Authors: Paula Reed
“Sleep well, love,” he whispered.
Faith lay perfectly still. His warmth gradually seeped through the thin barrier between them, and his breathing fell into the genuinely relaxed rhythm of slumber. He smelled faintly of rain, sea spray and male sweat, and she could feel the hard muscle of his arm pressed against her, even though she had edged herself clear against the wall.
Whenever she had thought of sharing her life with a man, she had thought of a home of her own, children, and a place at his side in a church pew. She had not thought of the place she would occupy in her husband’s bed. Lust was a sin, and marriage did not make it any less so.
But what did Geoff mean, he could give her joy? What was this strange feeling that tugged at her stomach? She wanted to touch him, feel the flesh of the arm that invaded her space on the mattress. Was it evil to want such a thing? Her mind was a jumble of questions, but at last, she drifted into an uneasy sleep. In her dreams, shame forsook her, and she ran her hand decadently over the sensuous bulge of skin and sinew.
Geoff came instantly awake. Dawn had barely begun to gild the seascape beyond the thick glass window, but the molten heat of reality roused him from the comfortable warmth of dreams. Faith’s hand had fallen softly inside the crook of his elbow, but then it moved boldly upward, her dainty fingers splaying themselves across his arm until they rested upon his shoulder. She moved closer, pressing her face against that same shoulder. In her sleep, she smiled slightly and breathed deeply.
He stifled a groan and dearly regretted his decision to come to bed nude, her effect on him being far too evident. Perhaps he could ease himself from the bunk and dress without waking her. Still, the feel of her pliant body through the sheets enticed him to linger a moment longer. A moment too long, alas.
Faith’s lashes fluttered, and for a moment or two, she was content to enjoy the warmth and evocative scent that permeated the air around her. Where was she?
With a shriek she pushed against the unyielding form beside her. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
Geoff winced at the noise and sat up, wrapping the covers around his waist and carefully centering the excess fabric. “Sleeping! What are you doing? Changed your mind, have you? ‘Tis a woman’s birthright, I’m told.” He smiled lasciviously, and his eyes caressed her.
Faith looked about her and realized that somehow, in the night, she had rolled away from the wall. She didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it appeared that she was the one who had breached the space that should have remained between them.
“Forgive me! I don’t know what came over me.” She gathered the bed linens to her breast and scooted backward. Unfortunately, in her haste to gather her own sheet, she had caught the corner of his, and came dangerously close to pulling it from his hips all together.
Quickly, he stayed her hand. “Have a care, love. You’ll get an eyeful more than you expected that way. Of course, I have no objections if you’d like to continue to explore.”
“What?” Her breath caught in her throat and she blanched. “Oh, dear God, did I actually touch you?”
“Watch out, love. Was that the seventh Commandment you just broke?”
“What?” she cried, her face horror-stricken.
“You know, ‘Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain.’”
“That’s the third Commandment!” she snapped.
He laughed at her pale face. “Oh, this is interesting. Shy Faith is like to bite my very head off. Pray tell, what is the seventh?” He reached over to toy with a curl that fell over her shoulder.
She gave his hand a bold slap and brushed the curl away herself. “It is of no importance.”
“A commandment of no importance? Ha! Not for you, I’ll wager. Speak, else I’ll give you my sheet after all,” he teased, moving as though to pull the cover away.
“Adultery!” she cried, turning her red face to the wall. “Thou shalt not commit adultery!”
He chucked her softly under the chin, making her jump. “No danger there. Neither of us is married.”
“Fornication is just as bad!”
“Well, I vow this, when we get around to that particular sin, you shan’t sleep through it. If you could do that, I’d have to resign as captain and take up dressmaking! ‘Twould be a point of honor.”
She kept her face to the wall, but not merely to hide her burning cheeks. Truth to tell, the thought of Captain Geoffrey Hampton, lap covered in silk and lace, wielding a needle and thread, brought a smile to her lips.
“Put your clothes on!” she commanded, stifling a giggle.
“Sensible girl. What a pity.”
She listened again to the rustle of clothing and spoke, if only to cover the embarrassing sound. “Can I go above today?”
