Page 2 of New Storm Rising
Turning away from the ocean, I gazed upon the vista provided by my magnificent honeymoon cruise: atop the gently swaying deck of the sailing yacht—which coincidentally bore an amazing resemblance to a mouldy cargo ship—waiters dressed in quaint sailor uniforms hurried here and there, and lounging chairs, parasols as well as a large pool, all conveniently disguised as cargo crates, were tied down everywhere. It was really quite amazing, the lengths to which my dear husband had gone to make this seem like a miserable dump of a freighter when it was obviously a luxury cruise ship.
Sarcasm, bow down before thy queen.
“Well, since I am on such a marvellous luxury cruise ship, I might as well go to the bar and ask the nice waiter for a drink,” I mumbled. And, squaring my shoulders, I strode towards where the nearest bunch of sailo—ehem,waiterswere struggling with several large cargo crates that had slipped loose from their bindings and were threatening to careen across the deck.
“Oy, you fellows! Need any help?”
One of the gnarled old sailors glanced around—and nearly lost hold of the crate hovering above his head. “M-Mr Linton?”
“No, I’m theotherman on this ship wearing a peacock vest and bowler hat.” Stepping forward, I grabbed the first crate and started to push. “Now, what do you say to us shoring up these crates before those nasty dark clouds over there come over, and Zeus and Poseidon start their party?”
“But, Mr Linton…ain’t ye…I mean, ain’t ye some fancy secretary or something? Da right hand man of da big boss?”
My lips twitched. “Oh, I’ve recently taken up the duties often fulfilled by a man’s right hand, definitely. Particularly a single man’s.”
The sailor nodded energetically. “Ye see? Ye’ve got a great position with important duties! Ye shouldn’t be dirtying yer hands with da work of us simple folk!”
“Oh, pish-posh! I’ve plenty of experience with getting my hands dirty!” Giving a shove, I pushed the crate back where it belonged and, huffing, grabbed the ropes to tie it in its place. “Darn heavy! What’s in those things, anyway?”
The sailor shrugged. “Nothing much. Just honey and moonshine.”[1]
I dropped the ropes and the crate nearly flattened me into a pancake. “What?”
“Honey and moonshine. Why?”
“No reason,” I growled, my smile somewhat strained, while inside I swore,Just you wait! Just you wait, Mr Rikkard Ambrose! One day I’m going to get you for this!“No reason whatsoever.”
Moving to the next crate, I grabbed it, imagining it to be Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s neck, and pushed. And another neck—ehem,crate. And another crate. And another crate. Who knew that moving cargo could be so satisfying? Humming to myself, I continued stacking crates and tying kno—
“Tying the knot, are you, Mr Linton?” Came a familiar, cold voice from right behind me. “I thought we had already taken care of that recently?”
I jumped, letting go of the crate. A single hand shot past me and, grabbing the teetering crate, slammed it back in place before it could slam into me. I whirled around and came face-to-chest with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Raising my gaze, I met his eyes, eyes that seemed to be just a teensy-weensy bit icier than usual.
“What, pray,” he spoke in a voice that sent shivers down my back, “are you doing?”
I blinked. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“I mean why are youworking?”
“Err…” I blinked. This was a first. It actually sounded as if he were…complaining about my working? Was I hallucinating because of sea sickness? “Because you pay me for it?”
Bending down, I reached out to pick up a crate that had tumbled to the deck—
—only to have it instantly snatched from my grasp by a certain stony someone and slammed in place with resounding force.
“Nonsense!” he informed me briskly. “We are married. Everything I own, you also own. So any salary I pay you is, in fact, paid by yourself. Why would you have to work for that? Sit down and relax!”
I blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with Mr Ambrose?”
“Sit down and relax now! That is an order!”
Before I could even twitch my legs, he had dusted off a nearby crate, pushed me down on it and nailed me to the spot with an imperious gaze. Then he turned to the sailors who were watching the whole proceedings, wide-eyed, unmoving, crates suspended in mid-air.
“What are you fools standing there for, staring? Go hurry up and rela—ehem, I meanwork! What do you think I pay you for?”
The sailors stood frozen for a moment longer—then leapt back to their work, now doing it twice as fast as before. I was just about to stand and follow suit, when a heavy masculine hand landed on my shoulder, holding me in place. A pair of dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into mine.
“Sit!”
