Daniel allowed his hands to roam the expanse of golden skin on James’s back, his body thrumming at the idea of letting himself have what he’d thought had been lost forever. James had died, but now here, in the humidity of Plesmaya, the memories of the encounters from his youth could be reenacted. He could allow himself the pleasures of having James back in his bed. Regret, if he allowed himself such a meaningless emotion, could wait until tomorrow.
James sat back, his stare not predatory but observant, as if cataloguing all the changes that had happened since the last time they had been naked together. With another lover Daniel would’ve found such an examination unbearable, happier to indulge in sex in the dark or under the covers on the rare occasions he indulged. But with James he had no such concerns; the gentle exploration of his hands made Daniel’s body sing, made him want to grant James access to everywhere.
From the nightstand, James removed a vial which, when uncorked, released a pleasant floral aroma. James upended it, pouring a generous quantity of glistening oil over his fingers. A moment passed as their eyes met, James asking a silent question and Daniel answering with the merest of nods. And then James’s fingers were at his entrance, teasing and playful, working him open. It had been a while, and after the initial discomfort he welcomed James’s fingers, gasping as James’s other hand fastened around his cock, pumping slowly.
James crawled forward, leaning over him, and pressed their mouths together in a strangely gentle kiss. With great care, he guided his cock inside Daniel, taking his time, maximizing their mutual enjoyment. Daniel tilted his hips and took him deep, hands on James’s ass to guide him, encouraging him to move once he was fully seated.
There was no mistaking that James’s technique had developed over the years; no longer the fumbling teen, he was assured and commanding. He set the pace hard and deep, as if he instinctively knew what Daniel needed. Their bodies moved together, a glorious rhythm which made Daniel gasp and writhe, his orgasm hitting him like a crashing wave without another touch to his cock. James came with a growl and one deep, final thrust.
THE morning sunlight poured through the balcony door, bathing the room in a golden glow, and the sea breeze cooled the room. Daniel’s eyelids flittered open as he became vaguely aware that he was being stroked. He turned over onto his back and saw James’s forehead crumple.
James traced a finger down the faded scar on Daniel’s leg. “This is my fault.”
“Hardly,” Daniel said. “Bloody Spaniard got away from me.”
“That’s not what I meant. If I hadn’t gone, you’d have been safe on land.”
Daniel turned toward James. “I’ve been at sea over half my life, and despite what drove me there, I don’t regret that.”
“You should have been at home.”
“I’m the youngest son of a baron, James. I was destined for the navy, and my father’s connections certainly helped my career. But the choices were always limited to going to sea or joining the clergy, and I think we’ve established I’d be terrible at the moral aspect of the latter.”
“Still….”
“You talk rubbish. Just because you are two years older does not make you a driving influence behind my decisions. I was already at the naval academy when we met; I’d been in Portsmouth since I was sixteen. The life I chose was inevitable.”
“We both know that’s not true. The masters thought you a strategist, not a sailor.”
“Quiet.” Daniel kissed him. “What’s past is past.”
James smiled. “Now we can have the future I’d planned.”
Daniel knew that was impossible, and although a part of him wanted to stay, the rest of him knew he could never really settle here.
“I have to go back.”
“I thought this might happen,” said James, with no hint of anger, and he dropped a kiss onto Daniel’s shoulder. “You have unfinished business.”
“I’m no pirate, James. I made my pledge, and no matter how much I want you, I can’t break that. I need to—”
James silenced him with a kiss, deep and exploratory. They broke apart, and Daniel buried his head in the crook of James’s neck. “We are both dead men, Daniel; we can be free here. I have more money than I could ever spend. We could build a home here.”
Daniel pulled back. The offer was tempting. “You know I can’t stay here, don’t you? Even though we didn’t part on the best of terms, I can’t let my father believe I’m dead.”
“Of course I do, but do not ask me to be happy about your decision. We can sail for St. Kitts in a few days, once we’ve restocked.”
USUALLY he slept better at sea, but as he lay next to James, the Opal’s gentle rocking did nothing to help Daniel sleep. James had drifted off a few hours earlier, both of them sated after an energetic round of lovemaking, but Daniel lay awake in the darkness, listening to his lover’s gentle snores. He’d half expected the passion to have waned once the initial reconnection had occurred, for them both to have put aside their youthful dreams, but the more time he had spent with James the harder his heart ached.
“Can’t sleep?” asked James.
“I thought you were.”
“You’re thinking too loudly, woke me up.”
“Sorry.”
James moved behind him and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s chest. “We’ll need to put you ashore soon.”
Daniel leaned back and enjoyed the embrace. “I know.”
“Whatever happens, Daniel, this isn’t the end.”
The ship’s bell tolled, and they slid out of James’s bed, clothes pulled on between kisses and gentle caresses, but neither man spoke. They walked side by side to the deck, the crew readying the small boat for Daniel to row to the shore and then walk around the cape to the naval base.
“Time to go,” said James.
Daniel nodded and climbed into the rowing boat. Six of the crew lowered him into the water. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, not able to guarantee his voice would be steady. With a final salute, James cast away the lines.
