The Gift (Crown's Spies #3)

The Gift (Crown's Spies #3) Page 21

Nathan wasn't listening. "She set my ship on fire," he repeated in a roar.

"We heard you plain the first time, boy," Jimbo interjected. "Now calm yourself and try to reason this little accident through."

"I'm thinking it's going to take him a few more minutes before he can think at all," Matthew said. "The boy always was a hothead, Jimbo. And Sara did set the fire. That's a fact, all right."

The two men turned to leave the cabin. They both thought Nathan needed to be alone for a spell. Nathan's shout stopped them in their tracks. "Bring her to me. Now."

Jimbo motioned for Matthew to stay where he was and then rushed out the doorway. He didn't give Sara any warning of the problem at hand when he found her in Nora's cabin but simply informed her that her husband would like to have a word with her.

Sara hurried back to her cabin. Her eyes widened when she saw all the water on the floor. A loud gasp followed after she noticed the gaping hole in the corner.

"My God, what has happened here?"

Nathan turned to look at her before answering. "Fire."

Understanding came in a flash. "Fire?" she repeated in a hoarse whisper. "Do you mean the fire in the hearth, Nathan?"

He didn't answer her for a long, long minute. Then he slowly walked over to stand directly in front of her. His hands were close enough to grab her by the neck.

He resisted that shameful temptation by clasping his hands behind his back.

She wasn't looking at him. That helped. Her gaze was still fully directed on the damage to the cabin. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and when she began to tremble Nathan guessed she'd realized exactly what she'd done.

He was wrong. "I never should have left the hearth unattended," she whispered. "Did a spark…"

He shook his head.

She looked into his eyes then. Her fear was obvious.

He immediately lost some of his rage. Damn if he'd have her afraid of him. It was an illogical thought, given the circumstances, yet there it was, nagging him to ease his scowl.

"Sara?" His voice sounded quite mild.

He sounded furious to her. She forced herself to stay where she was, though the urge to back away from him was nearly overpowering. "Yes, Nathan?" she replied, her gaze directed on the floor.

"Look at me."

She looked. He saw the tears in her eyes. The sight tore the rest of his fury right out of him.

His sigh was long, ragged.

"Was there something you wanted to say to me?" she asked when he continued to stare intently at her.

"It isn't a hearth."

Nathan walked out of the cabin. Sara stared after him a long minute before turning around to look at Matthew and Jimbo.

"Did he just say that the hearth isn't a hearth?"

The two men nodded in unison.

Her shoulders slumped. "It looks like a hearth."

"Well, it isn't," Matthew announced. He nudged Jimbo in his side. "You explain it."

Jimbo nodded, then told Sara that the metal parts stacked in the corner of the cabin had been carted back from Nathan's last trip. They were to be used to repair the old stove in the Emerald Shipping Company offices. Nathan had just forgotten to take the parts off the ship when they'd docked, Jimbo continued, though he was certain the captain wouldn't be forgetting next time.

Matthew finished up the explanation by telling Sara that the trap was simply an air duct and nothing more. It wasn't a chimney.

Lady Sara's face looked as red as fire by the time the two men had given her their explanations. She then thanked them for their patience. She felt like an ignorant fool. "I could have killed everyone," she whispered.

"Aye, you could have," Matthew agreed.

She burst into tears. The two men were nearly undone by the emotional show. Jimbo glared at Matthew.

Matthew suddenly felt like a father trying to comfort his daughter. He took Sara into his arms and awkwardly patted her on her back.

"There now, Sara, it's not so bad," Jimbo said, trying to soothe her. "You couldn't have known it wasn't a hearth."

"An idiot would have known," she cried out.

The two men nodded to each other over the top of Sara's head. Then Matthew said, "I might have thought it was a hearth if I…" He couldn't go on because he couldn't think of a plausible lie.

Jimbo came to his aid. "Anyone would have thought it was a hearth if he wasn't used to sailing much."

Nathan stood in the doorway. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Jimbo and Matthew, two of the most bloodless pirates he'd ever had the honor to work with, were now acting like nursemaids. He would have laughed if his attention hadn't wandered over to the fire damage just then. He frowned instead.

