"Are you telling me that because you think I don't know it?" He put a small bite of sarcasm on his words.

"Will you do it again? Use that channel that way?"

"I might." His brief answer chilled her effort at conversation.

The ship was blessedly silent, but Etta still felt her presence as an intrusion. She wished they were on board the Marietta.There she could have contrived to move closer to him and make him aware of her. Here, the ship was like a duenna. Even in the privacy of the cabin, Etta felt her presence. She smoothed a hand down her skirt, taking pleasure in the crinkle and rustle of the fabric.

"Before we were interrupted," Vivacia said abruptly, "we were discussing plans for tomorrow."

"We were," Kennit conceded. "At first light, we sail for Divvytown. I need a good place to stash the Crosspatch until she is ransomed. And I wish to put the slaves aboard her onto land as soon as possible. So we shall start back for Divvytown."

They were ignoring her. Etta's jealousy simmered, but she refused to stalk off.

"And if we encounter other ships?" the ship continued.

"Then it will be your turn," Kennit said quietly.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready. I still don't know… all the blood. The suffering. Humans feel such pain."

Kennit sighed. "I suppose I should not have brought Opal aboard. I was worried about the boy and wanted him near me. I didn't think you would mind."

"I don't, really," Vivacia added hastily.

Kennit went on speaking as if he hadn't heard her. "I don't enjoy watching his pain, either. But what sort of a man would I be to turn away from it? Shall I turn aside from one who has taken hurt for my sake? For four years, my ship has been the only home that he has known. He wanted to be part of the boarding party today-Oh, how I wish Sorcor had stopped him! I know he did it to impress me." Kennit's voice choked with emotion. "Poor lad. Young as he is, he was still willing to risk everything for what he has come to believe in." His words came tighter as he said, "I fear I have been the death of him. If I had not undertaken this crusade…"

Etta could not help herself. She had never heard Kennit speak such words. She had never imagined he carried such a depth of pain inside him. She stepped close to him and took his hand. "Oh, Kennit," Etta said softly. "Oh, my dear, you cannot take it all upon yourself. You cannot."

For an instant, he stiffened as if affronted. The figurehead glared at her. Then Kennit turned and to her shock, he dropped his head down to rest it on her shoulder. "But if I do not?" he asked wearily. "Oh, Etta, if I do not take this on, who will?"

Her heart broke with tenderness for the strong man who suddenly leaned on her. She lifted her hand to the back of his head. His hair was silky under her touch as she stroked it. "It will come out right. You'll see. Many love you and will follow you. You must not take it all upon your own shoulders."

"Whatever would I do without them? I could not go on." His shoulders shook briefly, as if he suppressed a sob. He coughed instead.

"Captain Kennit," Vivacia said in dismay, "I did not mean that I don't share your ideals. I only said I was not sure if I was ready to completely-"

"It's all right. No, really, it's all right." His reply cut off the ship's even as his tone dismissed her words as mere courtesy. "We have only known one another a short time. It is far too soon for me to ask you to throw your fate in with mine. Good night, Vivacia." He drew in a long breath, let it out as a sigh. "Etta, my sweet. I fear my leg pains me tonight. Could you help me to our bed?"

"Of course." It touched her. "Bed would be wisest. There was some scented oil on the Crosspatch. I took some; I know how your crutch makes your back and shoulder ache. Let me warm the oil and rub them for you."

He leaned on her as she assisted him away from the railing. "Your faith in me gives me such strength, Etta," he confided to her. He stopped suddenly and she halted beside him, confused. With an odd deliberation, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. He leaned down and kissed her slowly. Sensation washed through her, not just the warm press of his lips on hers and his strong arms around her, but the openness of this demonstration of affection. He ran his hands over her, the fabric of her skirt crackling to his touch as he snugged her close to him. He had placed her on a pinnacle for all to see his feelings as he kissed her. She felt glorified by it. He broke the kiss at last, but kept his arms around her. She trembled like a virgin.

"Wintrow," Kennit said quietly. Etta turned her head to find the young man looking up at them wide-eyed. "If anything happens with Opal, in the night. You will come to me right away?"

"Yes, sir," Wintrow whispered. His eyes traveled over both of them. Awe like hunger was in his eyes.

"Come, Etta. To our bed. I need the comfort of your closeness. I need to feel your belief in me."

To hear him speak such words aloud dizzied her. "I am beside you always," she assured him. She took his crutch from him to help him descend to the main deck.

"Kennit," Vivacia called after him. "I believe in you. In time, I will be ready."

"Of course you will," he said politely. "Good night, ship."

It took a year to cross the deck and another before she could close the door of their cabin behind them. "Let me warm the oil," she offered. But as she held it over the lamp, he limped over to her. He took the half-warmed oil from her hands and set it aside. For an instant, he frowned at her, his brows knit as if she presented a problem. She looked at him questioningly. He braced his crutch under his arm and lifted his hands to her throat. He caught his lower lip between his teeth as his large hands struggled with the fine ribbon that closed her shirt. She put her hands up to untie it for him, but with amazing gentleness, he set them aside. "Allow me," he said softly.

She shivered as he painstakingly negotiated the ties and buttons of her clothes. He drew off each separate piece and dropped it to one side. Never before had he done such a thing. When she stood naked before him, he took up the dish of oil. He dipped his fingers in it. "Like this?" he asked her uncertainly. His trailing fingers left shining tracks on her breasts and belly. She gasped at the lightness of his touch as he anointed her. He bent his head to kiss the side of her throat. He herded her gently toward the bed. She went willingly, though puzzled at this strange behavior.

He lay himself down beside her and touched her. He watched her face the whole time, taking note of her every reaction. He leaned close to her and whispered into her ear. "Tell me what to do, to please you." The admission shocked her. He had never done this before; she was the first woman he had ever tried to please. It made her catch her breath. Suddenly his boyish incompetence was sweepingly erotic. He offered no resistance as she took his hands and guided them on herself. Never had he offered her this dominance; it was heady.

He was not an apt pupil. His touch was hesitant, and as sweet as honeysuckle nectar. She could not look long at his intent face; she feared she would weep if she did, and he would not understand that. Instead, she surrendered herself to him. She watched him learn, guided by the sudden intake of her breath and the other small sounds that she could not control. A pleased smile began to hover around his mouth and his eyes grew brighter. She could almost see him learn that being able to bring her this much pleasure was a form of mastery. As the realization grew in him, his touch grew surer, but never rough. When he finally joined his body to hers, her release was immediate. Then came the tears she could not restrain. He kissed them away and began again.

She lost track of time. When her entire body was so satiated and so sensitized that his touch was almost painful, she spoke quietly. "Please, Kennit. Enough."