Cerynise became increasingly concerned, and although she was reluctant to intrude upon his privacy now that the stress of the storm had passed, it seemed the least she could do was to make sure he was all right. If nothing else, it would ease her own worries.
His cabin door was closed, and no sound could be heard from within despite the passage of time she stood beside it in a nervous quandary. Cerynise could resist no longer and rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood. After a moment of continuing silence, she eased the portal open and found her husband sprawled naked on his back with an arm folded over his eyes.
“Beau…?” she murmured, moving quietly to the bed. His lack of response compelled her to reach out a hand and touch his cheek. He had not shaved since the previous morning, and that was most unusual for Beau, who had always been meticulous about doing so except during the height of the storm. But of far greater significance was the fact that he was burning up with fever.
Cerynise promptly set to work. After bidding Billy to fetch a bucket of water and a fresh bundle of towels, she shushed the boy’s concerns and assured him that she would do all she could to care for his captain. She bade him tell Philippe that a light broth would be needed as well as some of the medicinal tea which he had once boasted about while she sketched him.
Beau was mumbling incoherently by the time she returned to the bunk. He looked at her strangely when she sat beside him and tried to press a cup of water to his lips. It seemed as if the demons of hell had just threatened him, for his arm thrashed out wildly, sending the container and its contents flying. Cerynise managed to duck just in time to escape being hurt, but she was immediately back, spreading a wet linen across his brow. Soaking another cloth, she began to bathe his throat and body in an effort to reduce the fever, all the while speaking soft, soothing words to calm him. He raved on in disjointed sentences that made no sense to her, and she was constantly aware that any moment he could rise up and send a fist crashing into her jaw.
Bathing his body didn’t seem to have as much effect reducing his fever as she had hoped, and Cerynise fretfully changed tactics. After dribbling cool water over his chest, she spread a wet cloth over it and left it there. She did the same for his lower torso, providing him a modesty cloth of sorts, though in truth she was no more concerned about his nakedness than he was. She was too upset to think of such a trivial matter when she was far more intent upon getting him well again.
The cooling compresses were soon warmed by the heat of his body, and once again she addressed herself to sprinkling him down and laying on freshly dampened towels. She was leaning over him and reapplying a wet cloth to his brow when he drew his breath in sharply and opened glazed eyes to stare at her. Cerynise had no idea if he recognized her or not, but of a sudden she found both her arms seized in his unyielding grip. A smile slashed across his hard features as he drew her down upon his chest.
“I need you.…”
“Yes, I know,” she replied pleasantly as she tried to pry his steely fingers loose from her arm. She managed to lay the cloth over his brow, but in the next moment she found her breast encompassed by a large hand.
“Behave, my love. You’re sick,” she cooed, stroking the hair at his temples. “We can discuss this at a later time, when you’re feeling better.”
Her attempts to brush aside his hand seemed to amuse him. “Don’t be frightened, my sweet,” he rasped. “I won’t be rough with you.”
“You’re ill,” she stated, trying to penetrate his fevered trance. “You must rest. Now lie back and behave yourself.”
The tug of war that quickly ensued for possession of her breast ended in a rending of cloth which promptly separated her bodice to a depth well below her bosom. The ripe fullness spilled outward through the rent, masked by nothing more than a filmy chemise.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she gently rebuked.
“You’re beautiful,” he crooned, reaching to seize the pale orbs.
Cerynise promptly decided she needed to put some distance between herself and her feverishly amorous husband, at least until he sank again into uncaring oblivion. Gathering her bodice together, she flitted back to the mate’s quarters, garbed herself in a nightgown and robe and then returned to the captain’s cabin.
Beau had turned his face aside to the wall, and the twitching of his arms and legs indicated that he was in the midst of a dream that apparently had him waging a different sort of a game, perhaps one with a more aggressive combatant than she had proven to be. He began to mutter something about Majorca…the ship being threatened…a fight…men he had to free from a prison.…
The next three days were an agonizing torture for Cerynise. At times, Beau recognized her and was aware that they were in his cabin. He would eat and submit himself to her wifely baths with barely a complaint, but then his fever would start rising again, and he’d be drawn back into the demented world of delirium. Though Mr. Oaks and Billy both tried their utmost to persuade her to get some rest, offering to take turns watching over their captain, she firmly refused. The thought of leaving Beau even for so short a time was unbearable. Instead, she moved her clothes back into the cabin, ate the food that was brought to her without being even remotely aware of its taste, and kept her vigil as faithfully as a mother over her child. When she slept, it was beside her husband, for she knew if Beau took a turn for the worse during the night, she’d become immediately aware of the change while lying next to him.
