From The Deep

by From the Deep (anthology) [lit]

  They did not love with the same passion as these humans.

  The concept of love intrigued him so much that he studied it above all other emotions. Sometimes he envied these humans their love. Much good came from it, as did an overdose of pain and sadness. How could they live with such strength of emotions, he often wondered?

  Well, his time to study these humans was almost over. What should he do with the Poseidon and the small accumulation of wealth that he had secured over the years? It was laughable to consider taking it with him. Such treasure as humans hoarded was worthless beneath the sea.

  A vision of black hair and green eyes came to him. Mrs. Shore was a treasure that would be admired by his friends and relatives in Mer, if she were a mermaid, that is. The impossibility of such a thing brought a smile to his lips and that made him think of her lips, rosy as an anemone. He hadn’t seen her laugh and wondered if her teeth were white and smooth like the pearls. Was she warm to touch? Did she know passion?

  Back to her again. He shook his head and pulled his log, a quill, and the ink pot closer to him. Work, ponder, and stop thinking about that woman. Thinking of her would distract him from the very important task of considering his bride.

  Damnation.

  * * * *

  The longer Captain McAdams stayed on deck, the more her eyes sought him out. His gaze left her warm and slightly breathless. She wished she could shuck the cruel tightness of her corset. The captain’s stare had her wondering about him. Was he married or was he the type that had a woman in every port? Though Silas had tried to keep her from hearing such things, she knew that many sailing men had a randy nature. After weeks or months at sea she imagined that any woman looked good.

  It was naughty to think such things. Here she was, a newly widowed matron of twenty and five, much too old to be dreaming girlish dreams.

  Still, here she was a widow. It left her free to pursue interests that were not acceptable in an innocent girl.

  Would she take a lover, she wondered? At that moment she looked up and discovered Captain McAdams staring at her. Their gazes locked for an unknown period of time. She felt the heat of his eyes and longed to be held in the safety of his strong arms. Her cheeks warmed and she averted her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen her physical reaction to him. The blush was one thing, the way her breasts tightened and grew heavy, and the pooling of warmth in her nether regions were invisible–-she hoped. And glad she was that she was sitting down because she feared that her legs would give way with the trembling that came upon her thighs.

  She tried to focus on the page before her. The charcoal had formed a likeness of the captain, legs braced apart, arms akimbo, chin high. His arrogance and strength were evident.

  Disturbed by her thoughts and actions, Marianne turned to a fresh page and held her charcoal so that she could write instead of draw. A list, perhaps if she made a list of the possibilities now open to her it would help her figure out what she wanted. She’d only written a brief note to her father that she was coming home; the bank had sent it with her profits from the Whelp’s voyage. She wondered if the letter would arrive before she did. It mattered not. After her mother had died when Marianne was a child, she and her father had been close. Though there had been strain a time or two, she longed to see him again.

  She sat in her daydreams much of the day. One of the seamen brought her a tray at luncheon and she ate it where she sat. In the stretch of afternoon, after the captain had left the deck thus freeing her from her spot, she strolled around the ship trying to stay out of the way but speaking to any man who met her eyes. As the sun slipped into the western sea and the light breeze turned cold, she knew more of the men by name and thought she’d helped them realize that she was not a danger to them, as if merely being female was a danger.

  Her cabin felt all the more snug after the day on deck, but the hours of fresh air and exercise made it easy for her to fall into a dreamless slumber.

  She awoke when a violent motion tossed her from her bunk. Water sloshed around her feet when she stood. It soaked the hem of her nightgown. Darkness was an entity, that and the roaring sounds around her and the ship pitching under her feet brought terror to her. Her heart thudded hard and fast in her chest as she tried to think of what she should do. Dying at sea--without ever experiencing all the options now available to her, never experiencing the passion and freedom she craved–-dying at sea was not an option.

  She recalled the flat voice of the sly boy who’d brought her the first news of Silas’ death. Washed overboard, lost at sea.

