The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 08

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A shocking revelation has heady consequences (mf).
7.6k words
4.47
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Part 8 of the 12 part series

Updated 08/30/2017
Created 04/27/2016
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astushkin
astushkin
202 Followers

A shocking revelation has heady consequences (mf)

They were finishing breakfast in the cockpit the next morning, freshly bathed and sleepily blissful, when it came. The hairs upon the back of Liam's neck rose and his hand froze holding the upraised mug.

Wind.

He looked at Anya and saw a stray lock of hair stir over her ear. At the movement her drowsy eyes suddenly focused, opening wide and meeting his. A distressed expression crossed her face.

Setting down the mug, he checked the compass and stepped onto the cockpit seat. Across the surface of the water, cat's paws glinted in the morning sun. Wind at last, so it was. He had known that his paradise with this darling lass could not persist forever, but had not wanted to think on it. He felt a twinge in his gut at the sudden looming prospect of returning to everyday life.

"It looks like we'll be able to sail," he said in a matter of fact tone. She stared out at the water, but offered no remark; she nodded subtly.

They carried the breakfast items below, where Liam with a growing unease reviewed the chart and plotted a course to Toronto based upon the wind direction.

Back upon deck, he had her hold the wheel while he raised the sails, finding satisfaction at least in the smooth working of the repaired block and the harmonious contour of the patch upon the jib. He set the harpoon log, then returned to the cockpit to take the wheel, adjusting the course by the compass.

Anya sat upon the cockpit coaming. They both looked out over the water for some time without speaking --- the silence tense.

Liam assessed the Selkie's speed and leaned to look down into the cabin at the clock on the bulkhead. "'Tis a fair wind we have, but none too brisk," he said. "If it holds, we'll make the north shore, but we canna make it to Toronto before nightfall. There be a cove where we can anchor overnight. Tomorrow 'twill be a short sail to Toronto." He gave her a searching look, emphasizing Toronto ever so slightly.

Again her nod of tacit agreement upon the destination; her eyes rested briefly upon his with a troubled air before returning to the lake. For some time, there was only the sound of the water and the occasional creaking of sheets. Anya was fiddling with the end of the mainsheet, wrapping it round her hand. By and by she turned towards him. "Liam?" Her voice was small and hesitant. "The song you sang about the fisherman and the selkie maiden...?"

"Aye, lass?"

"Will you tell me the story?"

He smiled at her, nodding and sitting back upon the cockpit coaming, holding the wheel steady with his foot. He sang the ballad a verse at a time, translating the Gaelic as he went. "A lonely fisherman one evening after a day upon the sea is tying up his boat, when he suddenly sees a seal come out of the water onto the rocks and shed its sealskin, turning into a beautiful maiden—'tis a selkie. He watches her dancing upon the beach, and falls deeply in love with her. Then she spies him, and stares back at him. But when he approaches her, she runs for her sealskin, turning back into a seal and swimming away."

He paused to trim the jib sheet.

"Every day after that he returns to the beach searching for her, and looks for her when he is fishing during the day --- but he canna find her. Till one day whom should he see but the selkie maiden sitting upon a rock near the village --- crying. She does not flee when he nears. He asks her why she weeps and she replies that she had been caught in the net of another fisherman --- a fisherman who decided to keep her for himself and had hidden her sealskin to keep her captive."

Anya's big eyes gazed at him in rapt attention.

"The hero seeks out the rival fisherman and challenges him to a duel, demanding the return of the selkie's coat. They fight with their knives and the hero bests him, winning the sealskin. Although his heart be breaking, he returns it to the selkie...she kisses him, jumps into the coat, then vanishes into the sea.

The love stricken fisherman goes on with his lonely work. Then one day at sea, he sees in wonder the selkie maiden alongside his boat, beckoning to him. He pulls her aboard where, to his joy, she confesses her love for him and gives him her sealskin. They marry and live, as they say, happily ever after."

Anya regarded him, looking a bit forlorn. "What a lovely story," she said quietly. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked a few times, then added in a more dispassionate tone. "The Gaelic is so pretty to listen to." He watched her fingers slowly knot and unknot the end of the mainsheet. Her gaze drifted out over the water.

They lapsed into silence again. Liam rechecked the clock, his sense of unease returning as he saw how much time had slipped away.

