The Elusive Flame (21 page)

In three long strides Beau was beside the man, catching him by the back of his collar and the seat of his britches.
Alistair railed in shocked protest and sought madly to reach the deck with his toes as Beau whisked him swiftly a-port. At the rail, the captain swept his burden upward and outward, launching it from his ship. His unworthy guest scrambled with wildly flailing limbs to find a haven in midair, but alas, there was none. Alistair’s horrendous screech dwindled to a wavering wail that ended abruptly in a significant splash, causing the crew to erupt in loud guffaws and cheers. Beau was not entirely finished with his wife’s adversary. Snatching hold of the ratlines, he swung himself up with a dazzling display of strength and alighted with equal grace atop the rail. He paced forward to an open space and, with arms braced akimbo, roared down at the man who, upon bobbing to the surface of the water, promptly started coughing and gasping for breath.

“You can insult me if you have the gall, Winthrop, but if you
even think
of maligning my mother again, I’ll see you horsewhipped till your flesh comes off with the lash! I’ll let no sniveling lout like you cast aspersions on a woman to whom I happen to be very devoted!”

Beau swung down from his perch and dusted his hands off in the manner of one who had just rid himself of so much garbage.

“That’ll teach the bloke ta keep his lip in line, Cap’n,” chortled one of his crewmen.

Beau waved an arm in ready agreement. “Break out a cask, lads, and we’ll celebrate that toad’s departure.”

Thundering footfalls of those who went to fetch it nearly made the judge cringe, but he smiled in approval as the captain strode toward him. “I’m quite fond of my mother, too, sir.”

Beau grinned, repenting of his earlier impression of the man. “I thought you’d understand, Your Honor.”

Beau directed his gaze upon Howard Rudd, who had been immobilized from the moment he had seen his companion snatched up by the raging captain. The solicitor’s dewlap seemed to flap in the wind as he struggled to find his tongue and deny the possibility that he would
ever
dream of defaming so noble a creature as a mother. Giving up that feeble attempt, he whirled and, with coattails flying, sprinted toward the gangplank, nearly bowling the good judge over as he brushed past him. A moment later he could be seen launching a rope out to Alistair, who was trying desperately to learn how to swim.

Cerynise’s giggles joined her husband’s laughter as he took her in his arms, and for much more his own pleasure than for the benefit of his cheering crew, he kissed her long and thoroughly.

C
ERYNISE LIFTED HER
head off the pillow long enough to search for the pail that Billy Todd had solicitously left beside the bunk. Emitting a small, miserable moan, she closed her eyes and kept as still as possible in a hopeful quest to forestall her stomach erupting, but every pitch and roll of the vessel seemed to incite rebellion from that queasy area. She marveled that she had
ever
considered the mate’s cabin a haven of any sort, for it had become a place of writhing torment from which she longed to escape. The fact that they had encountered rough seas soon after their departure from England gave her adequate cause to solemnly vow never to sail again as long as she lived…
if
she managed to survive this particular voyage.

It seemed strange, but in the last five years she had somehow managed to thrust the more repugnant details of her voyage from Charleston out of her mind. Granted, it had been overshadowed by her grieving anguish over her parents’ deaths and the loss of the only home that she had ever known. Still, looking back upon it all, it seemed that she would’ve at least remembered her inability to cope
with unreasonable motion. The realization that she was not a particularly good sailor could hardly have been ignored.

A faint smile curved Cerynise’s cracked lips and abruptly drew a wince of pain as she felt a tiny split open the skin.
Not a good sailor?
she mentally jeered.
Horrendous
would be closer to the truth. If she
ever
reached land again, no power on earth could compel her to get back on another vessel heading out toward the open sea. Indeed, if she had her way, she’d stay well away from the ocean and never look at another wave again or subject herself to the agony of a ship rising upon long, slow, roiling swells and then plunging into the deep troughs that followed. It seemed an endless, diabolical cycle of waves rolling past the ship one after another after another.…

Cerynise barely reached the bucket in time, and it seemed an agonizing interval before she was able to lift her head again. Soon after realizing she was about to be sick, she had tried to hide her symptoms from Billy, who was ever pressing her to eat, but one glance at the well-gorged tray he had brought to tempt her was all it took. Then her secret came out. To her amazement her retching didn’t seem to bother the lad as much as it had her, for he had rushed to give her aid, supplying a bucket and a wet cloth with which she could bathe her face. Afterwards, she had sobbed and pleaded with him not to tell anyone, most especially her husband. Billy had been reluctant, deeming it unwise to withhold such information from his captain, but he had finally acquiesced. Thereafter he had personally attended her few requirements, bringing fresh water and a bowl of light broth now and then, a supply of clean towels, and surreptitiously emptying the pail over the side along with buckets of scraps left over from the galley.

