and he knew he could impale her if she but allowed him to do so.
“Do you want me, Alsandair?” she cooed to him, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb.
“Aye,” he said, his heart in his eyes.
She shifted so the tip of him was at her entrance and he could feel the heat of her traveling
the entire length of his manhood. The fingers of her right hand moved down to his nipple and
toyed with it, making him squirm beneath her.
“Would you travel to the ends of the Earth to have me?”
He licked his lips, anticipating the slide of her honeyed walls around him. “Aye.” His voice
was but a croak of sound.
“Would you kill for me?” She pinched his nipple but not hard enough to cause pain just
pure, intense pleasure.
“Aye,” he said, for he would agree to anything to have her.
“How many times over?” she asked.
“Six times over,” he stated, pulling a number from the air.
She moved down until the head of him was buried just inside her and he could feel the pulse
of her blood coursing through her vagina. It was such a sweet, all-encompassing sensation but
when he lifted himself to thrust all the way into her moist folds, she withdrew, leaving him
wanting, aching, striving to quell the hopelessness than had suddenly gripped him.
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“I have a man who will do all that for me and more,” she flung at him as she got to her feet
and stood there straddling him. “A man who does as I tell him to and not one who argues with
everything I say! Why would I want you?” Her lips lifted in a scornful smile. “Why would I
give myself to you when he lies waiting for me with open arms?”
He could see the pink heaven of her slit as she stood there over him. He could see the tiny
drops of her love juices spiking the wiry red curls. He could smell her sex and to have all that
snatched away from him was more than he could bear. He threw back his head and bellowed with
despair, the cry driving him up and out of his dream in an instant.
Alsandair propelled himself from the bed like a shot and stood there quivering, his
heart racing, his hands opening and closing into fists at his side, his breaths coming in
strangled pants. One look at the mirror hanging on the wall of his cabin and he saw a
man he didn’t even recognize, a man so angry his face had taken on the visage of a hell-
spawned demon.
For the longest time he stared at that enraged image then turned his back on it, his
eyes as hot as the flames of hell.
“Damn you, Rylee,” he seethed, and reached for the nearest thing he could pick up
and smash.
* * * * *
Morning found Kyle and Rylee breaking their fast with Captain Andelton and
Bonny, the empty chair across the table sitting there as a reminder of the turmoil from
the day before. The conversation was stilted and no one felt it more keenly than Rylee.
Now and again she would glance at the chair where Alsandair should be sitting and
experienced a tug at her heart each time.
“We’ll be nearing the Sinisters around midafternoon,” the captain told them.
“We’ve good weather for you to see the cliffs, milady.”
Rylee smiled though the expression did not reach her eyes. There were dark circles
beneath those usually sparkling green gems and shadows lurking in the verdant depths
that had not been there the previous day.
“I’m sure the commander would like to see them,” Bonny said, meeting Rylee’s
gaze with a steady one of his own. “Ain’t no reason he can’t come up on deck to see
how white them cliffs be in the daylight.”
Andelton cleared his throat as though in warning to his first mate. He frowned
sharply when Bonny glanced at him and shook his head imperceptibly.
Kyle had never been a good sailor and was still feeling the roll of the sea, having
eaten only a little of his breakfast. He sat back from the table with his legs crossed, his
cup of coffee in hand. “The cliffs must have been something to behold before they split
apart during the War and the sea bottom buckled to prevent navigation around them to
the east,” he commented.
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Journey of the Wind
treasures because of the War and the cataclysms that followed.” He shook his head.
“Mother Nature caused more destruction than did that hellish conflict.”
“I’m curious, Captain,” Kyle said, setting down his cup and waving away Ruck
who stood waiting to pour him a refill. “Just how much space is between the cliffs? I
don’t think I’ve ever heard an exact measurement.”
Andelton scratched his head. “Just enough for a ship the size of the Mary Constance
to squeeze through with about a foot on each side of her. That’s roughly twenty-seven
feet.”
Kyle whistled. “That’s fairly close.”
“That it is.”
“Not much leeway for error, eh?” Kyle asked.
“You have to know your stuff, that’s for sure,” Bonny put in with pride.
“Has anyone ever hit the cliffs?” Rylee asked.
“Not exactly hit them, milady,” Andelton replied, “but they’ve been scraped many
a time.” He smiled. “You’ll see the marks as we navigate through.”
“If’n there ain’t no fog,” Bonny said. “Most times the fog shrouds them so’s we
have to be extra careful.”
“Seems a clear day today,” Kyle said.
“Don’t matter none,” Bonny told him. “The Sinisters didn’t get their name for being
accommodating. That fog can come up out of nowhere. It’s like it rides in on the back of
a banshee.”
