They went silently down into the hold again. Toinette pushed a splintered crate to the side and stepped around its contents—formerly dried bread and now neither dry nor bread in any real sense. She picked her way around the floor and pushed another crate out, this one holding salt beef.
Erik was standing at the bottom of the ladder. “I wasn’t always surprised,” he said. “I knew there was evil in the world.”
“Yes, but…you always seemed to expect more from people. You called Artair heartless once yourself.”
“Did I?” Slowly his face changed from half-friendly argument into something more fraught, his eyes darkening and a slow smile coming to his mouth. “Ah. Aye, I did, once.”
That recollection might have been a mistake, Toinette thought. She wasn’t thinking of their argument any longer. She was remembering herself at sixteen, and the lanky golden-haired boy who’d taken umbrage to sending her away. She was remembering the feel of his mouth against hers, urgent and seeking. Toinette had hoped the kiss would be better than those she’d known when she’d barely come to womanhood, the attentions of spotty youths and old drunks who’d taken a bastard girl for fair game.
She hadn’t realized howmuchbetter it could be until she’d kissed Erik. And he’d been an untried youth then, and her own practice scarce and largely unwilling.
“You were very much the young knight, as I remember,” she said, her voice low and sensual.
“I tried. Though there are those who’d say I failed that time.”
“Best pay no attention to small minds. Besides, I gave you little choice in the matter. Assaulted your purity, mayhap.” Toinette met his eyes, which shone in the darkness of the hold, and let her mouth curve up in a teasing smile.
“Hardly an assault,” he said huskily.
“So speaks the warrior. Of course, I know little of such things.” She stepped toward him, letting her hips sway. “No surprise I didn’t do it right. If I were to have a demonstration of the proper way, now—”
Then he grabbed her—hadgrabbed her, really, for she didn’t realize he was going to move until she was crushed against his broad chest, with one of his hands at the small of her back and the other tilting her face up toward his. Erik took her mouth with bruising force, not asking for a response but drawing one as the moon draws the tides.
Desire made Toinette’s head swim. Opening to Erik, urging him on with lips and tongue, she clung to his shoulders just to stay upright, until he shoved her back against the wall of the hold. Then her hands were free to roam. She could dig into his back with her nails, or cup his arse, or snake one hand around to the thick bulge in his hose, tracing fingers down the side to make Erik’s breath hitch.
He was none so bad at leaving her breathless either: rough, yes, but in a way she welcomed. The hard pressure of his hands at her breasts was just what Toinette needed then, like the weight of his body pinning her to the wall and the scrape of his unshaven jawline against the tender hollow of her neck. When he pinched her nipples through her gown, she cried out into the silence of the hold.
“God’s wounds, you undo me,” he muttered against her neck, the words short bursts of heat. His hands left her breasts, slapped hers away from his cock, and Toinette could feel him struggling with the laces of his hose.
As she reached for her skirts, the boat swayed. A creak from above heralded a shower of sawdust, as well as a larger chunk of wood that hit Erik between the eyes.
“Mannaggia!” Toinette swore in the Italian of her birthplace. Erik kept his silence, but he pulled back, rubbing at his forehead.
However the wood might have wounded him, it had punctured their embrace like a dagger in a wineskin, and lust drained rapidly. “We can’t,” Erik said, panting. “We’ll no’ be safe staying here so long.”
Toinette thought about asking him how long he thought it would take, but restrained herself. His eyes were still glazed, and warmth lingered between her legs. Teasing was asking for trouble. “There’s that. And if the ceiling does fall on us, best we look respectable when the men come to our rescue.”
“Aye.” He turned away to take hold of the crate. Toinette made no immediate move to follow him, though she did let her eyes linger on his tented hose. Her nipples ached for his touch, and her sex felt nigh as damp as the waves that lapped against the hull.
When she did move, she grabbed the other end of the crate and was glad of the strain on her muscles. Hard work was the cure for lust. So she’d always heard, and so she prayed would be the case.
Eleven
Whatever the merits of hard work, there was more than enough to go around.
They dragged the barrels and crates of supplies up the shore and stacked them against the cliffs. The night guards had specific instructions to keep an eye on them against the predations of either animals or gluttons. They’d about a fortnight’s worth left of beef, bread, and turnips. Dried peas and cheese had taken more of a blow. Toinette estimated a few days there, carefully rationed. Yet the men had already caught a fish or two, and John thought he’d seen mussels off the shore. Rations were not their only option.
As usual, water was going to be the problem.
Their supplies, mixed with wine, would last roughly a month—but it would take a month to get back, perhaps longer. To aid in conservation, the ruined sailcloth that hadn’t become shrouds, as well as the fabric of the dead men’s sleeping pallets, became rain collectors: pierced and tied to sticks, they formed small basins around the camp.
After clearing out theHawk, helping place wood and stones, wrestling with stakes and ropes, and digging out a pit for the fire, all on short rations, Toinette was at least able to push her awareness of Erik to the back of her mind. She slept by the fire at night with the dreamlessness of exhaustion and later a sense of satisfaction with work that progressed well.
Rain would have found them in good shape after the first day. Driftwood and rocks had let them form a cozy sort of artificial cave against the cliffs, with enough space and air in it for a fire pit. Toinette and Erik had gotten the hide sacks off theHawk, so there was bedding, although the dry sand was pleasant enough for most.
Rain would have been fine—if it happened. Toinette knew from long experience not to expect it; counting on the weather was only slightly more foolish than counting on men.
The trees on the island were tall and thick above the cliffs. She very much doubted that they depended entirely on rain.