"When you're through beating bruises in my wife's back, Matthew, you might want to have some of the men clean up this mess."

Nathan turned to Jimbo next. "The planks went through the lower level, too. See to righting the damage, Jimbo. Matthew, if you don't get your hands off my wife, I'll…"

He didn't have to finish that threat. Matthew was halfway out the door by the time Nathan reached Sara. "If anyone is to comfort my wife, it's going to be me."

He jerked Sara into his arms and shoved her face against his chest. Jimbo didn't dare break into a smile until he'd exited the room. He did let out a rich chuckle after he'd closed the door behind him, however.

Nathan continued to hold Sara for a few more minutes. His irritation got the better of him then. "God, wife, aren't you through crying yet?"

She mopped her face on the front of his shirt, then eased away from him. "I do try not to cry, but sometimes I can't seem to help it."

"I've noticed," he remarked.

He dragged her over to the bed, shoved her down, and then felt sufficiently calm to give her a firm lecture on the one overriding fear each and every seaman harbored. Fire. He paced the room, his big hands clasped behind his back, while he gave his speech. He was calm, logical, thorough.

He was shouting at her by the time he'd finished. She didn't dare mention that fact to him, though. The vein in the side of his temple throbbed noticeably, and she concluded her husband wasn't quite over his anger.

She watched him pace and shout and grumble, and in those minutes when he was being his surly self she realized how very much she really loved him. He was trying to be so kind to her. He didn't know he was, of course, but there he stood, blaming himself, Jimbo and Matthew, and even God for bringing on the fire because no one had bothered to explain ship life to her.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms and tell him that even though she had always loved him, the feeling had become much more… vivid, much more real. She felt such peace, such contentment. It was as though she'd been on a journey all those years while she waited for him and was home at last.

Nathan drew her attention by demanding she answer him. He had to repeat his question, of course, for she'd been daydreaming and had no idea what he'd asked. He only looked a little irritated by her lack of attention, and Sara guessed he was finally getting used to her. God only knew she was getting used to his flaws. The man was all bluster. Oh, his scowl, when set upon her fully, could still give her the hives, but Nora had been right after all. There really was a good, kind man behind the mask.

Nathan finally finished his lecture. When he asked her she immediately gave him her promise that she wouldn't touch anything else on his ship until they were in port.

Nathan was content. After he left the cabin Sara spent long hours scrubbing the mess. She was exhausted by the time she'd changed the bedding and had her own bath, but she was determined to wait up for her husband. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

Sara pulled her sketch pad from the trunk, sat down at the table, and drew a picture of her husband. The paper didn't seem big enough to accommodate his size. She smiled over that fanciful notion. He was just a man. Her man. The likeness was remarkably well done, she thought, though she refused to put a frown on his face. She'd captured his Viking stance, too, with his muscular legs braced apart and his hands settled on his hips. His hair flowed down behind his neck, and she wished she had her colors so she could show the magnificence of his auburn hair and his beautiful green eyes. Perhaps when they reached Nora's home she could buy new supplies so that she could do a proper sketch of her husband.

It was well after midnight when Nathan came back down to the cabin. Sara was sound asleep. She was curled up like a kitten in the chair. Her long curly hair hid most of her face, and she looked utterly feminine to him.

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at her.

God, it felt right to have her close to him. He couldn't understand why he felt such contentment, even admitting that it was a dangerous reaction, for there wasn't any way in hell he would allow a woman to mean more to him than baggage would.

She was simply a means to an end, he told himself. And that was all.

Nathan stripped, washed, then went over to the table. He saw the sketch pad and gently pried it out of her grasp. Curiosity caught him, and he slowly thumbed through the work she'd done. There were a good ten or twelve drawings completed. They were all sketches of him.

He didn't know how to react. The drawings were amazingly well done. She'd certainly captured his size, his strength. But then her mind had taken a fanciful turn, he decided, for damn if he wasn't smiling in every last one of them.

Sara really was a hopeless romantic. The old woman had told him that Sara's head was in the clouds most of the time. He knew that comment wasn't exaggeration.

Yes, his wife was a foolish dreamer. And yet he stood there, lingering over one particular drawing for a long, long while. It was all wrong, of course, but it still held him mesmerized.

