The Gift

Chapter Six

It was a day in hell.

Nathan had already left the cabin by the time she awakened. He'd opened the chimney lid for her, and the room was flooded with fresh air and sunshine. It was much warmer than the day before. After she bathed, she dressed in a lightweight royal-blue gown with white linen borders and then went to find her husband. She wanted to ask him where the fresh sheets were kept so that she could change the bedding. She also wanted him to kiss her again.

Sara had just reached the top step on the way to the main deck when she heard a man's shout. She hurried forward to see what all the commotion was about and almost tripped over the fallen man sprawled on the deck. The older seaman had obviously taken quite a fall, for he was sleeping soundly.

The parasol she hadn't been able to find the day before was twisted between his feet. Jimbo was bent on one knee over the prostrate man. He slapped the side of the man's face twice in an attempt to waken him.

In a matter of seconds a crowd gathered around their friend. Each immediately offered a suggestion or two as to how Jimbo could bring the man around.

"What the hell happened?"

Nathan's booming voice sounded directly behind Sara. She didn't turn around when she answered his question. "I believe he tripped on something."

"It weren't something, m'lady," one of the crew announced. He pointed to the deck. "It were your parasol that caught up in his legs."

Sara was forced to accept full responsibility. "Yes, it was my parasol," she said. "His injury is my fault. Will he be all right, Jimbo? I really didn't mean to cause this mishap. I-"

Jimbo took pity on her. "No need to carry on so, Lady Sara. The men know it was just an accident."

Sara glanced up to look at the crowd. Most were nodding and smiling at her. "No need to get yourself in a dither, m'lady. Ivan will get his wits back in a minute or so."

A man with a full orange beard nodded. "Don't be fretting," he interjected. "It weren't that bad. The back of his head broke his fall."

"Murray?" Jimbo called out. "Bring me a bucket of water. That ought to bring him around."

"Will Ivan be able to cook up our meal tonight?" The man Sara remembered was named Chester asked that question. He was frowning at Sara.

She frowned back. It was apparent he blamed her for the unfortunate circumstance. "Is your stomach more important to you than your friend's health?" she asked. She didn't give him time to answer her but knelt down beside the sleeping man and gently patted his shoulder. The elderly man didn't respond. His mouth was gaping.

"My God, Jimbo, have I killed him?" she whispered.

"No, you didn't kill him," Jimbo returned. "You can see he's breathing still, Sara. He'll just have a fair head split when he wakes up, that's all."

Nathan lifted Sara to her feet and pulled her back away from the crowd. She didn't want to leave. I'm responsible for this accident," she said. Her gaze was fully directed upon Ivan, but she could still see the nods from the men surrounding her. She felt herself blush in reaction to their easy agreement. "It was an accident," she cried out.

No one contradicted her. That made her feel a little better. "I should take care of Ivan," she announced then. "When he opens his eyes I must tell him how sorry I am for forgetting my parasol."

"He won't be in the mood to listen," Nathan predicted.

"Aye," Lester agreed. "Ivan the Terrible isn't one to forgive a slight for a good long while. He loves a good grudge, doesn't he, Walt?"

A slightly built man with dark brown eyes nodded agreement. "This is more than a slight, Lester," he muttered. "Ivan's going to be in a rage."

"Is Ivan the only cook?" Sara asked.

"He is," Nathan told her.

She finally turned around to look at her husband. Her blush was high, and she really didn't know if the heat in her cheeks was due to the fact that this was their first encounter since their night of intimacy or because she'd caused such commotion.

"Why do they call him Ivan the Terrible?" she asked. "Is it because he has a mean temper?"

He barely spared her a glance when he answered. "They don't like his cooking," he said. He motioned for one of the men to toss the contents of the bucket in Ivan's face. The cook immediately started sputtering and groaning.

Nathan nodded, then turned and walked away from the group.

Sara couldn't believe he'd leave without a word to her first. She felt humiliated. She turned back to Ivan and stood wringing her hands while she waited for her chance to apologize. She silently vowed she would find Nathan and give him another lesson in proper etiquette.

As soon as Ivan sat up Sara knelt down beside him. "Pray forgive me, sir, for causing you this injury. It was my parasol that caused you to trip, though if you'd only been looking where you were going, I'm certain you would have noticed it. Still, I beg your forgiveness."

