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Bringing her pleasure is my only goal now, even as the ship lurches beneath us. The men will know I’m in her cabin, though all but Hilla and Salvi believe me to be an Elderman.

“Aiken,” she cries against my mouth. Alarmed, I pull away. Or try to. But she grabs my hand, staying it. Which is when I realize what is happening. If Whitley weren’t dead already, I would kill the man myself.

“Tis normal,” I say, watching her face as I guide her toward the bed. Pulling my hand away, I tell her what to expect. Something, I suspect, none have done before. Not even before she was married.

But then who would have done so? Her mother had died, her sister, the queen, younger than she and inexperienced. Was there not even a maid to do so?

Making quick work of my breeches, and realizing I’ve done nothing to allay her fears as she stares at me now, I talk quickly.

“You’ve not made love, Hilla. I intend to rectify that. Those feelings, when my fingers were inside you . . . you will feel so again. Despite what many will say, the pleasure that derives from this . . .” I kneel between her legs, grateful there is no bunk above us; the bed is small, but large enough to accommodate us. “. . . is not something to be ashamed of. Nor to shy away from. And aye,” I answer as she opens her mouth to speak, “I am an expert on such matters.”

Hilla laughs.

“From having done this so often?” she teases.

“Mmm.” I spread her legs and lower myself, until Hilla realizes what I intend.

“Aiken! Certainly you cannot . . .”

If Hilla is to have her first climax, it will be with my tongue against her. So ignoring her indignation, I spread my lovely princess even wider. And proceed to show her how wrong she is.

I can. And I will.

No sooner does my tongue begin to coax her into the climax she nearly had before we stopped than Hilla’s hands are wound through my hair. Tasting her, loving her with my mouth, I am unsurprised she quickly releases, her legs trembling around me as I smile against her in sweet victory.

“Nay, Hilla. You forget from whence I came.”

Eyes wide, she watches, still panting, as I position myself above her.

“You know now,” I say, guiding myself closer, “I am no Elderman. Nor could I ever be so, for the thought of doing this”—I slowly push inside, Hilla still so very wet—“has consumed nearly every waking moment of mine since we met.”

Hilla, barely recovered, grips my shoulders.

“Had I known,” she says, “it would have consumed mine too.”

Laughing, and at the time burying myself fully inside her, I close my eyes. Seeing her, being joined this way . . .

“You are in pain,” she says, obviously concerned.

My eyes shoot open as I begin to move.

“I’ve been in pain since the day you wriggled this”—I slip my hand under her buttocks, squeezing—“against me when we rode away from Craighcebor.”

“I did no such thing.”

Taking advantage of my hand’s position, I use it to pull us closer.

“Mayhap not intentionally, Hilla, but I can assure you.” I circle my hips as I hold myself atop her. “You did.”

I could so easily come inside her, but I won’t. Not now. Not ever. But I will show her how it should be between a man and a woman.

“I would kiss you, but then I couldn’t see your face,” I say as Hilla’s expression changes from sheer wonder to pleasure as we move. Thrusting with increasing speed, I’m not so untrained to believe she will climax this way alone. As I dip my hand between us once again, Hilla’s hips push upward more urgently.

“This is not . . . that is to say, I know some enjoy this but—” She stops. No words are needed.

“This,” I assure her, “is as it should be.”

When Hilla’s lips part and her thighs begin to quiver, I do not relent. When her nails dig into my shoulders, I relish the sensation.