The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 09

He gave the lad a coin, and squatted to quickly refasten the bow line upon the bollard in the manner that he liked it.

As he was thus crouched, he saw the couple who had waved to Anya approaching along the dock. They were of middle age and expensively dressed. Suddenly he recognized Strachan --- his face familiar from photographs in newspapers. Liam swiftly turned his face down to the bollard. Shite! His gut lurched, his mind raced. They passed behind him, not even noticing him.

Liam turned his head to the other side...everything seemed to slow down. He watched their backs as they made their way down the dock till they were adjacent to the cockpit. At that moment Anya stepped up into the cockpit, a sudden crimson column against the grays and browns of the marina.

His mouth dropped open --- 'twas the first time he saw her in her full lass kit.

She was clad in a deep red velveteen dress with long sleeves and a modest collar buttoned at her throat. The well-fitted bodice showed her graceful carriage, her trim waist, and her high, full breasts. The long skirt was elaborately draped into a bustle that provocatively echoed the shape of a rounded bottom. A bonnet fashioned of plush silvery fur covered her head, fastened under the chin with a black satin bow, and a large muff of the same fur hung from one forearm. In her other hand was the leather valise.

He burned as he saw Strachan step towards the boat. Demurely she raised her hem just enough that a dainty, buttoned black boot showed, and stepped over the coaming onto the side deck --- a telltale stiffness and restrained quality to her movements perceptible to Liam. Strachan reached to take the valise from her, then as Liam silently raged, offered her his hand to step onto the dock. Dinna touch her! Even from where he squatted, he could see the rogue's prurient appraisal of her figure. His little sweetheart! HIS!

Words were exchanged between them, but he could not hear them. Liam stood slowly, and with his heart pounding, approached them. He tried to compose himself into a civil demeanor.

Anya was being embraced by the woman. "We were so worried about you, my dear! We knew you must have been in the storm."

"Being so many days delayed, I did not expect anyone would be meeting me at the dock," he heard Anya say.

"Mr. Strachan instructed the harbor master to contact us immediately should your boat be spotted." The woman held her by the shoulders and looked at her with a bemused expression. "But we thought you would be dressed as a boy."

"It was but a hasty disguise. It did not survive prolonged scrutiny."

How did you fare? You look a little peaked."

"I am a little worse for sea sickness, auntie."

"You poor darling! But you are safe upon land now, and dear Mr. Strachan is as devoted as I am to seeing your full recovery."

Anya turned as Liam came up to them.

"Auntie, this is Mr. Thomas, the captain of the boat. Mr. Thomas, this is my aunt Mrs. Bourget. And this is Mr. Strachan. Mr. Strachan, Mr. Thomas." Her aunt acknowledged him politely and expressed her gratitude for her niece's safe delivery.

Strachan did not offer his hand, but gave him a short nod. Liam nodded back and said "Sir." He had nigh ten inches of height upon the man, whose tall silk hat just reached the top of Liam's head, but the bastard looked powerfully built. His face was finished with sharp blue eyes and a well-groomed ginger moustache and goatee.

Strachan was fingering a heavy, silver-headed walking stick, regarding him narrowly. Liam felt his assessment, then saw his dismissive expression as the man's eyes flicked over his unshaven jaw and coarse, stained work clothes. Strachan's attention returned to Anya. Liam's hands clenched in his coat pockets. He wanted to shout aloud: I fucked her! I fucked every hole in her body and made her spend and spend!

He said...nothing.

He glanced at Anya --- in the halo of fur her face looked very white and fragile. Her eyelids and lips were subtly swollen. Small spots of color appeared upon her high cheekbones as she noticed him looking at her.

She spoke up. "Auntie, I wired about the rest of the fare? One hundred fifty dollars."

Strachan raised his hand and signaled to a man in a suit standing a few paces down the dock. Liam hadn't noted him till now. He appeared to be an assistant or secretary of some sort. The man approached, opening his coat and drawing out a small cloth pouch from an inner pocket --- Liam noticing a revolver holstered on his hip as he did so. The man handed the pouch to Strachan, who then held it out to Liam.

"One hundred fifty dollars, Mr. Thomas," he said smoothly. Liam saw his own arm stretch across the space between them and watched the pouch drop from the gloved hand into his calloused palm. He casually bounced it a little in his hand a couple of times. As his arm came down, his fingers curled tight round the stack of coins in the bag --- he fought the urge to roll his fist over and strike Strachan in the face.

Instead, he opened the bag and pretended to count the coins. That done, he put it into his pocket and said "Thank ye, sir." He looked at Anya; the fur about her face stirred in the breeze, but her eyes were flat. "Do ye have your receipt Miss?" She nodded.

Then there was naught to do but step back onto the Selkie.

"Thank you again, Mr. Thomas," he heard Anya say behind him.

"You're welcome, Miss," he replied over his shoulder.

As he picked up the end of a halyard, the three started to head down the pier towards shore. As if in a trance, Liam coiled the line, watching them. Strachan handed Anya's valise to the assistant, then offered his arm to Mrs. Bourget. Liam's eyes blazed as his other hand settled assertively upon the small of Anya's back. His only consolation was the savage satisfaction of knowing that mere inches below that arrogant, ignorant hand, under that jauntily twitching bustle, Anya's cunny and anus were thoroughly marked by his possession --- even now his sperm might be upon her thigh.

Upon reaching land they stepped into a large, shining carriage emblazoned with a coat of arms and complete with four matched grays and uniformed attendants. He heard the crack of a whip and the carriage lurched into motion. Her head turned slightly from her companions, and her eyes --- her large doe-like eyes, luminous and entreating --- met his across the length of the pier. 'Twas the last thing he saw before the carriage disappeared behind a building.

He knew not how long he stood with the coil of rope in his hand, staring down the pier, the dense silence pressing upon him.

Then 'twas if he slowly surfaced from a dark, enveloping sea --- he heard the sounds of the harbor: lines slapping against rigging, sea gulls' cries, shouting voices, hammering, carriages upon cobblestones.

He finished upon deck and went below to his cabin, where his eyes traveled about, unseeing.

'Twas over. She was gone. Mayhap it all had merely been a dream and he was a blithering idiot. He stepped to the berth and slowly pulled the covers back. His heart ached to see the spot of her virgin blood and his spunk—he cupped his hand protectively over it.

Then from the corner of his eye something caught his attention: something white protruding from under the pillow --- something that had not been there when he made the bed that morning. Hastily he pulled it out --- 'twas her nightgown! Her dear nightgown...he held it up...the sunlight from the porthole shone through the delicate fabric. Reverently he draped the soft garment over his face, inhaling deeply of her sweet Anya scent.

He hadn't seen her emerge from her cabin during the sail to Toronto --- she must have put it there during the few minutes while they were docking. Why?

She had been about to say something to him on deck just before she had seen Strachan and her aunt upon the pier. Confound it! What had she been about to say?!

He sank down upon the desk seat, holding the bunched fabric to his lips. Something hard was against his hip. Standing up again he looked down at the cushion. There in the crevice between the cushions of the seat and the back was the candle, where he had tossed it aside last night. In wonder, he held it up. Twisting it in the light he saw the shimmering streaks of her love dew along the shaft. Eagerly he held it to his nostrils --- her female essence elicited a sudden, powerful, surging sensation over his body.

His eyes gleamed as he regarded the nightgown. 'Twas a message, it had to be...

All his muscles came to attention.

'Twas her selkie coat! She was giving him her sealskin! She wanted to be his!

His mind started to race: he had to rescue her.