The Pirate's Tale

“Hello?” Maeve dropped her bags in the hall. Peeringacross the foyer, she could just make out herhusband’s shape slumped in his favorite old leatherchair. She shrugged off her coat and tossed it. Itlanded over the banister. “Why are you sitting in thedark?”

“Why are you so far away?”

Her heels clicked on the parquet. “Bad day,darling?”

Devlin watched her cross the room, swirling hisdrink.

“You’re wearing those boots again,” he said.

“I am.”

He turned away to concentrate on a long swallowfrom his glass. “Not all bad, then.”

She smiled at that, and brushed a hand over hishair, feeling his forehead as a nurse might check forfever. He twitched, meaning don’t fuss, and patted hisknee.

Maeve arranged herself in his lap, her kneesswinging over the rolled arm of the chair, andwondered what to do.

They both had bad days now and then, with allthey’d been through. Dev usually went off alone andcame back when he’d healed himself. Or close enoughto healed himself. Rarely did he let her see thesuffering, much less offer what small comfort shecould.

He set his glass on the floor. His palm skimmedbeneath the hem of her skirt. The skirt was a favoriteof Maeve’s, a great sweep of charcoal silk velvet.Despite the steady rise of his hand, the skirt veiledboots, legs and his intent. Beginning at her ankle, hetraced the fit of her boot as it climbed her leg.

“Jesus. Where does it stop?”

The smoke of old-oaked whiskey on his breath andleather in the air whetted Maeve’s appetite. Dark andchilly as Dev’s spirits ran tonight, Maeve felt the tingleof warmth they made between them spark, and begin toburn.

“Ahhh, there’s a good man.” She wiggleddeliberately, settling more comfortably in his lap, andhe pinched the tender skin above the boot’s cuff. “Iknew you’d find your way.”

“What’s this you’re barely wearing?” Bluntfingertips tickled the edge of her lacy thong.

“Layers are the secret to a well-dressed woman,”Maeve replied with an invitational tip of her hips.

“Thinly spread layer.”

“Mille Cake,” she teased, hoping for anotherpinch.

“Naughty girl.”

“Think of it as a visual aid.”

“A visual aid? When you’re hip-high in these…”He whispered across her ear. “…pirate boots,”making her shiver, another little retaliation.

“Pirates. Now, that reminds me of a story.” Sheshifted her butt in his lap more deliberately, achievingprecisely the result she’d hoped for.

“Do tell,” her husband answered, with enoughgrowl in his voice to really make it worth her while.

The only life that Gertrude had ever known was the convent.

“The convent? I thought this was a lusty piratetale?”

“Fine. Skip the convent. Straight to the bedroom.”

“That’s more like it.”

It was a cold, dark bedroom.

Gertrude wrapped the coverlet tighter around her and poked the fire. Two months at sea, two days in port and two hours in a carriage traveling streets that were worse than those on the island of Santa Ava, only to be deposited at the door of a respectable house and deserted.

She eyed the bed suspiciously. It was huge; big enough to sleep six orphans. Who else would be sleeping in there tonight?

The door banged open and in clomped a pair of dirty boys, a large brass tub and the housekeeper, Mrs. Allworthy.

“Right here,” the woman pointed to the space in front of the fire. “Carefully! Don’t slosh all over the Captain’s India rug,”

The water in the tub was so hot that steam rose into the air.

“Mrs. Allworthy?”

“A moment,” she answered with a glance at Gertrude. “Back downstairs, you two, quick step! Bring up the other pails of boiling water from the kitchen. Run!” From her apron pocket she pulled a glass bottle and dumped the contents into the water. The room bloomed with the scent of rose and rosemary. “You had a question, missus?”

Gertrude tried to sound merely inquisitive. “Who is planning on bathing in my room?”

“You, dear.”

“I’ve already washed,” she said. “Thank you.”

“The Captain ordered you a bath.”

“He hasn’t seen me since we made port. How would he know I need a bath?” she grumbled. “Please don’t go to any more trouble. I prefer to bathe…standing. Thank you.”

“Standing? You mean a spit bath? With your clothes on?” An odd expression flickered over the older woman’s face. She arched her back and rubbed her distended belly. From where Gertrude stood, it appeared the baby might come before Mrs. Allworthy left the room. “Ever sat in a bathtub, my dear?”

“Why does that matter?”

“You haven’t! Ha! I’ll be a ripe tomato.” She barked a laugh that colored her face as red as the fruit, then she started to hiccup. “Pardon me. Where does he find ’em? Uuurp, there I go again!”

“Find who?”

“Well now, the Captain’s been married before, I’m sure you’ve heard?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “Don’t believe one word of the rumors. Captain wouldn’t harm a fly, much less his wives.”