Noble Intentions

32. Beyond the Storm

After pausing at the sound of another tree washing onto our hull, I caressed Gillian's back in reassurance and repeated, "This is what we shall do. During the remaining days of your bleeding, let us consider the broader implications. Determine whether our current feelings have swayed us."

"Ummm, wise. So new to us. Less than a day into fucking, and each time better." She trembled. "Oh, Lord! So much better. This might be subverting our reasoning."

"Indeed! Thus, our need to reassess as the days pass."

She nodded. "And the days? What happens in the next days? For how long will the storm rage?"

I pointed out the side and stern windows. "From the way the trees now bend, the winds have veered to blow from eastward. This means they are now at or near their maximum, and they should soon begin a gradual easing, though still violent through the afternoon. We can expect heavy rain into the night – likely done by dawn. The morrow should be clear and calm."

"Oh, my! Such an abrupt end."

"Aye, with their intensity, hurricanes are compact."

"So, we will continue homeward on the morrow."

"Nay, with the calm, there will be no wind to fill our sails. But that matters not immediately. We must first set right any damage from the storm and continue refashioning rent and spare canvas into workable sails."

"Ummm. For how long will it remain calm?"

"From our experience and the journals of others, within two days of a hurricane's passage, the trade winds return to their usual force and direction."

"Trade winds?"

"The name for the prevailing winds circling the oceans – the winds which ease navigation for trade. In the Atlantic, they blow southward along the coasts of Europe and Africa to the northern tropic, bending westward from there to and through the Caribbean, where they veer northward along this coast, then eastward to return us to England."

"Oh! Thus, the strange route we took to Jamaica."

"Indeed. In the centre of this gyre is a vast area of calm, and ships setting a direct route through it might wallow for weeks in light and fickle winds until they can find an escape. And likely not in the direction they intended."

"Ummm. The need for suitable winds. So, when we have them, five or six weeks to London."

"Aye, and possibly a week or so less if the crew can cobble together better than only workable sails."

"Oh, better in what way?"

"Fashion a footed jib on the mizzen, rig a sail on its forestay, add a flying jib from the main gallant top and hang a spar and its course on the stub of the foremast."

Gillian chuckled. "Lost again."

"Sorry. It is far easier to show than to describe, and I will acquaint you with the rig when the weather has calmed." I nibbled on her ear and ran my hands down her back to the firm mounds of her buttocks to pull her closer. "But let us concentrate on here and now. On us."

"Ummm! Rather sloppy down there. We should clean before we continue." She shifted her hips and giggled. "Besides, Cyclops has now gone soft."

A minute or so later, while Gillian squatted above the beeday, I retrieved my watch from the breeches fob and opened its lid. "Oh, my! A quarter before eleven. With no bells, I lost track of time."

"With the mounting pleasure, the orgasms and the euphoric resolution blending each with the next, it was timeless." She looked up with a quizzical expression. "Why can you do only one before your arousal wanes?"