“How dreadful.”
Stevens shook his head. “No. You don’t know what it’s like, miss. Better to die quick and in dignity. I’d take a clean quick bullet from Mac any day over a slow death. That hare is lucky.”
Faith bit her lip.
Mac rejoined the party a short time later. His hands were scratched, and from his saddle dangled a limp and bloody rag of fur. Faith shuddered when she saw it. She felt like a brute.
“I’m sorry you had to do that, Mr. McTavish,” she said. “I’m sorry the poor hare suffered so.”
“Aye, well next time ye go to kill a creature, make sure ye do it quick and clean.”
Faith swallowed. “I will. Though I don’t think I’ll kill so much as a spider, ever again,” she muttered ruefully.
He eyed her from under his bushy brows and said in a gruff voice, “Ach, dinna take on, lass. If a fox had caught this hare, it probably would have suffered just as much. Life isna kind to creatures for the most part, and death is no kinder.”
It was undoubtedly the nicest thing Mac had ever said to her, and the fact that he’d meant to comfort Faith only made her feel guiltier and more wretched than ever. He rode ahead, and the bloodstained, dead hare bounced floppily against his horse’s flank. Faith felt every bounce.
That night, as they were getting ready for bed, Faith told Nicholas how awful she felt about the hare. She hadn’t liked to bring it up when they’d been dining below with the others.
He looked at her in surprise. “But that happened hours ago. Have you been brooding about it all this time?”
She frowned at his tone. “Of course.”
He shrugged out of his jacket. “Live in the moment, madam—remember? You made a small mistake, it wasn’t serious, so move on from it. However ill-informed your action was, you meant well. The consequences, apart from the unfortunate ones for the hare, were immaterial; there was no serious delay, you learned an important lesson, and Beowulf enjoyed the fresh meat.” He sat down to pull off his boots.
Faith was inclined to feel a bit indignant at his casual dismissal of her feelings, but he began to unbutton his breeches, and she turned away hastily. She was not yet so comfortable with him that she could watch him disrobe with equanimity.
She unbuttoned her dress and slipped out of her petticoat and chemise and into her nightgown with as much modesty as she could manage. She knew it was foolish, as he had already seen all of her there was to see, but she was new to this marriage and still felt a little shy and self-conscious at moments such as these.
She slipped under the bedclothes and waited for him to join her. She felt the give of the mattress as he joined her in bed, but instead of sliding in with her, he ripped the bedclothes back, exposing her completely. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed, half nervously, half in anticipation.
“Turn over. On your stomach,” he ordered.
She turned over. She tried not to jump when he took the hem of her nightgown and pushed it up as far as it would go.
“Lift up,” he instructed, and she lifted her stomach as best she could, while he pushed the nightgown right up past her waist.
She waited, feeling very exposed, wondering what her bottom and the back of her legs looked like. For a long time he did nothing, but she heard small odd sounds and a sort of sticky noise, like bare feet on a sticky floor—only he wasn’t on the floor.
She swallowed. Was this what she had released with that wanton kiss this morning? Or was it to be some sort of punishment for the hare? He’d said it was in the past, but people said all sorts of things they didn’t mean.
He moved closer. She braced herself. She could feel the warmth of his body close to her chilled, exposed skin.
Then something cold and slimy touched her thigh, and she gasped in horror and tried to push away from it.
“Don’t move. It’s a bit cold, I know, but it’ll soon warm up.” He started rubbing her thigh in small, circular movements.
She groaned. Her muscles were still stiff and sore from the unaccustomed amount of riding she’d done in the last few days.
“That’s it, relax,” he said. His hands stroked her thighs with long, firm movements. She felt her aching muscles protest.
“Ouch! I’m a bit sore there,” she told him.
“I know. That’s why I’m rubbing this salve into you. It’ll make you feel better.”