Beau had knocked on her door more than a few times and, with each passing day, had grown more insistent that she let him in. Burrowing beneath the bedcovers, she had sent him away with muted refusals to see or even talk with him. That he had assumed she was sulking had allowed her
to avoid a visitation that would have caused her a most excruciating shame.

Her strength had continued to ebb, and her parched lips were now susceptible to bleeding whenever tiny splits occurred. She tried drinking water, but even that would come gushing up soon after it was downed. Sleep was her only refuge throughout the endless hours of torture, but waking was difficult, for it usually came with a need for her to heave up what little she had on her stomach. She couldn’t even fathom getting dressed or garbing herself in anything more than a nightgown. Her hair was now hopelessly snarled beyond repair, but she cared not a whit about anything, much less the way she looked.

Three light raps on the door signaled Billy’s return for the bowl of broth he had left an hour ago. It was still sitting untouched on the tray beside the bunk. At her weak call, he quietly entered the cabin and then halted in astonishment. He was certain he had never seen anyone looking so deathly ill before. He was sure she couldn’t have looked any worse had she been near the grave. The shadows underneath her eyes were darkly pronounced, giving them a hollowed look. Her cheeks were sunken, and those previously soft, winsome lips were marred from dehydration. Indeed, the sight of her frightened him so much that he whirled about-face and ran to get the captain, having no doubt that he had just cause for going back on his promise to her.

A short moment later, Beau stood beside her bunk, hands on lean hips, short raven hair tousled from the evening wind that had raked across the deck, and an unholy light burning in his eyes. “Dammit, Cerynise, why didn’t you tell someone you were ill? You look like death warmed over.”

She hadn’t seen him in days, and the fact that he loomed over her like some divinely perfect fabled god only made her more aware of her weak, sorry state. She had been immensely relieved that he had accepted her croaked commands to leave her alone without barging in, for she had
known only too well that he possessed the all-too-manly temperament to do that and much more. Nevertheless he had been constantly in her thoughts, like a strain of music that kept running over and over through her head. Now here he was, glaring down at her as if her condition was somehow her fault.

“Go away,” she moaned, turning her face aside to hide a start of miserable tears. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“In sickness or in health, my dear,” he rejoined with more sarcasm than she could bear.

“Just throw me overboard,” she whimpered, clasping hold of the covers as he began pulling them away. “I don’t want to continue on another day.”

“Come on, sit up,” he urged, ignoring her pleas as he slipped an arm beneath her shoulders.

She started to shake her head, but promptly decided that was not a good idea. “I can’t! It only makes it worse. Just go away.”

“And let you die in peace?” Beau laughed shortly. “Never!”

Cerynise’s eyes widened in disbelief at his cruelty. “You’re a callous brute.”

“So I’ve been told.” He drew her up to a sitting position on the edge of the bunk and swept her bare feet to the floor, then proceeded to slip her arms into her dressing robe.

“Oh, what are you doing to me?” she groaned listlessly. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Take deep breaths,” he urged, hunkering down on his haunches to slide her slippers on her feet. “You’ll be fine.…”

His words had scant calming effect on her stomach. In sudden panic Cerynise collapsed forward toward the pail and relented to the dry, convulsive heaving of her stomach. At last, her queasiness ebbed and she fell back weakly upon the bed. The cooling strokes of a wet cloth on her face, throat and into the opening of her gown brought her
a measure of relief, but she hardly had time to catch her breath before Beau was hauling her up again and pressing a tin cup to her lips.

“Wash your mouth out,” Beau urged, refusing to let her turn away from him.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Cerynise accomplished his directive and spat out the water into the pail. She sank back upon the bunk and lifted a doleful stare to her husband. It didn’t help in the least that he looked so hale and hearty.

“Now drink the rest,” Beau pressed, holding the cup to her lips again. “You’re as dry as an unearthed skeleton.”

“You hate me,” she mumbled against the rim, but relented enough to take a sip.

“Not true, madam.” He continued bathing her face and throat as she clasped the cup between trembling hands and drank tiny draughts. “But I
am
angry with you for allowing me to think you were pouting in here like a spoiled child when all the while you’ve been sick. If not for the fact that Billy thought he was being loyal to you, I’d have it out with him for not informing me of your plight immediately.”

“I begged him not to tell you,” Cerynise mumbled into the cup as he pressed it back insistently to her lips.

“Drink!”

“Oh, Beau…I can’t! Not any more!”

“I said drink!”

“’Twill only come up.”

“Not this time. Trust me.”

“Only a little,” she groaned in petulant tones, but he refused to take away the cup until she had drained it down to the last drop.

Despite her attempt to fall back upon the bed again, he drew her to her feet, braced her upright with his own body as he wrapped a blanket around her, and then swept her up into his arms. Kicking the door aside, he strode from the cabin, bearing her toward the companionway.

