The Gift (Crown's Spies #3)

The Gift (Crown's Spies #3) Page 10

"And that means I'm not—"

She wanted to hit him. Her face was turned away from him, but she could hear the laughter in his voice. "You're embarrassing me," she announced. "On purpose."

His patience was at an end. "I am not deliberately trying to embarrass you," he snapped. "This is just how I sleep, bride. You'll like it, too, once—"

"Oh, God," she said on a groan.

She decided she was through with the shameful conversation. She scooted down to the bottom of the bed so that she could get out, as one side was blocked by the wall, and the other side was blocked by Nathan. It was too dark inside the cabin to find her wrapper. Nathan had kicked one of the covers off the bed, though. Sara grabbed it and wrapped it around herself.

She didn't know how long she stood there glaring at his back. His deep, even breathing indicated he was sound asleep.

She was freezing in no time. Her thin nightgown offered little protection against the chill in the room.

She was miserable. She sat down on the floor, tucked her bare feet under the blanket, and then stretched out on her side.

The floor felt as though it were covered with a layer of ice. "All married couples have separate chambers," she muttered. "I have never, ever been treated so poorly in all my days. If this is your idea of how you plan to cherish me, you're already failing, Nathan."

He heard every word of her whispered tirade. He held his smile when he said "You're a quick learner, bride."

She didn't know what he was talking about. "And what is it you think I've learned so quickly?" she asked.

"Where your place is," he drawled. "It took my dog much longer."

Her scream of outrage filled the cabin. "Your dog?" She came to her feet in one swift action, then poked him in his shoulder. "Move over, husband."

"Climb over, Sara," he ordered. "I always sleep on the outside."

"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"For protection," he answered. "If the cabin is breached, the enemy will have to get through me in order to get to you. Now will you go to sleep, woman?"

"Is this an old rule or a new one?"

He didn't answer her. She poked his shoulder again. "Have there been other women in this bed, Nathan?"

"No."

She didn't know why, but she was immensely pleased with that surly denial. Her anger dissipated when she realized her husband really meant to try to protect her. He was still an ogre, but he would do his best to keep her safe. She got into bed and squeezed herself up against the wall.

The bed soon began to shake from her shivers. Nathan's tolerance was gone. He reached out and roughly pulled her into his arms. Sara was literally covered by his warmth. And his nakedness. He draped one of his heavy legs over both of hers, immediately warming the lower half of her body. His chest and arms took care of the rest of her.

She didn't protest. She couldn't. His hand was clamped over her mouth. She snuggled closer to him, tucked the top of her head under his chin, and closed her eyes.

The instant Nathan removed his hand from her mouth, she whispered, "If anyone is going to sleep on the floor, it's going to be you."

His low grunt of irritation was his only response. Sara smiled to herself. She was feeling much better. She let out a yawn, moved even closer to her husband, and let him take her shivers completely away.

She fell asleep feeling warm and safe… and just a little bit cherished.

It was a nice beginning.

Chapter Four

Sara felt much better when she awakened the following morning. She'd finally caught up on her rest, and she felt ready to take on the world. More directly, she felt strong enough to talk to her Viking husband again.

She had come up with a wonderful plan during the night, and she was certain that once she'd explained exactly what she wanted from her husband, he would agree. Oh, he'd probably grumble and growl, but in the end he'd see how much it meant to her, and he would give in.

There were several issues that needed to be discussed, but she decided she would get the most worrisome one over and done with first.

She wanted a courtship and a proper marriage. No matter how rude and arrogant he became when she explained her request to him, she was determined to hold onto her temper. She would simply use a sweet tone of voice and be as logical as possible.

Lord, she did dread the task ahead of her. Nathan wasn't a very easy man to talk to. Why, he acted as though it was a chore to be in the same room with her.

That realization led to a dark thought. What if he really didn't want to be married to her?

"Nonsense," she muttered to herself. "Of course he wants to be married to me."

That attempt to bolster her confidence didn't last long. She was so accustomed to thinking of Nathan as her husband that she had never once considered being married to anyone else. She'd grown up with the idea, and because she had such an easygoing, accepting nature, she never questioned her fate.

