The Duchess out of Time

XIII

We will be on our way to England in no time! Yeah right! Liz huffed. She should have known that her brother would have found a way to jinx the journey back to land. For the last three days there hadn't been a single breeze. Not a whiff or whistle. The lack of breeze had made the ship a burning pot ready to explode. The black wood drew the heat like a magnet as the men were all beginning to get aggravated with the heat. They had all ditched their shirts, allowing their tanned skins to glow at the layer of sweat that dripped from their shoulders.

Liz unfortunately didn't have the luxury of removing her shirt but she did her best to get comfortable. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows; several of her top buttons were undone as her stay held her sweaty shirt to her body. Liz had deliberately picked a white shirt, hoping the light coloured shirt would attract less heat, unlike the purple they day before. Liz had lowered a couple of rags down into the water below to soak before she placed them on the back of her neck. The cool water made her moan in relief, as she would trail the rag down her throat. The men in their delirious heat state of mind couldn't help but watch, growing envious of the rag that caressed her skin.

"To the oars men!" The Captain called as the men all groaned. It was worse below deck, the men felt like they were sitting in a furnace, the heat was swirling in the belly of the ship with no where to go. They were desperate for relief from the harsh temperatures but their thirst for the wind was greater.

"Do you have to be so impertinent!" The Captain questioned Liz in a heated whisper. The heat was making everyone short tempered as she looked up at the Captain. She had no idea how he had managed to appear from thin air, his body threatening to press against hers. His body heat radiating as unlike the others he still had his shirt on. The fabric was glued to his abdomen highlighting his muscular physic underneath.

"I beg your pardon?" She questioned in a heated gaze. She could see a thin layer of sweat forming around his mask that seemed to be glued to his skin.

"Do you have any idea what you are doing to my men?" He asked her quietly and slowly as his body was acting as a shield from his crew. One by one Liz could hear their grumbling as they all made their way below deck.

"I'm not doing anything!" She protested.

"Not doing anything?"

"No"

"My men are on edge enough as it is. You add heat and a woman whose.....well." His words were raspy sending a heated shudder down her spine. She gulped as his eyes watched the rag that was frozen against her neck. It was almost as though his very gaze was caressing her skin, following a trail of sweat that fell down the curve of her neck, towards her breast.

"I will not be responsible for my men's actions Duchess" His words were a mere whisper, his warm breath blowing against her ear. Her quick intake of breath didn't go unnoticed by the Captain before he joined his men below deck. He needed to put some distance between himself and that minx of a woman. The heat was muddling his brain! In unison the men all heaved as they set back into the rhythm of trying to row their ship. For the past three days they had done nothing but row in their desperate attempts to catch the wind.

"What's that?" One of the men asked their ears straining to recognise the sound against the grunting of men.

"You're hallucinating!"

"No listen"

The men all paused for a moment to hear what their brother was on about. Music. Soft sweet music began to fill the air before they continued rowing.

"We're sweating like dogs and he's up there playing?"

"Would you care to repeat that Quamin?" Edward snapped towards the large Jamaican in front of him. He watched as Quamin froze where he sat, not daring to look back at his first mate behind him.

"No."

"I didn't think so" Edward grumbled. He knew the heat was getting to everybody and instinctively they would have all thought it was him playing. He was the only one who ever played the violin, but Edward knew he wasn't the only person on board who knew how to play. It didn't stop the sting that his fellow brothers thought he would be lazy when there was work to do. Above deck Liz had pinched her brother's violin, the instrument feeling foreign beneath her fingers before she played. She picked songs that had a good steady melody. It was easier to work to music that had a firm solid beat, as she would tap her feet to act as a drum base. It was doing the trick even though the men didn't dare say anything. Their pace picked up and settled into a firm rhythm following the thump of her boot and stringed tune. Edward struggled not to sing along out of instinct as he recognised a few classics that he had forgotten.

"She's sloppy" Edward muttered under his breath.

"We are not interested her technique Edward!" The Captain snapped before his eyes returned forward and struggled not to think about the delicate hands that played that sweet music. Liz's technique was a bit sloppy; she hadn't touched the instrument ever since her brother had disappeared six years ago. Growing up they had always played the violin together, harmonising with each other, but after he had vanished Liz had stored her violin away not looking back. She had always preferred the piano and threw her musical talents into polishing that skill to perfection.

Growing up there had been some things that her father had deemed necessary in her education. His requirement that his children must play at least three different instruments and speak four languages had been literally beaten into them when they were younger. The mere thought of the man made her slip on the last note making an uncomfortable screech. Nobody winced more that Edward down below as he heard the harsh note. It was silent for several minutes as the men all held their breath before the music picked up once again.

"Three days with no wind! I vote we throw her overboard" Pierre grunted as he glared up at the ceiling.

"She is not a Jonah Pierre!" Edward snapped to her defence as the men all glanced at each other uneasily. A "Jonah" is a long-established expression among sailors, meaning a person (either a sailor or a passenger) who is bad luck. Pierre hadn't been subtle to anyone that he didn't like having the Duchess, a woman, on board.

"We've had nothing but bad luck since she came aboard" He growled against the heat.

"Does anyone else have a problem with the Duchess?" Edward demanded as his words silenced the men below. His voice was threatening, daring anyone to raise their concerns. They weren't stupid. She was his sister. If they all decided to throw her overboard Edward would most likely kill the first man who took a step towards her. The heat soon began to fade away as the men tiredly pulled the oars back into the safety of the ship. With the sun dipping below the horizon, the burning heat slowly simmered, but with no wind it threatened to hover into the night. Sensing his men's disappointment the Captain called for the rum to be brought up. He needed to boost their moral before he stalked to his own cabin slamming the door shut behind him.