Ivan was rubbing the back of his head while he glared at the pretty woman trying to give him a bit of the blame for his near brush with death. The worry in her expression kept his surly retort inside. That, and the fact that she was the captain's woman.

"It wasn't much of a hit I took," he muttered instead. "You didn't do it on purpose, now did you?"

There was a faint Scottish brogue in his voice. Sara thought he sounded quite musical. "No, of course I didn't do it on purpose, sir. Are you strong enough to stand? I'll help you to your feet."

She could tell from his wary expression that he didn't want her assistance. Jimbo pulled the cook up, but as soon as he let go Ivan began to sway. Sara was still kneeling at his side. She reached out to grab her parasol from between his feet just as another crewman reached out to steady his friend. Poor Ivan was suddenly caught in a tug-of-war of sorts, for the captain's wife was pushing against his legs. He ended up sprawled on his backside.

"Get away from me, all of you," he roared. His voice didn't sound at all musical. "You won't be getting my soup tonight, men. My head's aching, and now my arse is stinging, too. Damned if I'm not taking to my bed."

"Watch your tongue, Ivan," Jimbo ordered.

"Yes," another man called out. "We got us a lady present."

Jimbo lifted Sara's parasol and handed it to her. He turned to leave, but her next words so startled him that he turned around again.

"I'm going to prepare the soup for the men."

"No, you aren't," Jimbo told her. His hard tone of voice didn't leave room for argument. "You're the captain's woman, and you won't be doing such common work."

Because she didn't want to get into a disagreement with Jimbo in front of the rest of the men she waited until he'd left. Then she smiled at the men watching her. "I'm going to make a lovely soup for everyone. Ivan? Will it make you feel better to have the rest of the day off and rest? It's the very least I can do to repay you for this accident."

Ivan cheered up considerably. "You ever make soup before?" he asked her with a half grin, half scowl.

Since everyone was staring at her, she decided to lie. How difficult could it be to make soup? "Oh, my, yes, many times," she boasted. "I helped our cook make many wonderful dinners."

"Why would a fine lady like yourself be doing such common work?" Chester asked.

"It was very… boring in the country," she countered. "It gave me something to do."

They looked as if they believed that lie. "If you're strong enough to direct me to your kitchen, Ivan, I'll get started right away. A good soup needs to simmer long hours," she added, hoping she was right.

Ivan allowed her to take hold of his arm. He continued to rub the back of his head with his other hand as he directed her toward the work area. "It's called a galley, m'lady, not the kitchen," he explained. "Slow down, lass," he added in a grumble when she rushed ahead of him. "I'm still seeing two of everything."

They walked down one dark corridor after another until she was completely disoriented. Ivan knew his way, of course, and led her right to his sanctuary.

He struck two candles, secured them in glass globes, and then sat down on a stool against the wall.

There was a giant oven in the center of the room. It was surely the largest she'd ever seen. When she made that comment to Ivan he shook his head. "It isn't an oven, it's the galley stove. There's an open pit on the other side. You've got to walk around the corner to get a look at it.

That's where I cook my meat on a sturdy spit. On this side you can see the giant coppers sunk down low in the top. There are four in all, and every one of them needed to make my beef soup. There's the meat-some went bad. I've already separated the tainted half from the good beef. Most is simmering in the water I added before I went up on deck to have a word with Chester. It gets a might stifling down here, and I needed a breath of fresh sea air."

Ivan waved a hand toward the pile of bad meat he'd left on the sidebar, thinking to tell her that as soon as he was feeling a little better he'd toss the garbage overboard, but he forgot all about explaining when his head started in pounding again.

"There isn't much else to do," he muttered as he regained his feet. "Just chop up those vegetables and add the spices. Of course, you know all that. Do you want me to stay until you learn your way around my galley?"

"No," Sara answered. "I'll do just fine, Ivan. You go and have Matthew take a look at that bump. Perhaps he has some special medicine he can give you to ease your ache."

"That he does, lass," Ivan replied. "He'll be giving me a pint full of grog to ease my aches and pains, or I'll be knowing the reason why."