But what about Nathan? He didn't seem to be the type of man who accepted much of anything without putting up a fight.

She guessed that she would continue to fret about the situation until she'd talked to him.

She dressed with care, determined to look her best when she confronted Nathan. It took her almost an hour to unpack her possessions. The dark green walking dress was her first choice, but she couldn't shake all the wrinkles out of the skirt, so she settled on wearing her light pink gown. The neckline wasn't nearly as revealing as the one Nathan had rudely remarked upon, and she thought that fact might put him in a good mood.

Their cabin was actually quite nice. It was much larger than the one she'd visited Nora in. Why, her chamber was actually three times the size. The ceiling was much higher, too, adding to the feeling of spaciousness.

It was sparsely furnished, though. There was a twisted metal grate in the corner of the cabin. Sara assumed that was the hearth, though she admitted she didn't care for the modern design overly much. In the opposite corner of the room was a tall white screen. There were hooks on the wall behind it to hold clothing, and a washstand with a porcelain pitcher and bowl set on top. In the corner opposite the bed was her trunk. A table and two chairs took up the center of the room, and a large mahogany desk was set against the wall.

Yes, the room was sparsely furnished, she mused, but it would certainly do for the next month or two, depending upon the weather. If the sea remained calm, the journey to her aunt's island shouldn't take them too long.

Sara removed Nathan's clothes from the hooks, folded them, and put them on her trunk. She then hung up her gowns. She also removed the papers and charts from the top of his desk and put her sketch pads and charcoals there instead.

After donning the pink gown and matching shoes she brushed her hair and tied it behind her neck with a pink ribbon. She grabbed her matching pink parasol from her trunk and then went to look in on Nora. She hoped her aunt would be feeling rested enough to stroll along the upper decks. Sara wanted to go over her prepared speech with her aunt before confronting Nathan.

Nora was sound asleep, however, and Sara didn't have the heart to wake her.

When she left her aunt's cabin she noticed that the dark, narrow hallway actually widened into a large rectangular room. Sunlight filtered down the steps and made the wooden floors sparkle. The pristine area was devoid of furniture, but there were a multitude of black iron hooks protruding from the ceiling. She wondered what in heaven's name the area was used for, or if it was just wasted space. Her attention was turned when one of the crew came lumbering down the steps.

The man tucked his head under the low overhand, then came to an abrupt stop when he spotted her. Sara recognized the man from the wharf but decided to pretend that she didn't. After all, she had acted most unladylike, and that incident was best forgotten.

"Good day, sir," she announced with a curtsy. "My name is Lady Sara Winchester."

He shook his head at her. She didn't know what to make of that. "You're Lady St. James."

She was too surprised by his boldness to correct him for contradicting her. "Yes," she agreed. "I am Lady St. James now, and I thank you for reminding me."

The big man shrugged. The gold earring in his earlobe fascinated her. So did the fact that he seemed to be a little wary of her. Perhaps the seaman just wasn't used to visiting with gentle ladies of breeding. "I'm very happy to make your acquaintance, sir," she said.

She waited for him to tell her his name. He stood staring down at her for a long minute before he finally responded. "We met last night, Lady St. James," he said. "You hit me, remember?"

She remembered. She gave him a disgruntled look for bringing up her bad behavior, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I do remember, sir, now that you mention it, and for that shame I must apologize to you. My only excuse is that I was in a bit of a startle at the time. What is your name?"

"Jimbo."

If she thought that name odd, she didn't remark upon it. She reached out and clasped his right hand in both of hers. The feel of her soft skin against his calluses startled him. Her parasol fell to the floor, but Jimbo was still too surprised by her touch to fetch it, and she was too intent on gaining his friendship to fetch it herself. "Do you forgive me, sir, for hitting you?"

Jimbo was rendered speechless. The woman he'd met two nights before was a far cry from the soft-spoken lady standing so humbly before him. Lord, she was a fair sight, too. She had the prettiest brown eyes he'd ever seen.

He got hold of his thoughts when she gave him a puzzled look. "Does it matter to you if I forgive you or not?" he muttered.

