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jeriendhalNote: Again, no major changes in this section. Just correcting some grammar and awkward wording.
* * *
The painkillers Melanie had taken were finally starting to kick in as she finished pulling the last knot tight on the ropes now binding Rolas to the mast. At this point she wasn't too proud to admit she enjoyed hearing his grunt of discomfort as she knotted it off. Her left eye was swollen and her head was still pounding terribly from the blow that had knocked her to the deck. The only good thing was that the sky had gone grey in the past fifteen minutes, sparing her from squinting against the sun.
Her husband's paws were crossed and bound behind the pole, as were his ankles, forcing his knees wide apart. Just for the hell of it she'd wrapped more around his waist and bare chest, and few turns around his neck, not tight enough to restrict breathing but enough to force his chin up. Rolas was refusing to look at her though, his eyes staring out over the deck to the sea beyond.
“Better?” she asked, sitting cross legged in front of him. Rolas stretched and tugged, pulling at the ropes, testing for give and finding none. I may hate sailing, but I do know a thing or two about tying knots, Melanie thought with satisfaction.
“Not... really,” he replied, eyes darting away, refusing to meet hers still.
“Now that we've established you have Capital I Issues with you sister...” she began, ignoring his reply.
“We have established nothing of the sort,” he replied, blinking and finally meeting her gaze. “All we've figured out is that I'm as bad as her late husband, Kev.”
“Oh for pity's sake, Rolas,” Melanie said. “I very deliberately provoked you. I seriously doubt that Kev Highglider was anywhere near as justified when he engaged in his abuse.”
“I hit you,” Rolas shot back, his voice anguished.
“Would you feel better if I hit you back?” Melanie paused, waiting for his reply. Rolas merely stared down at the deck, the ropes around his neck digging into his jaw. “Hmm?” she prompted.
“This is fine,” he replied, flexing his bound arms.
“I'll take that as a 'maybe',” she noted.
“It was not,” he countered, though he still stared at the deck, not at her.
She stood up, very deliberately, emphasizing her control over him through body language as she crossed her arms and stared down at him. “You complain a lot when I lead you into our little bedroom games, but you never actually say 'no'. And you always seem satisfied in the end. It's comforting, isn't it, a controlled loss of control. No need to worry about getting angry at someone when you're bound up nice and tight.”
“There, you see? Even you admit it,” he replied. He strained against the ropes again, testing, deliberately making the white cords dig into his fur and skin. “I'm always angry, it seems.”
“Maybe not angry. I see a male who is in a constant state of frustration. Always second best to his sister. Always to be the dutiful son. Half-crushed by that mad countess you served. And now, finally, when you nearly gain a bit of independence, your dear sister hares off to create her own colony world and you're expected to take up the load. And who do you have as a helpmeet? Me, the ex-pirate, the wealthy Lady, who's secrets you must protect, else you bring shame down on your both yourself and your House.” She prodded his leg with her toes. “I'm betting that month you spent as my prisoner aboard the Scarlet Claw was almost a paradise. No need to worry about anything when you're behind bars and a stun collar locked to your neck.”
He snorted in false humor at her statement. “I'm not going to argue with you about this.”
“What's to argue about?” She flexed her toe claws against his thigh. The little grunt of pain he released was belied by the response under the worn shorts he was wearing. “Shall I arrange for my dear husband to be kidnapped once or twice a year as a vacation? To be held in my dungeon, kept in chains, and be fed bread and water from my hand?”
“You don't have a dungeon,” he pointed out.
“I could get one,” she said reasonably. Her foot moved, pressed down again, eliciting a sharper noise from his bound throat. “For now though, this will do.”
“Stop… please…” Rolas pleaded, his breath now coming out in short, pained huffs.
“You’re suuuuuure?” She leaned forward just enough to increase the pressure. Rolas strained against his bonds again, his only vocal response a high pitched whine. “Safeword,” Melanie prompted.
“N-no…” he gasped. “D-don’t untie me! N-not safe!”
“Oh, Rolas,” she said pityingly. Melanie pulled her foot back, settling down to straddle his lap, feeling his manhood straining against his shorts as she pressed herself against him. “You are my husband. Don’t you think I trust you? Even more than you trust yourself?”
He finally met her, shuddering as the involuntary sob broke from his throat. “I hurt you.”