Kyle chuckled and glanced over at Rylee. “Finished, milady?”
She nodded and picked up her napkin to wipe her lips. She waited until her
companion had come behind her chair to pull it back for her before standing. She
thanked the captain, nodded at Bonny and gave Ruck a sweet smile.
“Was I properly chastened today, milord?” she asked Kyle as he escorted her down
the corridor with a firm hand to her back.
“Aye, and demure doesn’t suit you, dearling,” he replied with a teasing glint in his
blue eyes. “Would you like to take a stroll on deck?”
She hesitated, wondering if Alsandair would be there.
“You have to face him sooner or later, Rylee. You can’t hide from him forever,”
Kyle said gently, having no way of knowing she had spoken to Alsandair the night
before.
She looked up at him. “You’re right, of course.”
The deck was alive with activity when they came onto it. Crooking his arm in
invitation, Kyle laid his hand over Rylee’s when she linked her arm through his.
“It is a gorgeous day,” she said, watching the sailors work. Many were stripped to
the waist as they went about their chores so she could not help but admire their rugged
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
physiques. One in particular caught her attention and she frowned, knowing that bare
back anywhere.
Kyle saw where she was staring and stiffened. It wasn’t the sight of Alsandair
Farrell shirtless—his muscular torso glistening with sweat as he helped the crew—but
the myr
iad scars that savagely crisscrossed the man’s broad back. “Merciful Alel,” he
said in a low voice. “Are those whip marks?”
Rylee nodded. She remembered well the night Cowan and Daniel brought Sandair
to her father’s door unconscious, his shirt in tatters around his hips, his britches
splattered with blood. It was the first time she met the brawny warrior and—without a
doubt—the night she had lost her heart to him.
“He was drugged by a Diabolusian press-gang at a tavern in the Iartharach
Province,” she said softly. “They didn’t know he was an Anlusian Guard and I have no
doubt they would have beaten him to death had they discovered his rank. Luckily his
men heard about it in time and managed to free him before the Diabolusians sailed out
of Anlusian waters.”
“The pain had to be monumental,” Kyle said, unconsciously shifting his shoulders.
“He almost died from the beating,” she said then forced herself to look away. “The
healer truly did not expect him to survive.”
“The will to live was strong in him,” Kyle suggested.
“Aye,” she said, and thoughts of the many hours she had sat beside Alsandair’s
bed—wiping his fevered brow, drizzling water down his parched throat, assisting the
healer as he spread a stinging disinfectant over the deep cuts, helping to hold Sandair
down as he struggled to free himself of the torment—came leaping back to remind her
of all that had come before. She remembered cooing to him, singing to him, feeding him
broth, helping him to bathe when he was strong enough to sit on the side of the bed.
She shook her head, the memories squeezing at her heart. Turning her back, she
reached out to grip the rail and stared unseeingly at the rolling waves.
It was as she turned that Alsandair became aware of her presence on deck and he
looked over at her, his attention shifting from her to the man standing beside her. When
Kyle nodded at him, he returned the greeting, took another quick look at Rylee as
though dismissing her and then went back to what he was doing.
Kyle leaned his back against the railing, still watching Alsandair work. “You know,
not many men would pitch in as he is doing,” he observed. “Makes you wonder if he’s
not working off his passage since I hear he is helping the captain with his books as
well.”
“I doubt that. Sandair comes from a very wealthy family,” she was quick to tell him,
not even realizing she was verbally defending her ex-lover. “His mother was an heiress
of some note and he was her eldest child, inheriting her entire estate. He has more than
enough coin with which to buy passage.” She pushed an errant strand of hair caught by
the wind from her cheek. “It is just that he is not one to sit idle.”
“You mean like me.”
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Journey of the Wind
She sighed. “No, Kyle,” she said. “I wasn’t referring to you.”
Though he considered himself physically fit, Kyle had no illusions that he would be
a match for the man upon whom he was spying. He watched the flexing of the muscles
in Farrell’s arms and marveled at the bulges rising there, the way his pectoral muscles
jumped as he worked. There was no doubt whatsoever that the man was very strong
with his broad shoulders more than capable of carrying the load under which they were
currently pressed. Sweeping his gaze to his rival’s thighs, Kyle could see the muscles
straining and knew that it wasn’t so much not wishing to be idle that spurred Farrell on
as it was a desire to wear himself out—no doubt to keep from thinking about the
woman who had cast him aside.
Glancing at Rylee out of the corner of his eye, he could see the indecision on her
lovely face and knew at that moment she was making a comparison between Alsandair
Farrell and him. He was not a man to play second fiddle to any rival nor did he have
any intention of doing so. He picked his battles carefully—ones he knew he could
handily win—and let the others slip away without another thought.
Once more his gaze shifted to Alsandair and stayed.