“Aye, and bathe, too, if you like. There, I’m covered.”
Faith peered at him, unable to disguise the look of longing the notion of a bath brought, and Geoff could not help but wish the look were for him and not bathwater. “We’ve barrels full of rainwater. You can scrub with saltwater, then rinse in the other. ‘Tis cold, for there’s no practical way to heat it, but it feels fine.”
A short while later, Thomas brought in a small tub and two large buckets, one of opaque saltwater, the other crystal clear rainwater. She smiled her thanks as he left, then hastily stripped. Geoff had spoken truly as the modest bath raised gooseflesh over her, but it felt wonderful to get thoroughly clean. Using the water as carefully as possible, she found she even had enough to wash her hair. Shivering in the cool cabin, she hastily dried her body and donned her shift, the fabric dragging reluctantly against her damp skin, clinging to the moist places on her back and between her breasts. Water trickled from her hair, leaving the thin cloth sheer where it molded to cold, taut nipples.
Next, she took the bath linen to her hair, pulling it over her head and rubbing vigorously, the fabric rustling in her ears and blocking her sight. If not for that, she would have noticed Geoff’s return. As it was, she did not see him when he leaned against the door, clearly enjoying the view.
“If you’d like, you can go on deck and let the wind dry it,” he offered helpfully. Faith screamed and held the wet cloth to her breast. He only chuckled when she turned away, blushing furiously. Fortunately for him, he thought, she was unaware that it clung as enticingly to her backside as it had the rest of her.
Her clothes were a rumpled mess, but they would have to do. The collar was far too wrinkled to wear, so she cast it aside, though it left a slight V of throat exposed that would have been modestly hidden.
On deck, fresh sea air filled her lungs like a balm. The sky had calmed, and a circle of light penetrated the gray that hovered over the ship’s masts. Green waves lapped the tall wooden hull of the ship, and though the wind chilled her, it felt wonderful after the stuffiness of the cabin.
As Geoff and Giles had told her, there were cages of chickens that clucked incessantly, and three goats that roamed at will. Geoff led her directly aft, scowling away any curious sailor who ventured too close.
As he watched the pleasure of crisp, clean air and freedom wash over his unexpected passenger, Geoff found his imagination drawn to the prim little notch at the neck of her gown. He thought of the two small, perfect breasts that had pressed against her wet shift when he walked into the cabin. He hadn’t intended to interrupt her, thought he had given her more than enough time, but neither did he regret his premature arrival. Two perfect handfuls, he had thought when he first undressed her and again that morning. How to get her curiosity piqued beyond endurance? He was not generally a patient man, but however long it took, he would know the feel of all that he had seen.
Geoff had given Faith an ivory comb, and she used it now, trying to work the snarls from her hair as it blew in the sea breeze.
“Here, let me have that,” he said.
“Nay, Captain, I’ve not finished.”
He caught her hand and tugged at the comb. “Not ‘Captain.’ Geoff. Say it, Faith.” Their eyes locked. He was serious again.
“Geoff,” she replied.
“There, that was not so very hard, was it?” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to him, then patiently began to coax the tangles from the strands of moonlight and quicksilver that trickled through his fingers. When she would have pulled away, he wrapped his hand in a damp lock. “Which commandment would that be, love?”
“Commandment?”
“Thou shalt not let a man comb thy hair.”
“The Lord is not mocked.”
“He has mocked me all my life.”
No one had combed her hair since she was a very little girl, and she was surprised at how heavenly it was, though it was so simple an act. She ceased her protest and allowed herself to enjoy its tenderness. “Do you not believe in God at all, Geoff?”
“I do not trouble myself with it. If there is a god, he thinks little enough of me, why should I think of him?”
“Do you not wonder what’s to become of you when you die?”
“I know what’s to become of me. They can fling my skin and bones into the ocean and feed the fish. If I owe anything in my life, ‘tis to the ocean I owe it.”
“You’ve no desire for heaven nor fear of hell?”
“Heaven, hell—they’re like love and forever, Faith. They’re fairytales.”
“You don’t believe in love? But that’s so sad. Have you never been in love?”
