Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) (39 page)

Several hours later as they sailed at a brisk clip through the deep waters of the Chesapeake, Lucky could feel the power in the ship. The wind filled all the sails from the courses to the upper tops and the jibs, and Ian held her steady between the waves. She cut through them with the grace of a ballerina.

That must be why Spenser called it "dancing." Ian led, his lady responded.

The placement of the foremast a little further back and the higher, lighter bow really made a difference to the feel of the hull cutting through the waves, and reduced windage. He'd have to let Mary know she was right. She moved forward into the bow, then up onto the anchor deck. Lucky came up behind her as she studied something between the knightheads.

She looked over the rail, down at the waves parting to the bow. "I love that moment of suspension, where the bow is not in contact with the water. The designer in me sees it as a potential cause for the bend in the keel over time, but the dreamer in me sees it as flying."

"Have you ever been aloft when under sail?" Lucky asked. He knew she climbed the masts while the ship was berthed at the shipyard, but had she been above while under sail? When he was a child, he'd watched the men on his brother-in-law's ships climbing the ropes up to the yards for their various duties. But he also noticed that a few of the men would climb aloft for time alone to think. The first time he'd attempted to do as the older lads, he'd been scolded by Cully and set to tying knots on deck as punishment. Of course, he'd tried again. And was successful, much to Cully's vexation.

From the very first moment he climbed out on the yard, he thought it was as close to flying as man could get, and he was hooked on it.

"Of course," she replied. "I have to climb up later to inspect stress points on the masts and yards." She faced him, and her smile was infectious. "There is nothing like being on the top yard of the foremast when under sail. It's truly an amazing feeling. You know that dip I just mentioned? Aloft, it's magnified to the point of exhilaration."

He grinned, then added, "I've often compared it to sitting on an enormous rocking horse. One that moves much slower because of its size, and with a bigger arc." His voice dipped lower, then he added, "And when standing, it's a slower version of what we did below a little while ago." That conjured images of hurriedly dropped breeches, her begging for release as she presented her bare backside to him, his throbbing cock sliding into her tight, wet passage as he claimed her yet again, and that sweet whisper of satisfaction that comes with an orgasm.

"Really? I've never made the connection," said as she inspected a knightshead. Her voice came softly when she spoke again. So softly, he could barely hear her over the sluicing of water against the hull. "Perhaps I shall need more experience to see which aspects you find similar. The ride itself, or the soaring afterward."

She walked away and left him standing there in the bow, unable to turn around without every man on board knowing his condition. The little vixen knew what she was about, for once he brought his erection back under control and was finally able to follow her, he spotted her halfway up the ratlines in a canvas bosun's seat attached to the halyard, and a spotter watching her progress, and tempering his line. The sight caused his heart to stop because he'd never seen her climb before, and he was afraid for her if she fell. From that height, a fall would kill her. And, even though he knew she was likely safe enough, he still feared for her. He didn't want to contemplate losing her now that he'd found her.

The men aboard the ship continued to perform their tasks as though nothing were unusual—even though there was a woman on the highest yard of the fore mast. Lucky supposed that, to the crew from the shipyard, it must seem ordinary to have this woman climbing the masts on a ship.

"Take care up there," he shouted, and crossed himself in a quick silent prayer that she remain safe. Even though he knew she'd done this many times before, he still had an uneasy feeling watching her as she climbed to the very top of the mast. She began checking the ironworks from girds to braces on cross trees, then worked her way down to the next level and did the same, until finally she was back on the deck.

When he saw her standing there on the solid deck, looking upward to where she had just been, he released the breath he'd been holding. She looked so vibrant and alive with her hat hanging down her back and her infectious ear-to-ear smile. Her wind-whipped hair was almost completely out of its leather binding and her amber eyes glistened with unabashed excitement. At that moment he knew he was hopelessly in love with her. There was nothing for him to do but continue to pray for her safety.

"I think I shall have a piece of cake now, Captain, before I climb the mizzen." She picked up her leather board and pencil and began to make notes as she headed toward the galley. As she passed him she said for his ears only, "How I would love to ride your... bowsprit, Captain." She sighed, then turned a smile up at him. "All the way home." The little minx! She knew what her words did to him, had even looked down to the falls of his breeches, while his expression vacillated from shock to humor, causing Mary-Michael to laugh.

He gave in to the laughter as well. "You cruel and heartless wench." He followed closely behind her, trying to hide the fact that he was adjusting his erection as he walked. "I'll get you for this, you can count on it."

She tossed her head, causing her hat to fall down her back, before turning those glowing amber eyes and infectious smile on him. "I look forward to it, Captain."

 

"I
thought I might find you in here," Mary-Michael said a couple of hours later as she sought her husband out to share with him her findings thus far. "The ironwork on the cross trees of the fore and mizzen are fine. I expect the main to be of equal quality. Patrick and his men did splendid work."

"Glad to hear it, Mrs. Watkins." She'd found her mentor and husband in the crew's mess, where he had before him a short stack of three cookies. She wondered how many he'd already consumed, and if it would ruin his appetite. The elderly man motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench as they both sought refuge from the sun for a while. They watched as Goran and Tally ventured in and out of the room carrying the prepared meal they were about to serve for luncheon. The sweets she brought from home were already set out and the two men were currently adding cold sliced meats, smoked and salted fish, and early season fruits to the trestle table quickly becoming laden with food.

"After luncheon I shall inspect the main." Mary-Michael fished the sprig of mint out of the glass and took another swig of cool water, letting it rehydrate her parched throat.

