Page 64 of Wild Hearts

When he opened the door, she screamed at him, "This cabin is freezing!" She could have bitten off her tongue when she saw his condition. He was soaked to the skin and had ice on his beard. Dark smudges of fatigue and exhaustion showed plainly in his face.

He looked at her with eyes that could not believe the words she had uttered. "You are the only individual on this ship who is dry, madam. How dare you whine to me of your petty discomforts?" He slammed out of the cabin, and she felt like the most selfish creature alive. He brought another shovelful of coals and refilled the two braziers. He stood warming his hands, and she noticed that he swayed on his feet.

He dragged a low bench toward the source of heat and sat down to remove his wet clothes. She brought him dry towels, and he rubbed his bare feet vigorously, then stretched his legs out toward the warmth. She poured him brandy and brought it to him. She saw that his eyes were closing, but he roused himself and shook his head. After a couple of large swallows, he got up and put on dry clothes. He brought a sheepskin-lined leather jack from the back of the wardrobe and pulled on dry boots. As he finished the brandy, some of his mockery returned. "You'd better go to bed. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you won't have my body to warm you tonight." He had the ability to make her seethe with a look or a word, but she held her tongue against his goading. He added, more kindly, "The storm should abate by morning, then the lads will be able to get some warm food for us."

When she awoke, it seemed to her that the ship was not rolling as heavily as it had been when she fell asleep. She had slept in her clothes to keep out the bitter chill, but once again the cabin was unbearably cold. She took out a heavy velvet cloak with a fur-lined hood and cautiously opened the cabin door. She clung to the ropes that had been slung along the passageways belowdecks and made her way forward to the galley.

She hardly recognized the young man in there who had come to the cabin. He had a three-day growth of beard and looked haggard. She smiled at him with compassion. "What is your name?"

"David, ma'am, but you-shouldn't have left the safety of your cabin. His lordship will have my hide. I was just bringing you some porridge, that is, if you can stomach the stuff."

"I'd be very grateful for anything warm, David. Could you spare some coals for the brazier, perhaps?"

"Aye, ma'am. You take this food and I'll bring the coals."

She hesitated. "Has my husband had anything to eat, David?"

"Yes, ma'am. He had breakfast hours past. The storm has greatly abated, so I am cooking up a hot meal. It should be ready in a couple of hours, and I'll fetch some for you and Lord Cockburn the minute it's done."

She actually enjoyed the porridge. It seemed to coat her stomach and soothe the hunger pains. God alone knew what condition Paris would be in when he felt it safe enough to turn the helm over to someone else. She found a blanket in one of the lacquered cabinets and set it to warm before the brazier. She poured a hefty measure of brandy and put the brass kettle to steam, then she laid out dry clothes for him. The room was warmer, so she was able to manage without the heavy cloak. She washed her hands and brushed the tangles from her long hair, and suddenly he was staggering into the cabin, all his strength spent.

She helped him to the bench and knelt to pull off the heavy, wet boots. His eyes were so hollow, she feared for him. She helped him to remove his damp clothes, fighting a battle with her modesty as her hands came into contact with his bare flesh and the hair that matted him from chin to groin. She pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and mixed the boiling water into the brandy. He reached for it gratefully, one corner of his mouth lifting with the ghost of a scornful smile. "My ministering angel," he whispered hoarsely, his voice almost gone from shouting orders above the wind. She firmly ignored the taunt and busied herself spreading his clothes to dry.

A knock upon the cabin door sent her scurrying to open it. David brought in a tray holding two bowls of steaming stew, thickened with barley, and some coarse chunks of wheat bread.

"Oh, that smells like heaven, David. Thank you." She looked at the young man's haggard face with concern. "Can't you get some rest now?"

"I'm fine, ma'am." He blushed vividly. "The captain made me sleep last night. It's his turn now."

Paris moved across the room, wrapping the blanket around his nakedness. "I'll eat in bed," he decided, and as the boy left the cabin, Paris looked at her with glittering eyes and demanded, "Is there no end to your conquests, madam?"

She whirled to the bed furiously, stung, and retorted, "Are you accusing me of flirting with the boy?" But she saw that he was fast asleep, the brandy glass drained, the stew forgotten upon the tray. She put his bowl beside the brazier to keep-it warm, then sat and devoured hers greedily. Never had she tasted anything to equal it. She eyed the second bowl hungrily, telling herself he would likely sleep around the clock, but her conscience would not let her eat his portion. At whatever hour he woke, it would be ready for him. She knew she and every other soul aboard owed their lives to this man.

Soon it was night, but Paris never stirred from his heavy sleep. She removed her gown but kept on her underclothes and stockings. Gently, so she would not disturb him, she crawled beneath the covers and lay still. Gradually, the warmth from his body radiated over her, and she was thankful for his presence in the bed.

In the morning, when David brought them breakfast, Paris still slept. She took the tray from him and noticed his wet clothes. "Has the storm begun again?" she asked fearfully.

"Nay, it's just raining heavily. We catch the rainwater in barrels, ma'am. Would you like some?"

"Oh, yes, Lord Cockburn and I both need a bath."

David blushed vividly at her words, and her own cheeks flamed as she realized that David thought she meant they would bathe together. When she closed the door and turned toward the bed; Paris sat propped on his pillows, the light back in his emerald eyes.

She was amazed at his renewed vigor. His step was eager as he rose from the bed and donned the fresh clothes she had laid out the night before. He wolfed down the food David had just brought, as well as the stew from last night, and went up on deck to assess the damage the storm had done and set everything to rights.

When the evening meal came, it was for one, and she ate alone; then David and another man knocked on the cabin door. They had heated water in wooden buckets. She dragged out the small slipper-shaped bathtub from the bathing cabinet and watched happily as the men filled it. Her joy left her quickly as Paris returned to the cabin, apparently for the night.

He winked at David. "Thanks, lads, we won't be needing anything else. Be good enough to see we are not disturbed tonight."

When they were alone, she turned on him, "You wretch, why did you let them think we were going to bathe together?"

His eyes opened wide in mock amazement, "Are we not, madam?"

"Oh, you... you—"

"Don't let that word slip out unless you want me to take you across my knee."

She stabbed him with her eyes, then turned her back upon him.

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