Tin Swift (30 page)

Hink was itchy with the need to be doing something. To find the Holder or Alabaster Saint for the president, to get Rose to someplace that could mend her—hell, to get himself and his crew on a range of mountain that wasn’t filled with folk bent on wanting to see him and his ship dead.

But no matter how much he tried to tell himself it was all the crashing and being shot at that had set his nerves on edge, he knew that wasn’t so.

It was Rose Small.

He’d only spoken to her twice. But there was something about her, something behind that knowing smile and innocent eyes. Yes, she was a pretty thing, but he’d seen plenty of pretty women when he was growing up in a bordello. And he’d seen plenty of pretty women since then.

There was something about her. Even fevered, in pain, she stirred him. Made him wonder what her laughter sounded like. Made him wonder what would catch her temper, and what would tease her toward forgiveness.

Mae said she was looking for family. And Rose had seemed intense, rapt, when he’d been talking about the ship, about glim.

The sort of woman who wanted to travel, who found things around her wondrous even when it was just as clear how equally dangerous they were, was rare in this world.

Molly said he had fallen for her. He hated it when that Gregor woman was right.

Still, there wasn’t anything he could do about his feelings. Not right now.

He rolled over, and punched at the blanket roll under his head. The cots were loose strung and about as comfortable as sleeping on a swayback horse. He thought the stone floor might put fewer kinks in his back.

Didn’t seem to be bothering the others. Seldom and Guffin were snoring away, and Molly too, though more softly. He could pick out Cedar Hunt’s breathing and wasn’t fully convinced he was asleep. Mae, though, was still and breathing evenly. And Rose…

She made a small coughing sound in the back of her throat as if she were thirsty.

Then he heard her shifting, likely trying to get to the cup of water near her bed.

Mae would help her.

He waited for Mrs. Lindson to move. Nothing. Waited a bit longer.

Rose made that sound again, then caught at her breath as if waiting for a pain to pass, or trying to keep a coughing spell at bay.

Surely Mae heard that.

When Mae still didn’t move, Hink shifted a bit in his bunk, then sat. His eyes had adjusted to the light and he could see Mae was curled on her side. Her eyes were closed. Everyone else looked lost in the land of dreams, so Hink made his way over to Rose’s bed.

He wasn’t bringing a pillow this time. No, he’d do his best to avoid talking to her, for that matter. She had a way of making him feel doubtful, clumsy. Except for when he was talking about his ship. Nothing made him feel awkward when he was talking about the
Swift
.

Mr. Hunt didn’t stir as he passed. Neither did Molly or Mae.

He paused below Rose’s cot. She had her hand over her eyes. Maybe she was sleeping. She coughed again, a dry hack, and he could see her throat working to get moisture.

Hink came up beside her bed. “Rose?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer.

He tried again. “Miss Small, do you need some water?”

Rose lowered her hand. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but she nodded. “Please,” she barely rasped.

Hink took the cup from the shelf and sniffed it. Didn’t smell like booze or tea. Just to be sure, he took a very small sip. Stale, but water.

“Here.” He held the cup out and she took it, raising it up to her lips. But her hand was shaking so badly he was afraid she was going to knock a tooth out.

Hink wrapped his hand under hers, helping her bear the weight of the cup and steadying her trembling.

She drank the cup dry and then let him take it away and replace it on the shelf.

“Was that enough?” he whispered.

She nodded.

He just stood there staring at her. Like a boy who was tongue-tied and slow.

“I suppose I should go,” he said quietly. “Unless you need anything else?”

“No.” Then, thinking twice, she said, “Yes. I mean, yes, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I was already up. Can’t seem to sleep tonight.”

“Neither can I,” she said.

“So what is it you need?” Hink asked. “Medicine? Mrs. Lindson?”

“The sky.”

“What?”

“I feel…” She licked her lips as if trying to work out the words before she said them. “I feel all cooped up here in this stone, here in this bed. I feel like I’ve been on my back, sick, for years. It hasn’t been years, has it?” she asked.

“Just a couple days, I’m given to understand,” Hink said.

