Into His Arms

by Paula Reed

  Chapter 10

  For the seventh time on this one voyage, Diego closed his eyes and bowed his head over a shrouded body. The priest, who had accompanied them as a passenger to the New World, chanted sonorously in Latin, swinging his censer and, through some miracle, bringing Diego’s patron saint to him. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could see her! She was beautiful, dressed much like the mother of God in all the paintings and on all the statues, but darker, with jet-black hair and full, red lips.

  “Fear not, Diego,” she whispered in a lilting, foreign accent. “This will be the last taken by fever. You have been brave and strong. Yours has not been an easy journey, and it will be harder yet.”

  His first instinct was to fall to his knees, and it was a moment before he realized that he was already there. He remained dimly aware of the priest’s voice and the scent of incense. His heart pounded and his mouth went dry. Who was he to be visited by a saint?

  “Santa Maria,” he begged her in his thoughts, “more trouble we can do without. I do not know how much more I can get us through.”

  “You are a man of generous heart and great pride. You will do whatever you must. But I warn you to remember this: sometimes what you wish for most is not meant to be. Take care of your men. It is not yet time to play the hero.”

  Alarmed, he opened his eyes, and she disappeared in the blinding sun that bounced off of the snowy linen shroud before him. He glanced around at the men who surrounded him. They were respectfully silent, fearful of all that had befallen them, but none seemed as if he had seen a saint on their ship.

  Diego wiped his sweating palms on his breeches. The sun, that was it. He was still fighting the effects of illness himself, though he had never fully surrendered to it. The heat of the sun and the last vestiges of fever were toying with his mind. This was no time to fancy himself a visionary.

  Still, he could not help but hope that she spoke the truth when she said that this man would be the last to die. Of course, she had also said the journey would be harder still, but that it was “not yet time to play the hero.” Now what did that mean? Females, even female saints, were a mystery to him.

  *

  Faith and Geoff supped together, and he taught her to play backgammon. He told her that the men placed wagers on this game and asked what she might stake, but she only smiled and shook her head at him. The water was always flavored with rum, as it took little time in the ship’s barrels for it to begin to taste a bit off. Tonight he poured the libation more liberally.

  “Are you hoping to inebriate me?” she asked.

  “Is that a sin, too?”

  “Aye, it is,” she said, as she took a healthy swallow.

  She showed him her progress on the gown, and he explained how the mysterious backstaff worked.

  “You see, you stand with your back to the sun, like so,” he said, standing behind her to guide her hand, “then look through here.”

  Faith giggled. “There is no sun in here.”

  Geoff looked all about the cabin, as though the fact had escaped him. “True enough,” he admitted, but he stayed behind her, his hands still holding hers. “We’ll have make do with our imaginations.”

  “I think that you do but seek an excuse to stand so close together.”

  He gave her wounded look, but he could not keep the sparkle from his eyes. “Me? Stoop to petty excuses to touch you?” His large, callused hands covered her own white ones, though they were strong and work roughened, as well. “You have fine hands,” he whispered in her ear, sending a thrill down her spine.

  “So do you,” she replied, slipping her hand from beneath his to caress with one finger the veins that raised his dark flesh along the back of it.

  He turned her smoothly to face him, and she had to tilt her head back to look up into his eyes, placing her hands on his shoulders to keep steady.

  “Do I always have to ask?” What has become of me? Faith wondered silently, but her heart beat more rapidly in anticipation.

  He didn’t answer, simply pulled her to him and took her soft lips to his own. She knew what to expect this time and welcomed the rich, melting sensation that flowed from her mouth to her limbs. Her hands tangled themselves in his hair, and she pulled him closer, wanting something more, but not sure what.

  Geoff tore himself away before he lost every last shred of self-restraint he possessed. “That’ll do, love. We’ve a whole night to make it through.”

  Faith smothered her disappointment and changed the subject. “Why do you call me that?”

  “What?”