Presently Anya stirred, and commented that she wished to try to finish Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea before she had to relinquish the book. She enquired whether he needed anything, and upon his negative reply, went below and came back up with the book. She gave him a melancholy smile and went forward to sit upon the foredeck.

For the next couple of hours, she remained forward while Liam kept the helm, brooding. "Before I have to relinquish the book" she had said. After the profound events of the past two days, was she simply going to step onto the dock in Toronto and vanish from his life? What the devil had happened between them? He had never felt this way about a lass before...had never before felt the incomparable happiness of a lass loving him --- for himself. He could not stand by and let her go.

As the Selkie cut through the water, his disquieted gaze made the rounds of the sails, the water, and the compass, then returned to Anya --- the back of her head visible above the cabin top. By and by, when he leaned to check leeward of the boom, he realized that upon the jib was a small telltale stain from their act of love upon deck yesterday. His heart and body surged at the sight, reinforcing the plan that was brewing in his mind.

Eventually he saw her stand and make her way aft. Now accustomed to moving about the boat, her motions in the lad's costume were sprightly, a joy to behold --- a sweetly provocative reminder of the nimble female body underneath. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright from the crisp breeze; her dark hair blew about --- he thought her the most ravishing creature. His heart swelled.

"Hello," she said, stepping lightly into the cockpit. "Would you like me to take the wheel for a while?"

"Nay, love."

"May I fetch you anything?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Did ye finish the book?"

"Not quite. It appears I may not finish in time."

"I've been thinking..." he began. "Ye needn't worry about finishing the book."

She looked at him bemused. "Oh no, Liam. You are not going to give me the book. I know how much trouble you've taken to collect your treasures."

"Nay. That's not what I'm on about. Will ye sit Anya?" He nodded his head at the cockpit seat. She sat and turned towards him. He stood holding the wheel, looking at her intently.

He cleared his throat. "I've been thinking...something has happened...well...I've sailed nigh all the seas of this globe and never found what I've been seeking --- till this voyage. I dinna ken what miracle brought ye to my boat...were I a religious man I'd be thanking God every day for that gift. What I'm trying to say is...I love ye Anya, I love ye more than I can put into words. I want to take care of ye...I'm asking ye if ye will marry me."

The flash of emotions upon her face was startling, and so fleeting that he could not quite parse what he had seen: joy or was it despair? Now however, as he looked at her, her face was blank. She turned her head and looked over the water. "I cannot marry you," she said, her voice flat.

Of all the possible reactions he had anticipated, this was not among them. "Ye canna marry me?" he repeated.

For several moments she simply sat with a faraway expression, holding the book in her lap. There was only the sound of the water spray along the hull, and he grew tenser with each passing second.

At last she spoke, her voice dull, defeated. "There was more to my stepfather's ultimatum. To force my decision, he threatened to harm my younger brother Nicholas if I did not choose him or Mr. D--- by my birthday, or if I ran away. Nicholas is in a military academy near Toronto. My stepfather told me that he sent his henchmen to watch the academy and prevent any communication from reaching Nicholas. He said that upon a single word from him, these men would kill him or anyone who intervened upon his behalf. Indeed, when I wrote my aunt of this, she tried to send Nicholas a telegram but it was not received."

Liam stared. "Jesus, lass! You've run away...how do ye ken your brother is unharmed?!"

Her fingers trembled. "I pray that he is. The one stroke of fortune is that Nicholas' class is out in the field for a skirmish drill and will not be back in the school until next week. His exact whereabouts are presently unknown."

"Then there be time to rescue him. How stands this in the way of marrying?"

She shook her head, opening and closing the book over and over. "You don't understand. When my aunt could not reach Nicholas, she turned to a friend of my uncle for help. This friend is a powerful man in Ontario --- a minister in the cabinet --- and he is on the board of regents of my brother's academy. He offered his assistance; he said that he can rescue Nicholas...and... he offered to marry me."

Liam's eyes blazed.

"I...I accepted his offer," she finished in a small voice.

A burn spread over his body. His grip tightened upon the wheel. He stared at her. "You're engaged to be married," he stated in a toneless voice.

Her nod was almost imperceptible; she did not meet his eyes.

"You're engaged to be married --- to a man who barters your brother's life for your hand?"

She looked at him at last, clearly upset. "It is not like that! Mr. Strachan is a kind man who is only offering the power of his position to help my brother, and protect me from my stepfather."

