events of the night came back vivid in every detail and the acid reflection occurred that the last time she’d awoken in this narrow box-bed she’d also been groggy and in some degree of pain. Sailing on the
Mary Rose
didn’t seem particularly conducive to health.
Finally she opened her eyes. Judging by the brightness of the sun, it must be well past mid-morning, she reckoned. Hardly surprising that she’d slept so late considering how she’d spent the greater part of the night. The ship beneath was rocking gently at anchor, and when she dragged herself up in the cot, she could see through the open window green hills in the distance. The air was a delicious mélange of seaweed and salt, and the sound of voices reached her through the window.
Land, Meg thought. The recognition galvanized her and she swung herself out of the box-bed and stood up, holding her arm gingerly against her chest. The bandage was bloodstained but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The green silk gown was ruined, sleeve torn, the skirts and sleeve stained with blood, which was a pity since she’d rather liked it. Well, there were other garments in the cupboard.
She knelt on the window seat and gazed out across a narrow expanse of water to a quay where fishermen were mending nets. A huddle of cottages crowded behind the quayside and above them rose a green hillside. A slender cart track wound its way up from the hamlet towards the summit of the hill and she could just make out the roofs of several cottages scattered across the hillside.
Hot water and then breakfast seemed the order of the morning. Without much expectation she peered into the head and to her delight saw two water jugs, steam still rising from their contents, and a pile of fresh towels. She glanced once towards the closed cabin door, then shrugged and reached behind her to unfasten the gown. It was impossible to do with one hand and her other arm was stiff and useless except for her fingers.
She struggled in increasing frustration and only succeeded with an unwary stretch in opening the wound on her arm. Absurdly she felt like weeping at her helplessness as she stared at the seeping blood, then with an exclamatory curse tried again with her good hand to undo the top button between her shoulders. Cosimo’s familiar knock came as her oaths became more vigorous.
“Oh, come in,” she called impatiently.
Cosimo entered with Gus on his shoulder. “What on earth are you doing? It sounded like a bad morning in Billingsgate just then.”
“I am trying to unbutton this damn gown with only one hand,” she told him through clenched teeth. “And now the other one’s bleeding again.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake why didn’t you come and find me?” he demanded, sounding somewhat impatient himself. “Come here.” He moved behind her and swiftly unfastened the buttons before pushing the gown off her shoulders.
His hand brushed the skin of her back and Meg closed her eyes on a jolt of quite unlooked for and at this point unwelcome arousal. He was so close to her she could feel his breath rustling the top of her head. The gown lay in a puddle at her feet.
She stepped away from it and, keeping her face averted, said, “Thank you. I can manage now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked with an apparent solicitude that didn’t fool Meg one bit. He had enjoyed that moment of contact, whether it had affected him with quite the same jolt she couldn’t be certain. But she knew absolutely that her reaction hadn’t escaped him.
“The buttons on my chemise are in the front,” she pointed out acidly.
“Ah. Pity.” His eyebrows lifted. He came up behind her and, reaching over her shoulder, caught her chin on his fingertips, turning her head sideways. For an instant his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. “Are you quite certain I can’t help?”
“Positively.” Meg didn’t bother to pretend outrage at the familiarity; she was growing accustomed to Cosimo’s flanking
Mary Rose
didn’t seem particularly conducive to health.
Finally she opened her eyes. Judging by the brightness of the sun, it must be well past mid-morning, she reckoned. Hardly surprising that she’d slept so late considering how she’d spent the greater part of the night. The ship beneath was rocking gently at anchor, and when she dragged herself up in the cot, she could see through the open window green hills in the distance. The air was a delicious mélange of seaweed and salt, and the sound of voices reached her through the window.
Land, Meg thought. The recognition galvanized her and she swung herself out of the box-bed and stood up, holding her arm gingerly against her chest. The bandage was bloodstained but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The green silk gown was ruined, sleeve torn, the skirts and sleeve stained with blood, which was a pity since she’d rather liked it. Well, there were other garments in the cupboard.
She knelt on the window seat and gazed out across a narrow expanse of water to a quay where fishermen were mending nets. A huddle of cottages crowded behind the quayside and above them rose a green hillside. A slender cart track wound its way up from the hamlet towards the summit of the hill and she could just make out the roofs of several cottages scattered across the hillside.
Hot water and then breakfast seemed the order of the morning. Without much expectation she peered into the head and to her delight saw two water jugs, steam still rising from their contents, and a pile of fresh towels. She glanced once towards the closed cabin door, then shrugged and reached behind her to unfasten the gown. It was impossible to do with one hand and her other arm was stiff and useless except for her fingers.
She struggled in increasing frustration and only succeeded with an unwary stretch in opening the wound on her arm. Absurdly she felt like weeping at her helplessness as she stared at the seeping blood, then with an exclamatory curse tried again with her good hand to undo the top button between her shoulders. Cosimo’s familiar knock came as her oaths became more vigorous.
“Oh, come in,” she called impatiently.
Cosimo entered with Gus on his shoulder. “What on earth are you doing? It sounded like a bad morning in Billingsgate just then.”
“I am trying to unbutton this damn gown with only one hand,” she told him through clenched teeth. “And now the other one’s bleeding again.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake why didn’t you come and find me?” he demanded, sounding somewhat impatient himself. “Come here.” He moved behind her and swiftly unfastened the buttons before pushing the gown off her shoulders.
His hand brushed the skin of her back and Meg closed her eyes on a jolt of quite unlooked for and at this point unwelcome arousal. He was so close to her she could feel his breath rustling the top of her head. The gown lay in a puddle at her feet.
She stepped away from it and, keeping her face averted, said, “Thank you. I can manage now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked with an apparent solicitude that didn’t fool Meg one bit. He had enjoyed that moment of contact, whether it had affected him with quite the same jolt she couldn’t be certain. But she knew absolutely that her reaction hadn’t escaped him.
“The buttons on my chemise are in the front,” she pointed out acidly.
“Ah. Pity.” His eyebrows lifted. He came up behind her and, reaching over her shoulder, caught her chin on his fingertips, turning her head sideways. For an instant his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. “Are you quite certain I can’t help?”
“Positively.” Meg didn’t bother to pretend outrage at the familiarity; she was growing accustomed to Cosimo’s flanking
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