As soon as the cook took his leave Sara went to work. She was going to make the finest soup the men had ever eaten. She added the rest of the meat she found on the sidebar, a little of each to each copper. She then sprinkled a fair amount of the spices she found in the cubbyhole below the coppers into each vat. One bottle was filled with crushed brown leaves. The aroma was quite pungent, so she only added a little dash of that.

Sara spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in the galley. She thought it a little odd that no one had come looking for her. That thought led to Nathan, of course.

"The man didn't even give me a proper greeting," she muttered to herself. She mopped at her brow with the towel she'd tied around her waist and pushed the damp strands of hair back over her shoulders.

"Who didn't give you a proper greeting?"

The deep voice came from the doorway. Sara recognized Nathan's low growl.

She turned around and frowned at him. "You didn't give me a proper greeting," she announced.

"What are you doing here?"

"Making soup. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

It was warm in the galley, and she was sure that was the reason she was suddenly feeling so lightheaded. It couldn't be a reaction to the way he was looking at her.

"Have you ever made soup before?"

She walked over to stand in front of him before giving her answer. Nathan leaned against the doorway, looking as relaxed as a panther about to spring.

"No," she said. "I didn't know how to make soup. I do now. It wasn't difficult."

"Sara…"

"The men were all blaming me for Ivan's mishap. I had to do something to win their loyalty. Besides, I want my staff to like me."

"Your staff?"

She nodded. "Since you don't have a house and you don't have servants, well, you do own this ship, and so your crew must also be my staff. When they taste my soup they'll like me again."

"Why do you care if they like you or not?" he asked.

He straightened away from the wall and moved closer to her. Hell, he thought, he was drawn to her like a drunk drawn to drink. It was all her fault for looking so damned sweet and pretty.

Her face was flushed from the heat in the galley. Strands of her curly hair were wet. He reached out and gently brushed a curl away from the side of her face. He seemed to be more surprised by the spontaneous touch than she was.

"Nathan, everyone wants to be liked."

"I don't."

She gave him a disgruntled look for disagreeing with her. He took another step toward her. His thighs touched hers. "Sara?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still hurt because of last night?"

Her blush was instantaneous. She couldn't look him in the eye when she answered him but stared intently at his collarbone. "It did hurt last night," she whispered.

He tilted her face up with his thumb. "That isn't what I asked you," he said in a soft whisper.

"It isn't?"

"No," he replied.

"Then what is it you wanted to know?"

She sounded out of breath to him. She needed some fresh air, he decided. Hell, he didn't want her fainting on him again. "I want to know if you hurt now, Sara," he said.

"No," she answered. "I don't hurt now."

They stared at each other a long, silent minute. Sara thought he might want to kiss her, but she couldn't be sure. "Nathan? You still haven't given me a proper greeting."

She put her hands on the front of his shirt, closed her eyes, and waited.

"What the hell is a proper greeting?" he asked. He knew exactly what she wanted from him, but he wanted to see what she would do next.

She opened her eyes and frowned at him. "You're supposed to kiss me."

"Why?" he asked, baiting her again.

Her exasperation was obvious. "Just do it," she commanded.

Before he could ask another aggravating question she clasped the sides of his face with her hands and pulled his head down toward her. "Oh, never mind," she whispered "I'll do it myself."

He didn't offer any resistance. But he didn't take over the duty either. Sara placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, then leaned back. "This would feel much better if you cooperated, Nathan. You're supposed to kiss me back."

Her voice was low, sensual, as soft as her warm body pressed against his. A man could only take so much teasing. Nathan lowered his head and slowly rubbed his mouth over hers. He caught her sigh when he opened her mouth and deepened the kiss.

She was already melting in his arms. He was once again nearly undone by her easy response to his touch. His tongue dueled with hers, and he couldn't contain his low growl of pleasure.

When he finally pulled back from her she slumped against him. He couldn't stop himself from putting his arms around her and holding her tight. She smelled like roses and cinnamon.

"Who taught you how to kiss?" he demanded in a rough whisper. It was an illogical question, he supposed, given the fact that she'd been a virgin when he'd taken her to his bed, but he was compelled to ask anyway.

"You taught me how to kiss," she answered.

"You never kissed anyone before me?"

She shook her head. His anger dissipated in a flash. "If you don't like the way I kiss…" she began.

"I like it."

