Becalmed water, agitated body (mf)
(Author's note: This chapter continues to explore the rising sexual tension. The delayed gratification WILL be rewarded in an escalating fashion in subsequent chapters.)
Liam awoke at dawn, as was his habit. He was stretched out upon a cockpit seat, and as his eyes opened he was instantly aware of a curious silence. Above him the mainsail hung listlessly. Coming to his feet, he looked out into a heavy mist hovering over the lake --- so dense it made the sky and water one. The eerie stillness of the water he felt rather than saw.
In a rush the events of the preceding day came back to him: the storm, the lass disguised as a lad. Aye...the lass! He quickly bent to peer into the main cabin --- no sign of her. But it was quite early yet.
He went below quietly, pausing to look at the barometer—the needle was pointing to fair as it had yesterday morn. Aft of the chart table he opened the door to his cabin—similar in layout to the forward guest cabin, save for a larger desk and more storage lockers. He stripped off his oilskins and pea coat and poured a basin of water. Pulling the braces off his shoulders to dangle round his hips, he tugged his shirt off over his head.
As he washed and brushed his teeth, his thoughts returned to her... he was heady with anticipation at the prospect of seeing her again. Rubbing his hand over his chin, he felt the week worth of stubble. A shave would do him he decided, and set about it, using a looking glass affixed to the back of the hanging locker door. He contemplated his reflection, wondering how he might appear to the eyes of a wealthy young lady: black hair --- somewhat disheveled, blue eyes; his height and wide shoulders the legacy of a distant Viking ancestor. A life of physical work showed in his dense muscles and scattered scars. Clearly no refined gentleman he be, he thought wryly, wiping his face with a towel. Lastly he retrieved a clean shirt from a drawer, work-worn as were most of his clothes, but 'twas at least clean.
Back topsides, he set about putting the deck in order. Hanging overnight, her shirt and chemise were nearly dry, the trousers less so. He brought them below and spread them before the stove in the galley. Taking care not to make noise upon deck over her cabin, he furled the main and staysail properly and coiled halyards and sheets.
Next he examined the damaged jib. Spreading it upon the foredeck he grimaced as he found an L shaped rent, perhaps two yards in length, near the clew. 'Twas mendable, but would take time. The jib halyard was intact along the full length, he determined, pointing to the block as the culprit. With a spyglass he looked up at the block at the top of the mast --- it appeared twisted --- hard to be sure from the deck.
By this time the fog had been burnt off by the rising sun. The
Selkie
was alone upon the still water with no land in sight. Liam went below, edgy. He stood in the main cabin, looking at her door. Was she ever going to come out? Perhaps she was awake, but outraged at his having undressed her? Well, if that be the case, 'twas best to find out. He crossed to her cabin and knocked upon the door.
"Miss?" He said quietly. "Be ye awake?" Through the door sounds of someone moving could be heard. "I'm making breakfast, if ye'd like some."
After a pause came a muted voice that said "Thank you."
He was putting a kettle on to boil when her door opened. He looked up eagerly. She emerged, wearing the ulster, the nightgown and boots visible below its hem. Her dark hair was loose. Her movements, closing the door and turning to the main cabin, were cautious. She stood at the far end of the cabin, advancing no further.
For a moment large, doe-like eyes met his, then dropped. Her arms moved protectively in front of her small figure, one hugging her waist, the other folding over her chest, her hand clasping the large collar of the coat up to her chin.
"Feeling better, miss?" he asked. She nodded, her eyes still averted. "Is your head hurting?"
"My head?" Her voice was small and clear. She looked at him, clearly confused.
"Did ye hit your head? There's a bump on the back."
She raised the hand that was holding the collar to her head. "I suppose I must have," she said almost inaudibly. She seemed lost, her head tilted, her fingers palpating her scalp. Then she straightened, the hand returning to the collar. "I remember the storm...I remember going to my cabin..." she searched for his name. "Mr....Mr. Thomas... what happened last night?" Her eyes lifted to his, her distress apparent.
Liam sought to comfort her; he tried to keep his tone solicitous as he continued working. "'Tis not much of a tale, Miss. After the squall blew over, I went to check on ye. Ye had...vomited on your lap and fainted dead away, so ye had." As he spoke he set a cast iron pan upon the stove.
"I remember that now," she murmured. "I had slipped and was upon the floor. I remember retching. After that... I recall nothing."
"Well, I figured ye'd be miserable lying in the mess." He set two tin mugs upon the counter, more abruptly than intended. The unspoken rest of the tale expanded in the silence. Despite his efforts to appear composed, his body stirred with nervous excitement to be speaking to this bonnie lass whom he had beheld unclothed, knowing that she was now thinking on it too.
He looked up from the counter and into her eyes, his mind uncontrollably flooded with vivid images of her naked beauties. Her gaze dropped, a hot blush in her cheeks.
He cleared his throat. "I washed your clothes," he ventured. "They be dry now." He pointed them out. "I put your hairpins in the pocket of the coat ye have on."
"Now Miss," he went on, changing the subject. "Will ye take some tea?"
After a moment she said softly, "Yes. Thank you." She was still looking down.
"Do ye want to eat here or outside?"
"Outside."
"Go on up, Miss. I'll bring it up in a moment."
She remained where she stood, hesitating. He glanced at her. "Will ye not go out to the cockpit?" he asked gently. He saw her eyes go from him to the companionway ladder next to him, and he suddenly perceived that she was too embarrassed to climb the ladder with him standing below her.
He took himself out of the galley, away from the ladder. She moved quickly past him and ascended to the cockpit, flashes of blue stocking visible with each step. He thought her modesty charming, although naïve --- if she only knew how much he had already seen...and imagined!
When he carried the tray of food to the cockpit, she was standing upon the starboard seat looking out at the glass-like water. "Are we still upon the lake, Mr. Thomas?" she asked.
"We are."
"But where is the wind?"
"Aye! That be the question. Where indeed? Becalmed, so we are."
"Becalmed," she repeated. "Then this will delay our arrival in Toronto."
