Page 43 of Rose
Chapter Sixteen
Rose awoke to an empty bed. Again, she did not know when she had at last fallen asleep, but judging by her clouded mind and aches in her back and shoulders, she knew it must not have been until the wee hours of the morning. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head to work the kinks out of her back. Then she stood and puzzled over her colorful new garments that were neatly folded on top of Tristan’s desk. Deciding it was best to avoid the delicious torture of having Tristan undress her again, she reached for the simple green tunic. But then she faltered. They could arrive in Calais that evening. She could only assume that the wife of a wealthy merchant would dress for such an occasion. The crew might be surprised to see her in the same tunic she had worn while helping Davy clean the anchor.
She picked up an emerald brocade surcote. Touching the laces, she closed her eyes and remembered the pressure of Tristan’s fingertips running down her back through the fabric of her silk tunic. His warm breath had caressed her neck. The heat she glimpsed in his eyes had caused the fire of desire burning within her to ignite into an all-consuming, desperate inferno.
She seized her burgundy kirtle. What did it matter if she had to control her passionate response to his undressing her? The real torture came after—when he finished and laid down beside her on the bed.
Suddenly, she was desperate for fresh air. She finished dressing, pulling the shimmering green surcote over her head. This time, she didn’t pull as hard on the lacing. Then she slid her feet into her new sheepskin slippers and quickly smoothed out her hair with her fingers but decided to leave off the veil for the time being. Darting out the door, she hastened up the stairs onto the main deck and took a deep breath, welcoming the cool breeze on her hot cheeks.
“Good morrow, Rose,” Davy called down from the crow’s nest above. She smiled and waved up to him. Then, she scanned the ship and locked eyes with Tristan.
He stood on the stern castle with Philip who had a large parchment spread out on the table. Tristan smiled at her and signaled he would be straight down. He and Philip conversed a moment longer, and then he descended the stairs and crossed the deck to her side.
“Good morrow,” he said.
The strain from the night before was gone from his voice. His relaxed smile put her at ease. “You look lovely this morning,” he said before kissing the back of her hand.
“Thank ye,” she said, happy for the relief of daylight. He wore a crisp white tunic that contrasted with his deeply tanned skin and made his amber brown eyes appear even brighter. “Ye look lovely as well.” She wove her arm through his. They started across the deck when William stumbled toward them. “That’s not how you’re meant to greet your wife,” William said before hiccupping loudly.
“He played dice with Piper last night and woke up still soused,” Tristan said quickly.
William stumbled back and then forward once again, stopping in front of them. “You must kiss her,” he slurred, pointing at Rose with a crooked finger. “That’s how you ensure the love remains strong.” William slapped Tristan on the back. “Go on man, kiss your wife.”
Several of the crew joined in.
“Come on, Captain!”
“Kiss her, Captain!”
Rose knew her face must have been as red as her hair. She met Tristan’s gaze. He shook his head slightly, a gesture to tell her not to worry.
“It is time for bed, William,” he said kindly.
“You needn’t be embarrassed,” the old man said. “One of the blessings of marriage is you get to kiss your wife.”
“Kiss her, Captain,” Jacob chimed in.
Tristan sighed and turned to her, his brows drawn together in apology. She stepped closer and nodded slightly, giving him permission to appease the crew. He reached for her. Placing his hand on her lower back, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
“No, man,” William drawled. “Not like that. Kiss her with passion.”
Tristan raised a placating hand. “That’s quite enough, Will—"
Knowing Willian wouldn’t quit until he was satisfied, Rose reached up, pulled Tristan’s head down and pressed her lips to his, stealing his words. Cheers erupted around them. They’re lips were stiff, their stance awkward. But then he drew her close, encircling her in his arms. His lips softened, and suddenly, she was drowning in his kiss. Heat shot through her. She stood on her toes, straining to wrap her arms tighter around his neck while his tongue gently grazed her lips, coaxing her mouth to open. Her lips parted. She moaned softly as his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking, caressing, filling her with an ache so sweet it hurt. The drumming of her heart drowned out the din of the cheers. There was no crew, no Messenger, no ocean or sky. Nothing existed, except her and him and the passion bursting from their souls.
When he slowly pulled away, she swallowed the protest that raced up her throat. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. His eyes bore into hers. She looked away, lest she claim his lips in another kiss, but then she noticed the surrounding crew. The men stared at them, their mouths agape. Her hands flew to her warm cheeks.
An instant later, Philip crossed to their sides, clapping loudly. “To the happy couple,” he cheered.
The crew jolted free from the passionate spell they had cast and cheered along.
“You both need to breathe,” Philip said quietly. His hands clamped down on their arms as he led them toward the forecastle. He turned to Rose. “Smile and wave.”
Rose pasted a smile on her face and waved to the crew, who still cheered their display of ardent affection.
Philip turned to them after they had mounted the stairs to the forecastle. “Do I need to toss you both overboard for a cool dip?”
Tristan glowered at Philip. “It was a simple kiss to appease a drunk old man.”