The moonlight was patchy due to the cloud cover, making the Opal a dark silhouette as Daniel rowed to shore. He watched as her sail billowed and caught the wind, taking her and James further and further away.
THE decision had been a difficult one. But in the end, Daniel had felt he had no other choice than to leave the navy. The Admiralty was adamant that he wouldn’t get another ship to captain, meaning he could either take the demotion and the desk job in Portsmouth or leave. The idea of watching other men go off to sea while he sat and stagnated was something he knew he couldn’t live with. His loyalty was not in question; his ability to command was. A man back from the dead or the victim of a mutiny was not the type they were willing to trust to a new crew. The only solace he could take was that Nichols, Jones, and Gilman had swung from the scaffold as their punishment.
The difference in the climate had never been so obvious than during the carriage ride from the Admiralty to his father’s Buckinghamshire estate a few weeks after his arrival. The icy sheets of rain had been relentless, and the carriage had given little protection from the bitter wind of the miserable English winter. The skies were heavy and gray and nothing like the endless brilliant blue he had become accustomed to in his last few months at sea.
His father came out to meet him as he alighted from the carriage. He was momentarily surprised as he found himself swept up into a brief hug, his father withdrawing quickly, his eyes watery with emotion.
“My boy,” said Lord Arthur Horton, “a true miracle to see you returned home.”
Daniel was led inside with talk of his elder brothers returning for the weekend to celebrate his homecoming and his mother’s absolute desperation to see him.
The initial excitement to be at home ran its course, and although he was happy to see his parents, the weeks that followed filled Daniel with little joy. He was troubled by his lack of gainful employment, which left him far too much time to brood, and it was only when he took on some of the
business of the estate overseen by his father that he started to settle into his role of English gentleman.
Spring brought with it the new season in London, and his mother’s less than subtle hints that he should perhaps start looking for a wife.
“You do realize I am only attending this ridiculous dance in order to appease Mother?” Daniel said to his brother Marcus as the carriage drew up outside Willington House in Chelsea.
Marcus laughed harshly as he disembarked. “Of course I do. You’ve less interest in being here than me.”
“At least you had the prospect of a title when you were courting Emily. I, even if I wished for a wife, have nothing that could sway a lady.”
“I would not concern yourself unduly, Daniel. I doubt our presence will even be noted, not with the miraculous return of Lord Merriston—your escape from a mutiny is nothing in comparison with his reappearance in London after fifteen years.”
Daniel slipped down the steps of the carriage, tumbling awkwardly and landing on his hands and knees.
“Heaven’s sake, Daniel, what is wrong with you? If you can’t exit a carriage on two feet, how the hell did you manage at sea?”
“I lost my footing—it’s hardly a crime.” Daniel got to his feet, brushing away the dirt from his breeches. “I hadn’t heard James was back.”
“James? Oh, Merriston. You knew him at Portsmouth? I remember something about him being at the College before he headed to the Caribbean.”
“We were friends.”
“Then no doubt he will be happy to see a friendly face among the throngs of young women and their eager mothers.”
Lord Bellingham, an aging businessman with an unattached daughter, welcomed them to his home. Marcus was called back to discuss something that had happened at the Exchange, and Daniel followed the other guests into the ballroom, accepting a glass of wine from a footman. Keen to be left alone, he took a place at the far wall to watch London’s finest dance the evening away in a mass of lace and satin.
Daniel had just procured a third glass of an excellent hock when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Never thought of you as a wallflower.”
The wine splashed over his hand as he nearly dropped his glass. “James!”
And it was James, not Captain Merric. His hair tied neatly back, dressed fashionably and scrubbed clean of the sea, James looked like he had never left, a perfect model of an English gentleman.
“I said I’d see you again.”
“Yes, but….”
“The weather is mild,” said James. “Perhaps we should enjoy the garden?”
Daniel’s momentary confusion evaporated as he understood James’s meaning. “An excellent idea.”
They left the ballroom through a pair of open doors and onto a terrace where a number of guests were also enjoying the warmth of the evening sunshine. Daniel followed James as he crossed an immaculately kept lawn and entered a small rose garden.
The house and the other guests now out of sight, James rounded on Daniel and placed a hand on his cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”
Daniel smiled and kissed him, a restrained kiss knowing that there was no way he could allow himself the passion he craved out in the open. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It was time to come home,” said James.
“You could have warned me.”
James’s grin was devilish. “You wanted lavender-scented love letters wrapped in pink ribbon? Oh, Daniel, how being landlocked has changed you.”
“Continue in that manner and you might as well go back to the Caribbean.”
“I’ll have you know that I had no intention of returning to England, but you ruined my plan.”
“What?”
James ran his hand over Daniel’s hair. “You were supposed to come back to the Caribbean with a new ship. I was ready to board her and kidnap you for my own nefarious purposes. But no, you had to quit the navy.”
“You heard about that?”
“I’m not exactly a patient man, James. After about a month and you’d not returned, I decided to find out where you were. I know the right people and have enough money that I can find out pretty much anything I want to.”
