She rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. It smelled like his skin. She moaned, the feathers muffling the sound, and the ship gave a sudden lurch. She could hear the sound of the sails flapping in the wind, the creak of ropes as they were pulled down. Maybe they would all die in the storm. If they did, she only hoped they broke her out of this damned cabin and she went down in the water with Luca’s arms wrapped around her. Because he was lying to himself just as she was. Last night had been no ordinary night, not even for him.
And if they survived this storm she would damned well tell him so.
The light had grown strange, a sort of greeny gray, as the ship rocked and jerked in the water. She curled up, facing the wall, the blanket wrapped tight around her, and she didn’t even hear him come in.
She seemed so small in the bed, Luca thought, looking at the figure huddled under the covers. Small and fragile, when she was anything but. He closed the door behind him, silently, and moved toward the berth, the ropes in his hands. He had to make sure he didn’t listen to her. She’d argue, she’d fight him, and he had no choice.
“Maddy.”
She froze—he could see her absolute stillness, like a wild animal scenting a wolf. She turned and looked at him, then down at the ropes in his hands. “Are you going to tie me up and throw me overboard to drown?”
He just looked at her. “Now why would I do that?”
She shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, but he could see the vulnerability in her mouth, and he wanted that mouth, so badly. “To get rid of me?” she suggested.
“I don’t want to get rid of you. I want to save your life.”
She gave him the most annoying look, one of deep distrust. “Why should I believe you?”
But he wasn’t going to let her get to him, prod him into saying or doing something that he might regret. They could be dead in the next few hours. The storm was almost upon them, and it was bigger than he’d imagined. Everything was battened down, the sails were furled, and all they could do from now on was pray. And all he could do is come down here and protect Maddy. “I’m not arguing with you,” he said. “I’m tying you down.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t need to tie me down. Don’t you remember—I didn’t put up any fight at all yesterday. All you have to do is touch me and my brain seems to melt.”
“That’s not why I’m tying you up, though I’d be very interested in playing those games with you once we make it to port. But for the time being the safest place for you is tied to your berth. Otherwise the rocking of the boat will throw you and you might be hurt, even killed.”
She was looking unimpressed. “And what if the ship starts to sink? How am I to have even a fighting chance if I’m down in a cabin with my hands and wrists bound?”
She was wearing one of his shirts—Billy must have found it for her. The sleeves were so long they hung over her fingertips, and he caught her wrist and started to roll the sleeve upward when he was stopped by her involuntary hiss of pain.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said between gritted teeth. “Go right ahead.”
He looked down at her, then at the long white sleeve that flowed over her arm. On impulse he reached for her other wrist, encircling it lightly before giving it a slight squeeze, and she hissed again. “Could you stop pawing me?” she snapped. “Just tie me up and get it over with.”
He began to roll up her sleeve, and that was her signal to fight. It was over fast enough, he had her down on the bed, her arm trapped between their bodies.
“Damn it, Maddy,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Why do you fight me on everything? Be quiet and move over.”
Her smart mouth was silenced for a brief, blessed moment, but she quickly regained her powers of speech. “Why?”
“Because I’m tying myself down with you, that’s why. If we go down, we go down together.”
She didn’t move, staring at him as if he’d grown two heads, so he simply climbed onto the berth, nudging her out of the way while he tied one end of the rope through the grip on the far side of the bed. She still hadn’t moved, crouched in the corner like a wounded falcon. “Don’t you have to sail the ship?”
It wasn’t a complete rejection, and he supposed he ought to be happy about that. “Billy’s got the helm. There’s no better man in a storm—if anyone can bring us through in one piece that would be Billy. Now lie down.”
She was still looking at him uneasily. “I think I’d rather take my chances…”
He’d had enough. Catching her arms, he dragged her down onto the mattress, shoving up the absurdly long sleeves of the shirt she’d borrowed to wrap the rope around her wrists for extra security, when he froze, staring at the red weals. “Who did that to your wrists?”
“I did.”
He cursed then, in Romany, for some reason sparing her his most profane utterances. Absurd, when she herself cursed like a sailor. “I shouldn’t have tied them so tight,” he said in a thin voice.
“You shouldn’t have tied them so loose,” she corrected him. “It gave me just enough room to try to wriggle out of them but not enough to actually do so. I did this to myself, trying to get free.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better?”