Melanie grasped the ruff of his neck with her paw, preventing Rolas from turning away as she rubbed her cheek against his. His body continued shudder as he wept, rocking against the mast and the ropes that cradled him against his own fears.
“Yes, you hurt me, Rolas,” she whispered into his ear. “But I hurt you as well. Not physically, but I still hurt you, and so we are both wounded. Don’t lie to me about your hurts, please, my husband, and in return I will stop trying to justify my crimes.”
She felt him nod, the sobs filling his throat. He was still rocking against his bonds… No, that was the boat now, as it hit a rough piece of chop. Then Rolas’ head suddenly snapped up, pulling free of her grip as thunder boomed in the distance and Windskimmer’s computer let out a loud, demanding breep!
“That was the weather alarm. Let me up,” he said, catching his breath, body still shaking.
“So it’s going to rain a little,” Melanie grumbled, sliding off him and stepping behind to start pulling at the knots of his ropes. Mother Goddess, Rolas could be so frelling practical at the worst possible times.
“Rain wouldn’t be enough to set off the alarm,” Rolas said, pulling at his ropes again, trying to worm his wrists loose. “The weather sensor must have detected a storm cell. Get me out of this!”
“I’m trying,” she snapped, trying to work the knots loose with her claws. “You were thrashing around so much you pulled knots tighter.”
“Hurry it up!”
The mast’s electric motors began to whine, forcing Melanie to duck as the sail whipped around and Windskimmer heeled over to port, the starboard float actually lifting out of the water before it slammed back down. It sent spray flying everywhere as she let out a shriek of alarm, clutching Rolas and the mast to keep from flying across the deck.
“The damned autosail is malfunctioning!” she shouted, as the wind began to pick up, making the sail snap.
“No. It’s doing what it’s supposed to do in this situation. It’s setting the boat in the path of the wind so we won’t roll,” Rolas shouted back. “Now get me out of this!”
The spray had completely soaked the ropes she’d bound him with, tightening the knots as the tough natural fibers expanded Melanie realized. “Don’t go anywhere!” she shouted, dashing down into the cabin. Seawater poured down the short flight of stairs from the open hatch. Frantic, she grabbed the first aid kit still sitting on the galley’s table from where she’d left it after getting her painkillers. Spilling the contents out, she grabbed a pair of safety scissors, and headed back . When she got back topside, the boat was rocking up and down, the waves cresting over the bow, soaking Rolas and herself.
“Hang on! I’m going to cut you loose!” she shouted.
“No! Get a life jacket and a safety line on first!” Rolas told her. “They’re in the bench compartment!”
By that point the squall was sufficiently powerful and frightening that Melanie didn’t argue the point. Staggering over to the padded bench, she unlatched it, throwing a life vest over her neck, the smart straps pulling it snug automatically. Next she grabbed a waist belt, wrapping it around herself and snapping the attached line to a padeye near Rolas
Melanie shivered, her fingers growing numb as the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees in the storm. Desperately, she worked at the cords binding his paws with the scissors. The tough nylon fibers finally parted, and Rolas gasped in relief, then choked as he was struck in the face by a sheet of salt water.
Next she sliced through the cords around his neck, then his ankles. Finally the ropes around his chest parted, and he tried to stand, his feet flying out from under him and dropping him to the deck on his tail.
“What’s wrong?” Melanie asked.
“My damned legs are asleep! That’s what’s wrong!” he answered. “Help me get a life jacket!” He clung to the mast, the carbon fiber pole creaking in the heavy gale, as she staggered back over to the open bench compartment, already half-filled with water.
Melanie turned to head back to Rolas. Facing towards her, he didn’t see the next massive wave as it roared over the bow. Only her look of horror gave him any sort of warning, giving him time to clamp his eyes and muzzle shut, The wave slammed into his back, tearing loose his grip on the mast. Rolas flew past her as Melanie was blinded in the salt poisoned deluge, the harness jamming itself painfully into her belly as the safety line abruptly tightened.
“Rolas!” Melanie screamed in terror, blinded by the salt water in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, the wind howling in her ears like the voice of the Mother Goddess. Regaining her sight she frantically called out for Rolas again, searching the deck for him. She finally spotted his body lying crumpled against the aft railing, apparently unconscious, the aluminum rail actually dented where his head had apparently struck it, a pile of safety gear tossed out of the bench storage piled around him. Desperately she hooked the safety belt’s second line to the furthest padeye she could reach, intent on reaching him.
