Page 26 of Mardon

“You know. That woman who offered herself to me. The one in the painting.”

“Oh, that one. Well, what is the ring doing in the step?”

“Someone hid it here.” He popped open the bottle and took a sniff.

“What is it?” asked Aaron.

“I’m not sure, but it smells like . . . belladonna and hemlock.”

“Poison,” said Aaron. “Who would have hidden that there? I hope we don’t have another traitor on board. I thought when we got rid of Noll and Wybert, we were done with all this.”

“Apparently not,” growled Mardon.

“Are you going to bring this up in front of the crew and ask who did it?”

“Nay.” Mardon closed up the bottle, slipped the ring into his pocket and hid the bottle back inside the stair. “I’ll take back what is mine for now. But when the culprit comes to claim what they hid, I’ll be waiting for them. Keep this to yourself, but keep your eyes and ears open. If there is a traitor on the ship wanting to poison me, not to mention steal from me, I’m going to make sure I catch and do away with them immediately.”

Mardon finally made his way back to the cabin. As he opened the door, moonlight spilled into the room. The lantern in the room had gone out and he didn’t want to light it because he didn’t want to wake the women. He could hear Nairnie snoring like a sailor from the cloth hammock – Tristan’s old bed. He looked over to his net hammock, but it was empty. The nun was wrapped up in a blanket atop the pallet underneath the hammock.

He closed the door, making his way to his bed. Pulling off his wet clothes, he stripped down, and jumped into his hammock naked. He used a blanket to cover himself, falling asleep quickly since he was so exhausted. He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he awoke to sunshine streaming in the window. Nairnie still snored from the other side of the room.

With his face downward against the netting of the hammock, his eyes drifted open to see the nun sleeping on the pallet beneath him. She had kicked off the blanket and her gown rose up, exposing her bare leg. Damn, it was a shapely leg and he wished right now he hadn’t seen this. Emmaline made a soft cooing noise, turning over. When she did, he realized she wasn’t wearing her wimple. Her long, blond hair that was so light it almost looked silver tangled around her, making her look like a sexy goddess to him once again.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, realizing the sight of the girl was getting him aroused. He flipped over, trying to look at anything but her. What was his obsession with this nun? And why did she affect him in such a way that he felt as if he were going mad?

The sunlight streamed in, hitting the painting on his wall that had become uncovered in the storm. His eyes roamed over to the naked beauty with the silvery-blond hair and once again he felt randy. Then it hit him and he knew why Emmaline seemed so familiar.

He shot up to a sitting position, looking over the side of the hammock at the girl. Next, his eyes shot back to the painting. Good God, this was the same girl! How could he not have noticed it sooner? No wonder he was so aroused around her. His mind flashed back to the day he stole the painting. The goddess who had posed for it had offered herself to him and even let him kiss her while naked . . . before she tried to stab him to death.

His eyes searched out the evidence and he rubbed his arm. The scar she’d left upon him that day was still very visible and always would be. If she had been a man, he would have killed her for her attempt to kill him. Being a woman was the only thing that had saved her life. He never hurt women or children. But if he had ever been tempted to, this woman was the one who had almost made him change his mind.

“Emmaline de la Croix,” he whispered, knowing exactly who she was now. She was the wife of that bloody Frenchman that he’d killed. The one that owned the painting. This woman wasn’t a nun at all, but a strumpet. Why the hell was she on his ship and what was she after? He wasn’t sure, but aimed to find out. Jumping down from the hammock still naked, he padded across the floor to his trunk to get some clean clothes.

Emmaline awoke, sure she heard someone whispering her name. Her eyes fluttered open and she almost gasped aloud when she saw Mardon’s naked backside. He walked over to a trunk and bent over, digging inside for clothes. Her attraction for him grew as soon as she’d seen his manly beauty. Part of her wondered what it would feel like to touch his muscles or glide her hands over his bronzed skin. He was a handsome man, and so unlike her late husband. Jean Philippe had repulsed her, but Mardon attracted her like no man had ever done before. She couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss they’d shared. She also couldn’t stop longing to kiss him once again.

“Mardon! God’s eyes, put on some clothes,” spat Nairnie, trying to sit up in the hammock. When she moved too quickly and the ship rocked at the same time, she lost her balance. She fell out of bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump.

“Nairnie, are you all right?” Tying his braies, Mardon ran over to help his grandmother.

“I’m no’ cut out for sleepin’ in this blasted thing,” she spat, letting Mardon help her to her feet. “Mardon, ye need to get Peg Leg and the crew to repair my galley at once. I canna spend another night in this death trap. I’m lucky I didna break my fool neck. Why did I ever let ye talk me into sleepin’ this way?”

“I’m sorry, Nairnie. I’ll put double men on the galley project and you’ll have your old place back soon, I promise.”

“Good morning,” said Emmaline, sitting up and stretching.

“My, ye have hair like an angel,” said Nairnie, looking at her while she brushed off her clothes.

Suddenly, Emmaline realized she had never replaced her wimple after she pulled it off last night during the storm. She grabbed for it, hurriedly trying to replace it to hide her hair.

“Don’t bother with the wimple, love,” Mardon told her, making her heart skip a beat. Had he just called her love?

Nairnie’s hand shot out and she hit Mardon on the shoulder. “That’s no way to talk to a nun.”

“You’re right,” he said, walking back to the trunk and picking up a pair of trews. He stepped into them. “Forgive me . . . Sister,” he said, almost sounding a little sarcastic.

“Of course. No harm done.” Emmaline stood up and straightened her clothes.

“Grandson, how many times do I have to tell ye to cover up that paintin’?” asked Nairnie. “No one wants to see it.”