  “‘Love.’ You say you don’t believe in love, yet you call me by its name when you tease me.”

  “Believe me, Faith, it is not I who is teasing. Nevertheless, ‘tis just a word. A pet name.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, not if you don’t mean it.”

  “Don’t start getting sentimental, love—uh—my sweet. Is that better? Why is it women like you cannot simply enjoy a little pleasure without turning it into something ridiculous and complicated?”

  “Women like me? Ridiculous and complicated?”

  “Oh, now don’t get cross.” He smiled winningly, but she refused to be taken in. “I meant no harm.” He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm, causing a pleasant bolt of sensation to race from her hand through her arm and straight to her heart. “I mean to have you, that’s sure, but not under false pretenses. We’ll have a good time, maybe be friends, but we’ll part ways in Port Royal.”

  Faith pulled away from him and moved to the window. In the dark there was little to distinguish sea from sky but the moon that wavered murkily behind the glass. She did not want to be friends and part ways. She thought perhaps she wanted him, too, but she couldn’t help it, she believed in forever.

  She didn’t dare look at him. Surely her heart was in her eyes, and he would scowl and scold her. Instead, she glanced around the room with a light smile. “Yes, we’ll have a very good time, we two good friends. We’ll play backgammon and chess. Perhaps I’ll tell you Bible stories. They are quite exciting, some of them. I could tell you about Mary Magdalene. Surely she’s a woman from the Good Book whom you could admire.”

  Geoff gave an exaggerated shudder. “Bible stories? We have a very different notion of a good time, you and I. But I confess, you have my attention. Why would I like this Mary Magdalene? Was she not the so-called virgin who gave birth to Jesus?”

  Faith shook her head vigorously. “Nay! That was Mary—well, just Mary. Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. A repentant sinner who served the Lord ere He was sacrificed.”

  “Repentant sinner? Nay, she’s lost my interest there. I think she’s one prostitute I would do better to avoid.”

  In fact, he decided it best to avoid temptation all together. The thought of listening to Bible stories from the very lips he had yet to taste enough of was too disturbing. Likely as not, he’d silence her in ways that would take them straight to bed, with or without her illusive consent. He gave her cheek a chaste peck and hied himself to the deck, where no one would simultaneously preach to and tempt him.

  Hours later, when Geoff came to bed, Faith lay awake, unable to sleep. He seemed more awkward than most nights and gave her a toss when he fell into bed beside her. Within moments it hit—the smell of rum. She knew enough to know she could never trick him into believing her asleep.

  “Are you drunk?”

  He heaved a pungent sigh. “Aye.”

  “The cook said you didn’t drink.”

  “Not often.”

  “Is it because of me?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “Did I anger you?”

  “Faith, I’ve drunk all this so that I can sleep with you next to me. Now shut up and let me sleep, else I’ll do what I was trying to avoid!”

  Faith wisely closed her mouth. She wasn’t sure how far she was willing to let this go, but she was certain she wanted it to stop before he did. She relaxed, growing accustomed to the steady sound of
his breathing, the comforting warmth of him. This was depraved, she told herself sternly, but in truth, it did not seem so. It seemed so utterly right, so completely natural. She did not hold herself rigid against the wall, but allowed herself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  She must have been tired, for when she woke he was gone and the room was filled with light. She pulled her gown over her shift, slipped on her shoes and raced above into the bracing wind as she tucked her hair into her coif.

  She recognized Geoff’s broad form, even as he leaned over the deck rail. Whatever was he looking at? “Good morning!” she called.

  When he turned to her she knew a sudden sense of alarm. He didn’t look at all well! “Geoff, are you all right?”

  “Have you never encountered a man after a night of drink?” he asked crossly.

  “Nay.” He looked positively green, and Faith feared that he had quite poisoned himself. “Is it serious? Did you truly drink so very much?”