Then the next great wave flew over the deck, as the Windskimmer’s bow tilted high into the air, coming back down with a crash.
When Melanie regained her sight once again, Rolas was gone.
* * *
All Melanie could do was stare dumbly at the space on the deck where Rolas had been. The sea roared past the boat’s fantail, dark and angry. It had swallowed his body as completely as a grass chaser consuming a tree leaper. Unconscious, with no life vest, he had surely sunk instantly, rain soaked fur dragging him down.
Another wave pummeled her back, shaking Melanie out of her shock. Sliding over the rain slick deck, the safety belt jamming itself repeatedly into her abdomen with each strike of a wave, she attached and released the lines one after the other, making her way to the navigation station. She hooked herself in front of it with both lines, as the waves continued to pound the little sailboat repeatedly, crashing over the plexiglass windscreen protecting the conn.
The waterproof console screen mounted over the wheel was a jumble of information, all rendered in precise nautical terminology that only had a passing resemblance to the spaceborn terms she was more familiar with. Fortunately some of it was familiar. She tried the comm first. It breeped a loud error message to her. The antenna mounted to the top of the mast must have ripped free in the storm. No help there. The navigation system’s rectenna seemed to be working however, giving her an idea of where she was when she consulted the electronic map. Their days of travel had put the Windskimmer a good five hundred kilometers off the coast. The only nearby land appeared to be two small islands, relatively close by.
She tapped the autosailer’s nav function and after a couple of false starts managed to direct it to the larger of the two islands, some twenty kilometers away. If she could get the boat to a safe harbor at the island, or at least beach it, she’d be infinitely safer than being at the mercy of the driving storm.
The deck shuddered as the sails readjusted themselves, the boat’s small propellers spinning up to supplement the driving wind. Melanie then retreated to the Windskimmer’s cabin, stripped out of her soaking clothes and curled up into a miserable ball on the bunk with a blanket wrapped around herself. The boat seemed to slam itself through the waves, driving towards the island, shaking everything in the cabin. Nothing fell to the floor however, aside from the first aid kit, which had slid off the table where she’d left it. Rolas had been careful to put things away in their proper places in the latched cabinets when he’d finished using them.
Rolas was… had been.... always careful.
Melanie curled up a little tighter under the blanket and began to weep.
* * *
The painkillers Melanie had taken were finally starting to kick in as she finished pulling the last knot tight on the ropes now binding Rolas to the mast. At this point she wasn't too proud to admit she enjoyed hearing his grunt of discomfort as she knotted it off. Her left eye was swollen and her head was still pounding terribly from the blow that had knocked her to the deck. The only good thing was that the sky had gone grey in the past fifteen minutes, sparing her from squinting against the sun.
Her husband's paws were crossed and bound behind the pole, as were his ankles, forcing his knees wide apart. Just for the hell of it she'd wrapped more around his waist and bare chest, and few turns around his neck, not tight enough to restrict breathing but enough to force his chin up. Rolas was refusing to look at her though, his eyes staring out over the deck to the sea beyond.
“Better?” she asked, sitting cross legged in front of him. Rolas stretched and tugged, pulling at the ropes, testing for give and finding none. I may hate sailing, but I do know a thing or two about tying knots, Melanie thought with satisfaction.
“Not... really,” he replied, eyes darting away, refusing to meet hers still.
“Now that we've established you have Capital I Issues with you sister...” she began, ignoring his reply.
“We have established nothing of the sort,” he replied, blinking and finally meeting her gaze. “All we've figured out is that I'm as bad as her late husband, Kev.”
“Oh for pity's sake, Rolas,” Melanie said. “I very deliberately provoked you. I seriously doubt that Kev Highglider was anywhere near as justified when he engaged in his abuse.”
“I hit you,” Rolas shot back, his voice anguished.
“Would you feel better if I hit you back?” Melanie paused, waiting for his reply. Rolas merely stared down at the deck, the ropes around his neck digging into his jaw. “Hmm?” she prompted.
“This is fine,” he replied, flexing his bound arms.
“I'll take that as a 'maybe',” she noted.
“It was not,” he countered, though he still stared at the deck, not at her.
She stood up, very deliberately, emphasizing her control over him through body language as she crossed her arms and stared down at him. “You complain a lot when I lead you into our little bedroom games, but you never actually say 'no'. And you always seem satisfied in the end. It's comforting, isn't it, a controlled loss of control. No need to worry about getting angry at someone when you're bound up nice and tight.”