“I’d like to see the sky. The stars, if they’re out tonight.”

Hink considered the wisdom of such a thing. She could catch her death of cold out in the mountain air. Even moving her out of the bed might make that shoulder wound of hers worse. He was fairly certain Mrs. Lindson would be set against it. And if Cedar Hunt caught him taking Miss Rose for a midnight stroll, he was fair certain the man would happily string him up by his own tendons.

“Please,” Rose said.

Hink nodded, and let out a breath. “I don’t think you’re up for walking and I don’t have a pony hid away in my pocket.”

That earned him a quick smile, and his heart took to a happy thumping.

“I can walk some,” she said. “As far as I can go, I want to. Need to.”

“How about we save your walking for outside the caverns. I’ll carry you.”

“I…” She glanced at his face, and he knew it was set in a determination that made it clear he was not going to take an argument on this.

“Very well. Thank you,” she whispered.

Hink figured some of the folk in the room must be awake from all their whispered words. Well, maybe not Guffin or Molly, but Seldom slept like a snake—with both eyes open.

And he figured Mr. Hunt wouldn’t have slept through all that.

Still, he reached down and lifted Rose, blankets and all, into his arms as carefully as he could.

She wrapped her good arm around his neck and moaned softly against the pain of movement.

At that sound he instantly stilled. “Are you sure? I could set you back in your bed.”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine. Please.”

He started across the floor. To his great surprise no one stirred. The wolf at the door even let him pass by.

Maybe luck was slipping this one his way.

“How about we go catch us a bit of sky, Rose Small?” he asked as he made his way down the corridor that led to the flat rock just before the landing pads.

“You don’t know how happy that would make me,” Rose said, her voice breathy on a whisper.

Hink smiled, but didn’t say any more for fear of tripping over his words. He liked the idea of making her happy. More than liked the feel of her in his arms.

And for the moment, for the first time in a whole lot of years, there was nothing more important to him than seeing that Rose Small got what she wanted.

C
edar Hunt watched as Captain Hink walked out of the room carrying Rose. He had heard everything they said. He didn’t know why Rose was so set on asking Hink for help. She was sick and hurting. He didn’t want Hink to hurt her more.

He sat up.

To find Mae also sitting. She was looking at him.

Cedar walked over to her, careful to move quietly so as not to wake the others.

“I’ll see that he brings her back,” Cedar said.

“No,” Mae said.

“No?”

Mae wrapped a blanket around her shoulders but didn’t bother putting on her shoes. She stood and started walking off, catching his hand and drawing him with her through the room and out a ways down the hall.

Hink was already well out of sight, and even Cedar’s keen hearing didn’t bring to him the sound of his footsteps or voice.

“He’s taking her outside,” Cedar said. “I’ll just follow and see that she comes right back in.”

“I don’t think she’d want you to do that, Cedar.”

“Doesn’t matter what she wants. She’s sick. She needs someone to
look after her. This isn’t the kind of place to just let her wander off with a man, alone.”

“She wants to be with him,” Mae said. She pulled the blanket around her a little tighter, then leaned against the wall. “She knows she’s dying.”

“She’s not going to die,” Cedar practically growled.

Mae gave him a long, cool look, as if gauging the heat on a pot. “She knows there is a strong possibility her wound is fatal,” she said. “You can’t deny the truth of that. Rose isn’t a dreamy-eyed girl. She has a very practical streak about her. I think we should let her have this.”

“Have what? A stranger we barely know carting her off in the middle of the night when she’s sick and helpless? I know the sorts of things a man like him can do.”

“Cedar—,” Mae started.

“She’s dear to me, Mae,” he interrupted. “Both of you are…dear. I won’t let her catch harm.”

“It’s not harm she’s looking for. It’s companionship.” Mae tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “She just wants, for once in her life, to know the touch of a man.”

“She’s wounded.”

“She’s dying.”

Cedar held very still. He heard what Mae was saying, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her bare neck, off the delicate curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelids as she sighed.

His blood rushed hot under his skin and he could feel the heat tightening his muscles. He wanted her, wanted Mae. Not just the man in him, but the beast too.

