by Mark Eller
Missy still stared at him. "You have a problem."
Aaron snorted. "I have several problems."
Her head canted to one side, and a mischievous expression crossed her face. "Not much I can do to help you with most of them, but I can help you with this one. " She gave him another smile.
And then Missy pulled her shirt off, proving she was a healthily endowed woman. An understated wash of small freckles spotted her upper swells.
Looking him straight in the eye, Missy walked up to Aaron. Grabbing his hand, she brought it up to cover her right breast. Her hardened nipple tickled his palm. "Nice?"
Swallowing, Aaron nodded. "Very nice. " He pulled his hand away. "Please put your shirt back on. " He averted his eyes. He hated this. He knew he blushed. His palms sweated, and he heard a nervous tremor in his voice.
Missy punched his stomach, chest, and face. She kicked his knee, and then connected with his crotch. Aaron hit the floor and stared helplessly at the ceiling behind Missy's head. She released a scornful laugh.
"Stop looking at the ceiling and start looking at me, because I'm going to kick your butt into next week."
"Why?" Aaron panted.
"Because I want to. Because you're ignoring the fact that the people coming after you won't always be male. Because you damn well took off and left me in Last Chance, and despite the little bit I remember saying while drunk, I still resent the hell out of you for it. Get up."
He got up and hoped this wouldn't be too awful.
It was bad enough.
Aaron followed his lessons. He defended, but defense could only block the majority of the punishment heading his way. Missy gave him a beating for several minutes before Aaron finally took the offensive. Even then, she taunted his half-hearted efforts before setting him on his tender rear again.
Missy laughed cruelly as he scrambled back to his feet. She laughed, and then she punched him on the cheek hard enough to make the room sway. When she missed her follow through, her lips split beneath his fist. A trickle of blood dripped off her chin to splatter on the mat.
"Better," Missy grudgingly praised. Her lips already swelled, but a twinkle danced in her eyes. "Next level."
Her side kick missed his head by a breath. His kick connected with her belly, making her gasp. Momentarily off balance, she reacted slowly. Aaron swept her feet out from under her. He fell on top of her tumbling body. Pinning her flat, he managed an arm lock.
"Enough?" he gasped. His breath felt like it ripped his lungs to shreds. His ribs ached. His stomach hurt. His face dripped blood past her ear.
She nodded, wiggled under him, and smiled as she tangled her free hand in his hair.
"Kiss me," she whispered. Pulling his head down, her bloody lips parted, and she mashed her mouth hungrily against his.
Aaron stiffened, but her lips were insistent, demanding. Freeing her captured arm, she rolled him to the side and kissed him again.
Breaking the kiss, Missy slammed a fist against the side of his head and rolled away.
Stars spun. His ear burned.
"You are pathetic," Missy gloated, rising. "A bit of flesh, a little kiss, and you forgot all about what you were doing. By the One God, Mister Turner, if this had been serious I would have killed you. I never gave quarter, and even if I had, you shouldn't have trusted me. " She glanced down at her front. "I'll give you credit for one thing. You eventually caught on. One of the little ladies is bruised."
Aaron ruefully felt his ear. It didn't feel nearly as huge as its throbbing told him it should be, not yet. "I never before noticed how the ladies are quite so…prominent."
A smile flashed across her face. One eyebrow rose. "Oh? So you did look. I rather wondered if you had. " Her face grew pink. "You better get an eyeful now because you won't have the opportunity again. Will I see you tomorrow before you leave?" Picking up her shirt, she slid it on.
Aaron felt relief. Despite her almost uncaring nonchalance, the situation made him uncomfortable. Intellectually, he knew social mores on this side of the ocean were somewhat looser when it came to displaying flesh. Still, this wasn't where he had been raised, and some early learning stayed with a man.
"Noticed and approved," Aaron reluctantly admitted as he stood. He might not be able to out-brazen her, but he could at least attempt to play the game. "No, you won't see me tomorrow. I'm leaving on the ship early."
"So where are you going?" She started doing a series of cool down stretches. "Nobody has bothered telling me what you're up to."
"I'm chasing after the major."
She stopped. Emotive eyes fastened on him, and Missy lowered her arms. Smiling softly, she stepped close. One hand cupped the side of his face. "Oh, I'm so glad. " Her voice quavered. "I thought you told her no. I thought you ran out on the world again."