She quit protesting.

He suddenly pulled completely away from her, grabbed hold of her hand, and dragged her over to the candles. He blew both flames out and then headed for the corridor.

"Nathan, I can't leave the galley," she announced.

"You need a nap."

"I what? I never take naps."

"You do now."

"But what about my lovely soup?"

"Damn it, Sara, I don't want you cooking again."

She frowned at his broad back. Lord, he was bossy. "I already explained why I took on this duty," she muttered.

"Do you think you can win the men's loyalty with a bowl of slop?"

If he slowed down just a little, she thought, she would be able to kick him in the back of his legs. "It isn't slop," she shouted instead.

He didn't argue with her. He continued to drag her along all the way back to their cabin. She was a bit surprised when he followed her inside.

He shut the door behind him and bolted it.

"Turn around, Sara."

She gave him a good frown for being so dictatorial, then did as he commanded. He was much quicker unbuttoning the gown than he had been the last time.

"I really don't want to have a nap," she told him again.

He didn't quit prodding her until her gown fell to the floor. It still hadn't dawned on her that he really wasn't interested in forcing her to sleep. He stripped her down to her chemise, but when he tried to remove that garment she pushed his hands away.

Nathan stared at her a long minute. Her body was simply perfection to him. Her breasts were full, her waist narrow, and her legs long, shapely, exquisite.

His hot stare soon made her uncomfortable. Sara tugged on the straps of her chemise, trying without much success to conceal a little more of her breasts.

She quit feeling embarrassed when he unbuttoned his shirt. That action gained her full attention. "Are you taking a nap, too?"

"I never take naps."

He tossed his shirt aside, leaned back against the door, and began to pull his boots off. Sara backed up a space.

"You aren't just changing your clothes, are you?"

His grin was lopsided, endearing. "No."

"You don't want to…"

He didn't look at her when he answered. "Oh, yes, I want to," he drawled.

"No."

His reaction was immediate. He stood to his full height and walked toward her. His hands were on his hips. "No?"

She shook her head.

"Why the hell not?"

"It's daylight," she blurted out.

"Damn it, Sara, you aren't afraid again, are you? Honest to God, I don't think I can go through that ordeal again."

She was outraged. "Ordeal? You call making love to me an ordeal?"

He wasn't going to let her stray from answering his question. "Are you afraid?" he demanded.

He looked as though he dreaded her answer. Sara suddenly realized she had a way out if she wanted it, but she immediately discarded that idea. She wasn't going to lie to him.

"I wasn't afraid last night," she announced. She folded her arms across her chest and then added, "You were."

That remark wasn't worthy of a retort. "You said you didn't hurt anymore," he reminded her as he moved forward another step.

"I'm not tender now," she whispered. "But we both know I will be if you persist in getting your way, Nathan."

His smile indicated his amusement. "Will that be so unbearable?"

A warm knot was already forming in the pit of her stomach. All the man had to do was look at her in that special way of his and she came apart.

"Are you going to want to… move again?"

He didn't laugh. She looked so worried, and he didn't want her to think he was mocking her feelings. He wasn't going to lie, either. "Yeah," he drawled as he reached for her. "I'm going to want to move again."

"Then we aren't going to do anything but nap."

The little woman really needed to understand who was husband and who was wife, Nathan thought to himself. He decided he'd explain all about her duty to obey him later. All he wanted to do was kiss her. He threw his arm around her shoulders, dragged her over to the trap, and didn't let go of her when he reached up and pulled the wooden door shut.

The cabin was pitched into darkness. Nathan paused to kiss Sara. It was a hot, wet, lingering kiss that let her know with certainty that he was going to get his way.

Then he turned to light the candles. Her hand stayed his action. "Don't," she whispered.

"I want to see you when you…"

He stopped his explanation when he felt her hands on his waistband. Sara's hands were shaking, but she got the buttons to his breeches undone in little time. Her fingers brushed against his hard stomach. His indrawn breath told her he liked that. It made her bolder. She rested the side of her face against his chest, then slowly edged the waistband down. "You wanted to see me when I what, Nathan?" she whispered.

It took all he had to concentrate on what she was saying. Her fingers were slowly easing their way down toward his groin. He closed his eyes in sweet agony.

