ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER NINETEEN

During the next few days of the crossing, Maurette regained her strength with surprising speed. She was able, on the second day of her recovery to walk the deck. In fact, Ben had insisted upon the activity. He accompanied her, of course, on the chance that her weakened condition combined with her exposure to the open sea might bring back the terrors of her recent visions of the storm.

Watching her carefully, he kept a proprietary hold on her elbow as they moved companionably over the lightly rolling deck. Maurette, bundled in a woolen cloak of sapphire blue with a full hood drawn up over her amplitude of redish-blond curls, glided over the sun-drenched deck, smiling and nodding to the roughened sailors, who nodded and smiled back as they continued with their work. Stern glances from Ben reminded them not to gawk at the enchanting figure of their captain's lady.

"I really do not think I need this heavy cloak," Maurette said as they moved to the rail to pause in their walk. Ben hid a small smile.

"Yes, you do, my lady," he said pointedly. "But I will allow you to remove the hood."

Maurette nodded, and her thanks was given with the arch of a well-shaped brow. Wispy tendrils loosened by the disarrangement of her hood floated out to frame her small pale face in a sweetly curling nubile. Her blue cloak was nearly the same color as the shimmering clear sky arching so serenely above them. One would not believe that the felicitous blue dome had, less than a week earlier, scowled in wrathful, self-indulgent cruelty.

Ben drew his shawl tightly around his shoulders and swiped at his dripping nose with the linen cloth that he kept always at the ready.

Maurette was contemplating the span of rolling, frothy ocean, the white spume topping the watery curls, when she heard Ben's sniffle. She regarded him and wondered at his ague on such a fine, clear day. In truth, there was much to wonder at about this small, dapper man. He had quiet eyes that were nevertheless filled with the clarity of deep intelligence. His forehead was high, and his weathered skin, was pale, as though he spent a great deal of time indoors. Maurette knew this to be true. She had seen him poring over his heavy volumes in Dominic's cabin as he had patiently awaited her recovery, or in his own cabin, on deck, or in the galley. Wherever Ben passed time, it seemed that he was not without a venerable, dog-eared tome. Books were not a common sight in 1587 outside of the universities or the houses of the very rich, and so it was rare to see a man study with such obsessive and constant devotion, especially in the climate of an adventure-tossed ship at sea. The tiny squint that made curling crinkles around his eyes was probably the result of that passion, for he rarely smiled or showed any emotion to speak of. It was this very constancy that inspired Maurette's confidence in his gentle manner.

Her piquant regard drew his attention. "How is it with you, little noblewoman?" he said gently. "You are not fatigued, are you?"

"I am fine, Ben," Maurette said. "But I am pressed with questions."

Ben nodded, inviting her inquiry. "You wonder at my presence here," he said evenly.

"I do, Ben."

"'Tis really no mystery," he said, looking out over the water. "I met Dominic many years ago at Oxford."

"Dominic at Oxford?" Maurette gaped.

Ben smiled knowingly. "That rough barbarous buccaneer that we know as the Silver Raven spent two years prowling those hallowed halls."

"I did not know," Maurette said, stunned.

"Indeed he did, though neither of us was the best of students. But I humbly admit to being the better of the two. And then, for a time, I was personal physician to Dominic's father. He, too, was a man of the sea. He was what is disdainfully refereed to as a 'gentleman seaman,' though you must trust me when I say that the designation was an unfair one. 'Tis an abomination to a seasoned mariner to sail with a captain who is so named, and Dominic and I have believed that some enemy, or disgruntled sailor, called him that. The designation was well taken because Terrence Warbrooke was very rich. He had his own shipyard, you see, and had many interests outside of sailing the seas. Dominic's whole life has been lived to thwart the same being said of him. He is a complete man of the sea, or has been up to now."

Ben chanced a look at Maurette. She was gazing out over the sapphire swells.

"As to my meeting Dominic," Ben continued, "'twas at school, as I have mentioned. I was an Oxford lad who ne'er ought to have been there. 'Twas recommended by my schoolmaster that, as a bright lad, I should attend. My father was poor but very proud and dishonored by my lack of manly talents. I could neither. ride-I am, in truth, inordinately afraid of horses-nor tool leather, or chop wood, nor hold my own in a manly debate. And I tended to enjoy my Latin grammar to an abnormal degree. And so when it was recommended to my father that I join the university, he felt, I suppose, that he had at last found a place for me. 'Twas not the place he. would have envisioned for a son of his. Ben paused, lost in his own deep thoughts.

Turning again to Maurette, Ben continued. He was a strapping bullock of a man, my father, who took great pride in his manly brawn, and early on he had taken me with him to the taverns and meeting places in the hope that I would pick up the stuff of which men of my father's ilk were made. Alas," Ben smiled softly, "'Twas not to be. And so to Oxford I was borne.

"Dominic depended a great deal on me in those days. We had formed an immediate friendship when I exposed To my dream of going to sea-for it was a dream I had always held-and we aided each other through the pompous preachings of our pedagogues. I learned and then taught him."