  No, she would not suffer that fate. She grabbed onto the edge of her bunk and allowed her eyes to adjust to the blackness. It was not wholly dark, there was enough light to see that the door of her chamber had come ajar. Should she go up on deck and find out what was happening?

  The shouting of voices reached her ears as she stumbled to the doorway and hung onto the jamb. To her left she could make out the shape of the companionway that went up to the deck. It was awash. As she watched, a cascade of sea water rushed down. A spar and a coil of rope came down with the next pitching and rolling of the ship.

  She’d never suffered from mal de mer during the few journeys she’d made by water, but the jerking, sinking, and lifting of the ship had her stomach churning with nausea. She focused on the items bobbing in the water on the floor. Just as she reached her hand out for the spar--it would hold her above the water if she needed to go into the sea--Mr. Charles stumbled down the stairway.

  “Get back into your cabin, Mrs. Shore,” he told her, wild eyed and panting.

  “What’s happening?”

  “A gale, it came upon us that fast, it did. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. He tumbled against Marianne as the ship tossed again. “Never fear, madam, Captain McAdams is the luckiest captain on these waters. He’s never lost a vessel or a member of his crew. I don’t reckon he will this time either.”

  Marianne nodded but didn’t let go her hold on the doorway. “Thank you for checking on me.”

  He tottered back up to the deck and closed the hatch after he climbed out. The sounds diminished a bit after that, but the movement of the ship grew more violent. Marianne’s teeth chattered. She turned back into her chamber for a shawl when she heard the ship groan.

  That can’t be good, she thought.

  The groaning turned into a shrieking and snapping as she felt the ship lifted up. She imagined the wave that must be carrying them to great heights and she looked for something stronger to hold onto. The trip down the other side of the wave would be swift and violent.

  She felt the deck drop away from her feet. A sense of weightlessness rested in her. Her head struck against the ceiling and a crack that sounded like thunder reverberated through the wood around her.

  Then she was falling, falling into darkness. She hit the deck and was rolled over and over until she stopped against something hard, her bunk perhaps. The violent motion had lessened. She sat up and looked around. Her stomach cramped and her head felt light when she saw that nothing was on the other side of her door but the open sea. In the glow of a far off lightning bolt she saw what looked like the other half of the ship bobbing on the waves.

  She rubbed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

  But it was, she could either sink or swim and she wasn’t ready to just give up. She reached around her, searching for something, anything that would buoy her up, at least give her a chance for life. Surely one of the men would look for her.

  They’d thought she was bad luck. Maybe they had been right. She fought against the desire to weep and continued to search. There was nothing. Anything buoyant had already been carried away.

  I will not go down crying, she thought. But she was alone in the dark on the sea and she was afraid.

  “Help,” she shouted. There was no help for her.

  She watched helplessly as the crest of a huge wave built and plummeted towards her. She screamed as it hit what was left of her little cabin. Salt water
filled her mouth, her eyes. She clawed at it, trying to get clear of the room that had been a tiny sanctuary. Something bumped her on the head. Her ears rang as she struggled for the surface. Lungs burning, arms aching, she reached and kicked and finally was too exhausted to go on.

  This is it, she thought. She looked at the dark sea that engulfed her. Her hair floated around and above her. Her mouth opened as she let go the last of her breath in tiny bubbles.

  As she faded she saw something swimming towards her. Great, it’s not bad enough that I drown, she thought, now something’s going to eat me.

  But it wasn’t a something. It was Captain McAdams. His bald head was unforgettable and his green eyes glowed as he swam swifter than a dolphin to her.

  She felt his strong arms surround her just before everything went dark.

  Chapter Four

  The unnatural swiftness and intensity of the gale caught Jonah off guard. The dolphins should have warned him that this was on the way. They always did. The eerie echoing of the thunder and the wind made him think that someone or something had sent this to him for a purpose. But he had no time to consider what that purpose might be. His responsibility was to his crew and to his cargo. The violence of the storm had him give the hands the signal to find a cask or piece of wood to grab onto. Just as he did so, the ship cracked apart.