The picture showed him from the back, standing on the deck, next to the wheel, looking off into the fading sunset. It was as though she'd sneaked up behind him to catch him unawares. His hands were clasped on the wheel. He was barefoot and shirtless. Only a hint of his profile was visible, just enough to tell that he was supposed to be smiling.

There weren't any scars on his back.

Had she forgotten about them, or had she decided she didn't want to include his scars in her work? Nathan decided the issue wasn't important enough to think about any longer. He had scars, and she'd damn well better accept them. He shook his head over that ridiculous reaction, then lifted Sara into his arms and put her to bed.

Nathan left the trap open so that the cabin would be rid of the lingering smoke, and he stretched out next to her.

She immediately rolled over and cuddled up against his side. "Nathan?"

"What?"

He made his voice as harsh as possible so she'd realize that he didn't want to talk to her.

His message was lost on her. She scooted closer to him and put her hand on his chest. Her fingers toyed with the thick hair until he flattened his own hand on top of hers. "Stop that," he ordered.

She put her head down on his shoulder. "Why do you think I'm having such a difficult time adjusting to ship life?" she asked in a whisper.

He answered her with a shrug that would have sent her flying into the wall if he hadn't been holding her.

"Do you think it might be because I'm not used to running a vessel?"

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "You aren't supposed to run my ship," he answered. "I am."

"But as your wife I should—"

"Go to sleep."

"Help," she said at the very same time.

She kissed the side of his neck. "I'll do much better when we're on land, Nathan. I can run a large household, and—"

"For God's sake, Sara, you don't have to run through your list of accomplishments again."

She stiffened against him, then relaxed. She must have finally decided to obey him, he thought to himself. The woman was going to go to sleep.

"Nathan?"

He should have known better, he told himself. She wasn't going to sleep until she was good and ready.

"What is it?"

"You forgot to kiss me goodnight."

God, she was aggravating. Nathan let out a weary sigh. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep until he gave in to her. His wife could be quite singleminded. She was more nuisance than not, he told himself. At the moment he was hard pressed to think of any redeeming qualities she might possess. Why, she was as stubborn as a mule, as bossy as a mother-in-law, and those were just two of the numerous flaws he'd already noticed.

He did kiss her, though, fast and hard, just to get her to quit nagging him. Damn but she tasted good, he thought. He had to kiss her again. He used his tongue. So did she. The kiss was far more thorough, more arousing.

She squeezed herself up against him. The provocation was too much to resist. She was all soft and feminine. He had to make love to her then. He didn't even make her nag him into doing that duty. She was still a little resistant, though. When he ordered her to take her nightgown off and turned to light the candle she asked him to leave them in darkness. He told her no, that he wanted to watch her, and she turned crimson before trying to hide her body from him by pulling the covers up to her chin.

He tossed the blankets aside and set about the task of wooing the shyness out of her. In no time at all she became quite brazen. She wanted to touch him everywhere with her hands and her mouth. He let her have her way, of course, until he was so hot for her he was shaking with his desire.

Lord, she was the most incredibly giving woman he'd ever touched. There was always such honesty in her reactions, such trust. That worried him. She didn't hold anything back, that sweet temptress of his, and when he finally settled himself between her silky thighs she was wet and hot and begging him to come to her.

He wanted to take it slow and easy, to make each thrust last forever, but she made him forget his good intentions by squeezing him tightly inside her. The sting of her nails drove him wild, and the erotic little whimpers she made soon forced him to let go of his own control.

He spilled his seed into her at the moment she found her own release. He held her close, absorbing her shudders with his own.

The scent of their lovemaking clung to the air between them. The feeling of peace was there, too.

He tried to roll away from her. She wouldn't let him. Her arms were tightly wrapped around his waist. The restraint was puny, but he decided to stay for a few more minutes, until she'd calmed down just a little. Her heartbeat still sounded like a drumbeat, as did his own.

He could feel the wetness on his shoulder, knew she'd cried again. That amused him. Sara always ended up crying when she found her own release. She always screamed, too. His name. She'd excused her behavior by telling him they were tears of joy she wept because she'd never experienced such bliss.