Capsize | h.s

Sixteen

The wind whipped Celia's curls across her face, briefly blocking her vision of Harry who kneeled at her feet. She swiped her hair out of her eyes and clenched her teeth as she placed her hands on top of Harry's, slowly moving them from her stomach and dropping them at his sides. Inhaling slowly, Celia closed her eyes. The salt stung her nostrils in a pleasant way, awakening her senses. Her eyes flew open to meet Harry's.

"No."

Harry crumpled on the sand, his hands falling to his lap, and looked up at her with confusion. "What do you mean, no?"

"The Queen chooses the husband of her ladies—it's how it has always been done, she would not hear of it."

Harry pushed himself to his feet, now standing in front of Celia and towering over her, casting a shadow on her small figure. "Is that it, then? You would rather kill our child than piss off the Queen?" His voice boomed, and his stance seemed to grow a foot taller as he shouted, almost making Celia cower.

Celia stepped backward. "Even if she would allow our marriage, what kind of life would our child have?"

Harry was briefly silenced by her words, but he quickly scoured his brain for an answer. "I—we... We could find a small cottage—"

"Is that really want you want?" Celia challenged. "A life away from your ship, being tied down to the land instead of free to explore the sea? To be contracted to life that you don't want?"

"You think I don't want you? Our child?" Harry's voice rose again, but Celia was not frightened, rather surprised. Harry took a step forward. "I do, Celia. I want you—our baby."

"And you would trade your life for us?" Celia asked, already knowing the answer. Harry avoided her eyes, and Celia bit her lower lip to prevent a scoff. "You don't have to pretend that you would give up everything for me. We're not tied to an agreement. You owe me nothing. Walk away now, Harry. I won't hate you for it, I promise."

"You could live in a cottage, and I could visit you every chance I got, and—"

"And how many times a year would that be? Once, maybe twice? The child would be better off not even knowing you."

Harry parted his lips slightly, hurt by her comment. Celia swallowed hard and averted her eyes, realizing the pain it had caused him. "No child is better off not knowing their father," he said sternly, pointing his finger at her as if she were a child he were reprimanding.

"Think of the life that you are talking about, Harry! Why are you trying so hard when you don't have to? You could sail the seas and continue to earn the good graces of the Queen until she grants you a union to a beautiful, wealthy young woman. You don't have to settle for this."

"Because I care about you! Goddammit, woman, why can't you see it? Why can't you understand?" Harry charged for her and grabbed her waist firmly, slamming her body into his. She stood silently, looking up at him with bewildered eyes, the small oceans on her face swirling as if a storm was raging inside of them. "I think I love you."

"I think I love you, too," she whispered.

♛

It was later that day, after the Queen had dined, in which Beatrice came running into their chambers, face flushed and flowering into a rosy pink. Her blue eyes swirled with disturbance, and Celia immediately shot upright in her bed.

"Bea," she said, attempting to sound calm, but her gut was screaming at her that something horrible had happened. Thoughts of the worst swarmed her mind—had something happened to her? Or Isabel? Or Harry?

"Celia!" Beatrice wailed, dropping to her knees.

"Good Lord!" Celia ran over to Beatrice's side and grabbed her shoulders to steady her. "What happened?"

"I–I..."

"What? You, what?" Celia asked frantically.

"I was walking by her Majesty's chambers—"

"Is she okay?" Celia raised her voice. 

Beatrice shook her head violently, her blonde hair falling from its intricate updo and framing her face. "I heard screaming—"

"Did you send for the guards?"

"There weren't any by the door, so I opened it."

"And?" Celia shouted.

"And Sir Walter was in there... on top of her... and–and—"

Celia sighed and pinched her nose, letting her head hang low and closing her eyes. "Bea."

"She will have my head for sure!" she wailed, covering her eyes with her hands.

Celia looked back up at her friend and moved to her side, wrapping her arm around Beatrice's shoulders and holding her close. "Did she see you?" Beatrice nodded. "You mustn't speak to her or even look at her tomorrow morning. You will keep your head down and lips sealed. Should she confront you, you will swear secrecy and your utmost discretion. Understand?" Beatrice nodded slowly and fell into Celia's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Celia scrunched her brows with confusion, but held her friend close to her heart. "Whatever is the matter?"

"She was screaming," Beatrice sniffled.

Celia nodded. "Yes."

"Does..." Beatrice lifted her head and looked at Celia with puffy eyes. "Does it hurt?"

Celia pressed her lips together to suppress laughter. "No, my dear," Celia said, pulling her back into a hug. "Sometimes people wail in pain, or out of fright, or because they're sad." Celia tilted Beatrice's chin upward with a single finger so their eyes would meet. "And sometimes even with pleasure."

"Oh," Beatrice sniffled.

"You've nothing to fear, Bea," she said. "Besides, I'm sure Luke would be gentle."

Beatrice's cheeks blossomed into a cherry red as she avoided Celia's gaze, and Celia smiled. However, it quickly faded at the remembrance of what she had promised Harry: marriage. Was she ready for such a commitment? How would Elizabeth react to such a betrayal? She ran her hand across her stomach and sighed, closing her eyes and praying to God that she would be blessed with good luck.