It shouldn't be this awkward I thought, as my feet sank into the damp sand alongside my new husband's.
I had only to recall a year ago to know this was the wrong atmosphere. Back then, we'd talk well into the night about a vast array of matters; be it the politics back in England or what polish James used on his sword. My father often had to ask to him to leave; else I would have been seriously deprived of sleep. However, I wouldn't have minded that. James was a fascinating man, his stories of pirates and maelstroms both intoxicating and addicting. I became his insatiable listener, hanging onto his every syllable as the pirates in his tales clutched the noose on their necks before the trapdoor fell.
And, oh my, did it fall. Not just for the pirates, but for me also.
I should have been more wary. Fate's invisible hand was looping the rope around my neck the whole time; I could see it reflected in James's eyes. My every breath, my every blink, had him staring in intrigue.
Maybe it was the constant invitations to tea that I sent him. I, an innocent girl, had only wanted to hear stories of oceans and faraway lands.
He, on the other hand, must have made quite a different interpretation.
One balmy evening in May, not quite hot and not quite cold, we were sat out on the balcony. The previous night had unleashed a storm of epic proportions, and my mind had been elsewhere for once, pondering how father would fix one of our now storm-shattered garden statues. It was his favoured one, too, a pretty horse formed from black marble. If only the left side of the head weren't so badly damaged…
James said something or other. I'd shaken my head vaguely, not knowing what I'd agreed to. Whatever it had been, he had looked very happy indeed. Well, happy did not seem to cover it. He had beamed at me. I blinked back, forcing myself to smile as well, my mind still mostly on the statue. He'd gotten up to leave, and as usual, he'd kissed my hand; it was the polite thing to do after all. But his lips were there a fraction longer, and the look in his green eyes had been so intense. Much too intense for a friend. It was the flaming look he had in his eyes when the trap door fell. When a particularly fiendish pirate met his swinging, groundless end.
The next day had followed with his promotion ceremony. Cue wedding proposal afterwards, and I had no way of backing out.
I didn't have the nerve to ask James what he'd said on the balcony.
But that was then. This was now. Surely it would do no harm to ask; we were married now anyway. It wasn't like I could change that. By law I was his property. What a peculiar thought. I belonged to James…
As we strolled along the beach, I pondered how I would ask him. There was too much silence to subtly 'slip' it into a conversation.
"James?" I began. His eyes locked on mine in an instant, emanating gratitude for a lapse in the silence.
"Yes, Elizabeth?"
He was speaking too fast, too formally. This was all so wrong.
"That day before your promotion, when we were on my balcony" I said, my stomach coiling as though I were about to jump into a black abyss; I couldn't see what was at the bottom. "You asked me something, and I don't think I heard. What was it?"
With no other conversation in the air, my words hung nakedly with nothing to hide behind; nothing to blend into. They convulsed nervously, awaiting his reaction.
James abruptly looked away, his forehead creased into deep rivulets.
"I have forgotten" he said simply.
The tension around us slackened somewhat. The mauve sky was dotted with distant seabirds, hanging over ships that lay far out to sea. I dimly wondered what it felt like, to have that kind of power to go where one willed. To get the answers one wanted.
We went home.
James, true to his word, changed the bandage around my hand.
I watched as he cleaned the now congealed blood from the wound. Night encroached rapidly around the house, but he did not pause to put any lights on. Maria appeared briefly over the fire place, lighting a tiny fire that gave out barely a shadow of brightness.
She left swiftly.
James continued to work as meticulously as ever, his eyes dark with intent as he focused on the cut. And all the while my curiosity was simmering away, in a similar fashion to the fire in the grate; what little there was of it was bright and hot.
James finished cleaning the cut and tossed the cloth into the little steel basin of water beside him. I gazed as the bloody cloth slowly turned the water crimson, clouds of magenta blossoming outwards and smothering the last of the clear liquid. There was something morbidly fascinating about it that I could not put my finger on. I turned away, feeling abruptly sickened.
James was looking at the fire broodingly now. He had not said a word since I'd asked him the question. The flames flickered lazily, colouring the now blackish water a fierce dark orange. My longing for an answer jabbed at my insides viciously. What was so awful that he had to keep from me?
I placed my newly bandaged hand in the crease of his elbow. He stiffened, still not looking from the fire.
"Please" I breathed, running my hand up to his shoulder, then further still to his neck.
"There is nothing to tell" he replied in a rushed whisper. His voice was repentant; ashamed. He closed his eyes and pressed my hand flush to his skin, kissing the tips of my fingers. I did not draw them away, and allowed him to pull me into a closer embrace.
"Yes there is" I murmured softly, running my fingers over his lips, willing him to speak what he was so afraid of divulging. The look in his eyes weakened at my pleading.
"I…asked you...only as a curious friend…" he stammered.
"Mm" I mumbled, prompting him to continue, still stroking his face. His expression at my forthright behaviour told me he didn't have a prayer of resistance left in him.
"I asked you…whether you ever loved Turner"
A/N: MY BOOK IS FINISHED!! So I finally had a spare moment to update this story. I know some of the stuff is a little stilted, but it was written at 1am and I was wired high on caffeine…