  Rain lashed at his face as Jonah watched the ship split in two. A scream carried over the tearing sound. Mrs. Shore, the passenger that he had not wanted on board and the one soul aboard who had not drilled for such an emergency.

  He cursed as he took stock of the situation. The crew and Charles were as safe as any mortal could be under such circumstances. In a flash of lightning he saw a white figure straining to hold onto the other half of the ship. He leaped into the waves and immediately felt the transformation back to his native shape. His two legs ripped apart the fabric of his trousers as they melded into a strong, muscular tail. His feet became fins and his lungs filled with the water that gave him life.

  The freedom of the sea called to him. He could answer in an instant and leave the struggles of his shipmates behind. A flash of white began a descent in front of him. The female. The sense of duty that defined him made him swim to her. He felt the last of her strength leave her body as he grabbed her and swam for the surface. She coughed as the slap of cool air hit her face. He felt her breathe in gasping mouthfuls of air as she spit out water. His tail undulated beneath them as he kept her head above the surface of the roiling sea.

  Jonah’s keen hearing brought the sounds of his crew to him. From their voices he could tell that all had found something safe to hold onto until they could be rescued. He sent a vibration message to the nearest dolphin pod to encircle the men and keep them safe from predators of the sea. He sensed, from far off echoes of whales, that a ship was headed in this direction and would reach his men by morning.

  As for him and his passenger, the sea current was warm where they floated but it separated them swiftly from the others. He saw no reason to chance her safety in the darkness. Even so, he knew that land was what she needed. He thought of the islands and shoals in these waters and wondered how far the storm had sent them off course. He’d been asleep when it hit. They’d been making way southerly, in good time and off the coast of Georgia. He kept his sea senses open to anything that might bring him news.

  He held her body snug against his and marveled at its continued warmth. Most humans lost heat quickly even in the mildest water. Her soft roundness fit against him intimately. He was aware of her as a female and felt the heat of arousal course through him. Her hair floated around them and clung like seaweed as her gown swayed and caressed his body below the water.

  Through the long night he cradled her as the waters became more tropical. At last the sun began its slow ascent into the heavens and Jonah spied a spit of land in the distance. He turned the woman onto her back. Her lips, plump and inviting, tempted him as did the softness of her breasts and the length of her legs, but he ignored what he wanted and swam for the shore.

  It was but an island with a small forest well back from the beach. It would do. He struggled to move her above the high tide line, flopping and pushing in the form that was ungainly out of the water. When he was sure she was as safe as he could make her, he braced himself for pain. He couldn’t abandon her here; he’d have to stay with her until he could affect a rescue. And to stay with her, he had to transform back into a human.

  He spoke the word of magic and experienced the white sharp pain. He was aware of the warming sun and of the woman who started to move, then the pain took him and he knew no more.

  * * * *

  Marianne woke to warm sun on her face. A keen of pain so powerful it had to be the remnant of nightmare filled her ears. She rubbed her gritty eyes and spat sand out of her mouth as she sat up and looked around. She remembered the ship falling apart and then she’d fallen into the sea.

  She stretched like a cat, glad that the nightmare of noise and movement had stopped. Her hands touched sand. That wasn’t right. She opened her eyes and sat up. It was sand, sand all around her. Soft, warm, with the consistency of fine white sugar. She scooped a handful up and let it run through her fingers as she stared at her surroundings. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream.

  She saw a mound of something dark nearby, huddled just above the lapping waves. The bright glare of the sun made it hard to focus. Was it man or animal or just a pile of washed up debris? She wasn’t sure but knew she had to find out. If it was a man, she hoped he was alive.