  “Aye, I’m like to die,” he groaned, but then laughed weakly when her eyes widened. “Nay, I’ll live. I’ve no stomach for it is all. Especially rum.”

  “Oh.”

  He shook his head at her disapproving look, then clapped his hand over his eyes. “Don’t preach. God is punishing me enough, to be sure.”

  Giles came to her side and gave her a merry grin. “‘Tis good to see the captain fairing so poorly.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  He winked at her and replied, “Means he’s keeping his word, and that you’re sticking to your guns. ‘Tis about time he met a wench who didn’t tumble into his bed after a single look.”

  A frown pulled at the corners of Faith’s lips. “How many women have tumbled into his bed?”

  “Now Giles,” Geoff protested, “you’re doing me no good here. She’ll think I’m a rake.”

  “You are,” Giles supplied cheerily.

  Fine for them, she thought to herself. To her it was no laughing matter. The thought of him with other women hurt more than she cared to admit and left her wondering what he thought of her. Did he find her lack of experience unsatisfying? Perhaps if she knew what she was doing, he would not need to drink himself into a stupor. She could do something that would please him for the time being.

  A niggling guilt tugged at the corner of her mind, but she brushed it aside. She had committed so many sins already, what was one or two more? Besides, Puritan theology taught her that the actions of mortals did not move God. Those among the elect, chosen for salvation, had been chosen before birth. If she were truly graced, she would not even have these strange desires. For a wicked, wicked moment, she pitied those so chosen, for they would miss out on this exhilarating, befuddling experience.

  She silently argued with herself as the two men spoke of mundane matters, and was still trying to harness her wayward thoughts hours later, when Geoff joined her for the midday meal.

  He slowly chewed the dried beef in front of him, grateful that his nausea and headache were abating. The woman in front of him toyed with the food on her plate as though she were the one who had imbibed too heavily the previous night.

  “Something’s troubling you,” he said.

  She looked up at his words and seemed to search for something very important in his face.

  “Is it yesterday?” he asked. “I spoke too bluntly. I made it sound as though all I cared for is your body.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Nay, and that’s the very thing. I’ve never had a woman for a friend. I think that would be the perfect lover, a woman you liked who liked you.”

  “But not love.”

  He shrugged. “Of a kind, but even friends can’t spend every minute of every day together. They wear on each other. I shouldn’t want to pledge myself to Giles for the rest of my life.”

  “But you’ll be friends for life.”

  “Aye, but ‘tis different.”

  “How so?”

  “Giles can make his own way in the world. ‘Tis not your fault, but you’ll need a man. You’re not made to take a series of lovers, and no man who marries you will share you with me. We’ll have to part, sooner or later. Still, I like you. You’re not like any other woman I’ve known.”

  Whatever response Geoff expected, it was not the one he got.

  “Will you kiss me, as you do other women?”

  “What?”

  “I think there is something more. I sense you hold something back, and you seem unsatisfied. I would know what it is that you withhold.”

  The wait for just such a request had long tried his patience, yet now he hesitated. “I warn you, Faith, ‘twill take more than a kiss to satisfy me.”

  “You have spoken plainly with me, and I will do the same. I cannot promise you more than this kiss. Still, I have asked.”

  He smiled at her implied demand. “I promised I would do naught but what you ask for; I did not promise to do all that you ask.”

  “Do you not want to kiss me? ‘Tis a sin to lie.” She smiled back, an enticing little smile that brooked no denial.

  They rose from their respective places at the desk, eyes locked, tension vibrating in the air between them. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her a mere tavern wench, an easy night’s pleasure, but when his lips touched hers, the illusion would not hold. Her mouth was eager but untaught.

  “Part your lips for me, Faith,” he murmured against her, and when she did, his tongue dipped delicately to savor this first sweet taste of her. She sighed softly and stood on her toes, pressing herself full against him, and he pulled the coif from her head to bury his hands in her hair. Instinctively, she turned her head slightly, giving him full access to her, and he deepened the kiss, thrilled when her tongue responded tentatively in kind.