He went still. "Mr. Strachan? Douglas Strachan --- that cabinet minister?"

She nodded. "Do you know of him?"

He felt numb; his gut lurched. Strachan! Oh he knew of Strachan --- only by reputation --- but as a villainous bastard. He was the owner of the largest shipping and passenger fleet upon the Lakes, and used his power as commerce minister of Ontario to pass laws and set levies to drive out his competitors' ships. When unable to use legal means to further his ends, 'twas widely held among sailors that he resorted to criminal acts including scuttling and setting fire to ships, beatings, and even, 'twas rumored, murdering other ship owners.

If Liam had escaped Strachan's notice so far, 'twas only because his business with the Selkie was too small to be a threat to him. And now Liam was after deflowering the fiancée of the one man who could ruin his future business...if he didn't kill him first.

Shite! Shite, shite, SHITE! His eyes were unseeing.

It seemed that several minutes passed. At last his agitated gaze refocused upon Anya; she was regarding him anxiously.

"Why did ye come to my bed then --- if ye be engaged?" he demanded.

"Because I love you," she said defensively.

"Why did ye not tell me the entire story --- that ye be engaged?"

"I was traveling to wed a man for whom I had no affection...I never expected or hoped to fall in love on the way. Then fate gave us these days together... can you condemn me for wanting to know the joys of love with a man of my choosing? I did not think you would... take me if you knew the truth." Her eyes were pleading.

"Damn right I wouldn't have! 'Twould have been a dishonorable act --- but ye took that decision away from me."

The tears started in her eyes. "I'm sorry Liam. I loved you so, I knew not what to do."

"If ye love me, then marry me Anya. I'll rescue your brother."

"No, no!" she blurted, looking terrified. "Those men will kill you."

"Did ye think on that when ye let me bed ye?"

She seemed confused.

"What will your husband do when he finds ye virgin no longer? Did ye think on that?!"

Her mouth fell open.

"Perhaps he won't save your brother if he feels the bargain wasn't met."

"The wedding is not to take place until Nicholas is safe; Nicholas is to be at the wedding."

"Well what will your husband do to ye? He may...hurt ye. And what the bloody hell do ye think he'll do to me when he finds out?"

She flinched. "Perhaps he won't know?"

He stared at her incredulously.

"He...he won't know it was you," she stammered.

"He'll beat it out of ye, no worries there, love."

"I'll never tell him!"

"'Twill be no great task for him to retrace your footsteps since ye left home --- I'll be the obvious candidate."

"Then...then I'll say it was a riding accident? That my stepfather did it...?"

Liam could only gaze at her miserably.

She shook her head. "Mr. Strachan is not the man you suggest. I...I don't believe he would hurt me."

"Have ye no ken of that man's character?"

"Have you?" she retorted.

"Aye!" He proceeded to describe the rogue, enumerating every nefarious act he could recall. As his words rushed forth, he felt her withdrawing, saw her eyes flatten. He felt frantic...felt he was only foolishly raving now. He stopped.

Again she shook her head. "I know nothing of what you speak. I have met him in person, when I was staying with my aunt after my father died. He was most kind and solicitous."

"Fer feck's sake! Of course he was bloody kind! He wanted to bed ye, ye little idiot! If he be so kind wouldn't he rescue your brother without making demands upon ye?"

She turned away, but not before he saw a tear roll down her cheek.

He looked at her back for a few moments. "Marry me Anya. I love ye and ye love me."

"I must save my brother."

"I'll get him out."

"No. Mr. Strachan can get past those men."

"I can too."

She shook her head. "I gave my word upon the marriage. My aunt and uncle have made all the arrangements."

He fell silent. The rush rush of water along the hull inexplicably enraged him. He squeezed the wheel handles, feeling the wood under his rough, calloused hands. "Ye won't marry me because I'm poor, be that it? Ye want to marry a rich man!"

She came to her feet, her eyes glistening, furious, her knuckles white as she clutched the book. "No!"

"Go on then, love. Ye can say it --- ye want a wealthy husband." His contempt was stinging.

"I must save my brother!" she choked, the tears falling. She turned and stumbled down the companionway ladder, dropping the book as she fled to her cabin.