Faith doubted it. The pungent smell tickled her nostrils. Camphor and mint, cloves and something else. He’d used it on her ankle once, to good effect, but that was out of doors. In this small room…She wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t too fond of the smell of camphor. This was the life of a soldier’s wife, she reminded herself. She gritted her teeth, pushed her nose into the pillow, and set herself to endure it.
He put cold salve onto her other thigh and started to massage it in, squeezing and pulling and rubbing. It hurt at first, but wherever his hands moved, her skin tingled and heated. Eventually the movement and the heat seemed to penetrate into her body, and her aching muscles began to loosen and relax.
Soon Faith found herself stretching and squirming pleasurably under his hands. “Oh, this is so good,” she gasped.
He grunted. His hands never stopped.
After a while he said, “Lift up, I’ll do your back now.”
With difficulty she lifted her midriff, and he pulled the nightgown right off her. A glop of salve hit her square between the shoulder blades, and she gasped and waited for his big warm hands to start their magic again. He smoothed it over her skin gently, then rubbed and stretched and stroked for what seemed like hours. His long, strong fingers seeming to seek out every knot and work at it to dissolve it.
“Oh, Nicholas, this is heavenly,” she purred, stretching sensuously into his movements.
Again, all he did was grunt in response.
By the time he’d finished, Faith was a boneless mass of pleasure. “Sit up,” he said, and when she did, he dropped his shirt over her.
“Your shirt?”
“It’ll be easier to wash the salve out of that than the flimsy thing you were wearing.”
“Oh.” She snuggled into his shirt. It felt lovely, wearing his clothes. He pulled the bedclothes up around them and lay down beside her.
“Don’t you want me to massage some salve into you?” she asked. “You must be a bit stiff, too.”
There was a short silence.
“No, thank you.”
“Aren’t you even a bit stiff?”
There was another short silence.
“No,” he grated. “Good night, Mrs. Blacklock.”
She felt a small trickle of disappointment that they were not going to make love again tonight. Though probably he found her dreadfully unattractive, reeking of camphor as she did.
She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Good night, Mr. Blacklock. Thank you for the massage. It was truly wonderful.” She snuggled down in the bed, feeling warm and relaxed and well cared for. And as she snuggled, her hand brushed something, and she froze.
A little smile fought to escape her. He obviously didn’t object to the smell of camphor in the least. “Mr. Blacklock.”
“Hmm?
“You didn’t tell me the truth, Mr. Blacklock.”
“Go to sleep; you’re worn out.”
“But you are stiff, and I think you do need a massage. Or something.” Her hand encircled the stiffness she had encountered.
He groaned. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”
“Oh no, I feel just wonderful,” she said and squeezed.
They left the inn in midmorning.
“We will not leave so late again, madam. It is imperative that we travel as far as possible each day,” Nick informed his wife in a brusque voice.
“Yes, certainly. Perhaps you could wake me earlier tomorrow morning.” She gave him a mischievous smile, and he looked away, knowing full well whose fault it had been that she’d needed to sleep late. Again.
He had been watching her fo
r any signs she might be getting overly attached, but apart from a tendency to share her smiles with the world, she seemed quite normal.
“Your hat is on crooked,” he said, needing something to say. She adjusted her hat to better shade her face and gave him a look of bright query. He nodded. It was bad enough she was on this rough trip without having her delicate skin scorched to pieces. The weather had turned warm, almost hot.
By early afternoon it was even hotter, and Faith’s face was glowing with heat or exertion, Nick wasn’t sure which. Catching a glimpse of sea in the distance, he announced they would rest at the beach for a little while. Mac and Stevens gave him odd looks, but he ignored them.
The beach was sandy and deserted. They found some shade and ate bread with sausage and cheese, and crisp local apples to follow. On a blanket in the shade, Faith lay back and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments, he thought guiltily. He’d worn her out. She slept, the sun beat down, the sea sparkled a brilliant blue.
Nick eyed it longingly. They would have to turn inland for a while soon. It might be his last chance. He stood abruptly.
“I’m going for a swim.”