Command of the ship had fallen to Stephen Oaks, who came down frequently to see if there was any change. Billy Todd hovered nearby, his young face the picture of misery. Although the ship was in competent hands and no thought of shirking was ever entertained, the atmosphere on board had seemed to change drastically. Philippe fretted that he was not doing enough, and the quartermaster was seen talking solemnly to Mr. Oaks in the companionway outside the mate’s quarters. When Cerynise passed them looking for Billy, the older man made inquiries that readily convinced her of his loyalty and concern for his captain. He offered to do what he could if she had need of him, but she graciously refused, assuring him that he would better serve his captain at the helm, steering them homeward.
In an effort to strengthen her husband, Cerynise was forever trying to force some kind of liquid into his mouth and would often press a cup to his lips and urge him to sip the water or a warm brew. When he sought to turn aside, she gently scolded him for being obstinate and declared his own words back to him: “You’re as dry as an unearthed skeleton, Captain Birmingham. Now drink!”
Whatever hesitation she might have once suffered at the idea of touching his private parts was completely vanquished by the familiarity of bathing him and tending his personal needs. Though she remained virginal in actuality, her naiveté was no longer something Cerynise accepted as fact, for it had been nigh sundered by the intimacy of handling her husband’s body. In those brief moments in which he was aware of her service to him, she no longer blushed or felt any shame for having to touch him in areas that even in his illness evoked his reaction. It definitely brought a sharper flush of color to his face when she performed the more debasing duties. When he was too weak to stand, receptacles were brought for his use, and as efficient as a well-practiced nursemaid, she would assist him and then dispense with the contents in quiet dignity, whisking the container out the door, where Billy took charge.
“Why don’t you let the boy see to my needs?” Beau asked weakly, abashed after another such occurrence.
Cerynise smiled down at him with glowing eyes and murmured considerably more sweetly than he had once done, “In sickness or in health, my dearest.”
“Are you set on tormenting me, woman?” he asked gruffly.
“Never that, my dear.” Cerynise paused to wash her hands as she teased, “I’m only trying to get you well so I won’t have to wear widow’s weeds for months on end.”
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he complained, grating a hand across the stubble darkening his cheeks. It was definitely not as bad as it could’ve been, for she had also learned the knack of shaving him, along with giving him a bath. It was just that he was tired of being sick and embarrassed by her wifely ministrations when he had always been so stalwart.
Cerynise came back to the bunk and laid out fresh sheets to change his bed linens. “Turnabout is fair play, is it not, Captain?”
Beau scowled. “You’re deliberately antagonizing me when I’m too weak to do anything about it.”
Gazing down at him, Cerynise allowed her lips to curve coyly as her eyes glowed back at him. “What would you like to do about it if you were stronger, sir?”
If his chin hadn’t already been wedged against his neck by the pillows stuffed behind his head, Beau was sure it would have descended forthwith. Even with his dazed senses, he could detect an invitation when it was presented. “Careful, madam. I’ll not always be hampered by this confounded weakness.”
“Strange, I didn’t realize you’ve been hampered in the least.” Cerynise looked straight into his eyes, daring to remind him that only a moment earlier when she had been in the process of bathing him, the manly flesh had thickened beneath her hand.
“’Tis the other I speak of…the lack of strength that afflicts me,” he muttered grumpily. “I could be nigh dead and the sight of you would awaken that part of me. But you undoubtedly think you’re safe, woman, else you wouldn’t tease me.”
“I think no such thing, sir,” she asserted, and then, just as quickly, flashed him a smile. “But that is neither here nor there, sir.” She twirled her finger in a downward circle, motioning him to face away. “I need to get dressed for bed, and since I’ve given Mr. Oaks back his cabin for the time being, I can’t very well ask him to vacate his quarters so I can change, now can I?”
“You’ve seen enough of me,” Beau argued. “Why can’t I see more of you?”
“Because, dear husband, looking at you isn’t going to place you in danger of being raped.”