“There, you see? Even you admit it,” he replied. He strained against the ropes again, testing, deliberately making the white cords dig into his fur and skin. “I'm always angry, it seems.”
“Maybe not angry. I see a male who is in a constant state of frustration. Always second best to his sister. Always to be the dutiful son. Half-crushed by that mad countess you served. And now, finally, when you nearly gain a bit of independence, your dear sister hares off to create her own colony world and you're expected to take up the load. And who do you have as a helpmeet? Me, the ex-pirate, the wealthy Lady, who's secrets you must protect, else you bring shame down on your both yourself and your House.” She prodded his leg with her toes. “I'm betting that month you spent as my prisoner aboard the Scarlet Claw was almost a paradise. No need to worry about anything when you're behind bars and a stun collar locked to your neck.”
He snorted in false humor at her statement. “I'm not going to argue with you about this.”
“What's to argue about?” She flexed her toe claws against his thigh. The little grunt of pain he released was belied by the response under the worn shorts he was wearing. “Shall I arrange for my dear husband to be kidnapped once or twice a year as a vacation? To be held in my dungeon, kept in chains, and be fed bread and water from my hand?”
“You don't have a dungeon,” he pointed out.
“I could get one,” she said reasonably. Her foot moved, pressed down again, eliciting a sharper noise from his bound throat. “For now though, this will do.”
“Stop… please…” Rolas pleaded, his breath now coming out in short, pained huffs.
“You’re suuuuuure?” She leaned forward just enough to increase the pressure. Rolas strained against his bonds again, his only vocal response a high pitched whine. “Safeword,” Melanie prompted.
“N-no…” he gasped. “D-don’t untie me! N-not safe!”
“Oh, Rolas,” she said pityingly. Melanie pulled her foot back, settling down to straddle his lap, feeling his manhood straining against his shorts as she pressed herself against him. “You are my husband. Don’t you think I trust you? Even more than you trust yourself?”
He finally met her, shuddering as the involuntary sob broke from his throat. “I hurt you.”
Melanie grasped the ruff of his neck with her paw, preventing Rolas from turning away as she rubbed her cheek against his. His body continued shudder as he wept, rocking against the mast and the ropes that cradled him against his own fears.
“Yes, you hurt me, Rolas,” she whispered into his ear. “But I hurt you as well. Not physically, but I still hurt you, and so we are both wounded. Don’t lie to me about your hurts, please, my husband, and in return I will stop trying to justify my crimes.”
She felt him nod, the sobs filling his throat. He was still rocking against his bonds… No, that was the boat now, as it hit a rough piece of chop. Then Rolas’ head suddenly snapped up, pulling free of her grip as thunder boomed in the distance and Windskimmer’s computer let out a loud, demanding breep!
“That was the weather alarm. Let me up,” he said, catching his breath, body still shaking.
“So it’s going to rain a little,” Melanie grumbled, sliding off him and stepping behind to start pulling at the knots of his ropes. Mother Goddess, Rolas could be so frelling practical at the worst possible times.
“Rain wouldn’t be enough to set off the alarm,” Rolas said, pulling at his ropes again, trying to worm his wrists loose. “The weather sensor must have detected a storm cell. Get me out of this!”
“I’m trying,” she snapped, trying to work the knots loose with her claws. “You were thrashing around so much you pulled knots tighter.”
“Hurry it up!”
The mast’s electric motors began to whine, forcing Melanie to duck as the sail whipped around and Windskimmer heeled over to port, the starboard float actually lifting out of the water before it slammed back down. It sent spray flying everywhere as she let out a shriek of alarm, clutching Rolas and the mast to keep from flying across the deck.
“The damned autosail is malfunctioning!” she shouted, as the wind began to pick up, making the sail snap.
“No. It’s doing what it’s supposed to do in this situation. It’s setting the boat in the path of the wind so we won’t roll,” Rolas shouted back. “Now get me out of this!”
The spray had completely soaked the ropes she’d bound him with, tightening the knots as the tough natural fibers expanded Melanie realized. “Don’t go anywhere!” she shouted, dashing down into the cabin. Seawater poured down the short flight of stairs from the open hatch. Frantic, she grabbed the first aid kit still sitting on the galley’s table from where she’d left it after getting her painkillers. Spilling the contents out, she grabbed a pair of safety scissors, and headed back . When she got back topside, the boat was rocking up and down, the waves cresting over the bow, soaking Rolas and herself.