Deep within, the beast turned, pressing to be released. Pressing to be with Mae, to taste her. To claim her.

Cedar jerked his head back and stepped away until his spine scraped against the other side of the hall. He pulled his arms to his side, each hand in a fist. His heart was pounding too hard, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing calm.

“It’s against my better judgment,” he said huskily.

Mae smiled just slightly, her eyes still shut. “Mine too, Mr. Hunt. But these are dire times. And we all must do that which we can to find our happiness among the ruins.” She opened her eyes. Studied him.

Cedar couldn’t know how she saw him. Maybe his anger. Maybe his desire. He tried his best to calm himself, to calm the needs clashing within him.

Mae’s expression shifted from amused to puzzled. Then her eyebrows slipped up. “Oh,” she said.

“Mae—” He took a step, his hand out. To explain. To make an excuse for his thoughts. To tell her he understood her husband had just set to the grave and she needed time. Time to grieve. Maybe to tell her he would wait. Forever for her, if need be.

But she did not move. Just held his gaze as if she could see right through the whole of him, as if she could see his soul.

And did not find it lacking.

So he took a step closer. Still she did not move. Did not say a word. Did not look away.

She was breathing a little more rapidly. He could almost feel the beat of her pulse thudding beneath her smooth, pale skin as if it were his own. He wanted to run his fingers along the curves of her body, wanted to taste her, bury himself in her heat.

He took another step. And then he spread one palm against the wall behind her, needing the cold, rough rock to remind him this wasn’t a dream. Wasn’t a promise for anything more than this.

And this was simply now.

“Mae,” he said again. He stood so tight to her, she had to tip her face up to meet his eyes. If either of them moved just an inch, they would be touching. He held himself steady, straining to give her even that much space. “If you say no…”

She shook her head. Then, quietly. “I’m not saying no.”

Cedar leaned down and slipped his hand around her waist so that he could draw her the last fraction of distance toward him.

Even through the layers of her day dress and wrapped in a blanket, she was soft, warm, supple in his arms. He pulled her up closer against his chest, hips, thighs. She melted there, as if savoring, hungering for the sudden, needful contact.

Cedar did not remove his palm from the wall. He didn’t dare chance it. For if he did, he would gather her up, and take her away. To a land of his choice, a place where he could guard her, keep her, love her.

The beast in his mind keened for that freedom.

But Cedar was not about to let the beast, his curse, have any sway over his thoughts, his body, his desires. Mae, for this single moment, was his. He wouldn’t let anything take this moment away from him.

He lowered his head, heard her breath hitch in her chest, then tasted the sweet tea and honey of her exhale on his lips.

With more gentleness than he thought he could contain, he brushed his lips across hers, wanting more, so much more, and telling himself that this brief touch, this trembling knowledge between them, might be all they would ever share. All she was willing to give him.

The tiniest sound escaped her throat, and her lips softened, opened, welcoming him into her warmth.

Cedar shifted his attention to her mouth and slid his tongue to stroke slowly along hers. Fire licked his belly, tightening him with need.

It had been years since he had kissed a woman. Years since he had touched a woman. Years since he had cared. So long, he had been sure he would never love again.

Mae’s hands dragged without hesitation along his ribs, then up his back, where she clutched the fabric of his shirt in her fists.

She gave herself to the kiss, to him. Her lips, her tongue, urged him to explore. And offered him pleasure in return.

Cedar gave to her willingly.

He would give her so much more. Anything she asked for.

But soon, far too soon, Mae placed one hand on his chest and pressed there. He knew he had to let her go. Had to break this kiss.

Their only kiss.

With one last lingering touch, Cedar reluctantly drew his mouth away from hers.

She was on tiptoe, one hand still tucked up behind his back, the blanket around her held in place only by his arm across her back. There was no light in the hall. But Cedar didn’t need light. He would know her, see her even if he were a blind man.

“I think,” she breathed, her hand on his back still holding strong as if she wished she would never have to let go, even as her palm on his chest pushed him away. “We need time. Some. Time. When my mind is clear. When I’m myself again. After the sisters’ call is gone. Then.”