“So you meant to carry me off and do all sort of terrible things to my person? Maybe if I’d known I wouldn’t have been so quick to make my decision.”
“A minor flaw in what was otherwise a sound and reasonable plan.”
“Idiot,” said Daniel, but there was no heat in the insult, his smile warm and generous.
James kissed him, his hand firm on the back of Daniel’s neck. “Because of your inability to do as expected, I had no choice but to come home to England.”
“And how, may I ask, have you explained your return to your father?”
“A terrible tale of heartache and misery,” said James. “The desperately attractive young lord finds himself washed ashore with no memory apart from his Christian name. Only thanks to the dashing and kind Captain Merric who takes him under his wing does he manage to survive. Then a few months ago, he takes a blow to the head and he remembers everything.”
Daniel laughed. “A fine tale, indeed. You should write it down, and the ladies of the ton would clamber to read it.”
“Perhaps, but I have had quite enough attention from the ladies,” James said with a wry smile. “So, Daniel, I am home. I have no wife or commitments and a house in London too large for just me and my staff. What do you say? Join me, and we can be two upstanding bachelors of the city?”
The smell of James’s expensive French cologne and having him close again after their months apart set his blood on fire. There were so many arguments against James’s suggestion. Their subterfuge, if seen through, would end in disgrace so great they would have to flee to the continent, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no.
“When?”
James’s hand squeezed his hip. “As soon as you can. We’ve lost too long already.”
There was a giggle from nearby, and reluctantly they stepped apart as a young man with a pretty girl on his arm strolled into the rose garden.
“We should go back inside,” said James once the couple had passed.
“Yes, before my brother comes to find me.”
“My home is your home, Daniel. Come as soon as you are able.”
They walked back to the house, and Daniel thought they had done so just in time as more guests had left the house and were exploring the grounds.
As they reentered the ballroom, a voice called out, “Merriston, you old dog!”
A portly gentleman with a bald pate and cheeks flushed from a life of drinking port beckoned James over.
“I’d better go—he’s an old friend of the family.”
Daniel watched as James sauntered away. Life had never been boring with James Merriston around when they were younger, and now they had a lifetime together ahead of them. He could hardly wait.
REBECCA COHEN is a Brit abroad. Having swapped the Thames for the Rhine, she has left London behind and now lives with her husband in Basel, Switzerland. She can often be found with a pen in one hand and a cocktail in the other.
Visit Rebecca’s blog at http://rebecca-cohen.livejournal.com.
TOUCHED BY THE WEST WIND
ELLEN HOLIDAY
ASK me again why I love the sea. I’ll give you a different answer each time. I have a million of them.
On one day, perhaps, I might mention the darkness of it, the churning white of the waves beneath us when we have a good clip going and how, when I look over the railing, I see froth over dark beer, the most intoxicating drug you can imagine. Ask me another day, and I might speak of the coarseness of the ropes beneath my callused hands, how every mark on my body is from a different adventure. Ask me yet again, and I will tell you it’s the smell of the brine, the feeling that when I look at the calm horizon, I’m gazing back in time into the world before it was formed, before the good Lord stretched out his hands and made land rise from the darkness of the waters.
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Ask me again, and I will tell you about Bren.
Bren is barely older than I, but he’s been on the sea his entire life. Instead of growing up cloistered by the claustrophobic gaze of a mother who feared any exposure to sea air might make her poor son sickly, he was an orphan, abandoned by his mother aboard the deck of the Bandit nineteen years ago with nary a note of explanation. Were it not for the captain’s good will, he might have been thrown to the waves. But no, he was raised here, a sea rat from the moment he was old enough to hoist a rigging. He moves among ropes and ladders as easily as though they were solid ground, and when he turns into the breeze, his lips turned up and his eyes fluttering closed, I sometimes think he might just be a zephyr himself, the child of the West Wind come to light aboard our humble vessel.
I’ve told him this, and he laughed. “Thomas, I swear,” he said. “Your books will someday drive you barmy. That tripe’s got no business aboard a boat of any sort, let alone one bearing a black flag.”
“At least it isn’t the Bible,” I countered, and he threw back his head and laughed, strands of black hair whipping around his face.
“Thank goodness indeed for small favors, Tom!” he said, clapping me on the back, and the warm print of his fingers remained with me thereafter. I curled into my bunk later with the memory of that impression warming me, feeling at once secure and frightened, addled by the touch of a creature neither human nor mythical.
Bren’s disdain for my books isn’t absolute. When we’re becalmed or spending long nights below deck for fear the winds will blow us to kingdom come, he’ll often ask me for one of those old stories. A candle burns bright near my bedside, its glow more distinct than the dull glow of the kerosene lamps, and I reach for an ancient legend of the Greeks or the Norse. Bren is fond of the Iliad. He laughed loudly, smacking his broad hands together, when I first read him the opening spat between the soldiers. “These Greek swear as well as sailors do,” he declared, his face rosy and warm with laughter, and I thought that should the candle blow out, I could easily read by the light of his flush.
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