In the wake of her sudden departure, Liam stood rooted behind the wheel, holding the course like an automaton, his mind in a tumult. In the repetitive sound of the waves he heard over and over the mocking refrain of the classic cautionary tale for young men:

"Her eyes they shone like diamonds, ye'd think she was queen of the land.

And her hair hung over her shoulders, tied up with a black velvet band."

He felt duped --- his rage towards her as powerful as his love. Try as he might, he could make no sense of it. He struggled for rational thought. What damn game was she on? Why had she given herself to him? He had been more than content with the agreed upon fare; she had no need to further persuade him.

Had she some personal vendetta against him? Was she setting him up for a charge of defilement? But it made no sense...what cause could she have...he had never injured her, never even known her prior to Monday, nor had any connection with her family. And certainly if she desired to harm him, she could simply accuse of him of rape without his ever having touched her. 'Twould be the word of a rich, young lady of consequence over a poor Irish immigrant.

Could her reasons truly be as she indicated? He raged against it. If she loved him, then why would she marry another bloke? Liam considered himself a resourceful and intelligent fellow, and he was beyond the measure of most men in physical prowess. He doubted not that he could protect her from her stepfather and rescue her brother—and naïve though she be, surely she must realize it too.

The sole reason he could see for her to marry Strachan was for his wealth and position. And why bloody not, he sneered, 'twas what she was accustomed to. He had been a cursed fool to open his heart to a rich lass.

For the next several hours he sailed the boat alone, bitterness churning in his heart. She did not reappear upon deck. He minded not --- he could not bear to see her. As the sun set, he shortened sail and single handedly brought the Selkie into a small deserted cove east of Toronto, dropping the final sail and setting the anchor. He made short work of furling the sails and tidying the deck.

He went below to his cabin. There he flung his coat upon the berth, glaring at the betraying mattress where Anya and he had been entwined in amorous congress earlier that morning.

In a locker outboard of the desk he threw items aside and found a bottle of whiskey. He yanked the cork out with his teeth, spitting it onto the desk, and had a snort. After a few more pulls from the bottle he retrieved a mug from the locker and poured a drink. 'Twas supper time but he was not hungry. If she be hungry, let her feed herself.

He kicked off his boots and pulled his braces down. Sitting at the desk he stared dully at the plans for the steam engine. His dream seemed dead and pointless now. He drank the whiskey, the burn of the liquor in his gullet distracting him from the ache in his soul.

Refilling the mug, he found a pencil in a drawer and started scribbling upon the paper --- random, heavy marks --- resisting the urge to write her name as a spell to win her. He blacked out the empty spot upon the page that had tempted him.

He drank, losing track of time...his mind was buzzing with incandescent anger. By now, he had pulled the newspaper onto the desk in front of him, but his eyes were largely unfocused, swinging from one news item to another, holding the mug in one hand, the pencil in the other, occasionally scrawling through words upon the page.

At length he became aware of a faint knocking upon his cabin door. He looked up. "Come in then," he said brusquely. He did not trouble himself to stand or pull up his braces. Dropping the pencil, he leaned back against the seat cushion and watched her tentative entrance into his cabin. She closed the door behind her and stood there, wearing his ulster over her nightgown, her feet bare. In the tight quarters of the cabin she was only a few paces away from him. They regarded each other.

"Welcome, Miss Novikov. Welcome to me cabin." His brogue had thickened with liquor and emotion. He made a sweeping grandiose gesture with the mug in his hand.

She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could speak. "And so we are coming to the end of the voyage. Tomorrow ye'll be safe in the arms of yer future husband. 'Tis been a most instructive journey, for me...if not for ye." He smiled ironically. "The sages say ye canna put a price upon love...but here be a ready lad who will testify that ye can ---'tis three hundred dollars, so it is."

He drank, relishing the wounded expression that sprang to her eyes.

He reached for the whiskey bottle and refilled the mug. "Will ye join me in a toast, Miss Novikov?"

"Liam..." she began.

"No? Well I suppose 'tis bad manners to toast yerself." He lifted the mug. "Here's to yer marriage. May it be blessed with many fine mansions and carriages and jewels." He drank.

"Liam, please understand. I love you...but ---"

"Love!" he jeered. "If there be any justice in this world, 'tis that ye couldn't ha' picked a man more deserving than yer future husband upon whom to inflict yer tender devotion!"

astushkin
astushkin
202 Followers