Geoff felt an unpleasant twinge at the wistfulness of her voice. It had not occurred to him that perhaps there had been some man, someone other than the odious preacher, who had shared Faith’s life before him. “Have you?”
She gave a little sigh. “Nay. Before the whole predicament with Reverend Williams came up, I had thought to marry Aaron Jacobs. He is a good man and kind. I hoped we might come to love each other someday.”
“Have you ever known anyone who was in love? Not for a day, or a month, or even a year, but forever?”
“My parents.” She imagined them now, worried sick. Before grief could overwhelm her, Geoff’s cynical tone interrupted her thoughts.
“Do they love each other, or are they simply two people, cut from the same cloth, reaching for the same impossible goal?”
“They care for one another. They treat each other with respect and kindness. They suit each other in every way.”
“Is that love?”
“Aye, I think so.”
“Sounds lukewarm to me. I’ve a taste for passion, for the thrill of a moment. Give me the heat of battle, a fervent tumble with a willing wench, a storm and a ship beneath me. They’re here and now, Faith, not some vague promise that may never come true. Suppose you spend the rest of your life not doing all those delicious things that your god says thou shalt not do, and then when you die ‘tis just over? Life is short, love, and much of it unpleasant. I take what I can when I can, and if I burn in hell, it will be without regrets.”
“But I’ve followed the teachings of my faith all my life, and I’ve been happy, for the most part.”
“Faith, you don’t know what happiness is.”
She looked over her shoulder into his face, weathered by wind and by life. His eyes could twinkle and laugh, but they didn’t just now. When he chose, his face revealed nothing, but lurking in his eyes there was sadness, and the lines around his mouth spoke of pain. “Neither, I think, do you.”
For a long time he combed the knots from her hair while Faith absorbed the sea around her. The sky was the same leaden gray it was in Boston in the winter and early spring, but it was different here. Bigger. Everywhere she looked was gray sky and green water, and though it seemed she should feel some trepidation at the vastness of it all, she didn’t. She felt unencumbered, like the world was too far away to matter. Here there were no looks of scowling disapproval.
Well, aside from Geoff. He was impossible to estimate. At home she had always known just what was expected, but the meek and mild manner that had pleased her family and neighbors made him cross.
At last he finished, but he continued to run the flowing strands through his rough, brown hands, and she was content to let him. He leaned close until his breath tickled her ear, and in a tenor voice that melted her every resistance he sang:
“Amarantha sweet and faire,
Ah brade no more that shining haire!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee let it flye.”
“What a beautiful song,” she murmured, knowing well she should stop him.
“‘Tis by a man named Richard Lovelace. There’s more.”
“More?”
He smiled and skipped a few verses, moving to his favorite.
“See ‘tis broke! Within this Grove
The Bower, and the walkes of Love,
Weary lye we downe and rest,
And fanne each other’s panting breast”
“Geoff!” She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
“Heere wee’l strippe and coole our fire
In Creame below, in milke-baths higher—”
“Those cannot be the right words!” She pulled harder.
“Why, they are indeed, love.” He chuckled at her flaming cheeks and finally let her go.
“‘Tis a wicked song!”
“The sight of you brings me wicked thoughts.” He reached for her again, and she moved quickly away.
“We’ve tarried here too long. What will everyone think?”
“Exactly what they must think if you’re to stay safe with me.”
“I’m not sure it wouldn’t be safer to take my chances!”
“Put your hair up in that awful cap, and I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
She quickly put her hair in the pins Geoff had taken from her that first night and tucked the knot into her coif.
“Remember, do not be overly friendly. Mere kindness might be misinterpreted.” He waved to Giles at the helm.
As he had instructed, she kept her hand in the crook of his arm and her eyes down as they walked the length of the deck. She was acutely aware of the growing silence and cast a furtive look about her. The men were rough looking, unkempt to be sure, but they didn’t strike her as dangerous. She quickly reassessed them when one strode boldly over to them and openly leered at her.
“So, this is the woman you bought out from under us, is it, Cap’n?” he said.
“You’ll keep a respectful tongue in your head, Killigrew. The matter’s been settled, if you’ll recall. I paid her passage, that’s all.”