"'Twas not easy going, for just when Ovid was making sense to one of us, the sea would interrupt. One of us would begin to dream aloud of sailing out to explore the unchartered expanse of the wilderness ocean. Our last spring at school was to be the awakening of the passage to our dream."

"I remember well the day. I had visited Ravenshead at the insistence of Dominic's sister Lydia. As a young widow, she had just taken position as chatelaine of the great castle. She was concerned for their father's health and asked that Dominic return with a doctor to look at the old man. I went and found him perfectly well."

"'Twas on the return from that visit that we toured his father's shipyard outside London. An unnamed galleon was idling at the Southwark harbor. We saw her and knew our destiny. 'Twas one of those bleak days that often occurs in April. The wind was high, and the sky a rolling gray. We boarded the little galleon, and Dominic was exuberant as we explored every spar and gunwale. I was merely freezing as I huddled in my cloak. I remember telling him that I would go anywhere with him if he would but build a fire to warm my toes." Ben chuckled at the memory and snuggled deeper into his shawl, and wiped at his dripping nose.

"My own love of-or fascination with-the sea had come through my studies of Master Wagenaer's maps. I had no idea of the reality of a voyage on the open sea. I had no idea 'twould be so cold," he said glumly, "and so bone piercingly damp. But I was conjoined. We named the vessel Raven, and by the end of that summer I was feeling the cold blown foam of untamed oceans upon my face." He turned and faced Maurette. In his eyes there was a mixture of pride and resignation.

"I have never wavered in my loyalty to Dominic Warbrooke and our dream, but I have been profoundly thankful each time we settled into a harbor and rowed ashore to a fire-lit common room."

Maurette laughed lightly but her eyes were dark with questions. "Can you tell me of Dominic's father?" she said.

Ben shook his head sadly. He was leaning on one elbow on the rail. "He was a proud and good man and died two years ago." Turning away from Maurette, he once more gazed out upon the empty ocean. "Lydia tells us it was suicide. She describes a lonely windswept night when Terrence had become exceedingly despondent." His voice caught, and he lowered his head. "She says he jumped from a high parapet onto the rocky shoals below the Castle Ravenshead."

"And you do not believe her?"

"I do not know, Maurette," he said unhappily. "I do not know."

Maurette's heart went out to the dear little man at her side and to Dominic for he had never told her of this tragedy in his life. She would ask him of it one day. In the meantime there were other questions on her mind.

"Tell me about Dominic. Tell me of his life as a seaman."

Ben turned back to her. He seemed glad of the change of subject. His eyes brightened. "I have told you only a very small-though exceedingly important-part of Dominic's life at sea. After our Turkish adventure, he was commissioned by the queen for a very important mission. Sir Francis Drake was to attempt a voyage that would take him round the world. He wanted only the best of men to join him, and so, because of his proven bravery and indomitable strength, Dominic was chosen.

"I very sadly bid our captain farewell but vowed to return to him when the voyage was over I went to Ravenshead to see to Dominic's father and to study what Lydia termed his 'ailing mind,' and the other men turned to work at sea or on land. I waited for three long years, and when Dominic returned and had been honored by the queen, we regrouped. There was not a man missing from our original crew.

"I never wondered at Dominic's popularity as a captain. He battled his father's onerous designation of 'gentleman seaman' with such ferocity. He drew and hauled with the mariners and worked with his men in all situations. As you have gleaned, he has never hidden from adversity."

Maurette's eyebrows quirked. "And what of this unbridled cruelty of his that we have so often heard about back home?"

Ben laughed openly for the first time since Maurette had known him. "Our captain's only cruelty is that he makes us work as hard as he."

"'Tis, in truth, a cruel job you possess, Doctor Tremain," a mild voice said from behind them. Dominic moved to Maurette and drew her to him. "How fare you, little one?" he said softly into Maurette's ear. Then he glanced up at Ben. "Have you even thought to feed out little patient?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

Maurette laughed. "Oh, Dominic, if this man, in collusion, I suspect, with the charming old Jase of yours, forces any more food on me, I shall be as fat an old boar. Please allow me to be content with dinner tonight," she pleaded.

"'Tis true, Dominic," Ben said. "Your Maurette may just make us short on our food supply, if she takes another meal."

Maurette regarded Ben haughtily. "My doctor," she said archly, "has ordered me to build up my strength. 'Tis only for him I satisfy my appetite." All three of them laughed.

"In any event," said Dominic, "we shall arrive at Ravenshead on the morrow. Our food supply is in no real danger."

At his words, Maurette's good humor palled. She kept her smile, but it hid a sinking heart. It was at Ravenshead that she would meet the resplendent Lydia. Though she had not heard a great deal about her, she envisioned her to be most formidable in both her appearance and her attitude. She was the chatelaine of one of the greatest castles in all Britannia. Maurette knew that she would be haughty and arrogant. She only hoped that she would not be cruel.

