He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m serious! I want to know everything… like, where’d you get that scar on your lower back?”
“I was bitten by a whale!” he said, clasping her close and kissing her.
“Tell me!” she insisted, and he paused.
“Right now?” He looked at her. “You’re serious!”
“Sure, I am! We’re married now. I want to know.”
He started to speak, then paused. After all this time, they really didn’t know a lot about each other. They knew all the things that mattered, of course, but almost nothing about each other’s lives before they met. He shrugged. “I fell off a horse on a barbed-wire fence when I was fourteen.”
“That’s it?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Were you a Boy Scout?”
“No.”
Sandra laughed. “You’re terrible!”
“Absolutely.” Matt brushed back her hair and smiled. “I’ll tell you something else, now that we’re married. You’ve got to quit looking at me-that way you do-when you think I’m about to pull some nutty stunt that’ll get me hurt. You know which look I mean! I’ve always been a sucker for big-eyed, pretty girls, and when they stick out their lip and squirt tears at me…” His smile faded slightly. “It makes it a lot harder to do what I have to do.”
“I do not ‘squirt’ tears at you!” she denied. “My arguments against your sometimes very foolish behavior are based on reason and practical concerns!”
“And when I don’t see ‘reason,’ you resort to anger. When that doesn’t work, you hammer me with the Look.”
Sandra frowned, creating a face much like the one he’d described but without the tears. “Reason should be enough,” she said at last, as if surprised it wasn’t. “Reason and anger work with everyone else, but not you! You’re too damn stubborn!” She sighed. “So maybe the tears come with frustration because I love you, you big dope! I don’t make them come-you do!”
“So… no deal?” he asked with such a pitiful tone and solemn expression that she burst into a fit of giggling. She struck him with her pillow-which disrupted the bedding in a pleasantly revealing way-and Matt embraced her again.
“Look,” he said, softly laughing, his hand gliding across her skin. “I’m sorry I brought it up. You’re right, though. We have a lot to talk about. I’ll tell you every little thing you want to know about me: every scar, every hobby, even my favorite ice cream. We’ve both got in-laws… somewhere… we don’t know anything about! I want to hear all about that privileged childhood you said you had, about every scraped knee, and even your favorite color… but later. We don’t have an awful lot of time together-like this,” he reminded gently. “I respectfully suggest we make the most of it.”
They did.
The Bosun slogged through the sand, breathing hard, and stepped up on the porch of the servants’ bungalow where Diania was staying and where Juan joined her during the day to prepare meals and such for the newlyweds, or in case Matt and Sandra wanted them for any reason. Both stewards had, for all intents and purposes, insisted. Even so, there was considerable distance between the two structures, and Gray wasn’t too happy about that. He didn’t like it whenever the Skipper-or Sandra-didn’t have anybody around to protect them. Captain Reddy had specifically prohibited a guard detail this time, however, and Gray could even understand. The location of the honeymoon was supposed to be a secret, and he doubted any Company sore losers would find them in the short time they had. He supposed somebody might have followed him out from the ship… but he doubted it. Why would they? Who here would know that he was an overprotective mother hen?
Besides, he reassured himself as he glanced surreptitiously at the other bungalow, even with just one leg, Juan’s got plenty of guts, and he can shoot. He hesitated before going inside, stomping the sand off his shoes. Okay, that’s all true. So why am I here? Was it just because he was overprotective, or did he have another reason to leave the ship when he had so much work to do?
Suddenly, the lightly built door swung open in his face and Diania confronted him, surprised. She’d ditched the goofy dress, he saw, and was back in dungarees and T-shirt. He gulped at the… glaring effect of the transformation.
“Why, g’marnin’, Mr. Gray!” the girl said a little nervously. “I hared a tarrible stampin’, an’ thought the island was a-tremble.”
“It was just me, uh… Miss Diania,” Gray stammered.
