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Men climb the rigging like spiders on a web, their indecipherable shouts down are returned from somewhere below. I could swear that I hear a pig squealing, as if thrown overboard, without the slightest reaction from anyone. A sailor in the rigging is watching my search and laughing. I shift to get a better view of him when the sail is dropped, hiding him from sight.
The sail billows with the breeze, snapping as the ropes creak and groan. Captain Harris had a point about the sounds of a ship. They can be confusing. No one would throw valuable living swine overboard. Nonsensical. I look away, gaze landing on the spot where the knife hit the bulkhead, instead of Bentwood’s heart. My cheeks flame with the memory of what followed. My first kiss. Drat the man.
I shiver and turn, as if one can turn away from thoughts, and barge into a solid warm wall on the tail of my memory. Bentwood catches me.
There are no kisses this time.
“Oh, bother!” I snap. “You should have told me you were there.” He doesn’t remind me of his orders to stay below, watching me. A set-down I can counter. Watching is another matter. “Well,” I prod.
Sailing is not the quiet, peaceful time the land-lovers imagine. The sailors chant as they work, a constant rhythm blending with the bouquet of the sea and a breeze so strong, it touches all senses.
Yet in that moment, there’s nothing but the thump of my heart. Bentwood’s eyes are narrowed, intense. Has he fathomed my thoughts? Cutting off such foolishness, I leave him and face the sea. Months and months of this might drive me mad. Except, according to Montague, our trip has been shortened.
“Did you come above board merely because I asked you not to?”
His voice feels dark and alluring.
“Why should I do as you tell me?”
Let him consider that. After all, he arranged all of this — our marriage, the innocent state of it, and this sailing. I could have been happily miserable with Montague. He would have gone his way, I mine. Father would have negotiated a settlement to keep me from the pauper’s door while Montague slid toward his own. Father was clever that way. I deserved Montague. He was safe. No risk to my heart.
Bentwood doesn’t rise to my bait, changing the subject.
“There is nothing quite like the sun after a storm,” he says. “Even the air sparkles.”
See, how can I not love him? Fortunately, I’m very good at hiding my heart. So good, my papa claims it’s non-existent. Bentwood joins me at the rail, both of us looking out over the water.
“Why did you…”
I search for words, wanting to disconcert him, refusing to be alone in this. But how to describe what he did? Kiss is far too docile for what happened last night.
He frowns, angling himself toward me.
“You know why I wanted you belowdecks.”
His hand on the rail shifts. The tips of his fingers touch my little finger. If I move, he’ll know I am bothered. I refuse to give him that power.
“That’s not what I was referring to.” He leans closer. Impossible to put him on the defensive with my senses all in a jumble. “I needed to breathe.” I push away. “Impossible in that little cabin.” Mr. Cabbage has to be moved before I can join Bentwood. “Besides, poor Jenny feels wretched enough sharing with us when she’s so ill.” Cleaning Jenny up, preparing for yet another person in our space, and then transporting her, had taken its toll on all of us.
Worse, the maid did not want to be moved, especially when she was not well enough to be looking after us. What nonsense. Exceptional situations call for exceptional action.
“Better I’m not there to remind her of station and duty.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, which perks me up.
“I’m afraid you’re doing exactly what I requested.”
“You told me to stay belowdecks.”
“A few moments ago, I sent someone to fetch the three of you.”
“I thought you considered it dangerous for us to be up on deck.”
“The Captain assures me it is not, at least, if you stay aft.”
I look up at the sailors in the rigging and realise that we are being watched.
“No wonder I wasn’t stopped.”
