“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.”

A slow smile came to his face. He eased away from her, letting cooler air touch them both. Suddenly he leaned over and flicked the tiny skull charm at her navel. She winced at the impact. The little ring of wizardwood that pierced her navel protected her from both diseases and pregnancy.

“Does this come off?” he asked her brusquely.

“It could,” she conceded. “But I am careful. It has never . . .”

“And then you could get pregnant.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I could,” she admitted guardedly.

“Good.” He lay down beside her with a contented sigh. “I might want you to have a child. If I wanted you to have a baby, you'd do that for me, wouldn't you?”

Her throat clenched so she could scarcely speak. She whispered, “Oh, yes. Yes.”

NIGHT WAS DEEP WHEN KENNIT AWAKENED TO A SCRATCHING AT THE DOOR.

“What is it?” he called hoarsely. Beside him, the woman slept on deeply.

“It's Wintrow. Captain Kennit . . . sir. Opal's dead. He just . . . died.”

That wasn't good. The whole idea had been that Opal would endure pain, and then survive it. He was supposed to be an object lesson for Vivacia. Kennit shook his head in the darkness. Now what? Could it be saved?

“Captain Kennit?” Wintrow sounded desperate.