It wasdefinitely a step up from the taverns back in Newfoundland. Iwondered then, if this was the way our lives would be now. The lifeof the rich. As nice as it was, I still couldn’t see myself livingit. I much preferred the simpler life. Or that of a pirate. Astinkin’ rich land dweller held no appeal for me and, as I watchedHenry fit right in with his startling good looks and purposefulgait, I wondered what he truly wanted. What he saw in ourfuture.
He closed thedoor behind us, and I heard the lock click. “Are you tired?” heasked. “Do you wish to sleep first and wash later?”
I didn’t evenlook back at him. My pregnant, bone-weary body zombie-walked to the giant bed and I letmyself fall to it. I swear, I must have fallen asleep before thefresh linens touched my skin because that’s the last I remember. Mymind drifted into an empty sleep, a dark void of nothingness whereI happily stayed for Lord knows how long. It wasn’t until the fainttangents of a lucid dream began to fill my vision, slowly, likemilk mixing with water, that my brain restarted.
Being awareinside your own dreams is an odd sensation. One that gives a slightGod complex because, not only are you tuned in to everything goingon, you’re also slightly in control of the outcome. I stood infront of a quaint saltbox house by the sea. The wooden sidingpainted white, bits of it chipping away from the fists of the sea.Someone was out back, hanging clean sheets on a low-hungclothesline. The bottom of the sheets nearly touched the freshgrass below. The person was a woman, that much I could see from thelong black hair that blew in the wind. She turned to me and I sawher face, a beautiful heart-shaped thing with two, big browneyes.
Mom.
She gave smileand so did I. But hers begins to fade the closer I get. My stomachdropped and tugged at my heart, but my legs wouldn’t stop. I stillran to her but she backed away, her face now angry.
“Mom!” Icalled.
But she wasgone.
And then sowas I.
When I awokesometime later, the sun had moved, dimming the light of the room,but had yet to set. So, I knew only a few hours had gone by. I satup in bed and rubbed my still-tired eyes before I realized I wasalone. Pulling back the heavy blankets, I whipped myself out of bedand over to the door, but it opened before my hand touched theknob.
“Oh, you’refinally awake,” Henry exclaimed as he entered, carrying a large potof steaming water over to a metal bathtub and poured it in. “Ithought we could get a bath before heading down for a meal.”
I yawned andthen smiled as I made my way over to him. “That sounds heavenly.”My lips touched his in a quick hello kiss. “Did you get anysleep?”
“A little. Inodded off for a short while, after listening to you snore.” Ibalked and slapped his arm. The corner of his mouth quirked. “Ishall sleep later, tonight, when we retire to the room,” Henryreplied. “I wanted to get everything ready,” he gestured to thetub, “and I waited for the men to return from the ship. Ensuredthey got back and had no trouble at the front desk.”
I chewed at mybottom lip. “Oh, yes,” I said when I realized. “They wouldn’t haveknown you used your real name.”
Henry’s headshook gently back and forth. “No, they wouldn’t.” He began toremove his clothes, bit by bit. A heap of black leather strung overa chair and I stared at his beautiful body. The way the lithemuscles moved with the twisting of his limbs. The flex of the paleskin of his chest as he slipped his soiled white blouse over hishead. My eyes, as they always did, flitted to the faded pink scarsthat covered his body like celestial signs, and I connected thedots with my mind. Tried not to envision the brutality behind eachone. But my pirate king wore them like badges of honor. Neverhiding them from me. Never letting the scars, both on the surfaceand beneath, bleed into our lives.
Notanymore.
My hands, asif with a mind of their own, went to him. Smoothing the lines ofHenry’s chest and gently rubbing the hard muscles of his shoulders.And, like a mirror, his hands reached for me and I felt the roughskin of his long fingers slip under the collar of my shirt,pulling it down as he pressed hislips to the exposed skin.
I threw myhead back and let Henry’s mouth trail along my shoulder, neck, andthen gently caress my jawline. I would never grow tired of thatfeeling. The sensation of his soft, warm lips touching me. Ireached behind and untied the knot that held his hair back and theblonde waves fell like a curtain to his shoulders. Our yearningeyes met, and I couldn’t help but smile.
I loved him somuch. Almost too much at times. At times like this, when theemotion overwhelmed me, and I could swear my heart would explode ifnot contained in its cage. With a cheeky grin, Henry tugged at thestrings that held my heavy cotton skirt in place and I let it dropto my feet.
“Your bathawaits, my queen,” he said coyly and took my hand as he steppedtoward the steaming tub.
I laughed. “Abath. A real bath that I can sit in a soak. God, it’s beenages.” Slowly, I followed Henry into the metal basin, dipping myfoot in first but then yanking it out when I felt the water. “It’sscorching hot!”
The scaldingwater didn’t seem to bother Henry as I watched him ease himselfdown, creating a cradle with his body and motioning me to get in.“It’s really not. Only for the first moment. Come,” he told me andheld his hand out, “get in. The water is lovely.”
Trustingly, Itook