Mac and Beowulf joined him. Stevens shrugged. “I’ll stay here with the mistress. I might even have a snooze, myself.”
Faith woke to the sound of snoring and seagulls. She sat up, hot, sleepy, and disoriented. Stevens lay on another blanket a few feet away, sound asleep with his mouth open.
She stood and stretched. Her muscles had loosened a little with the riding, but she’d slept in an awkward position. Where was Nicholas? She looked around and saw Beowulf standing at the very edge of the waves, looking intently out to sea. Two heads bobbed in the waves. They were swimming. So much for traveling as far as possible each day.
Faith watched them enviously. She would have loved to swim, but she didn’t know how. It was such a hot day, and the water looked so cool and fresh and inviting. She’d paddled her bare feet in it earlier, and it was bliss. The thought of putting her whole body in the coolness was heavenly.
In her mind, she heard her twin’s voice saying, just as if Hope were right here, “Turn down no opportunity for joy, however small.”
Just yesterday she’d agreed to live for the moment. And this was the moment. Without further thought Faith snatched up her blanket and ran down the beach a little. She glanced back at the sleeping Stevens. He was sound asleep and barely visible. There was not another soul around, so she unbuttoned the jacket of her habit. She re moved the skirt, folded it, and placed it beside the boots and stockings she’d removed when they first arrived at the beach. She kept unbuttoning things until she stood on the beach wearing nothing but her chemise and pantaloons. Feeling a bit exposed, she shook out the blanket, wrapped it around her, and walked down to the water’s edge.
Beowulf gave her a sideways glance and growled but otherwise ignored her. He was only interested in his master.
Faith dropped the blanket and, feeling immensely daring, waded in up to her knees, gasping as each small wave splashed her hot skin. The water was freezing at first, but very invigorating. She waded deeper, her excitement growing, until she stood almost waist deep. She did not dare go deeper; she was frightened of being swept off her feet. The waves were small but quite strong. She jumped and splashed and patted the cold salt water on her hot face and arms. It was heavenly. She would have loved to immerse herself completely, but she was too nervous.
She looked out to sea at her husband, his sleek, dark head bobbing in the waves. His back was turned; he hadn’t noticed her yet. She wondered if he’d agree to teach her to swim.
“Have ye no modesty, woman?”
A large, wet, irritable Scotsman was standing chest deep in the sea to her left. She hadn’t noticed him coming to shore.
A tangled mass of seaweed floated in the clear water near her feet. Faith wasn’t fond of seaweed. Creatures lurked in seaweed. She carefully stepped around it.
“Well?” Mac demanded.
“Well, what?”
“Will ye no remove yer person?”
She frowned. “Why should I?”
“Fer the sake o’ yer modesty!” Mac said, bristling with indignation. “It should be obvious, even tae the likes o’ you!”
“I am perfectly modest,” she retorted, crossing her arms across her breasts defensively. After all, she might be in her underwear, but her chemise and pantaloons covered her decently, whereas he was no doubt naked, as he’d been that first day.
“Not if ye can face a nekkid man wi’oot a blush, ye’re not! Now, move, woman!”
“I will not! I have a perfect right to cool myself just as you have!”
“Mebbe, but I wish to get oot!”
She shrugged. “I’m not stopping you!”
“Ye are! Did ye no’ hear me? I’m nekkid, ye shameless creature!”
“I am not a shameless creature, and I utterly refuse to move. Go ahead, leave the water, I am not stopping you. See?” She turned away from him. “I won’t look!”
He snorted. “I wouldna trust ye no’ tae peek.”
“I gave you my word.” Faith was furious. Not least because the other day she had peeked. But not at him. And she hadn’t given her word then.
He snorted again. “Aye, the word o’ a hussy!”
She turned, enraged. “I am not a hussy! And if you ever call me one again, I—I will—I will—oooh!” She could think of no fate terrible enough. Without a thought, she bent and scooped up the floating mass of seaweed and hurled it at him with all her might. It landed directly on him.