“Is it rape when a husband makes love to his wife?”
“We’ll leave that for the sages to answer in years to come, my dear,” she answered with a coquettish smile. “As for now, I would like for you to turn your head…please.”
Beau started to roll over but was once again reminded of just how weak he had become, leaving him no more strength than a baby. He averted his face instead.
By the next evening, Cerynise sensed that a crisis had come. Beau’s fever escalated sharply, and his delirium became more intense. At one point, he lashed out and sent a basin of water crashing to the floor, thoroughly soaking Cerynise in the process. It had been in her mind to don a nightgown, but perhaps not as soon as she was required to do so.
Beau finally quieted, and Cerynise was torn between apprehension and relief. When she felt his skin, she was led to hope that it might be a slight degree cooler than before, but she couldn’t be certain. Taking no chances, she cooled him down with wet towels until she was at least assured that the fever was no higher than it had been earlier that day. Then she doused the tiny flames of all but one lantern which hung near the bunk and crawled over Beau to take her usual place on the far side. Mentally and physically drained of strength by her fretful worrying throughout the days and nights, she nestled close against his back and found her favorite area to rest her hand, feeling pleasantly reassured by the strong, sturdy heartbeat beneath her palm. She closed her eyes and let herself be swept along into deep, blissful repose.
It was strange the pleasures one could find in the arms of Morpheus. A warm titillating wetness drew on her nipple while a feverish hand moved beneath her gown, searching out the secret softness of her. Following the urging pressure of her dream lover’s hands, she relaxed back upon the pillows and welcomed him with opening limbs. His naked body covered hers and seemed to scald her with more than the fervor he exhibited. The blunt probing of a blazing hardness against her womanly flesh was only one more caress she willingly accepted. Then a burning pain stabbed through her, bringing her up off the pillow with a shocked gasp.
Cerynise passed a hand over her eyes as if to wipe the sleep from them, but this was no dream thrusting intently at her loins. This was Beau, feverish, dazed and thoroughly engorged with lust as his narrow hips caressed hers in long, leisurely strokes that soothed the shock of his penetration. Down in the depth of her, where the hard flint struck, she could feel sparks beginning to flare in a tinderbox overflowing with womanly ardor. His detailed explanations of weeks ago were now made vividly clear, and she responded in ways that he had described were pleasing to a man, rising up against him, taking him fully into her, and meeting his hard strokes with a passionate zeal and desire to gratify his cravings completely. For too long he had wanted this from her, and now she was giving him everything she had within her.
His harsh breathing rasped near her ear, sounding thunderously loud, while her own quickening gasps seemed to be torn from the inner marrow of her being. His loins thudded into hers with increasing intensity until she was nigh moaning for want of some strange release that she could not fathom. The intensifying hunger within her became almost insatiable, driving her to a kind of wildness that made her dig her nails into his back. Then she caught her breath in surprise as she felt the first pulsing waves of bliss begin to wash over her. She was greedy to savor it all and began to writhe beneath him until they were straining against each other, forcing every pleasurable sensation that could be wrenched free to gush forth in a torrent of sizzling, scintillating ecstasy. It was a dazzling display, a thoroughly unique experience of being lifted aloft while tiny, rapture-filled bubbles burst in and all around their cleaving bodies. Cerynise felt a feverish warmth filling her and welcomed it in the cavern of her being, clasping her husband’s tautly flexing buttocks as she lifted herself up to him so the feeling wouldn’t be lost or wasted. Gradually the hard thrusts slowed, and Beau relaxed against her.
“Cerynise, don’t leave me…” he muttered against her throat.
Her arms slipped around him, and she smiled, tears of joy filling her eyes. “I won’t, Beau.”
She held him close to her, aware of the thudding of his heart and his harsh, labored breath tickling her face. She didn’t know how long she lay there. Her eyelids were sagging closed when she felt him move away. Turning on his side away from her, he huddled beneath the bedcovers and immediately began shivering.
“Cold,” he mumbled. “So cold.”
Fear spiraled through Cerynise, but when she rose up behind him and laid a hand to his brow, it seemed definitely cooler. She sighed in relief and then glanced down at herself in some surprise. The ties of her nightgown had been pulled free, and the garment now hung off her shoulder, falling open to an elbow and leaving her ripe breasts fully exposed. Minute pinpoints of red speckled the pale orbs where they had been scraped by her husband’s beard. The nipples were equally flushed and tender where he had suckled her.