Cerynise cast an apprehensive glance over her shoulder
and saw the stairs looming before them. “Please, Beau,” she whimpered, hating how frail and helpless she sounded. “I don’t want to go up on deck where your men can see me.”

“You need fresh air, madam. ’Twill help you feel better. Besides, after the way Billy came racing up to me in an anxious dither, my men will probably be expecting to see a funeral at sea.”

“That will come,” she assured him ruefully. “As soon as you finish me off with all that cold air you’re insisting upon!”

Beau smiled down at her but never broke his stride. His long legs closed the distance to the companionway in short order as he murmured, “I’ll keep you warm.”

The short twilight of autumn had already deepened into a dark gloom, but the moon, shining overhead, poured a silver ribbon across the water. Chilled breezes wafted across the deck, making Cerynise catch her breath, but they did nothing to bring her relief from her anguish.

“If you don’t put me down, you’re going to regret it,” she warned.

Beau complied only when he reached the nearest bulkhead and lowered her to it. Cerynise had little strength to hold herself upright and sank forward against him, leaning her brow against his neck and nestling her head against his shoulder. Had she been feeling better, she might have enjoyed his arms holding her close against him, but under the circumstances, she could only dread what might happen.

“Please, Beau,” she breathed against his neck. “I feel as if I’m going to be sick again. I’d like to return to my cabin. At least there, I won’t embarrass myself.”

“Staying down there will only make it worse, Cerynise.”

“But this isn’t making it any better,” she argued.

He turned her away from him, braced her slender form with his body and held her secure with an arm wrapped about her midriff as he pointed out to sea. “Look out over the top of the railing.”

“Nooo,” she moaned, and rolled her head in anguish. Was the man so merciless? Absolutely the last thing she needed to do was look at the water!

“Not at the waves,” he whispered against her hair. “Look at the horizon. There’s enough moonlight for you to see it, so fix your gaze there.”

Cerynise squinted in an effort to see the faint dark line between sea and sky. After focusing her gaze upon it, it took several moments before she became aware of its stability. “It isn’t moving.”

“Well, actually it is,” Beau replied with a soft chuckle. “The earth is turning, but you needn’t worry about that. As far as you’re concerned, it isn’t moving.”

Glancing up at him, she sighed wistfully. “I wish I weren’t moving.”

He smiled down at her. “Don’t look away from the horizon, Cerynise. Just keep your eyes fixed on the line, and keep breathing in the cool, clean air.”

Cerynise obeyed, for the moment satisfied to lean back within his encompassing arms. Time slipped past, but she was hardly aware of anything beyond the sheltering comfort of his large body. By slow degrees she became cognizant of the fact that she was beginning to feel better. Drawing in a long, slow breath, she released it again in a pleasurable sigh. “I do believe I’m going to live.”

Beau laughed and folded the blanket up close around her neck. “Warm enough?”

She nodded, snuggling back against him. “Quite comfortable now.”

The seasickness that had plagued her since the
Audacious
sailed from the Thames into the open sea was swiftly disappearing. But in its place was an exhaustion more profound than any she had ever known.

Her head found a niche between her husband’s neck and shoulder and, with a sigh, she closed her eyes. By slow degrees her breathing slowed.

Beau didn’t dare move. He was content to hold his young wife in his arms as the night deepened into a silky blackness
studded with a myriad of stars. During her lengthy reclusion, he had been plagued by a nagging suspicion that something was not quite right in his life, a feeling that was, at the very least, unsettling. He had had to face the realization that he missed not being with the girl. Certainly those lively little wenches whom he had visited in the past had not been able to claim his mind longer than his departure from their doors. Yet day and night he had thought of Cerynise until he had been brought sharply to the awareness that he desired her company far more than the usual palette of women with whom he had been intimate.

The ship bucked at the contrary winds and, beneath the surface of the water, battled the Gulf Stream currents. Early in his sailing career, Beau had become cognizant of the fact that sailing westward was known as the uphill passage across the Atlantic. A downhill crossing could be accomplished in little over a month with prevailing winds blowing from west to east. But on the return leg, it could take as much as three months. Although that was hardly an appropriate length of time for a normal courtship, perhaps it would be enough for him to settle his mind on just what kind of commitments he wanted to make to this young beauty he held so closely within his arms.

When the watch changed, Beau carried Cerynise back to her cabin. She didn’t rouse as he laid her in the bunk, and he could detect no evidence of continuing sickness. He pulled off her robe and briefly admired her loosely flowing nightgown with its rounded neck trimmed with a wide ruffle of handmade lace. He dared not linger beyond the simple task of tucking her beneath the covers. If the experience of their wedding day had taught him anything, he would do well to limit such ministrations to nothing more than a brotherly concern.