  Her unsteady legs gained strength as she walked and she was glad it only required a step or two. The damp nightdress hugged her legs making movement difficult. She leaned over the lump that now took the shape of a man. The bald pate identified him as the captain and she remembered what must have been a hallucination brought on by the fear of drowning. She thought she had seen him swimming towards her like a fish just before she’d lost consciousness. Now she knew that she had seen him, but certainly not swimming like a fish.

  He was face down in the sand. She hesitated then rolled him over.

  Oh dear. She poked at him. “Captain McAdams, are you dead?”

  A nervous giggle escaped her lips. Idiocy did not become her. Giddy and lightheaded, she thumped to the sand next to the man. She saw his chest move up and down and was relieved that he lived. His clothes were in an awful shape, the trousers looked like the legs had split open completely.

  Sand pitted his face, but she could see no wound or injury that was responsible for his unconscious state. Pity for him moved her. He’d surely risked his life to save hers. The sea tumbled gently a few feet away in remarkably gentle contrast to the beast it had been in the night. She walked to it and dipped the hem of her night dress to wet it, spending a brief moment relishing the feeling of water cooling her feet and the texture of the firm but wet sand beneath her toes. The ache to throw herself into it and swim entered her, much as she remembered from the only visit to the beach as a child.

  She turned away from the lure of the waves and knelt beside Captain McAdams. With a soft touch she used the wet cloth to wipe sand out of his eyes and away from his nostrils and mouth. As she did, she examined his face in a way she’d been unable to before. The brow was wide and smooth, as if he’d never frowned or scowled. This made her smile as she had seen him do both and in her direction, though he’d been ever so patient with the crew.

  He had no eyebrows and she wondered if he’d ever had hair. This might be her only opportunity to touch his head and she put out a hesitant hand to run it across his pate. The skin was soft, no hair stubble remained, just a faint indentation like a pattern on his skin. She tingled at her forwardness, glad that he didn’t know that she took such liberties with him. It was not a thing a lady should do, not whatsoever.

  His cheekbones, high and sharp, gave his face an exotic cast. The nose, aquiline and strong above a mouth chiseled by whatever life had brought to him. A mouth such as his should be hard and h
arsh, Marianne thought, but when she touched his lips, they were soft and warm. She leaned in and inhaled the scent of the sea that was on him. That was when she noticed he was reddening.

  “Oh no,” she said. With such fair skin he’d burn quickly. The sun grew hotter. She had to get him into some shade and find him something to drink, poor man.

  She placed her hands under his shoulders. This aspect gave her a view of the length of his body. The sight of his bare legs, long, lean, and muscular, showing from the remnants of torn trousers made her stare. She was glad he was not awake to see her interest in his limbs; it was quite unseemly that she did so. It was bad enough that she’d already touched his head. But he was so well formed in his lower limbs that she couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as well formed elsewhere.

  A gull screamed and shook her from her reverie. She managed to get both of her hands under his shoulders. Though tattered, his shirt hid the musculature encompassed by the breadth of his wide shoulders. She pulled, but he was no lightweight and she was exhausted from surviving a shipwreck.

  It took many tries to get him somewhat under the shade of the sparse trees. She was sweating and shaking by the time she made it. No doubt he’d incurred a few scrapes over the small shells or stones in their path. The indentation in the sand showed how far she’d had to move him, but at least he was out of the most intense sunlight.

  Marianne put up a hand to shade her eyes and scanned the horizon. All she saw in all directions was the limitless blue of the waves. No mast or sail broke the clean horizon. Once she was able to make Captain McAdams more comfortable, she’d take a look around. Perhaps they were just on a spit of land near a large town. The thought lifted her spirits.

  Until then, she’d see if she could find some fresh water. Her exertions had left her parched and she hated to think how thirsty the captain would be once he awoke. She glanced at his form, as unmoving as when she’d found him. A flicker of unease touched her as she wondered if he would ever wake up, then her natural optimism came back. Of course he would.