He staggered back in the water, clutching the mass of dripping seaweed to his chest. It may have contained creatures, but Mac was made of sterner stuff.
“Ye’ll no’ budge then?”
“No!”
He glared at her. “No shame at all,” he declared and stalked out of the water clutching the seaweed strategically against him to preserve his own modesty, if not hers.
“It’s full of crabs!” Faith called after him.
He recoiled and flung the seaweed from him. Faith instantly turned her back. She was not a hussy! As if she would want to stare at a big, nekkid, hairy Scotsman! A naked Greek god, now…As she peered out to sea, looking for her husband, his dark, wet head bobbed up beside her, like a seal in the water.
“That, Mrs. Blacklock, was very naughty of you.”
She said defensively, “Well, he was very rude.”
“Yes, but also very embarrassed to be caught naked by a woman. I expect you’ve given him food for thought. Tell me, were there really crabs in that seaweed?” He was amused, she saw with relief. His eyes were dancing with laughter.
“I don’t know. I hope so. I hope they were big and angry, and I hope they bit him. Hard and in a sensitive spot!”
He laughed out loud then. Faith beamed, her temper forgotten in the joy of hearing him laugh, and without hesitation he reached out and pulled her under.
She surfaced, spluttering and splashing, and eyed him with outrage. “You beast! Whatever did you do that for? I could have drowned!”
He laughed in what Faith thought was a very callous manner and pointed out, “You’re standing on the sea floor and you’re only up to your waist.”
Having no words to retort in a fitting manner, she splashed him. He splashed her back, and the fight was on. Water flew in all directions, until they were both panting and dripping and laughing. It was wonderful fun, but eventually Nicholas stopped it by diving under the waves and swimming out of Faith’s reach.
She watched him with a mixture of frustration and wistfulness. “Not fair,” she said when he surfaced a few yards away. “You know I can’t swim.”
For answer, Nicholas dived back under the waves and disappeared. He was gone for a long time, and just as Faith was getting anxious, a dark shadow arrowed toward her under the water. She shrieked with fright, even as she realized who it was. He gripped her around the thighs and lifted her high out of the water.
“Do
you want to learn? I could teach you if you like.”
She clutched his shoulders, but said eagerly, all thought of water fights forgotten, “Would you?”
“Of course,” he said and let her slide back down the length of his body, into the sea. Friction, hot and cool. “Now, the first thing you need to learn is how to float.”
Disappointed, she wrinkled her nose. “Just float?”
“Floating is both harder than you think and easier. It’s important. For a start, you need to know that you can float, and that therefore you can swim. Also, if ever you get tired in the water, you can always float.” He scooped one arm around her waist. “I’ll keep my hand here, in the small of your back. Just lean back and put the back of your head in the water and let your feet float up to the surface.”
She leaned back against his hand, but her feet refused to rise.
He slid his other hand under her hips. “Don’t worry, I’ll support you; you won’t go under.”
She squeezed her eyes tight closed and pushed backward. It was scary, but after one or two false starts, she managed not to struggle when, murmuring encouragement, he gently but surely tipped her backward and pressed her hips upward. She was as stiff as a board, certain that at any moment, she’d go under.
“Head back, that’s right, now breathe…” He waited. “It’s all right to breathe…In fact, you need to breathe.” He waited a little longer, and then said in his officer voice, “Faith, breathe.”
She opened her eyes, took a huge gulp of air, and went under. She came up spluttering. “You said I wouldn’t—” And stopped. He was laughing. She thumped him on the arm. “How dare you half drown me and then laugh about it!”
Still laughing, he said, “That was quite good. You were floating almost by yourself, you know, only you need to learn the art of floating and breathing.”
Ignoring his teasing, she tried again, insisting he keep his hand under her back, just in case. She put her head back in the water, feeling the cool water lapping around her ears, and pushed her feet up.
Anne Gracie - [Merridew Sister 03] Page 16