The deck was awash with blue-gray shadows by the time Maurette and Dominic joined the crew for the evening meal. Lamps had been lit, and small golden rounds of light glimmered like sea-faring fireflies. A festive atmosphere prevailed as stores of ale were uncorked. The diners feasted on corncakes and gravy. Cheese and pork sausages had been roasted, and huge bowls of fruit were offered. Jase insisted upon everyone eating heartily as he determined that the galley needed to be emptied that night.

Several of the men produced musical instruments, and Maurette was very much in demand as a dancing partner. Roger Hampton, the scruffy helmsman, was the first to ask her. He danced stiffly as though trying to recall the movements that even in his youth had not been particularly familiar to him. Maurette twirled on the rolling deck with old Jase and with Geoffrey Frooisher. It was well past the midnight hour when one lonely flute breathed its sweet notes over the whispering waves of the quiet ocean and Dominic and Maurette said good night to the crew. The couple moved down the companionway and into their softly lit cabin.

Dominic's eyes never left her as he closed the door with a soft click. He moved slowly toward her, and she felt that his smoky gray gaze would swallow her. He pushed the cloak from her shoulders and let it fall to the deck. Then, without words he unfastened the lacings of her gown and drew it back and down over her shoulders. His lips came down in butterfly kisses over her neck.

"Is it all right?" she gasped breathlessly.

Dominic looked up slowly. "Al' right?" he asked.

"k..... Ben," she - haltingly.

"Ben," he stated flatly.

Maurette was sorry she had brought it up, but there was nothing for it but to bring it out. "So soon after my recovery," she explained in a small voice.

Dominic smiled, and his eyes became chips of silvered ice. "Must I needs get a note from your physician to claim my rights?" he asked silkily.

"No, Dominic," Maurette said hurriedly. "'Tis only that-"

"Never imagine that you may refuse me, Maurette," Dominic grated. He held her shoulders tightly in his big hands and looked down at her with an almost cold determination.

"I was not refusing,. Dominic," she breathed.

"Ben has had you long enough. 'Tis my turn." he said, snapping her toward him.

Dominic's mouth came down on hers, and she felt her nearly exposed breasts flatten against the granite hardness of his chest. With an unyielding hunger, he rained demanding kisses over her tender flesh. His arm snaked out, and he lifted her and carried her to the bed. As he looked down upon her, she shivered at the possessive menace she found in his pewter-glossed eyes. He was like a ravening bird of prey who guards his captured quarry with warlike surveillance.

"You are mine, Maurette," he snarled. "Never forget that." His lips came down on the tender pinkened tips of her breasts where they strained over the ridge of her gown. She felt them harden at the plucking insistence of his mouth and tongue. He arched her to him, and her head fell back, exposing to his searching voracity the most succulent of her soft flesh. With avaricious savagery he ripped at the bodice of her gown, exposing the lushness of her belly. Her flesh quivered as he ravaged her with his unrelenting hunger. Her breath came in ragged gasps. He tore the remnants of her gown from her body and stood over her to remove his own clothing.

She gaped in horror at the full landscape of his virile form. He advanced and covered her with his manly passion. Despite her terror, Maurette found her throbbing flesh aching to receive him. Her body writhed beneath the brutal assault of his rapacious need. She clung to him as he extended himself over her. She felt his hot breath in her ear as he cradled the back of her head with one hand and lifted her buttocks with the other. For all his merciless aggression, he entered her gently. His tenderly forceful thrusts ignited Maurette's own flaming passion, and she received him with a hunger of her own.

A conflagration of stars shattered and cascaded over her, their hot little flames licking at the core of her desire. The blossom of her womanhood exploded, and the life-giving juices pulsed out and filled her soul with a final, rapturous puissance.

Maurette lay quietly in the warm shadows of her sated desires. Dominic's arm enfolded her, and he stroked her beneath the covers that he had drawn up over the two of them to ward off the chili of ebbing passion.

"I did not mean to take you so, little one," he breathed into her ear "But you fire me to madness with your extravagant beauty. And," he said, raising himself over her, "I appear to he a jealous lover." A small smile quirked his lips. "I have never been so with any other woman."

Maurette hid a smile of her own. "'Tis an 'honor,"' she said flatly, "that I shall have to endure; methinks, until you have been educated to the fact that I am honor-bound to adore you."

"Only honor binds you, sweet?" he asked pettishly.

Maurette lifted her fingertips to his face and brushed the bronzed planes tenderly. "Oh, yes,', she said gently, "and love."

Dominic embraced her, and with her head resting on his should, he fell into a deep slumber. Maurette felt his even breathing and the slow pounding of his heart against her. She rolled contentedly onto her side. Her secret knowledge that he had taken her, but that she had also taken him, warmed her into the dark hours of the night.

Half-waking dreams enfolded her. Questions whirled in the soft nether-land of the darkness. On the morrow, Maurette's life would alter immutably. She wondered what life would he like at Ravenshead, that vast and looming stone and 'sea-washed presence. Would she be no more than a guest in Lydia's household? And what of Lydia? Maurette wondered at Ben's assessment of Dominic's father's death. Did he not trust the great chatelaine?

Maurette's questions went unanswered as she gave herself to slumber just as a pale, predawn light crept into the cabin.