Diania was stunned. The Bosun had never actually addressed her before, other than to give her summary commands. She’d heard him refer to her as “that damn woman” a time or two, which set her apart from the other female humans aboard only in that he called them “that other damn woman” or “those other damn women.” At best, he might refer to them occupationally, like the “water-tender broad,” or something like that. Diania had to admit it hurt her feelings, because she rather admired the Super Bosun, and everyone else treated her much better than she’d ever been treated before. The thing was, she knew he didn’t resent her for being a woman suddenly elevated from her obligated status, like an Imperial man might. He just resented her for being a woman on his ship. She hadn’t understood at all until Lady Sandra explained the metaphor of old dogs and new tricks, and described the way things used to be in the Bosun’s “old” Navy.
“What did ye call me?” she asked, almost breathlessly.
“Well… Miss Diania, I guess,” Gray growled in a more normal tone. “We ain’t on the ship, and neither of us is on the watch bill, so we ain’t really on duty. ’Sides, this is kinda like me showin’ up at your off-base housin’. I got manners.” He looked around. “Where’s that little Flip on a stick?”
Diania collected herself. “Ah, ye mean Mr. Marcos? He took coffee yonder ta the Captain an’ Lady Sandra.” With a small smile, she pointed at the strange tracks in the sand. “He was very insistent that the Captain’d never forgive ’im if he neglected that duty.”
Gray grimaced. “Jeez. That’s a helluva way to bring the newlyweds back down to earth!”
Diania chuckled warily. She didn’t drink coffee and had taken Juan’s statement as fact. She took a breath. “So, ah, what brings ye here?”
Gray waved his hand. “Oh, I was ashore, roundin’ up a few lost sheep after the shindig last night, and then I had to make personal sure that maniac Silva got on the damn plane-and stayed on it this time! Skipper’s orders.” He shook his head. “Wasn’t really such a chore once I found the big lug, and then he went peaceably enough… not that he was in any shape to make a fuss!”
“Where was he?” Diania asked, boldly she thought. She was amazed that she was actually carrying on a conversation with the terrible Bosun.
“Hidin’. At least he thought he was. He must’ve picked his spot while he was… less devious than usual. And besides, Chack ratted him out.” Gray didn’t mention that he’d finally found Dennis Silva curled up and passed out inside an overturned barrel in the… sailor’s recreational district, and that he and Chack had rolled the barrel almost three hundred yards down to the dock. His sea bag was already awaiting him there, but they had to hose the insensible giant down before the “Clipper” pilot would let him aboard the plane. Gray shrugged. “Anyway, so then I thought I’d wander out here and check on things.”
Diania steeled herself. “Then ye must stay fer yer breakfast,” she said as firmly as she could. “I’m about makin’ it, anyway… as soon as Mr. Marcos returns ta oversee me skills. One more mouth’ll make no difference, an’… I’ve so many questions about the Navy life!”
Gray looked at the exotic, dark-skinned girl- She is just a girl, damn it! — and scratched the white stubble on his chin.
“Well, I s’pose the fellas on the ship can make do without me for a little longer. Thanks.”
CHAPTER 9
Imperial Port City of Saint Francis
North American Colonies
Imperial Commodore and newly appointed CINCEAST (Commander in Chief-East) of the Grand Alliance Harvey Jenks stood on Achilles’ quarterdeck, gazing about at the small fleet preparing to get underway. The North American sun that bathed him with its rays was unusually warm for the latitude at this time of year, making for a beautiful day that displayed his ships, the city, and the strange land beyond to best effect. If not for his lingering frustration over the endless series of delays that postponed this movement for so long, he would probably be utterly charmed. Instead, there had been weeks of ship repairs, organizing, arming, and properly training the… hotheaded colonial levy, and streamlining the local bureaucracy (in the aftermath of more high-level treason!) so his force could be properly supplied and victualed… The list had been endless. As it was, his chest still roiled with an impatient anxiety that threatened to plague him all the way to the Enchanted Isles. The fact that most of the delays hadn’t really been anyone’s fault did little to mitigate his concern that they might already be too late to relieve the beleaguered garrison at that strategic place.