The sky outside the balcony window was just beginning to lighten when Jane felt the bed shift with an extra weight. William, who liked to be called Will instead, returned from a night out at the tavern.
Jack Smith, the notorious pirate captain of the Devil's Pearl, had blown into the small town of Port Royal the previous day, with a commission for Will, who was a blacksmith, and a fat purse to put down on it. Will had left with him after dinner to discuss the order. And there had been no word from them since.
Jane cracked an eye and surveyed Will's rumpled appearance. He was still in his clothes from the night before, shirt stained and torn. The was a purple bruise on his cheek, and he reeked of smoke, ale, cheep perfume and something that smelled suspiciously like sewage. He grinned at her roguishly, clearly still quite drunk, and planted a slopping kiss somewhere between her mouth and nose. She harrumphed and turned her back on him. Ignoring her frosty demeanor, Will pressed himself against her, his amorous intentions obvious.
Jane scooted to the other side of the bed. Will followed her there and reached around to kiss her. Jane turned around, boxed his ear, throwing off the covers and then angrily stomped out of the room.
Will held his hand to his stinging ear and watched in confusion as Jane stormed out. He collapsed back into the bed and was snorin1qwg before her footsteps faded.
He awoke to a pounding head and the realization that he was in very deep trouble with his wife. Using all the water in the basin, he tidied himself as best he could, changed clothes, and went to face the music.
Jane was in the parlor, mending one of Will's shirts. She was not a particularly skilled seamstress, and sewing was one of her least favorite chores. If Will were inclined to be uncharitable, he might have thought she was deliberately working herself into a snit. The flashing needle stabbed in and out of the cloth with angry precision and Jane refused to meet Will's eyes. This was going to be worse than he'd feared.
"Jane?"
She ignored him.
"Jane, I'm sorry I was out so late last night. We were drinking and time ran away from us."
An aggrieved sniff.
"I didn't mean to worry you . . ." In the face of her icy reserve, Will faltered. He stood there, feeling foolish, grasping for words that would not come into his thick head. Then, with unerring timing, his stomach revolted against the eight tankards of ale, the half a bottle of rum, and the fish stew he'd consumed the previous night, and he retched all over the Persian rug Jane's Great Aunt Elizabeth had given them as a wedding gift.
Finding no sympathy at home, Will spent the afternoon at the forge, doing preliminary work on Jack's sword. When he returned, Isabella informed him archly that her mistress had retired early with a sick head. Will ate a lonely, cold dinner (the servants appeared to be in solidarity with Jane) and then went up to bed himself, only to discover that the door to their bedchamber was locked and the key was missing. The message was clear. Sighing, he went to make his bed in the guest room.
The next morning, he went out early and bought Jane a big bunch of lilies, which he asked Isabella to present them to her at morning tea. Jane stayed closeted in the bedroom until Will left for the forge, and when he walked beneath the window, a shower of fragrant petals and stems rained on his head.
A week later, Jane was still not speaking to Will. When Jack arrived at the forge to check the progress of his new sword, he took one look at Will's pinched face and nodded astutely.
"Woman trouble?"
"Yes. Jane's terribly angry at me for staying out all night with you. We've never quarreled before and I don't know what to do to make it up to her."
"Hmm. She's not breedin' is she?"
Will shrugged. "Not that I know of. Not that she's telling me much lately."
"Have you tried flowers?"
"She threw them out her window."
Jack rocked back on his heels and mulled the problem over. "What about a sword?"
"What? Give her a weapon when she's in this state?"
"She might take it as an unconditional surrender and spare your life . . ." He cut short his jest at Will's dark look. "Only one thing to do, mate. Have it out with her, let her do her worst, then beg for mercy."
When Will returned from the forge, he knocked and pleaded at the bedroom door, but Jane refused to let him in. She still wasn't ready to forgive him for his thoughtless behavior. How dare he spend the whole night out drinking and brawling and getting into God knows what kind of trouble with Jack Smith, and leave her home to toss and turn!
The noise in the hallway quieted. Will must have given up and gone to bed. Jane stared at the door longingly, torn between the desire to make things right with Will and her continued frustration. She turned her back to the door deliberately and picked up the novel her father had given her for her birthday.
Hearing the snick of the latch, she turned to see Will standing in the door, a thin file in his hand and a reckless look on his face. "You've driven me to force the lock on my own bedchamber. Are you satisfied?"
Fraught with anger, guilt and a little fear, Jane reacted instinctually, throwing the book in her hand. It smacked into Will's forehead, leaving a red mark. His expression turned murderous.
Suddenly fearing that she'd pushed him too far, Jane took a small step back. Will stalked towards her and grabbed her hands.
She struggled vainly to escape his grip. "Will! You-"
His voice was low and dangerous. "No. You've had your chance to talk and you refused to take it. Now you will listen to me." He took a deep breath and his expression softened, although he kept a tight grip on her wrists. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have stayed out so late. My behavior was vulgar and rude. But you've treated me as no wife should treat her husband."
Jane's eyes filled with tears. "Oh Will, I didn't mean to be cruel. I was just so worried! I thought . . ." She trailed off, reluctant to admit the fear that had kept her awake through that long night.
Will stroked the hair back from her face. "Yes?" he said, gently but insistently.
"I thought you'd run off with Jack." The dumbfounded look on his face almost made her laugh. "To be a pirate," she explained.
He took her in his arms and rocked her gently. "Sweet Bess, I'm not near the pirate you think me. I have all the treasure I want, right here. Nothing could lure me away from you."
Jane sagged against his shoulder, a torrent of tears finally freed. Will held her tenderly until the heaving sobs were replaced with the occasional snivel, then tipped her chin up and kissed her gently, murmured soothing apologies and words of love.
Afterwards on their balcony they watched as the sun sunk below the tranquil sea, Jane snuggled up to him and rested her head upon his shoulder. "Are you truly happy here?"
Something in her tone made Will look askance at her. "Yes. Aren't you?"
Jane hesitated. "You have the forge. I have mending, and Father's dinner parties and precious little else." She held his hand in hers, tracing the scar that cut across his palm, her voice deceptively light. "So you never think of running away to be a pirate?"
Will's eyes twinkled with dawning comprehension. He wrapped his fingers around hers, stilling the nervous motion. "Only when I'm faced with one of your father's dinner parties. But if I ever succumb to the temptation, I swear I'll take you with me." His tone was teasing, but Jane heard something there that lightened her heart. She grinned up at him and kissed him as the last ray of sunlight sank beneath the ocean waves.