“Hang on! I’m going to cut you loose!” she shouted.
“No! Get a life jacket and a safety line on first!” Rolas told her. “They’re in the bench compartment!”
By that point the squall was sufficiently powerful and frightening that Melanie didn’t argue the point. Staggering over to the padded bench, she unlatched it, throwing a life vest over her neck, the smart straps pulling it snug automatically. Next she grabbed a waist belt, wrapping it around herself and snapping the attached line to a padeye near Rolas
Melanie shivered, her fingers growing numb as the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees in the storm. Desperately, she worked at the cords binding his paws with the scissors. The tough nylon fibers finally parted, and Rolas gasped in relief, then choked as he was struck in the face by a sheet of salt water.
Next she sliced through the cords around his neck, then his ankles. Finally the ropes around his chest parted, and he tried to stand, his feet flying out from under him and dropping him to the deck on his tail.
“What’s wrong?” Melanie asked.
“My damned legs are asleep! That’s what’s wrong!” he answered. “Help me get a life jacket!” He clung to the mast, the carbon fiber pole creaking in the heavy gale, as she staggered back over to the open bench compartment, already half-filled with water.
Melanie turned to head back to Rolas. Facing towards her, he didn’t see the next massive wave as it roared over the bow. Only her look of horror gave him any sort of warning, giving him time to clamp his eyes and muzzle shut, The wave slammed into his back, tearing loose his grip on the mast. Rolas flew past her as Melanie was blinded in the salt poisoned deluge, the harness jamming itself painfully into her belly as the safety line abruptly tightened.
“Rolas!” Melanie screamed in terror, blinded by the salt water in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, the wind howling in her ears like the voice of the Mother Goddess. Regaining her sight she frantically called out for Rolas again, searching the deck for him. She finally spotted his body lying crumpled against the aft railing, apparently unconscious, the aluminum rail actually dented where his head had apparently struck it, a pile of safety gear tossed out of the bench storage piled around him. Desperately she hooked the safety belt’s second line to the furthest padeye she could reach, intent on reaching him.
Then the next great wave flew over the deck, as the Windskimmer’s bow tilted high into the air, coming back down with a crash.
When Melanie regained her sight once again, Rolas was gone.
* * *
All Melanie could do was stare dumbly at the space on the deck where Rolas had been. The sea roared past the boat’s fantail, dark and angry. It had swallowed his body as completely as a grass chaser consuming a tree leaper. Unconscious, with no life vest, he had surely sunk instantly, rain soaked fur dragging him down.
Another wave pummeled her back, shaking Melanie out of her shock. Sliding over the rain slick deck, the safety belt jamming itself repeatedly into her abdomen with each strike of a wave, she attached and released the lines one after the other, making her way to the navigation station. She hooked herself in front of it with both lines, as the waves continued to pound the little sailboat repeatedly, crashing over the plexiglass windscreen protecting the conn.
The waterproof console screen mounted over the wheel was a jumble of information, all rendered in precise nautical terminology that only had a passing resemblance to the spaceborn terms she was more familiar with. Fortunately some of it was familiar. She tried the comm first. It breeped a loud error message to her. The antenna mounted to the top of the mast must have ripped free in the storm. No help there. The navigation system’s rectenna seemed to be working however, giving her an idea of where she was when she consulted the electronic map. Their days of travel had put the Windskimmer a good five hundred kilometers off the coast. The only nearby land appeared to be two small islands, relatively close by.
She tapped the autosailer’s nav function and after a couple of false starts managed to direct it to the larger of the two islands, some twenty kilometers away. If she could get the boat to a safe harbor at the island, or at least beach it, she’d be infinitely safer than being at the mercy of the driving storm.
The deck shuddered as the sails readjusted themselves, the boat’s small propellers spinning up to supplement the driving wind. Melanie then retreated to the Windskimmer’s cabin, stripped out of her soaking clothes and curled up into a miserable ball on the bunk with a blanket wrapped around herself. The boat seemed to slam itself through the waves, driving towards the island, shaking everything in the cabin. Nothing fell to the floor however, aside from the first aid kit, which had slid off the table where she’d left it. Rolas had been careful to put things away in their proper places in the latched cabinets when he’d finished using them.
Rolas was… had been.... always careful.
Melanie curled up a little tighter under the blanket and began to weep.