For some strange reason Cerynise found this new experience strangely satisfying, as if these tiny wounds were evidence of her new wifely status. The day of their marriage, Beau had been incredibly gentle with the sensitive peaks, leaving no hint afterwards that he had ever taken them into his mouth. But in his fevered state he had been mindless of everything but the fulfillment he had sought and, perhaps unwittingly, gave her in return.
Cerynise crawled over him, taking care not to disturb him, but he reached out a hand to halt her from leaving. As she climbed free, it fell back upon the mattress. For a moment she stood beside the bunk, gazing down at her handsome husband, feeling closer to him than she ever had before. Much in awe of this stirring tenderness, she knelt beside him and lightly kissed his ear, his cheek and his mouth. As she did, she realized that not once during his lovemaking had he kissed her. It was almost as if he had avoided doing so, which seemed very odd, since he had previously sought her kisses with fervent zeal.
From beneath heavily weighted eyelids Beau stared at her in a daze, and with a smile Cerynise sat back upon her heels, making no effort to cover her breasts as his gaze ranged over them slowly. He lifted a hand toward her, but with a sigh, he closed his eyes and sank again into a heavy slumber.
After a moment Cerynise rose and was surprised to feel a sticky wetness between her thighs. On closer examination she realized that part of it was her own blood. Her eyes flew back to the far side of the bunk, where she saw reddened blotches marring the whiteness of the sheet. She searched further still and found that Beau had not been excluded from the ritual of virginal sacrifice. It seemed a late hour for such a task, but baths were definitely in order, and the sheets needed to be changed.
Freshly garbed in a nightgown, Cerynise set about to cleanse Beau and strip away the sheets. Her fingers brushed his forehead in a loving caress, and a sob of pure relief broke from her as she found his skin much cooler than it had been in days. The flush of fever was gone. Already he seemed to be resting easier and deeper. He stirred slightly, his lips moving. She bent closer, hardly daring to breathe. It seemed but a spiraling thread of sound that issued forth. “Cerynise, don’t hold yourself from me forever.…”
Gloom settled in, thrusting a sharp pain through her heart. He didn’t even remember what he had done. Nor did it appear likely that he would when he came fully to his senses. Would he even believe her if she tried to explain? Perhaps, if she made such an attempt, he’d even be inclined to think that she had taken advantage of him in his delirium. Or more rightly, perhaps, insist that she continue letting him have his way with her until their marriage was annulled.
Painful as it was for her to consider that he might want to proceed with the nullification of their marriage upon their arrival in Charleston, Cerynise reaffirmed her intent not to stop him from obtaining his freedom. Better to let him think the consummation never happened at all than to see him vexed by a union he had offered only on a temporary basis. As painful as it would be for her to bear, she thought she could let him go more easily if he remained unaware of what had happened in his bunk. If he felt honor bound to do the right thing by her but eventually came to resent her being his wife.…
Cerynise choked on a sudden welling of tears and couldn’t continue with the thought, for her heart grew cold even as the idea formed.
No! It was better to pretend that nothing had ever happened. Though her decision filled her with trembling disquiet, she grew more dedicated to it with each passing moment. With no other thought in her mind but to allow Beau the liberty to make the final decision whether to continue with their marriage or to dissolve it, she lovingly bathed the now quiescent male form, kissing his arms, face and chest amid a profusion of tears. Then she labored to turn him over as she stripped away the stained sheet and spread a fresh one over the mattress.
She had just finished remaking the bed when she recognized Billy’s footsteps in the passageway. Frantically Cerynise glanced around for a place to conceal the dirty clothes and espied the second locker beyond the bunk, the one that normally held his rain gear, which was now dry and stored away again. Surely, she reasoned, they’d be favored by a calmer voyage from now on and the locker would remain unused. Rolling up the sheet and nightgown together, she stuffed them near the back of the compartment and barely clicked the door shut before Billy knocked softly and asked if she needed him for anything or if he should go to bed.
“The captain’s fever has broken, Billy,” she called through the door. “He’s going to be just fine, so go and enjoy your sleep.”
His ecstatic response left no doubt in her mind that the news of his captain’s recovery pleased him.