Capt. Sterling

By all means...

Gettysburg & Williamsburg Unfortunately. the middies and Miss Sarah took no current pics of Miss Lilly, the cat... when they were playing with the camera...although she did like the hat...

She felt his kiss, waking her, despite its tenderness there was an obvious hunger companioned with it. She opened her eyes slowly and found him standing over her, already having vacated the bed, clad in not much more than a multitude of bandages and an old banyan. “Good morning, Chere,” he whispered as he straightened. She blinked a moment, her eyes growing quickly accustomed to the day light. There was not much to the new morning, dismal and gray. She could hear the soft, steady patter of more rain outside. She stretched not willing to leave the warmth of their bed and as she did, he felt obliged to turn away from her. Her motions, her form, more than he could resist. She watched him as he moved to the mantel and retrieved a black clay pipe and began to pack the bowl with tobacco. “I’m sorry Chere,” he continued. “But we must be about business, I’m afraid. Already Mr. Hazzards, Mr. March and Mr. Symms have come and gone.” He glanced back over his shoulder quickly toward her. “It seems I am not the only one who was in need of some slumber.” He did not smile, but she could see a certain glint in his good eye, its green sparkling with some secret mischief. He turned away again, searching for a taper. Perhaps, now, she thought, regardless of his injuries, he was in his element. “Mr. Hazzards tells me that we must make our way over to see Striker. The man will not budge any further to come convenience us by calling here. We must away to his ship.” “No, Jean,” she protested mildly, but then he heard the whisper of her bare feet as they touched lightly upon the old wooden planking of the floor. He stood still a moment, listening as she padded gently to him and closed his eyes as her arms wrapped about his waist. Pulling herself closer to him, he felt her lay her head gently against his back. He breathed softly, content for the moment. “And I thought ye would play the lay about all day. Tis good to see ye are not a lazy thing,” he teased. He turned then to face her, bringing the pipe to his lips, he clenched it between his teeth, then brought her inside the folds of the long, loose robe, his good arm now encircling her shoulders as he held her close. “We have an hour before Mr. Symms returns with the morning meal. Shall I lock the door, Chere?” he whispered. Then fingering the shoulder edge of her chemise, he added, “Take this off for me, will ye, mon amour?”

underdog

headache

a bit lower than the throat... amputate

As she nestled close to him, he closed his eyes. Her touch, her warmth, her sweet scent, were all he needed to rest easy. Or so he had hoped...He wished he could have said as much for the others waiting and watching beyond the door and below in the pub. Come morning, he prayed this Striker would somehow have the answers he needed to set all to rights once more. Of course once the known danger was put aside he could carry on with his want of money, the still lacking letters of Marque, Morgan's delay.... as his brain filled with the usual business of every day life, he wondered for the first time if he had done the right thing by asking Aurore to marry him. "Oh Cate, what will I do?" he mumbled with another yawn.

Jean

"Nay tis ye I wish with me. I shall ask Mr. March as well. I fear I could not pass off Sabastian if Striker feels not comfortable with sharing his news. Tis the very reason this trip in was neccessary." Sterling tried not to yawn, but was defeated in his attempt. With a last stroke of his finger along the edge of her chemise, he brought his hand to cover his mouth. "Ye will do well Chere, whether ye know the man or not. Now, since I be needing ye, tis not only myself that should best be returning to slumber. Come, lay with me Chere. I need ye by my side in more ways then one."

account

He reached up and ran the backs of several fingers along her cheek and down her slender throat. Her skin was so soft. As he looked into her eyes, for a brief span of time, he completely forgot all else. "La gardienne de mon coeur," he whispered, his fingers repeating their movement. "I shall need ye tomorrow, when this Striker fellow comes calling. I wish ye to be at my side. I rely upon yer wits and yer knowledge of the Port, ma beaute`, and will be grateful for yer input regarding what Captain Striker may say."

"Thank ye," he said, returning the cup, now empty, to her safe keeping. "Not a word of yer bullying to Mr. Symms, mind ye, or I shall be out numbered three to one. " He smiled briefly, his expression changing to one of thoughtfulness as he watched her. "I do not deserve ye, Chere," he whispered as she returned the cup to its place besides the pitcher.

crawdaddies

lobster

He looked at her, completely taken aback by her comment. "Do ye know me that well already Chere?" he asked. He gave a mock sigh. "I see I shall be hard pressed when ye and Mr. March come to each other's aide when it comes to my welfare. I'll have a mutiny on my hands in no time."

alive alive oh! Mussels

"Something to drink, my mouth is dry," Sterling whispered, indeed his voice was harsh as he spoke. "Where were ye? I can not have ye sittin up all night watchin over me. Twill be ye next, not well from all this, and I shall not have it, Chere. It will not do."

clams

It was far too hot for a fire, The hour, early enough to still be dark, and yet no candle flickered when chance breeze crept warily into before it carried itself across the room. When he opened his eyes, he could not place himself. The windows were laid out incorrectly and with good eye slowly adjusting to the lack of light, he could see but not comprehend the strange glow from beyond the open shutters. He listened instead, his hearing acute, compensation for the loss of his eye… The muffled voices he heard now, were not the laughing, carefree ones that he had grown almost fond of at the cottage. These were coarse, ill mannered in tone and expression. The first shout from beyond made it plain that he was no longer where he had been. He shifted and knew the bed was far from the comfortable one he had grown use to over the past few nights. And worse, the place She had come to occupy close by his right, was cold and empty. “Aurore!” Sterling bolted upright to sitting, then folded over where he sat, crying out. He next heard footsteps, felt the bed dip besides him ever so slightly and hands were laid upon his shoulders, righting him then smoothed about his head, which was gently brought to rest upon soft flesh. When the white lightening eased in his mind as the pain in his body steadied, he could hear her heart beating as she held him close. His good arm moved about her waist, seizing her hard. “By God I had thought I had only dreamed you,” he whispered. By now the door to the room had opened and a sleepy eyed steward, growing more alert as he entered, was ready for what ever orders. Symms looked to the young woman, who held his captain with a surety he found comforting. “Do ye want me to be fetchin yer doctor Mistress?” the old man said softly. Aurore gave a brief shake of her head. “We are all right,” she whispered, as she held Sterling tightly to her. “I am sorry we disturbed you.” Symms nodded in reply then slowly closed the door on his way back out.

ravenous need

Surprisingly twas old Symms who came foremost to Aurore's aid once Sabastian had exited. He quickly filled the wash basin with fresh water from the waiting pitcher and then placed it and cloth within easy reach of the young woman. "Out with the rest of ye now. He needs his rest tis all. Forcin him to make his way in when ye could have easily bashed that Striker chap over the head, bound and gagged him and carried him off to where ever the captain were already taken his ease..." the steward mumbled well enough for the others to hear. March looked to Hazzards. "Snug's the word, regarding any of this!" he warned and then, with a nod, watched the second officer take his leave to relay the captain's message to the same Striker. Then March came to aid Symms in the removal of the captain's outer clothing. "Have a care Andrew March!" Symms snapped. "I am Josiah Symms," March whispered harshly in return. Aurore could only watch helplessly for a few minutes before Sterling was finally laid to rest beneath the bedclothes. The entry wound, having torn several stitches, had begun to bleed anew and Aurore asked that needle and thread be fetched and made ready. "Where is that new doctor?" March asked looking at Symms, who could only looked to Aurore.

fire

myrrh

candles

any time Chere! Oils