Sara gave his hand an affectionate squeeze before she let go. "Oh, my, yes, Mister Jimbo. Of course it matters. I was very rude."

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "All right, I forgive you. You didn't do any real damage," he added in a grumble. He was feeling as awkward as a schoolboy.

Sara's smile melted his frown away. "I do thank you, sir. You have a kind heart."

Jimbo threw back his head and shouted with laughter. When he was able to regain his composure he said, "Be sure to mention my… kind heart to the captain. He'll appreciate hearing such high praise."

She thought that was a fine idea. "Yes, I will mention it," she promised.

Since the seaman seemed to be in such a pleasant mood, she decided to ask him a few questions. "Sir? Have you seen the maids about this morning? My bed has still to be made up, and I have several gowns that need attention."

"We don't have any maids aboard this vessel," Jimbo returned. "Fact is, you and your aunt are the only women traveling with us."

"Then who…" She stopped that question in midsentence. If there weren't any maids, who had taken her clothes off her? The answer came to her in a flash. Nathan.

Jimbo watched as a fine blush covered her cheeks and wondered what she was thinking about.

"I have one other question to ask you, sir, if you're patient enough to listen."

"What?" he countered abruptly.

"What is this room called? Or does it have a specific name?" She made a sweep with her hand to indicate the area around her. "I thought it was just a hallway, yet now, with the light streaming down the steps, I can see it's much larger. It would make a wonderful salon," she added. "I hadn't noticed that folding screen when I first boarded, and I…"

She quit her speech when Jimbo moved the screen off to the side and secured it in the buckles and straps against the wall next to the stairs. "This is the wardroom," Jimbo told her. "Or so it's called on all true frigates."

The hallway was completely gone, and once the screen had been moved Sara could see the steps leading down to another level. "Where do those steps lead?"

"The wine and water are stored on the level below us," Jimbo answered. "Lower still is the second hold, where we keep the ammunition."

"Ammunition?" she asked. "Why would we need ammunition?"

Jimbo smiled. "You didn't chance to notice the cannons, m'lady, when you boarded?"

She shook her head. "I was a little upset at the time, sir, and I didn't pay much attention to details."

A little upset was certainly the understatement of the year, Jimbo thought. The woman had been in a rage.

"We have eight cannons in all," Jimbo announced. "That's way below the usual number for most ships, but our aim is always on target, and we don't need more. This ship is a scaled-down version of a frigate the captain took a liking to," he added. "The ammunition stores are kept below the water level in the event of an attack. They're safer from explosion that way."

"But Mister Jimbo, we aren't at war now. Why would the captain have such weapons on board? What is the need?"

Jimbo shrugged. Sara's eyes suddenly widened. "Pagan." She blurted out the name of the infamous pirate and then nodded. "Yes, of course. How cunning of our captain to be prepared for the villains who roam the seas. He thinks to defend us against all the pirates, doesn't he?"

It was a mighty effort, but Jimbo was able to hide his smile. "You've heard of Pagan, have you?"

She let him see her exasperation. "Everyone has heard of that villain."

"Villain? Then you don't like Pagan?"

She thought that had to be the oddest question ever put to her. The sparkle in his eyes puzzled her, too. He seemed to be vastly amused, and that didn't make any sense at all. They were talking about the horrid pirate, not sharing the latest jest making the rounds in London.

"I most certainly don't like the man. He's a criminal, sir. Why, there's a bounty the size of England on his head. You're obviously given to a romantic nature if you believe all those silly stories about Pagan's goodness."

The piercing sound of a whistle interrupted her lecture. "What is that noise?" she asked. "I heard it earlier when I was dressing."

"That's the boatswain piping the change," he explained. "You'll be hearing the sound every four hours, night and day. It's the notice of the change of duty."

"Mister Jimbo?" she asked when he started to turn away from her.

"Lady Sara, you don't have to call me mister," he grumbled. "Jimbo will do fine."

"Then you must quit calling me Lady Sara," she countered. "We are friends now, and you may simply call me Sara." She grabbed his arm. "May I ask you just one last question?"