* * * * *
The tight squeeze between the towering white cliffs of the Sinisters drew every eye
onboard the Mary Constance. Though they had seen the sight many times over, the crew
all came on deck to watch the slow, meticulous passage. The three passengers stood on
opposite sides of the ship—Kyle and Rylee together on one side and Alsandair on the
other—and marveled at the awesome sight of the chalky cliffs wafting through patches
of sporadic fog. The cliffs were so close to the sides of the ship, a person could reach out
to touch them if they wished.
Rylee jumped when the foghorn blasted and had practically jumped into Kyle’s
arms. Laughing nervously, she saw Alsandair staring at her, his wounded eyes sad
before he turned back to watch the passing cliffs. Her excitement at seeing one of the
world’s most breathtaking sites lost some of its allure when she felt his hurt even from
across the freshly scrubbed deck.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Andelton asked Alsandair. The captain had come to stand
beside the young man for whom he was developing a great affection.
“Beautiful,” Alsandair agreed, but it wasn’t the cliffs to which he was referring but
the lovely woman standing at the rail on the port side of the ship. With her flowing red
hair swirling around her and her ivory skin glistening with the slight spray of salt
sprinkling over her from the sea mist, she was something to behold. His heart felt the
squeeze of her loss all over again.
“I found that bill of lading I misplaced,” Andelton said. “I left it on the desk for
you.”
“Oh good,” Alsandair said, “I’ll take care of it before supper.”
39
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“No rush,” the captain said. He patted the younger man’s back and strolled off.
* * * * *
It was late and lightning was flashing off to the west. A storm was brewing out to
sea and would no doubt reach them before the night was through. The musky scent of
rain carried on the freshening wind that blew Alsandair’s dark hair into his eyes.
Spearing his fingers through the thick waves, he pushed it back and stood watching the
light show that flickered in the distance.
“What is your opinion of a friendly game of poker, Farrell?”
Alsandair turned at the sound of Kyle Striker’s voice and shrugged, shoving his
hands into the pockets of his britches. “I can take it or leave it.” He watched the man
approaching, cigar glowing in the darkness.
Kyle smiled and tapped the ash on his cigar over the railing. “I make a goodly
portion of my living with a deck of cards,” he said. “I hardly ever lose.”
“Is that brag or a challenge?” Alsandair asked.
“I am a professional gambler, my friend,” Kyle admitted.
“Ah, I see. Thanks for the warning. I’ve been known to win a pot or two in my
day.”
Striker’s smile widened. “Think you’re savvy enough to win against me?” he
countered.
“Where’s your lady?”
“In her cabin reading,” Kyle replied, “and likely to stay there the rest of the night.”
He took a long dra
g on the aromatic cigar then let his head fall back as he blew a
succession of smoke rings into the air. “You know how she is with a romance novel.”
Alsandair rolled his eyes and snorted. “Aye, only too well.”
“It’s just me, Andelton and Briarly, the ship’s steward. We need a fourth to make it
interesting,” Kyle said. “The good captain has broken out a bottle of prime
Chrystallusian brandy and Briarly brought along a tray of snacks for us.”
“I don’t know…” Alsandair began. Despite his strained relationship with Rylee, he
really liked Striker, and the man was doing everything he could to be civil and friendly.
“Just a boys’ night out, if you will,” Kyle encouraged. “You worked hard all day
and took your meal with the men. Don’t you think you deserve a bit of relaxation before
that approaching storm begins to toss our asses about like a cork in a whirlpool and I
start puking without stop?”
Chuckling at the image that brought to his mind, Alsandair nodded. “All right, I’m
in. Will there be a limit to the pot?”
“Whatever the economy will allow,” Kyle said with a wag of his blond brows. “I
intend to take every red cent you and the others have.”
“You can try,” Alsandair replied. “The cards are usually good to me.”
40
Journey of the Wind
“But they love me,” Kyle laughed, slapping his companion on the back. “Let’s go.”
The two men went below to the common room where Briarly had set up an
octagonal three-in-one oak table with a thickly padded felt-playing surface.
“That’s some table,” Alsandair said, running his fingers along the deep carvings on
the apron.
“Made it myself,” Briarly boasted of the fifty-four-inch-diameter table with its
turned pedestal and beautifully detailed apron of oak leaves and acorns. “You can flip it
over and it has two interchangeable inlaid pieces for backgammon or chess.
“The marquetry on those boards is a true work of art,” the captain complimented
Briarly. “They’re over on the sideboard if you care to take a gander.” He seated himself
as his ship’s steward busied himself putting out a new deck of cards.
Alsandair walked over to the sideboard where the inlays and several unopened
decks of cards lay and whistled as he saw the superb craftsmanship that had gone into