Aaron flexed his shoulder. After this heavy workout he would have at least one pulled muscle. "No choice. I couldn't run with you looking on."
Wrapping her arms around him, Missy's head lowered to rest against his shoulder. The moment was sweet and caring. Unfortunately, her right arm pressed against his bruised ribs.
"Thank you, Aaron Turner. This one is for real. " Her lips were sweet and yielding.
Missy, Aaron noted, was not new at this game. The girl had skills. In fact, she kissed better than he did.
Missy kissed him again. When she pulled back, her eyes were soft. She moved her mouth back toward his lips, and paused. Raising a hand, she gently rubbed the corner of his mouth with her fingertips.
"Aaron, what--what's this?"
Pulling her fingers back, she showed they were smudged.
"Make-up," Aaron admitted. His head swam from her kiss. This was Missy? Gods, maybe so, but she wasn't the Missy he remembered. "I have a blemish I like to keep covered."
She licked her fingers and started rubbing at his face. Lowering her hand, she looked at him once more.
"Lips," she whispered. "You have the imprint of lips on your face. Did you always have it?"
Aaron rubbed the corner of his mouth and wished she had ignored her discovery.
"It was a gift," he told Missy. "Maybe a curse. I don't know. I've never been sure if the woman who did this was entirely sane."
"Mak Lieber," Missy whispered, taking a shaky step back. She lowered herself to her knees. Her eyes were huge and moist and full of emotion. "Death. Bringer. The Bringer of Death. The Chosen. 'He has been marked by the Messenger, marked by the grace of her kiss to show he is the One God's Chosen. Despair not, for though death rides in his hands, so too does the salvation of souls.'"
She licked her lips. "She said that. I stood in the basement of her church and heard one of her followers repeat Heralda's sermon. She spoke of the One God's Chosen, the Blessed. Mister Turner--is it you? Was it Heralda of the Freelorn who gave you your marking?"
With everything else going on, the last thing Aaron needed was to be hounded by religious heretics. True, Jutland and the other civilized Old World countries were more tolerant of religious freedom than Isabella or New Madrid or any of the other small countries in the New Lands. On this side of the water a person was not likely to be hung for espousing different beliefs, but that did not mean people didn't vilify those who believed differently.
Aaron looked down on her. "You're not the first who thought so."
"Then you've been recognized before?"
"Unfortunately. Please, get up. I'm not who you think I am so the worship routine just doesn't work. I heard the same sermon you did when I was on a date. Later, I had too much to drink and passed out. I don't know why, but my date thought it would be a hoot to tattoo a set of lips on my face. " He forced a laugh. "I woke up sober the next day, realized what she had done, and never asked her out again."
Obviously disappointed, Missy rose to her feet. "Then Heralda didn't--"
"No," Aaron lied. "She didn't."
"Oh. " Her smile turned tentative. "Oh. "
Chapter 10
Aaron boarded The Little Lad
y shortly after dawn without the benefit of an hour's sleep or a bath. He stank of sweat. His body felt like a crippled old man's, and the ship's motion made him ill.
Ignoring the stares at his bruised face, he went into his cabin. The cabin was very small, barely large enough to hold two people comfortably. After counting six hammocks, Aaron nodded. He wouldn't be comfortable. Somehow, that came as no surprise.
Only one hammock remained unclaimed, right side of the door, third hammock high. The cabin's back wall had large drawers built into it from floor to ceiling. Another section of wall had six lockers twelve or thirteen inches wide. Five were locked. One had an open lock dangling from its latch. A heavy brass key was stuck in the keyhole.
Aaron stacked his ammunition on the locker floor and placed his shotgun on top of it. His .40 caliber Smith and Wesson automatic went on a shelf along with its holster. Finished, he moved on to the drawers, finding them unlocked. Only the top one was empty. Small, it possessed only enough room for one bag of clothes, a few books, and his chess set. The rest of his books, and his other bag of clothes, would have to go into the storage hold.
In pain and feeling nauseous, he climbed into his hammock with the help of a rope ladder. The hammock swayed when he lay down and continued swaying. Groaning, Aaron clenched an arm tighter against his sore ribs.
