“Why have I never been able to put that look of contentment on your face?”
“You I can have any time I want. This delicacy will not come again for a very long time. I’m not even sure if we’ll be allowed to stop for fresh provisions when we arrive at St. Helena.”
“Let me summarize then, Mrs. MacCloud. Your husband ranks somewhere below a limpet in your estimation?”
“Mmm, yes, I think that is possible.” She laughed and lifted one of the shellfish from his plate. “Here. Try this and stop trying to pretend you’re jealous of a buttery piece of heaven.”
He chewed tentatively, swallowed, and then reached for another shell. “These little creatures are really flavorful. How did you know they’d be so good?”
“Papa and I were here once before.” She lowered her voice since the thin walls of their abode did not muffle conversation. “On our way to the Mediterranean on board the Cerberus bound for the Adriatic Sea.”
She produced a bottle of Madeira, removed the cork, and took a deep sniff of the contents. “Nectar fit for a god, but I’m willing to share with you.”
Cullen placed his hand on her arm, terrified she might answer his question. “Are you sure there’s not someone else you’d rather be with to share the Madeira?”
Willa stared into his eyes without blinking for the most painful few minutes of his life.
“No one,” she finally assured him. “There’s no one else I’d gift with Madeira, or my life. I am all yours, Dr. MacCloud, whether you want me or not.”
Chapter Twenty
Willa leaned forward and pressed her lips to Cullen’s, breathing in the taste of the ocean…and Madeira. She closed her eyes and let him pull her close, deepening the kiss. She pulled away suddenly and had to stifle a smile at the proof of her husband’s hunger for her as well as the limpets.
“Yes, dammit, woman. Now you know. No matter what you get up to, I may censure you, but he, unfortunately, cannot.”
They both laughed at that simple truth.
Willa took another sip of her Madeira and steadied her lethal gray gaze on him again. “I promise, on my father’s grave, you have no reason to doubt my loyalty.”
“Then what in the name of all that’s holy have you been getting up to with that bastard, Dalton? He’s been stalking you at all hours, like one of those sharks following the Arethusa.”
She had to remain silent, but so wanted to cry and bare all to her husband. In spite of her best efforts, one tear slid down her cheek and her hands shook.
“You know there’s nowhere to hide aboard a Royal Navy ship. No matter where you are, no matter what you say, someone is always listening. Gossip aboard any of His Majesty’s ships is like coin to be bartered.” Cullen paused a short moment before continuing. “Once a rumor starts, there will be nothing either one of us can do to stop it. Whatever you’re hiding could endanger our livelihood.”
Willa longed to tell him everything right then, but she couldn’t. There were too many twisting half-truths and secrets between them. Some of the mysteries swirling around them were locked inside his thick, battered skull. Instead, she placed a hand over his and whispered, “All will be well. You have to heal first…and trust me.”
Cullen’s own green gaze held her quietly for a long time, before he suddenly broke the spell by crawling to her side and feeding her another limpet. When she made little moaning sounds from deep in her throat while chewing the buttery delicacy, he said, “That’s my girl,” and nibbled at the spot just below her ear which caused strange sensations low in her belly.
Cullen lay gently swinging in his cot, arms behind his head and staring at the timbers of the upper deck. The old blanket “wall” was gone, but somehow he felt as though he was starting his relationship with his own wife over again. He chuckled low and tried to get comfortable when a sudden question in a husky whisper wafted across the space between him and Willa in their old high, double bunk.
“Have you remembered anything?”
“About what?”
“About what happened on Gibraltar that day you tried to take on a small army of ruffians.”
“Oh, that…” Cullen stretched out the silence, turning over and over in his fragile memory what he’d been able to glean so far.
After a long time, Willa gave out a huge sigh. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
His answer this time was immediate. “I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, I still can’t remember all of what happened.”
“But you do remember something.” An angry rustling emanated from the bunk.
He could almost see her sitting up, a frustrated scowl on her face, her lips swollen from all the kisses he’d stolen during supper. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, but realized that would be a mistake in the dark, in his current state of dizziness. Carrying a cane on a mission to bed his wife was the least romantic act he could imagine. Steady on, MacCloud.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “I’ve been getting small snatches of memories of that day off and on while working in the sick bay. And sometimes, they feel so close I could touch them in my dreams. But when I wake up, what I thought I knew with a certainty flees with daylight.”
“But, surely you get some sort of feeling for what led to the battle royal that left you nearly dead in a cemetery. Was…was Ariadne there?”
He ignored the question about his former lover, but tried to reassure Willa he was recovering control of his senses and could lay claim to some of his memories. “A feeling? Yes, there definitely is one. The feeling that you’re in danger is so overwhelming at times, I can’t breathe. Whatever happened that day, it was
