Embark | h.s

Nineteen

Quick note: I'm skipping over the journey back to England because nothing pivotal happens and it would just be boring. Also, if I've used this gif before, I'm sorry! It's getting hard to remember which I have and haven't used.

Celia had never been more excited to be greeted by the overcast skies of England. She stepped off of the wooden ramp and onto the cobblestone road of the port, her hand resting in the palm of Harry's, with a smile on her face. Ana followed close behind with Nerissa on her hip.

"Welcome back, Sir Harry," a teenage boy who worked at the port said.

Harry nodded to him and led his family to the port's inn. As soon as they stepped through the door, the smell of alcohol and food filled their nostrils. Celia scrunched her nose and looked around at the dimly lit inn. Drunkards sat at the bar, slurring their words as they flirted sloppily with the barmaids, and others sat at tables as they shoveled poorly made food into their mouths.

Harry ushered Celia through the establishment with his hand firmly resting on the small of her back, guiding her around the drunk men that eyed her up and down. As they reached the bar, Harry cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, miss, we're in need of two rooms," he said to the scandalously clad woman behind the bar.

"How long 're ya stayin'?"

"Just tonight."

"That'll be a penny."

Harry pulled out his purse and handed the woman his payment. She stuffed the coin in the pocket of her apron and made her way around the bar to show them upstairs.

Ana and Nerissa were given a separate room next to Celia and Harry's. Celia entered their room, expecting Harry to be directly behind her, but as she looked over her shoulder, she spotted the barmaid with her hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

"If ya need anything, my name is Joan," she whispered into his ear.

Celia contracted her hands into fists by her side, and then relaxed them. "He won't be needing anything that I can't give him," she said.

Joan shrugged a shoulder and smiled seductively. "Whatever ya say," she said before walking away, her hips swaying like branches in the wind.

Harry kicked the door shut and turned around to face Celia, who was further inside of the room, and arched a brow. "There's nothing you can't give me, eh?" He smirked slyly.

Celia sunk her teeth into her bottom lip and shook her head. Slowly, she began to unlace her dress until she was able to slide it off of her body, leaving her in only her corset and undergarments. She kept her eyes on Harry as she began to untie her corset. His eyes followed each of her meticulous movements, eagerly awaiting the finale of her performance. She was down to only her shift, and he could practically see every detail of her body through the sheer fabric.

"Good God," he breathed in a low voice, "I can't take this anymore."

Two large strides were all it took for him to be inches apart from her, and their bodies suddenly colliding with the heat of passion.

✿

"We should go eat something."

Celia sighed. Her cheek was pressed against Harry's warm chest as she traced circles on his bare skin. "I don't want to move."

Harry kissed her forehead gently and looked down at her. "I love you."

Celia stopped mid-circle and placed her palm flat against his chest, looking up at him. "I love you, too." A smile spread across her face, and she resumed drawing designs on his skin.

"You're sure James and Isabel will receive us?" Harry asked.

That had been their plan—to stay with Celia's sister and brother-in-law until they were able to find a place of their own. But, Celia had not been able to contact her sister whilst she was in Roanoke, so their arrival would be a surprise to say the least.

"Of course they will, we're family," Celia said.

A knock at the door, followed by Ana's voice, interrupted their conversation. "Ma'am, Nerissa is whining, I think she's hungry."

Celia groaned quietly, but made sure to speak in a lighter voice when she answered Ana. "We'll meet you in the hallway in a moment," she said.

After getting dressed, Harry and Celia joined Nerissa and Ana in the hallway, as promised, and walked downstairs to the bar. They sat at a table, Nerissa propped up on Celia's knee, and waited to be served by one of the maids. Eventually, one came by and took their orders. As they waited for their meals to arrive, Celia could not help but overhear a conversation at a nearby table of men.

"Any news from London?" one asked.

"They say the Queen is ill," the other answered.

Celia's heart dropped to her stomach. She whipped her head in the direction of the men, her eyes wide with shock. "Is it true?"

Harry, with furrowed brows, turned to listen as well.

The man nodded. "Apparently, she hasn't been seen around court in days."

"Is it serious?" Celia asked.

"I heard it's an outbreak of the Sweating Sickness," a man from another table chimed in.

Celia's mind ran wild with that information; the Sweating Sickness was a death sentence. She ran her tongue over her cracked lips and swallowed down the growing lump in her throat. The Queen may have caused darkness in Celia's life, but she loved her nonetheless.

"No, no," the man from before said, "It's not anything threatening to her life, not one soul has been struck with the Sweating Sickness. Physicians are tending to her day and night, though."

Harry noticed the fright on Celia's face; her eyebrows were pulled together and her lips formed a worried frown. He rested his hand on her own, rubbing it with his thumb gently to ease her nerves. He decided he needed to intervene. "And how, pray tell, do you know this information? Were you present at court?"

The man shook his head. "No—"

"Then, this is all word of mouth?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"You have no solid proof, good sir. It would do you well to not spread such worrisome lies," Harry said before turning away from the man.

Celia did the same, clutching Harry's hand tight. She waited for the men's conversation to pick back up before speaking so they would not pay her any mind. "What if it's true?" she whispered.

"Hush, my dear, don't fret over gossip. I'm sure her Majesty is well. If it worries you that much, though, why don't you write to Beatrice?"

"Oh, I couldn't. I don't even know if she still serves the Queen."

"It's worth a try, is it not?"

"I suppose."