The girl had kicked the crap out of him. One or two ribs might even be cracked. He hoped Missy felt half as bad as he did but knew his wish was pointless. Even when he won, he lost. His only real success had been when he lied. Missy seemed to believe him about the mark on his face. Still, the idea was in her head now. If he wasn't careful, and she put the pieces together, she could make his life uncomfortable.
His ribs ached, and he smiled. Gods, Missy really had delivered a great kiss. What would it have been like if she hadn't stopped? Oh hell. He was an idiot. This was Cathy's little sister. He was Missy's fallen hero, not her fantasy. At five-feet-six, he was nobody's fantasy unless they fantasized about a head low enough to be used as a drink tray.
The problem was that Missy bore a striking resemblance to his idealized memory of her sister. Despite repeatedly assuring himself he no longer loved her, the truth was he had never gotten completely over Cathy.
Remembering the sparring match, Aaron felt himself blush. No, Missy was definitely not the little girl he remembered. She more than made sure he knew she was all grown up. Was that what those kisses had been about? Were they her insistence he stop thinking of her as a child?
He was thirty-seven. Before long he would be thirty-eight, and his sex life stank. Twice in the last five years.
Was that why Missy suddenly drew him? Was he so weak bare breasts and a soft kiss made him fantasize about a woman fourteen years younger? Until last night he had been fond of her, but only because she was Missy, not because she was a woman owning more than her share of charms.
Damn but life was a bitch. Aaron hoped to hell Missy didn't think she was falling in love with him because he didn't love her. He wouldn't allow it. Not after Cathy and Sarah. The price was far too high.
Never again.
* * *
The Little Lady, a merchantman, left no doubt she was a working ship. She carried cloth, ceramics, and glass. The latter two cargos were carefully packed to minimize breakage. On deck, the Lady boasted four masts and a crew of twelve. The captain and her two passengers brought the total to fifteen. Unlike the general run of this world's population, half the crew was male, but Aaron found nothing unusual in the ratio. Most ocean ships were heavily crewed by men. Aaron never heard an explanation why, but he assumed it was a testosterone thing, or perhaps an ancient and long forgotten tradition.
In general, the crew accepted him. He was polite. He helped when he could, and he stayed out of their way when he could not. Most of all, he never asked about their missing body parts.
And they owned a lot of missing body parts. Eight crew members were missing one or more fingers. One unfortunate man had lost his entire right arm. The cook only had one foot. On top of that, every crew member owned a multitude of scars and a good many interesting stories to go along with those scars.
For his part, Aaron was initially treated with respectful distrust until he stripped off his shirt to prove he had his own supply of scars. Indeed, they found his collection inspiring. Basking in their admiration, Aaron somehow forgot to mention the majority were caused by Doc Gunther's tabletop surgery when Doc removed the wires and implants Field's Everlasting Life Militia had connected Aaron's his spine in order to make his Talent usable to transfer from Jefferson to Isabella.
Once they accepted him, it didn't take long before the crew spun tales of their misfortunes. Aaron listened to four tales before deciding they were, perhaps, not word for word accurate. Crusty Bill opened the last crack in Aaron's credulity
"Did I ever tell ya o' how I got this?" he asked after beating Aaron at chess for the seventh time in a row. Crusty fingered a scar where a forefinger had once been.
"Not that I recall," Aaron answered. "Then again, you haven't said much to me all day except checkmate and ya lose."
"Wal now, we kin't have thet, now kin we? A man kin get roight bored hearing nothin' but the obvious. " Reaching into his pocket, Crusty pulled out a silver chain. He tossed the chain to Aaron.
"Loike it?"
"Looks expensive," Aaron commented.
"Shore is. Thet har thang cost me a finger. I'm tellin' ya, it's shore strange what a fellow will do ta impress 'is lady. One time, I had me a little woman in a port what I war thinkin' o' hooking up permanent with. She wanted nothing ta do with a sometime come-roun' man, but I knew if'n I give 'er somethin' special I could get 'er to change 'er mind."
Looking at the chain, his face appeared lost in memory. With a small shake of his head, he continued.
"Wal we come cross this ship one day" he said. "It war listing to the side, an' it looked loike it war taking on water, so we rowed on over to the thang to check fer life. There warn't any o' it ta be found, but thar war this har wooden box thet war only eight inches to a side. It war a tiny thang, but it war locked up tighter'n the Grand Vault O' Viscany.