She didn't quite understand how it had happened, but somehow over the past ten months she'd allowed herself to think that what she was attempting to do—conceive a child outside of her marriage so that her husband would have a child to leave his fortune to—was not as sinful, not as shameful, as it actually was. And, while at first she'd been more than a little uncomfortable entering into a sexual relationship with Lucky, she enjoyed the relationship she had with him now. If she was honest with herself she didn't want it to end, but knew that it was soon about to. He would leave for his home after taking ownership of these two vessels, and may or may not return for the two he was leaving in dry dock for work. Business owner that he was, it would likely make more sense for him to send someone—new captains perhaps—to bring the other ships back to England.

Just thinking about a future without Lucky in it, made her feel equally as sad as one without Mr. Watkins in it. There was just nothing she could do about it. Besides, he would despise her if he ever learned what she'd done, using him in the manner she was.

"The young captain couldn't keep his eyes off ye while you were up in the rigging, lass. He was worried sick for ye."

Mary-Michael's gut clenched. A relationship with Lucky would never work, no matter how she might wish it. She couldn't let her husband think she had feelings for the captain. What she and Lucky had was only a temporary affair in which Mary-Michael would hopefully succeed in getting with child. Aside from that, but most especially to her husband, she had to make him believe it was all about these ships, and getting them completed so they could turn them over to Lucky and Ian.

"I've tried to reassure him that I know my job and how to climb. I know no other way to allay his concern. Only his witnessing my skill and competence will do that."

"He canna help worrying because he's smitten."

"You are mistaken, sir." Mary-Michael might not know precisely where she stood with Lucky, but she knew he wasn't smitten. They were attracted to each other like a magnet to steel. They were only compatible in physical ways. Lucky had never mentioned love, or even affection for her. "His interest in me is temporary. After his ships are completed, he'll go back to England. And once he is back in his world, he'll forget about me." She went back for more water and to give herself time to think. Mr. Watkins had always had a romantic heart. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done here, she was already married—to him. She returned to her seat. "Besides, I could never move in the circles he is accustomed to. I'm an orphan from Indian Point." She smiled at Mr. Watkins. "And a married woman, at that."

"I'm an old man, soon to meet my maker, and that lad's a good sort, Mrs. Watkins. You could do far worse."

"I never said he wasn't a good man." She bit the inside of her cheek, biting back the urge to burst into tears. A part of her wanted Lucky to go away, another wanted him to stay with her forever. But the only way she could have Lucky meant she would lose Mr. Watkins forever, and she didn't want that either. She didn't know what she wanted. She wanted everything, and nothing. Her feelings were a mixed up jumble of yearning and happiness and dread and guilt and sadness and longing and lust—lots of lust. And she hated feeling this way.

Mary-Michael scanned the mess to make certain they were alone, then spoke in a hushed tone in case someone were to enter the room. "My life is here. If I were to entertain any relationship with Captain Gualtiero, it might mean I'd have to leave Maryland, which I am not willing to do as you, my brother and my friends are all here."

"I heard your tears a few months back when ye realized you weren't carrying a babe. I know how much you want children. The captain is young enough he can give them to you." The old man sighed. "He can give ye everything ye ever wanted, and I've given ye the ability to design and build ships if that's what ye still want to do."

Mary-Michael stood, and scanned the small galley, feeling as though the walls were closing in on her. She didn't want to think about the future. She liked the way things were now, except she wished Mr. Watkins wasn't ill. And she wanted a child desperately. "For me to think anything along those lines is entirely premature and uncalled for." She bent over and kissed his weathered cheek. "Because I still pray daily for your recovery."

"Only because you're afraid of change," Mr. Watkins said. The tone in his voice, compassion and fatherly-love and understanding was all it took to make the tears start. "Ye always have been. You should be praying for a quiet passing in my sleep, because that's what I pray for."

She hated when he spoke of his death—which he did almost daily these days. Each time he did it only served to remind her she was soon going to be alone again. Just as she'd been the day Sister Agnes separated her from George.

Just then, the cook called luncheon above deck. She ducked her face, and with her sleeve she wiped her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she prepared herself to be in Lucky's presence again. She stood and told her husband, "I shall fetch you a plate, sir, as I am tired of the subject."

Later, after they'd eaten, she assisted Mr. Watkins to his seat near the binnacle and sat in the shade with him for a while, discussing what to look for when she examined the main yards, especially as they were composite and had several stress points that needed careful inspection.

"I'm not sure I can make the trip tomorrow, Mrs. Watkins," her husband said. "Today has been very tiring."

"But... I..." He stopped her with a sad, resigned smile.

"You can do this, Mrs. Watkins," her husband stated. "I've trained you well."

She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to think of a way to make him come with her as he had since she'd designed her first hull. "I don't hear the things you do, Sir. I can't feel the subtle vibrations in the steering mechanism that you..."

"You can, if you think about what I've taught you."

Mary-Michael knew there was no forcing him. There was no way she could magically make him healthy enough to come with them on the next day's sail with the sister ship to this fine lady. "Get your rest tonight then, sir," she said, "because if it's at all possible, I want—no, need—you to come with me." Hopefully letting Mr. Watkins know how much she needed his guidance would give him the will to go sailing just one more day.
Just one more day,
she prayed.
One more day.

Before she started her climb to the top of the main mast, Mary-Michael stopped by the second cabin. Ian had assigned it to her as her retiring room for the day, so that she would have the privacy a lady needed when she wanted. She opened the door and felt the broad, hard chest of her lover as he slid in close behind her. He bolted the door behind them, then came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Where have you been hiding, Mrs. Watkins?" His warm breath on her neck instantly caused her nipples to harden, but she had work yet to do, and after spending the past two hours with her husband, she wasn't interested in becoming intimate with Lucky again—no matter what her body was telling her.

"Stop." No sooner had she whispered the simple word that his hands instantly dropped to his side. She stepped away from his embrace. "I haven't been hiding. I have been working, and discussing my findings with my husband."