Liz Tyner - Safe in the Earl's Arms

‘I hate you, Stephanos,’ she whispered to the empty room while wiping away the moisture at her brow—for a moment, uncaring if the ship dropped under a wave, and kept plunging. Sinking would still the movement and silence the ship. Ascalon creaked and groaned, complaining more than any person she’d ever heard. She didn’t see how something could stay afloat while protesting so much.

The shadows in the room grew longer. The rocking motion made the walls move as if they reached to squeeze her in an embrace. Her lungs could hardly fill with air. She already felt she was drowning.

Without thinking, she jumped up and pulled open the door. She had to escape—to breathe.

Stepping on to the deck, she could see enough in front of her to realise the vastness of the water. The liquid reached to the end of the world. And she could run no direction to escape.

Melina would kiss Stephanos’s feet—each naked toe if he asked—to get back to her home. She pulled the door shut behind her and pressed her back to the wood, her fingers grasping for something to hold herself still. Now she didn’t care that she’d planned to leave the island for months and swore she’d do whatever the journey took. The sacrifice was too great.

Taking a breath, Melina took stock of her surroundings. She didn’t smile or look directly at any of the men. She did not want more concerns.

Two men sitting on crates immediately dropped their heads and studied the frazzled bits of rope in their hands. They continued twisting the frayed hemp back into shape. Everything on deck, but the boxes the men used, was lashed down.

She let out a breath, putting her hand at her stomach. Walking to the railing, she leaned against the barrier keeping her from the water, facing forward, feeling the comfort of the breeze.

Only a day before, Melina could not have imagined herself drinking a vile concoction, after spending the night inside a bobbing box at sea, with a silent man watching her cast up her accounts and him trying to calm her so he could bed her.

She’d bargained with Warrington and taken a risk, and she didn’t regret it, but she wasn’t certain her promise wasn’t troubling her stomach as much as the ship.

Shutting her eyes didn’t help. When she opened them nothing had changed.

Something—a hand—grabbed her elbow and she jumped, darting back from the railing.

‘You needin’ help, miss?’ The reedy voice of Gidley jarred her, and even in the dusk, she could see enough to recognise him leaning towards her in concern.

‘I’m well,’ she muttered. ‘I just needed air. My—’ She pulled her elbow from his grasp and touched over her stomach, taking care not to pat it. ‘I am not good over water...and...’ Things kept moving in front of her when she knew they were really immobile. ‘I keep being ill.’

He stepped back, a bundle tucked under one arm. ‘If yer need the earl, he’s at the helm.’ He lowered his voice, whispering, ‘He can prob’ly hear us yappin’ now. ’Less the wind is howling, yer can hear a sniffle from anywhere on deck. But yer need to take care. This be the bit of quiet before the storm slaps our masts up our...nose.’

She shook her head. Her bun slid back on her head and she hoped the darkness covered her dishevelment.

‘Yer want me to show you how well sound can carry, I’ll start singin’ and in a whisker shake, his lordship will start swearin’ at me to shut my mouth.’

‘No. I thank you,’ she answered.

He tipped his chin to her. ‘Well, I’m puttin’ this bedding inside yer cabin.’ He let his words ring loud. ‘Yer get tired of that peer and want to see what a real man can do, just say the word. Might not be the sea makin’ you ill. But the comp’ny yer keepin’.’

He gave her a fatherly pat on the arm before scooting her aside to open the cabin door and toss the bundle inside. He left, humming.

‘Melina.’ She heard the muffled shout of Warrington’s voice and turned towards the sound. She crept slowly until she saw his outline at the stern, holding the wheel. The night made him darker, and maybe taller, she wasn’t sure. Even the wheel seemed smaller with him holding it.

‘You should be in the cabin. You could fall against something, or stumble overboard.’ He raised his voice. ‘Or have to speak to someone like Gidley, who can’t sing and wouldn’t know what to do with a woman.’

She heard a chuckle wafting back through the air—and then another.

One more voice—a strong baritone she didn’t recognise—called out and she wasn’t even sure of the direction. ‘When I’m finished with a woman, she’s the one singing—my praises. Send her my way if she can’t sleep.’

Warrington snapped out, ‘You’re going to find yourself upside down and hanging from a mast if you don’t take care.’

‘Best leave his lordship be,’ an unrecognisable voice shouted.

Melina guessed the words came from Gidley, but she wasn’t sure.

‘His mama didn’t teach him to share,’ the man continued to taunt.

Warrington put his words low, snapped them together and spoke to her. ‘Are you pleased with the discussion you have caused?’

‘The only grumbler is his lordship,’ Melina said.

‘You tell ’im, sweet,’ a voice rang out.

‘Anyone touches her, they go overboard,’ Warrington said, his voice not overly loud, but with enough force to take the sound to the tips of the sails.

‘Including the captain?’ someone asked from the shadows.

‘Especially the captain.’

Melina crossed her arms and put challenge in her voice. She turned to face him. ‘It is a good thing I am fond of his lordship, then, so no one will have to go into the sea.’ Her lips turned up and she put her chin closer to his. ‘Besides, he’s the only man who’s ever emptied my pails.’

Whistles sounded, mixed with a few muffled hoots.

He stepped sideways enough to hold the wheel with one hand and snake the other around her waist, pulling her so close she could feel the heat of his breath and hear his rough whisper. ‘I should never have brought you.’

She turned, her hair catching in the bristles on his chin. ‘I know,’ she replied in kind. ‘But I’m here and the ship can’t turn back.’

His fingers loosened on her waist and as she moved away, he took a step, scooping her closer. Before her feet settled, she found herself tucked between the wheel and a firm male. Both his hands steered Ascalon. She had room to breathe and little else.

‘You might as well learn to guide the ship.’ Warrington leaned to whisper to her ear. ‘You’re not going anywhere for a while.’

She tried to push away, but he trapped her and she couldn’t leave.

‘Let’s not let the seamen think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel,’ he whispered.

‘I don’t feel well.’ She spoke between gritted teeth.

‘Then try to miss the boots.’

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