"We brought thet thar box with us, an' it took three weeks ta drill out thet blessed lock, an' when we opened 'er up the insides o' it war a treasure o' jewelry. The crew, we talked it over some an' decided thet we'd draw lots ta see who got what. My luck war 'gainst me so I gots me nothin' but a plain gold ring what war worth not much more'n a flick o' a poor gal's ponytail. Now the first mate, he war luckier. He had hisself a pretty piece o' silver thet war sure to capture a maid's eye, an' he war counting on it doing just thet thang.
"Now it's a gambling man, I am. I didn't loike thet gold ring, but I took a real fancy to thet bit a silver. I went an' decided thet I war goin' ta make a few bets until I won enough to buy thet silver off'n him. Wal, I started bettin', an' eventually I won a lot o' what war in thet box, but none o' it war anything what I really wanted. I had bracelets an' rings an' earrings 'nough to catch me a woman in any o' a dozen ports. A lot o' them thangs had pretty stones in 'em. Thar war some red ones an' a few green, an' the earrings had clear stones what war big round as my finger nail. I knew my intended would be pleased wi' what I had, but I wanted thet silver fer 'er.
"An' don't ya know, thet mate wouldn't trade me fer it. He didn't want any or all o' what I had. War some other scheme I needed. Somethin' thet he couldn't get cept'n through me.
"Well, loike I said, It's a betting man I am so I cornered the captain one day an' placed a bet with 'er. It war a chancy thang to do 'cause the cap'n war a touchy sort. A stern one for discipline she war. Why, one time she near flogged a man to death fer bein' lazy, an' 'nother time I saw 'er hang a woman fer fallin' asleep on watch. One thang about thet woman though, she war a greedy sort. She war greedy, an' she war willing ta place a wager, but she war only willin' to place it if'n I bet her everythin' I owned. Naturally 'nough, I agreed.
I bet 'er my hoard 'gainst a ring
thet I could bend over an' bite my balls. Laughin', she said the bet was on, so I bent over whilst pullin' these two wooden balls out o' my pocket. I'd carved them earlier, ya see. I bit them balls whiles I war bent over an' everyone said I war the sure 'nough winner 'cause I done exactly as I said. She challenged me so I had ta show those balls ta 'er, an' then she couldn't say a thang 'cause they had me name carved right into the surface o' 'em. No way war I going ta let 'er claim them thangs belonged to somebody else.
"She paid me off, grumblin' the entire time o' it, an' I asked 'er if she might not want to place another wager. This time I insisted we bet fer more than one thang. She had three o' them jewelry thangs left an' I wanted the all o' 'em. The cap'n, she only bet two o' 'em thet time, savin' out a pearl necklace fer later. I bet 'er thet I could empty a cup o' ale without touching the cup or the table it set on. I said I couldn't touch thet cup nor even hit it with any thang. She could e'en cover the top o' the cup if she wanted ta. Well, thet cap'n, loike I said before, she war a mean one. She war none too smart neither, 'nly she didn't know it, so she agreed.
"I went to the galley an' she followed me right on down thar. They war several empty cups sitting on the table an' thar war a flask with a bit o' ale right thar too. Openin' up thet flask, I filled the cup she pointed at. Then she takes off her shoe an' puts it on the top o' thet cup an' she dares me ta empty the sucker. Thet war when I reached 'neath the table an' pulled out a cork. Ya see, I glued them cups thar the night before an' then drilled roight through 'em an' through the table too. All thet ale poured roight over the floor. Oh did me mates laugh when they saw thet one. The cap'n, she didn't loike it, but she had ta admit thet I went an' followed the rules what was laid out, so there war nothin' for it but what she had to pay.
"Now thet cap'n only had the necklace left, but I tell you now thet she war a greedy soul, an' she wanted what I had so she war willin' to bet one more time even after I went an' showed thet she had no more brains 'n a cockeyed mongoose. Settin' a night soil bucket on the deck, I paced off fifteen steps, an' then I bet 'er thet I could throw the contents o' the bucket from where I war standin' all the way across the deck an' into another bucket. I made the bet e'en harder. I bet I'd spill not one drop whilst I war doin' it.