  The blood roared in Faith’s ears, and she knew not whose breath was whose, only that it came hard and fast. Her fingers splayed themselves against the hard heat of his back beneath his soft cotton shirt. When he would withdraw, she cried out softly into his mouth and pulled him back to her. She might well burn in hell for the feelings Geoff had ignited; she would have her fill and make it worth the price.

  Geoff ached. He wanted to touch her, taste every inch of her, bury himself in her, and just at the moment he believed she would let him. He had to make her think. If he took her now, she would feel nothing but regret after.

  He pulled forcefully away and spoke, his voice thick with desire. “What is it you would ask of me, my sweet? Do you want me to make love to you?”

  An ‘aye’ nearly tripped from her tongue, but an instant’s reflection stopped her. Make love? Aye, she wanted that, and no less. “Nay. Forgive me, I did not know it would be so—”

  “Powerful?”

  “Aye,” she said, her voice laced with awe.

  “I told you, lust is a powerful thing.”

  “Aye, it is,” she said, moving away from him.

  And so it was. When he held her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, desire seemed to drive every rational thought from her mind. But even when he was not touching her, she loved every moment in his company. He was a scoundrel by every rule she had ever known, but she admired him. He could be as serious and responsible as the most staunch Puritan man, but he was witty and playful, as well. He laughed easily, and she found that with him, she could, too.

  It wasn’t that her family had been entirely lacking in humor. She thought wistfully of David and Isaiah’s childish antics and of the gentle, good-natured teasing between her and Noah. Even her father could engage in some jest if the circumstances made it too hard to resist. But as with all other things, humor and fun were to be had in moderation. At the appropriate time, and in the appropriate place.

  Geoff cared naught for moderation. Work, play, food, flesh. He embraced and savored all that life had to offer and encouraged her to do the same. At times, she would think of the huge, irrevocable step she had taken when she had left home, and she would be nearly paralyzed with fear. But then, he would sw
eep into the cabin, or appear on deck, and she found his reckless sense of adventure contagious. With him, she felt she could do anything.

  “I’d give a gold doubloon for those thoughts,” he said, interrupting her ponderings.

  “What?” she asked, giving her head a little shake.

  “For a moment, you looked so stern that I thought you must be contemplating the fires of hell. But that was a lovely little smile, just at the end there. Tell me ‘twas thoughts of me that put it there.” He grinned rakishly at her.

  She tried to frown at him in mock disapproval, but the corners of her mouth would not comply. “You are a terrible, wicked man, Captain Hampton.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  Chapter 11

  Faith lay atop the covers on Geoff’s bed, transfixed by the volume of Robert Herrick’s verses. She had not begun it earlier because the dress had occupied much of her time, but her fingers rebelled at last, and she sought a chance to relax. The book was anything but relaxing. In it were verses gently chiding young virgins to “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” for life was short and youth quickly spent. There was verse upon verse dedicated to a woman named Julia. Verses extolling the merits of every part of her body. Verses that made Faith wonder wickedly if perhaps Geoff might see “strawberries half drown’d in cream” in her nipples as Herrick saw in Julia’s.

  It was little wonder this poet was a favorite of the man whose bed she shared. In one composition, he spoke of how he loved to woo but had no wish to wed. He had somehow managed to make his appetite for many women seem romantic rather than depraved. All this, written by a minister? She knew that she should set it aside, that her parents had been right. Poetry had no place in the library of an upright woman. Just reading it had made her tingle and awakened strange cravings. It had aroused an immoral sense of curiosity.

  She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow that smelled of Geoff, allowing images of him to drift through her head. In her mind’s eye she could see his hair as the wind swept it about his lean face, envision his broad, dark shoulders and back when he peeled off his shirt. She imagined his eyes, intense and golden, and it took all of her will to keep from running her hands over the front of her bodice, thinking of his hands, large and strong.