"When you find fulfillment," he said on a low groan. "God, Sara, touch me."

His body was rigid now. Sara smiled to herself. She had no idea her touch could so arouse him. She pushed his clothing down a little further. "I am touching you, Nathan."

He couldn't take the torment any longer. He took hold of her hand and placed it where he needed her touch most.

She wanted to stroke him. He wouldn't let her. His growl was deep, guttural. "Don't," he ordered. "Just hold me, squeeze me, but don't… oh, God, Sara, stop now."

He sounded as if he was in pain. She pulled her hand away. "Am I hurting you?" she whispered.

He kissed her again. She put her arms around his neck and held him close. When he moved to the side of her neck and began to place wet kisses below her earlobe she tried to touch his hard arousal again.

He took hold of her hand and put it on his waist. "It's too soon for me to lose my control," he whispered. "You make it unbearable."

She kissed the base of his neck. "Then I won't touch you there, Nathan, if you promise not to move around so much when you make love to me."

He laughed. "You'll want me to move," he told her.

He pulled her back up against his chest. "You know what, Sara?" he said between fervent kisses.

"What?"

"I've decided I'm going to make you beg."

He was as good as his word. By the time the two of them were in bed and he was settled between her thighs she was begging him to end the sweet torment.

The fire of passion inside her was completely out of control. Nathan did hurt her when he finally moved inside her. She was so tight, so hot, it was blissful agony for him to slow down. He tried to be a gentle lover, knowing how tender she was, and he didn't move at all until she began to writhe underneath him.

She found her release before he did, and her tremors gave him his own orgasm. He hadn't spoken a word during the mating. She never quit talking. She rambled on and on, tender words of love. Some made sense. Others didn't.

When he finally collapsed on top of her, when he finally regained his ability to think at all, he realized she was crying.

"God, Sara, did I hurt you again?"

"Only a little," she whispered shyly.

He leaned up to look into her eyes. "Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know why," she answered. "It was so… amazing, and I was so…"

He stopped her rambling by kissing her. When he next looked into her eyes he smiled. She looked thoroughly bemused again.

This one could get to his heart, he suddenly realized. The sound of the boatswain's whistle announcing the change of the watch was like a warning bell going off inside Nathan's mind. It was dangerous to be so attracted to his wife, foolish… irresponsible. To care for the woman would make him vulnerable, he knew. If he'd learned anything of consequence in his escapades, it was to protect himself at all costs.

Loving her could destroy him.

"Nathan, why are you frowning?"

He didn't answer her. He got out of bed, dressed with his back to her, and then walked out of the cabin. The door closed softly behind him.

Sara was too stunned by his behavior to react for a long minute. Her husband had literally fled the cabin. It was as though he had a demon chasing him.

Had their lovemaking meant so little to him that he couldn't wait to leave her? Sara burst into tears. She wanted, needed his words of love. God, he treated her as though she was nothing but a receptacle for his passion. Fast spent, fast forgotten. A whore was treated better than he'd just treated her, she thought to herself. Women of the night at least earned a shilling or two.

She hadn't even merited a growl of farewell.

When her tears were spent she took her frustration out on the bed. She made a fist and slammed it into the center of Nathan's pillow, taking great satisfaction in pretending it was her husband's head. Then she pulled his pillow against her bosom and held it tight. Nathan's scent clung to the pillowcase. So did hers.

It didn't take her long to realize how pitiful she was being. She tossed the pillow aside and turned her attention to righting the cabin.

She stayed in the room the remainder of the afternoon. She dressed in the same blue dress, and when the cabin was cleaned she sat down in one of the chairs and began to make a sketch of the ship using her pad and charcoals.

Sketching took her mind off Nathan. Matthew interrupted her when he knocked on the door to ask if she wanted to eat her dinner with the first or second change in the watch. She told him she would wait and share her meal with her aunt.

Sara was eager to find out what the men thought about her soup. The aroma had been quite nice when she'd finished stirring in all the spices. It should have a hearty flavor, she thought, for it had simmered long hours.

It was only a matter of time before the men came to thank her. She brushed her hair and changed her gown in preparation for their visitations.

Her staff would soon be completely loyal to her. Making the soup was a giant step in that direction, anyway. Why, by nightfall they would all think she was very, very worthy.