It was cold and quite late when she finally arrived home at Gull Cottage. The Captain reappeared the moment the cabbie drove away. "Welcome home, my dear. It appears that Martha has retired and left you a tray in our room. Would you like to eat by the fire?"

"That sounds delightful." Really, she was so tired she could hardly walk, let alone think about food, but a warm fire sounded good. She changed into her nightgown while he lit the fire. Thankfully, he stayed focused on the fire; she knew a wife couldn't very well tell her husband to leave his own room, but she was unaccountably self-conscious about undressing in front of him.

He looked up at her as she tied her robe. "I want to thank you." He said, "I enjoyed spending the day together. And I particularly wish to thank you for contriving to wear a skirt. I realize it was a favor to me; I appreciate your consideration."

She smiled at him and sat down. He set the tray on her knees and joined her on the sofa.

"I am so tired, I can barely eat," she said, smiling, "and I am very sorry that I didn't get to bed earlier last night." He watched her quietly as she ate. Finally, she was so tired, she pushed the tray aside and rested head against the back of the sofa.

"And what about tonight, my dear?" he asked quietly. "In my day, husbands brought their wives home. But I believe there is a modern tradition of going away after a wedding. What is it? A marriage tour? No . . . a honeymoon. Where would you have us go for a honeymoon?"

"Did you have anything particular in mind?" she was drifting off to sleep even as she answered, and was not inclined to make any decisions. "Just pick someplace warm." She shivered.

"Perhaps a nice, warm, South Pacific island? My first mate was stranded on one once . . . very private."

But she was already asleep. Was she sleepwalking? In her sleep, she felt him carry her to their bed.

Next, she was waking up again. The bedroom had disappeared and she was lying on a silent beach of crystal white sand. The sand was delightfully warm on her skin. She looked down and found she was dressed in her favorite emerald green bathing suit. Rolling over, she found the Captain laying next to her, his face inches from her own. He was wearing one of the full, white blousons favored by nineteenth century seamen. It was not buttoned, but hung freely around him, exposing his broad chest. He reached out to her, drew her body along side of his and kissed her.

"Welcome to our honeymoon retreat, my dear."

Carolyn sat up and looked around her. "Where are we?" she asked.

"On a deserted South Pacific island. Obviously, you weren't paying very close attention when I mentioned it before."

"Deserted? Completely deserted?"

"Not even any cannibals."

"Hmm." She reached out for him and kissed him. Together, their mouths created a fire that only their bodies could quench. His hands moved possessively over her.

"I thought you didn't like this swimsuit. It's not modest nineteenth century attire."

"I like the color of that swimming attire; it matches your eyes. I object to it at Schooner Bay because I object to you parading unclothed in public. No one is on this island; therefore, you are not in public. Second, I appreciate that you respected my desires by wearing a skirt yesterday; I wish to prove that I, too, can accommodate your century's mode of dress. Furthermore, twentieth century swimming dress does have its advantages . . ." He smiled deviously as he slid her swimsuit strap off of her shoulder, and laid kisses all over the soft skin it had covered.

Carolyn's hands, too, were occupied. They slipped under the blouson, easing it off of his shoulders. Next, she explored his chest, his back, every inch of skin she could reach from her position. As they slid past his waist, she drew back, shocked and amused.

"What ARE you wearing?"

Daniel grinned crookedly, his smile more like a guilty boy than a masterful sea captain.

"It was an unintentional suggestion of Candy and Jonathan's. I asked them about twentieth century swimmers and they showed me a picture of a man named Mark Spitz. They told me he was great swimmer. He was wearing a swimsuit like this. Isn't it appropriate?"

Carolyn assessed the (now very) tight Speedo, which under the circumstances was far less than an adequate covering. "Oh, more than appropriate," she said with a glimmer in her eye and a laugh in her voice.

He noted her amusement and added, in an almost bashful undertone, "Actually, I felt quite exposed in it, hence the shirt, which you have already stripped away."

They became man and wife on that beach; partners of the highest order. He was a gentle and thoughtful lover, most unlike her late husband (she would have thought, if she had thought of him at all.) Her appreciation encouraged Daniel to further exploration, and they spent the entire afternoon in each other's passionate embraces.

She shivered as the warm Pacific sun moved lower in the sky. He drew her to his chest, warming her in his embrace.

"My wife, my love, and my own," he said huskily. He parted her hair away from her forehead with his fingertips and bestowed a tender kiss on the exposed skin. Then he gathered her up in his arms, and cradled her gently. She sighed and snuggled against him, closing her eyes.

The next thing she knew, she awoke to find herself snuggled against a pillow.

"Daniel?" she called, very quietly.

"I am here, Carolyn, my beautiful wife," he said as he materialized on the edge of the bed. His blue eyes met her green ones, and gave her the confidence to continue.

"Daniel, did we really make love? Did I dream it all? I mean, are we only married in dreams?" Her voice begged for reassurance.

"No, dear Carolyn. We are married in your life, in my death --- before, after and forever bound. We will only feel each other's physical touch in dreams, but surely you noticed yesterday that our connection transcends dreams?"

"Yes, I did. I guess I am just afraid to believe it. I am afraid of losing you."

"Do not be afraid, dear Carolyn. I will be with you always, my love."